Anesthesia Thoughts. My LSH Hysterectomy Recovery.

10 days after my surgery, I did my first full 2.5 mile walk, it felt great! 

When I became aware of anything after my hysterectomy, I was waking up from anesthesia and my first thought was how thirsty I was. My post-op nurse brought me no less than 3 cups of ice water and I drank them right down. I wasn't in pain, I felt pretty great, though groggy. I heard the nurse telling somebody that I was ready to go to the second floor and all I could think was that L&D at St. Luke's was on the second floor and did I have to have another baby?? My groggy brain couldn't remember being pregnant and I really didn't feel up to giving birth at that moment, thank you!

I vaguely remember saying "Not the second floor!" to the nurse and him assuring me that they actually have a surgical observation department there. I was so relieved! No baby! I had four of my children at that hospital so I was wheeled up to the second floor for the fifth time but for a different reason. When I got to my room, they asked me if I wanted to walk from the door to the bed and I did. I felt a little bit shaky and couldn't quite stand up straight because of my incision pain but I did it! They put boots on my legs that squeezed them to prevent blood clots, it was kind of relaxing, like a massage. The only thing that bothered me was having a catheter, I have had them before, in labor, but only when I also had an epidural. It's not a pleasant feeling when you're not numb.

Once I was settled into the hospital room, I called my husband, who was at work. After his procedure in October, there was very little I could do for him so we decided that it was better for him to be at work rather than sitting around in the hospital. I was tired and not really up to visitors anyway. I immediately started plotting to get the nurses to agree to let me get up and have my catheter out, but they explained that I needed it so my bladder could heal after the trauma of the surgery. I was on a clear diet but got to have black coffee which was heaven after having to skip my coffee that morning. I rested and watched classic TV and the nurses were absolutely great! My tendency to downplay everything caught up with me though. I hadn't asked for any pain medication since I got out of surgery and around 9 that evening, the pain became unbearable. I learned my lesson about trying to be a hero, and that surgery is not like childbirth! I've never been in the hospital except to have a baby, and sometimes, not even then. When I gave birth to Dori, for example, I made lasagna that morning while in the early stages of labor, had him an hour after arriving at the birth center,  and came home in time for dinner. James used to say that my births are so quick that it's like a trip to the "baby store". So recovery from anything is new to me and I wasn't quite sure how to handle it. My instinct is to push myself but in this case, it's not a good instinct.

The next day I finally got the hated catheter out and walked laps around my room to prove my legs worked and got to eat for the first time in 48 hours. James came to pick me up and I was able to walk out of the hospital on my own steam.

The physical recovery, for me, was- nothing. It is easy for me to forget anything happened. I haven't had much pain at all and almost no bleeding. Emotionally? Not so much. It isn't so much that I'm sad that I had to lose my uterus, I am completely happy not being able to have more children. But apparently, a surgery like that causes your ovaries to become traumatized and go on hiatus for a bit. So I have symptoms that are similar to sudden menopause, but temporary. I find myself crying over everything lately. Feeling sad but about nothing in particular. I can be a little short and testy with my family. I'm also very tired in the afternoon which I'm told is normal.

So almost 3 weeks later I feel....unsettled? Every once in a while, I get a feeling like you have when you're on vacation and it hits you that you forgot some important thing at home. I'll be doing something else and get this thought, "my uterus is gone!" and have a wave of panic. I'm sure I'll get used to it, I mean, they can't put it back so I guess I have to!

Overall, it's been a roller-coaster. I went back to my normal routine very quickly and definitely experience some more pain and swelling when I overdo things. Some days I feel like nothing happened and other days I feel really tired and emotional. I know that's all normal but I feel like I'm stuck in a weird in-between stage, not quite in recovery mode but not quite back to normal.

In a lot of ways, I feel so much better than I did before surgery. My asthma immediately improved. My resting heart rate, which had been creeping up over the preceding year is back to my normal 60's. I know once I'm fully recovered and my ovaries "wake up", I'll feel like myself again. But for now, I am having occasional hot flashes and a weird empty ache feeling. I'm looking forward to spring and better days ahead!

The Lump of Coal

The Lump of Coal

I don't feel well.

