Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

Lately I have been wondering how my grandmother's generation and prior dealt with the challenges of motherhood. Becoming a parent is hands down the hardest job I have ever had, this coming from a middle school teacher. Just when I feel ridiculously frustrated or worried, I meet the stranger who looks at my daughters and tells me, "I remember those days. It wasn't easy."

The older sister modeling tummy time for the younger sister.

Eleven weeks postpartum with baby number two and a two year old, I am finding the fluctuation in hormone levels and the overwhelming shift of introducing a new person to the family also brings about postpartum depression and anxiety. When our first child was born, I powered through the symptoms. You tell yourself at first that you are merely sleep deprived and later stressed out from working full-time and then some on top of trying to keep a household together. Last time around I learned that when you fail to nip it in the bud, it can develop into clinical depression and anxiety, which is where I found myself last spring. The doctor I saw about a little over a year ago told me anyone who worked full-time, had a part-time job on the side, with an infant and a new puppy (that my husband agreed to train with all the enthusiasm of a twelve year old boy that has no idea what he just signed up for) would be sitting in that same chair. Enter new baby, and any progress I made in the past year on alleviating symptoms of anxiety and depression, while juggling full-time teaching and homemaker responsibilities less one part-time job (because no sane person keeps going at the same pace when overstretched) has quickly vanished.

But is this postpartum thing just a phenomenon of the added pressure women in my generation have to do it all? It turns out postpartum depression is not a modern ailment. Prior to World War II, this condition was known as insanity of lactation. Curiously enough, many women in the 19th century were afflicted with something called puerperal insanity. It came in three forms ranging from melancholic to manic: pregnancy, parturition, and lactation. In other words, women could show signs of mental illness from the beginning of pregnancy through nursing infants two years after birth (Williamson). The rate of diagnosis varied, but across the board it would seem some cases diagnosed were legitimate while some were likely other causes misdiagnosed as the generically used term of puerperal insanity.

For certain, the standards by which women were judged were not the same. To be specific, most commonly diagnosed was insanity of parturition. Typical symptoms of puerperal insanity were things like a woman "letting herself go", neglect of personal hygiene, and "indifference or hostility to children and/or husbands and women's tendency towards obscene expressions" (Theriot 74). Mild symptoms often reported within a few days after labor were "an intolerance of husband or child, a willful disregard of the doctor's directions, a peevish irritability of temper toward everybody, accompanied by restlessness, sleeplessness, and constipation" (Williamson). Severe symptoms of the manic form of this condition could range from behaviors like "incessant talking, sometimes coherent and sometimes not; an abnormal state of excitement, so that the patient would not sit or lie quietly; inability to sleep, with some patients having little or no sleep for weeks; refusal of food or medicine, so that many patients were fed by force; aversion to the child and/or the husband, sometimes expressed in homicidal attempts; a general meanness toward caretakers; and obscenity in language and sometimes behavior" (Theriot 73). Treatment typically consisted of "the removal of any discoverable cause, absolute rest of body and mind, freedom from the exhausting influences of talkative friends, weaning the baby and its removal form its mother's sight and hearing" (Williamson). If symptoms did not improve, usually a more severe case was diagnosed.

While we have a better understanding of the physical aspects of childbirth and any associated mental illnesses now, there is a mystery to the brain that modern medicine has yet to crack. Since psychology functions by defining what is abnormal, I am forever grateful that I am judged by 21st century standards. On any given day in the past few hazy, sleep-deprived months there has been neglect of personal hygiene, neglect of household duties, and you can only imagine my level of patience for family members on those really tired days. If we were basing a diagnosis off of 19th century standards, I am sure my husband would have grounds to have me committed. Thankfully, the modern day mom gets a free pass because motherhood is hard. Having a newborn is hard.

Yet the real symptoms of concern are the gut-wrenching feelings of panic involved with any social engagement including family, deep feelings of sadness, crying more than usual, and the inability to fall back asleep some nights despite being exhausted. Add to that the anxiety over knowing at some point in the near future a full-time job is waiting for me to take on even more responsibility after a twelve week maternity leave, pondering if it is really worth almost half of my monthly salary to rush my daughters off to a daycare where there could be issues, and knowing that my family cannot really afford to lose my income.

