dreams vs reality

This morning Melody and I woke up early. I was tired and groggy. She is teething and our nights have been rougher than usual. I turned to see the clock. 6:23. We got out of bed (she slept with me last night) and she was singing her morning song. She is happiest in the mornings. I changed her diaper and put on my knee length Gap camouflage shorts. They belong to Chad, but I recently discovered they fit me! It was great to know I can wear some of his clothes again. We used to switch and trade clothes all the time. My 55 lb pregnancy weight gain changed that fact.

I put Melody in the backpack and leashed the dog. He was sleepy and excited at the same time. I don't think he'd ever been for a walk that early. The air outside wasn't as refreshing as I hoped. The Arkansas July air remained humid despite the early hour. It was quiet and still though. Morning has always been my favorite time of day, but I usually am too lazy to do anything about it.

We walked for thirty minutes. Many cars exited the neighborhood during this time. The passengers appeared to be on their way to work. Each passing car reinforced my thankfulness to be at home with Meldoy instead of working fulltime. I feel so lucky. Our morning walk was a dream come true.

Lately I've reaized something new: I am a dreamer.

I always have an ideal picture in my head of what the future holds. In this picture there are steady things that do not change. The house is clean and extremely organized. Our bills are neatly filed. I am skinny. Unique decorations adorn each wall. Beds are made. Meals are planned and healthy. I exercise regularly and feel strong.

When we were in the process of buying our current house I held these high dreams. Now, three years later, a couple walls have decor that is pleasing to my eye. The bills are paid on time, but a file pile is approaching one foot tall in the spare bedroom. I am slowly loosing weight but the idea of being skinny again feels like a far away thing. The beds are made about 40% of the time.

Now we are in the process of builing a house in the country. I find myself dreaming again. Paint colors from Restoration Hardware, high gloss cabinets, cedar trim, flower boxes, dreamy patio.... I lay awake at night pondering what each room will look like. Lately I've been realizing that the new house will still have a file pile, struggling plants, and makeshift furniture.

Does everyone have this dilemma? If so, how do we jump out of it and make our dreams reality?

a song for my honey

I've felt kinda bad since I posted the last entry about my husband. It was very late when I wrote it. I had been working hard for several hours in a row and was slap-stick-silly. I railed on him pretty hard. He took it in good humor, like usual. He's the optimist in the relationship. I'm the skeptic, known to say, "That's a conspiracy!" more than once on any give day.

Tomorrow I leave for Atlanta for six days, to visit my childhood best friend. We both have baby girls; six weeks apart in age. I'm super excited about the break and am so thankful that Chad is supportive of the trip even though he'll be home alone for almost a week. I've been thinking about him as I pack tonight. (We have to leave the house for the airport in 7 short hours. I'm still packing.) He and Melody are asleep.

There is a song by Coldplay that I love. It's called Green Eyes and it makes me think of Chad every time I listen to it. I've been listening to it a lot lately. Here are the lyrics:

Honey you are the rock
Upon which I stand
And I came here to talk
I hope you understand
Green eyes
Yeah the spotlight shines upon you
And how could anybody deny you
I came here with a load
And it feels so much lighter
Than when I met you
And honey you should know
That I could never go on without you
Green eyes
Honey you are the sea
Upon which I float
And I came here to talk
I think you should know
Green eyes
You are the one that I wanted find
And anyone who tried to deny you
Must be out of their mind
Cause I came here with a load
And it feels so much lighter
Since I met you
Honey you should know
That I could never go on without you
Green eyes
Green eyes
Honey you are the rock
Upon which I stand

my husband, the sentimental handyman

Lately I have been busy working on some freelance projects for the design company where I used to work. I have a makeshift work area at home in our spare room. My laptop sits on a "Lovefeast Table." (I call it this because when I was a kid our churh had a Lovefeast, ie: Potluck, once a month. Food was piled onto long rectangular tables with fake wood grain tops.) The table is too high for my stationery chair so I've become accustom to typing and mousing with my arms stretched out straight in front of me.

Behind my work area is a full size bed with a twin comforter. Next to that is a wooden bookshelf that Chad made out of scrap 1x4s. He gave it to me as a present my first birthday after we got married. I was sorely disappointed, but he was so proud of the sturdy thing that I didn't show it. Just the other night it came out that I wasn't thrilled to receive the bookshelf as a gift. His face fell and he said like a hurt little boy, "What's wrong with my bookself?!"

