a police officer, four fire fighters, a grandma and a walmart worker

My day started out easy enough; we'd been up late the night before so we all slept in (which means my two toddlers watched a show on my phone and Tim fed the baby while I slept in). Tim fed the girls while I got dressed and I even took a little more time to put makeup on and curl my hair. The kids and I loaded up and picked my mom up then we all headed down to Springville to celebrate my niece's 1st birthday. Sure, we were an hour later than expected but we didn't have any solid plans so it was fine. While driving through Sandy we decided we should stop by IKEA, get some lunch and do some shopping. I felt proud of my idea to eat at the cafeteria at IKEA where we could get some real food instead of just hitting a fast food stand. We unloaded in the following order: me, my mom, older toddler, poopy baby (ugh! poopy baby! unroll my changing pad, lay him on the floor of the van, oh how I love my van! wrestle all his clothes off him, use half my wipes to clean him up, new clothes, done!) at this point I realized I needed to get the stroller out before I got the baby out so I could heft the stroller out of my trunk with both hands then set it up and put the baby inside. Well, being a responsible mother, I shut the van door so my baby wouldn't roll right out of the van while I went to get the stroller. I shut the van door. With the keys inside. Locked inside. With my baby rolling around on the floor and my other toddler still strapped in her carseat. No! No! No! I could have screamed I was so mad at myself! What a dumb mistake. One I'd like to say I've never made before but that's not true. Now thinking about how many times I've done this...it's too many to admit, you already think I'm an imbecile, let's not make it any worse. So back to the emergency at hand, luckily my mom had her cell phone so I looked up a locksmith in the Draper area. After the third attempt to get someone to help us pronto I finally just called 911. I'm proud to say I remained very calm, cool and collected while I related my emergency to the dispatcher and she assured me an officer would be right there. A few minutes later we saw a police car cruising through the parking lot. I went running after him and flagged him down directing him to my parked van. My mom, my toddler and myself had spent the last 5 minutes with our noses pressed against my dirty and increasingly hot van windows talking and singing and trying to reassure my already sensitive toddler that it will all be ok and she will be able to get out of the car soon. She was especially nervous about the police officer using his tools to try to break into the van. After a few tries, an ambulance pulled up and four firefighters hopped out with more equipment to rescue my babies.
A few minutes later the doors were open, the alarm was blaring, and I was holding both babies in my arms. I thanked the officer and the firefighters profusely. If my arms hadn't been full I probably would have hugged them. What sweet relief to know I could call for help and they didn't berate me for my stupid mistake, they just helped and when the job was done, they left, on their way to help someone else in need. Oh how I love and admire firefighters and policemen. My girls still ask me to tell them the story of how the firefighters and the policeman saved them.
Well, the story doesn't end there. We drove to Springville and went straight to Wal-Mart so we could get some balloons for my niece. My mom and my oldest toddler went into the store while my second toddler, the baby and I stayed in the car. (Hoping to minimize opportunities for getting locked out of the car again). A few minutes after they left, my second toddler informs me she needs to go to the bathroom, badly. So I very carefully take the keys out, unload toddler and baby, and lock the doors. I heft both kids in my arms and into the restroom at Wal-Mart (which are always disgusting) and try to juggle them both while one baby goes potty and the other holds on for dear life. Trying to lift my toddler while carrying my baby so we can both wash our hands was pretty taxing. A Wal-Mart worker came in as I was attempting to do all this and she, in broken English, offered to help. She held my toddler and helped her wash her hands. Then tenderly set her down and dried her off. I was so touched by this simple act of service. Nothing melts my heart faster than someone being kind to my kids. Some people complain that as a society we don't value children, that babies aren't adored like they used to be and that mothers aren't revered and praised as they should be. But I have found the opposite to be true. Whenever I am brave enough to venture out with my three littles, I have found people to be incredibly accommodating and understanding of how difficult it is to get anything done with three babies in tow. From holding doors open for me and my front pack and larger-than-life double stroller, to returning socks that slipped off somewhere in the store, I have been impressed with how loving and kind people can be and how most people understand that you do need help and you are doing your best no matter what that looks like.

For the men...

This post is a tribute to all the men who love and support women as they enter motherhood. And specifically to my husband, Tim, who has endured so much while at my side. I am so grateful for the knowledge that we are sealed together for all time and eternity. Thanks for sticking this out with me babe, I'm so glad we get to do this together.
Tim has endured my irritation, my mood swings, my weepy and melancholy days. My diagnosis, my medical bills, my therapists, my search for treatments, my attempts at self care, my failures and frustrations. While reading a bedtime story with our kids one night, we came across the phrase "kaleidoscope of mope." Tim teased that it was describing me! He, on the other hand is as happy as a clam. Especially when he gets "Tim time" outside hunting, fishing and hiking. So to live with the emotional roller coaster I have been these last 3 years has been very trying for him. Not to mention the worry, the constant fear for his wife's sanity. Will she ever be better? What can I do? Why is this happening? Is she safe? Is our baby safe?
After one night of constant crying, (me and the baby) I was so low, so dark and so angry. I was afraid I would shake our baby in my frustration. I put her in her swing, still crying, and I ran outside. I paced back and forth on our patio under the full moon. I longed to bash my head in. To just grab the corner of the house and bang my head into it repeatedly. I longed to find the release that seemed to wait for me in ending my life.
Tim came and got the baby but I'm sure he was so torn; he had to care for the baby but I was clearly acting crazy and couldn't be left alone. I remember pacing and panting and deciding to go into the garage to get in the car. Tim came after me, wide-eyed, holding our firstborn. "You're not well right now and you need to come in the house right now" he said in an authoritative voice. I rushed into my bedroom, through our bathroom and into my closet. I flipped on the light and crumpled to the floor. I was going insane. I knew it. I knew I was crazy and I would have to be committed to a hospital. I may never see my family again or my home. I didn't want to go crazy, I hadn't done anything to provoke this departure from reality and sanity. Yet, here I was, on the floor of my closet, wrapping my arms around myself trying to hold the pieces together. I sobbed out a prayer for relief from the darkness encompassing me. Soon, a warm, calming, comforting reassurance came to me. I knew I would survive this night. I was strengthened by the memory of my Grandma Jensen. She passed away a couple of years ago and we weren't even all that close, but I know I felt her presence, her reassurance and love that dark and lonely night.
The next morning Tim urged me to set up an appointment with my OBGYN. Luckily, he could take care of Hazel while I went to my appointment. He encouraged me to be open and honest about my thoughts and feelings and to ask for her help. His mantra that got us through the months after our first baby was "lots of people have done this, we can do this." He sensed my feelings were not unusual and hoped they were treatable.
We weren't taken completely by surprise when I started experiencing postpartum depression. I had struggled with depression and anxiety my whole life which made me more susceptible to postpartum episodes. Also, Tim has a sister who struggled with postpartum depression. I remember talking to her about it and Tim saying "You're a dead-ringer for that." I resented his prognosis and hoped to prove him wrong. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
My OBGYN was very understanding and reassuring. She diagnosed me with postpartum depression and prescribed 50 mg of Zoloft. She said I should feel a big difference right away and to call daily to report my mood. She also gave me the name and number of a Licensed Clinical Social Worker or LCSW. At the time our insurance wouldn't cover much of the cost of visits to a LCSW so I decided I would just take the medicine and hope for the best. It helped right away. No more dark doubting days, no more longing to end my life. No more pacing and crying and willing the hours away. It was still hard, my baby still wanted to eat every 2 hours and it took her 45 minutes to eat so I was only sleeping for an hour at a time. But that only lasted about 8 weeks and then she would go 3 hours at night and then 4 hours without eating. Tim and I still joke about the steep learning curve that we experienced with our first newborn. Soon, life gets back to normal. A new normal, one with a sweet chubby cherub of a baby that we both love more than we ever knew we could love anything.
So here's to the men and to my man for riding the waves and enjoying the peaks and holding my hand through the valleys.

