A Surprisingly Sane Blog

Although having postpartum depression sucked ass much more than just about anything else I’ve ever experienced, good has come from it.

Sometimes, I have to remind myself of this fact so that I don’t feel angry with myself for falling victim to something so out of my control.

Here’s a list of the positives I’ve experienced since developing such a painful mental disorder.

1. We realized we needed a serious change of atmosphere and we moved to Seattle. That means we went from living in a place we both hated and a life we never saw improving to a city that we’re madly in love with and a home with ample opportunity for both of us.
2. James and I started some much-needed therapy, which has helped us both greatly.
3. I’ve learned to ask for help (though still reluctantly).
4. I am unafraid to admit my frustrations with parenthood and myself openly.
5. I’ve met all kinds of amazing people over the internet who have similar struggles.
6. I enjoy dancing again.
7. I’ve learned to appreciate beautiful moments more than I ever thought possible.
8. My kids are worth it, even though it was difficult for me to see that when I was at my worst, and I am here for them to remind me just how amazing they really are every single day.
9. I don’t feel like a bad person for questioning things about religion that I never dared to ask before.
10. I am learning how to open up about traumatic events that have happened in my life.

I’m missing a gazillion things on that list, but those are the top ten that come to mind immediately.

I have been named as one of the top 10 writers for postpartum depression on a very popular resource site for moms struggling with postpartum disorders.

I am so honored.  Thank you, Katherine!

Current Mood: Cool

We found a button in April’s poopy diaper yesterday.

A button.

We find crayons in there on a regular basis, so we’re used to the multi-colored shit. However, that was the first time we found something completely inedible in her diaper. Gross, huh? Even grosser is the fact that I felt compelled to share that with the internet.

What kind of weird shit have you found in your kid’s/kids’ diapers?

Current Mood: Alarmed

A close friend of my family was diagnosed with a “very aggressive” form of Alzheimer’s this year, and this knowledge has affected me a lot more than I like admitting.

Admitting pain is hard for me. Pain, fear, sadness… somehow, they all seem to symbolize a weakness that I was inadvertently taught to fight- the fact that I am utterly and undeniably human. To be perfectly honest, I am glad that I am only human, so I fail to understand why I fight those emotions. Funny how life works, huh?

I spent a lot of time at this woman’s house growing up. Her daughter was one of my closest friends as a child. Later, after her wonderful husband died tragically, she married one of my family’s other close friends. We celebrated holidays together, found strength in each other during hard times, and knew there was always a family that we could trust nearby.

Nightmares of her steady deterioration have been plaguing me. Namely because it’s an illness that she can only fight so hard before it consumes her. Like the depression almost killed me. Except I was lucky enough that anti-depressants could help. Her medication can only delay the inevitable.

Last year’s severe point of depression during the holidays was one of the worst things I have ever experienced. I had no control over what was happening to me, and the haze that accompanied every moment of my waking hours left me with little memory of that time. Knowing that I missed out on the first several months of April’s life angers and frustrates me. I know it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t help the thought ‘what kind of a mother am I?’ that likes to sneak up on me.

I have no idea what my friend’s mom is experiencing, and I am terrified that someday I, too, will fall victim to something like Alzheimer’s. Losing my mind (again) is one of my greatest fears.

Currently, I am trying to allow myself to grieve for this woman. It’s amazing how hard it is for me to let the pain come and to shed the tears necessary for me to accept this.

I can’t imagine what her poor family is going through.

Current Mood: Sad

I’ve already admitted to being one of those stupid people who reads celebrity gossip like it’s the Bible. So today’s, er, rant is going to be one of those posts where I’m certain someone’s gonna come out with a, “Quit whining about that kind of shit… if it bothers you, don’t read it.”

To which I’m gonna say, “Tough, you’re the one reading my blog… if you don’t want to hear what I’m bitching about, don’t read it.” Right back at ya.

Anyway, I’ll quit being a snot and get to the point.

I got pretty disappointed and grossed out recently when I read some of the comments regarding the shape of some celebrity’s breasts.

“Nothing more vomit-inducing than saggy tits…”

Wait, what?

First of all, the celebrity in question appeared to have perfectly fine, un-saggy tits. And second of all, who the fuck cares if breasts aren’t so perky that they’re hitting one’s chin? You’re joking, right? A Real Woman’s breasts are vomit-inducing?

Quite frankly, I am proud of my breasts. They’re not perfect or as firm as they once were, but they’ve done incredible things nourishing two babies for their first year of life, and they’re the only set of ta-tas I have. I think they’re beautiful, and I’ll be damned if someone dared to call them “vomit-inducing” just because they don’t look like the fake tits of a porn star.

I’ve gone through all kinds of insecurities regarding my breasts, and I finally, after two kids, am able to look at them fondly.  My stresses that my nipples are too small or too flat or my fear that the faded stretch marks from when my milk came in and my boobs almost ruptured are unattractive are very much in the past. If I could feel the same way about my vagina that I do about my breasts, I’d be a much happier person. The stupidest part is, I know that like my breasts, I have nothing to be concerned about regarding my hoo-haw. But being the obsessive-compulsive nutjob that I am, I can’t stop obsessing about it.

Sadly, I grew up in a very loving, yet extremely shallow family. I was always hearing about other peoples’ weight, or how their breasts where too big or too saggy, or how that couple over there had one ugly baby. It’s horrible looking back at that and knowing that some of my most deep-seeded issues stem from that. I am grateful that God gave me the good sense to question what I was always hearing, and that as an adult I am no longer too meek to speak my mind when I hear family members talk out of their asses that way.

I have helped a number of women breastfeed and have seen a whole range of natural breasts up close and personal. Not a single one of them looked the same, and not a single one of them wasn’t beautiful.

Gosh, what the hell is wrong with our society that a breast of any kind could possibly be “vomit-inducing”? Any fucker who thinks that has absolutely no business ever seeing a set of boobs again.

And while I know preferences exist as far as size and shape is concerned, do guys really care *all that much* about what a woman’s breasts look like? Wait, don’t answer that. I already know that, unfortunately, the answer is “yes” for some people. And to be honest, they could look like a god and I would find them utterly disgusting and unattractive.

Some people are really stupid, and that’s just sad.

Current Mood: Angry