April 2008 Archives
Not that I want ALL of us to cram into the nearest Baskin Robbins, but tomorrow is 31 cent Scoop Night, in honor of our firefighters. Participating stores will sell small ice cream scoops (jamoca almond fudge!) for 31 cents and you can also make a donation to your local fire charities. Appropriate with the ever-so-near wildfires you can see at the foothills. Drop in between 5 and 10 p.m.
The event is connected to the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation, which provides
Baskin will donate $100,000 to the foundation too.
For more information, go to www.firehero.org.
The event is connected to the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation, which provides
Baskin will donate $100,000 to the foundation too.
For more information, go to www.firehero.org.
Continue reading Here's a scoop!.
Deciding to have a second child was easy. We knew we wanted to at least two, and thank God we didn't have any problems getting pregnant. I didn't have time to think about PPD this round because I was too busy with all the indignities of pregnancy: (we are going to get graphic here!) You've got all-day nausea, carpal tunnel, constipation, hemorrhoids, oooh, gas, and water retention. The glow of pregnancy? Puh-lease!
There were good days, mind you. My body knew what to do, which was nice, but also meant I felt more aches and pains. "Didn't anyone tell you the discomforts increase with each child?" a nurse asked me. Uh, too late for that.
In my eighth month, I started talking to my midwife about PPD. If you had PPD with your first baby, chances are you'll get it again and get it worse with No. 2. Thank goodness she took me seriously. We agreed that at the first sign, I would call her, and we would skip the Talk-to-the-Mental-Health-Person stage and go straight to meds.
There were good days, mind you. My body knew what to do, which was nice, but also meant I felt more aches and pains. "Didn't anyone tell you the discomforts increase with each child?" a nurse asked me. Uh, too late for that.
In my eighth month, I started talking to my midwife about PPD. If you had PPD with your first baby, chances are you'll get it again and get it worse with No. 2. Thank goodness she took me seriously. We agreed that at the first sign, I would call her, and we would skip the Talk-to-the-Mental-Health-Person stage and go straight to meds.
Continue reading Pregnant again.
I DID try the anti-anxiety breathing exercises the psych lady gave me. I was already eating as healthy as I'd ever been, steering clear of caffeine because I was nursing, napping when Joseph did, but my PPD didn't go away.
When my midwife called to check in, I told her nothing was helping. That's when she got on the horn and got me my meds. Ahh, salvation, thy name is Serax. I got the smallest dose, 10 mg. and could take it twice a day max. It was safe for breastfeeding and the best part was I could take it at the first sign of an attack and it would work within minutes. I started feeling stronger. I could enjoy being a new mom, finally.
PPD for me was so tied to my hormones no amount of yoga or herbal teas could change it. It was real and it was so chemical and could only be helped by medication. Did I get hooked? Not at all. Because I started taking it months after I suffered the first PPD symptom, I was only on meds for about two or three months before I felt well enough to stop taking it.
I was back. And happy. And grateful. PPD was behind me and I did all I could to talk to new moms I met, telling them not to be ashamed if they felt this or that, to be assertive with their doctors and get help. The farther away my last episode was, the more I could talk about it.
It would be three years before all my hard-earned knowledge would be tested.
When my midwife called to check in, I told her nothing was helping. That's when she got on the horn and got me my meds. Ahh, salvation, thy name is Serax. I got the smallest dose, 10 mg. and could take it twice a day max. It was safe for breastfeeding and the best part was I could take it at the first sign of an attack and it would work within minutes. I started feeling stronger. I could enjoy being a new mom, finally.
PPD for me was so tied to my hormones no amount of yoga or herbal teas could change it. It was real and it was so chemical and could only be helped by medication. Did I get hooked? Not at all. Because I started taking it months after I suffered the first PPD symptom, I was only on meds for about two or three months before I felt well enough to stop taking it.
I was back. And happy. And grateful. PPD was behind me and I did all I could to talk to new moms I met, telling them not to be ashamed if they felt this or that, to be assertive with their doctors and get help. The farther away my last episode was, the more I could talk about it.
It would be three years before all my hard-earned knowledge would be tested.
I got to the Kaiser mental health office in Baldwin Park OK. That was miracle enough. That I had gotten dressed, put on a pair of matching shoes was another. But I knew my blotchy face told tales. I couldn't even stop crying in the waiting room, which thankfully was almost empty. And the other two people there, one stocky man, and an older woman, didn't look the least interested in my sniffling, ragged self.
