I know I’ve written about it before…but I think it’s fresh on my mind as this baby continues to grow in my belly. What will happen when this one is born? I didn’t have post-partum depression with my oldest. I guess I managed a new baby well, it all seems a blur now. Ella came into this world with great fanfare, which is no surprise considering her flair for the dramatic. I was attempting to breast feed for the second time, the first having been a huge disaster, lasting all of one week before I threw my hands up and said THIS was not for me. I’m sure I already had anxiety going into her birth…and coupled with the dropping temps and the close quarters…maybe all of it was just one messy cocktail of despair just waiting to happen. It’s weird putting it out there…admitting that what was supposed to be one of the most joyous events in my life filled me with a sense of disconnect I had never known before. Vann had a huge meeting at work and was unable to stay with me during the days in the hospital. His parents had driven up from Tennessee to stay with Charlie, who was sick at the time. I guess I should have been grateful for the peace and quiet. But I wasn’t. I was lonely. And sad to have my Mom and Dad so far away. They all had tickets to come the week of Thanksgiving, and when she unexpectedly came early, we urged them to keep their plans, Charlie was in good hands and it was a good chance to bond with the baby. Bonding was the furthest thing from my mind. Every time a nurse would bring her to me I would cringe. I was terrified of nursing and terrified of being left alone with her. This precious 5 pound, 8 ounce bundle of joy with her shock of black (!!) hair was a foreign thing to me, even though I had done this once before. The real problem came when we got home. After the family visited and my Mom stayed to help. After the meals from our church stopped, Vann went back to work, life resumed for all. I was paralyzed. A lactation consultant came to the house and confirmed that the baby was gaining weight, which was amazing and filled me with a sense of pride I thought I might never know. But she also confirmed what I thought was wrong with me – the baby had thrush and had passed it to me. I was miserable. When I went in to see my Doctor she examined me and disagreed. No, she said, you’re fine. But I wasn’t fine. And I couldn’t get anyone to listen to me. It was the beginning of January, Christmas decorations were put away and the negative temps had arrived. At that point Charlie was going to stay with Vann’s parents again for a week or so and I was planning on staying at home with Ella to sleep and nest and do all of those good things you do when you have a newborn in your home. The night before Vann was to drive her to Indiana she got an ear infection and he had to take her to the Walgreens clinic for antibiotics. I remember standing in the living room in our apartment, watching him get her dressed. It was as if this giant hole opened up in front of me, and all I could see was blackness. Truly, I thought I might never feel anything but hopelessness again. With a shaky voice, I asked my husband if Ella and I could go with on the roadtrip. I remember him looking at me with such tenderness, as if I might break into a million tiny pieces, a Mommy china doll. Well of course he took us with him, I’m sure he feared leaving me alone. And although I never experienced hallucinations or anything of that nature, my depression was certainly more than just the “baby blues”. It was real, and I was suffering. Shortly after this, I remember sitting with my mom’s group at church and breaking down. I’ll never forget their sweetness, their love for me – their support and prayers. Some recommended going to talk to someone. Some recommended medication – “for such a time as this”. But all confirmed the ugly truth of what was going on in my heart. And I needed help, because I couldn’t conquer this alone. So I sought help and got on some medication and it made a difference. And just about the time I really needed some vitamin D the weather got a little better each and every day – and I was able to trek all over our neighborhood with my girls in the double jogger. Truly, the sun was a Godsend. Last week our MOPS speaker was a woman who had gone through the same thing, and although her case was more serious than mine, it was still as if she hit an exposed nerve. I loved what she had to say about how to support your fellow mamas who struggle through this disease. “Don’t let them be alone”, she said, “even if it disrupts your routine and schedule. All she needs is someone to BE with, so she doesn’t have to face the darkness alone.” I loved that because that’s just what my friends did for me. Motherhood is hard enough. I think sometimes in life we reach a bottom and we know that we can’t face the adversity alone. Our husbands love us the best way that they know how, but there’s really nothing like the support and tenderness that a fellow warrior can bring us. What would we do without our communities? After all, God designed us to need that in our lives. So friends, as we become a family of five in September, I definitely welcome your prayers. The circumstances are very different this time around, but as I’ve struggled through depression for much of my adult life I know that I am not bulletproof. It is ok. I will be ok.
Month: April 2013
On Having Girls.
