Postpartum Depression

Much like my weighthate post, I’ve gone back and forth on publishing this. I don’t always feel like I’m eloquent enough to talk about such serious topics. I also don’t want people to think less of me. But even more than that, I don’t want people to question my relationship with my daughter. Because I love her very, very much. I hurt when she hurts, I laugh when she laughs, I love with her love.

But it didn’t always feel that way. It hurts to think that, to know that, to type that.

Lillie was not a surprise. We wanted her. We tried for 5 months. I cried every month (usually to Emilie) when that stick said ‘not pregnant’ and despised any and every one who happened to get pregnant within that time slot. Certainly I deserved a baby more than them – I had been married for 5 years, graduated with my bachelor’s, had a great job and a wonderful man who was just as excited about becoming a parent as I was. I did things right. I was responsible. I was fun. I was going to be a great parent.I guess you could say my pregnancy was pretty textbook. I had no major issues (other than swelling like a damn beached whale in the last two months). Alfred and I talked about what type of parents we wanted to be. We decorated the nursery. I was surrounded by amazing friends & family who honored Lillie in multiple baby showers. I was excited, nervous sure, but I had no doubts that when Lillie was placed in my arms the heavens would open, angels would sing on high and a love deeper than I knew possible would roll over me.

I mean, after all, that’s what everyone tells you will happen. We see it on television that way. Why would I be any different?

My labor and delivery was about the same as my pregnancy – pretty straightforward. My water broke about 7am, the husband took me to the hospital, I was dilated to a 5 before I got that glorious, glorious epidural, at 5pm I was ready to push and at 5:30pm I heard Lillie’s first cries and they placed her in my arms.

But no, the heavens did not open. The angels did not sing. And I did not feel a love deeper than I had ever known.

I felt relief that the pregnancy was over and that she was healthy. Mostly though, I felt just this crushing weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I was in charge of a life. A human life. What if I fucked it up? What if I accidentally killed her? How do I breastfeed? Why does this fucking hurt so bad? Is that blood? Is poop supposed to look like that? Where the hell is a training manual for this shit?

Like most things in my life, I didn’t ask for help. I smiled for the camera. I went through the motions of a new mother, but I didn’t care. I had a responsibility and I handled it in a way I thought was healthy – I distanced myself from my emotions. If I felt something, then it would hurt more if it was taken away. So don’t bother feeling. Don’t get me wrong, when she was hungry, I fed her. She needed to be changed, I changed her. She needed to go to the doctor, I took her.

You know how you watch the news and you see parents who drown their children or suffocate them? I understand that feeling. I hate that I understand that feeling. That feeling of hopelessness, of sadness, of indifference. That absolutely does not make it right, in any way shape or form. I never hurt Lillie. I’m grateful that I was at the very least self-aware enough to walk away when the crying wouldn’t stop. Whether it was hers, or mine.

I remember one instance when a neighbor came over to check on me and see Lillie, she offered to watch her for a little bit while I went to the grocery store. Lillie was perhaps 3 weeks old. I didn’t stay gone long –an hour tops, not because I didn’t want too but because I didn’t want to put my neighbor out. When I returned she asked, “Didn’t you just miss her so much?!” I smiled as I took her and said “Of course I did!”

But, I didn’t. I just said that because I couldn’t let anyone know how I felt. Obviously there was something wrong with me, I didn’t feel the way I was supposed to feel. People couldn’t know I was struggling. I had to be a good mom, what would people think if they knew I was having a hard time being a mother? I saw my friends posts on facebook where they talked about how much they loved their baby and couldn’t wait to get home to them. How their life was perfect because they finally had this child they wanted. Here I was with the child I prayed for and yet, I felt nothing like they way they talked.

I was jealous. I judged myself based on others [one of the many negative side effects I find in social media] I was unhappy and didn’t want to realize it. I lashed out at my husband, at friends, even at myself.

After 8 weeks of maternity leave, I was beyond ecstatic to go back to work. Finally, I could be a part of something I was familiar with. Something I understood. I looked forward to 8am Monday through Friday. It gave me the time away that I so desperately needed but didn’t want to admit too. I started getting into a real routine, I was able to focus some of my attention on other things than the fact that I was what society would deem ‘a lousy mother’.

It helped. I began feeling more like my ‘before’ self and that made a huge difference in my perception. That I could still be Tamara the Person while also being Tamara the Mom. Things started changing, feelings started to change and then one day, I had a huge argument with my husband.

