My Breastfeeding Story, Complete with Happy Ending

When I was pregnant, I had a really relaxed attitude towards breast feeding. If it worked, fantastic! If not, no big thing, formula is great too. Once my daughter Maya was born, though, I knew that I wanted to breast feed her more than anything. I can't explain why; it wasn't specifically about the nutrition or the bonding. It was just something that came from deep within me, some primal driving force.

From the start, she had trouble latching. Sometimes she'd latch and fall asleep too deeply to be roused to keep eating. But more often, she'd just refuse to latch. Throw her head back, cry, and push away. I was assured by the nurses and lactation consultants in the hospital that she'd be fine once my milk came in, and that this was totally normal. They were wrong. Soon after we were discharged, Maya had lost more than 12% of her body weight and our pediatrician had us start supplementing with formula, which helped with her weight. My milk sort of came in the next day, but she was latching so infrequently that it never fully came in. I so regret not pumping that first week, I think that would have prevented so many of our issues, but I had been told in my breast feeding class to hold off on pumping until breast feeding is well established, so I had that stuck in my head.

A week after Maya was born, I connected with a lactation consultant who would become my BFing guardian angel. She made a plan for us that literally consumed me. Our theory was that Maya was rejecting the breast because of my low supply, and if I got my supply up that she would hopefully latch. I pumped using a rented hospital-grade pump for 30 minutes, every 2 hours around the clock. That's 9 30 minute sessions per day. With my supply issues, I had to use both hands to constantly do compressions to see any results (which eventually gave me carpal tunnel, oy!), so I couldn't do anything while I pumped. I was also supposed to try to breast feed her before each pumping session, then top her off with a bottle before I pumped. Needless to say, I had no time to do anything but work on feeding my child. I have no idea what made me stick with it. If she wasn't such a happy, easy baby and I wasn't a SAHM, there's no way I would have. But I was committed, and with my husband's help, we somehow got through it.

I was obsessively tracking my pumping output on a spreadsheet, and was seeing slight increases in my supply, but not much. The thought of someday getting Maya to latch kept me going. By 1 month, I had tried every old wives' tale, eaten dozens of lactation cookies, tried oatmeal, dark beer, big doses of Fenugreek, and nothing was working. My husband was going back to work, and I needed help. My LC suggested trying Domperidone, a prescription GI drug whose main side effect is lactation. It's used fairly commonly as an off-label use for women with supply issues, and after carefully researching it, I asked my OB for a prescription.

It took a while, but by the time Maya was 3 months old, we were able to put away the formula canister, and I even built a decent freezer stash. I would regularly try to breast feed Maya as my supply increased, but she always rejected it. I eventually stopped trying, it just stung too much and made me feel like a failure, even though in my head I knew I wasn't. I recommitted myself to exclusively pumping until my goal, Maya's first birthday.

As happy as I was that my supply was finally good after all that hard work, I continued to feel pangs of sadness and bitterness about being tied to the pump. I felt jealous of people whose breast feeding journeys came so easily. I felt conflicted, knowing that it was totally my choice and I could give it up at any time with no consequences, but something kept propelling me forward.

When Maya was 4.5 months old, life was pretty grand. Maya is an awesome kid and we were having the best time. I was making more than enough milk for her with only 4 pumps per day, and although I had to plan our days around my pumping schedule, I felt like we had it figured out together. One night, as I was giving her a bedtime bottle, I decided to try to latch her on. She ate for 10 minutes with a perfect latch like she had been doing it her whole life. I was stunned. I didn't believe it until it happened again. And again. And again. I was confused and scared; I felt like I was learning with a newborn again. I can't really describe the awe I felt during those first couple of weeks in August, and continue to feel now.

Maya is 7 months old now and is exclusively breast fed. I can't remember the last time I pumped. It took a long time to let go of my disbelief and accept that it wasn't a freak random event; that she'd be nursing for the long haul. Breast feeding has been one of the greatest gifts my daughter and I have given each other. We've had so many adventures that wouldn't have been possible if I was pumping, and I feel so grateful every single time she nurses.

I can honestly say that providing nourishment for my child has been the hardest thing I've ever done, and I'm so proud of both of us for persevering, beating the odds, and coming through this with an incredibly happy ending. I wouldn't change a thing.

~Amy

{Mom to Maya, born 3/25/12}

If you were stranded on a deserted island what is the one item you would bring?

If I were stranded on a deserted island, I would bring a deluxe birthing suite!

To be more accurate, the island I live on is not deserted, it just feels like it sometimes.

