moosh in indy.

I’d be remiss not to thank you for the excellent work you’ve been doing for me lately. Especially when it comes time to dominate my family at monkey match each night. I know you’re well aware that this whole making our living on the Internet thing is feast or famine and we’ve had to pass on a lot of feasts in the past because you just couldn’t be trusted to hold your own.

You’ve been working so well I’ve taken on far more this month than I ever have in all my six years doing this. I have faith that we can do this together brain. That you won’t break on me. At least not until the feast table has been cleared and the food coma has set in.

We’re good brain, you and me.

Let’s keep it that way for as long as possible (at least until the end of August please.)

xoxo, the body that contains you and feeds you all those tasty omega-3′s

I am very happy. (So is Vivi.)

And for the first time in a very long time I am not listening and waiting for the other shoe drop.

It feels so good.

If I could give you all a hit of how good I feel right now? You’d beg me to be your dealer.

When I look in the mirror I see happy. When I see pictures of myself, I see happy.

I look good happy, even if no one else sees it. *I* see it.

I don’t see the constant ponytail and 11 week postpartum belly.

I know I weigh 40 pounds more than when I got married and that I only fit in clothes that are generously sized, elastic and machine washable.

But none of this really matters to me right now.

I see this time in my life where everything is so wonderful.

This is real happy. Not worldly happy, material happy or chemically altered happy.

Just, happy. Content. Thankful. Blessed.

I get to spend my days with my arms full of warm snuggly baby, something I waited nearly six years for.

I am going to be able to look back at pictures from this time in my life and know that for however long this lasts the people around me got all the best parts of me, especially my littles.

I know my depression is somewhere up there in my brain. I know it will be back someday.

But for the first time in ten years I don’t fear it.

Something has happened that I didn’t see coming.

And yet it makes perfect sense.

I’ve said before that I have a hard time looking at photos of myself from dark periods of my life.

Turns out I have a hard time looking at clothes from dark periods of my life as well.

Specifically, in this case, baby clothes.

I am coming to realize just how bad my postpartum depression was with Addie. I don’t remember truly enjoying a single moment of her babyhood until she hit about 7 months.

I kept telling myself that the reason I didn’t like putting Addie’s old clothes on Vivi was because they were the wrong season (Addie being a December baby and Vivi being a May baby, not to mention they both have very different spirits about them.)

But as I went through Vivi’s drawers today I picked up a onesie that I distinctly remember Addie wearing. And I distinctly remember feeling very, very absent when she wore it.

I held it in my hands.

It was just a shirt.

I looked back to Vivi’s drawer and saw other clothes that belonged to Addie during those first seven months. They brought back a feeling I can only describe as a very heavy rock on my heart. I took out the outfits that belonged to Addie and rearranged the drawer so only Vivi’s clothes were showing.

I felt better.

When Addie’s clothes were gone the drawer became the me I am now. New. Recovered. Restored.

Being somewhat sure that I was only imagining things I went into the closet where some little dresses hang that Addie never actually wore. They stayed on their hangers until she was too big for them and they were packed away in hopes that another little girl would someday occupy them.

They didn’t give me the same feelings as the clothes she did wear.

And towards the back of the closet hang Addie’s bigger clothes…9 months on.

They do not stir up the same emotions from me as the tiny clothes do.

I am experiencing a lot of what I believe would be considered guilt over Addie’s babyhood. She was well cared for and very well loved. I have evidence that this was so, I just don’t remember being the one doing it.

I never want her to think I loved her any less than her sister. Because I don’t, the feelings involved are just so very different and working through them has been confusing at times.

Addie is my heart.

Vivi is my soul.

And I could never live without either.

My friend Heather talks a lot about her heart gut.

Maybe it’s because I have so much in common with Heather that I know exactly what she’s talking about when she speaks of her heart gut or maybe it’s something we all understand but on very different levels.

The author of one of my favorite books speaks of a heart gut in much more clinical terms (he’s a Harvard psychology professor) but it’s the same idea. And he says that one of the worst things we can do as parents is undermine a child’s heart gut.

It is natural as parents to want to protect our kids from the ugly and the sad and the scary. But there are also ways to explain the ugly, sad and scary in a way that will not only develop their compassion and understanding, but also develop their heart gut.

Addie has a well formed heart gut. Whether it’s from being trapped inside my broken body at such an awful time or being with me through every treacherous step of my depression, the little kid is smart and in tune with what’s going on around her. The last few weeks have been no exception.

I have cried over the past few weeks. A lot.

Out of frustration, exhaustion, happiness and sometimes simply because it just seems like the only thing left to do.

