It counts

I went grocery shopping tonight by myself, it was luxurious. Only a mother of small children truly understands the exhilaration of going to the grocery store all alone after a long day of holding babies, wrestling toddlers, and chasing children. I was headed to the front of the store after gathering my list of groceries when I heard the telltale screaming of a toddler having a meltdown. I always feel a mixture of relief and empathy when I hear that sound, relief that it isn’t my child and I don’t have to deal with it but also deep empathy for the mother who is trying to hold it all together. Trying to meet the needs of others often while neglecting her own.

This particular mom had two older boys who were rough-housing and oblivious to their younger two siblings who were squabbling over who got to push the miniature cart around the store. She tried, she tried, and she tried. To convince the little girl that it was the baby’s turn to push the cart, to cajole the baby in her arms when the little girl pushed him out of the way, to carry the little girl when the baby demanded to be set down. She couldn’t win so, admitting defeat, she headed towards the exit. But her progeny must have missed the memo because the boys ran off ahead and the baby, who finally had the mini cart to himself was pleased as punch to just push it back and forth across the aisle backtracking through the store. Mom was trying to wrestle the now furious little girl out of the store and keep one eye on the rambunctious boys while trying to locate the wandering baby.

I pushed my cart up against a display of M&M cookies and walked over to the baby. “Hi baby, are you pushing a cart? That’s so fun! Can I help you?” I asked. I considered picking him up and carrying him over to his mom, offering to carry him to the car if he would allow it, but mom appeared and thanked me. I asked “Can I help you? Then, rephrased that to say “How can I help you?” She thanked me and said they were all tired and hungry and the store didn’t have the soup they wanted so they were just going to go home.” I smiled and told her I totally understand, I have three littles at home and I wished her good luck. But I wish I could have helped her more than I did.  I wish I could have provided some relief in her struggle to care for her brood. I hope my empathy was enough to empower her to get everyone home and fed and to bed.

I know there are things we as moms can do to avoid meltdowns, there are precautions we can take to make our jobs a little easier; a well-packed diaper bag, a timely visit to the grocery store, the internet is full of tricks and tactics and mommy hacks, but sometimes it just comes down to surviving the next five minutes. Just hanging on until something lets up, the baby stops crying, the boys stop fighting, dad gets home or, my personal favorite, it’s time for everyone to go to bed. So, to the mom at the grocery store and to all moms everywhere, I want to say it’s worth it, hang in there,  you are doing marvelous things. Your influence will be felt for generations and it counts, every thank you, every please, your every effort to improve humanity, it counts and it will keep on counting through eternity.

Excuse This House

Some houses try to hide the fact that children shelter there.
Ours boasts of it quite openly, the signs are everywhere.

For smears are on the window, little smudges on the doors.
I should apologize I guess for toys strewn on the floor.

But I sat down with the children and we laughed and played and read.
And if the doorbell doesn't shine, their eyes will shine instead.

For when at times I'm forced to choose the one job or the other,
I want to be a housewife, but first I'll be a mother.

~Unknown

My mom gave me this quote about a year ago and I read it everyday. I helps me keep perspective, I hope it does the same for you.

You're not a bad mom

I recently got together with some friends for a play date. While our kids ran around outside we sat in the shade and swapped stories about parenthood. I love hearing about the antics of other people's kids, it helps me feel normal when my kids do seemingly odd and often infuriating things. Pretty soon the kids were milling around looking for a snack. I hadn't brought anything because I am anti-snack, but one of the ladies had brought a sack full of oranges and a knife and a plate to slice them with. Talk about forethought! Not only a healthy snack but also all the tools necessary to deliver it in a kid-friendly form. While the kids were grabbing orange slices and making cute little orange smiles, her youngest son got into her bag and pulled out a whole orange and the knife. He sat down and proceeded to saw away on the orange in an attempt to cut a few slices for himself. Now, in case you haven't had the fine opportunity to see a toddler with a knife, let me paint the picture for you. There is something terrifying about seeing a sweet, small person with a knife that always looks gigantic in that chubby little hand. He could have gotten a hold of a paring knife and it would look like he was wielding a machete. When she noticed the knife in his hand she exclaimed "I'm a bad mom!"
Just like that all her efforts to provide a fun and social experience for her kids and to nourish their bodies with good food all went down the drain. Because her son had almost hurt himself, she was a bad mom.
I wrote this post to reassure her, myself, and pretty much every mom ever that you are not a bad mom. To me, being a mom means trying really hard to do my best and asking for forgiveness when I mess up. Whenever I'm getting down on myself about not being a good mom, I try to think of what I really want from my mom. I don't want her to protect me from everything or do everything for me, mostly I just want her to look at me and listen to my ideas and laugh and cry with me when I need her. I think we all know how important it is to be a good parent and I believe that all parents love their children and want to provide for them. So the next time the thought "I'm a bad mom" springs to mind, counter it by thinking of all the things you do big and small everyday that make you a great mom because there are plenty.

