Why do you let that old cow bother you?

Today was a hard day. I felt an enormous amount of anger. So much anger that I wanted to throw up.

Last month our landlord told us that he would not be renewing our lease on the house we were renting. We had been there almost one year (our contract ended today) and we loved it. He said we were great tenants but he wanted his daughter to move in. At first I was stressed, but realized he wasn't breaching our contract. But over the last several weeks, I have become increasingly upset about it.

I remembered that four months into our lease, he asked us if we would want to move so his son could move in.

He wanted us to maintain the lawn with his lawn mower (part of the contract) but when it wouldn't work, he said we needed to buy our own.

He wanted his daughter to be able to move things into the house before we were out.

All of that was annoying. But bearable. And then today, after an incredibly busy two weeks of packing and moving things and cleaning and paying a lot of money to move when we didn't want to and watching my girls deal with all the confusion, it got worse. My siblings came over and helped us clean all day (I had already been cleaning for a few days). We all worked so hard, were incredibly thorough. We had professional carpet cleaners come. I left feeling that we had left it in great shape. They did a walk through with Jake (the landlord and his wife) and his wife ripped Jake apart. She was disgusted at how poorly we had left the house. She said it wasn't up to her standards, that it would take her several hours to clean up what we didn't do. She said she felt uncomfortable letting anyone (her daughter?!) move in with the state it was in. She made him feel like a child. I may not be the most pristine person when it comes to cleaning, but that house looked amazing. We spent a lot of money fixing things up so it looked great. And they didn't care at all.

When Jake told me about it, it took absolutely all of my self control to refrain from writing a strongly worded text. I hate when people make me feel small, but hate it more when it is done to my husband. My emotions are already heightened with the move and with the kids being a little more emotional, as well. It is a lot to take care of.

I got in the car and called my Granny. One of the loveliest people in the whole world. Truly. I had remembered that she told us a story growing up about living on a farm with a stubborn cow that didn't like to be milked. One day the cow was being especially difficult, and one of her relatives (a cousin or her brother, I can't recall) came running into the house frustrated at the situation. My granny's mother, who I hear was also quite a fantastic lady, said, "Why do you let that old cow bother you?". And it became a saying in the family, passed down to me and my siblings. I needed to hear my granny tell me about it tonight.

When I called, she said that it's really very sad that some people don't know how to deal with other people. That they don't even realize that they are rude and condescending. That they were never taught better or they feel the need to "be the big cheese", as she put it (love that). She said I should pity people like him. That I was justified in my frustrations. But that I also know better than him, and I am in control of my own emotions and reactions.

The more she kept referring to our landlord as an old cow, the more I realized that I am so glad I didn't retaliate today. She suggested I draw a picture of a cow with a big dumb tail dragging in the dirt and imagine it's him. I love that. I love her.

And I realized that I have been feeling anger toward other things. Things that simply aren't worth my energy. People saying dumb things online, people doing things that I don't understand. Today I hit my threshold. The thermometer broke.  I realized today that my daughters need to see kindness in my actions and words. I'm sad that they heard me talking so angrily on the phone with Jake about it. I hope to exemplify love and patience. I guess this is what they call growing and learning.

On Postpartum Depression.

Since before I can remember, I have wanted to be a mother. I imagined having six children, I picked out their names, and I certainly had a lot of practice being a little mother to my three younger sisters. There are home videos of me guiding their play time and kindly (in my opinion) telling them how to do things. In my mind, I had everything it took to be an amazing mother. And as I grew up, I still knew this was what I wanted. More than just about anything.

When Jake and I found out we were pregnant, I started decorating the baby's room. They call it "nesting". That is exactly what it felt like. I was a mother bird preparing the perfect space for my little girl. I had matching lavender and yellow decor. I handmade most of it. I spent hours online trying to find the perfect matching bed sheets for her crib. My bags were packed for the hospital weeks in advance. I was so ready to be a mom.

Josie Lynn came to us five days late. The labor was nothing unusual. Everything went well. She was born on July 30th, 2012 at Logan Regional Hospital.

From the minute she was born, she was so incredibly alert. She didn't sleep for several hours.The nurses and Jake and our family all commented on it. After my sister and Jake's parents left (the middle of the night, since she was born late at night), she was still awake. I tried feeding her, which didn't go very well. The nurses took her for a while so I could rest. 

A couple of hours after they took her, they brought her back and had me try feeding her again. Jake and I were watching "O Brother, Where Art Thou?". I remember it all so vividly because it was the first time I realized I was completely terrified of being a mother. Of having to keep a human alive, of being responsible for helping someone grow and be happy and stop crying. Josie screamed and cried and screamed for so long that night. I had a panic attack. I broke down and sobbed to the nurses in the hospital. I felt so embarrassed. I wanted so much to keep it all together. After all, hadn't I been preparing for this my whole life? Isn't having a newborn the most wonderful thing in the world? I had imagined a sleepy little baby who would hold my finger, coo, go to sleep when I wanted her to. And here I had a baby who wouldn't eat or sleep.

