5 Reasons I Am Still Here

1. Facebook. Within a few hours of posting about my misery, and my friends - old and new, near and far - rush to offer me support, guidance, and love. They uplift me with their courage and faith in my ability to overcome adversity. They tell me stories about what worked for them when pregnancy got rough. They follow up one and even two days later! One friend leaves the conversation altogether because she hasn't the strength or faith to give support right now. And, that's okay. Another friend calls me on the phone (!) and we talk about "stuff." I feel almost human again.

2. My cell phone. Calls and texts to mothers and mentors ground me back in the present reality and let me know I will not be alone through this. Together we are formulating a plan. It will be up to me to implement it. Today, I'm confident I can. I won't yet worry about tomorrow.

3. My husband. Making jokes, tickling me, and telling me ridiculous stories about random people he meets, he attempts to usher me back into our family life, our daily routine, and the love we share. He takes her majesty out and about so I can rest. He listens when I tell him I am so exhausted I cannot go on, and he takes action. Shortly thereafter, he passes out on the sofa at 8 o'clock.

4. My daughter. Her presence; her laughter; her hugs and kisses; the tender way she says, "Mommy;" all of her mannerisms, creativity, and, yes, even her tantrums, ground me back to reality. She (literally) wakes me to the present moment several times a day.

5. My brain. The new med schedule and slightly increased dose has evened out the ups and downs. Even one week makes a huge difference. The research I've done using a lactation app has given me new insight into and comfort for the effects my medications will have on my baby. Signing up for a Mental Health During and After Pregnancy class in a few weeks will help give me further guidance, resources, and strategies to cope with and make our first weeks together memorable and loving.

Today is a good day.

Some other beginning's end, or 12 Steps

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." - Semisonic - Closing Time Lyrics | MetroLyrics 

If you've known me long, you know I went through and through the twelve steps. If you've never done them or are not familiar with them, the 12 Steps were initially created as part of Alcoholics Anonymous and have been used by support groups worldwide to overcome a wide variety of addictions like gambling, sex, and narcotics, in addition to alcohol.

Everything I needed to know, I learned in 12 Step recovery.

1. I am powerless over my disease (Bipolar Disorder II).
2. I believe a power greater than myself can restore me to sanity.
3. I made a decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of god as I understand her.
4. I have made (numerous attempts at) a fearless and searching moral inventory of myself.
5. I have admitted to myself, to god, and to another human being the exact nature of my wrongs.
6. I am entirely ready for god to remove all these defects of character.
7. I humbly ask her every day to remove my shortcomings.
8. I have a list of all the people I have harmed and am willing to make amends to them.
9. I have made direct amends to these people except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. I continue to take personal inventory, and, when I am wrong, I promptly admit it.
11. I seek through prayer and meditation to improve my conscious contact with God as I understand her praying only for the knowledge of her will for me and the power to carry it out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, I try to carry this message to others and to practice these principles in all my affairs.

I'm not sure where I'm headed from here, but I once again stand on the precipice of a new beginning. Maya's birth was my rebirth. I'm starting to realize that I may be more like a phoenix who rises from ashes than a cat who always lands on her feet.

I can sense that the beginning that started with Maya is coming to its conclusion. The end of what's become "daily life." My faith is being put to the test. My faith in myself, in our family, in god as I understand her.

Lila will give us all a new beginning.

Today, I'm starting to look forward to that and trying to let go of my fear and trepidation.

Pinterest Saved My Life

Something I need to tell you. I am depressed. I am pregnant. I am depressed because I am pregnant.

By depressed, I don't mean I feel sad a little bit because I'm uncomfortable in my own skin and have to pee every five minutes or because my life is changing every day and I can't go back and change my decision now.

By depressed, I mean I talk to myself out loud about everything that's bothering me, then I realize my daughter can hear me; I try to comfort her and assure her mommy's not mad at her; she ends up comforting me to the best of her ability, and I just sit in a chair sobbing into her long hair.

My husband comes home and says, "Maya, let's go get Starbucks!" but she's so cozy with me and uncomprehending of the agony I'm feeling that she won't leave. So, I pry her off, go hide in the bathroom, and sob into a dirty towel I've been meaning to clean for days, but I haven't. And, I don't care.

Only, I do.

I try to tell myself I don't care. I blame other people for my hurts. I think this will make me feel better.

It doesn't because I also know it's a lie.

I sleep, but can't sleep well. I dream terrible dreams. I dream of losing my baby, of having her stolen from me, of losing my family, of moving away or being sent away.

By depressed, I mean I stayed home and allowed him to take her out to get junk food while I attempted to sleep. But I couldn't. So, I drank a glass of red wine. I curled up in a cozy blanket. I closed my eyes. I counted to 100 and back.