My reply, "No, no, no! It's great, just not what I wanting to put in our living room as a newlywed, or what I wanted to get as a birthday present. You did a good job though...." (pat, pat, stroke, stroke)

Chad also made the frame for our bed. We have a TemperPedic mattress (which we LOVE) and it does not need a box spring. Instead it is made to lay on a flat, sturdy surface. We could (should) have bought a box with the mattress to serve this purpose. The box was $200, and Chad decided he would make one instead.

For a year and a half our mattress sat on the floor. No one would have guessed we'd spent over $1000 on our amazing mattress. After awhile I began moaning and groaning about getting up off the floor every morning. We went to Lowes and spent $100 on materials for a homemade frame. Chad used huge 4x4 boards for the posts and partical board for the platform. All the wood remained unfinished. The bed ended up being about 4 feet above the ground. (I'm not kidding.) First we couldn't get up out of bed and then we couldn't get onto the bed! Once again, the construction was sturdy and practical.... but not so pretty.

My dreams of a Martha Stewart home have long flown out the window. That happened one weekend during our engagement when we drove my dad's work van to Chad's home to load up his stuff. We hauled back a king size waterbed (the old nasty 80s kind), assorted swords, hachets, blowguns and a lava lamp. Desperately trying not to be the nagging sort, I nervously chewed my lip the whole 9 hour drive home. Where would be put all his crap? We were to live in a tiny campus duplex so it was not possible to give him the basement for his stuff. I tried to brainstorm ways to creatively make our first home cool, unique and tasteful. My two drawbacks were lack of funds and Chad's awful stuff. He is the sentimental kind, so getting rid of the stuff was not an option. (It was hard enough to convince him that he didn't need every single picture and letter from his high school girl friend -- but that's for another post.)

Almost five years has passed since that long ride from Illinois to Arkansas. I do not have the home of my dreams, but I don't mind so much. There is warmth, fun, laughter, and happiness within these walls. I'm choosing to make these things the important ones, instead of matching furniture, expensive things, and the right color scheme. Maybe someday I'll have the best of both worlds, but for now I'm doing alright.

sweetest moments together

This morning I received an email from a friend. She asked me to tell her of some of my sweetest moments with Melody. As I pondered this thought, I came up with a few awesome memories from recent months since she's been born.

• A few hours after she was born we took a bath together. We stared at each other in dim candlelight and started to fall in love.

• At night I would lay on my back and put her on my chest, tummy down. Her tiny body was so light, I could barely feel it. But somehow her little body kept me warm. She would sleep there for hours while we listened to each other breathe.

• From day one I've loved dressing her. If she gets slobber on a onsie I happily change her into another outfit. Fortunately, she does not mind being changed.

• Watching my baby interact with her daddy is amazing. They create this beautiful picture when they're together; the two things that I love the most in this world. Seeing them together is overwhelming and wonderful.

• Watching her roll over for the first time brought excitement and joy that surprised me. I did not know milestones like these would be so precious. After she rolled over, I was happy all day. I told everyone, "She is rolling over now!" It as a declaration. Her new nickname was Rolly Polly.

• Another special thing was when I could tell that she knew me. She would light up when I approached her. She would calm down when I took her from someone else's arms. She looked for my voice.

• Nicknames have always been fun. Some of the most popular are: Sweetcake, Buttercup, Babydoll, Miss Melody, Lovey Dovey, Sweet Pea...

...okay, I'll stop before someone throws up. All that to say, it's been an awesome journey so far.

addicted to lyle

Does anyone else like Lyle Lovett?

Lately I've been addicted to his music. I've listened to Cowboy Man everyday this week. I love his simple lyrics about rodeo life and lost loves. I'm not into country music. To me, his stuff is in another category. It's easy to listen to. Soothing to my soul, somehow. People are still shocked that he was married to Julia Roberts. I understand that he's not the most attractive guy around, but listening to him sing makes me wonder if that's how she fell for him.

If you were to wake up
And I were beside you
Would you gently smile
And whisper my name?



I like cream in my coffe
And I hate to be alone on Sunday
Nobody knows me like my baby
Nobody holds me like my baby


Shoot. If someone sang that way to me, I'd marry him.

the year of the overalls

A few posts back I talked about being fat. I did not think it would take me so long to loose my pregnancy weight. Many people have a saying, "Nine months on. Nine months off." I can recall even saying this very thing to others after they had their baby. Even though I spouted this advice, I didn't think it would apply to ME.