What it started about I couldn’t tell you, I just don’t remember because it’s not what it started about that was important – it was how it ended. With a hug. With feeling like we were a team. I had unknowingly put this expectation on myself that I could do it all. I didn’t need his help [even though he wanted to give it] and I didn’t express to him any of these feelings. I shut him out, just like I shut out those emotions I wanted for Lillie.

That argument turned it around for me. He reminded me that I wasn’t alone. That we’d been together for 9 years of ups and downs and the  person I was hurting the most was myself. When I was able to be honest with that, with myself, with everything I had been keeping in for the past year – I felt relief. I wasn’t alone. I never had been.

And you know what? That love I talked about earlier? Where the angels sing on high?

It poured from me.

I was never medically diagnosed with PPD. In fact, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I imagine most women who suffer from this aren’t. They’re just like I was – struggling to make it through the day without flipping shit for no reason. And they can’t tell anyone because heaven forbid they don’t feel the way society tells them to feel. Not enough people talk about this. As mothers, that hurts us but more importantly, that hurts our children.

So, here I am. Telling you that it’s okay. It’s okay if you don’t feel those emotions the first time you hold your child, because you will. It may not seem that way right now, but it will come – with time. With reflection. With understanding that you are capable. You are beautiful. You are amazing. You are a good mother. You may not feel those things now, and that’s fine. Because this period of time in your life is minimal compared to the future of the love you’ll be able to share with your child. She’s not going to remember that at 3am you let her cry for 10 minutes while you walked outside and cried in your milk-soaked pajamas. She’s going to remember you cheering her on at her first t-ball game. She’s going to remember you making her French toast for the first time. She’s going to remember every hug & every kiss you ever bestowed upon her because you do love her. You do. You just haven’t found it yet. And that’s okay because when you do, your heart will soar beyond the highest heavens and you’ll love so deeply sometimes it feels as if your heart is beating outside your chest. So, take a deep breath. Give it time. But most importantly – know you’re not alone.

You are not alone.

If you suffer from PPD or think you might http://www.postpartum.net is a great resource.

And of course, I’m always here.

You can email me at Tamara0827 [at] gmail [dot] com. I’m here to listen, not judge. I can’t. Because I’ve been there and I survived. So will you.

Miracle Match 5k

This was my 4th year to participate in this particular 5k. My first time was back in 2010 with 3 of my co-workers and I think the only reason I signed up for it was to see if I could. I mean, 3.1 miles – that’s FOR.EV.ER. I was about 30 lbs thinner then than I am now, so even though I didn’t realize it – I was fast [compared to me now]. My time in 2010 was 34:14. My times in 2012 were never lower than 40 minutes. Sigh.

I had really planned on pushing myself to get into the 30 minute time range and I felt like I did. However, my official race time does not reflect how I felt and what my Garmin watch told me.

Official time: 40:30.

And I can’t really dispute it because instead of shutting off my fancy watch when I crossed the finish line, I forgot about it. So, this happened…But you can see my miles were in the 12 minute range [hello resolution!] What what! I’m lucky to be pushing 13 most of the time, so I’m thrilled with this even if my official time doesn’t feel right. I’m not really certain what happened, but it did. So, no point in crying over minutes lost.

This race wasn’t initially meant to be about time for me anyhow. My Emilie was going to use this race as her platform into running [she’s been training] but then last week the doctor told her “NO NO NO RUNNING” [Something about her meniscus and cartilage gone and she needs knee surgery, sounds like a lot of excuses to me] But walking was fine.

I had planned on running with her, at her pace and just enjoying the fact that I’m slowly wearing My Emilie down into wanting to run. Muwahaha. But when the doc gave her the no-go she gave me the thumbs up to run my large & in charge ass off.  So, the new plan was for me to run, while her and Lauren walked it out and follow-up with a girls day. You know, pawning our adorable kids off with their dads while we shopped & drank margaritas.

Me, Lauren & My Emilie staying chilly before the start.

Are you curious as to why I’m wearing camo? Oh, it’s simple. It’s because I’m a… Back in December, I asked for your help on what I should change my bib name too [an option this race gives you to you, which I think is pretty awesome]– there was a tie between this & Tamzilla. I broke it with my personal preference.

I thought it was a cute little outfit. I felt like a badass at least. You know, except that my skirt kept riding up so it looked like I was showing my lady bits to every tom, dick & hairy I came across on the route. What can I say - I like to keep it interesting.

Also, I added a new tab at the top #RunTamRun that lists all my previous & upcoming races. If you see something you’re interested in running and want an opinion on it or if you’re just needing an excuse to drink with me (although, to be fair, I’ll probably throw back a glass with you even if we don’t run) let me know!