A village? I say it takes an army!

Two things happened recently that reminded me of how fortunate I am and how indebted I am to so many people who have seen me through my darkest days over the past few years. First, a boy I grew up with took his own life. It is shocking and incredibly sad to know someone who was in so much pain or who was so sick that ending his life seemed like his only option. I don't know very much about the circumstances surrounding his death but my heart goes out to his family for the pain and confusion they must be experiencing. I feel some survivor's guilt knowing I was there, I was right there. I have been so close to taking my own life and I was saved. So why not him? I don't know what I have done to deserve to be surrounded by so many saviors, to be saved time and again from myself. I wish I could have helped him, I wish I could have shared the army of strength and encouragement I have received with him and his family.

His circumstances have motivated me to share more about my experiences with postpartum depression in an effort to tear down some of the misconceptions about mental health and to encourage people to reach out to others. You really don't know how influential you can be in someone else's life.

The second thing that happened is I saw this video on my church's website entitled Sitting on the Bench: Thoughts on Suicide Prevention. I've watched it again and again. It is so comforting to know other people have felt what I have felt, that I'm not alone and that there's help for me. To be reassured that there are people who love me unconditionally, who will "sit on the bench" with me. People who won't shy away from my scary thoughts, people who will advocate for me and my health, people who are cheering me on, who believe in me, that I can make it, that I can get better and be better. People who can see me separate from my depression.

I remember one night last fall when I was driving back to my parent's home, pregnant, with my two little girls in their carseats in the back, and I couldn't stop crying. I was so overwhelmingly sad. Depression has been the most powerful emotion I've ever experienced. I could not stop sobbing and I was so scared. I knew from previous experience that I should not be alone. I tried to muster up the courage to drive home alone, to be alone, to get my girls in jammies and diapers and bed. I just couldn't do it. I find that depression is so powerful and overwhelming that it compromises my ability to do even the most menial tasks. I needed help. So I called for help. I called my aunt, I called my sister, I asked for help. I was embarrassed and confused; I couldn't really explain why I was so sad, I was just really depressed and terrified of being alone. My sister and brother-in-law were at my parent's house when I got home. They helped me get the girls to bed and then we just sat together and watched HGTV. We didn't talk about my sporadic sobbing, they didn't try to console me or hush my fears, they just sat with me. When I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer my sister came downstairs and laid by me until I fell asleep. It's still one of the most touching things anyone has ever done for me. I don't know how they felt about being with me, but they didn't seem uncomfortable. I hope they didn't worry about saying the right thing, they just stayed with me until the storm of sadness had passed. They didn't chide me for being so emotional or tell me to just snap out of it. They reassured me that what I was feeling was real and that I didn't have to weather the storm alone. 

When I had my third baby we were all apprehensive about how I would feel afterwards. Especially since I had been depressed on and off throughout my pregnancy. The Relief Society President from my church worked with me and my mom to organize volunteers from our church to come and help me while my parents worked and went to school. (My mom was pursuing a Bachelor's Degree from BYU-Provo and my step-dad was working from home). For two months ladies came almost every day and cared for my two girls or sat and visited with me or fed my baby boy. Their visits bolstered my strength, they told me stories of having their own babies, of grand-babies and hopes of future babies to be born. They took my girls to the park and into their own homes to play with their children. Meals came every night from ladies ready and willing to help me and my family. I can honestly say my children have a mother because of the strength, the service and the love of my family and the women of the Relief Society. I will never be able to repay all the people who have reached out to me with reassurance, encouraging words and loving kindness. I hope to be able to be an influence for good in the lives of others and to inspire people to notice those around them who may be suffering and to look for ways to help. 

So if you know someone who is suffering or if you feel prompted to visit someone, give someone a call or send a text, do it! Your words may be just what they need to tip the balance from despair and desperation to peace and calm. 

