I am going to attempt to sum up the end of July 2019 and all of August 2019 without sounding like the most ungrateful son of bitch that ever walked this planet.
It fucking sucked.
Jolee is healthy. I am healthy. My family is healthy. My kids are alive and breathing.
But, July and August fucking sucked.
If you recall, on July 2, I met with the lactation consultant. You can read about that visit, here. I found out Jolee has some oral dysfunction issues and I was going to have to take her to see a chiropractor and speech therapist. You can read about our first visits with the chiropractor here and the speech therapist here.
We were seeing the speech therapist and the chiropractor weekly. Oh AND I was also seeing a physical therapist weekly because I was having some major issues in the pelvic region after having Jolee.
Between running around to all of these appointments, doing all of Jolees exercises, trying to get her to take a bottle, going to all of my physical therapy appointments…I could feel myself start to slip.
I slipped right into postpartum depression.
Just like that.
That’s all it took.
I tried SO hard. SO HARD to avoid it. But, I couldn’t help it. It just happened.
I tried so hard to write. To vent. Anything to put my thoughts on paper and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t muster up anything. I just had no desire to actually write out how I was feeling.
My postpartum depression looks a lot different this time around.
In the past when I had postpartum depression, I basically refused to leave the house. This time, I found myself wanting to leave the house SOMETIMES. Before it was NEVER. Now it’s sometimes. When those SOMETIMES happened, I would legitimately have a good time.
The SOMETIMES were very far and few between though.
I can always tell when it hits because I do not want to do anything. I want to stay at my house because everything seems easier. I do not want to go out and do anything. Everything just seems so hard, and in reality, it’s not hard.
A factor that I had this time that I didn’t have in the past was the fact that Jolee literally would not take a bottle.
I was living my life in 3 hours increments.
I was her food source.
I literally could not get away from her.
I wholeheartedly believe this is what drove my emotions into the ground.
I was ready to have a night out. I was ready to break away for more than 3 hours at a time.
I was supposed to be finding myself again.
Instead, I was confining myself to to my house with a baby attached to my boob every 3 hours.
Every time I would try and give her the bottle, I just got so mad and sad. And I knew she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t take the bottle. She had so many issues. And I knew I was doing the right thing by taking her to all of these appointments and doing her exercises.
By my heart sank into my stomach every single freaking time she wouldn’t take the bottle.
She was just chipping away at the wall I had built up to protect myself from PPD.
Enough was enough. I had all I could handle.
Again, I know it’s not her fault, but it was just a lot to handle.
I became so overwhelmed. So fast. It was like the blink of eye and here I was dealing with postpartum depression again.
Thankfully, this time, as with Briar, I was able to recognize it right away. I probably put off actually admitting it a little longer than necessary.
I admitted it to Scott first. He just kept saying over and over that I needed to verbally tell him how he could help. For the moment, it’s nothing he can help with. I need to get out of my own way, first. But, I’m in therapy still. I am working out. I have a good support system. I know this is temporary and I will overcome it.
Even knowing that still does not make it any easier.
I just keep telling myself that I have to be strong for my girls. I know I have to be strong for myself too, but my girls keep me going. Even on my bad days. Raelynn and Briar keep me going, especially on the bad days.