It feels like there's a lump of hot coal in my belly, just to the right of my belly button.

Sometimes I feel an odd tugging as if something is pulling my internal organs every so slightly over to the right.

Sometimes I'm doubled over as the hot coal inside my belly smolders and burns.

It's been like boiling a frog.

At first, it was "just" heavy bleeding. Bleeding so much and so quickly that no tampon, cup, or pad could contain it. Sleeping strategically, with both a cup and a giant pad, I would be careful even in my sleep so that I wouldn't shift enough to bleed through the pad when the cup overfloweth (as it always did) so I wouldn’t bleed on my white sheets. I’ve been menstruating for a long time, 26 years, and it was the first time it seemed feasible to wear an adult diaper or put one of those Chux on the bed that they use when you give birth.

Then it was the dull ache that wasn't menstrual cramps, wasn't a stomachache, was just...there.

Then I noticed that my digestion was impacted, as my uterus burgeoned up out of my pelvis to a size that rivals that of a four-month pregnancy. Except I'm not pregnant, and the hormones that women have in pregnancy that allows their uterus to expand without resistance are not present. So my stomach is being pushed upward by my uterus, and this creates bloating and heartburn that used to be a pregnancy symptom.

I toss and turn, hugging a pillow to my stomach and curling around it, hoping to contain the pain.

My toddlers have to sit next to me instead of on my lap because I can't stand any pressure on my lower abdomen. Even their elbows and knees as they squirm around make me wince.

When the doctor probed my belly before my ultrasound, I flinched. It hurts. It's tender and hard below my seven-kids-bread-dough belly, like a painful, overinflated balloon with a lump of hot coal inside.

I've never taken naps, not in 18 years of raising children. In the last two weeks, I have desperately needed naps. By the afternoon, I'm so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open.

I was bleeding for 3 weeks straight in June and for 2 weeks again in December. I wear a pantiliner or a pad more than I don’t.

My last period made it so I could not leave the house.  This bleeding involves sudden, huge gushes that come out too fast for the maxi pad to absorb, so the blood runs down my legs, feeling exactly like I've wet my pants, except it is blood.

Last month, when I thought the bleeding was finally over, I got in the shower,  and after I washed my hair, I looked down and saw that I was standing in a puddle of bloody water with blood streaming down my legs like I was Janet Leigh’s character in the Psycho shower scene. It is alarming to have that much blood leave your body, especially when it’s not supposed to happen. I am so tired of bleeding. On that occasion, I sobbed as the blood went down the drain.

I'm ready for surgery.  I need to get my energy back and not feel that a little more of my life force is ebbing away every day. I need to walk up a flight of stairs without becoming short of breath. I need to be able to stop having my period and pain rule my life and determine what I will do on any given day. I need to rid myself of the burning hot coal that is stealing my health and my perception of myself as a young, vibrant woman.

One of my professors once described me as having the energy of five people. Now I would settle for the energy of one regular, 38 year old person. Since I had Gretel my symptoms have gotten so much worse and they are impacting my quality of life more and more by the day. I’m ready to close this chapter of my life.

I'm ready.

***Today I had a hysterectomy! No more lump of hot coal! (though my incisions will be a bit touchy for a while)

One Flew (out of) the Cuckoo's Nest

My oldest son turned 18 in April and went off to Navy boot camp this summer. He has now spent several months thousands of miles from home, and it's been a huge adjustment for everyone. I have six other children at home, including two toddlers. I remember when I was in my 20's and had five small children, imagining that I would be happy and relieved when my children were grown and moved out. It didn't turn out that way!

Of all the things "they" don't tell you about when you bring home a newborn baby, I think this is the most unexpected. I remember the stereotype of moms being sad when they have an empty nest, but my nest is actually quite full. So why am I so sad?

When my son was in boot camp, I found a lot of solace in a military mom group, where us moms dealt with the culture shock of having our children suddenly thousands of miles away and unable to communicate, save via weekly letters. In some way that I can't fully explain, I think the transition would have been gentler if he had gone to college as so many kids do at that age, although I'm sure being a college mom has its own challenges! Having a child embark on their own life has brought about, for me, such an overflow of emotion that it caught me by surprise.