Status update

I can safely say I am no longer a depressed person. Anxiety still rears it's ugly head in my life, but I am learning to identify it and disarm it quickly. Plus I've attributed some of my heightened awareness to having 3 small children and all that that entails.
My kids are still coughing with what I hope is either allergies or just a harmless lingering symptom of their latest cold. I am trying a gluten-free diet for the next 30 days to test for gluten sensitivity. I'm a little ashamed to admit I've jumped on the gluten bandwagon. I used to just shake my head at this new trend; but I've done a lot of research and talked to a few people who are gluten-free and many of my present health concerns are outlined in gluten-intolerance information. So, I'll try it. I've been a vegan, a vegetarian, I've avoided dairy whenever possible, so why not try eliminating gluten right? (I just want to throw in a disclaimer here that I do eat, a lot! I just eat a lot of fruits, vegetables, meat and other whole grains, just not wheat.) And I still occasionally eat at McDonalds, don't judge, I know you eat there too.
I've also been more disciplined about getting daily exercise and sunshine. My vitamin D levels are low which can cause fatigue and depression, two things I am well acquainted with, and being out in the sun helps me feel alive and healthy verses feeling sick and tired when I lay on the couch in my robe.
There seems to always be a heaping pile of laundry on the floor in my room (it's usually clean, sometimes mixed, but a quick sniff is all it takes to sort it out). I love my husband and my kids and all my crazy relatives. I love the Lord and believe The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His church. I sometimes wonder why God lets bad things happen and I often feel scared of the things that could go wrong in my own life. I'm trying to understand God and His plan for me.
Anxiety and depression can both make a person second-guess their thoughts, their spirituality and their judgment. I still struggle with separating mother's intuition, guidance from the Holy Ghost and just plain paranoia. Anxiety is often about control and the delusion that certain behaviors, or thoughts, can increase control over the environment and that other thoughts or behaviors decrease one's control over the environment. It's hard to draw the line around what is realistically in my control and what isn't in my control. Small children especially test these boundaries because often diligent supervision really does prevent negative events. My one year old is constantly putting things in his drooly, toothless mouth. And no matter how many times I go through the toys and sweep the floor and lecture my toddlers about leaving their small things out, he still manages to find small objects to put in his mouth. Sometimes I feel like giving up. I tell my husband that there's no way this baby will ever live to adulthood! But my heightened diligence will hopefully pay off and he won't choke on anything and he will live to be a happy, healthy adult. After that he's on his own!
My husband and I often fantasize about how independent our children will one day be; washing their own hands and faces, getting themselves bathed and dressed. I know there will be things about this phase of life that I will miss but I look forward to getting to know my kids as they discover themselves and develop more and more and to having more time to myself to explore my own talents and abilities.

Your past is just a story

I read this quote recently and it was very comforting to me. This perspective helps me separate my present self from things that I have gone through in the past. My past is not me, it shapes me in some ways but mostly I feel bigger than my past; taller, stronger and more than I was. Having gone through three bouts of postpartum depression, I can now say with a huge sigh of relief that I am well again. Tim gave me a priesthood blessing a few years ago wherein I was promised I would soon be well and better than I'd ever been. At the time I was scared of this pronouncement, scared of the pressure of getting better and being better than I'd ever been. I had no idea how I was going to make that happen. I could barely function let alone work out my mental health issues. Now I know, I didn't make it happen. I essentially held on and put my trust in God. He made me better, stronger, more than I was. People around me were His hands in serving me and my children, my husband.
It is with huge relief and a sense of accomplishment that I can now say I am well. I am strong and happy, sometimes giddy with happiness at my wonderful life. I am healthy, my children are well and happy, my husband is loving and good, I am surrounded by wonderful people. All of my needs are met and most of my wants as well. I feel fulfilled and content in my roles as mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend. I just wanted to reassure all who read my blog that I am not still struggling in the ways I often write about. I am more than postpartum depression and more than mental illness and if you or someone you know is suffering from one or both of these issues, take courage! You too can be better than you've ever been.

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.