I felt guilty for drinking that glass of wine.

I thought, 'I am a bad mother.'

I thought, 'I am not fit to carry a child inside me.'

I felt angry at my husband for insisting that a biological child was the only way I'd get my dream of growing our family even though I have been steadfast in my desire to adopt.

I feel angry that the meds aren't working as well as they would if I weren't hormonal. I feel resentful that my doctor wants me to increase the meds because I already feel guilty using them while I'm pregnant.

By depressed, I mean that within one hour of trying to find a comfortable spot to lie in and trying to count as high as I could to numb out my mind, I finally started thinking about putting a gun to my head or a knife in my arm. Anything to bring release.

According to my pregnancy journal, my fetus would survive okay without me at this point. Medicine and machinery could take care of her. But, what about my husband? What about my daughter? What about my babies growing up without their mother?

As flawed as I am, wouldn't it be better for them to have their mother? I have good times. I have healthy times. I just have to get through this.

I decided to read articles on pregnancy and depression. Oh, joy, I'm the one in ten again. Oh, and it's a sure shot I'll have PPD again.

So, I tore through my drawers and unearthed some old t-shirts. I found my sharpest pair of scissors, put on some tunes, and surfed Pinterest for t-shirt projects.

I made three balls of t-shirt yarn, four t-shirt sleeve burp clothes for baby, and two braided belts Maya can use as a headband or tie around her precious, little waist.

When hubby and princess came back, I went with them to Pinballz and played Skee Ball. I let Maya eat candy. Then, we went to the bookstore. James offered to get what I needed at the grocery store so I could come home and pee (for the millionth time today). We ate dinner and watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarves while I cut up more t-shirts and searched for more projects I could do with them.

I decided to live another day. Sometimes, that's the best I can do.

A Mother's Memories to Her Child: My Siblings

My Brother and Sister
Robert Edward Ambuehl, Nov. 6, 1971
Jean Elizabeth Ambuehl, Aug. 17, 1980

The Things We Did Together
Robert: As a kid, I don't remember much, but I am told we were very close. It's because of him that I built a strong vocabulary (He's 7 years older than me). He tried to help me eat green beans, which I hated and still do to this day. With his help, I ate seven! I remember that, once he started working, he bought Jean and me the Christmas presents my parents could not afford to buy us. In particular, I remember Barbie and the Rockers' backyard pool party set complete with pool, BBQ grill, and floaties.

As a teenager, he pulled away a lot. He got into arguments with my mom, so our family became separated into female vs. male. On family trips, he slept a lot. He was no longer required to go to church with us. I walked in on him once while he was peeing and another time while he was watching porn with his friends. He was pretty mad at me. I remember when he carved a heart "tattoo" on his arm.

I have only seen my brother cry on two occasions. Both were related to girls. 

I didn't spend much time with him till I became a teenager. Then, he took me drag racing, gave me beer, took me to my favorite clubs, gave me advice on which boys to date. His girlfriend bought me my first Bjork album. When he became a cop, and I got my first ticket, he taught me a good lesson. He did not bail me out of the ticket. He wanted me to learn to be responsible. But, he did talk to the officer and reprimand him for treating me unkindly.

As a young adult, he gave me lots of unwanted advice and sermonized on his Conservative political views. 

My most vivid discussion with him was when he was fresh out of the Academy, he came home one day and no one else was home but me. I was in the kitchen. He sat down and started talking. I immediately shut up and listened. He told me about a motorcyclist who was hit by a car. He had not been wearing a helmet. I think that was the first time my brother saw a dead stranger on the job. He had had a couple friends die from drag racing, which I'm sure affected him powerfully, but this was something different. As a cop, I am sure he felt some level of responsibility and fear.

Proud uncle and aunt

I held my brother's firstborn son in my arms the day Zach was born. I had never to that date ever held a baby. It was very moving. I also held his daughter Ana the day she was born. She was the second baby I have ever held.

Proud cousins

When I got married, we had a falling out and didn't speak for several years...Not until I was pregnant with Maya. I wrote him many letters in those years, though I only sent one in the very beginning of the argument. When we finally reconnected, we bonded as adult siblings in the parenthood stage of life. His whole family visited me in the hospital, and every single one of them held Maya in their arms.

Jean: Being two years apart, we shared a room until we hit the teen years, and I "moved out." We fought a lot, but we also went on all sorts of adventures - mostly imaginary ones. We built forts and ships and houses in our bedroom. We turned the fan on high to simulate a storm. We got married to our stuffed animals and started families. I convinced her to cut the hair off of her favorite doll. She tossed all the toys I'd organized in our closet back out on the floor of our room. 

