Last night I took my first Zoloft. I don't know why, but I still feel as though it's lodged in my throat. Something's sore there. It was such a small pill, though.
They told me it could take two to four weeks for it to kick in. Eric said he felt better on his antidepressants in a day and a half, but that he's "very reactive to medication." I can wait, knowing that improvement is around the bend. The doctor also gave me a steroid cream for my stress rash, which has been going nuts for the last few months, and an order for a blood draw to check my thyroid hormone levels. Apparently, the postpartum period is a common period for thyroid problems to surface, and with my family history, it's probably a good idea to check. Of course, we'll have to wait for an evening or weekend (and not this upcoming one, as I'll explain in a minute) so that Eric can come with me; I can't hold Sam while they stick needles in my arm.
Anyway. Hopefully I'll be feeling better soon. I thought it was interesting that the doctor made such a point to state repeatedly that depression is not a character flaw, but a chemical imbalance. I know it's not a flaw. I guess some people need that reassurance, though.
I also had to fight back chuckles when he discussed the sexual side effects with me and kept saying "delayed orgasm." I'm such an adolescent boy.
Sam is intrepid. Since his birth, I can think of only two or three occasions where he's been afraid; the insanity test scared the crap out of him a few months ago, and once Eric growled at him while playing, and Sam burst into tears. For the most part, though, he's incredibly brave. The power drill we bought last week makes a loud noise, and Sam thinks it's the coolest thing he's ever seen. The vacuum cleaner makes him whine, but only as he chases it around the room to try to investigate it. This Saturday, out of curiosity, we went to one of those enormously loud, congregation of thousands churches, complete with the rock band and the PowerPoint presentations; Sam bounced on my knees to the booming music and never fussed once (though we had to take him out when he wouldn't stop singing when the songs ended).
On Friday, for the first time, he was able to crawl across the library to the relatively tall train table and pull himself up on it to see the top. Once there, he chortled with glee and played Godzilla Baby, grabbing trains and banging them around and stuffing them in his mouth. Other children didn't know how to handle his presence, so they tried to keep the "good" trains out of his reach, but he didn't mind being left with the old ones; he was just thrilled to finally be a part of the game. When the big boys staged elaborate train wrecks, he laughed and shook until it seemed he had to fall down. He never did.
On Sunday, we went to a coffee shop. To our surprise and pleasure, a group of string players - fiddles, banjos, guitars, and double bass - were having an informal jam session. Sam loved it, climbing high on my shoulders to look at the players and bouncing in my arms. When I put him down on the ground to play, he began, without hesitation, to crawl for the center of the circle. I barely stopped him; had he gotten there, he would have begun to pull up on their legs to get to the instruments, I'm positive.
What have I done to deserve such a wonderful boy as this? I'm daily amazed that I produced someone as charismatic and joyful as he is. Last week, I would have said that there was no question, that I didn't deserve him. I still feel that way a little bit. In a few weeks, maybe I'll feel more positive about it.
This weekend, Sam and I are going on our first road trip without Eric. I'm meeting my parents in Pittsburgh for the weekend. Mom's birthday is on Saturday, but Eric has to work, so we're going alone. I'm nervous, but I think Sam can handle it. I'll take plenty of time, stopping if he freaks and playing his favorite music. I need a bunch of leashes, I think, to keep him from tossing all his toys away from the carseat in the first ten minutes. Do such things exist? I'm also taking a rental car, as Eric doesn't trust my car to make the three and a half-hour trip.
I'm excited. I miss my mommy! I know I just saw her a few weeks ago, but I can't wait to see her with Sam again. That sight warms my heart like nothing else.
The weekend after that, Easter weekend, Eric's parents are coming to town. Of course, that's assuming that Rita is up to it; she's been very sick lately, and they've recently upped her meds again to help her breathe. I'm feeling okay about this. Ask me again next week to see if that changes...
one year ago:
Labor, almost universally, hurts. I'd be a fool to naively think that I would escape the pain, or even that I could "relax it away."
two years ago:
He thinks I need a hug. All I need is a nap.