When I see a mom with a baby, I usually take note of her body. If she is thin I think things like,
"Maybe she has a trainer."
"Maybe she is the nanny, not the mom."
"Maybe she's just lucky."
"Maybe she works her butt off at the gym everyday."

I'm a tall girl. Without shoes, I'm 5' 9". I've been thin all my life. Before the pregnancy I weighted 150 lbs. Of course I wanted to be lighter by 10 or so pounds, but all in all, I was happy with the way I looked. I wore baggy clothes most of the time. Mens jeans, loose sweatshirts, baggy cargos, etc. Wearing things oversized made me feel comfy and wispy somehow. Occasionally I'd wear fitted jeans when Chad and I went on a date. Those times I felt sexy, but uncomfortable. Thankfully, he doesn't care what I wear. He rarely notices if I change something, so I stick with what's comfortable.

I gained 55 pounds during the pregnancy, topping out at 207. (!!!!) It felt strange to be over 200 pounds. At the end of the pregnancy I felt beauitful though. Everything was so round, which was pretty much the complete opposite of my usual body. Even my legs were round! I felt good. After Melody was born, I didn't feel good about the roundness anymore. I wanted it to be gone. I wanted to be one of those skinny moms. I didn't mind being a big pregnany person, but I did not like being a big non-pregnant person.

Melody is five and a half months now. I'm weighing in at 167 these days. I am finally starting to see the old Rebekah behind the round remnants of Pregnant Rebekah. I am thrilled to see her again. In the meantime I've been wearing massive Old Navy denim overalls everyday. I switch the shirts which brings a little variety, but the overalls are a constant. They hide my stomach and butt. These the two areas are the last to return to Normal Rebekah status. Sometimes I stare at my skinny wrist and long for the rest of my body to follow suit.

When I told a friend I thought 2005 was going to be my Fat Year, she corrected me and said, "No. It is simply going to be your Overalls Year." She was right. I doubt I'll quit wearing them until I'm 150 again. Then they will return to the back of my closet and wait for the next post pregnancy year. Next time a friend talks to me about her post pregnancy weight, I promise not to say, "You know what they say! Nine months on. Nine months off."

a song that fits

Those of you who have been reading my blog for awhile know I desperately wanted a baby for a long time. There were many days of longing and tears of wanting before God brought Melody into my life. Now each day I breath words of thanksgiving as I hold her close, see her smile and hear her laugh.

(It is similar to my first year of college. I had finally found "my place." Each day I woke up with a song in my heart and a smile on my face, because of the drastic difference from the previous year at a rural high school where football and trucks were the main things. But I digress...)

There is a song that tells the story of Melody. It is by Waterdeep. We sing it in church from time to time. I seldom make it to the end of the song without tears streaming down my cheeks. Before Melody, I cried because I wanted her so much. Now that she's here, I cry for thanksgiving and awe. The words go:

You are so good to me
You heal my broken heart
You are my Father in heaven

They are simple but powerful. Another neat thing about the song is the bridge. It contains Melody's name, which seems fitting.

You are my strong melody
You are my dancing rhythm
You are my perfect song
And I want to sing forever

I want to make a something to hang on her wall that says,
"You are my strong Melody."

She has changed my life so much, and she is only five months old. I cannot imagine how I'll feel in the years to come as she continues to grow up.

fear

I really admire the many moms out there who persevere through trials of breastfeeding. It is admirable to beat the odds of infections, depression, medication, low milk supply, and other factors. When these things occur, the simple act of feeding our babies from our own bodies becomes a threatened privilage. There are many reason why I want to continue breastfeeding Melody. One of them is the following question:

"If I quit breastfeeding, will my friends still like me?"

There. I said it.

Over the past few months I've become well aquainted with four moms. We all breastfeed. My main reason for wanting to keep nursing is Melody's well-being. The number two reason is close behind -- I want to continue having it in common with my friends. It is a central topic and activity during our times together. I am sad and nervous about loosing this connection. I know people say things like, "If they don't like you because you stop breastfeeding, then they weren't true friends to begin with." Though true, statements like this do not make it easier.

If I stop will they say it's cool, but then talk about me when I'm not there? Why am I insecure about this? Breastfeeding was always a no-brainer for me. Of course I'd do it; it's the best option. Now that I'm faced with a low milk supply, I am dealing with questions I didn't foresee coming my way. I never realized this topic would lead to issues of acceptance, loyalty, fear and possible isolation.

my biggest problem

Pumping is hard!!! For the past five days I've been pumping breastmilk in order to increase my milk supply. I try to pump every two hours, but sometimes four or five hours quickly pass before I find my way to the pump again. I'm using an expensive Medela hospital grade pump. It's a great machine, but that doesn't make it fun. I am not able to pump "hands free" yet so the whole time I am unable to do anything else. I also have not found a comfortable position. I sit tall and slightly forward in order to the milk to fall into the bottles. Also, I tend to watch the milk the whole time which means my head is tilted down, resulting in neck and upper back pains.