Breaking Point

I realize, with some misgivings, that this isn't a blog for polished thoughts. When I have time to polish things like my thoughts, I will launch a new blog where I can market myself as a writer and further my writing career. But presently, I am unable to polish off anything except my children's Halloween candy, so I will continue to post rantings, musings, and journal entries from my hectic life as a mom of 3 littles. I hope someone out there on the interweb will benefit from reading my blog but mostly it's just a relief to get things off my chest.
That being said, I had a breakdown today. I had two or three mini breakdowns this week but today was the actual breaking point. Today I said "enough is enough! I'm outta here!" I wanted to drive away and never return. Luckily my husband was home and it was nap time for the kiddos so I could actually drive away, by myself, in our sporty little car, I didn't even have to take the minivan.
So, here I am, newly liberated from my very demanding little family, and all I can think about is how much I hate being a mom and staying home all the time. I should clarify: I hate the wiping noses, whining toddlers, picky eaters, poopy blowouts, kind of mom stuff. But doesn't everybody? A dear friend recently pointed out that she definitely doesn't like everything about being a mom. This was a revelation to me. I felt guilty any time I didn't just jump for joy at the most mundane things about motherhood like diapers and tantrums and yoga pants and pony tails. She helped me realize being a mom is often a hard, thankless, job and it's ok to admit it. Sunday nights when I whine to my husband about not wanting to spend another entire week with our brood, he admits he wouldn't want to be with them all day either and he's so glad I stick it out.
So sometimes I hate being a mom, not all the time, not even most of the time, but sometimes. Other times I am so grateful that I get to mother these three beautiful beings and I thank my Father in Heaven for giving me the opportunity to grow and become better and lead and guide these young people. I promise to blog more about that some other time. But now, I need to relate how difficult motherhood can be for me.
Soon after my second baby was born, I was ranting and raving to a friend about how hard motherhood is and how demanding my kids are, I paused to reassure her that I really do love my kids, despite the challenge of caring for them. "I know" was all she said. She knew I love my kids because I do take care of them, day in and day out, sometimes 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. Of course we love our kids, they can be adorable and ingenious and silly and fun and energetic and so blissfully happy! I think we often see this side of motherhood in perfect family pictures, on Pinterest, Facebook and on many other mommy blogs. And that is one of the many reasons I started this blog; not only did I want to give myself a voice, to be heard, and to practice my writing, but I also wanted to put it out there that motherhood isn't all kissing chubby cheeks and singing lullabies, and I want others to know they are not alone when they struggle fulfilling their roles as parents.
I believe families have eternal significance and that no other work I perform in my entire life will compare to the impact I will have on my family. I have been taught these truths my whole life. What I didn't realize until I actually had a child and now even more so with three of them, is that motherhood will most likely be the biggest challenge of my life as well. It's probably a good thing I learned about the importance of the role of a parent before I learned about how intensely trying it can be otherwise, I don't know that I would have signed up.
After we had our first baby, Tim and I marveled at how and why people ever had more than one. It'd be like jumping into freezing cold water when you have no idea how to swim and just when you start to figure out how to keep from drowning, someone hands you a baby.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm just a wimp. Compared to my mother, my grandmother, my great grandmother, I have so many modern conveniences; dishwashers, clothes washers, a car of my own, grocery stores, a steady income. I used to feel so guilty that I struggled with motherhood so intensely when I seemed to have it so much easier than others do.
After some contemplation, I have come to believe that every person born on earth has unique struggles. Challenges that are choreographed and individualized especially for them by a loving Heavenly Father who knew and continues to know exactly what we need to experience in this mortal life in order to grow, to become more, to achieve what it is we came here to do, become like God. To overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles physical, emotional, spiritual, all obstacles. But I also know that I cannot do it alone. I need a Savior. Someone to save me from myself, someone to "comfort me when faint." Someone to make up the difference when I just can't do it anymore. I love my Savior Jesus Christ and I know He sends angels to buoy me up during difficult times. Most times my angels are friends, family members and occasionally even strangers but I know they come to me from my Savior to life me up and help me be more so I can raise these sweet babes.
So I started out with the intention of decrying my frustratingly ineffective parenting skills, and I ended up bearing my testimony of Jesus Christ, how's that for roughewn?

pride

I've realized pride is what motivates most of what I do and it's unnerving that I am so shallow as to be intensely motivated by what other people think of me and/or by a desire to be better than others. I've never considered myself a competitive person, but after having an intimate conversation with a good friend, it was brought to my attention that I do want to be better than other people, in fact, I want to be the best. The best homemaker, the sexiest woman, I want to have the cleanest house, the smartest kids, I want other people to look at me and say "Hey, she really has it all together, I wish I could be more like her." But why? Being perceived as perfect is only isolating. Even if it isn't true, perceived perfection brings out jealousy, hatred, and self-loathing in others. "Why can't I be more like her? She doesn't seem to struggle with this, am I the only one?" These are not the thoughts that lead to lasting friendships, camaraderie, or help. I have a very hard time admitting I need help. At least I did, until I was knocked flat by postpartum depression and was forced to reach out for help for my own safety and for the safety of my family. In hindsight I can see how very prideful I was and how detrimental it was to my sanity and my health in general. Even in the depths of despair that horrible day two years ago when I felt my only option was to slit my wrists and slowly bleed to death. (Even now, remembering that time causes me to weep, mostly with joy and relief that I was saved, I thank my Father in Heaven for sending me an angel in my sweet grandmother's spirit to bolster my strength enough to call my Relief Society President and ask her for help.)
Just as a side note, I don't want to be misunderstood or pitied for my experiences, I want to share in order to raise awareness about the dangers of postpartum depression and depression in general that we might as a society set watch guards over young mothers and others afflicted with this debilitating disease. They can be saved, and we must save them!
Even at this low point in my life, my cursed pride was manifest in that I called someone I knew had to help me. I could have easily called one of my handful of friends and looking back, I realize they would have come running. But I wouldn't, I couldn't, I was too afraid of rejection, of being perceived as unfit to be a mother. Or maybe it was inspiration that led me to call Sister Rowe. Yes, no maybes about it, I know now I was inspired to call this sweet, kind woman. She responded immediately to my request for aide. Again, I don't wish to flaunt my tragedies frivolously, the last few years have been so hard and so dark for me and I feel an urgency to reach out to others who may be struggling in the same ways I have struggled. I want them to know there is help, there is light at the end of the tunnel, hold on, and reach out. Others will lift you up when you can no longer bear the burdens placed upon you.
My experiences, my life is a testament that life can be so brutally shattering, the darkness so smothering, and yet the Atonement of Jesus Christ will shine forth in your life as you hold on and reach out. As I struggle to combat my pride, I've realized it can only be replaced with Love. Love for myself, for my family and for everybody really. Hayden Carruth said, in a poem written near the end of his life, that he was mostly Love, now. (As quoted by George Saunders in Congratulations, By the Way.) How soothing, to be mostly Love. I want to be motivated by Love now.

Is breast always best?

A few weeks ago, I was warming up for a Crossfit class when the subject of breastfeeding came up. One of the men in the class was telling us about his new baby and how his wife was really struggling with breastfeeding. The women in the class let out a collective moan. We all agreed breastfeeding a newborn was incredibly painful. The instructor, my friend Bev, admitted she had tried breastfeeding once, not with one kid but one single time and just hated it. She felt like it would trap her even more than having a baby already did. She also felt like there was something wrong with her if she didn't want to breastfeed. Like maybe she wasn't a good mother. I struggled with some of these same feelings after I had Hazel and breastfeeding was so stressful and surprisingly painful. I had only seen women breastfeed older babies like 3 month old and it seemed effortless, they just draped a blanket over themselves, unhooked a few things and let the baby go to town. Some women even seemed to find it relaxing. I wondered what I was doing wrong because I hated breastfeeding and dreaded it every time my baby would cry. I've talked to many women who have struggled with feelings of inadequacy and guilt about breastfeeding their babies and I'd like to diffuse some of the pressure surrounding the breast vs. bottle debate. This is not a report of statistics or facts about how breastfed babies do in comparison to bottle fed babies, this is just my experience, take it or leave it.
First, the pain. For those of you who have not breastfed a newborn, imagine attaching a tiny vacuum hose to your most tender body parts for up to 12 times in a 24 hour period. The suction a newborn is able to produce is nothing short of amazing. If my milk hadn't let down before I started nursing, I would feel the pulling all the way to my armpits, sometimes even across my back! Before I had babies, I thought my breasts would release milk in a sort of stream, like a faucet. Now, that does happen occasionally, but most of the time it is more like a sprinkler, with the nipples releasing many tiny droplets from many parts. Each of these droplets feels like needles coming out of again, a very small and tender body part. Besides the pain, I think the worst part of breastfeeding my first was the confusion and frustration of not knowing how to do it. I thought breastfeeding would be so natural, that my baby would just latch on and my body would automatically produce enough milk for her. I was wrong on both counts. Babies have no idea how to do anything but suck, poop and cry and sometimes they even struggle with those few things. They will latch on to almost anything, as evidenced by this picture of my husband teasing our firstborn. He was surprised by how strong the suction was from such a little mouth.

