Today was a GREAT day. I woke up at 7:45 am tired (honestly), though I went to bed at 10:00 and the baby only got up twice. Once I woke up, my wonderful, darling husband put the coffee on, like he does every morning. I made myself a delicious cup with stevita and a little milk, and sipped it on the couch with a 2 year old, her morning hair a pile of curls and nests, on my lap. Daddy had to be at work by 8:30, so I managed to follow him around as he got ready for his day, and out the door he went. I alerted the kids that I would make them a yummy breakfast, and after browsing online for 20 minutes or so I was very much inspired by a post that someone shared for grain free cinnamon rolls. I had all the ingredients on hand, so away I went to the kitchen to whip something up, something I could hopefully feed my kids before good ‘ol 9:00 rolled around. They had a cartoon on and though I threatened to turn it off six times and didn’t, I got plenty done in the kitchen. I was happy. The faux cinnamon rolls were amazing, I even had another ½ cup of coffee to wash them down with. Then I fixed a glass of water and got to work on a very messy kitchen. I scrubbed all the counters, did two sinks full of dishes, and then did a load of laundry. I realized it was 9:45 and I really wanted to go to the farmer’s market. So I told the kids, who were now playing really well together, that we needed to throw some clothes on. The baby had woken up by this point so I dressed her, dressed myself, and put some clothes away in my room while my kids dressed themselves.
Of course, the normal hiccups happened…Sonora pooped in her diaper, and then transferred herself to the toilet, where she slid off and left a trail of poo on the seat and then onto her outfit. So I changed her, while she screamed she wanted to wear the outfit that now had poo on it, swearing she could clean it and have it dry before we left. I wasn’t buying it, so I plopped her outside to scream. Then Jake had to poop and it was relatively easy to deal with, though I realized he hadn’t put on underwear when he got dressed so we had to backtrack a little. No biggie. I had to nurse the baby, change her diaper, and make sure she was happy before putting her down to play.
We got home late last night from a graduation party thrown by the Balbuenas and hosted at the Dean’s house. We were SO blessed by this get together! It was like the substance of the Father’s love to me because there was lots of food and lots of people- both items that put a really big smile on my face. Since we got home late I hadn’t watered my newly planted tomato plants (that I started from seeds…just sayin’…) and I had to do that. Our hose burst JUST yesterday, so I had to fill up a watering can and haul it back and forth to my 8 tomato plants. I spotted a pot of flowers that had not been watered and before pushing the kids out the door to get in the car, I tended to my petunias. The kids were in the car, locked down, and ready to head out at 11:00. The farmers market closed at noon, so I knew I needed to book it. I plugged the address into my GPS and away we went.
When we arrived it was busy, so I unpacked the two older kids and sent them running to the pavement and commanded them to stay put until I had the baby in the ergo. We walked from booth to booth and picked out what our tummies were telling us to, and enjoyed the experience way too much. Just ask my wallet. It turned out the farmer’s market was only a mile away from where Daddy was working, so we stopped by Starbucks for some overpriced yogurt and a quick hug, while I scored a free black tea that had been someone else's mistake. We also didn’t plan to show up on Daddy’s lunch break, but we did and enjoyed 30 minutes of visiting with the man we love most. We came home, put our food away, the baby went down for a nap, and the kids played with puzzles while I took wet clothes to the line to be hung. I then disciplined Sonora for eating puzzle pieces, while taping soggy, broken puzzle pieces back together with Jake, and when all was said and done, sent them to their room for nap time. The baby is now up and rolling around the floor with her favorite toys. And here I am, with a smile on my face simply thanking God for a beautiful, glorious day out with my family.
I don’t care that it’s 80 degrees in my house and that it won’t get any cooler. I don’t care that there is still laundry to be done, and that I still need to get my barely alive petunias in the ground today, or at least that’s the plan. I am just happy that I am happy. I am in a season where I can look back on the last few months and see what a hell hole it really was. I was trudging through, though I knew I was depressed. Around January I found myself sick, at home with three young kids, miserably missing my mother-in-law, crumpled on the floor rocking back and forth with Sonora and Cori on my lap. Both of them were crying for whatever reason. and I was crying too. I was done. Every day after, I felt the same feeling: give up. One of my friends recommended that I call the doctor and so I did. They made me an appointment right away. I desperately wanted medicine. When my doctor diagnosed me with post-partum depression and recommended anti-depressants I wanted to have them that minute. When the doctor told me it would take 2 weeks to work, I wept in the room. I seriously needed help. I was getting out of the bed, but only because I literally had no choice. Making breakfast, doing laundry, and taking care of children was like holding my arm over a hot burner. I put them in front of the TV only to feel guilty to the core. So I turned off the TV, only to feel like I was majorly failing them as a mother. And I was. At one point I remember laying in bed and thinking this phrase, “My soul is being fed to Satan on a platter.” That is how I felt, like God was not coming to my rescue because it was getting worse, not better.
Today was a GREAT day because I went to bed before midnight last night. Unfortunately depression turned me into an insomniac. It felt like the only time I was alone, ever, was at night. And that’s when the memories began to flood of my mother in law’s laugh, or her voice, or just that general sense that I would not get to see her for a long time. I would mosey out of the bedroom onto the couch and plop down next to Paul, “I just miss her.” And he knew. After I would talk myself into sleeping, I would wake up the next morning sometime around 9:30 am and wish death upon myself because I knew my husband fed my children some form of cereal and milk, and I didn’t want them to get Cancer. Guilt was a close "friend" most days, not a very good friend though. Since I was entirely pissed that anti-depressants would not be effective for two weeks, I turned them down. I went to two counseling sessions that we paid for out of pocket, and had several spiritual mom’s (and my own mom!) lend me their ears and wisdom. I am grateful. In fact, God carried me through that time by means of the body of Christ alone.
Today I made breakfast for my kids. We sang songs, we thanked Jesus, we prayed. We took care of the garden. I had a plan, and I had the energy and determination to follow through with it. HALLELUJAH! Today was a HUGE accomplishment for me. The last couple of weeks have been like opening a cellar door and seeing the light, but today was one that I seriously looked at my myself and could see that depression was now a thing of my past. And now, here I sit, eating a farmer’s market inspired salad with lightly sautéed salted broccoli on the side (my husband says I won’t gain weight because I eat like a person who is dieting…what does he know?) and I am just so happy. My love tank is full. Maybe I am as happy as I’ve ever been, I really don’t know. That is the blessing in disguise about depression: when you come out of that cellar and see the light, it blinds you. And you’re grateful to be blind, so blind that all the little hiccups that made you want to end your life before make you laugh because the hiccups are not a big deal. They’re just life, and life is beautiful. Yesterday was a great day, today was a great day, and tomorrow will be no exception.
The answer to depression, in my life anyway, was simply “process.” It was all a process I was working through. It was a horrible process I hope to not return to, but in the end I made it through. At this point, it would take a lot of toddler poo (and/or vomit) to ruin my day. I am so happy to be happy.
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