This morning I had a breakdown. The tears began falling shortly after 7:00am as I sat hooked up to the pump waiting, waiting waiting for milk to fall. Twenty minutes later I still didn't have one drop of milk yet. Sitting on the center cushion of our old orange couch I began to cry. I felt hopeless. "When is my milk supply going to return?," I thought forlornly.

Around me the house was a disaster. Every single room, including the hallways were lined with items that didn't belong. Bills were waiting to be paid, toilets were disgusting, etc , etc, etc. Chad came into the room to put his shoes on for work. He sat and looked at me with concern. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know why I'm so upset. I'm so overwhelmed." I replied.

"How can I help you?"

"I don't know."

He hugged me and sat silent for awhile. Then left for work. Less than two minutes passed before Laura let herself in through the garage. She came and sat by me. I spilled my guts. "I'm so overwhelmed with pumping, the house, the baby, and work." She immeidately sprang into action. She cleaned the bathrooms and the kitchen. She bathed, fed, and held Melody. She did four loads of laundry. She hung all my clothes up that were piled on the floor. In the meantime I walked around the house with a foggy brain. I emailed a mom-friend and told her about my hard morning. She called me less than a hour later to talk. She assured me that I'm doing a good job and that things will be easier soon. She made me feel so much better.

After that I found Laura in Melody's bedroom, sorting through a pile of random stuff on the floor. I sat on the unmade bed and sighed. "I'm so glad you're here. I don't think I could let anyone else -- besides my mom and mom-in-law -- clean our gross toilets." She smiled and said, "Kotter, keeping this house going is a HUGE job. You shouldn't attempt to do it alone." (She calls me Kotter which is my maiden name. I think it's a cute option for a baby boy someday?) Hearing those words from here was such a breath of fresh air. I know she is right.

I am a strong and capable individual. I'm fairly organized and on-top-of-things. I am very guilty of taking over and doing everything myself because that seems easier than delegating and teaching others to help me. Chad has always been willing to help with house work, but 90% if the time I just do it myself. When I get sick or a crisis happens (ie: breastfeeding problems), things fall apart quickly. I hate that everything depends on me, but I recognize that I've made it this way.

Does anyone else struggle with these problems? How can Chad and I come up with a plan so that we both participate in running this house? How do others clean their houses? Do you do it every Saturday morning or a little bit each day? Do you nag each other? Do you fight about it? I don't want to nag or fight. This is one of the first times in our 4+ years of marriage to have a communication barrier. I'm just not sure where to start in order to change this pattern. Help, anyone?

my days lately

Life has been interesting lately. I will bullet point the recent developments:

• Depression.
I am feeling better!! I started taking an antidepressant three weeks ago. I began feeling like myself about a week ago. I realized I felt better one afternoon as I became aware that I wasn't thinking about being depressed. It is such an underlying thing. It effects everything and yet it's so easy to ignore. I have minimal side effects from the drug, which is a relief. I am glad I took the leap into the antidepressant world that I feared for so long.

• Breastfeeding.
Last week it came to my knowledge that Melody wasn't getting enough milk. She was not pooping / peeing enough, had barely gained any weight, and was increasingly frustrated while nursing. She was also sucking on her fingers all the time. (And I mean ALL THE TIME.) I was not concerned for a long time because she is such a happy baby. She smiles, laughs, coos, sleeps well, etc. I became alarmed when I gave her a bath and noticed her little ribs poking out. I visited with my Le Leche League leader (too many L's) and she watched Melody nurse. She said Melody was sucking-sucking-sucking, but not swallowing. Poor baby!!

• Social.
Since this breastfeeding wall occurred I've had an amazing support network. One mom gave me her expensive Medela pump. Another offered her pumped breastmilk for supplementing. Each day someone has called to check on me. Then Ellen gave me bags and bags of her pumped frozen milk. My mom has been my biggest cheerleader, offering tons of moral and emotional support. I am overwhelmed and grateful.