And they want to suck all the time! I think Hazel was rooting day and night for the first few weeks of her life. She was always hungry! I used to cry right along with her when she woke up because I knew she was hungry and I was going to have to try to get her to latch on again. Now, I had read all the books and talked to the lactation consultant and they all said breastfeeding shouldn't hurt if you are doing it right. Talk to any mom and she'll tell you the truth, it sucks, literally. My mom told me about when she went to see her big sister, my aunt, in the hospital after she had her third baby. She said she could hear my Aunt Malinda yelling in pain as soon as she stepped off the elevator on the maternity unit. She was surprised to find her sister writhing in pain as she tried to nurse her newborn. My mom was reaching the end of her own pregnancy and was scared to death. 

So breastfeeding is really, really painful. 

But it doesn't stay that way. Women's bodies do miraculous things, as evidenced by pregnancy, and something magically happens after about 2 months of nursing, it doesn't hurt anymore. There's probably some science to it but I have no idea what it is, all I know is it stops hurting and becomes second nature quickly. So I think if you can survive the first 2 months, 8 tortuously long weeks, then breastfeeding seems to get much easier and actually be preferable to bottle feeding. 

Besides being essentially free and universally safe for your baby, breastfeeding will help you lose weight. 

Now, my third pregnancy was different for many reasons, I gained twice as much weight this time. I was so sick while pregnant with the girls that I only gained 26 and 28 lbs respectively. Also, because I finally saw a psychiatrist after my second bout of postpartum depression, I was on a slew of drugs during my third pregnancy which made me crave carbs incessantly and retain water. After I had the girls, my pregnancy weight essentially melted away just from nursing and going for walks with friends. Not so after the boy. I can now say I have lost 10 lbs since Hyrum was born but that's after 2 months of CrossFit and slowly cutting back on my medications. Because of the heavy doses of medication I was on when I found out I was pregnant, my Dr. warned me I should not breastfeed. At first I felt a little guilty, I even considered going off my medication completely just so I could breastfeed the little guy. I felt so incredibly selfish that I wouldn't be able to provide this great thing for my baby because I was unwell. I thought maybe I could just exercise a lot and eat really well and maybe I didn't need all that medication. I even saw a chiropractor who encouraged me to stop my medication cold turkey. But my husband warned me that breastfeeding my baby wasn't worth risking my life and that it wasn't fair to him and the girls for me to jeopardize my health by going off my medication without my Dr.'s consent. So I resigned myself to bottle feeding my little man and the more I thought about it, the better bottle feeding seemed. Minus the inconvenience of making up a bottle at night, which I solved by buying a nice bottle warmer that kept bottles cool until it was time to feed the baby, then I could safely warm them in a steam bath. So I've been bottle feeding Hyrum for 6 months now and I absolutely LOVE IT! It is amazing! I wish I had bottle fed my other kids that is, unless the girls turn out to be brilliant and Hyrum's just normal, I don't know, it still might be worth it. I cannot believe how much easier it is to bottle feed. Hyrum slept longer than my girls ever did, going 5 hours by the time he was only 1 month old, he gained weight faster whereas my girls were both "failure to thrive." (terrible words for a new mom to hear). And the best part was how much help I could get. It wasn't all up to me to feed this new baby, anybody could do it. I had the help of my husband and my parents, my sisters and many of my friends, it was so much easier than my first two babies. Now, I know bottle feeding wasn't the only reason I haven't lost much weight yet and baby number 3 is probably easier for most moms but I really want to encourage moms to let go of guilt over not being good enough, not doing enough or being everything for their kids. Something baby number 3 has taught me is that there are a lot of ways to feed a baby and getting support makes everyone happier. So long story short, don't be afraid to hand over your little one to someone with a bottle and get some rest once in a awhile.

burdens or blessings

While reading Frog Song by Brenda Z. Guiberson and Gennady Spirin with Hazel at bedtime tonight, it occurred to me that I am like a frog, a male midwife toad to be precise. This amphibian carries his sticky eggs on his back and crouches under a wet log to keep them moist. When he feels the tadpoles squirming, he hops into a pool where they can hatch. Despite the gender difference, among other things, I feel a kinship with this burdened amphibian. I'm sure he'd rather be swimming or cavorting egg-free somewhere in the swamp but, after settling down with a female, he takes it upon himself to ensure the safety of his posterity. He knows instinctively that these tiny lives cannot survive without his constant and attentive care. He enters a sort of hibernation, in which his froggy cares are simplified and focused on performing this one crucial task, to preserve his species. During this time, he gives almost undivided attention to the undeveloped and vulnerable tadpoles on his back. He carries them, protects them, and finds an environment within which they have the best chance of survival. He patiently bears this period of inactivity, knowing it will soon pass and he will have performed his duty well.
I admire the midwife toad in his dedication and concentration. He knows how important it is to care for his young and he doesn't allow anything else to distract him from his responsibility. He literally carries them on his back until they can survive without him.
Often I feel overly burdened by my three babies. Discouraged that I am not measuring up to the standards of success found in the world. That to find happiness I must accomplish some great thing. Reading about the male midwife toad and his actions has reminded me that nothing else I do in my life will be as meaningful or as fulfilling as being a mother. There is no way to measure the impact I can have on these young lives. I know it is a God-given responsibility to nurture, protect and teach my children, one worthy of my very best efforts. So I'll keep carrying my three babies, on my back and in my arms until they're ready to venture out on their own.

