How To Tell If Your Kids Are Lying?

Feb 23, 2015 by

A rare (and posed) sight

A rare (and posed) sight

My kids have gotten into this great groove playing together. They have been known to disappear into one of their bedrooms, close the door and play alone for a good amount of time. Sometimes I hear that tell tale screeching that tells me the older one is doing something the younger one does not like at all. I know I’m in trouble when I see them walking away quickly and I hear my four year old say quietly to my two year old, “You’re right, that’s a great idea, let’s go do that!” I usually let them run with whatever they’re planning. It often involves building things or playing some sort of pretend. These kids have great imaginations and haven’t done anything irreversible yet. I now the drawing on walls, furniture or carpet or an unexpected haircut might come some day.

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My Postpartum Depression Story – Emerging on the Other Side

Jan 28, 2015 by

It’s been almost four years since that June morning and I am no longer depressed.  I have a second son now and didn’t have postpartum depression with him.  I have since bonded with and love both of my boys more than anything in my life.  My bond is strong and secure with my sons. 

 

I am happy.

 

My sons are happy.

 

So when did my PPD go away?  I’m not exactly sure.  I suppose it gradually got better with time and antidepressants.  By my son’s first birthday I guess I felt “better” or at least better adjusted.  By this, I mean I looked forward to spending time with him, I felt a connection with him, and that “mother/son” bond had been formed.  I was able to sleep again, and I wasn’t constantly obsessed with thoughts and worries.  I (somewhat) came to terms with the fact that I will never again feel the kind of “normal” I did pre-children and this was my new normal.

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My Postpartum Depression Story – The Biggest Mistake of My Life

Jan 20, 2015 by

(My story …continued)

1month

Like all forms of depression, there are varying degrees of postpartum depression. It can fluctuate from of a mild case of the “baby blues” to a crippling case of serious depression, or a million situations in between.  To be honest, I don’t know where my case fell on that spectrum as it’s difficult to objectively diagnose one’s self.   I can tell you this: I never wanted to physically hurt my baby or myself.  But I did regret having a baby.  I felt no connection to him.  Only regret.  And hopelessness. I made the biggest mistake of my life and there was no way out.  I wanted someone to take my baby away and take care of him.

When I got home from the hospital, I was still physically a mess.  But that was nothing compared to the paralyzing fear I had of this tiny little person.

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A Lesson in Being Brave: My Defining Parenthood Moment

Jan 19, 2015 by

My defining moment as a mom doesn’t have much to do with my daughter.  Of course, she is peripherally involved in the story, but actually, if someone had taken a picture of this moment, it would be of me with big fat tears rolling down my face and a giant bag of M&Ms.

Let’s back up.

I am a school psychologist.  It’s not exactly one of those careers that anyone starts to dream of as a small child.  I didn’t decide to follow this path until well after college, and by the time I finished the long, tumultuous process of grad school and internship, I was 29 – on the older side for a first-year educator.  I couldn’t believe my luck when, with zero years of experience, a wonderful school district decided to take a chance on me.

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My Postpartum Depression Story – It Wasn’t Supposed To Be Like This

Jan 14, 2015 by

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It was mid-June, a little before 6:00am.  I didn’t know the exact time because I stopped looking at the clock by then, but I knew the approximate time by the amount of sunlight coming through the window.  It must have been a Tuesday because it was Garbage Day.  I watched the garbage truck thump up the street and screech to a stop in front of my house.  A frowning, middle-aged man hunkered out of the truck and carelessly tossed my garbage in the back of his truck.  I looked longingly at him and thought to myself: I bet he doesn’t have a newborn.  I bet he is free of the shackles associated with a needy little person that never allows him to rest, never allows him to close his eyes, never allows him to exhale.  God, what I wouldn’t give to trade places with him.  I looked reluctantly down to my baby and thought for the hundredth time that day (day? night?), what have I done?

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