First, I want you all to read this article from Post Partum Progress http://postpartumprogress.org/2011/02/how-many-women-really-get-postpartum-depression/.  It won't take long, and it will prime you for this next bit.

After the birth of my first child, "Bug", I was elated. Even though he was a major surprise, I LOVED him with my whole being. He was the stars in the sky, the smell of freshness in the air. I couldn't imagine ever feeling anything but love for him.

I had heard of, and been warned about Post Partum Depression (PPD), and 'baby blues', but never experienced it with him. I thought it was an excuse, women being selfish and weak. To me, it didn't exist...Until the summer of  2010.

My husband got laid-off from his job in September 2009. A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. The pregnancy was long and stressful. But on June 27th, 2010, my sweet princess was born; lovingly and gently in the water. Things were going well until July 3rd, just 6 days after her birth. We found ourselves in Children's Mercy Hospital with a very sick baby (but that's another story). After a miraculous healing, we went home. Scott was working 2 jobs and 50-60+ hours a week. We had no money, and our marriage was being tested to it's limits. I started feeling a hopelessness, and darkness slowly gripping me. Killing me softly.

My emotions deteriorated day by day. Even after Scott was blessed with a good, stable, full-time job, I was losing myself. It was sad and scary. But, I was too ashamed, to afraid to ask for help. Months passed, and I got worse. Once, a patient, loving mother; I was becoming angry, short-tempered and resentful. I would be fine one minute, and the next I would lose it. I would scream and yell at my beautiful children. I would throw things. Say horrible things. I could see the sadness in their eyes, and I would immediately feel remorse. This wasn't me. This isn't who I am. But I couldn't control it.

I remember, one weekend I got crazy and left the kids with Scott, so I could take a bath. I could feel the depression, the anxiety gripping me, distorting my view, stealing my life. Over, the next hour or so I fought a battle of taking my own life. I would hold my breath under the water as long as possible, "Come on, one deep inhale, and you can end the pain. Your family deserves better than you are giving them." I don't know how I found the strength to win that fight.

It kept getting worse. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to take care of the kids, the house, myself. I told my daughter I didn't like her, that I couldn't stand her. My fuse got shorter and shorter. I hated myself. I loved my husband, and my two beautiful and amazing children. But I couldn't stop. It wasn't me. I knew I needed help, but I didn't think anyone would understand, care, or not judge me. I felt alone and helpless.

I was the person I dreaded being. I was that mom that I used to hear about and just shake my head in disbelief.
One day, November 1, 2011, something happened. I lost control. It scared me. I grabbed my kids and cradled them closely, sobbing. I was at the bottom, I HAD to do something, NOW. I couldn't talk because of my sobs, so I e-mailed the one person I knew to, but also, the person I was most afraid of disappointing; my Mom. She is my closest friend, and I share everything with her. But I was terrified to tell her this. Here is what I said:

"

I don't know what to do, and I need to do something. I can't seem to say in person how I really feel, but here it is.

I go to bed every night, loathing the morning. I don't want it to get here. The days are so long and lonely. When I wake up, even after a decent night's sleep, all I want to do is nothing. I feel empty and tired all the time. I don't want to take care of myself, I don't want to be a mom, I don't want to cook, clean, do laundry, make beds, nothing. Why? Because who cares? The kids just whine and disobey. I have no patience for anyone or anything. Just the slightest thing makes me lose it; Wes disobeying, Emma crying, they won't take naps, Scott working outside. I am constantly on the verge of crying, and feel like I am headed for a psychotic break-down. Sometimes I am harder on the kids than I should be. I know I shouldn't, and I hate it, but it's like I am not in control. I don't feel in control. I feel anxious, scared, like the next little thing will set me off. I feel sad, useless and inadequate. I'm so scared. I hate who I am. I don't know what to do."

 

This was the day I stopped feeling ashamed, and started getting help. This is the day I started living again.

 

Each day is a battle. I still struggle with feeling down on occasion. But never to the extent I used to feel. I know what I need to do to take care of myself. I love my children, I enjoy being a wife and a mother. I enjoy each and every day. I long to be with my family. Our home environment is peaceful and loving. My children want to be with me again. I am the mom I always hoped I'd be. Not perfect, but trying each day to better myself.

 

Here is what I did to start healing myself:

Started using a good Progesterone Cream everyday.

Started taking a good multi-vitamin with Omega-3's everyday.

Started taking care of myself, showering, doing hair, make-up, and dressing up.

My wonderful MIL watches the kids for a few hours on Wednesdays, to give me time to myself.

I am eating better and exercising.

I started praying, and we started attending church again.