In April of 2011, my husband's job required that he 'transferred' temporarily (for 3 years) to a tiny tropical island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. There were no ammenities such as extra pay or free airfare a certain number of times a year to visit home. We decided that 3 years was a long time and although we really wanted children, maybe after trying to conceive for a few years, a nice long break was exactly what we needed. What better place to enjoy time with your spouse than alone on a tropical island, right?

Wrong.

I wound up getting pregnant about a month after we arrived on island. Don't get me wrong, we were thrilled beyond belief, but I also never expected to be pregnant s ofar away from everyone and everything I knew and loved. I know you've heard of pregnancy cravings, but do you want to know how difficult it is to have PF Chang's deliver chicken lettuce wraps when the closest one is 8,000 miles away? Let's just say I got really good at making my own 'fake' PF Chang's lettuce wraps.

Cravings aside, my pregnancy was not ideal. None of my friends or family got to see my belly as it grew (except through photos, which to be honest, don't do justice), I didn't get to choose which doctor or hospital I wanted to care for me or my child, my husband's job became more and more demanding and I barely saw him, I couldn't even find the stroller I wanted! These little things really shouldn't matter, but when your pregnancy hormones are going crazy, they really seem like a HUGE deal.

I got food poisoning the one time I tried to eat out after my second trimester began. Here I was, on an island, huge and pregnant, alone, depressed, unable to sleep at night, hungry for things I couldn't get here, and not making friends, because, let's face it, I was miserable to be around. I had spent the better part of my life wanting nothing more than to be a mother and I was starting to resent being pregnant.

The hospital did not help. "...if you have a roommate in your post delivery room, your spouse will be unable to stay the night with you," said the nurse giving us a tour of the four room post partum ward. How many babies can be born on the same night on a tiny island, right? Wrong again. I went into labor the morning of March 6, stayed in labor for 40 hours. Apparently so did every other pregnant woman on this Island. My son was born on March 8th and it was not an easy delivery to say the least. He was just shy of ten pounds and if you've ever seen me, you would say, "where did he fit?!" since I am all of 5'2" and 110 pounds. Even the doctors were shocked since they estimated him at 7 pounds. My husband and I were the only family or friends in the room and I can remember exactly every moment and feeling of giving birth. That last push when the doctor says, "and his head is out" and the sheer moment of joy knowing that you are seconds away from meeting your baby and being able to hold him in your arms, and then the utter terror as chaos ensues.

My son had a condition called shoulder dystocia. At 10 pounds and 22 inches, he was simply too big to fit through my pelvis and as soon as I was told to stop pushing after his head was delivered before that last push most women take to get the shoulders and rest of the body out, my child's shoulder, which was stuck, pulled his head back inside of me. At the time, I did not know what was happening. All I knew was that my nurse was on top of my pushing down on my stomach and my doctor yelled for a scalpel and was screaming at me to "push push push push as hard as you can, don't stop! DON'T STOP!" and then the blood, and then the blue and purple swollen face in the doctor's hands, and then nothing. Complete darkness and no noise- even though there was plenty of noise. Doctors were talking and asking for stitching thread, the nurse came over and tried to tell me what was going on, other nurses yelling and working on my baby, sucking noises from aspirator bulbs, beeping noises from blood pressure machines, so much talking. I heard nothing because all I was listening for was that first cry you expect to hear as your baby comes into the world.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Everything hurt. My heart felt like it literally stopped and the total darkness began to consume my body and drawing me away from the delivery room. One minute turned into two and then three and finally I heard a cough and a whimper. My baby was breathing finally, and then he was in my arms. Pure and unadulterated joy.

A few hours later they move us into a post partum (recovery) room and that's when we discovered that our first night with our baby would not be as a family. We had a roommate. My roommate was from the Island, and had just had her fifth child and her entire family was there- I'm talking aunts, uncles, third cousins twice removed. The first night was a sleepless night and I was all alone. Every time my baby fell asleep and I thought I would also be able to fall asleep, the roommate would press the call button and an ungodly beeping would fill the room until a nurse came to shut it off. I can't tell you how many times I heard, "Can you hand me my water?" that night. I wanted to dump a bucket of water over her head. My son was sleeping at about 8 AM and my husband had just arrived back at the hospital after being sent home because of the roommate. I closed my eyes to fall asleep and in walks the roommate's four other children, and extended family- singing, clapping, bumping into my bed and my baby's bassinet. I had not cried once. I missed my family, I wanted them to be a part of this, and most of all, I was exhausted and in pain, and unable to tell the visitors who were not even there to see me to leave. None of it seemed fair, and I just wanted to go home. I couldn't help but think of my sister's youngest baby being born the year before and spending a fair amount of time with her in the hospital- her queen sized hospital bed and private room with On Demand Movies, my Mom holding my nephew, all of the stuffed animals and flowers and balloons people were bringing for her and the baby, the 5 page menu of things she could order from the hospital 'restaurant'.