It's not that I want my children to stay home with me forever, God knows that we had our struggles during the teen years, after all! It's just a mixture of immense pride, love, fear of the unknown, and sadness that this phase of my parenting him is over all at once. When I think back over the last 18 years, I have regrets of things I did and didn't do, times I was too quick to anger and too harsh, and times that I wished my days away because of the monotony of parenting a young child. But it's not that I'm stuck in regret, I think that despite everything, I did enjoy his childhood. It is hard for me to believe that so much time has passed. I am as astonished that he is an adult as I would be if I woke up tomorrow and my 20-month-old daughter announced that she was moving out!

Since I was 18 when I got pregnant and 19 when I gave birth, part of it is disbelief that I am old enough to be some adult's mother. Because I started my family so young, and then, after a five-year gap, started over with two babies in my mid-30's, I feel like I don't quite belong in any "mom group." To use a nautical analogy, I feel unmoored. What am I now? How can I be an empty nester with a full-to-bursting nest? How can I be both a teenage and advanced maternal age mom? Am I a new-old mom?

As I write this today, my oldest boy is flying back to his barracks after a week-long visit over the holidays in which we revisited some of our traditions from the years he was home with me. He also showed his out-of-shape and weak-muscled mother how to lift weights! We took him out to dinner, we spent time just hanging out, and I cried a lot. I'm excited that he's going back to his newfound profession and routine. I'm so very proud of the man he's become. But I can't help but see visions of the bright-haired toddler that I used to take on a daily walk in the stroller, while he excitedly pointed out houses and cars and his favorite, the grey horse down the road who would walk over to the fence and say hello.

I think I'm ready to let that boy go on his adventures. I pray he will fly high, but come back down to earth (and us) sometimes.

I was in a Cult.

I'm finally ready to say it.

I was in a cult.

I didn't know I was in a cult when I was in it (nobody ever does). It's not like you're getting ready on a Sunday morning and say to your kids, "come on guys, we have to get to the <insert worship facility> so we can work on our cultism!". No, it's insidious. Everything seems reasonable to you. When I look back at the things I believed and the things I did, I feel like the stupidest person alive. Did I BELIEVE that nonsense? But I did! And I know that I'm an intelligent person. How did it happen? How did I let it take over my life? Why didn't I heed the giant waving red flags and sirens along the way?

Here's how it works: You either are raised in the cult from a very young age so the behavior and beliefs become normalized OR you come into the cult later in life, when you're seeking something to give your life meaning. Cults are very good at "love bombing" and seem to have a sixth sense about people that are searching for belongingness (which is on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs) and purport to be capable of filling that person's need. Of course, once you're "in," the love-bombing stops and you become just another rank and file member. But, by then, your world has shrunk to the four walls of your worship place, and the only people you have relationships with are those that are also "in."

When you're in a cult, everybody polices each other. It's human nature to deflect and as long as you're pointing the finger at someone else, it takes the heat off yourself. When you are in a cult, the leaders tell you that if you do, say, and think the "right" things, you will be safe. Another common factor in cults is focusing on apocalyptic "end times." My cult was no exception. Every day, we were to prepare and be on guard for this end time. So it didn't matter if you ever got an education, got a good job, or even got married. Having children was actively discouraged because what kind of monster would deliberately bring children into a world that was seen as soon to come to a violent end?

The real reason that people were discouraged from having outside goals or relationships or even to have children was a straightforward one: why would they want people to have divided loyalties or something else to spend their time and money on? People with small children were less likely to be actively involved in <insert pointless mandated activity>

I remember being chastised many times by our "religious leaders" about the fact that I had (at the time) five children. I was asked rude questions about my sex life and birth control choices. I found myself reflexively apologizing for my fertility. A story about some medical condition or accident of contraception was expected. It didn't make it ok, but if the other person heard that you were remorseful for your rampant irresponsibility, they could excuse you and nod sadly at your folly. Looking back, I genuinely regret the time I spent being less happy about my pregnancies than I should have been. I regret all the sheepish explanations I gave to those who chastised me.