I am kind to myself.

I always talk to someone when I feel down. Always.

 

This process won't work for everyone, but it works for me. Like I said, I have to make an effort each day. But it is getting easier. I feel joy more often than I feel anxiety. I have had the unending support and understanding of my husband, my mother, and my children.

 

So, the moral of this is...NEVER be afraid to ask for help. Talk to someone, a friend, a family member, a neighbor, me. Don't be ashamed, don't be afraid. Be strong, be courageous. For you, for your family. It is easier to fix a small fresh wound. No matter how low you feel, how hopeless your situation seems, remember that there are people around you who love you. YOU ARE A GOOD MOM, and I love you.

First, let me say, I am NOT attacking, I am NOT an expert, I am NOT implying, or pointing fingers. I am simply explaining, why I am the way I am.

*Drrrrruuuummmmrooolllllllllll*

I have been in the church, specifically 'The Restoration', since birth. I have been baptized, and I BELIEVE in God. I also believe in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. This is the icing on my cake. This is the glue that holds me together. This is why I am the way I am.

Some people, OK, a lot of people call me a hippie, because of my lifestyle and beliefs. Well, ya know what?! Radical dudes.
 

I am about to get religious on yer tokhes.

I know that I was created in His image. I know that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I know that my body is a temple, and should be treated as such. Because of this, I believe that God created my body perfectly. I believe I was designed, as a woman, to bring my children into this world, the way God himself intended me to, naturally. I believe my breasts were created for two things; to feed and nourish my children, and to bring pleasure to my husband. (Heh heh heh)

I believe God created the food of the Earth to be healing and medicinal.That when "We put God made food, into God made bodies, we get God made health." - Mary Ann Shearer, Perfect Health the Natural Way. I believe, we as a culture, have created the majority (notice I said majority, not all) of the disease and illness that is so prevalent in our society. Diabetes, obesity, heart disease, cancer of all kinds, osteoporosis, ADD, ADHD, asthma, the list goes on and on.

And, since I believe the ^above^ to be true, I also believe vaccinations to be unnecessary for my family. I believe in preventative "medicine", my medicine being food. Whole foods. Foods that came from the Earth. Food that by nature, has dirt on it. (no I don't just sit and eat dirt) Did you know that dirt has a huge concentration of B-Vitamins? No lie. My family is vegan, and moving each day closer to the health I believe God desires us to enjoy.

If I believe God made us perfectly, and in His image; I also believe that routine infant circumcision is unnecessary and dangerous. He didn't mess up. (I am NOT trying to beat a dead horse).

I believe that God made our bodies to move, to run, to dance. We, as a society, are LA-ZY. Our family, including the kids, enjoys running, playing tag, and getting dirty. I believe in experiencing God's creation, with bare feet, and open arms.

I believe God created me to have the ability to learn and to reason. Therefore, I research EVE-RY-THING. So I know the facts, so I have the information to make an informed decision. A decision based on knowledge, not someone's opinion.

I believe God created me to be a mother, and that only I and my husband know what is truly best for our children.

Doctors, hospitals, surgery, medication all have their place in the world. They save lives. But I believe, God would prefer that I first trust in Him. Trust that He will honor my efforts to live my life as He designed, to use the knowledge he has blessed me with, to prevent some of the common and not-so common ailments of today.

I am not perfect, and I have had to eat my words. When Emma was 6 days old she contracted viral meningitis. I have been to the hospital, I have seen my tiny daughter being poked with more needles in one night that I have had in my entire life. I have looked death in the face. But, God has always, pulled through. Always. His plan is perfect. When we learn that, and when we can say to Him, "Lord, let your will be done." Then, and only then  can we start living the life He has waiting for us. Which I guarantee is better than we can imagine.

My childhood of Rosemary Tincture, working in the gardens, playing in the dirt, and being raise in the church, all make me...me.

So, there you have it. I'm a God-fearin', veggie-eatin', home-birthin', naturally curin' babe; and I wouldn't change it.

I would like to thank God for carefully selecting my parents, and for continually shaping me into the woman he desires me to be. I also wanna thank my mom and dad, you guys are the craziest people I know. Love ya!