Beautiful

Pain at not knowing myself, not understanding myself or not liking me. The Happiness Project "Be Gretchen" I need to "Be Chazlyn" but who is she? nobody knows. Am I like everybody else? Do I want to be? I used to think if I was prettier, if I did my makeup a certain way or had a thin, bronze body, if I could just sculpt my legs and tone my butt a little more. Then I would feel beautiful. But it doesn't work, this type of beauty is ever elusive. There will always be someone skinnier, tanner, more in shape. I will never win this contest. So I give up. I stop doing my hair, stop putting on makeup, who has time for that anyway? Not me, I have 3 small and very demanding beings depending on me all the time. So do I get a pass? I don't have to beautiful now, life isn't about being beautiful right now, it's about surviving each day with my house, my kids and my sanity intact. But is it ok to just survive? Will I look back at this time in my life and wish I had done more? Probably not. I'll probably look back and wonder how I did it. Maybe I'll just block it out like a bad and slightly embarrassing memory. I am so afraid of regret; I listen to people and their regrets and vow to not let those be my regrets. I will do it right, I will listen and gather information and do everything right and then nothing bad will happen to me or my family. I will protect them all from anything bad ever happening. But I can't, it's futile and the futility leaves me feeling helpless and worn out. Why bother? I vacillate between helplessness and zeal. Today I'm going to care, I'll wake up at 5:30 and exercise then come home and shower and do my hair and makeup and fit into my clothes. Then I'll cook a healthy and filling breakfast for my 3 littles. Then we will do engaging and developmentally appropriate activities from Pinterest. No one will eat between breakfast and lunch time. I will not walk on crumbs all day and find ants in my kitchen or spiders in my windowsills. All my children will nap at the same time allowing me to have some time to myself maybe to do some yoga or meditate. Then I will cook a delicious and impressive dinner from organic, free range, pesticide-free foods. We will all playfully enjoy each other's company until bedtime. I can't continue, it's too much of a sham. This never happens. Maybe one of those things will happen on any given day. It's like an allotment; either dinner will turn out great OR the kids will all nap at the same time (and of course I collapse in a heap on my bed as soon as they're quiet in their rooms, who wouldn't?) OR we do a fun craft OR the kids play nicely together. Man, I'm a mess. It's really hard for me to be a mess. My life is a mess. A sticky, fussy, kiss it better, read this story, I have to go potty MESS! And I feel like I'm drowning in it. Trying to be patient with my body, trying to be understanding that I only fit into yoga pants (that I never actually do yoga in) trying to feed my family well, work with a budget, read my scriptures, get enough sleep, exercise (I really hate CrossFit, it's so stinkin' hard and I'm always so sore!) I'm just so tired. And I deserve a rest. Good night.

Resources for mental health

http://metro.co.uk/2014/02/06/time-to-talk-day-shaking-off-the-stigma-of-mental-health-4265834/

Managing mental health can be a daunting task. With postpartum depression I believe your first line of defense should be getting help from family or friends. Taking time for yourself, getting sleep and getting breaks from your baby will do wonders for your health. Next, talking to your OB/GYN about your state of mind is a must. I think 6 weeks is WAY too long to go without seeing a doctor after having a baby. So much can happen in 6 weeks! Don't hesitate to call your OB/GYN if you are having dark thoughts or your anxiety is affecting your ability to sleep or take care of yourself and your baby. I recently talked to a mom who said she wished she had known she was struggling with postpartum depression sooner so she didn't have to suffer for so long without relief. She now starts anti-depressants while she's pregnant in anticipation of postpartum depression and has found it to be much more manageable. Sometimes just talking to other moms can be so helpful. Knowing you are not alone or a bad mom if you have dark thoughts or just feel stretched to your max by the demands of motherhood can be so reassuring. I find myself hanging out in the mothers room at church just to talk to other moms about how they are coping with a newborn.
After having Hazel, medication was enough to help me feel well again but after having Emma, I was really struggling and my OB/GYN recommended I see a Licensed Clinical Social Worker or LCSW. Talking to her helped immensely! It was like talking to a girlfriend who had training in how to help me talk back to my thoughts. She did what is called Cognitive Behavior Therapy or CBT with me. It is first being aware of thought processes and then making efforts to change those patterns of thought. Luckily she accepted my insurance as sessions can cost up to $200. When we moved to Utah I looked into seeing a psychiatrist to manage my medication because my depression and anxiety were still out of control even with the drugs my OB/GYN had prescribed. I soon found out it is incredibly difficult to see a psychiatrist. It was frustrating to find one that would accept my insurance and they are usually scheduled 6-8 weeks out if they are even accepting new patients. I spent a lot of time on my health insurance website scrolling through doctors and calling to try to get an appointment. If you don't have insurance, check with your County Health Department as there are government programs to help with mental illness. It's a lot of work but you really have to go to bat for yourself and your health. Or have someone advocate for your wellness, like a mom or a sister or a spouse. I strongly believe it was an answer to prayer that I finally found my psychiatrist. She is wonderful and has helped me so much. I'm lucky enough to have to only pay a $15 co-pay at each visit. I meet with her once a week to go over situations when my anxiety has been overwhelming and to analyze my thoughts and reactions to events. Generally, Licensed Clinical Social Workers and psychologists do Cognitive Behavior Therapy but do not prescribe medication, an OB/GYN can help with that. Or you can see a psychiatrist that can do CBT with you and manage your medication. It gets overwhelming, I know. But my husband reminds me if I had high blood pressure, I would take medication and alter my lifestyle to treat it. It's the same with mental illness, my brain doesn't function properly and I need to take medication and alter my lifestyle to manage it. I have found the more I talk to other people and the more I learn about the brain, the easier it is for me to take care of myself and to accept my mental illness.

Books for brain health:
Change Your Brain, Change Your Life by Dr. Daniel Amen and pretty much anything by Dr. Amen. He's great at outlining the why of depression and anxiety and giving applicable practices for change. He maintains the perspective that we can mold and shape our brains to be more effective, happier and better functioning. He identifies different types of "Automatic Negative Thoughts or ANTS" that are common to people who struggle with anxiety and depression. Dr. Amen's perspective and resources have helped me feel validated in my struggles and have given me strategies to cope with anxiety and depression.
Self-Esteem by Matthew McKay and Patrick Fanning
Honestly, I only read the first half of this book because there was so much information and so many exercises that it got a little overwhelming. The parts I did read helped me build my self-esteem and conquer my self-doubt. Reading this book also helped me identify my "Inner Critic" and dispute his claims.
One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are by Ann Voskam
I haven't read this one yet but a friend recommended it and it's a New York Times bestseller. The author is a Christian, a wife, a mother and a blogger. Read her blog here. I look forward to reading it.

One last note, the effects of exercise on brain health are prevalent especially aerobic exercise as it increases blood flow and oxygen to the brain. I am trying to do more to be active, to enjoy my body and to be a good example to my children. If there are things that have helped you be happy and well please comment, I'd love to hear from you.

Let your humanity show

I started this blog because I love to write and I needed an outlet to vent my frustrations about myself, society, motherhood, and life in general. I've continued to blog in an effort to raise awareness about mental health, specifically anxiety and depression. I've tried to be very transparent about my struggles because I think too often we report the good things online, hiding the bad or suffering alone. The more I talk to people, the more I am convinced that everybody has fought feelings of inadequacy, anxiety and depression whether momentarily or chronically. I am the latter. 

