Even When You Fall on Your Face, You are Still Moving Forward

It is with dogged determination that all parents make it through the day.  So what happens when determination just won't cut it? Everyone gets tripped up along the way, and although others may help you, ultimately it is up to you to pick yourself up and get moving.
The post-partum bit has been done many times over.  No one's story has encompassed a fraction of mine nor will my tale reflect anyone else's.  I believe, the pain someone suffering with depression feels is a singular manifestation. As such, I didn't not find solace knowing that many women shared my story.  But, I do credit my episode with helping shape me as a parent. (After all, what doesn't?)
Maia's birth scared the living be-jesus outta me.  I was filled with an overwhelming love and the crush of hormones. It wasn't until after she was born and we were home that things spiraled out of control. I've never been the most stable person, but I could always get through anything. With the hormones swirling, I couldn't handle anything. Maia's cries immobilized me. I couldn't handle a whimper. She hated sleeping alone. At 8 o'clock, I would lie Maia down in her crib upstairs, run down 2 flights of stairs (As fast as I could. Ha!) to the basement and ball my own eyes out.  This happened for 2 weeks, by midnight each night Geoff would come down to let me know she was still crying (as was I).  From that point, Maia and I bunked together.  Talk about complicating the whole sleeping situation.  To this day, we are still dealing with the repercussions.
Still, I blamed my issues on hormones which would eventually right themselves. I was scared that if I opened up, I would be put on a pill and wouldn't be able to breastfeed anymore.  Geoff had told me a story about one of his co-worker's wives who had to be briefly institutionalized due to depression. I was a wreck, but determined to go forth with a straight face.
When Maia was about 9 months old, I began to fantasize about committing suicide.  I never felt the drive to act.  But as I laid there, Maia snuggling next to me, I couldn't shake the vivid idea of a cold, metallic gun barrel pressed my flesh or resting on my tongue. Still, I suffered in silence. (Wow, how melodramatic!)
It wasn't until an annual physical (probably a little after Maia was a year old), when I finally had the nerve to mention my issue. Nobody judged me. I was prescribed Zoloft and allowed to continue giving Maia her "boob juice." (Yes, I breastfed WAY beyond 12 months.)  Due to a previous experience, I shy away from "therapy."  But, I do know at least three other moms that benefited tremendously from therapy.
Four years later, Maia and I are well adjusted (insanity, is perfectly acceptable in my circle).  I still take a happy pill everyday but, rather than blaming the preggo hormones, I can thank the myriad of other conditions that have befallen me.  Anytime talk of adding another to our brood,  Geoff and I are haunted by the Post-Partum goblins.  Truthfully though, I worry about Maia. I have had to deal with depression in it's many forms, for as long as I can remember. My mom didn't strike me as having an abundance of serotonin, so what are Maia's chances?  Who knows? And why speculate....

Envy Accepted

Before I tackle heavy stuff (my next plan is to tackle parenting and depression), I wanted all to know how much my day ROCKS!!! Maia and I have been locked in a battle of the wills for at least a month now.  And although it would be premature of me to declare "Mission Accomplished," I will do a happy dance.  And pray that she has mercy on me later.
To add to the mirth, Maia is rocking a play date without me.  I ordered a pizza (the Daddy forbidden BBQ Chicken), popped open a Coke and turned on the TV.  Yea, Yea.... I know I watched the end of SuperWhy bopping along, but it's a super catchy tune. Don't judge! But now Dexter is hacking up a child molester into bits, so all is good.
Now, while my ass widens on the couch, there are folded clothes to be put away, dishes in the sink, and exercises to be done.  To that I say, "Garçon, another slice, S'il vous plait!"
Oh... before I let you continue on with your lives that suddenly seem less bright, I have a story to tell. Tuesday, while Maia was at swim lessons, a man walked up to me and asked, "May I be nosy?" (We all know where this is going). "Sure." "What is wrong with you?"  As a smile spread across my face and chuckle escaped my lips, "Well sir, where do we begin...."

Inquire Within.....

In my previous post, I talked about the the unsolicited help I get from strangers and how I felt that I was overly sensitive. My sensitivity stems not only from the perceived scrutiny of others, but my mostly me.  When Maia and I are out in public, I have to be pretty calculating and often fall into the trap of second guessing myself. So when a someone chimes in, as irrational as it is, they have hit my Achilles Heel, thus proving that I should not be left alone with Maia.  Worse yet, these people may just be being nice, but in my heightened state, I condemn them as doubters of The All Powerful Misty.
To those seeking a solution to such a dilemma, you are SOL. As crippling as self doubt can be, I think it is something that makes me a decent parent.  I don't portend to know what I doing makes me the perfect mama and I am more willing to scrap what's not working in favor of Plan B. Hey, wait.... Maybe I am perfect...

When arguing with a fool, make sure he is not doing the same...

How does anyone deal with unsolicited parenting advice? And why do people seem to think it is more appropriate to intervene on my behalf?  I consider myself to be pretty laid back, especially with regards to my disability.  For instance, I walked into a local medical supply store and was asked where my aide was. In my shock at their presumption, I said, "Shit, I lost her." and hauled butt out of the store.
Rarely, do I have such presence of mind to retort wittily, rather I tend either to melt into the feeble minded person they expected or ignore the comment altogether. But, when it comes to perceived questioning of my parenting abilities, my patience has been tested to the brink and I have lost the ability to laugh it off. I realize that interlopers are doing so with the best intentions, but it makes my blood boil.  Example:

About a month ago, I took Maia to the zoo. She capitalized on my weakness, and ran up the stairs waiting to see if I will be able to follow. When I wasn't, she refused to come down.  **Note to all new parents: Beware, they can smell weakness.** Quick as a flash, an older woman marched up the steps and led Maia down.  I graciously accepted her help, because I didn't have a plan yet.  However, Maia showed her hand too soon, I realized she was in a precocious mood and planned our route/rules accordingly. What I hadn't planned on, was that the woman and her entourage would shadow us throughout our visit, and that the woman would correct Maia the moment she stepped over her boundaries.  I am a capable parent, Maia was warned that if she pulled such shenanigans again, we would be going home. But, as I have adapted to my disability, so has Maia. We do things differently and my "helper" merely confused Maia until she was a mess. Which proved to the nice lady that I needed her help.  Correlation does not equal causation.

Am I over sensitive?  Probably.  I am not one to confront such Good Samaritans. Their actions come from the heart, why should my pride stand in their way?  But, even logic fails must when it comes to pride.  It should be enough that I know I am doing good, but why kid myself....