2 kids are harder than 1

My mother came and went. My husband returned to work and his Ph.D. program. The dinners and visits stopped coming. My life was a whirlwind of nursing, diaper changing, and chasing Bradley, my 2 year old. Sleep was an unfulfilled dream. I'd snatch an hour or two here or there, but I never left the state of exhaustion.

I admit I wondered why I was so worn out, but then again, I'd never had two children. Two is harder than one, right? Millions of women on the earth at that very moment had at least two children and with more and they were still functioning and functioning well.

I didn't know how to ask for help...that's not something a "real women" has to do, right? I was so mixed up in this world of supposed dos and don'ts. I was the one that everyone came to for help and advice. I was the strong one...or so I thought.

Inside I was slowly dying.

Each day my stamina would decrease. The exhaustion was taking over and things weren't getting easier like they were supposed to.

In the past I would spend hours filling Bradley's mind. He has always been eager to learn and I secretly prided myself for fostering his above age level intelligence. Before Braeden's birth I had prepared all sorts of fun games and activities to do with Bradley. I wanted him to know he was still right there at the top of my priorities list...he just had to share the room a little bit more.

Braeden turned 3 months.

My delivery scars had long since healed, but my emotional ones were more infected and sore than ever.

My daily routine was feed my boys and lie on the couch until Ryan would come home from school to take over. Showers were too much effort and were only taken to keep some level of cleanliness. Our once bright and open apartment was usually dark behind pulled blinds. Bradley was learning and growing in his TV watching and GameCube playing skills...not exactly what I had planned for my smart little boy.

While I was lost in my own darkness, my husband was standing by watching the decent. I was breaking his heart. He was in the middle of his Ph.D. studies to become a Marriage and Family Therapist. He knew what was happening, but I couldn't hear his pleas that I get help.

"The kind of people that needed medicine and therapy had a problem, I was just tired. You know at least you don't have to be home with the boys all day." I'd often respond.

How hypocritical I was. I really thought I was above such help. I could barely even appreciate the marvelous work that my husband did for so many people.

"And honestly, how much could someone really help anyone. What good is talking about it? I talk to you about my problems all the time and that hasn't changed them."

How those words must have stung. Could I have been more insensitive?

Then a bittersweet event occurred...my long sick Grandfather passed away. How could we afford to go on a graduate student budget? I told my parents we just weren't going to be able to make it. My parents graciously offered to pay our way. I felt panicked.

Money was no longer the obstacle, but going without Ryan seemed like I was being asked to walk the 2000 miles with my boys on my back.

There was no way on such short notice that Ryan could break away from his CRAZY schedule. I cried and pleaded for him to come. I knew it made no sense, but I didn't know if I could handle it on my own.

I love my family dearly, but there had been some tough things in the past and I always relied on Ryan to pull me through our visits. How could he expect me to go to such an emotionally charged event by myself. I was frustrated. I was mad. I was hurt. I was irrational.

Finally in a moment of divine help I accepted going with Braeden and leaving Bradley home...2 kids was more than I could handle. The trip was rough, but everything turned out alright, but something needed to change.

By this point I could no longer accept that there was nothing wrong. I was barely functioning. Most of the housework was put on Ryan's willing shoulders, not to mention any real quality time with the kids, oh and of course his course work, private counseling, and BUSY church responsibilities.

I finally heard the music and made a tearful call to my OB's office. They prescribed a low level of Zoloft and scheduled a follow up appointment 2 weeks later.

...I had Postpartum depression.