Of course Addie asks why I’m crying, and while it’s tempting to hide and say that I’m not, I’m just going to the bathroom for a really long time or I have something in my eye…I don’t. I tell her why I’m crying. I explain to her the difference between a sad cry and a happy cry. And most of all I tell her it’s okay to cry, and that there are times when you are so tired it really is the only thing left to do short of pass out.

There have been times in our marriage that Cody has been tending to me when I’m not at my best. Addie comes in and asks what’s wrong. Cody will tell her “nothing” or “mom’s fine” and ask her to go out and play. He’s only trying to protect her from the scary and sad. Addie always catches my eye before leaving the room and gives me this look like “I know you’re not fine and I love you very very much but I’m going to listen to dad.” I always attempt a smile at her, or at least give her a look to acknowledge that her heart gut is right and to never stop trusting it.

And even more importantly, that I will be okay. Promise.

Do you listen to your heart gut? Do you encourage your kids to do the same?

Have you ever been out with your friends at dinner and one starts to get uncomfortable because the waistband on her pants is just a little too tight and it’s starting to give her gas while your other friend has blisters from the shoes she hasn’t worn in awhile and no one has a band-aid to help her out?

Meanwhile you’re wearing stretchy stretchy pants with the most perfectly fitting sweater and shoes so comfortable that you could walk to the moon and back if the need arises?

You want with all your heart to give your gassy friend the stretchy pants off your body and switch shoes with your blistery friend but you can’t, because if you were to go without pants you would get arrested and your other friend has feet three sizes larger than your own.

The best you can do is teach your friend with the pinchy pants the rubberband around the button and through the buttonhole trick and for your sore soled friend? You help her hobble out to the car barefoot, who cares if she’s not wearing shoes? You’re her friend, not a 7-11.

Some of my favorite people are going through some very difficult times right now. And while their problems are those of deep sadness, depression and heartache rather than tight pants and pinchy shoes…I’m still left feeling helpless over here in my comfy pants and properly medicated brain.

I haven’t had much to say lately because I’ve been so preoccupied with prayers, hopes and wishes that my friends, whether close or far away, in or outside the computer, can feel better. I know they’ve all done the same for me when I’m down in the dumps.

So ladies? Until your pants fit comfortably and your shoes don’t pinch, I’ll be here, rooting for you.

It was at this point in my pregnancy with Addie that I attempted to end both her life and my own.

Much of my life story can be told through pictures. Bad boyfriends, vacations, new friends, old friends, bad outfit choices and even worse hair choices.

But there are no pictures from that three month long period of my pregnancy with Addie.

There is really only one picture from my struggle with depression this time around. And I think it kind of speaks for itself.

It’s hard to look at, but I’m grateful I have it.

There are also no pictures from the Spring of 2009 and certainly not many pictures from late fall of 2009.

These were two of the darkest seasons of my life. Having photos from them would only proves to be a constant reminder of how much was wrong, despite everything looking right through the lens of a camera.

Camera lenses can be excellent liars in the hands of a skilled person, I perhaps am a better liar. I can plaster on a smile for a camera that would never alert you to just how broken and destroyed I am inside. But when I look back at the photo? There is a place in my heart that aches, knowing that girl in the picture was lying with her whole body.

There is one photo in particular. I can’t stand to look at it. I haven’t even bothered looking for it, it hurts too much. That I could put on that convincing of a show…

Periods of my life remain photographically dark for good reason, however when the light comes back…so do the photographs.

The first photo I took at the end of a horrible 2009 was this one…

My love for that man has continued to grow exponentially every single day since this photo was taken.

Just as I have to be so careful about the people and outside influences (mainly the media) I allow into my life no matter how healthy my brain is, I must also control what gets remembered with such permanence as a photograph.

This is a story I’d never thought I’d tell, either because it was too sacred or it would scare people off. A woman hearing voices while driving on the freeway tends to land her in the “yay! crazy!” sub genre of society. But allow me to explain.

Cody and I had been married several years. I was having some sort of early 20′s crisis over “is this it? this is all there is? an eternity more of this?” Don’t get me wrong, “this” was good, but a lifetime of Hamburger Helper (I didn’t know how to cook yet) and Friday night movies (come back Friday night movies!) seemed…well…boring.

I was talking to a friend about my crisis (I feel the needs to put air quotes around the world “crisis”) and he said “Did you ever think maybe it’s time for you guys to consider having kids?”

“PFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTT!!!!!!!” with a bunch of spittle sprang forth from my mouth. “KIDS? ME? I don’t even like kids! Why would I make one of my own that I am responsible for!?” (There was also an underlying fear that I wouldn’t be able to have kids due to several surgeries to remove benign tumors from my cervix.)

