Misery
Post-partum depression nearly killed me. Then I had a second baby.
by Adrienne Martini
October 22, 2007
Some of the decisions were hard. While no one wants to expose her growing baby to prescription drugs, I stayed on Zoloft because the risks of not taking it seem greater than the risk to the baby. At every appointment, my OB and I talked about my emotional state as well as my physical state. During month seven, when the kitchen knives were starting to hold a nebulous appeal, we upped the dosage. It took the edge off.
More controversially, we decided that this second kid would be formula fed from the start so that I could get the larger chunks of sleep that my limbic system needs to stay regulated. Yes, I know that breast is best. Yes, I know that I'm setting my kid up for a life of being stupid and sick. I still believe it's better to have a parent who knows where all of her marbles are.
Those first two weeks, which were my Waterloo the first time, almost did me in the second time, too. I spent the first week crying, this time with a three-year-old leaning against my shoulder and her brother across my lap. Family and friends who knew my colorful babymaking history looked at me like they were doing a silent I look at kid number two and wonder if I've set him up for a lifetime of issues. study. Should we check her in now? Or give it another twenty-four hours? Still, they stayed and helped and let me be the judge of what I could handle.
When I stopped sleeping, I called my OB, who suggested Tylenol PM. If it didn't improve, she said, I should call back, no matter what the time. That knowledge — that there was expert help only inches away — was enough. Eventually, I slept. I stopped crying. I felt like myself, for better or for worse.
With two kids, it's hard to say that it got easier. Two small people are more than just the sum of one and one. It's an exponential parenting progression rather than a linear one. Life in my house is a continual haze of nuttiness — but luckily not the clinical sort. I look at kid number two, now two himself, and wonder if I've set him up for a lifetime of issues because we made some compromises when he was only a handful of cells. Then he flashes a goofy grin and runs off to climb all over his big sister, who pushes him away with a giggle.
©2007 Adrienne Martini and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Adrienne Martini has written for the Austin Chronicle and Cooking Light. A former editor for Knoxville, Tennessee's Metro Pulse, her first book is Hillbilly Gothic: A Memoir of Madness and Motherhood. She chronicles her adventures at www.martinimade.com. |
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