• Schedule.
I've been trying to pump every two hours for the past few days. I am suppose to give Melody about 30 ounces a day. I'm only getting about 15 ounces from pumping. She drinks my pumped milk from a bottle and then I supplement the rest with Ellen's milk. In the past four days she has stopped sucking her fingers all the time and has developed dimples in her knees. Also, her ribs are covered up with a big belly!! She is heavier too. Today I took her to the doctor office and she weighed in at 11 lbs / 5 oz. I have a feeling she'll gain quickly for awhile as she catches up. I still nurse her to sleep and a few times thoughout the day.

• Freelance.
A few weeks ago I aquired a few freelance design projects. I committed myself to a hefty amount of work. The deadlines do not begin to roll in until June, which is approaching with speed. I began the projects, but put everything on the back burner when the breastfeeding problems surfaced. Now I'm stressed out about the work and have decided to forego my precious Friday Mom Get Together tomorrow morning. I'm sad to miss it, but I won't enjoy it if the projects are weighing on me.

So that's pretty much everything for now. I hope to blog more often. I always say that.

questions & answers

Since Melody was born I've made a new group of friends. We met through various ways and all have babies. We all stay at home. We all have sought information and knowledge about unmedicated childbirth. As we hang out we compare birth stories. Half of us had our babies at home; the other half in hospitals. All of us attempted to do it without medication. All of us were changed because of our experience. We get together on Friday mornings. We schedule these times to be from 10 to noon, but usually we end up going out to lunch together and hanging out until 2 or 3 in the afternoon. We talk about our birth stories a lot and ask questions like:

Would you do it again?
Who was at your birth?
What would you do differently?
What surprised you about your birth?
What was the first thing you felt / thought after your baby was born?

I will answer these questions about Melody's birth.

• Would I do it again? I do not know. Making the decision to have an unmedicated birth was a long process. Deciding to have a homebirth was an even longer process. It required lots of time, thinking, talking, and praying. Chad and I will have to go through a similar process again the next time we are pregnant. Lord willing.

• Who was at my birth? My husband, Chad. My midwife. And my childbirth instructor / doula.

• What would I do differently? This is probably the hardest question for me to answer. I am still unsure of the entire answer. One of the negative things about my birth is that I was "performing" for my instructor / doula. I was trying to do everything the "right" way so that she would think highly of me. I wanted to be her star student. I was not aware of these things until recently. Because of this realization I would probably opt for my instructor / doula to not be present. I might have my mom there the next time.

• What surprised me about my birth? The pain. I don't think there is any way to prepare oneself for the intense pain of childbirth. I watched many videos, read books, talked to other moms. I exercised and ate 80 to 100 grams of protein everyday. I felt so prepared. I thought my preparation would pave the way for an "easy" labor. This wasn't the case. The contractions were the most intense thing I've ever come close to experiencing. It is amazing how powerful they are. I couldn't believe it. I'm still dumbfounded by the power and instensity of those contractions. Another thing that surprised me was my lack of emotion when Melody was put on my chest immediately after being born.

• What was the first thing I felt / thought after my baby was born? Relief. Relief. RELIEF. The only thing I felt was relief. I had no joy and no tears. My body shook as I held her in my sweaty arms. She looked up at me with alert eyes. She had a scared look on her face. Soon I smiled and exclaimed over her, but the only immediate response was relief.

little melody & a big decision

Melody is four months now. I can't believe how quickly she is growing. She is small for her age -- in the 10th percentile. She's not the baby imagined myself having. All the babes in my family are bald, fair, and big. She has dark hair and golden skin like her daddy. And she's little. She weighs around 11 pounds. All the babies we hang out with are big and chunky. She is dainty and lean. For awhile I was concerned about her size. I began waking her up in the middle of the night to feed her. This resulted in a tired mommy and a cranky baby. I realized that she is doing great despite her small size. She is alert, content, smiley, and happy 85% of the time. She eats often during the day. I know she's getting hindmilk because she often eats for 45 minutes to a hour on one side. Chad's side of the family has smaller people so I guess she's taking after her daddy in more ways than one.

Even though she's not the baby I imagined, she is perfect. She and I get more attached everyday. She recognizes my voice and often calms down at the sound of my words. She smiles brightly when she finds me in a room full of people. I love dressing her, changing her, bathing her, feeding her, talking to her and dancing around the house with her in my arms.