All my life, seriously my entire life, every June mi padre's side of the familia would load up their knapsacks and head down to 'The Creek', or the crick, depending on who you ask, for a weekend of camping entertainment. I was but a few days old when I made my first venture down south. My dad has 11 brothers and sister, and no we aren't Catholic (no offense to any Catholics out there), so it was quite a posse. We would sleep in leaky tents , in flat sleeping bags on the hard, rocky earth. There were no showers to speak of, and the only bathroom was an outhouse that got used about once a year. *Shudder* -My dad used to love the 'X-Files', and one particular episode had some kind of alien, zombie, creature that hid out in outhouses. It still freaks me out, to this day.- 

At the creek, we ate cold hot dogs, drank way too much sodie pop, and stayed in our fishy smelling swimsuits all.day.long. The creek had an old rock dam (watch your mouth) and we would take our bar soap down to the waterfall and scrub up in the greenish brown water. Ahhhh, refreshing. We LOVED this place, we got to play outside all day, eat junk, play in the water and outdoor litterbox, and annoy the relatives. When I say we, I refer to meself and my siblings, Mandi and Sean. There used to be an old wood and iron bridge that ran across the  upper portion of the creek, and it was good times to jump off into the murky water below. Mind you, the water wasn't that deep. We would have campfires at night, we would sing songs, laugh too loudly, get eaten by insects of the outdoors, and stay up WAY past our bedtime. REDNECK.

Every year without fail, we headed down there for my Grandpappy's birthday, which was June 5th, my b-day was June 6th.....I always got jipped on the birthdays, cuz we was always at the creek. Ah, well. We owned one side of the creek for years, and then the other side became available, so we snatched it right up. There is an old log cabin on the new side, where many of my aunt's and uncles were born....WHAT?! I know, a-maz-ing right? There are many campers, cabins and trailers down there, no more sleeping in tents. We is way to good for that. The kids get bathed every night in the shower house, we eat real food, because we have a full kitchen to cook in, and the whole atmosphere is different. All the aunts and uncles have kids, so that means with them, their spouses, and their kidlets; there is about a million people down there. "Holey smokies." I know, I know. Some of them are still procreating, I have two kids, my sister has one, and our aunties are still birthin' babies. My dad has a nephew that is older than him, and he (my dad) is John Richard Bullard III. "What?" I know.

I have 26 FIRST-cousins, and counting, ranging in age from 13 years-7 months. "A nephew that's older than him?" I know. Have you ever heard the song, 'I am my own grandpa?' Yeah.

When I was 10, I babysat for the first time, my cousin Mikayla, she was a few weeks old. Nowadays, I believe you can get in trouble for that kind o' stuff. Child endangerment or something. That started the trend, free babysitters, to the whole family. But that's another story.  I'm finkin' next time, I will bring this all to a close, and then you will know...Why I am so screwy in the head.

So just for a minute, I am gonna stop talking about me. Even though I am SO interesting. *gag* I wanted to talk a moment about a highly controversial thing in the United States....yesss....Are ya ready to hear what it's about? Huh huh huh? Well here we go!

So, I read this story one time about a family that adopted an infant, and they wanted the infant to have some of the same facial features as other members of the family. So they decided when the infant was just a day or so old to give him a nose job. So he would look the same. Outrageous right? Well, this story is a lie, but it opens up the thought process for.....

Routine infant circumcision.

It just gets my panties all in a wad thinking about it. My pulse quickens, my eyes widen, steam starts rolling from my ears. Pure uncontrollable anger. Rage even. Why am I so sensitive about this subject, you are wondering I am sure. Well, here is a little bit of info for ya, via' 9 David's' blog http://9davids.blogspot.com/2010/11/50-reasons-to-leave-it-alone.html  There are TONS of websites out there with TONS of information about circumcision. And yet, people still come up with reasons to do it. I usually try to take a neutral stance on most topics, even natural childbirth. Yeah, I think it's the most awesomest thing ever, but if you decide to have an epidural or elective c-section, that is your bag. Not mine. However, whenever people tell me they are going to circumcise their sons, it takes all the gumption I can muster not to grab them by the shoulders and shake them violently. See, rage. I bid all of you, Puh-lease, for the love of Martha, please, for your child, research the crud out of this.

Here is a list of websites out there that are dedicated to educating people about circumcision.
http://www.thewholenetwork.org/
http://www.circumstitions.com/
http://circumcisiondecisionmaker.com/

And many many more. It's something worth thinking about. Something to think about beyond just, "oh, well, his daddy was, or better to do it so he looks the same, or better now so he doesn't remember it.." Blah blah blah blah blah. Go now. "Flee before me my little nose miners." (name that movie)

XoXoXo

So, last time I wrote, I talked about my alcoholic heritage....JK, Mom and Dad.....They (my mom and dad) were baffled, nay, shocked, that I was sharing such details of my childhood, and my sister said, and I quote, "If you dare put pictures on your blog of when I was younger...." I will leave the rest to your imagination. We were all on the chunky-dunk size, and she is a little sensitive about it. Even though, we have all overcome our past chubbiness.