Last Monday (which also happened to be our 7 year anniversary) we went to the doctor’s office and had an optional 16 week gender ultrasound. Optional meaning it’s not covered by insurance – I guess it’s just for those people who are so impatient they can’t wait another month to find out what they’re having – aka Me. We decided to do something a little different this time and had the tech write down what the baby’s gender was, to be opened at dinner later on that evening. The baby was chillin’ and wasn’t super cooperative – so it took a few tries and I diverted my eyes, even though I had no idea what to even look for. In my mind I had a lot going on that day. It was surprising to me how many people asked what “I” wanted to have – also if I had “prepared” myself for either option. The truth is, you never want to just say you hope you’re having one or the other, right? Is that generally frowned upon? Most people say what is the most politically correct thing I guess – “As long as the baby is healthy…” Well, it’s no secret that after two girls, yes, I wanted to have a boy desperately. The biggest thing I hear about little boys from my Mom friends is what little LOVERS they are. They love their Mamas. What woman doesn’t freak out over the idea of a little man who is going to worship the ground she walks on? Who will hopefully grow up to be just like the husband she adores so much? Sign me up, please! Maybe that need for affection stems from the fact that my girls don’t generally lavish me with their love (in that way) unless they A. want something or B. are sick. Sure, they say things like “You’re the best Mommy ever!” – but it’s usually in response to some type of chocolate offering or a visit to Build-A-Bear for a new stuffed animal. I honestly think they reach for their Daddy 90% of the time. And that’s ok, really. The time will come when they will hate me, I’m sure, but they’ll also need me. Lord will they need me. When boys turn into mystical beings with deeper voices and Justin Bieber hair – when they stop being little guys they “play dinosaur” with and start being young men – Oh, they’ll need me. When they get their periods. When they have problem skin in high school and need Proactiv. When they get stood up for a party and just need a shoulder to cry on. When they get a tattoo and need an ally in the house so their Daddy doesn’t murder them. When they get their heart broken, most likely dozens of times before they find the “One”. So yeah – I longed for a little boy. A boy I could dress in seersucker and a bow tie on Easter Sunday. A boy to carry on the Bischoff family name, to potentially name after Vann’s beloved Grandfather P.A. A boy I could love and cherish and squeeze. Later on that day we stopped at the hospital we hope to deliver at for a quick tour that ended up taking an hour and half. Needless to say, not having gone through this whole gender reveal thing on social media before (because Gasp, I wasn’t on Facebook when Ella was born!) – I was a little bit unnerved by the amount of text messages and Facebook updates I was getting. Unnerved is maybe not the word – it was making me IMPATIENT. I wanted to know, even if we had to pull over and look at it in the parking lot of Wendy’s. Luckily I have a very even-keeled hubby who kept reminding me this was, indeed, the last time we would be doing this – and pleaded with me to turn my phone off and for goodness sakes, STOP texting!! That was really hard. It was so fun, having our friends and family so excited to find out who would be joining our family of five. But, I knew in the end, it would make for a better memory (and story) if we waited the 30 minutes to the restaurant – where we could finally stretch out and tear open the envelope for the biggest news we’d have all year. We sat down and looked at each other, and I SWEAR – my heart was in my throat. My gut told me it was a girl, but maybe I’d just managed my expectations really, really well. Vann handed me the envelope across the table, and I ripped that sucker open: 
My 5 year old, Charlie, had told my husband that he “could get a boy fish” if we found out that Blueberry (what the girls call the baby) was a girl. That was the first thing that ran through my mind. The second thing was, “Oh, three sisters. Sisters. How wonderful!” And then I started to cry. For the sweet baby girl I’d be holding in my arms in just 6 short months. For the bond that I hoped all three of them would have with each other. And for the little boy I would never have. The experience of having boys would never be mine. Of course, that’s ok. After I mourn it for just a bit, if you don’t mind. And so, the Bischoff girls now far outnumber the Bischoff boys and indeed – my husband will have to get a male fish (if there is a way to tell such things) or eventually a brutish (with a heart of gold of course) Great Dane – or something like that. It’s a beautiful, wonderful thing. And I’m so, so happy. I will just have to shower that love and affection on my nephews and friend’s children, and someday – grandsons?? I’m sure – scratch that – I KNOW that when we see her little face, it will be like she was always a part of us. And we won’t be able to think about what life was like without her. As a sweet friend so lovingly said, “You weren’t complete until you had HER! And all that she will become.” (Thanks, Meesh.)