Despite all these wonderful moments, I'm still struggling with depression. I still cry on a regular basis for no reason. The tears just fall and fall and fall. I feel down even when the weather is sunny and clear. I wander around the house unsure of what to do with myself. I try to muster motivation to plant flowers, bake pumpkin bread, and finish decorating the baby's room. These things remain undone. I watch Dawson's Creek reruns instead, even though every single charater on the show thoroughly annoys me. Spending time with people helps a little. It serves as a distraction from the way I feel. A recent bout with mastitis brought the realization that with physical pain came relief from the mental and emotional pain. I almost welcomed the fever, chills, and achiness because it gave me a break from feeling sad.

I finally gave up trying the natural supplements, teas, and progesterone cream. It's been four months. They weren't working. I went to the doctor. He was wonderful. He said, "It is very common for women who stop working full time to stay home to be depressed. It's a huge change. Also, are you dealing with any trauma related to your birth experience?" Ding! Ding! Ding! I guess I'm not crazy after all. Each time someone tells me that what I'm dealing with is normal I feel so much better.

I started taking the anti-depressant Wellbutrin two days ago. The generic perscription was $92 for a one months supply. I was shocked at the price. I've never taken a drug on a regular basis -- not even the pill. I'm trying to be postive about this decision. My mom told me to try to think of Wellbutrin as "my friend." That made me laugh, but maybe she's right. If I cringe everytime I think of it, it probably won't work as well. Deep down I know I've made the right decision. I do not want to remember Melody's first year as a cloudy depressing time.

days gone by

This morning I got up with Chad. I made french toast and Columbian coffee. The french toast turned out soggy. We ate it anyway, avoiding the middle. Sitting at the table together in the quiet morning reminded me of our newly wed days.

Chad was still in college when we got married so we lived in the married student housing on campus. Everyone complained hugely about the accomodations. The 35 year old duplexes were made of grey cinderblock. The rooms joining them were the master bedroom and bathroom. (!) Not a good thing when two newly married couples are the residents. Not to mention, we already knew the neighbors. Ick. The bathroom was so tiny that it was nearly impossible for two people to brush their teeth at the same time. The kitchen was also small. The fridge and oven could not be open at the same time for lack of space.

Despite all the maladies, I loved living there. We had a bizarre little patio at the front of our spot. A red chain link fence seperated our cracked patio from the road that led to a rundown dog kennel. We set up a hammock and outdoor chairs. We ate our first suppers as a married couple on that patio. The duplex also had large windows from the 1960s. They surrounded the eating area and living room. We would open all of them and let the breeze overtake the rooms. Wind chimes, which had been a wedding gift, sang loudly. It felt like a beach house to me. I loved it.

I recall getting up early one morning. I made breakfast and had extra time. I cut a fresh pineapple into shapes making the words, "I love you." I arranged them on a cobalt blue plate just in time for Chad to walk into the kitchen. His hair was wet from his shower and he smelled good, like soap. I proudly presented the work of art to him. He smiled, ate the pineapple, and with a mouth full said, "I love you too, baby." This morning eating soggy french toast reminded me of those early married days. We now live in a neighborhood with sidewalks and sod. Our bathroom has two sinks -- one for each of us! We've come a long way in four fast years. My memories of Married Student Housing put a smile on my face. I loved those first five months of our marriage.

falling in love

This week I am realizing something. I'm falling in love with Melody. I have loved her since I found out I was pregnant last spring. I loved her the moment she was born on December 22. But as she grows I find myself getting more attached to her each day. In the first few weeks of her little life I had no problem leaving her with my mom for a hour. Now it is gettting more difficult. Yesterday my mom watched Melody while I went to the gym and the grocery store. A few weeks ago I would have flown out of the house without a second thought. Yesterday I was different. I kissed her smooth face several times before tearing myself away. Once at the gym I enjoyed the time away, but getting there wasn't easy.

Melody has begun talking to us. She makes cooing sounds and laughs when we talk to her. She falls asleep in my arms. Her little mouth hangs open as her body is limp with relaxation. I love it. When she is awake her eyes are full of expression. Her tiny eyebrows raise with suprise at sound and movement.

I have lunch plans with one of my new mom friends today. I'm looking forward to it. We've recently discovered our birth experiences have similarities. I'm excited to exchange these things with each other. This week I feel less sad and a little more normal. What ever that means.

saturday breakfast

The air smelled of cigarettes and breakfast grease as we entered the familiar diner. My damp hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. I wore smooth shimmery purple Burts Bees lipgloss. As Chad and I slid into a brown booth, I eyed the bowl of creamers and thought, "We're going to need more than that."