I would like to stand before you today as a whole, complete person who has overcome postpartum depression. Someone who can offer support, resources and hope. But I can't. I'd like to look back on my time as a new mom and say I did it, this is what helped me and you can do it too. But I can't yet. My last visit to my psychiatrist made it glaringly obvious that I am still in the midst of this trial. There is no cure for mental illness, only treatment. Which is so crushingly painful to bear. Knowing that I may always struggle with depression and anxiety, I may always have bouts of wellness interspersed by periods of depression. The things that make it easier to bear are medication and the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I have found anti-anxiety medication, anti-depressants,and anti-psychotic medication to be essential to my wellness. I've been on Buspar, an anti-anxiety, for about six years now. I hemmed and hawed about taking a pill for a long time, weighing the pros and cons and trying to come to grips with having anxiety. I didn't realize how much anxiety was affecting my life until I found relief from it. Learning more about anxiety and the brain has helped me realize I've had panic attacks since childhood. I was lucky enough to find relief in the first pill I tried which isn't always the case. Medication can be such a trial and error process between dosage, side effects and insurance, it can seem like it isn't worth it. For me, it has been. With medication my anxiety is tempered and I'm able to relax and live life more fully. 

I've been on an anti-depressant for 3 years now. After Hazel was born, Zoloft helped obliterate the dark thoughts and overwhelming sadness. I've talked to many women who experienced these "baby blues" being tempered by anti-depressants. The common theme among them is they wish they had known it was normal and that medication would help immensely. In some countries doctors, including psychiatrists, make home visits during the immediate postpartum period to offer support and education to recovering mothers. I would like to see this implemented in the United States. So many of us face this scary time alone and it doesn't have to be that way. I continue to take a high dose of Zoloft but hope to cut back on it because it revs up my nervous system and makes my anxiety higher. For me, wellness is such a delicate dance between brain chemistry and medication. I was doing well for a month or two but when I found out the anti-psychotic I'm on was likely the cause of my unusual weight gain, my psychiatrist suggested I try to wean off of it slowly. It's hard to realize I was doing well because of medication and that I may need it for the rest of my life. I'm hoping to get on another anti-psychotic, one that doesn't cause weight gain, and to do well with a lower dose of Zoloft. But I'm realizing these things take time to sort out and I need to be patient with myself. So for those of you who are anxious, depressed or more than a little crazy, I'm right there with you. Let's find wellness together. 

To find out more about the gospel of Jesus Christ and how it has helped me stay strong in the midst of mental illness click here.

You are not alone

When I had Hazel, I had so many doubts. Doubts about myself as a mother, my ability to do the right thing, my efforts to care for this vulnerable little person. My doubts were ever present but not always at the forefront of my thoughts. It was like having an old, hideously ugly great aunt staying with me. I didn't want to interact with her or really even look her way but I had to, she's a part of my family and therefore a part of me. And sometimes she was so demanding! Right in my face, all warty and wrinkly with foul smelling breath. She would block out everything else, all other thoughts, desires, actions. I would be completely consumed by her presence. But sometimes I could keep her in my peripheral vision, just on the outskirts of my awareness. And I would think, "This isn't so bad, I can handle this." As long as I didn't look at her, I could almost forget she was there. But late at night or after a day filled with crying, pooping and isolation, she would be right in my face again, haunting me with racing thoughts and dark feelings.
If you have struggled with this, even if you don't struggle all the time, I'm here to tell you two things: you are not alone and there is help for you. 
Before I had kids, I had no idea how taxing a newborn could be. I'd never been so sleep deprived, so stretched to my limits and so worried. I would see other moms taking care of numerous children and think I was inferior in some way because one baby was so hard for me. In America we value independence almost above all else and sometimes it can be to our detriment. I'm realizing now that it really does take a village to raise a child. I cannot possibly be everything for my kids, they need other responsible adults in their lives in order to grow up and be well adjusted people. I have loved living by family, it has eased some of the immense burden of child rearing. If you don't live by your family, I suggest you build a network of friends who can love and support you and your children. We really do need each other. Tim always says economies of scale work well with child care. Also, don't forget you have a loving Heavenly Father who is rooting for you and will send angels down to buoy you up. (Motherhood: An Eternal Partnership with God.) I remember a talk by Elder Holland in which he said "Christ knows better than all others that the trials of life can be very deep and we are not shallow people if we struggle with them." (An High Priest of Good Things to Come, Elder Holland, October 1999) He is there for you always, pray to Him for help and He will not let you down.
In regards to getting help, you have to ask. Nobody can read your thoughts (you probably wouldn't want them to anyway) and you can seem surprisingly put together even when you're coming apart at the seams inside. You aren't doing anybody any favors by pretending you're fine when you're really struggling. So be honest when people ask you how you're doing. Say things like "I'm not getting any sleep and nursing is so painful." I've been surprised how empathetic and helpful people can be when they know you're suffering. When people offer to help you, tell them what they can do. I used to hate it when people would say "Call me if you need anything." Because I didn't think they really meant it. Well, most of the time they really do want you to call, they may want to help but aren't sure how. Don't feel like you're putting anybody out by asking someone to come over and hold your baby while you shower or take a nap or get out of the house. People love babies, especially other people's babies. And don't worry that something will go wrong, most women have raised children to adulthood with little to no tragedies. Your baby will not stop breathing the minute you leave the house, she probably won't even notice you are gone. Plan breaks when you are doing well. I'm terrible at this. I wait until I can't stand one more minute of crying, pulling, demanding baby behavior and then I try to call someone. It's incredibly frustrating when you're so frazzled and you can't get a hold of anybody to come help you. So plan to take time for yourself before you're at your wits end. If you have more than one kid, farm them out to several people. They'll love playing with friends and you'll be a better mom because of the break. And don't worry about not being able to reciprocate child care. I felt guilty about this for months. I didn't want to trade with any of my friends because I was having a hard enough time with my own children, let alone adding some one else's kids in the mix. Also, I didn't trust myself with other people's kids, I wouldn't want someone struggling with postpartum depression to watch my kids so I got comfortable being on the receiving end of service. I know my turn will come again to be on the giving end of service but for now, I need a lot of help.
I hope you can benefit from my insights, experiences and testimony of Jesus Christ. I love reading your comments and feeling your support. Thanks for reading my thoughts.
PS- I just found this Ted Talk that speaks volumes about depression. It's by a teenager named Kevin Breel and it's entitled Confessions of a Depressed Comic.

