I see you shiver with antici....

.....pation.

I didn't even realize how long it had been since I last posted. I apologize if you have been waiting with bated breath for my next post, as I'm sure you have. My kids have united together in a boycott against sleep which has left me in a haze of sleep deprivation.

I didn't realize that a common side effect of antidepressants is tiredness. Well, I should say, I didn't expect it. Side effects include insomnia and tiredness, among other unpleasantness. Wouldn't they just cancel each other out and I would be fine!? Nope.
I'm balls tired.

For some ungodly reason, both kids have been getting up multiple times at night. I think they can smell weakness. They know I am compromised so they have been working together like a pack of raptors to take down their prey. When one is rioting, the other waits in the wings for his turn. I'd be okay with it if Chris Pratt showed up to save the day but so far, nothing.

Like a couple of amateurs, Nate and I went to bed at 1 or so. We know better but actually getting to spend time together, without a child beckoning, was too hard to resist.

Around 2 this morning, I woke up to Jules draped over me like sherpa throw. I was trapped beneath layers of blanket and toddler. Despite my annoyance, I snuggled him; my heart full as I cuddled my baby. After a little while, I decided to take him back to his room. Because he was all but smothering me, I had to McGyver out from under the blankets and his dead weight without waking him up. I stumbled blindly through the hallway, barely breathing, to slip him back into his bed. After my mission was achieved, I went back to my room and melted into my bed.

3:00 hit and again, there was Julian, laying over my body. This time, I was not amused. I grumped as I hauled his limp but ridiculously heavy body back to his room. Once he was settled, I went back to my room to find my dear husband, slumbering like a peaceful little lamb, sprawled out over the entire bed. I have never wanted to smother someone with a pillow more than in that moment. I picked up his dead limbs, practically threw them back on his side, and crawled onto my tiny sliver of bed. Finally, I was able to close my eyes once more.

Fate is a cruel mistress. At 4:25 on the nose, Cora began to stir. I pretended not to hear her, praying Nate would wake up to tend to her. My prayers went unanswered. I threw back the covers, muttered an incoherent string of obscenities, and started making a bottle. At that point, I was moments away from going nuclear. I reached over, slapped Nate on the arm as hard as I could and informed him that he was now on duty, or else.

As it turns out, Cora wasn't hungry. She just wanted to say hi. At no point during this interchange did I sleep. We got her changed, tried to force some milk down her gullet, and put her back to bed where she talked herself back to sleep. I nodded off around 4:45 and Nate's alarm went off at 5. I saw him off, fell into a coma and, in a cruel plot twist, woke up at 7 to Julian screaming because his bed was wet.

As a parent of a newborn, you expect to be up every 2 hours or so. As the parent of a 5 month old and an almost 3 year old, I expect to get more than two or so hours of sleep each night. Are there babysitters that just come over for bedtime? For free? Maybe I should sleep in the car tonight. I'm sure the kids would still find me. Or, I would wake up to Nate peeping in the window, eyes bloodshot, clothes covered in barf, begging me to come back inside. Is it sadistic that I get a ridiculous amount of satisfaction from that imagery?

Sometimes to stay alive you gotta kill your mind

"Am I the only one I know
Waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
Shadows will Scream that I'm alone
But I know we've made it this far, kid."
-Migraine, Twenty One Pilots

Lately, I have been so apathetic about life, I haven't been able to come up with anything worthwhile to write.

I have dealt with anxiety my whole life. When I was young, I thought I was just a neurotic whack job (well, that might be a little true...).  Fear of aliens, sickness, dying, and the apocalypse kept me awake at night well into high school. My heart would race and I would be restless to the point where I thought I was dying. As an adult, I can look back and know I suffered from severe anxiety and panic attacks. That knowledge would have made my young life easier.

My anxiety worsened around the time I found out I wouldn't be able to have kids. Hearing the words, "It might be cancer," sent me into a tailspin. I am the kind of person who, when faced with a difficult situation, tries to find the humor as a coping strategy. Even though I am open about my feelings, I often mask how deeply affected I am for the sake of others.

When I got pregnant with Jules, things got better until after he was born. I ended up suffering from Post Partum Depression to the point where I wanted to give Julian away. I didn't want him. Having gone though everything I had to get him here, those feelings of indifference made me feel like a monster, but I never sought help. Eventually, my hormones evened out and I realized how much I loved him.

After about the first trimester of my pregnancy with Cora, I could tell something was wrong again. I had severe anxiety to the point where I didn't want to leave the house. I slipped into depression and went through every day thinking my family would be better off without me around. With encouragement from my family, I told my doctor what I was experiencing and he put me on a low dose of anxiety medication for the duration of my pregnancy.  It helped considerably and I was able to function.

I went off the meds late in my pregnancy because I assumed it was better and again. But, I ended up with PPD after Cora got here. Since I recognized the issue, I figured I had a handle on it and I ignored it.

Eventually, it hit me that my anxiety had become crippling. I worried about every person who drove by my house. I worried about Nate dying on the way to work. I worried about the lady smiling at me on the street; what did the smile mean? I struggled to get off the couch. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I would lay on the floor, playing with Cora and a voice would tell me I didn't deserve to be alive. This was a few days ago.

The reason I am sharing this isn't so you all feel sorry for me. I'm not looking for attention or pity. In the last few days, I have seen several of my friends post on Facebook about their battles with anxiety and depression. If nothing else comes of my struggle, maybe I can at least offer some solidarity for those who are going through the same issues.

I have gone to the doctor and I am taking an antidepressant and an anxiety drug. I always thought it was a failure if a person had to be medicated for anxiety or depression because that means you can't control your emotions. But now, I realize that sometimes, you need help to overcome your demons. Even though I am still recovering, I feel hopeful that I am on the right path. I actually wish I would have talked to someone long ago.

So, if I seem distant, flaky, or quiet, please understand what I am going through. If you are going through the same struggles or you have in the past, rock on, you. You're not alone. Some may not understand what you're dealing with, but I think you'd be surprised by how many others know the struggle all too well. To quote my good friend Sarah (and channel some High School Musical), "We're all in this together!" Hang in there, yo. There is no shame in what you're going through.