When we fought, momma made us kneel in separate corners until we were willing to say we were sorry. I dropped her on her head once. She had a strawberry marking on her forehead. I convinced her to sell her favorite Barbie doll at one of our impromptu garage sales. When we shared a full sized bed, we built a wall of dolls between us because she wiggled so much I couldn't sleep. When we had bunk beds, I got the top bunk because I was older. She stole my Barbies and shared them with her friends. 

Sister of the most beautiful bride

When we were teenagers, we started to move on different paths and into different circles, but we'd come together once in a while. Once, she threatened to kill me in my sleep because she was angry with me over something mean I said. I retaliated a lot to her because she called me "Stupid," and that is the one insult that really hurt my feelings.

My dear family at Jean's wedding

We don't talk much now, but I was her one and only bridesmaid at her wedding. It was beautiful and exciting to see her get married. Now she's moved further away and is starting a business. I wish her great success. We are so completely different, but she is and always will be my baby sister. Sometimes, when I look at Maya, I see my sister in her face. I feel that instinctive need to protect her.

Our Greatest Adventure Growing Up
We had many real life adventures. Mostly, our twice annual trips to Florida. We had a wonderful trip to San Francisco. A not so wonderful trip to Phoenix. Plenty of road trips. We went with Robert on almost all of his Boy Scout camping trips, which was pretty neat. Young girls, older boys....Lots of eye candy and fodder for the imagination. ;-)

I'll Always Remember
My brother's wedding
My sister's wedding
Ana's christening

As a child, my favorite family tradition was
Family holiday dinners complete with turkey, Grandma's Creole dressing, frozen fruit salad, sweet potato souffle, and candy, candy, candy. Playing cards and watching movies. Listening to "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer."

Nesting

Maya and I went to the Library today to pick up a book that my dear friend kindly recommended to me: A Child is Born by Lennart Nilsson and Lars Hamberger. Little did she know how deeply this book would disturb me. I'm sure it's intended to show the reality and scope of the human procreative experience, but there are some details I am not ready to face again.

Isn't that the most idyllic depiction
of what it means to have a baby?
It couldn't be more perfect unless
there were a madonna with child.

The agony on the woman's face during childbirth combined with the dissertation on physical pain and medical descriptions of pain relief and how they affect woman and child terrified me. When I was pregnant with Maya, I did not face that reality - truly my greatest fear at the time - until the birthing classes we took in the third trimester and then again when the pain was imminent and at the forefront of my mind because baby was coming and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Stepping over that threshold terrifies me more now than it did then. With Maya, I feared the physical pain of birth. So many women have said you don't remember the pain, but I do. However, I learned of a far greater pain to fear: Postpartum Depression.

Knowing what I know now, knowing that it's a short step over the threshhold of PPD to Postpartum Psychosis, and knowing my high risk factor for crossing either of those threshholds, I am pushing myself into a state of panic.

So, how am I coping with the ever increasing reminders of what will soon be my reality? Here are a few lessons I've implemented recently and how they will help me muddle through this challenging time.

Focus on the present. Each day, I'm finding it more and more difficult to ignore my fear. Instead of ignoring it, I'm trying to meditate, clear my mind, and focus on what is happening at the present moment. Today, as my mind raced and whirled, I took a deep breath and looked up into the beautiful brown eyes of my very present, very tangible little girl and helped her build the Lego car and village she wanted. When my back and glutes began to scream at me to get up off the floor, I was pleasantly surprised to see the time had flown by.

Focus on what I can control. Preparation will be the key to my survival. I have recently rejoined the FlyLady on her mission to help her followers learn to "Finally Love Yourself." I reached out to them today requesting guidance on how to inspire my dear daughter and dear husband to clean up after themselves because I know my own limitations and the complications that will further hinder my ability to effectively manage our household after the birth of dear daughter no. 2.

Their best suggestion: Create a manual that has everything my family needs to know about managing our lives. Where to find insurance information, how to refill prescriptions, how and when to care for the pets, menu ideas and recipes they can prepare when I am incapacitated. And so on.

I know - Brilliant, right?

It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to get done. My mom taught me all the "right" ways to clean my house and daddy taught me to strive for "perfection" in my work. My body is fatigued from the time I wake up until the time I force myself to go to bed. I have to take my kid's traditional nap time as my own instead of getting stuff done. 

Guess what? I'm not perfect. I vacuum, but I don't move furniture. I dust - with a rag and water. I use the toilet brush to swish the gunk away, and, darn it, that's good enough. The dishwasher's not full? Run that biotch anyway. Don't have a full load of laundry? Wash it anyway. My appliances are energy efficient. They can darn well handle it, and I don't have to wake up to Mt. Dishmore or the Leaning Tower of Laundry. The lawn looks like a jungle? Hey, at least it's green. Wanna come over and offer your neighborly assistance? Your yard looks mighty nice. Nudge. Nudge. Wink. Wink.