This is the way we go to church

We moved! On a Saturday morning and we ambitiously planned on attending church the next day in our new ward. Tsk, tsk, we should have known better. It was a disaster! We found our ward boundaries and meeting time online but start time was 1:00 and sacrament was listed as starting at 4:00 which doesn't make sense in the 3 hour block we're used to so we decided we'd just show up at 1:00 and see what we could find out. So we have all morning to prep for church and 1:00 sneaks up on us way too fast! I think I spent all morning raiding boxes looking for something suitable to wear, times three. I unwittingly unpacked all my skinny clothes first so not only did I strike out on finding a dress numerous times, I'm not feeling great about myself at this point. At 12:45 I've finally found a dress that will work but it's as wrinkly as an old man so I pull out the iron. I can hear Tim changing the baby while the girls run wild in the hallway trailing tights and hair bows oh ya and my hair's still wet. Talk about stress! So we get the kids dressed and sufficiently groomed for public and we shoo everyone to the van and we're on our way to church but we're not positive it's our church we're relying heavily on lds.org to lead us to the right ward. We park and get everyone unbuckled, unloaded and on our way inside. I was carrying the baby while Tim patiently herds the girls inside. I take a few deep breaths so I don't feel so frazzled. I peek my head in the chapel to look for a spot to sit and it's packed. There isn't any room in the foyer either. There's no where to sit at all and there's no way we can keep our kiddos contained in the hallway. At this point I wanted to throw in the towel and just go home (really I've felt that way all along but I tried to put on a brave face for the children). So we walk around the church hoping to catch a seat in the foyer on the other side, nope, also full. Every seat in the house seems to be taken. The deacons come out with the sacrament at this point and offer the bread to us. Sure, I think, we can do this, Tim's got the girls, I'll just shift the baby to my other hip, hike the diaper bag up on my shoulder again and I take the bread. #2 child takes a handful and #1 puts some back, no big deal right? Probably happens all the time. I give Tim a defeated look and whisper "let's go, we can try again next week." He chats with a few people in the hall to make sure we're in the right place before we head out. We aren't. Our ward is in class right now, not sacrament. They do it old school with sacrament last. At this point there is no way I have the energy or patience to find nursery, priesthood, the mother's room and Relief Society and get everyone where they need to be for the next 2 hours. Plus, I'm sweating like a high school wrestler and my feet are killing me because I never wear heels except to church. So we agree we'll find out where classes meet so we know where we're supposed to be next week and then we'll head home. Priesthood, Relief Society, mother's room, senior nursery, junior nursery and we're on our way out the door! But not before the baby pukes all over me. In my hair, on my dress, all over himself, it's called projectile vomiting for a reason folks. It may have even gotten on the floor, I didn't check, I just scuttled out to the van as quickly as I could. We got everyone buckled back in their seats and headed home.

After this crazy experience, I can see why some people do not attend church. It's a pain, it's hard being new and not knowing anybody. Who really cares if you go to church anyway? Well, I care. I go to church because I love the Lord and I believe He has asked it of me. I know attending our 1:00 ward will be a challenge with a baby and 2 toddlers. Come 2:50 when we head into sacrament, I'll probably want to pull out my hair rather than wrestle with my kids for another hour and 10 minutes. But I will do it because of my conviction that it's the right thing to do and I and my family will be blessed by the Lord for our obedience. 

But I sure hope next week goes more smoothly. Any tips?

How I gained 40 lbs and what I learned

I love reading stories of people who have lost a ton of weight by drastically changing their lifestyles and eating habits. This is the opposite of that. My before and after pictures are me, and me +45 pounds. I can't even claim that I never lost the baby weight in between pregnancies because I did, every last pound. I gained 26 pounds with my first baby and I had lost all of it in 7 months just by breast-feeding. (And just in time to get pregnant again.) I honestly don't even remember my second pregnancy very well. I was pretty sick, didn't gain very much weight and lost it all before my 3rd pregnancy. I think I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight by the time #2 was about 10 months old. I was on a "headache free" diet from Eat to Live by Dr. Joel Fuhrman. I thought my migraines were diet related, little did I know I was experiencing the migraine clusters associated with pregnancy, baby #3 was on his way! At first I was so sick. Not nauseous but light headed, I passed out several times during the next few months. My kind mother-in-law came and took care of my kids while I slept. We knew something had to give. Tim loved his job, we were building a beautiful home in Billings, but I couldn't function. I was still having suicidal thoughts and I was irritated and angry all the time let alone too nauseous and dizzy to stand up. Tim was afraid to leave me home alone. We had talked about moving to Utah after living in Billings for a few years. We wanted to raise our kids close to family. When we found out we were pregnant again we decided to speed up the process. It was really hard to know Tim was sacrificing a great job because I couldn't take care of our family, I needed help. The next few months were so hard. Thinking about that time in our lives still makes me really sad. I loved my kids, I wanted so desperately to be a good mom but I couldn't go it alone anymore. Physically and emotionally I needed an extensive support group. So we moved in with my parents and Tim stayed in Montana for the next 5 months. And I started eating. More of everything but especially treats. Sugar was my reward at the end of a long and stressful day. Ice cream, brownies, cookies, oh how I love cookies! Eating and sleeping were my hobbies and really the only things I did for months. My mom took care of my kids or they watched tv for hours. I steadily gained more and more weight. When I was bored, I ate, when I was stressed, I ate, when I missed my husband and our life together, I ate. It was a cure all. I always felt better with some sugar in my system and I didn't feel guilty because I was supposed to gaining weight, I was pregnant. Eating was the only thing that made me feel better and I had an incessant appetite. I blamed it all on the pregnancy, it happens, I didn't have time to worry about it or really even think about it. I got bigger everywhere, I had to keep buying clothes because my maternity clothes didn't fit anymore.
I know it's not uncommon to gain 45 pounds during a pregnancy, but it was really hard for me. I went to a Zumba class the other day in an effort to get back in shape and it was just depressing. I've never not liked my reflection before, I didn't want to be that chubby girl. But I refuse to feel bad about myself. This is what I've learned, weight is only one aspect of me. Sure, I'm uncomfortable with the way I look right now but that discomfort only goes so far as to motivate me to eat well and exercise. I will fight off any feelings of guilt or shame. My body is amazing! I have been able to create 3 humans with my amazing body. So, if your muffin top is getting you down, try harder to love your body, all of it. Bodies come in all shapes and sizes and no one else's is quite like yours.

A Mother's Treasure

I am my mother’s diamond,

Her treasure, her pearl.

Made beautiful by her devotion,

Her strength and her love.

Polished by her teachings.

An eternal treasure

A righteous young woman

Assured by a mother’s enduring faith.

Shaped by her everlasting love

Inspired by her infinite confidence in me

Her valiant example

Will I carry and pass on

When I am a mother

And have treasures of my own.

