Well, here I am. I survived the first three months (otherwise known as the "fourth trimester"). Which means the worst of it is behind me.
Poor Kimball had a rough go of it in the beginning. Honestly, I'm not positive that we ever figured it out! Since birth he had awful tummy trouble. He was always super gassy and just miserable, poor buddy. I tried cutting back on chocolate and didn't see a difference. Gas drops didn't seem to touch it. Around 2 months we started taking him to the chiropractor. I think that helped a lot, but it was also around that time that I stopped feeding him lying down at night. I didn't realize for a few more weeks that that had an effect on him, but when I would occasionally stay in bed to feed him he would always be in pain for a few hours. So by the time we got that all figured out, he was hitting the age where babies tend to grow out of it anyways. He still has problems every once in a while, but the chiropractor taught us a few ways to massage him and that always helps!
And now, Kimball is my little angel. He brings so much peace and light to my soul every day. He smiles and laughs at me like I am the greatest person in the whole world. And my favorite part about that is that babies don't pretend. He really thinks I'm the center of the universe, and I love it.
So you'd think that everything would be better. But it's not. My baby blues refused to be ignored this time. They've grown into the elephant in the room. That's right, PPD has got me.
I've got a lot of personal stuff going on that is majorly contributing. I can't get into the details, but it's been a rough year for my family. I feel like I'm being bombarded on every front. My emotional and spiritual reserves are completely depleted. At the end of every day I am worn down to my core. I feel like it is all I can do to keep my head above water, and some days I don't even succeed at that.
This week, for the first time in my life, I asked to be released from my church calling. I was so nervous, but after a lot of thought and a lot of prayer I felt like it was the best decision for me and for our family right now. Still I worried that I wouldn't be able to explain everything right and that my bishop would think I was being lazy or losing my testimony. Instead, he nodded his head and said "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you're going through this." He asked me about my experience with depression and my family'a history with it. He told me to take care of myself and to know it was ok to ask for help. He told me not to worry about being released and that they'd take care of it immediately. I couldn't believe how wonderful it was to be understood, to be met with sympathy, and to be reassured that this is the right decision. I need to focus all my energy on my family and my own testimony right now, and there is no shame in that.
I often feel defeated. Palmer watches way too much tv. Kimball naps in his car seat on the dryer because it's the only way he'll sleep more than 40 minutes during the day. Derek has had to resort to cold cereal or leftovers for dinner more times than I care to admit.
And then there are the days where I feel like I can do it all. I clean the house, I go for a run, I meal plan and vegetable prep and do flashcards with Palmer. I try so hard to do all the things that I know will make me happy, but some days I just. can't. Even though I know it will help, I can't seem to make myself fix my hair and get dressed and get out of the house. I walk through the grocery store on the verge of tears for no apparent reason. I just hurt. I feel soul sick.
But I do think it's getting better. Actually, the more I acknowledge it, the better it gets. I don't ever want to use my depression as a crutch. I don't want people to think I'm trying to get a free pass to not do the things I'm supposed to do. But being able to recognize this as a real thing--and having other people recognizing what I'm dealing with--allows me to offer myself a little grace. I know I can't do it all, no matter how badly I want to. And as I cut myself a break, I find healing. Sometimes cutting myself a break means allowing myself some personal time to exercise and shower. Sometimes it means letting Palmer skip his nap and watch another hour of tv so that I can sleep. And sometimes it means skipping the gym, skipping the meal plan, and reading every book on Palmer's shelf as many times as he wants. The point is that I'm doing the best I can. And since that is enough for my family, it's enough for me. I will make it through this. And I will come out stronger than ever.