But after I was done talking to him I started to think, “Kids…huh. There has to be a reason people have them.” So when Cody got home I brought the topic up. He was totally not opposed to the idea, especially considering how babies are made. But we were still unable to look each other in the face and say “Let’s make a baby.” So we decided to go to the temple separately to pray for an answer.

My drive to the temple was a sunny one, blue sky, big puffy white clouds. I was mulling this kid business over in my head as I was driving when I heard “Yay! Mom’s going to know about us!” in the tiniest sweetest little voices. To say the wind was knocked out of me would be a dramatic understatement. I’ll also say it was a good thing I was already sitting.

The tears started…”Mom’s going to know about us.” and they didn’t stop. Not when I got to the temple, not when I went through the session and especially not when I was able to bow my head in personal prayer at the end. When I finally lifted my head I noticed I was surrounded by nice old ladies who worked in the temple, worried about when the snotty lady in the corner would finish it up already and “I wonder if she’s really okay?”

I mean, there’s being touched by the spirit and then there’s being knocked flat to your knees I dare you to feel any other emotion but the overpowering love of God touched by the spirit. Whew, still wears me out to think of it almost eight years later.

I knew Cody and I had someone waiting for us. He had gotten the same answer but with far fewer emotions attached to it. Addie came into our lives within the next year (not without struggles of course) and we were happy. But I never forgot that those little voices in the car that day said “Mom is going to know about us.” Meaning more than one.

That tiny little moment filled with those tiny little voices carried me through the last six years. Addie was meant to be part of a them. Part of an us. A pair. Of course I was frustrated that I was promised an “us” and that “us” came much slower than any of us expected.

But I grew up, I changed, I learned. I was shaped by the experiences and the people I met and even now I am learning more and more about my capacity to love and hope and dream. Both of my babies have been trapped inside my broken body at some point. While they’ll never remember the experience, I will. There are times when I hug Addie and remember how we made it through one of the darkest times of my life together, literally.

The same will be true of Mozzi. That first moment I hold her I will be able to look at her and say “we did this, together.”

I was talking with a beloved friend this last week and she mentioned that her first baby was her heart and her second baby was her soul.

Addie is my whole heart and everyday with Mozzi inside me the capacity for my soul to thrive grows.

I will never be able to thank them enough for letting me know about them before I even knew of my capabilities and blessings that would result from being their mom.

I have been medicated for almost two weeks. “They” say that it takes about 21 days for any new treatment to really make a difference. Hopefully “they” are right, because while I do feel much better and Cody hasn’t come home to me crumpled in a corner sobbing for two weeks…I still feel as though I am watching instead of fully participating in my life.

You need to give yourself time to get better. I need to give myself time to get better. In a perfectly medicated world I would be able to take a pill and 2 to 3 hours later be fully participating in life. Like when I would take vicodin tylenol for cramps. But the brain doesn’t work that way. Emotions don’t work that way. The best way I can think to describe it is when Addie was six weeks old I tried to go out for a night of dancing, dining and general merriment. I could barely keep myself upright. Babies eat your abdominal muscles for lunch and just because the baby has been out for six weeks doesn’t mean your abdominals are back to their pre baby dancing shape. It would be ridiculous to think otherwise.

The same with depression. It eats your brain for lunch, knocks you to your knees and until you hit rock bottom where the ground is cold and hard and slimy you can’t begin to work your way back up. Even more importantly you can’t work your way back out quickly. Even with medication.

Imagine being trapped in a 1,000 foot jello mold with nothing but a toothpick to get yourself out. You can see a blurry reality through the jello and so you start digging your way out with your toothpick. If you have someone supporting you, your toothpick can be bumped up to a chopstick. If you choose to go to a doctor for help your chopstick becomes a plastic spoon. As you continue on with your therapy your plastic spoon becomes a wooden spoon and soon it turns into a ladle. Digging has become easier, but you still have a lot of digging to do to make it to the sunshine on the other side.

Right now I feel as though I have a sturdy wooden spoon in my hand (I also suddenly have an insatiable craving for red jello) and I can’t thank the friends around me who have jumped into the jello with me with their toothpicks made up of dinners, encouraging notes, baked goods and emails that have helped me dig my way out with just a little more spunk.

I have to remind myself that I have a lot of people relying on me to get this right. Especially mozzi. To try and speed up my recovery wouldn’t be fair to her. I have to heal properly. I have to recover as fully as I can. I have to be whole when she’s placed in my arms.

A giant jello mold is no place for babies.