One Year

Today is Milo’s first birthday. This past year has been wonderful and exciting, full of firsts for him: sitting up, eating solid foods, crawling, walking, first tooth, and even his first words. Yes, “fff, fff!” counts as a first word, especially since he says it any time he sees a dog (“woof, woof!”). I love watching my son grow and learn.

There are many parents who love the baby stage. I used to think that’s how I would feel, but I was wrong. Yes, I’ll miss the feeling of nuzzling my newborn. I’ll miss the tiny clothes and socks, and the toothless grins he spoiled me with. I will miss those moments that were precious and fleeting. Even so, I’ve been waiting for this birthday for some time. More


Good News: Breastmilk Doesn’t Sting the Eyes

I know my Postpartum Depression is getting better when my first reaction to this…

…was to grab the camera and then laugh hysterically. 

(Breastmilk and sweet potato spit-up, just in case you were wondering.)

The Cloud is Lifting

Just last night, as I was rocking Milo to sleep, a thought tiptoed through my brain.

I wonder if I should have another baby. I’m good at this.

Wait. What?

The thought skittered away almost as quickly as it came. I don’t want another child, at least not right now. Stewart got a vasectomy last summer, and we both agreed if we wanted more children and were financially able to do so, we would adopt.

So, why did I have that thought? It may have had something to do with the warmth of Milo against my chest, his soft breaths intermingling with mine, while Beatrix slept in her bed next to the rocking chair, snuggled beneath her sleeping bag, two blankets, stuffed animals and dolls. The more probable reason, however, is because I’m finally breaking through this cloud of despair called Postpartum Depression and beginning to love my life.

Yes, that’s right, I’m on the other side now, or at least I’m getting close.

It’s at this time I start to wonder why it’s been so hard for me. Why wasn’t I able to care for my children like I wanted? Why couldn’t I clean my house or get dressed every day? When Milo was born, I wondered why it was so hard for me to take care of Beatrix when she was a newborn. She slept most of the day and there was only one of her!

I don’t ponder these questions for too long. The answer is clear. Postpartum Depression is an illness. It is not something I chose. I could not “snap out of it.” The loss of control over my own thoughts was the scariest and most debilitating part. I experienced anger, depression, irritability, apathy and anxiety – sometimes all in one day.

For those who are new to this blog, Postpartum Depression, or PPD, is the common term used for what is more accurately described as Perinatal Mood and Anxiety Disorders. PPD is only one form of this illness, as it can can manifest in so many ways. Perinatal Mood and Anxiety Disorders include Pregnancy and Postpartum Depression, Anxiety and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, as well as Postpartum Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Postpartum Psychosis. Some women experience more than one of these disorders.

I imagine, like any mental illness, it is difficult to understand for those who have never experienced it. One of my goals with this blog is to help people know what it’s like to have PPD, and to help other moms suffering with PPD to feel less alone.

I have been working on a post about what it’s been like for me, but realized it’s much too long to be a single post, so I will break it into two or three parts. I am scared to put it out there, and I also feel empowered because of it. It’s an honest, unfiltered account of some of my scariest and darkest experiences, much of which I haven’t shared with anyone beyond my husband, therapist, support group and close family and friends.

I’m ready to share this part of my story now. I’m so thankful to have writing as an outlet for me. I hope that others suffering will find a healthy outlet as well, and I hope that those reading who have never experienced PPD will gain a better understanding of this illness.

I wanted to post something sooner, but life got in the way.   Sorry about that!

Stay tuned…more posts to come.

Dear Milo

Dear Milo,

I have decided that you are the cutest baby boy on the planet.  Your handsomeness overwhelms me and I love your spirit and charisma.  But there are a few things we need to talk about, li’l Bub.

I don’t know how many times you woke me up in the middle of the night this week. I lost count. Do you think you could stop doing that soon?  Or maybe learn a word. Like “Daddy.”

You started walking last week.  There have been a lot of bumps, bruises and crying.  True, you are twenty-three pounds of awesomeness, but More

Beatrix, Budding Photographer

It appears Beatrix got her hands on my new camera.  She loves taking pictures.  Not too long ago, she took random shots of the ceiling and lots of blurry pictures that I end up deleting.  But when I looked at these photos I thought She has such a great perspective.  I think they’re artsy.  For a three-year-old.


Remember when you were young and everything was huge and so out-of-reach?


That’s me.  In my pajamas.  With flour and snot and spit-up on them.  I think it was about 6 PM. More

That Mom

I’m in my early twenties, doing my grocery shopping at Meijer. In line in front of me is a woman with two children. A baby girl, maybe a year old, is sitting in the grocery cart, sucking on the cart and getting drool everywhere. She has a snotty nose. Her older brother, around three years old, is fingering all the candy bars.

“Mom, I need this. It’s my favorite.”

The mother ignores him and continues to unload the cart onto the belt.

The little boy falls to the floor again and begins to scream.

“Mom! I need the M&M’s! I need them! I’m going to get them!”

“Get up right now!” she says in an audible whisper, teeth clenched.

“I’m not getting up! I want the M&M’s! We’re getting the M&M’s!” He continues to lay on the floor.

Mom grabs him by the arm, yanks him up and swat! She strikes him on the bottom.

“You need to be quiet right now! We are not getting the M&M’s!”

He stands silent for a brief second, then lets out a never-ending wail.

I try not to look. I’m looking at the magazine rack. I can’t believe she just spanked her kid in the store. That’s so trashy.

I’ve seen it before and I can just imagine that kind of mom at home with her kids. You know, she’s the type that sits around watching TV while her children run around with no supervision or discipline. That’s why her kids are little brats. No one has taken the time to discipline them.

Yes, I am able to deduce from the little snippet of her life that I’ve seen here at the grocery store that this mom is a bad mom. More

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