Which leaves me with the toughest decision I have ever had to make, tougher than I thought it would be. The pangs of guilt for not being there for your child when she gets hurt at daycare or having to walk away when she cries as you drop her off in the morning because she does not want you to leave her with a stranger are tough for a mom to take. Walking away from quite possibly the best teaching job I will ever have is not easy either. Yet there comes a time when you have to make the right decision for your family and what you are comfortable with in how you would like to raise your kids, but more importantly for you. For me, it would seem scaling back and taking care of me first for once is the right fit. And we are going on blind faith that it is the right decision.

Sources:
“Health | Infant-Killing and the Victorian Mother.” BBC News, BBC, 15 June 2003, news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/2985632.stm.

Loudon, I. “Puerperal Insanity in the 19th Century.” Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine, vol. 81, Feb. 1968, pp. 76–79., ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1291468/pdf/jrsocmed00165-0018.pdf

Theroit, Nancy. “Diagnosing Unnatural Motherhood: Nineteenth-Century Physicians and 'Puerperal Insanity'.” American Studies, vol. 30, no. 2, 1989, pp. 69–88., journals.ku.edu/index.php/amerstud/article/viewFile/2472/2431

Williamson, A P. “Puerperal Insanity.” Transactions of the World's Congress of Homoeopathic Physicians and Surgeons, held under the auspices of the World's Congress Auxiliary of the World's Columbian Exposition, in Chicago, Ill., May 29 to June 3, 1893. archive.org/details/transactionsofwo00inte

40 Weeks and Counting

Someone asked me this week if I enjoyed being pregnant, and I honestly had to respond no. The miracle of life is certainly amazing, and it is crazy to think how something the size of a poppy seed has grown into something the size of a watermelon all inside of me. But I would not count the past nine months as something easy to get through.

The belly at 40 weeks makes one feel like a beached whale.

It takes a lot of work to grow a tiny human, and there are so many things that the body tolerates in order to do this. While I anticipated the morning sickness (a.k.a. all day nausea that never goes away), I did not anticipate nine months of insomnia, water having a metallic taste, and bleeding gums nearly every time I brushed my teeth. As the weeks wore on, I anticipated my uterus stretching to make room for the growing baby, but I did not anticipate sciatic nerve pain, sore hips, shortness of breath, restless legs, and sharp pains in my abdomen any time I sneezed for months on end. My usually strong immune system became suppressed, which led to nasal congestion every single day, trying to keep a fever at bay while fighting off the stomach flu for nearly five days, and coming down with pink eye of all things.

As a very petite individual, with a starting weight of 112 pounds, my frame seems to have adapted reasonably well to the 44 pounds gained in about nine months, but the final weeks have been the most miserable as my legs started to swell from water retention. Who knew ankles could swell so much, and who knew plantar fasciitis was something that could developed on top of swollen feet?

Those baby kicks that started as something exciting and adorable have certainly gotten stronger and more painful as the baby has run out of room. It hurts when the baby kicks your ribs! While my doctor has reassured me that Baby will not be reenacting the movie Alien any time soon, I still have my doubts after viewing the misshapen curve of my belly on numerous occasions. The skin of my abdomen is stretched to the max and itches all the time, and the area around my belly button is still quite numb for the most part.

After having not felt well for nine months, I am ready to give this kiddo the eviction notice. The thought of giving birth is both exciting and terrifying, but the enthusiasm my husband has displayed as it all becomes more of a reality for him this week is encouraging to say the least. He and I have been on an emotional roller-coaster of feelings throughout the whole pregnancy, going from excitement to worry and fear to now restless anticipation, and it will be interesting to see what life brings postpartum.

For certain, I am thankful to my aunt for giving me a prayer card to St. Gerard (patron saint of mothers) which has helped keep me grounded all this time. The prayer for a mother with child has been a good mantra:

Almighty and everlasting God, through the operation of the Holy Spirit, you prepared the body and soul of the glorious Virgin Mary to be a worthy dwelling place of your divine Son. You sanctified St. John the Baptist, while still in his mother's womb; listen to my prayer. Through the intercession of St. Gerard, watch over my child and me and protect us at the time of delivery. May my child receive the saving graces of Baptism, lead a Christian life and, together with all the members of our family, attain everlasting happiness in heaven. Amen.