Then two days later, they told me I could go home. The moment I crossed the door to leave the hospital, I took my baby in my arms and for the first time since I found out I was pregnant felt happy; genuinely, honestly, truly happy. I realized how lucky I was through all of the 'bad' and 'unfair' things that had happened, he had almost died, but now, I had my son, I had my husband, and I had 2 more years of having them all to myself. Since that moment, I try my best to not focus on the negative and teach my child to look at how lucky we are and try to put his energy into the positive things.

And even though I really would try to fly a deluxe birthing suite here, I wouldn't change the way anything happened. The whole experience has taught me to be strong and positive, not only for my child, but myself as well.


~ Adrea
{Mom to Liam aka Moose Baby}

Life with Two

6:35am Tuesday- the alarm is blaring. Ray is already awake and I can hear Clara screaming in her room. “Lord, give me the strength” I whisper to no one. I grab my glasses, turn off the alarm and head downstairs.

“What's going on?” I ask, knowing the answer even before it's spoken.

“What do you think? She doesn't want to get dressed.” Ray tells me matter of factly.

“all right” I say “I got it from here”

Ray, exasperated, goes off to brush his teeth and shave and I sit with our screaming three and a half year old.

“Clara?” I am speaking as calmly as possible- the wailing grows louder

“CLARA?” I say again a little louder, still not yelling “you need to get dressed and go to school”

The screams are louder and now Garrett is awake.

“RAY?” I scream “The baby is awake”

“Great” Ray says sarcastically

“Sorry” I shrugged

Clara is still screaming. Finally she dressed, Garrett is fed, my lunch is made and the nanny has come in the door. It's time to go to work.

This is a typical morning at our house. You would think after 3.5 years we'd be some what routined in what we do but we aren't because every day it seems that some new is happening. Such is life with two it seems.

I fully admit that after we had Clara I hadn't a clue what I was doing. Routine? Sleep training? Feeding? It was all a mystery. I had the standard 6 weeks off and it was rush back to work. Everything was new- breastfeeding (and pumping), dropping off and picking up a daycare, the late night feedings (three times a night, every night for months). This was the new “normal.” And it was normal and things were slowly okay. We got out for date nights, we went on vacations (without her) and we were doing the best we could. Then, I got the baby fever again.

Before I knew it Garrett was here and while I was a lot more self assured as a mother when he arrived, I could not prepare myself for the uptick in workload. It's true what they say “having two isn't twice the work, it's more like 5 times the work”- why? Because when you have one it's simple math two on one. You out number the kid, there is always someone to trade off with. Two on two is a lot harder to manage and maintain and if one of the two is particularly ornery or difficult (like Clara tends to be) it magnifies all flaws in the “plan” that is your life.  No longer can you trade off with your spouse when you get overwhelmed. If both kids are moody- well let's not talk about that.

And while things get crazy in this house from time to time (okay, most of the time) the best part of my day is sitting at dinner with both of my children, different in personality and demeanor and watch and listen to them. I listen while Clara tells me stories about her baby doll “Curly” and I listen as Garrett smacks his lips around some mashed potatoes, while Ray tells me about the new system they implemented at the hospital. For a girl who was told she might never have children these are the sounds I love. So the hustle and bustle of every day life may be too much to bear some days but in the end I am so happy to have my two little kiddos and the world's most amazing father as my husband.

 ~ CPP

The Mommy Instinct: Always Trust Your Gut

 My daughter, Betty, has the biggest cheeks.

Now that she’s getting a little older, she is starting to slim out a bit more, but as a little 10 week old infant, she was all cheeks and chins and general adorable squishy-ness. It was great, but also somewhat of a hassle. All the extra chins and rolls would trap formula and drool and they had to be diligently cleaned, sometimes multiple times a day. On one occasion. My baby girl got a yeast infection in the folds of her neck. It was red and horrible and I felt so bad for her. It seemed like it popped up and spread overnight.

