A Mommy Story

Thank you all for the virtual kick in the pants after my last post. I think I had hit a new low in self-loathing, but you all helped me put it in perspective. Pregnancy is a tough gig, and I don’t know how women who have many children do it. Being pregnant with this one has only made me more certain that this will be our last.

(And I hope that all of you who are considering baby #2 weren’t completely swayed against the idea by that post. Seriously, you could have an easy-breezy second pregnancy and no problems at all. You never know.)

I think I also had some kind of bug earlier this week, too. I wasn’t full-out sick, but it was enough to run me down even more than I was before, leaving me in a zombie-like state for several days. Each day I felt a little better, so there’s a good chance that I’m finally getting over it. Although this is a reminder to myself to go get a flu shot. Must get that done soon.

Your words of encouragement really helped me feel better. Before, I felt like no other pregnant woman complained as much as me, but then after reading your comments, I didn’t feel so alone anymore, knowing others have felt the same way, and it’s OK to admit it’s tough. It’s always better to know you’re not the only one.

My next doctor’s appt. is in two weeks, and I will probably start the conversation again about depression. We discussed it at my first appt., and my doctor told me to be aware of my feelings and let her know if I was starting to feel depressed again. While pregnant with Cordy, I was hit with a major bout of depression early in the second trimester. It came out of nowhere, and even though I was so ecstatic about being pregnant, I couldn’t shake off that dark cloud hanging over my head. When my doctor had suggested I was depressed then, I remember feeling so confused. Pregnancy is supposed to be a happy time, right? Depression wasn’t supposed to hit until post-partum, right?

Truth is, I’m one of those people who is susceptible to depression when under the influence of pregnancy hormones. It sucks, and having to make the decision to go on medication while growing a baby is probably one of the hardest things to do. The risks of antidepressants on a baby in utero are small, but small amounts of the drugs do cross the placenta. I made the decision to do it last time, and I’m not against doing it again this time, although I would prefer to hold off as long as possible.

I can’t tell for sure if depression is slowly sneaking back into my head, but after this week I am more aware of the possibility again, and I plan to keep re-evaluating it.

But I also have an amazing support network, too, which helps a lot. I have a loving husband, a family who understands what I’m going through, friends who care (including bloggy friends who give me a useful combo of loving support and stern advice to pull it together), and a child who always seems to know when I’m feeling down and takes that time to be as goofy as possible.

Today Cordy’s tactic was to tell me knock knock jokes. But not in the normal way, for she doesn’t need participation – she does the entire joke herself, pausing dramatically after each part as if to switch characters in her head, although the punchline always fades away into gibberish.

Knock, knock.
Whoz a there?
Owange
Owange who?
Owange-u gwad a benaheuskfkdaj……

Seriously, who can feel down when your toddler is doing a comedy routine for you?

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