The Wonder of Sleep

It's amazing how much difference sleep can do for your life. Two weeks ago, my husband and I were strung out from lack of sleep. Our bugaboo was waking us up not once, not twice, but three or more times a night for heaven knows what reason. When you lose that much sleep, your brain stops functioning I have found. Whoever said that babies sleep a lot lied. If you are thinking about a baby, almost everyone forgets to tell you that babies often sleep in 45 minute catnaps that will not enable you to sleep well for the first 3 months of their lives (at least). They don't tell you this because they know that the likelihood that you will become a parent then will dramatically decrease.

I'm one of those people that has always struggled with sleep deprivation. I generally need more sleep than the average individual. If I don't have at least 8 hours under my belt, all filters to my brain stop and I become a real pain to live with. I know this; my family knows this; and most of all, my husband knows this. The ironic part of this need is that since high school I have struggled with the act of sleeping. In my senior year of high school, it was standard that I didn't fall asleep until 3am and was up at 6am to go to school. This lifestyle continued through my junior year of college when my youth and natural spunkiness slowed down and my body began to give out from this schedule. I began to get migraines often that lasted for days, I would lose my appetite, etc. etc.

So, after a little research into the life of an insomniac, I changed a few things. TVs will never be allowed in my bedroom. I can't read before bed because it stimulates my brain. And, like a child, I have a set bedtime routine to help me wind down so I can actually sleep. Most of the time this works, except for when I'm stressed out... or I have a baby that keeps waking me up.

So it's understandable that for the first four months of our kiddo's life, I believe that I have been a bit of a crazy person, right? There were good days and bad days, generally based upon how many times I woke up the night before and whether or not I was able to fall back asleep again once woken up. Now, as it has been a solid week where bugaboo sleeps for 5 to 6 hour stretches with only one feeding between 10pm and 8am, I'm beginning to feel my sanity returning. I laugh more, want to get out more, and enjoy the little things more. The barometer of how I am doing, I have found has been how much sleep I get the night before. The depression that has been hanging over my head is lifting, I can feel it... and all because of a little thing called sleep. It's amazing what sleep will do :)

Realizations

In the past week as my intake of sleep has increased, my ability to think back about what has happened in the past four months has really taken shape. Those of you who know me well also know that I like to stay in control. I have the need to manage things myself, even if they are going horribly wrong. I try to take a role of strength and support for others, instead of asking for it myself.

But as I slowly escape this fog that I have been in for the past four months, I realize that I didn't really help anyone, including myself and Jonathan by taking this approach. I came to this realization after two events this week. The first event: talking with my husband on Sunday. He's said for a while now that I need to open up more to more people... that I was probably suffering from postpartum depression (PPD) and needed to talk to somebody...that I needed more help emotionally and psychologically than what he could give.... I say "he" because my husband really was the only person in the past few months who has truly witnessed what I've been going through. My best friends and family, including my mother, live a long way away and I've never felt that I could share my intimate struggles with them because then I would be burdening them with something that they can't help with so far away. My friends here are struggling with their own lives and drama right now and, again, I like to be in control.

The second event: I did a search online for PPD and what it entailed... even took a few self-assessments, focusing upon how I've felt the past few months. And to be honest, the answer to almost every question was "yes." Trouble sleeping? YES. Loss of appetite at times? YES. Worry excessively about your child? YES. Lack of interest in pleasurable activities? YES. Cry excessively? YES. Feelings of worthlessness or guilt? YES. Difficulty concentrating or making decisions? YES.

For months, I've chalked my feelings up to "baby blues," knowing that my feelings were more intense than that. After a bad day, generally after a bad night and lack of sleep, I'd consider that I had a problem, only to have a better day after that and put the cause of my previous feelings on lack of sleep alone. But I'm being honest with myself now and everyone else. I've been depressed. That's what I was suffering from... am suffering from. The combination of sleep deprivation, hormones, and stress have done a number on me. And now that I'm talking about it and realizing it, I'm feeling better. I haven't ruled out going to someone to talk about things if I start spiraling again, but I'm realizing that being in control and simply "managing" is causing me to miss out on the good stuff with my son and with my husband. So I'm coming out, so to speak, so that I can move on and begin to feel better... so that I can get past the fog that I've been in and start living life again without feeling a cloud over my head. Wish me luck.

The Beginning... Month One

It's strange to think that my life has changed so much in a year. Last year at this time, I was working as a special education teacher, running around like a chicken with my head cut off, trying to help 20 other people's kids that were struggling in so many ways. Now, I'm at home, with only one kid, my own, and I'll be honest... sometimes I really miss a year ago.

I suppose I should start at the beginning, being as that is what this first entry is titled. Over a year ago, my husband finally caved after I continually hinted that it was time for us to have children. My cousins all had kids that year as well as a few friends and I was READY in capital letters. Most of the people that I knew struggled to get pregnant and I thought I would be in that boat. You know... try for over 6 months and finally get pregnant. Lucky us, it took only 2... one if you count that the first month we really didn't actively try. I think at that time, I was in shock and that's when the worrying began. The pregnancy went great, with the exception of me being a hormonal ball of emotions. To be honest, that isn't far off from what I normally am anyways. Jonathan Ralph arrived this past October and I couldn't have been happier. He was a big boy of over 8 pounds and a healthy little guy.

I know that I should talk about all the times, he's made me laugh and how much I love this little guy in my life. But to be honest, I started this blog to (pardon the expression) throw up all the junk that is the other side of the story in being a mom.

I suppose I should have known when Jonathan did not follow the game plan even during labor. I started off well and was admitted to the hospital in the early morning one October day. Things were moving along, then at around 2 o'clock, Jonathan decided to get stuck and I stalled out.. literally 3 hours of NO PROGRESS, followed by a fever, and then finally a stressful decision to have a C-section. So even at the beginning, things didn't go as planned.

Then, breastfeeding... I decided, yes I'm doing this, I'll be home with him and can do this. Only he wasn't latching on, and my milk wasn't coming in and he was downright furious about it. All the literature says, don't give bottles or pacifiers, it will confuse him. What it doesn't say is that your son will lose over a pound in the hospital and won't let you sleep because he's starving. It doesn't tell you that you will have no milk until Friday and he was born on a Sunday, so can't feed him yet even though he hasn't eaten in 6 days! Suffice it to say, he got supplemented formula in the hospital after two days of torture and that first week home.

The first two weeks were great... being as friends delivered meals and my parents moved in for 10 days. Then they left and the sleepy, beautiful boy didn't nap any more and screamed most of the time. Week three began the wonderful world of colicky baby. Jonathan screamed off and on throughout the day and night and there wasn't much we could do, except bounce him, jostling him enough that he would only cry, not scream bloody murder. Two weeks of no sleep, a screaming child, and "What am I doing wrong?" is enough to make anyone insane. It was then followed by setting a schedule that bugaboo (my nickname for the little man that evolved from "bugger" and baby-talk "boo") and a guessing game of what can't mommy eat. The list kept getting bigger and we discovered that kiddo's screaming, upset tummies, and gas were from me eating: Dairy (milk, cream, cheese), green veggies, tomatoes, spicy food (including Mexican) and Chinese. So on top of no sleep, my diet turned into (and continues to be) nearly bread and water along with a lack of my favorite foods. Right now, I would die for a lasagna.

So month one was hard... Harder than anything else I've ever done in my life. Thinking back, I probably suffered from PPD (postpartum depression) and probably am still recovering from it, thus my intent to write it all down in this blog. Then maybe some day, when I'm driving the kiddo nuts, I can pull it out and say "You owe me!" :)