I never wanted to be that new mom that calls the pediatrician over every little thing, but I wanted some advice. No amount of washing or cleaning was making it any better and I thought that maybe he could prescribe me something to clear it up. He diagnosed her sight-unseen with the yeast infection and prescribed a cream that I was to put on her neck a couple of times a day. In 4 days time, I should see some improvement. I was satisfied with this answer. I trust my pediatrician.

But right away things seemed to be going downhill. My daughter was irritable and whenever it was time to put the cream on, she would scream in pain. I called her doctor again on Wednesday evening after a particularly terrible meltdown and he told me to give her some Tylenol. That the cream wouldn’t have started working yet and that I needed to give it some time. So I gave her the Tylenol, hoping that the next morning would bring some improvement. It did not. It looked worse. She had only been using the cream for a day and a half, but at that point, I didn’t care what the doctor said. I told my husband that she was going to see him right away.

Her regular pedi wasn’t there that day and she was seen by another, very nice woman who confirmed what I was afraid of. While the diagnosis was correct, the cream was actually exacerbating the yeast infection. It wasn’t going to get any better with this stuff. At this point, my daughter’s neck was fire engine red and raw and so painful looking that it brought tears to my eyes. We were given a new prescription for anti fungal medications and sent on our way with a promise that she would check in on us soon. That night, I noticed that some of the redness from Betty's neck was creeping up on her face. It was only a little spot, but I still called the doctor yet again. At this point, I figured I had already reached critical mass of annoyance, so why not go all out. They told me to use a little bit of the anti fungal on it and that it should clear up quickly.

I wish I could say that’s what happened, but the nightmare had just begun.

Betty is usually a champion sleeper, but that night she was up frequently, crying. I would go in to comfort her and she would go back to sleep for a bit only to be up again an hour or so later. Finally at around 6 am as I rocked her with daylight just starting to filter in through her shades, I noticed her face. Her beautiful, chubby right cheek was flaming red and swollen. I called for my husband right away and told him that we needed to get her to a doctor immediately. My hope was that she was having a simple allergic reaction to the cream we had put on her face, but deep down I knew that’s not what it was. We drove her to urgent care, still practically in our pajamas, but they didn’t open until 7am. He suggested we go home and wait, but somehow I just knew that waiting was not an option now. I drove to the ER of the hospital where she was born and a short time later we were told that this was not a simple allergic reaction, but an aggressive case of cellulitis; a bacterial infection underneath her skin. It had shown up in a matter of not even 12 hours and continued to spread even as we sat in the ER. We were told that she would be in the hospital at least overnight. It was now Friday morning. Sunday was Mother’s Day.

We were admitted and sent up to pediatrics...my baby hooked up to an IV and cuddled in my arms. They ran a gamut of blood work to find out the details and severity of the infection. There was talk of possible meningitis.  We were given out own room because they initially thought she might have MRSA, which is highly contagious and resistant to antibiotics. Her first round of blood work came back favorable, but we were told that she would still be in the hospital until at least Monday for observation. I cried my eyes out. I'm crying again right now just thinking about it. Seeing my poor sweet girl continuously poked and prodded and hooked up to the IV was destroying me from the inside out. They drew a line on her face in purple marker to show where the edges of the infection were. For the next several days I would study that line again and again and again...obsessing over where the redness stopped and her beautiful clear skin began. She was such a trooper through all of it though. Trying to smile though the pain of her swollen face and still eating like a champ despite the antibiotics that the doctor said might make her very sick.

Meningitis was ruled out fairly quickly, thank god. Then it was a waiting game. It seemed like it got worse before it got better, but in time the redness started to fade and recede from the edges of the marker line. On Sunday, Mother’s Day, my husband went home in the morning with a high fever. He took NyQuil and was unreachable by phone all day. There I was in the hospital, alone with my baby, sad that I had to spend my first Mother’s Day that way, but so very thankful that she was getting better and that I had trusted my gut when I knew things were not quite right. What if we had continued to put the cream that was originally prescribed to her on her neck rather than taking her back in? What if we hadn’t gone to the ER that morning? If we had waited, who knows how this story would have ended. I can’t even think about any other outcome. Our story has a happy ending. We were sent home the following day.

Being a new parent is hard. We all know this. Babies get sick and they can’t tell us what is wrong so we are sometimes left with some decisions to make. Do we call the doctor? Do we take our child in to the office? To the emergency room? If you ever have to ask yourself any of those questions, I think the answer should always be ABSOLUTELY YES. I may not be winning any Mother of the Year awards in my lifetime, but one thing I will always share from my experience is to always trust your mommy instincts. Ask lots of questions. Be obnoxious with the doctor. Follow up if things don’t seem right to you. If you’re wrong, your wrong, but you could also be very right and catch something in time before it becomes an even bigger problem or worse.

