To Hell and Back

The last week or so has been really hard. But let me start at the beginning...

I've spent the last month-ish coming off my anti-depressants. I went on them shortly after T-Bone was born to help with my PPD, and they did.  I felt "normal" again. Then after about 9 months I decided it was probably time to try living life without it. I talked to the midwives and they recommended that I wait until winter was over.

So after I miscarried, I decided that it was finally time to bite the bullet and try to detox myself. I did a lot of research on the best way to wean myself down.  After about 6 weeks, I was finally done.  Because I did a slow wean I didn't experience any of the untoward effects that can come with getting some anti-depressants out of your system. (Apparently it is akin to detoxing off of heroin.  Glad I didn't have to go there).

Anyway, about the time I was down to just 1-2 doses per week, T-Bone decided that he was done sleeping until 8 am. Ugh. I don't do 5:30 in the morning unless I'm at the tail-end of working a night shift, and I especially don't do it with a whiney 1 year old. After much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth (mostly from me, a little bit from him) we got him sleeping until after 6. Praise the Gods of toddler sleep! 

But the plot thickens...

I was already on edge from lack of sleep, as anyone would be, right?  Well, on Tuesday I was having a conversation with T-Bone's wonderful babysitter, Katie.  She has been watching him for a few hours every Tuesday while Greasemonkey and I cross shifts. She has been such a blessing in our lives.  I have never once worried about leaving T-Bone with her because I know she just treats him like one of her own kids. I also love the environment she can expose him to, that I am just not capable of exposing him to. See, Katie is blessed with adopted kids, so every Tuesday they go to adopted kids playgroup.  I LOVE that Tommy gets to be involved in that, because it's not an experience I am able to give him. Anyway, back to our conversation: after some back and forth about my family watching him this summer, she told me that with her daughter starting kindergarten this fall, her schedule is going to be such that she can't commit to taking T-Bone once school starts back up.  I completely understand where she's coming from, and she's got to do what's best for her family. However, that didn't stop my heart from dropping just a little bit. Any of you that are moms will understand. When you find a sitter as good as the one I have, you want to hold on with a death grip and fight for them tooth and nail. So, thank you to Katie for a wonderful 9 months being a second mom to my sweet T-Bone.  (And yes, I had a mini-meltdown at work when I realized all of this)

And then poor Greasemonkey couldn't do anything right.  I yelled at him for putting the baby down for a nap, for crying out loud.  It seemed like every little thing set me off.

And then there was the usual Sunday drama.

And then Monday rolled around.  "Great!" I thought, "We can start fresh with a new week." Well, Greasemonkey got stuck working a long day at work. And T-Bone couldn't seem to find any voice but a whiney one. And so I decided to brave the grocery store by myself. T-Bone did great!  He was happy, smiley, and helpful.  We got to the checkout line, got everything rung up, and sweet mother of all things annoying, I forgot my wallet.  Seriously? I forgot my freaking wallet. So I called up the husband to come rescue me.  He got stuck getting off the freeway (there was an accident blocking the off ramp), but he came and paid for our groceries. We finished out our day, and I collapsed into bed.

Today (Tuesday) started out fairly well.  We started our day at 6:45, which is tolerable, and T-Bone was actually in a good mood. I came into work... and it hit the fan.  Greasemonkey called me in a panic saying he was stuck at work, and wondering if there was any way I could go get T-Bone from Katie's house. He was panicked, which made me panic, which was not a pretty sight. I burst into tears for the 700th time in the last week (seriously, ask my mom... I think I had 5 meltdowns at Sunday dinner, alone) and came to the following conclusion:

It's time to go back on my medication. I tried to live without it, and I failed.  And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.  If the balance that a small dose of antidepressant brings is what I need to be an effective wife, mom, nurse, friend, whatever, then so be it.  I will gladly take that little blue pill every day if it means a better life for my baby, my husband, and myself.