Holiday Swap Reveal

Last year [oh, it seems so far away already!] one of my favorite gal pals, Lin, hosted a Holiday Swap that I so eagerly participated in. This all happened around the time I was in Vegas running my first half. When the swap posts were to be shared I missed out on doing this post because 1. I’m a procrastinator and 2. I took a blogging hiatus over the holidays.

[But mostly because I’m a procrastinator]

So, you get a post that’s well over a month due. Try to contain your excitement.

I was paired with Sara from Welcome to Sara’s Organized Chaos. I immediately sent her an email to try and get a better feel for “her”. When she replied, I wanted to have her baby immediately. And still a month later, my loins constantly yearn for her awesome sarcasm and wit. I highly recommend you go check out her blog. She has a great way of writing with such honesty that you’re like, “This bitch knows what the fuck is up.” I love that in a blogger.

But on to the goodies.

Lillie was immediately intrigued at this box that just appeared on our porch. We weren’t inside for more than 2.5 seconds before Lillie was already screaming ‘Oh-pen, mama. OH-PEN'.’ I cannot deny her, so open we did. Sara did a fantastic job with all her gifts she sent. Lillie was especially excited for the Santa night light. I don’t think she knew what it was when we opened it, I think she just liked that it was shiny. She is her mother’s child. I was particularly pumped about one thing. That beautiful blue box of angelic godsend cookies. Lillie wasn’t so sure at first, but after one bite – I think I’ve found my match in Oreo loving. And while Lillie was entranced with her cookie. Enjoying each little bite as I’m sure the Oreo gods intended. Me? I was devouring them with the speed of a cracked out Ricky Bobby. I’m not ashamed to admit that after sharing a few cookies will Lillie I promptly hid them in the pantry away from prying toddler hands. Don’t judge me. I feel like Sara would have wanted it that way.

Overall, it was a great blog swap experience! Thanks Lin & Sara. You guys are the bombdiggity, yo.

This is for the hills…

I, obviously, am a glutton for punishment.
You see, I ran my first half on Dec 2 in Vegas. I followed that up about 6 weeks later by running another half in Houston on January 13th. And now, it looks like I’m running another one in about 8 weeks in Waco, Texas – the Bearathon.

I may or may not have an addiction.

For Vegas, I was just going to prove to myself I could run 13.1 miles and not die. I wanted to enjoy the rest of our time in Vegas so I feel like I was really conservative.

For Houston, I wanted to push myself harder since I already knew I was capable of running that distance. I knew it was a ‘flat’ race which made the thought of beating my Vegas time much more realistic.Even through the pouring rain and the chafing ass, I managed to PR [personal record].

For the Bearathon, that is not the case. This is hills. This is some motherfucking hills.

My plan is just to finish this one and say, “I fucking did it.” Last year, I ran the 5k portion of this race and remember thinking “Man, how cool would it be to say I ran the race that claims to be the toughest half-marathon in Texas?” You know, as I passed people puking and what not. At that time I never thought I would get to a point that I would think myself capable of doing it. But it’s amazing how time can change you.

After running part of these hills during my Zoo 10k last year, I know they are no  joke and instead of winging it with my training [which is kind of what I did for Houston] I’m attempting a training plan. I want to make sure I’m as prepared as I can be for this. I’ll officially start next week. For Mondays, I’m thinking my cross-training may be a spin class during lunch. Or who knows, maybe I’ll just jump on the trampoline. I’m wild, I tell you. Tuesday & Thursdays are just going to be me running at whatever is comfortable. I don’t want to injure myself over these next 8 weeks. But I do want to attempt to get faster. After reviewing my splits over Houston, I know I’m capable of being faster – I’m just not really good at pushing myself to be faster. I think dedicating one day a week to work on speed or running with hills will help prepare.

Wednesdays will be the days I curse Satan for allowing me to meet Moj. I love her dearly, but she makes me hurt. I can barely move my arms still today from our workout on Wednesday. She’s not a personal trainer, just a close friend whose always willing to help out a novice. Our workouts always vary. Stairs, burpees, squats, weights. She makes up the playlist and I just cry. 

So, here’s to another 8 weeks of training!

In the meantime, I have a 5k tomorrow morning – I’m hoping to drop some time on this, so fingers crossed.

Also, Sar from [life of love], me and a few other people are going to do a mud run on May 25th! If you’re in the Waco area, sign up! www.mudquestrun.com . We are doing the 9am heat for the 3.5 mile race. It’s going to wonderful, check out the site and let me know if you’re interested!  I ran it last year [2 miles] and had a blast – it’s a workout, but it’s fun. Promise.