I wasted 29 years of my life on a false and harmful belief. I was never faking, I was a true believer. I blocked out all criticisms, dropping anti-<insert cult here> pamphlets as if they were poison. I turned my head away from the protestors outside of our yearly gatherings. Now I think, "if only I had listened!"

I can't put all the blame on the leaders though. I did it. I participated. I shunned people. I hurt people. I raised my children in the cult. I am guilty. I could spend the rest of my life wearing a hair shirt and beating my chest (oh, how easy the Biblical allegories come to those raised in bible-thumping cults!), but I choose to do something else.

I'm going to speak out when the occasion calls. I'm going to raise my children differently. And I'm currently enrolled in college, with the goal of getting my Master's and becoming a licensed therapist. That's right, a big part of my successful exit from a cult is a secular, licensed therapist. I wouldn't have had the tools otherwise. I hope to help others with the tools they need when they are ready.

Unlike cult members, I will never seek out others and force my beliefs on them. I will never tell people how to live. I don't even mind if someone reads this and thinks, "That isn't a cult!". I am not here to tell anyone how to feel. I just know that for my husband and me, this was a terribly destructive force in our lives. It has taken us years to unravel the damage, and some will never be undone.

But, we are happy. For 25 years, I had a nightmare about some invisible force that I knew was coming. I had to shut all the windows and doors of our house, otherwise, it would get in. Each time I dreamed this, I would be panicking, racing around the house, trying to get all the windows closed, while my family laughed at me and persisted in undoing my work. When the cult I was in talked about end times, I knew that that was what I was dreaming of. How frightening for a child to live daily, feeling that the world would end in a terrible fashion, while spirit and earthly forces persecuted members of my religion. That was a heavy burden for a child who was already prone to anxiety. I also developed obsessive thoughts centered around religious themes and at one point became convinced (at 8 years old) that I had committed the unforgivable sin and would be destroyed by God.

I still have moments, over 5 years from the time we exited the cult, where the realization dawns on me that I am no longer carrying that weight. That I don't have to live every day in fear of end times or keep myself segregated from those that aren't in the same cult. And every time, I feel like I've won the lottery. I'm free!

P.S. I have deliberated avoided using the name of the cult I was in because it doesn't even matter which one I was in. But, if you're interested, it was Jehovah's Witnesses.

A Simple Kind of Life

Recently, I was washing the dishes (by hand, because I hate dishwashers, or at least our dishwasher) and as I was rinsing the bowl in the picture, I had some thoughts. This plain white mixing bowl is actually very special to me. I've had it for about 16 years. I vividly remember where I got it, it was from a Lilian Vernon catalog, that mail order gift company. I used to love those catalogs! As a SAHM with no car, my days were very long and I often filled my time by poring over magazines and catalogs. I used to love the Lilian Vernon one because the kitchen items were affordable and since we also didn't have much money, I would always dream of what I would buy if I could. 

At this time, we were living in our little two-bedroom apartment in Boise which had blue carpet. I decorated with my hand-me-down furniture and what few knick-knacks we could afford. I remember that I dreamed of a yellow kitchen in those days and one day, realized I could afford to buy a few things. I circled a set of plain white mixing bowls that were on sale and added adorable lemon salt-and-pepper shakers. We didn't have the internet then so I called in the order (on the phone!) and waited excitedly for my purchases to arrive. I don't even remember what happened to the salt-and-pepper-shakers and all the mixing bowls have been broken over the years except this one, but it reminds me so much of the simple days when I watched every penny and was so excited to get a set of cheap, plain white mixing bowls from a mail-order catalog. 

In many ways, my life is just as simple now, by design. I look around my house and see so many well-loved things that I have had since I got married. A cake pan, a pasta strainer, I have always had the attitude that you keep something until it can't be used anymore, there's no need to replace things! Because of that, I have been using a box grater with no handle for probably 17 years! But it works! I still have a casserole dish that I received as a wedding present nearly 19 years ago, cobalt blue and missing a lid. Probably half my kitchen items were wedding gifts, and the other half are Fiestaware that I bought at Goodwill and thrift shops. 

As I closed my business, I made a conscious choice to go back to a simpler existence. These days, if I get my step count on my Fitbit, the kids are happy and not fighting, and dinner is on the table, I consider the day a success. I'm still learning to adapt (again) to a simple kind of life. Most of the time, it feels just fine! 