My New Respect for Parents

My husband and I were told at the end of December that our baby's 20 week ultrasound scan showed a few cysts. Initially I assumed it was me who had the cysts after the nurse told me on the phone that my doctor was going to wait to see if they go away on their own. After finally getting a chance to sit down with our doctor at the latest monthly check-up this past week and ask about that bit of information, it turns out these cysts were seen on our baby's brain. There was a big long name for this, but bilateral cysts are pretty much the only words I remember.

When these cysts show up, doctors will point out they are sometimes correlated to a chromosomal abnormality that can have serious complications. So my doctor did mention that, but she also was quick to say there were no other markers found on the ultrasound. Stupidly, I looked it up when I got home from the doctor. Because who does not scour the Internet for more information these days? (Probably people who know better than to go down that rabbit hole.) Of course the first results that come up for a search on bilateral cysts on a baby's brain in utero discuss how babies with this particular chromosomal abnormality associated with these kinds of cysts have a higher risk of stillbirth and often do not live past infancy.

Hello, freak out moment!

The reassuring news is that there was nothing indicating physical developmental complications, which would give doctors a high possibility of concern for this chromosomal anomaly. The rational side of me has had to repeatedly remind my husband and myself that if there were strong indications of something atypical with our baby the doctors would be scheduling tests immediately, not waiting weeks to perform another ultrasound as is the plan. While this is quite logical thinking, keeping one's sanity and having patience while we wait until week 28 is easier said than done.

The fact that there are so many results that even came up on an Internet search should tell me this is a fairly common phenomenon. I did find someone's post suggesting a correlation between seeing cysts on an ultrasound and extremely high IQ's in children after birth. I joked to my husband that perhaps we have nothing to worry about because we very likely made our very own Sheldon Cooper (from our favorite TV show The Big Bang Theory). My husband did not seem to find the humor in that.

And so we wait. Now every time the baby kicks me I pray that he or she is healthy because that is the only thing I can do. And I try to remember on days where there is less movement that I may not feel every kick because our baby had to be a rebel and attach him/herself to the front of my uterus.

News like this changes the tone of expectation for the birth of a child. We went from teasing each other about whether we will raise a boy or a girl to concern over the mere survival of this child. It is a gut wrenching fear that sits in the back of your mind and has no comparison for any other fear previously experienced in life. It creeps into your thoughts in the middle of the night as it invades your slumber, and it stalks your thoughts in the middle of the day. It gives me a whole new respect for parents.

But I am grateful for those little things that remind you perhaps everything will be okay. On day two of trying to wrap our minds around this unexpected hiccup, my husband and I received a package in the mail from a former co-worker of mine. She sent us a book to read while we wait for the arrival of our blessed little one. How coincidental is it that just as my husband and I are feeling anxious, a dear friend sends us the book Waiting Is Not Easy! by Mo Willems? In the book, Piggie has a surprise for Gerald, but Gerald is frustrated because he has to wait for the surprise. Piggie reassures him it will be worth it, and in the end Gerald declares it was worth the wait.

And so we wait.

Life's Little Curve Balls

It is a funny thing to stare at a plastic stick in a bathroom at five o'clock in the morning on a Saturday and realize your life will never be the same again. That was where I found myself in early September after my basal body temperature still had not dropped. I had a presumed knowledge of what was likely going on knowing the inner workings of the human body (thank you, Christian Sexuality class from freshman year of high school), but taking an at home pregnancy test and seeing a positive result is still quite surreal.

In actuality, my husband and I had not thought about kids in a while since we have been preoccupied with the can of worms familiarly known as PTSD. This year we learned just how long forty-five days can feel when he spent nearly all of June and July seeking in-patient treatment at a VA hospital after some pretty scary moments in May, and we had been preparing ourselves for an additional forty-five days as he had been scheduled to check back in to a VA hospital for more treatment at the end of September. As a married couple, there certainly have been times where it has felt like we are front-loading the "for worse" part of our marriage vows. And after nearly three years of marriage, we were naturally starting to wonder if kids were even possible, but one plastic stick in the wee hours of the morning ended any thought of that sort.