I think you can see in this picture how completely overwhelmed I was.

When we got home and more family came, I felt I was putting on a happy face so everyone would know I was completely in control of the situation. I felt that since people had traveled a long way, I had to be on display as a new glowing mother. Inside, I couldn't wait for everyone to leave so I could cry. I was living in total terror. 

Josie was born right in the middle of the Summer 2012 Olympics. I had never watched Summer Olympics before, except the occasional gymnastics back in the 90s when that was really popular. But since I was up in the night feeding Josie, I could catch all the highlights and feel like I was taking part of something exciting and outside of myself. Something about happy, strong people outside in the world made me feel like I wasn't so alone in my apartment. I remember one afternoon, a couple of days after Josie was born, I was watching the Olympics and a commercial came on with a man in his 30s. I looked at the man, completely exhausted from no sleep, and thought to myself: "This guy probably has kids. He probably loves being a father. He can't be any better than me. Why can't I love being a mother? What is so wrong with me that I can't be like every functioning parent I know?". I felt so guilty for being so depressed. Those kinds of thoughts crept into my mind often. Too often. 

The room and crib that I had so thoroughly prepared for Josie was not used. For a few MONTHS. I was too afraid to put her in another room. She slept in a bassinet right by our bed until she absolutely couldn't fit. I remember on Halloween, my sisters were over and we were watching a scary movie. Jake encouraged me to put Josie down in the other room. I was terrified of not having her with me. So I worked up the courage to put her down in the bassinet... in the hallway. Close enough that I could hear any small sound she made. I didn't know then that I was still living in such fear. When she would go to sleep at night, I would lay in bed and just pray that she wouldn't wake up crying, because I couldn't handle it one more time. 

I spent most of my time inside. When babies are born, there are a lot of doctors appointments in the beginning. I was too afraid to go on my own, so Jake would come too. Every time. I was afraid that I would miss something important the doctor would say. I was afraid I had done something detrimental to our baby within a two week period, and I needed Jake there for moral support in case the doctors got upset at my parenting.

Jake coaxed me out of the house when he could. One day his high school friends came to Logan. They wanted to meet at Chick Fil A. I spent a lot of time mentally preparing myself for the possibility of Josie crying in a public place, of me not being able to keep her happy, at not being able to hold a conversation with an adult because I had fallen into some sort of mommy vortex, that she wouldn't take a bottle, that they would see me for the fraud I really was; a girl who wasn't ready for motherhood.

I spent a lot of time crying on the phone to my mom. I read a lot (a LOT) of parenting books on different methods to help your child sleep. I tried to get out of the house even though it took all my mental energy. I reached out desperately to other moms for advice. I would get one piece of advice and try it, it wouldn't work and I would cry in frustration. I just knew I was doing something wrong.

The thing about my postpartum depression is that I didn't know I was that depressed until suddenly, the light came through and I started to feel better. It wasn't a single event that led me out of the depression. Somewhere along the line, I just figured it out. And then I looked back and I saw the dark cloud I was under. And it was a shock. The other thing is that I didn't have it as bad as many other moms. I didn't have thoughts of killing myself or my baby. I am so grateful for that. 

Last month I was visiting Logan, and I drove past our old apartment where we lived during this. I sat in the parking lot of that Chick Fil A for a few minutes, to try and remember how it felt. And to see how far I had come. I felt a great weight lifted. The thing that helped me get better was realizing that living in fear is never, ever the answer. My mom, in her infinite wisdom, wrote me a letter and left it for me to find after her visit for Josie's birth. She told me to never take counsel from my fears. It took me several months to apply it, but it saved me in the end.

Our apartment.

Chick Fil A

Being a mother has fulfilled me in ways I could have never imagined. But I remember reading about postpartum depression while I was in the thick of it, reading how it gets better, and to not let it get you down. And the feeling I had was similar to an overweight person who sees someone on the other side of an amazing, transformative diet who says that if they can do it, anyone can. It was so completely unhelpful and depressing to feel like it would be better eventually, but these 20 minutes, RIGHT NOW, when my baby was crying was so incredibly real and it's what I had to deal with right then. So if anyone is reading this, and you are dealing with postpartum depression or know someone who is: I'm not going to tell you it will get better (though it will; okay I said it). I will tell you that it's hard and it's draining and the crying (both you and baby) seems to last an eternity. So just ask for help. Be selfish. Because being selfish as a new mom only really means being selfish for your baby. There is just no other time in your life like this. You are a good mother. You are. I promise.