Going Big and Going Home

 

Seven years ago this month, a stay-at-home mom of five pressed "submit" on her first Etsy listing. I look back on my then nearly ten years of being what I affectionately referred to as a "housewife" almost as if it were a dream. I was great at it. Really, really, great. My house was orderly and tastefully decorated. My children were in coordinated clothes. I myself never left the house without full makeup and often wore clothes I made myself. Oh, how I loved it. Baking a pie in the afternoon while listening to AM radio. Scrubbing the kitchen floor with a scrub brush and a bucket of soapy water. I was a relic.

And then I went through the looking glass. A twisting, winding path that would lead me to the picture above. On the floor of Nasdaq as confetti rained down. Yes, I was nearly 7 months pregnant at the time and my lower back was killing me, but I had traveled to NYC. I rode the subway! I visited Etsy HQ and sold my soap in Times Square. And if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere (as the saying goes).

But did I make it? I'm still not sure.

This year I closed my shop. It was a painful decision. I had more than 30,000 sales on Etsy by that time. I should be proud, I worked really hard at it for a long time. For a brief shining moment, it was my dream and I imagined myself turning it into an empire. And then it turned into something else. By the end, it stung.

The beginning of the end started just a few months after that moment on the Nasdaq floor. That July, had given birth to my sixth child but something wasn't right with me. I was suffering from postpartum depression that caused crippling anxiety. I could hardly bear to open my emails in the morning. I started to avoid them, going longer and longer before responding to customers. I had handed over the day-to-day operations to my husband and teenage son while I recovered. But when I had imagined going back to handling everything, I found that I wasn't ready. So my husband (who worked full-time) was burning the midnight oil every night making products while I ordered supplies and printed labels and answered emails and our son shipped orders. Things started to slip through the cracks. I remember clearly sitting on my bed with my laptop open to convos, holding the baby, with tears streaming down my face because I was dreading opening my messages. I started to get complaints about the slow response time and the slower shipping time. They were legitimate complaints but I felt powerless to address them. My mental state was not good and I simply couldn't handle being back at work yet. But I felt obligated to stay open because by this time, I had taken out loans for operating expenses and these loans required me to be open, making daily sales. At this point, I was also responsible for making a good portion of our family income. With a new baby and new expenses, I couldn't do anything else but keep plodding along.

Then one day, I opened my shop and realized I had lost my five star rating. I was devastated. It was then that I realized something had to change. I ended up going on vacation mode in order to catch up and started to do that whenever I felt the need. During the times that I was closed to catch my breath, I noticed that I felt happier, freer. I knew that my focus had changed and that my business was no longer bringing me joy. And wasn't that the point in the first place? To make our lives better?

By the beginning of 2016, the seed was planted in my head that my shop had an expiration date. In August 2016, I started college at Northwest Nazarene University as a 36 year old freshmen. It was time to move on to my next stage. I also found out I was pregnant with my seventh child, my only daughter. I felt like the universe was telling me I was making the right choice. But I knew I had to keep my business going until I could wrap it up in an organized fashion and after I had paid off all my loans. I also wanted to get to 30,000 sales just because. After my daughter was born, I had learned my lesson about overextending myself and I took a lengthy maternity leave. No more returning convos from my hospital bed as I had in 2015.

I closed my shop for good in October, after making my final payment to the bank that loaned me operating capital. It was over. For the first time in seven years, I was able to decorate my house for Christmas, set up my Christmas village, bake cookies and watch movies with my kids. As sad as I was (and am) about the end of PuurBody it was 100% the right decision. I am so grateful for every customer that believed in me and took a chance on my business when it was so new. I feel guilty sometimes that I was not able to "go big" but instead chose to "go home" but I know in my heart it was the right step.

I am not sure what I will do about my product formulas, which were all painstakingly developed by me and were hard for me to even share with my husband when he started learning to make products. I have received many emails from former customers who want to order my natural deodorant. I thought of just giving them the formula but I don't feel ready to give up my "babies" and am not sure what I will do with my proprietary information in the future. Sometimes I'm tempted just to whip up a batch of deodorant and gift it to those who have asked but I feel that would start me down the road to another business and I really don't want to go there! I definitely have the entrepreneurial spirit and often think of ideas for other business ventures and have to mentally slap myself to prevent me from doing them.