That’s My Jam

 

I’m linking up today with two of my favorite people, Katie from State of Change and Shauna from theAwesomes, to talk…

Boy Bands

I was pumped when I saw the link-up for this. I love me some boy bands. It brings me back to a sweeter time in my childhood when all men danced in sync with each other, wore similar outfits and made me swoon with one little wink. Why can’t all men be this cool?

First up, of course, N’Sync. You were either Backstreet Boys 4 Life or N’Sync…I was more of an N’Sync girl myself. Not that I don’t appreciate the Backstreet gang, I just have this unrealistic expectation that J. Timberlake wants my lady bits.

Why yes, I will be your girlfriend.

Backstreet Boys – I love that they’re called Backstreet, like you’d totally see them in a gang on your way to buy dope or something and they’d deter you from buying with their smooth vocals and amazing dance moves. Backstreet saves lives, my friends.

Blink 182 – I don’t know if you could say they’re a “boy band” because they were a little more alternative than pop, but they’re all boys and I had a poster on my wall – so I’m going to count them.

And don’t you think I forgot about you Hanson. You mmmbopped your way into my heart and have never left. Like seriously, you’re always on my running playlists.

What was your favorite boy band? Or is? Or did you despise boy bandness with every fiber of your being?

Because if so, I’d like to know how – I mean, that shit is catchy. I don’t think I could say no to one of their tunes even if I tried.

Weight Hate: Chub Rub

After I wrote my first #weighthate post, I was kind of lost on how to continue. I felt like I really put it all out there and wasn’t sure how to come back from that. I mean, according to you people I was all inspiring and shit.

That’s just not natural. I’m the girl who falls up the stairs. I’m the drunkard who buys a 6 pack of wine because it’s 10% cheaper that way. I’m the mom who hides in the pantry to eat a fun size Twix bar so she doesn’t have to share with her 2 year old. [Kids know things, so I don’t get away with it very often.] I’m a girl who curses like a gawdamn sailor and loves every minute of it. I don’t feel inspiring. But I can be truthful.

But should I start with my relationship with food. [Food gives, I take happily] Or do I talk about gaining a shit-ton of weight when you’re pregnant? [It’s not as fun as it sounds.] Like I said in the first post, I have a lot to share - I’m just having a hard time figuring out how to do that in a way that won’t cause you to go - “Fuck, shut up already” or assume I’m looking for sympathy. Because I’m not. Everything I’ve gone through has allowed me to get to this point. The point of “Dudes, I gots this.” And I’m not ashamed of that.

Which leads me to tell you about something else I “gots”.

Chub. Rub.

Do you not know what this is? Well, let me enlighten you, my dear friends.

It’s when your fat rubs together and you get all rashy. Sexy, am I right?

I’ve heard people talk about it being the reason they don’t go workout and I’m here to say, that’s a load of shit. Oh, Tam, you’re so insensitive! But I’m not, because in addition to what you read above, I’m also the girl who could host a Bill Nye science experiment on friction. These thighs weren’t made for running. Or at least that’s what I thought a year ago.

Sometime after my dreadful 5k last year in January when I was walking/running on the track above the gym I decided that I needed to wear shorts. The cotton Wal-Mart capris were just hot. And filled with sweat. So, one day, I pulled out a pair of shorts to wear while I ran.

It did not go well.

I stopped after a few rounds because the ol’ thighs were acting like teenagers making out behind the bleachers – all over each other. I was embarrassed,this had never happened before. I felt discouraged. I mean, why bother working out if I can’t even wear shorts. This is Texas. We have two seasons – hot & hotter.

I’ve worn Capri's to work out in since then [although, not the cotton Wal-mart ones. I invested in a few pairs of nice ‘real workout’ ones]. And it’s not bothered me one bit. Instead of using chub rub as an excuse to not work-out, I punched it in it’s chubby face and found a way around it. Capri pants = perfect solution. [Also, there’s this thing called body glide. It’s like lube for your teenage love making thighs]

But then, not everything can be perfect forever.

Because this past Sunday came, you know, the one where I ran in the rain for 13 miles? You see, I’ve never ran in the rain. In the wind, sure. In the cold, absolutely. In the rain, fuck that. So, I wasn’t prepared for the aftermath.

The first thing I did when we got back to my aunt’s house was hop into the shower. I was so looking forward to it’s gloriousness. That is until water ran down my backside and I started jumping around like a cat with a firecracker attached to her tail. It had hit me. And it had hit me hard.

I didn’t just have chub rub. I had one helluva chapped ass.