Eating breakfast out on the weekend is a tradition for us. Since Melody's arrival we've avoided our favorite diner due to the smokey environment. This mornng we left her with the grandmas (both are visiting) and relived our tradition of sharing a waffle, hashbrowns, and a spanish omelet.

It was easy to fall back into the groove of just us. We talked, observed, remembered, dreamed and hung out. We drove home with full stomachs and the windows down. It felt good.

morning dreams

The days since talking to Jennifer have been better. I have smiled and laughed without trying. It's nice. I'm slowly processing things. I think the sadness was not so much post partum depression as trauma related to my birth experience. I'm getting closer to understanding as I write, talk and think about it. Today I had lunch with our childbirth teacher / doula. I went to the restaurant nervous with prayers under my breath. I didn't want to offend, but I had questions. It turned out to be a profitable hour of honesty and truth. I'm getting closer. As I figure things out, I feel lighter.

This week I've spent good time with my sister-in-law, Chelsea. She's 23 and is experiencing God for the first time in her life. She is addicted to her bible and reads it throughout the day. When she doesn't understand something she reads it aloud and inquires of it's meaning. The other day we ended up with four different translations open on the dining room table as we tried to figure out a parable in Luke. Her new interest in the bible is contagious. It's been ages since I wanted to open my bible. Instead I usually go to my hymnal. The words of the old songs capture my heart when verses are familiar and stale. Today I went to Proverbs 31 and slowly read the verses, trying to soak them in. I even used some cross references. It was nice.

Before Melody was born I daydreamed of being a mother who spent early morning times with God. I pictured of myself drinking coffee, reading, pondering and praying in a dimly lit breakfast area before the others were awake. This idea is appealing and I want to figure out a way to make it happen.

sunny day

Yesterday I hit a new low. I was driving alone, coming home from Walmart. I reached for my cell phone to call Jennifer, my midwife. Ring, ring, ring. No answer. I hung up and began to cry. Seconds later the phone rang and it was her. I tried to say hello in a chipper tone, through the tears. Why do I do that? Jennifer's calm voice asked if I'd like to come see her. It was the question I wanted to hear.

Three hours later I was in her home office; a bedroom/bathroom on the first floor of her 100 year old home in Fayetteville. The bedroom windows were up, and the simple sheet curtians billowed every few seconds. I sat in an oversized rocker and attempted to smile. I began talking. The conversation lasted a hour and a half even though she had a pregnant patient waiting in the living room for the last thirty minutes. I asked a lot of questions about my birth.

Are all births as intense and painful as mine?
What was I like in the midst of it?
How do women decide to have another unmedicated birth after such a traumatizing experience? (She has done it three times.)

She mainly listened to me, cried a little herself, told me her own stories, and gave me hope. I am still not ready to blog the whole birth story, but I can say that I feel I was tricked. I read many natural birth stories that gave me the impression that if I did the right exercises, ate the right foods, prepared with Chad, breathed enough, and had positive thoughts, my labor would be easy. This was not the case. It was hard. It hurt a lot. I thought my legs were going to twist off during the second stage contractions. I was NOT able to relax like I thought I "should" be. The first tme I held Melody I felt no joy or miracle. I only felt intense relief. The biggest relief I've ever known. It was over. That is all I cared about. These feelings blind-sided me. What happened to the "beautiful experience" I had heard and read so much about? Where were the wonderful feelings? In the following week I'd look at Melody's head and cry at the memory of pushing her out. People would say, "She is so little!" and I would think, "You are crazy. She is HUGE."

Yesterday Jennifer helped me understand that my experience and feelings are common and normal. She said only 3 births out of the 170 she has delivered have been "easy" for the mother. Hearing these things makes me feel like the books I read and the lessons I was taught were largely propaganda. How dare they tell me it was going to be easy!!

Another thing we talked about was my weight and my body. I have been tall and thin my whole life. I gained 55 pounds during the pregnancy and am still 25 pounds above the pre-pregnancy weight. I've only lost 10 pounds in the past 10 weeks! Jennifer didn't give me answers about the weight-loss. She did something better. She told me I was beautiful right now. I drove to her house thinking 2005 was going to be my "fat year." I left her house feeling GOOD about the way I looked!! The belly pooch, the round butt, the gimormous boobs.... it didn't bother me anymore. Instead I held my head high and told myself, "You just had a baby and you are a beautiful mommy."

I feel lighter today than I have in two weeks.

another week

I floated through another weekend feeling odd.