Now I am a stay-at-home-mom again and a Sophomore in college, pursuing my Master's degree. Life is good. I have come home.

Finding my Joy

Since I wrote last, I have been in homebody mode, in my winter break for college and stuck under a historic winter storm that has dumped unprecedented amounts of snow and meant that we have been hovering around zero degrees farenheit.

I've been thinking a lot about what I want for this year, as people are apt to do after New Year's and I'm finding myself gravitating to many of the same hobbies that I have not had time for in years. Meal planning, couponing and crocheting have all been happening. I have crocheted a soft pink lacy blanket for the expected baby girl and started another. I am anxious to get back to my studies as I find that I really enjoy being a college student. This upcoming semester I will be studying some subjects that I really enjoy, like Literature and Christian Theology.

I dyed my hair platinum blonde with rose quartz ombre in what is left of my bright red hair that I had months ago. I am still feeling unsettled and sometimes like I'm not accomplishing enough but I am thankful that I am adapting well to my new reality. Gone are the coffee-fueled all-nighters and the pressure to meet sales goals. Now I am taking my sales as they come and spending more time working on the things that are truly "Important to Me". I also watched the documentary, "For Joey" about Joey Feek and her cancer battle. It is really hard to feel sorry for oneself when presented with a story like that, and that's a good thing.

I used to be a Top Etsy Seller, but I'm not anymore. And why I'm Okay with that (Usually)

They Are Not Long - Ernest Dowson

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,

Love and desire and hate;

I think they have no portion in us after

We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses,

Out of a misty dream

Our path emerges for a while, then closes

Within a dream.

I came back to my little old blog because this is where it all began. That picture on my blog? It was taken almost exactly 6 years ago, right after I opened my silly little Etsy shop with zero expectations. I feel like I've lived 100 lifetimes since then and become someone I don't even remember becoming.

So allow me to sit on my rocking chair, children, while I tell you a story. How my silly little hobby became a business that at one time provided half my family income. How I went from 0 sales to nearly 30,000 on Etsy and how I ultimately, failed.

Six years ago I was a stay-at-home mom with five children and I was just trying to navigate the economic times, which for us were...bad. My days were spent figuring out how to make it all work. I baked, I sewed, I took care of children. I loved it. But I thought I could help stretch the budget a bit by making soap. Then I thought I could sell a few bars here and there for some extra cash. Oh, poor, sweet, naive 2010 me!

Well, anyway, it ended up exploding more than I could have imagined. On April 16, 2015, I found myself standing on the selling floor at Nasdaq, along with other Etsy sellers, ringing handmade bells as Etsy.com went public. At six months pregnant, I traveled to New York and walked down Broadway. I sold my products at a booth in Times Square. It was amazing and memorable.  In the last 6 years, my business has kept food on the table during the worst of the Great Recession. At one time, it paid for a bi-weekly cleaning service and a part-time employee. I bought my children clothes and books and shoes and gadgets. We went to Disneyland twice. And then I had my son, Felix. From the first night in the hospital, I suffered from extreme PPA which meant I couldn't sleep and sat on my bed crying while worrying over my Etsy reviews, which were suffering. I simply couldn't keep up anymore and my husband and son were taking over most tasks. After I got over the worst of my depression, which took at least 6 months, I no longer had the desire to outsell everybody. All I wanted was...peace.

Yet, how could I continue contributing to my family in the way we had become used to? So I soldiered on. I stopped being able to create new fragrances and products, so I just kept making the same old things. I lost my competitive edge. I didn't keep up with changes, I didn't keep my product line fresh. I phoned it in for a good year. And it showed! This past summer, I found out I was pregnant with my seventh child, a girl after six boys. A child that will likely be my last child ever. I do not want a repeat of July 2015. I need to find joy in my life again and move on to the next step. I don't have the energy to compete with other shops, I'm not good at innovating right now. Basically, I suck. I'm no Estee Lauder. And that's okay.