The 3 hour ride home, not nearly as comfortable as it should have been. You know how I pulled out Desitin in my vlüg yesterday? Yeah, uh, that wasn’t just for my small child. That was for my large ass.

And you know what, it totally helped.

So, stop making excuses. Stop blaming everything else for why you’re not ‘getting out there’.

Because if I can chap my ass in the name of running, and still love it, surely you can too. 

Chevron Houston Half Marathon 2013

I slowly, carefully laced up my shoes. It was 5:30 a.m. and I was procrastinating. I knew we had to leave in the next few minutes to make it on time. We had to go out in the wind, the rain, the cold all because this wild hair invaded my thoughts nearly a year ago.  A year ago. Wow, what a difference that makes. I never would have even considered being up this early, for this reason 365 days ago. I would have scoffed and called this person I am now, crazy. Just flat-out crazy.

It’s pouring rain, 37 degrees and windy. Who are these people that choose to go out in weather like this?

Runners, that’s who. Runner’s of all types. Slow, fast, large, thin, old and young were at the same starting line I was on Sunday January 13, 2013 in Houston, Texas. Despite the weather, all these people had made a commitment and were sticking to it. It was amazing to see as I walked into the expo building to gather my thoughts & push away that little voice in my head that told me this was stupid. It was raining for crying out loud.

I knew it would be cold and had hoped it wouldn’t rain too hard. As I began making my way to the corral around 6:50 a.m. I thought I might have been granted my wish but then the starting shot went off at 7 a.m. and it was as if the clouds opened up in agony. Rain poured. I was soaked. Hair, shoes, socks, underwear. There was not a dry spot left on my body when I finally managed to reach the starting line at 7:15 a.m.

For the first 2 - 3 miles, I could barely see because of the rain. I hated that I didn’t wear a visor, a hat, something to keep the rain from falling down my face. People turned around and went back. They couldn’t do it and I can’t say I blame them. It was exhausting pushing sloshing forward. I ended up running a good portion of those miles with my eyes closed. I had never been more thankful for waterproof mascara.

Although it felt like it never went away completely, the rain seemed to subside after the first 5k of the race. I started finding my groove, I was jamming to my music, I was feeling strong. I was still cold and considered picking up other people’s clothes they had discarded and cursed myself for not wearing a thicker shirt. I could feel that voice trying to rise up and then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was a man pushing his way through holding onto a blind man who was running this race.

Here I was – fully capable of going on and still doubting myself even though I knew I could succeed, hell I’d ran 13.1 miles before– and there he was. Literally running blind in the rain, faster than me. He was trusting his legs to push him forwards when all his other senses were probably telling him, No. Stop. Whoever he was, it inspired me to stop whining and just get on with it. The pain will come and it will go, but that feeling of accomplishment – that’s something you can’t take away.

So, I did. I jammed to my music, I watched other runners, I thought of how I was going to write this blog. And every time I tried to doubt myself, I thought of him. I thought of every other person out on that course who was doing it. Maybe they were 18 year veterans of this course, or this was their first [I’m referencing real people here who hung out with me at the starting line!] but they were out there for the same reason. That feeling of accomplishment. We were all reaching for it.

And then it was mile 7, the sun was starting to come out and I was actually beginning to dry off. I couldn’t believe how well I felt considering my longest run since Vegas had been 5 miles. I kept running. I thought I would pee myself around mile 10 but I didn’t want to stop. I couldn’t. I had come this far. I was so close.

[I’m in the red. I refused to let guys in purple tutu’s pass me.]

So, I didn’t. I didn’t stop. I ran the entire 13.1 miles. They were slow miles, but they were ran. Every single one of them. And they were ran faster than in Vegas where the conditions were beyond perfect. And mile 12 didn’t even kill me this time.

These are the splits from my Garmin.

My official race time for Houston was 3:00:27 and for Vegas was 3:04:27.

Four minutes faster exactly. For those of you who don’t run, I’m sure that doesn’t seem like much but I promise it is. Go out and run one mile. Then run two. Then run 3. And for each mile go 15 – 30 seconds faster than you did with the very first mile until you reach 13. Trust me, it’s not as easy as it sounds. Sure, I’m still slow but I’m getting faster and that’s one of my resolutions for this year. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but with this one, I think I have too. You guys, I fucking rock.  

Also, a HUGE shout-out of love to my Aunt Shannon, Uncle Cliff, Maddie & Abi who let us crash with them (no hotel charges!). Thank you for letting us stay, eat your food and force you to drop me off at 6am in the middle of ridiculous Houston traffic and then coming to cheer me on in stupid cold temperatures. You guys are amazing.