Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of... formula.

Last week I started suspecting that I might have Post-partum depression. Everything the kids did bugged me, stupid little problems became huge dramas that I stewed over all day (like George and I's little spat over whether the consequence for Errol not eating a banana because it's "broken" should be no more bananas for the day, or no more bananas until he eats the broken one), and I hardly ever had any "good" days. Something always occured to turn an okay day into a day of intense frustration and disappointment in myself, my messy house (I'm a bit of a clean freak), and how overwhelmed I felt at my current life situation. 3 kids under the age of kindergarten!

When it all came to a head last week I finally started questioning whether what I was feeling was normal frustration over my circumstances (kid are frustrating!) or something else. I wrote down my "symptoms" then compared them to the PPD symtoms I'd heard about several times from other mom's who'd had it, and from all those little pamphlets they give you at your post-natal OB apponitments. I became pretty convinced that I had it, but I hesitated to go on anti-depressant, so I started going over what my "good" days were like, to try and see what was different about them.

The key turned out to be vigorous exercise (40+ minutes of it), and getting time out to myself. But those things are difficult to keep up consistantly with a baby as young as Patrick. I was stumped on how to make those two things more consistant. I thought about how going out by myself was really nice, but I always had that nagging worry in the back of my head that my outting would be cut short by a phone call from George, with Patrick screaming audibly in the background, saying there was a hungry baby waiting for me. The ancitipation of that phone call -which sometimes came, sometimes didn't- put a hanmper on my "time out".

The same with exercising. I'd been limiting myself to 20-25 minute workouts at the gym, because often Patrick wakes up before I get home, and if he's hungry he's screaming, and that would slow down George's work preperations (he irons his work clothes every morning, and packs a breakfast and a lunch because he has to be there so early).

It finally struck me that maybe we should start giving Patrick formula. Not 100% of the time, but just often enough that he's okay with drinking it, and will accept it from non-mom sources. I wish I could pump enough milk to give him EBM in a bottle (it's FREE!), but if I were a dairy cow I wouldn't last long with the herd. I only seem to produce what Patrick needs at the time he needs it. No leftovers.

I bought a can on Saturday, and was amazed at the immediate improvement in my mood! And we didn't even open it until Tuesday! I hadn't even realized how confined nursing was making me feel this time around. I never felt this way with Errol or Raia, and both of them were nursed for over a year (Errol past two years!) No more vainly wishing for some "mom time" without ANY of the kids, because I have a baby entirely dependent on me for food. No more cutting my workouts short to make sure George's morning routine isn't being hampered by a screaming baby. No more hopeless wishing for a date night with my husband when I know it won't be for several months more before the baby can be left with a sitter and a sippy of cows milk or water.

I'm still very much pro-breastfeeding, and deffinately feel it's the best nutrition a baby can get. But I also believe that, just as important as getting good nutrition, a baby needs a good mommy. And you can't do that when you're depressed.

So, yay for formula!