                          

~Lauren

{Mommy to Betty since 3/5/12}

PS. I am forever indebted to my friends of the CKC who showered us with so much love while we were in the hospital on Mother’s Day. The pictures you all took will be cherished forever. <3

Liam

At twenty years old, I saw my life going in many different directions. I wanted to go to nursing school, but school wasn’t a top priority for me. I skated my way through my undergrad with B’s and C’s and I was perfectly satisfied with that. I loved to hang out with friends and party. I worked a part-time job as a nanny which allowed for lots of flexibility and time to spend with friends and my boyfriend, Trevor. We had only been together for six months, but we were inseparable. I knew I loved him, but I was in no way ready to settle down and make any real commitments with anyone, including a baby.

                I knew I wanted kids one day, but I didn’t know if it would be in the cards for me. I had been diagnosed with Stage II endometriosis and suspected PCOS. I had irregular cycles (think two a year) and a few laparoscopies to burn the endo and relieve the pain I was constantly in. My wonderful doctor told me she was confident that I would be able to get pregnant one day, but probably not without some “extra TLC.” I was on birth control to help suppress the endo, but I rarely remembered to take my pills.

                I remember the day I found out I was pregnant like it was yesterday. I had been feeling “off” for a few days, but just KNEW there was no way. On the morning of August 5^th, I was driving home from work when I had this overwhelming feeling to keep driving past my neighborhood and get a pregnancy test from the Walgreens down the street. So I did. Two pink lines appeared right away. I sat on the bathroom floor in shock and disbelief: my life was OVER. How would I tell Trevor?

                As much as I wanted to wait until I saw him that evening, I felt like I was betraying him by keeping this a secret. This wasn’t happy news like I imagined it being for couples who longed for a baby. I called him. He answered at work, sounding as chipper as ever. “Hey babe! Whats up?” I had the speech planned out in my head. I would tell him he was under no obligation to stay. This wasn’t in his plans, either. I wouldn’t be angry. But instead, I just blurted it out. “I’m pregnant.” Before I could continue talking, he told me that we could do this. He insisted we would make it work, one way or another. And we did.

                The day Liam was born, I fell in love with Trevor in a whole new way. I saw the way he looked at his son. I saw the way he looked at me, and he told me how proud he was of me. He thanked me for giving him the best thing in his life. It hasn’t been an easy road. Along with still getting to know him as a partner, I’ve had to get to know him as a co-parent for this little boy who is half of me, half his daddy, but all of our hearts. Many people told us it wouldn’t work between us, and that I was making a mistake because I would inevitably end up a single mom. Boy, were they wrong. Trevor has shown unconditional support and love to me and Liam. He is the glue that holds this family together.

                I’ve had people ask me if I am babysitting Liam. When I tell them no, that he is my son, I see the judgment pass over their face as they quickly glance down to my left hand. During a conversation with a patient at the pharmacy I work for, Liam was brought up. When she asked why I wasn’t wearing my wedding band, I told her I wasn’t married. After an obvious scowl, she insisted that we tie the knot right away so that we could be a family for our son. I was shocked. Do people really not consider us a family because we don’t have the marriage license to prove it?

                Trevor and I have since become engaged to be married. Our wedding date is set for next June. Despite the pressure from family members and friends to do it sooner, we wanted to wait until we were sure. As we stand up at the altar next summer and vow to love one another forever, we won’t be creating a family, but a man and wife united in marriage. We’ve been a family since the beginning.

~Caitlyn

Balance

I feel like I’ve always been busy.  Working full time, trying to be a wife, having a social life always was plenty to keep me busy.  Then I had a baby.  NOW I realize what busy is. 

In the past few weeks I feel like I’ve really been struggling with balancing everything.   I’m back to working full time, going back to get my Master’s in Education, and raising a beautiful 7 month old baby.  Add that to the day in and day out world of cleaning, cooking, laundry, etc. and I’ve had many moments where I just want to quit everything for a while.   My fear in going back to work was never leaving my child (I love my daycare!), it was always, “How am I going to balance everything?”  I still don’t have an answer to that, but in the past few crazy stressful weeks I’ve realized a few important things. 

Here is my list of learning to balance:

1.      Have a good sounding board.   Whether it is your husband, your own mom, your best friend, or a group of internet friends it is important to have a person (or a bunch of people) to talk to.   Some days I need to vent.  Some days I need to cry.  Some days I need to laugh at myself.   Having a good support system is important.

