Postpartum Depression: An Interview With My Husband

I try not to feel guilty about having postpartum depression, but sometimes I can’t help but feel guilty about putting my husband through it. I can’t begin to imagine what it was like for him. Husbands, the fathers of our children, are often left out of the postpartum depression conversation. Our men can be just as clueless about PPD as we are before it runs us over like a mac truck. They must feel just as lost and helpless as the women they love and now share a child with feel. Most want to help but have no idea where to even begin.

I’ve been asked the same question by so many moms I know. They want to know how my husband was able to “get it.” Some of these moms who also suffered from PPD had husbands who didn’t immediately understand what they were going through–how could they not fall in love or bond with their baby right away–why a trip to the gym or nail salon couldn’t alleviate their tears and anxiety.  I remember a few things about my husband during that time. First, he agreed to come to a therapy session with me. This proved to be extremely helpful because he could listen to a trained professional specializing in what I was going through. Second, my husband is a “researcher”, so I’m pretty sure he educated himself about PPD on the Internet. Third, I made him read the information here and he followed it. Lastly, he just tried to be supportive without ever forcing motherhood on me or judging the fact that I wasn’t capable of embracing it immediately.

For these reasons, I thought it would be helpful to write about my struggle with PPD from my husband’s point of view, so I interviewed him. Here are his responses. He promised me he wouldn’t hold back and wouldn’t sugar-coat. He assured me he would give real, honest, detailed responses. Breathe Jen. You will get through reading and reliving this. Read more

The Stages of Date Night for Parents of a 3 Year-Old Boy

The Morning of Date Night: 
Mommy just has to make it through the morning routine–get tiny human dressed, fed, and dropped off at school. Then it’s just pick up from school, nap time, and movie in Mommy’s bed while she gets ready.  Should be easy and smooth sailing until tiny human’s uncle picks up him up for a sleepover.
Mommy thinks maybe she will have the energy for some post-date night sex. Mommy makes mental note to remember to shave her legs and moisturize.
The Afternoon of Date Night:
4:00PM – Wake up from light nap
4:15PM – Slightly panic as I walk to get son from nap/quiet time because monitor shows
                he is not in his bed anymore.
4:16PM – Open door to see quiet time was not so quiet.
4:17PM – Silently scream and curse because son looks like a mime as his arms, face and
                hair are covered in white from a mix of cream from the sunscreen tube and
                moisturizer pump he took off his dresser.

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If Campowerment Were the Oscars…I Would Like to Thank My Husband

When I first launched my blog back in January, I made an agreement with my husband.  He knew I was writing but he wouldn’t try to find my blog or read any posts until I told him I was ready. I had always planned to talk to him about everything right before I decided to go public. He fully supported this. He wasn’t concerned. He didn’t ask questions. My close friends and sister? Not so much.

If you know me, you know that there is no bullshit. No sugar-coating. Just open, honest truth. I’m not afraid to share, tell you how I feel, and I own my shit and who I am.  I always planned to bring this to my blog. As I started writing my truth about motherhood, marriage, and sex, in came the frantic text messages and phone calls from various friends and family members.

Does my husband know what I’m writing about? Does he know how I feel about our sex life? Do I talk to him about what I write for the world to read? Jen, are you okay? Jen, are you going to do something impulsive like have an affair or run away? Jen, should we be concerned? Jen, do we need to come down to the South for an intervention?

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Thoughts on Valentines Day…

Valentines Day is so different when you have been with the same man for over 12 years (married for seven). I remember the first time I went to visit him at school. We were newly dating and it happened to be Valentines Day. Oh the pressure! Do I get him a gift? Do we even acknowledge it’s Valentines Day? Is he going to get me anything? If he does, is he into this more than I am? If he doesn’t maybe he’s not into this at all?

It turned out to be the perfect Valentines Day for a new couple. We had dinner as if it was any other night, but when we got back to his apartment, he surprised me with homemade molten chocolate cakes. Um, a guy who not only cooks, but can make his own molten lava cake? I probably knew I was going to marry him right then.

I’ve always hated Valentines Day. I never had a proper Valentine. I swear I was jinxed by my 8th grade boyfriend. We will just call him asshole. Asshole dumped me the night before Vday when I was in 8th grade. And to make it even worse, my so-called best friend knew it was going to happen, went with me to buy him cards and a gift, and didn’t tell me. What a bitch! And what an asshole! Who dumps his girlfriend the night before Valentines Day? I had already picked out my outfit. It was going to be my first real Valentines Day. Of course my life was over. I couldn’t show my face at school the next day. My mom made me go anyway and I hated her for 48 hours.

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I Want to Punch you in the Face!

I’m not sure how I’m feeling right now or how I should be feeling. Angry? Anxious? Guilty? Resentment? Fear? Exhausted? Yes, definitely exhausted. Maybe that is the problem when you’re a mom. The divide between how you are actually feeling and how you should be feeling or how you think you should be feeling.

For the past few nights, my almost three year-old has not only fought going to sleep, but he has woken up screaming like clockwork right around midnight. It doesn’t help that we are on vacation and he shares a tiny room with my husband and me. He sleeps in his own bed next to ours.

And who do you ask wakes up with the little one? Well, his mom of course! I actually physically wake up the minute I hear him, like I have some internal mom radar. Where is my husband you might ask? Oh, he is next to me, sleeping soundly and snoring even louder. In creeps the resentment and anger. I want to scream at him, “HOW COULD YOU SLEEP THROUGH YOUR CHILD WAKING UP CRYING???!”

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