After a little breakfast while watching some morning news, an hour later that positive test result was still there staring back at me. Yep, this was really happening. The only remaining question was whether or not to wake my husband and tell him before leaving for work or wait until after work that day. Anyone married to a foreign war veteran learns quickly that waking a sleeping soldier is not usually recommended unless absolutely necessary.

In the end, telling my husband right away was probably the best decision made. While I contemplated all day what will happen in the next nine months, I found myself getting nervous about everything. I was not really sure if my husband comprehended what I had told him earlier while he was still half asleep, but then, at just the right moment, I received a text message from him sharing his excitement with me. When I expressed my nervousness, he reminded me how awesome it is to become parents.

Many years ago, a lot of friends questioned why I chose someone like my husband. At first glance it looks like he and I have nothing in common; he is certainly not like me in many aspects (thank goodness). Yet we are very much on the same wavelength, and I am often reminded how much of a match he is for me. He is not my duplicate but my compliment. Whenever I am weak, he is strong. If he had any nervous thoughts, I was not made aware of them, and that was exactly what I needed at the time.

After about two days of keeping this exciting news to ourselves, my husband was ready to burst. We spent that Sunday evening with my family celebrating my youngest brother's sixteenth birthday, and every time we caught each other's eye, a slight smirk crossed both of our faces. At one point my husband pulled me aside to tell me how he was going crazy keeping quiet, and he needed to tell someone. At first I attempted to convince him to wait a bit before we said anything, but he pointed out that everyone was there. When you are part of a large family, getting everyone together all at the same time can be tricky. My aunt and uncle had even stopped over, so it sure was an ideal time.

Unquestionably, there are moments of life that can be etched in your memory, and the look on my parents faces will always stay with me. From ecstatic grins to wide-open eyes full of surprise, the news of a baby has to be some of the best news in life. However, the best comment has to go to my uncle when  he said, "Good, now she can put on some weight." To which my sister responded, "Yeah, in her tummy." Needless to say, inheriting Grandma's metabolism has made me the butt of quite a few skinny jokes throughout my lifetime.

At 10 weeks, babies are about 1.25 inches long. So tiny!

After the excitement calmed, the pregnancy symptoms set in. For me, it took all of two days after getting a positive test result for nausea to grasp its hold, and it did not really let up until week thirteen. Morning sickness is really not an accurate description when the feeling lasts morning, noon, and night. Even worse, things that once worked as a remedy for feeling ill suddenly became things that exacerbated the problem, and tips from medical professionals only really took the edge off. If nausea were bad enough, add insomnia, frequent urination, shortness of breath due to increased heart rate, heartburn, fatigue, and (my personal favorite) vomiting all to the same day. Just when you think you survived the day, you realize that you get to likely do it all again the next day unless by some miracle your symptoms are cured. Eating enough food is an important thing to do, but even the thought of certain foods makes one want to gag when suffering from nausea. Oh, and water! It is hard to drink a lot of water when it tastes like metal. I am fairly certain I lost more weight than put on during the first trimester.

At 11 weeks, there is more than just bloating.

Despite those things, seeing our little tyke at ten weeks along during an ultrasound certainly makes it all worth it. My husband's reaction to the whole experience was priceless. Seeing that heart beating on the screen and watching those little arms and legs wiggle around is a great reminder of what a great miracle new life is. There is a living human getting ready to greet the world, and that miracle trumps all the difficulties that precede the arrival of that little bundle of joy. May cannot get here soon enough!

At 14 weeks, there is definitely a baby bump!

Thankfully, the end of the first trimester and start of the second has brought some relief. My body still has moments of nausea if I do not keep enough fuel in it throughout the day, but it is not quite the same as that initial constant feeling of illness that plagues you for weeks on end. It certainly came at the right time for me, but truth be told, part of me still wishes it were as easy as the stork from Disney's Dumbo making a special delivery.