2.     Learn to say no.   You are not super woman, no matter how hard you try, so quit acting like it.  Delegate things to others, and don’t bite off more than you can chew.  Sometimes you can’t sign up for an extra committee at work or offer to help a friend move, but it will be  okay.  Life goes on even after you say no to something.

3.     Ask for help.    Pushing yourself to exhaustion is no good for you or your family.  Ask your husband to help around the house.  Ask your family if you need a babysitter so you can get work done.  Ask friends if they mind helping you out with some project you have.  It does not make you weak.  Ask for help.

4.     Don’t sweat the small stuff.  Your house is going to get dusty.  Clothes may sit in the basket all week long.  Your desk at work may be piled up.  It is okay.  Your children are going to grow up too fast as it is, and they will not remember the dusty picture frames and wrinkly towels!

5.     Make time for yourself.    The first thing that gets forgotten in the daily shuffle is you.  We all face that guilt of leaving the family and responsibilities to do something for ourselves.   It has to be done.  Get out alone and go to the store, get a pedicure, go to lunch with a friend.   Enjoy yourself and let go of the guilt.

6.     Take time every day to sit and play.   Shut off your phone, the computer, and even your brain and sit on the floor to play with your child.   I don’t care if it is for 10 minutes or an hour.   Life is busy, but everything will wait…except your child.  They don’t wait to grow; they are only the age they are right now for today.  

I’m learning.  I have to re-read this list and remind myself daily that I will make it.   I constantly think of the lyrics, “It won’t be like this for long” and realize that it won’t.   I can’t freeze time, but I can make myself slow down and enjoy the crazy ride!

 ~ Jacklyn

{Mom to Annabelle since 03/07/12}

Isolation and Liberation

I can't write on this. I'll sound crazy. Or depressing. Well, probably both. And maybe a little angry.

Chances are, if you're a mother and reading this, one out of ten of you has postpartum depression. Ok, I need to clarify that. One in ten of you has been diagnosed with PPD. I'd bet PPD occurs a lot more frequently, but we're just too scared to admit it.

"Postpartum depression is when you don't care about your kid." WRONG. I almost punched that woman in the face as she held her 3-day-old baby. If I had heard her judgmental misunderstanding before I was diagnosed, I might have continued to doubt that I had anything more than lingering baby blues. Ignorance like that is why so many of us are afraid to get checked. We get checked out BECAUSE we care.

I got evaluated because I was alone. Life was completely changed.  I had a whole life dependent on me.  I didn't get the stereotypical weepies.  I got angry.  I was miserable. Drowning. When I managed to get her to sleep, I would have mini panic attacks every time I heard our daughter, Amelia, stirring. My husband didn't know how to interact with a newborn-- or with me as we navigated parenthood for the first time. Amelia had latching problems, which made every feeding torturous and the thought of feeding her in public impossible. I ended up exclusively feeding her pump-expressed breast milk. That made matters worse for a while, as it consumed all of my time. I essentially fed my kid twice. One "feeding" to pump the milk out, and the second feeding giving Amelia the milk from a bottle. I was sleep deprived and when my husband came home, he wanted to de-stress from work and not go anywhere. I tried to plan my day out around pumpings and feedings, but I live in the middle of nowhere. Like my address isn't able to be googled, Amazon cancelled our "undeliverable" orders, my county just got a Walmart the Christmas season I was pregnant middle of nowhere.

In that isolation, I had the internet. I reached out. Other moms I had befriended in pregnancy had been brave enough to blaze the trail before me. They encouraged me to empower myself and helped me see that PPD only makes you a bad mother if you let it.

I got diagnosed.

It was liberating.

My psychiatrist called my husband and told him he needed to help me out more. She talked him through ways he could do that. Now he feeds Amelia at night while I pump. We're both a bit sleep deprived, but it helps bond our family. There's not much distraction from each other at 3 AM.

After a few weeks of therapy and extra help, I still wasn't feeling myself. I wasn't quite as alone, but I still felt angry and so much of the screaming-diapering-feeding-pumping-skipping nap routine didn't make any sense. I was put on Zoloft. The miracle pill of insomnia and lucid dreams-- until you wake up from them. I finally began to really bond with Amelia. I could look into her eyes and feel contentment instead of anger and resentment.

I have PPD. I am on Zoloft. I am a mom.

Cecelia

Mother of Amelia since 3/23/12