PPS 3-Ending in Conception

I'll stop blathering about politics and get on with the PPS story. Here's installment 3, picking up in DC at my aunt's house. It ends with conception. I thought about including a juicy sex scene to keep your attention but I refrained. It does have a sweet surprise at the ending though.



After dinner, Aunt Geneva walked us next door to show us our quarters for the stay We had originally planned to stay in a hotel. My parents and sisters were arriving the next morning and my dad had reserved a block of rooms at a hotel down the street. Fortuitously though, my aunt’s neighbors were out of town for the whole holiday season and offered us the use of their house. It was a much better situation for all of us, especially Sweet Pea, and we were delighted at their generosity.

“Now I know it’s not a child’s house, but I think you’ll really love it," Aunt Geneva says as she unlocks the door. We walked in to an entry way flanked by a cozy living room on one side and a staircase on the other. The floors were warm wood and bookcases lined the wall, floor to ceiling. There were books and treasures and interesting things to see everywhere. I thought to myself that these people must lead very interesting lives. There was a signed photo from the Clintons in the bathroom, of all places. They must have a sense of humor too. It was a home that is obviously occupied with thinkers and doers. I thought could spend my whole life here and always be happy.


Sweetening the pot, the homeowners were grandparents and our temporary abode came outfitted with a portable crib and an assortment of toys. We erected the crib in a small study area adjacent to our bedroom. Windows ringed the room at ceiling level and it was bright and cheerful, a good place for a baby. Next door, our bedroom was a lovely study in blue and white. Homey and comfy. Perfect after a day of travel.

After coordinating plans for the next day, my aunt headed home and Big B and I unpacked as much as we could while Sweet Pea flipped through a large basket of children’s books, ever the little reader. With everything in order, we drew a bath for him and begin his bedtime ritual. I peeled off his clothes and picked him up to set him into the tub. I glanced away as I set his feet down on the porcelain, checking out the artwork on the wall facing the tub and was startled by a piercing “Noooooooooo,” right in my ear. Apparently Sweet Pea was frightened by strange bathtubs. I struggled to get him at least rinsed off and then decided to call it a night. No one would notice if he is a little grimy behind the ears. Big B dug Sweet Pea’s pajamas out of his suitcase and got him dressed. We read a couple of stories, sang Rock-a-Bye baby and he was out. A big day for a little boy.

We tiptoed out of the room and down the wood staircase, flinching at every creak, to check out the rest of the house. We had stopped by a grocery on the way from the airport and had bought a few necessities, peanut butter, bread, diapers, beer. We each cracked open a bottle and sat down on the couch in the front room and admire the Christmas lights outside. We were trying to decide which embassy the lights belonged to when a movement outside caught Big B’s eyes and he whispered, “Liz, look, Santa’s reindeer are making an early appearance!”

“What?”

“Look!”

He lead me out the front door and there, across the street in the pocket of park next to the Kuwaiti embassy, stood two deer, grazing. We stood in silence on the porch, watching. It was an incongruous site, two deer in a patch of wood surrounded by electric lines, streetlamps and parked cars. We can hear the traffic on the next street and music coming from a couple houses down. I wished that Sweet Pea were awake to see this. I wished my parents were there. What a sight, two deer, in the middle of DC on the night before Christmas. I thought that this must be a portent, an omen of a magical Christmas.

Awed and humbled, we retreated upstairs to our beautiful blue and white room and sunk into bed. Inspired, we reached for each other and quietly made love.

Conception.

PPS 2--Still on Conception Story

Next Installment, still on conception story, picking up at the airport:

Finally the flight was ready to board. Lucky ducks that we were, we got to board first. A hidden benefit of having a child. The gate attended smiled and played pee-a-boo with Sweet Pea and wished us a good flight. The plane was small, with very little space between the rows of sears. We struggled to install the car seat and strap Sweet Pea in. His feet were jammed up against the seat in front of him. He kicked once. He kicked twice. He found a new favorite activity. A desultory looking gentleman sat in the seat in front of Sweet Pea. He glared at me. I smiled back sweetly.

An hour or so later, we arrived at Dulles, which appeared to be the opposite of the Knoxville airport on the crowded scale. We had to deboard out on some faraway concourse and take a shuttle to the main terminal, a task that would have been much easier if we had not had so much darn stuff. We stuck Sweet Pea in his backpack, hoisted him on to Big B’s back and threaded our way through the maze of the airport. Winded, frazzled and vowing never to fly into Dulles again, we reached the baggage claim. I stood with Sweet Pea while Big B went in search of the rental car agency desk. Sweet Pea’s little blond head swung in a constant arc, surveying the commotion around us.
We are lucky that Sweet Pea is a relatively calm and good-natured child. He has been happy since birth and was an easy baby, never crying much and sleeping when he was supposed to sleep. He looked like a little cherub baby with strawberry blond curls and bright blue eyes. Little old ladies always stopped me to admire him and his cuteness. He smiled indulgently and laughed at them, a friend to everyone.