It won't take as long as you think. I sent out my pleas to a close set of friends for donations of baby
clothes and returns of loaned out toys and maternity clothes.

I'm organizing all of Lila's new and old clothes into reusable bags and labeling them by age: Newborn to 3 months, 3-6 months, 6-9, 9-12, 2T, 3T, 4T. It's been nostalgic to reminisce seeing Maya in some of these clothes and playing with some of these toys. I love to hear her ooh and aah about the cute baby clothes and tell me that Lila can have her clothes after she grows out of them one day. It's equally rewarding to know that I have a supportive group of women I can rely on to help me when I'm in need.

Acceptance. Empathy. Understanding. Then, of equal importance, is my life partner/husband/father of my child(ren). He doesn't talk much about feelings or do romantic things like rub my feet or bring me flowers. He doesn't pay me false compliments, only honest ones on (very) rare occasions. He works his tail off every day of the week putting in long hours at his job, coming home to sleep on the couch while I prepare supper and still try to keep the kiddo entertained without somehow losing my sanity completely.

I sat on the couch this evening with him, after Maya came out asking random questions for about the third time and we told her to go back to bed for the third time. She finally went to sleep all nestled in my bed on my pillow holding her Jasmine doll.

I started to complain to James about how I've been feeling, expressing my concerns over my body changing, my fears for the upcoming changes in our future. Lo and behold, he said nothing. He was doing something on his phone. Never even glanced up or acknowledged what I said.

Then, he turned on the TV. I moved into my favorite chair and started surfing Pinterest. I considered just going to bed. At least my kid wants my company.

He pulled up a new show on Netflix. A Netflix original series by Ricky Gervais called Derek. And, I'll be darned. I realized James was listening to me in his own way, and he was trying to communicate a very important message to me through his new favorite TV show. If you haven't watched it, yet, you should give it a try.

Derek is a person who focuses on the good in every situation. Without fail, even in the midst of tragic circumstances, he finds the good in people, believes the best of people, and, in demonstrating his own nature, somehow brings the goodness in them to the surface so others can see it, too.

Thank you, Ricky, for that brilliant show. And, thank you, Sadek husband, for communicating to me in your very unique language.

Together, we can survive the challenges we are about to face.

Together, we can build a strong home, life, and foundation for our family.

Dabbling

I have been dabbling in ideas of late
Seeking the comfort of cooler days I know have yet to
Come.
Dabbling in doing; making; creating.

What is it about the promise of cooler air that
Encourages thought and
Introspection?

Where I come from, it is hot and
Always getting hotter until, one day,
It's not. I wake up without fear of the sun.
I open my eyes and let the rays come in to clear
My soul, to
Raise my spirit; to
Refresh my mind.

I go outside, and,
Rather than hide, I
Take my liesure.

Periodically, rain methodically
Dabbles the pavement, the thirsty plants,
The hungry air.
Together, we drink it in.

And my thoughts drip like raindrops
Seep into the soil, their imprints reminding me that
It's been to long.

I have circulated much too close to the
Equator.
It is time to come back.

What Do You See?

When you look at her, what do you see?

Image from the Graphics Fairy.

Do you see the mother of three whose 
Partner locked her in the bathroom, 
In the dark, because
She could not contain her rage, and
He was afraid?

Because he could not contain her,
He turned his back on all four,
Sailed away on his motorcycle, and
Left no forwarding address.

When you look at her, what do you see?

Do you see the nursing mother who does so
At her own risk?
She cries and sobs the whole time
Cringing at the pain in her cracked and bleeding nipples.
She hands her newborn babe to the closest waiting arms, and
Curls herself into a ball on the chaise.

Five minutes pass, and
She calls out, "Bring her back! I need her in my arms."
She pleads, "Can I have my baby?"
The desperation, the primal need to see
What she has created but cannot contain.

When you look at her, what do you see?

Image from the Graphics Fairy.

Do you see another dancing in the corner
Holding her babe in her arms
Rocking her to sleep? 
She twirls as her mind whirls
Out of control.

Do you see her wake in the middle of the night?
The babe is not crying
No one else is awake
Except the cat.
She sneaks out to the patio, 
Lights a cancer stick, and
As it dies out, she collapses on the concrete,
Rolls herself into a ball, and
Wishes herself out of existence?

When you look at her, what do you see?

Do you see us as we come together in a wide open room
With a therapist, our baby gear, and
We talk in turns
We feed our babes
We smear the snot and tears across our cheeks.

We share a common bond that we do not want
To have, or
To share,
But we must.

Otherwise, PPD would kill us.