The psychiatrist who met with me for a good, oh, 10 minutes? also told me all I had were the baby blues. "It'll go away in two weeks," she assured me. When I informed her that I had been having anxiety attacks and crying jags every day, she said, "Hold on for two more weeks."
"If all of this is hormonal, couldn't you give me something to balance me out?" I asked.
"By the time we get clearance for a prescription, you'll be over it," she said, ever so kindly. "Meanwhile, try to breath when you start to cry. I notice you're hyperventilating."
Brilliant.
The psychiatrist who met with me for a good, oh, 10 minutes? also told me all I had were the baby blues. "It'll go away in two weeks," she assured me. When I informed her that I had been having anxiety attacks and crying jags every day, she said, "Hold on for two more weeks."
"If all of this is hormonal, couldn't you give me something to balance me out?" I asked.
"By the time we get clearance for a prescription, you'll be over it," she said, ever so kindly. "Meanwhile, try to breath when you start to cry. I notice you're hyperventilating."
Brilliant.
I haven't read Brooke Shields' book about her whirl with postpartum depression. Don't need to. I, and my sainted Hubby, lived through it. Twice.
The first thing I need to tell you about it is: It's real.
The first thing I need to tell you about it is: It's real.
Continue reading Lady sings the blues.
Oh, you've seen her: bright and perky on Monday morns, dressed fashionably, subtle makeup impeccable, balancing one, two, even three well-behaved children as she walked, serene, onto campus. She doesn't seem to need the Cheetos or KitKat fixes I look for at 4 p.m., nor does a forgotten backpack ruffle her Zen calm.
Oh, there are so many of these perfect moms around me, and you know what?
I don't hate them.
Oh, there are so many of these perfect moms around me, and you know what?
I don't hate them.
Continue reading The Perfect Mom.
If I don't get enough sleep, I am cranky, sallow-looking, basically ineffective and generally no fun to be around. Yet it is 2:26 a.m. and I'm still awake.
It was the siren call of Isabel Allende. I told myself I shouldn't pick up her latest, "The Sum of Our Days," comforted myself with the promise that I would read "just a chapter or two," and even after Hubby pointed out that it was midnight and I would have to wake up at 6 a.m. to get firstborn son off to school and that I had promised Mom I would drive her to her colonoscopy appointment, I still said, "Just 10 more minutes."
Such is the gift of Isabel and writers like her, who at times coax, others grab you by the neck and submerge you in their world. Allende's voice is lyrical, she weaves spells you are happy to be under, the most mundane story in her hands is epic.
So even if I DID spend two of my beauty sleep hours reading "Sum," I didn't finish it. I want to treat myself to more, reading it piecemeal if I could, to make the pleasure last longer. I've read "Paula" several times, "House of the Spirits" and "Portrait in Sepia," more than twice, and that's saying a lot for this mom of two who is forever chasing time.
Isabel Allende was at All Saints Church in Pasadena on April 3, but I couldn't go. It would have been a thrill to see and meet her, have her sign my book, but it's also just fine to just read her. She's real enough from her books. So I give her a hug as wide as the ocean, with deep gratitude for her sharing her gift.
Spending time with her is worth losing sleep over.
Thanks, Isabel.
It was the siren call of Isabel Allende. I told myself I shouldn't pick up her latest, "The Sum of Our Days," comforted myself with the promise that I would read "just a chapter or two," and even after Hubby pointed out that it was midnight and I would have to wake up at 6 a.m. to get firstborn son off to school and that I had promised Mom I would drive her to her colonoscopy appointment, I still said, "Just 10 more minutes."
Such is the gift of Isabel and writers like her, who at times coax, others grab you by the neck and submerge you in their world. Allende's voice is lyrical, she weaves spells you are happy to be under, the most mundane story in her hands is epic.
So even if I DID spend two of my beauty sleep hours reading "Sum," I didn't finish it. I want to treat myself to more, reading it piecemeal if I could, to make the pleasure last longer. I've read "Paula" several times, "House of the Spirits" and "Portrait in Sepia," more than twice, and that's saying a lot for this mom of two who is forever chasing time.
Isabel Allende was at All Saints Church in Pasadena on April 3, but I couldn't go. It would have been a thrill to see and meet her, have her sign my book, but it's also just fine to just read her. She's real enough from her books. So I give her a hug as wide as the ocean, with deep gratitude for her sharing her gift.
Spending time with her is worth losing sleep over.
Thanks, Isabel.