Standing at the baggage claim belt, I willed it to start. I was proud of Sweet Pea’s fortitude throughout this arduous journey but I was afraid to push him any further. Everyone has his breaking point. Finally the belt began turning and spewing out luggage. Big B showed up in the nick of time and we each took a side of the belt and looked for our bags. All three of our bags. One appeared. Another appeared.

“This is great,” I said. “We’ll get out of here in no time.”

I waited for the third bag. The belt went around once, twice, three times. Nothing. Apparently my bag had gone missing. Joy of joys.

It was now late afternoon. Sweet Pea was getting hungry. I was getting hungry. The poor child cried in protest when we hoisted him back into the backpack to find my bag.

“I’m with you, Sweet Pea,” I said in sympathy. “We’ll be ready to go soon,.” A lie. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.

Ever positive, Big B assured me. “Don’t worry, we’ll find it.”

One of Big B’s strengths is his calm in chaos, his steadfastness and reliability. He is a good match for my sometimes pessimistic and excitable nature. We have been married five years. Our meeting is a story for the Internet age. I used to be embarrassed to tell people how we met, thinking it marked us a socially inept losers, but now I think it’s kind of fun. We met through an online dating service, back before it was cool. I had just finished my Master’s in Education. I had been through a series of lousy relationships with artists, musicians and other assorted ner-do-wells. About to embark on my own career, I resolved to only date men with real jobs. I knew a few people who had made love connections on Match.com, I figured I’d give it a shot.

Being a software engineer, Big B worked on computers all day and was tired of meeting women in bars. He responded to my listing, we emailed for a couple of weeks, and then met for drinks at a neighborhood bar. I already I knew liked him from the emails, but once we met, I was smitten indeed. Several months in, I knew I wanted to marry him and one year later, we tied the knot in a large, beautiful, stressful wedding. I love Big B’s intellect and wit, but the one thing I value the most is his strength in a storm.

We trudged across the baggage area, trailing our load of goods, to the what was apparently the luggage graveyard. Unclaimed bags were lined up in rows, their square shapes making perfect tombstones. I futilely scanned the rows for my bag. Nada.

“Hang on, it’ll be here somewhere,” my steadfast rock told me.

“Yeah, right,” I snapped back. “I can’t freaking believe this. I’m never flying again. What a huge freaking mistake!”

Patience is not my best quality.

Big B spoke to the attendant, who directed him to a serpentine line in front of an adjacent counter. We stood in line. While scanning the horizon for a restroom, I noticed a cluster of bags off to the side. Jackpot! There was my Eddie Bauer Target Deluxe suitcase, sitting all by its lonesome self. We were in luck! I knew I should have listened my darling hubbie.

We hooked all our luggage together, a nice feature of this set, and wheeled off to the shuttle area. We were a teetering tower of precariously connected luggage. We managed to get everything on to the shuttle, into the rental car, and on the road with no major mishaps. Big B, ever wise, had Map Quested our route and in no time at all, we were in D.C. proper and at my aunt’s door.

My wonderfully ebullient and gregarious Aunt G. greeted us with great enthusiasm, helping to make up for our difficulty at the airport.

“Come in, come in! Christmas Gift! Christmas Gift! How was your trip?”

“Oh, fine, “ I fibbed. I saw no reason to impose our difficulties on everyone else.

We disrobed from coats and hats and luggage and sat down to dinner. Sweet Pea behaved wonderfully, threw no food and gobbled down his lasagna. It was nice to have arrived.

Postpartum Psychosis Clarification

From now on when I write about my postpartum experience, I am going to use the term Postpartum Psychosis instead of Postpartum Depression. I was using PPD because it was easier and to be honest, postpartum psychosis brings to my mind lunacy. PPS is a level of PPD anyway and I thought PPD was an encompassing there. However, I now think I should be very clear about what I had because it was significantly different from standard PPD.

I think I wrote before about the three levels of PPD. There's the baby blues that hit 3 or so days after birth. This is caused by hormones leaving the mother's body. Moms become weepy and a little blue, but it passes within a week or two. Up to 80% of moms experience this.