Out of Touch

Here's to all the women who are out of touch with fashion, who wear maternity clothes even when they aren't pregnant, who have given up on fitting into their date jeans ever again, to all those women who have offered themselves, even their physical bodies, as a sacrifice on the altar of motherhood, today is your day. Look at your children and marvel at the good you have created! I know being a good mom is hard no matter what the circumstances, whether you're doing it alone or with a whole network of people, it's a difficult task and it requires your very best efforts. When my children are grown, I want to look back on this time of my life with fondness and with conviction that I did the very best I could. I showed up, I broke up fights, I read countless stories, I wiped endless bums and noses and I made sure my kids know they are loved unconditionally by at least one person on earth. From what I hear it will be worth it. All the sleepless nights, all the tears and research and worrying, all the forced apologies will culminate in a functioning, contributing member of society. That's right, they will grow up and one day be adults who will hopefully care for us in our old age with the same tenderness and compassion we show them now. I know my two girls and my little boy will stand before me as fully developed adults and I will be so proud. I won't remember the nasty diapers I had to change, the wrestling matches during church or the grating sound of "mommee!" It will all be worth it. Hang on, keep trying, it gets easier, from what I hear. And if they don't turn out, you can always have more.

Well

I am doing well. So well in fact I've started to wonder if I might be able to have even more kids. But then reality sets in, Emma poops on the floor or Hazel pulls Hyrum out of his bassinet and plops him on the floor, and all I can say is I'm happy we all survived today! But I do want to give hope to all of you who have struggled with postpartum depression or just struggled to be a good mom. It gets easier. Or maybe we just get better at this mom thing.
With my first baby, my depression came on quickly and was very intense. I had thoughts of hurting myself and disturbing images and ideas about hurting my baby. I didn't trust myself to be alone with her and I couldn't stop crying. All this was quickly remedied by a visit to my OB. She sympathetically listened to me describe my psychosis and promptly prescribed an antidepressant, Sertraline (Zoloft). She reassured me that postpartum depression is very common and very treatable and it does not mean I don't love my baby or I won't be a good mom. I kept in close contact with her over the next few months and upped my dose once or twice. When we found out we were pregnant again, I was ecstatic! I doted on my sweet baby girl so much, I couldn't believe I was lucky enough to have another adorable baby to love. My pregnancy and delivery were a breeze and all was well until she was about 3 months old. Then I started to collapse. My husband was traveling for work, my hormones were a mess and I had two babies to care for. Another trip to my OB and more Sertraline helped stabilize me. I also started seeing a therapist which was immensely helpful. I highly recommend therapy, I have really enjoyed having someone who I'm not worried about damaging our relationship, she already knows I'm kinda crazy so no worries there, and an outside perspective is so reassuring. Therapy is very expensive so if you don't have insurance or not very good insurance, I suggest finding a very understanding and very forgiving friend who will listen to and keep all your secrets, it is so cathartic. After another relapse in December, I went down to Utah to stay with my parents for a few months. Buspar, an anti-anxiety medication prescribed by my OB helped keep me calm and quelled some of my paranoia. I also started taking more Sertraline. I finally saw a psychiatrist in Billings who diagnosed me with Bipolar Type II as well as postpartum depression and prescribed Risperidone, an anti-psychotic. I was finally able to sleep for more than 2 hours at a time, what a relief! When we moved to Utah I had to find a new psychiatrist which was a monumental task and a new therapist which was tricky but doable. I'll post again about that process because it can be daunting.
Sorry for so much back story but I really want to be transparent about where I've been and what has helped me through this whirlwind.
I was so very nervous that I would be right back where I started and that there was nothing I could do about it. But I'm here to tell you there's so much you can do! After my third baby I only had a few sad days where I was on the verge of tears for hours or couldn't find the energy to get out of my robe. I think I just experienced the "baby blues" that most moms have after giving birth. Don't get me wrong, the first 8 weeks were really rough but rough as in "I'm so tired I feel sick to my stomach" rough not "I want to kill myself" rough.
So here are some things that helped me:
Medication--don't be afraid of it, if you had high blood pressure you would take medication for it. Depression is a chemical imbalance in your brain that medication can correct. Taking medication can actually help your brain to heal itself.
Exercise--I cannot tell you how much moving, especially outside, has helped elevate my mood and increase my confidence. I'm currently trying out CrossFit with my hubby but I also enjoy Zumba, swimming, riding my bike, jumping on the tramp and just taking my kids for walks around the neighborhood.
The Gospel--I know Jesus Christ is our savior, that he suffered not only for our sins but also our hardships so he can perfectly relate, understand, and heal us. I've received many powerful priesthood blessings from my husband and my stepdad. I study the gospel everyday, without fail, no matter how tired or busy I am because I NEED it so desperately. I need to feel the Holy Ghost and I need to feel God's love everyday.
Support--I have had so much help from my parents, my siblings, my husband, my ward and my friends. Do not underestimate people, they can be so uplifting and encouraging and reassuring if they know you're having a hard time. I am lucky enough to be living with my parents right now, in the ward I grew up in, so I've had past girls camp leaders, young women leaders, and neighbors reach out to me and offer babysitting, meals,visits, and endless encouragement. No one expects you to do this alone. Realize when you need help and ask for it.
So, I'm doing well. My kids still stay in their pajamas most the time and I'm still packing too much pregnancy weight but I'm doing well.

autumn

Stunning sunlight
cool crisp air
dazzling colors
everywhere
leaves are crunching
babies squealing
running through swirls of red and yellow
orange and blue
autumn is everywhere

swede

impossibly small
delicately made
tiny toes
rosebud lips
dark fuzzy hair
sleepy squeaks
unbelievably vulnerable and delicate
welcome to our family Swede Catherine

happiness

When depression overwhelms me, I want to fling the feelings away, splatter droplets of sorrow all around me. Melancholy pours out of me like a river damned only by the passing of time. I'm frightened of drowning in the deluge and think to warn others to seek higher ground before they are inundated with the seemingly endless flow of sadness that surrounds me.
But when I find happiness I want to hold it close, savoring the feeling, breathing it in, embracing the joy, wrapping myself in warmth and light. I relish the sensation and roll around in it, bliss soothing my battered soul.
Ebbing and flowing, my emotions are changing. The darkness is no longer so menacing, tamed by prescription drugs, therapy and love. The light is more powerful and pervasive, my strength and self-confidence blossoming in the warmth of loved ones.
I thank  you for your supportive comments. I cherish your words of praise and encouragement. I am writing a memoir but it will remain a skeleton until my time is my own again. I am so grateful to those who have offered words of comfort and cheer. I hope my fight offers insight, fosters understanding and compassion for all who read it. I am delighted that I seem to be emerging from the storm. I don't know if it will rage again after Hyrum arrives, but if it does I will weather it one final time with courage and support from those around me.