This week I am going to be writing about gardens. Yep, gardens.

~Mary, Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row.~

What a load of bahookie. I ain't never seen a garden with silver bells, and what the hey is a cockle shell? Pretty maids? More like smelly, chubby, sunburned, poorly dressed children.....Wade in the water. Wade in the water. Wade in the water....Now, my family which consisted of Mom, Dad, me, Mandi, and Sean lived directly in front of, or behind, depending on who's house you were at, my Uncle Johnny and Aunt Tina, and they had four boys, Shane, Ryan, Daniel, and Seth. We would spend our summer days playing ball, riding bikes, hide and seek, but mostly we worked in the 3 gardens between our two families.

Cock-a-doodle-doo! Rise and shine sleepy heads, time to go work in the garden. Pulling weeds, picking bags upon bags upon bags of green beans, bushels and bushels and bushels and bushels of zucchini. Tomatoes. Peppers. Jalapenos. Potatoes. Squash. Watermelon. Canteloupe. Corn. My family had two "small gardens", which if put together was about half the size of a football field, and my Aunt Tina, had one big one, about the size of our two. And for some cow dung awful reason, both Mom and Aunt Tina felt it necessary to plant large amounts of green beans and zucchini. Both are like weeds, they just keep growing and growing, and producing mass amounts of stuff. Each morning we would pick green beans, our backs would ache from bending over, our necks were scorched by the hot Missouri sun, we would pick and pick and pick, and occasionally pull up a green bean plant or twelve by the root...accidentally of course, hoping the production would decrease. But each morning we would wake up, and there would be more green beans! Just as many, if not more than the day before! Where in the name of Saint Peter do they come from?! It's like an evil Santa Claus. He comes at night while you are sleeping, and drops off bajillions of green beans. Then, after you pick them, the beans got to be snipped. So ya sit down, and ya snap off both ends and break it in the middle and toss it in a bucket. Every once in a while, you just grab a handful and throw them in the trash....saves time ya know.

The one and only good thing about green beans, is that you can can them. So you can taste the agony all year long. But not zucchini, it tis not so, you can't can it (can't can, hahahaha), and it grows just as wildly as green beans. So what does this equate to? Zucchini, in EV.ERY.THING. No lie. Zucchini always grows well; in a drought, it survives, in a flood, it survives. But give it prime conditions and it ruins your life. Tell ol' Pharoah, to let my people go!

One fine summer, not too hellishly hot, but not cold either; there was plenty of sun, plenty of rain, and the zucchini took over. Of course, everything else in the garden thrived as well, but it is the zucchini that imprinted itself in all of our young lives. At first it was awesome. We ate zucchini bread at every meal! Warm delicious bread, with warm drippy butter. Mmmmm.  But then it started appearing elsewhere. In spaghetti, on sandwiches, in salad, fried zucchini, baked zucchini, parmesan zucchini, zucchini with ranch, raw zucchini.  We ate it in cereal, on toast, with yogurt, with eggs, with cheese, with cake,with dirt....we ate it, and ate it, and ate it. We would go on drive by's with bags of zucchini, and throw it in people's yards like the Sunday morning paper. Only, the zucchini didn't limit itself to Sunday. No-ho-ho way. After we finished, hoeing, weeding, picking, watering, snapping, and canning. A driving we'd go. Happy Fourth of July, have a zucchini! Hope you get well soon, have a zucchini! Congrats on mowing your lawn this week, have a zucchini! The sun is shining, have a zucchini! You get the idea.

Since, we had such huge gardens, we of course, lived off the land, for the most part. Our summer meals were mostly vegetables, with hot dogs or bologna and cheese sandwiches, on white bread of course, with Kool-Aid always on tap. We were so healthy. O_o No wonder we were all large in stature. Every summer, this was our life. Other kids went on vacations. We got to garden. Not.Even.Fair. *folding arms and sticking out bottom lip*

But alas, all of this child labor was molding me (like shaping me, not like mold, on like cheese) into the crazy, hippy, wild woman that I am. I always swore I would NEVER  ever ever ever, have a garden, ever. But, guess who is having one this year? Foshizzie. No green beans though.

Now before, anyone gets all hot and bothered, thinking my folks were some kinda slave drivers, and before anyone calls DFS on them, you need to realize, all of us kids are now fully grown, so calling DFS would do no good now. ;-) JK Mom and Dad. But, I think that all of the manual labor was good for us. And ok, maybe I was exaggerating a smidge, but now, I can look back with fondness and laugh, and say, "Oh man, I can't wait until I have kids." Just kidding...but really.