Standard PPD is what most people think of when they think of PPD. If you read Brooke Shield's book, Down Came the Rain, it's what she had. PPD is a clinical depression that affects between 10%-20% of new moms. It can strike at anytime up to a year postpartum. Women who have PPD experience the usual depression symptoms of fatigue, sadness, hopelessness, insomnia, and appetite changes. They also may have feelings of guilt and worthlessness. They might think they are terrible mothers. They may worry about their babies more than normal. They often worry that their babies will get sick or injured. They may withdraw from their babies and feel detached. They may avoid their babies. They may isolate themselves and spend a good deal of time crying. In more serious cases, they may be suicidal. Some mothers may have intrusive thoughts and worry about hurting their babies.

Risk factors for PPD include having one or more episodes of clinical depression, having a difficult or disappointing pregnancy or delivery, lack of emotional support, major life changes prior to giving birth, marital problems, unplanned pregnancies, and a history of severe premenstrual syndrome.

PPD is a serious condition and can impair a mother's ability to care for her children. Families may have to use secondary caregivers because the mother is unable to care for the children. The good news is is that it is extremely treatable. Antidepressants and sometimes therapy are used to lift the mother out of depression.

The third level is Postpartum Psychosis. It is very rare and very serious. It affects only 1 out of 1000 mothers. This is what I had. PPS is what causes mothers to kill their babies and sometimes themselves. Mothers with PPS may experience the symptoms of PPD but also may have hallucinations, delusions, irrational thoughts, episodes of mania and delirium, obsessive thinking, paranoia and suicidal thoughts.


I went through all three stages on the spectrum, really. I had the baby blues, but they ended very quickly, within a few days. At around 3 weeks, I began feeling depressed. I felt a general sadness at first. It progressed to feeling hopeless about my situation. I cried most of the time and I fantasized about leaving. I isolated myself somewhat (not hard to do with a newborn anyway) and very early on began feeling very detached from Ladybug.

Very quickly though, within two weeks at the most, the symptoms of psychosis began. I basically lost touch with reality in a way. I become irrationally obsessive about taking detailed notes about Ladybug's eating and sleeping habits. If my husband did not cooperate with this, I would become raging mad, hysterical. I became paranoid about other people; I was convinced that my mother-in-law wanted to take my children from me. During one episode, I was convinced that my husband locked me out of the house at night and I became hysterical. I attributed thoughts and deeds to people that never occurred. I seriously thought that Ladybug was crying just to anger me, that she wanted to irritate me and that she hated me. I felt like everyday was a roller coaster. I would feel OK one minute and hysterical or raging mad the next. I felt absolutely out of control.

The scariest symptoms for me were the hate and anger I felt toward Ladybug and the secret desire to hurt her. I felt much more likely to kill Ladybug than myself, though I did attempt suicide at one point. As I said before, I was deemed homicidal and suicidal by medical professional. I hated having to see or touch my baby and I would think about all the ways she might die. Women with PPD often fear that their babies will die or become injured. I actually wanted Ladybug to die and I would think about ways I could do it. I would see pictures in my head, flashes of me doing something to her and I would often feel a strong urge to follow through with these actions. I never heard voices, but I would feel compulsions. I also would become hysterically angry at her and rage at her until my husband removed me from the room. And a handful of times I came extremely close to hurting her. I actually squeezed her very hard several times and shook her and I remember very roughly dropping her in to her crib in anger, almost throwing her in.

I have never before experienced psychosis before the birth of Ladybug. I do have a personal and family history of depression. I have been clinically depressed and suicidal twice before and was hospitalized in my twenties. But I am not bipolar or psychotic. This was a definite postpartum experience.

In reading all this now, I look like a total lunatic, I know. But I am fine now. I was put on anti-psychotics for a while and have been on antidepressants for months. Once stabilized, I never had another episode of psychosis.

I will never have another child though. The risk of the psychosis returning if I gave birth again is high and I have been advised by my psychiatrist not to get pregnant again. I am fine with this and I think for us, it is the right decision. I would never want to go through that again and I would never want my family to have to go through it again either. It almost destroyed my marriage and we'll never know what it did to my children.

Yesterday, we had a day of Christmas activity--baking cookies, listening to carols, getting ready to go to the grandparents' house. As we were doing all this, I looked around me at my children and was so deeply happy and felt so much love for them that it made me cry. I try now to give extra attention and love to Ladybug to make up for the hate I showed her as a baby. I try everyday to hold her in my arms a few minutes and rub my cheek against her head, nibble her cheeks and tell her how much Mommy loves her. My fear is that she will have lasting emotional scars from her early months and I want to do everything I can to heal them.