This fall, I enrolled in Northwest Nazarene University in order to ultimately get my Master's Degree. I have plans for the future again! I'm a full-time student at 36, pregnant with my seventh child! I have a son that will be going off to college himself in 2018. It is a busy and exciting time. I have cried a lot of tears at the prospect of my Etsy shop becoming a footnote in my life, or maybe a sidebar. It certainly will not be the focus of my day-to-day activities as is has for so long. I will still continue making products but likely I will cut my product line down by at least half.

It has been a grieving process realizing that I need to do this, it feels like somebody died. I've cried a lot of tears over this.  But I hope, in time, it will just be a happy memory of what I did from 2010-2016, and I won't feel the embarrassment that I currently feel at having not "made it big" or "created an empire" or whatever if was that I was so hell-bent on doing for so long. I've learned so much in the last six years. Mostly, that where I am truly happy and fulfilled is right here, planning my weekly grocery shopping or baking bread. It was quite a ride, and now that this era is coming to an end, I'm both sad and grateful.

Thank you to everyone that helped me make it happen.

I will be back!

Tired Mama Cooks

I love tuna casserole. It reminds me of being a kid! Unfortunately, my husband does NOT like tuna casserole. Something about texture. Whatever.

He recently told me to stop not making all the things he doesn't like (enough double negatives there?) so I threw together a made-from-scratch tuna casserole while he was at the gym. No sodium laden condensed soup here or weird cracker crumb topping (though I secretly like that). It's so easy and cheap! And it was a win with my kiddos.

Tired Mama Tuna Casserole

• Large can of light tuna (12 oz) in water
• Two cups milk (lowfat is fine)
• 4Tbls olive oil or butter
• 1 tsp celery salt
• 1/4 tsp sage
• 4 TBLS flour
• 1lb whole wheat penne
• 1/2 cup seasoned bread crumbs
• 1 cup shredded colby-blend cheese

Melt butter in saucepan, add flour, stir into a smooth paste. Add celery salt, sage, and milk. Cook and stir until thickened and bubbly and then 1 minute more. Drain tuna, add to sauce. Cook pasta (I do mine in a rice cooker!) to just past al-dente, drain. Grease large casserole dish, add noodles, then sauce, mix gently with a wooden spoon and smooth the top. Add cheese, then seasoned bread crumbs. Cover with foil and bake at 350 for 30 minutes. 

'Twas Brillig. My Fight with Postpartum Anxiety (PPA)

"...Beware the Jabberwok, my son 

the jaws that bite, the claws that catch"

On July 6th, I drove to the hospital to be induced. I was expecting my sixth child. A much wanted, beloved baby boy. I was nervous about the induction but with my history of precipitous labor, it seemed like the best choice, particularly since I was GBS positive and wanted to have time to receive my antibiotics. However, although I was 39 weeks +2, my cervix was very unfavorable, so I knew it would be a long haul. When we arrived at the hospital, my doula was there, and my awesome midwife started the induction. For the first 10 hours, nothing really happened. We walked the halls, ate breakfast and then lunch, napped. It was peaceful and relaxing. At dinnertime, still no change so we decided that we would start some pitocin. I sent my husband James home to be with our other children. My doula and I walked to the lobby and went up and down the stairs and did squats to try to get the baby lower. At 7pm, my water broke! It seemed things were finally happening. I called my husband and my midwife back to the hospital and labor began in earnest. I remember feeling so taken care of and loved throughout the entire experience, which ended up being a 24 hour marathon. At 8:02 AM, 24 hours after arriving at the hospital, Felix Heathrow was finally born. When I saw his face, it was like seeing the faces of all my other children. He was so beautiful, and so healthy. 

It was truly the happiest day of my life. As the mother of six, it seems to me that with each child, the love I feel for them is multiplied by the love I feel for my other children. So by the time Felix arrived, I had so much love, I felt that I could burst. After getting settled in my room, I sent James home again to be with our other children. I wanted to be alone with the baby. We spent a blissful day, him resting on my chest, me breathing him in. But that first night, things started to change. At midnight, a nurse came to get vitals on both of us. I had had an IV for the first 12 hours after his birth and was pretty uncomfortable and by then, had been awake for 36 hours. When she put Felix on the scale and announced his weight, I was horrified. It showed he had lost a pound in 12 hours! How could that be? It turned out to be a scale malfunction, but after that I was on high alert for problems with his weight and feeding. By 3AM, I still hadn't slept and called James and through tears, told him I needed him with me. The night seemed endless. Finally morning came and I was dying to be released from the hospital. I felt that if I could just get home, things would be better. 