My 18-year-old sister-in-law visited from Illinois. She's quiet, helpful, observant, perceptive, intuitive, and honest. I have always enjoyed her company. She loves babies and is wonderful with Melody. She's a natural. For some reason, each time she visits us I flip out. Last time she was here I was pregnant. I ended up bursting into tears at the grocery store when Chad asked me what we were having for supper. Then yesterday I lost it again in the car. I was in the backseat with Melody. She was screaming her tiny head off and driving me crazy. I ended up in tears as well. I barked at Chad, "Can you drive faster?"

I wonder what my sis-in-law thinks when I break down?

When I was younger I was hard on others. I thought I had life figured out. One of my good friends got married 4 years before me. I was inwardly critical of the way she and her husband interacted. Now I'm married and I realize their behavior wasn't that big of a deal. It was normal; unlike the utopian view of marriage I possessed at the time.

This week my mother-in-law and other sis-in-law will be here. I am at a loss. Do I tell them I'm depressed? Or do I act like nothing is the matter? I'm sure they'll notice before the five days is up. How do others deal with depression and family members?

the plan

Today was better. My mom was here again. This morning she watched the baby and I went to the gym. I did 35 minutes of cardio, some stretching, and light arm weights. It felt so good to get out of the house and focus on working hard. After that mom, Melody and I ate lunch today at a small local Italian cafe. We talked about the depression. She says she can see it in my eyes. In the course of the conversation Melody's birth was mentioned. The topic brought instant tears to my eyes. I haven't blogged about the labor/delivery yet. I'll save that for another day. For now I'll just say I feel traumatized by the experience.

After lunch mom and I parted and I spent time in Fayetteville. It is the neighboring city; about 20 minutes from our house. I love Fayetteville. It has hills, history, artistic buildings, local restaurants, interesting people, lots of trees, great coffee, and nice parks. I went to my favorite coffee shop, Arsagas. It was Melody's first time there. I held her on my lap while I drank a decaf, skim mocha and journaled about the past few days. It felt good to write.

I recalled spending time in the same coffee shop five years ago. I lived and worked in Fayetteville at that point. Most mornings I'd stop in for coffee. I was single at the time. I'd watch the other career people and observe their lives. Working moms would often come in with their preschoolers. The kids would be blurry eyes at the pre-eight-o'clock hour. The moms would say, "Do you want a scone or a muffin today?" The kids could never eat a fourth of the huge bakery items. They were probably wishing for Trix or Lucky Charms instead.

Chad and I have a plan. We decided we're both eating too much sugar these days. We decided we'll eat one serving of sugar (ie: dessert and cokes) for each two times we exercise. The past two days have been difficult as I was eating chocolate and other sweets every day before. I am hoping the plan will motivate me to exercise as well as help me loose weight. I am still 30+ pounds above my pre-pregnancy number. I also hope a smaller intake of sugar will result in feeling better emotionally and physcially.

In the meantime I will try to go to my favorite places in Fayetteville more often.

more fog and teething

Today was also difficult. My mom came over for a few hours which helped immensely. She served me potato soup, brought me water, and helped with the baby. We talked about depression. She has experienced it on and off throughout my life and recently decided to give Prozac a try. This decision is a huge deal for her because she's always opted for the natural methods of treatment in the past. They have helped some, but not enough. I'm curious and hopeful to see what happens for her.

Back to me.

I wonder about taking an anti-depressant myself. I am also more comfortable with the natural methods and now I am double hestitant because I'm breast-feeding. A few years ago I saw a couselor for about a year. The decision to see her the first time was extremely difficult even though I knew it was necessary. It took me months to gather the courage for the first appointment. After the first session it was easy to go back for more help. That year was full of change, challenge, growth and learning.

I wonder if the step of deciding to take an anti-depressant is similar?

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On a different subject, I think Melody is teething! She turned three months old today. Babies rarely get teeth this early, but I'm fairly sure she the two bottom ones are coming in. She woke up from her morning nap earlier than usual. She was fussy and refused to latch on when I tried to feed her. This has never happened before! She is always eager to eat, even if she's not super hungry. She screamed with her head tilted back in pain. She hasn't cried that way since she was brand new and tiny. It was so sad! I called a friend who has six kids and explained the symptoms. Drooling, sucking fingers, crying, refusing to eat, etc. She said to look at the gums. I did this and I saw tiny white ridges! I think. I gave her some infant tylenol and that helped her somewhat. Even when she is horribly fussy, I love her so much. I hope the teething pain is short lived. And most of all, I hope she doesn't bite me when I feed her. Ow.