"But I'm not sad!"

Postpartum depression can be a very isolating experience for mothers experiencing it, however, there is a lot more information out there than even a decade ago. Newly delivered mothers are often told to be on the lookout for sadness, excessive crying, feeling detached from their babies. I had none of that. I was downright blissful when I snuggled with my perfect little bundle of baby. The whole world receded and I cared about nothing else but caring for him. But I was terrified. Every night, as dusk settled, I became more and more agitated. Nighttime was a nightmare for me. When I slept, which wasn't often, I had terrifying dreams that left me exhausted. I felt like I existed in a horror movie that I couldn't shut off. When I cried, it was tears of terror. I developed an almost violent aversion to my business, the business I had worked so hard on for the past four years. The business I grew from a tiny seedling into an enterprise that provided my family with income. I literally couldn't stand to return emails, or even look at my inbox. I stopped answering my phone, shut off the ringer because every sound from my phone was like impending doom. 

The effort of withstanding the adrenaline in my system made me sick. Every morning I was dry heaving in the bathroom. I shoveled food that was served to me into my mouth without tasting it. I didn't care about my appearance anymore. Through nine months of my pregnancy, I wore winged liquid liner every day. When Felix was born I never touched my makeup bag and cared not. I hadn't been out of the house without makeup since I was 13 years old. Through 5 prior pregnancies and postpartums, I still put effort into how I looked, because it made me feel better. Now I showered and brushed my hair mechanically and didn't so much as look at my myself in the mirror for days on end. My business suffered. I closed my shop for a couple of weeks because I was in no shape to run it, but felt guilty about not having it open and reopened it, leaning on my husband and teenage son to do the bulk of work. I simply couldn't do it. The simplest tasks were overwhelming. I spent hours psyching myself up enough just to look at my orders. I didn't want to put the baby down long enough to make products, holding him even when he slept. 

And then he had his two week checkup. I was terrified he was losing weight and it turned out I was right. He wasn't nursing as well as he seemed to be and was still well below his birth weight. I truly believe that my anxiety was causing my milk supply to suffer as well. I was horrified, guilt ridden. I felt that I had let my baby down, that he was starving and I had not noticed. I visited two lactation consultants and got on a grueling regimen of round-the-clock pumping and nursing. And I knew that I had to treat my anxiety. I called my midwife and explained to her what was happening. As much as I didn't want to be on medication, I felt that it was the best chance of me being functional for my children. When I took my first pill, I cried. I was afraid of the side effects, afraid of it affecting the baby, afraid of everything. But I started to feel better, bit by bit. It wasn't a miraculous recovery, I'm afraid. Recovering from PPA or PPD often takes months. But things started to get better. 

Am I "cured", three months in? Not even a little. I am still more anxious than I would like. It is still hard for me to complete daily tasks, but I am trying. I took back over the reins to my poor beleaguered business that had suffered so much from my neglect. I have always been extremely ambitious but I had to give myself a huge break on this one. I had done the best I could and my business was in the ditch. It was going to take a lot of effort to pull it back out. Now I consider it a success when I answer my emails promptly, when I am productive in making products, when I am attentive to my children, when I make dinner and go to the grocery store. This isn't a story about supermom, I am far from that now. But I think this experience has made me a more compassionate person. I never understood the crushing weight of anxiety and how it makes completing simple tasks a huge victory. I never understood breastfeeding struggles and how much work it takes to get a baby gaining weight again after things weren't going well. I never understood people that didn't push themselves to achieve more and more, and I didn't know the simple joy in struggling so hard to be "normal" and succeeding, at long last. 

I didn't slay the Jabberwocky, he is sitting quite calmly in the corner as I go about my day, subdued. And I can live with that.