If you’ve been reading me for a while, you know how inconsistent I can be. You know how one day I can be all obsessive about my weight, and then the next day I’m all f*ck it. One day I’m all woo-woo with the spirituality and yoga and meditation and the next I’m hard-core working woman. One day I’m watching The Bachelor, and the next I’m blown away (over and over) by Rent….

…remembering that there’s this side of me that’s totally fascinated by La Vie Boheme (and Taye Diggs – OH YEEAAAH!), a side of me that CAN live for the day – what ever happened to that?

…remembering that there’s a side of me that’s wild and eccentric and free spirited. WINE AND BEER! A very hidden side — hidden under baby blankets, responsibility, destructive habits, anxiety and neuroses….

Right now I’m all hard-core working woman — I’ve been eating, breathing, and sleeping bTrendie — partly because I’m feeling more passionate than usual about it, and partly because I’m having a little trouble registering some unbloggable stuff right now, some major transitions. Right now I’m all obsessed with what I eat and what the kids eat and what the world eats — partly because I read too much, and partly because I’m having a little trouble registering that I’m not in control of every little thing in my world and the world around me….

I should tell you…, I should tell you….

I should tell you. I should tell I threw my books out just to get back in. I’d forgotten how to smile…. I should tell you I should tell you. Here goes. Here goes….

I gave them away. All my diet books. Some of my cook books. When I was pregnant and suffering from debilitating prenatal depression, the doctors came and took all my books away for this same reason.

Information — books, google, GOOGLE. It creates the illusion that you can control things. The more you know, the more empowered you are, right? WRONG. There’s such a thing as TOO MUCH INFORMATION. Knowledge isn’t power when there’s too much of it. Knowledge is power in moderation. There’s also life.

So, here goes. I’m going to live in the here and now…. Yes, little voice in my head from the other day (WOO-WOO), I’m figuring it out — I’m going to try to LIVE. Which means I MUST get off my arse right now. This life’s on loan, after all. Better make the best of it while I rent it!

Well here we go…. Here goes. Who knows. Who knows where. Who goes there. Who knows. Here goes….

If you haven’t seen the movie or play (I’ve seen both) RENT, you really must RENT IT! And you also really must know that I’ll be singing this soundtrack in the car, in the shower, as I cook, and maybe even on the streets and restaurant tables for the next few weeks, no doubt. And if you think this post is all kinds of cheesy, you gotta know, that’s okay. Because it’s all about me today….

REMEMBER THE LOOOO-O-O-O-O-VE!
xo Haley-O

UPDATE: AND, OMG, I just learned on twitter that this — my favourite show (RENT) — is playing THIS WEEK at Toronto’s Canon Theatre : http://www.mirvish.com/OurShows/. How weird (WOO-WOO) is that?!

I’m having trouble writing this post. Know why? Two reasons: 1) I’m hungry; 2) I’m tired. Well, I’m not really hungry. I’m NUDGED — which is Jewish talk for “I JUST FEEL LIKE EATING.” If I’m going to get fit and fabulous, if I’m going to make the Jillian Michael’s HELL VIDEO worth it every freaking morning when I could be cuddling in my warm bed with my Rascal, if I’m going to FINALLY break old habits I cultivated to keep paralyzing anxiety at bay during my pregnancies — OVER TWO YEARS AGO NOW — and if I’m going to look SMOKIN’ hott in my tankini in Florida (where I’ll be for NINE DAYS at the end of this month — GOD BLESS MY PARENTS), then I’m going to have to stop stop STOP eating at night, like, after dinner, like, just because I FEEL LIKE IT, like, just because I’M tired and, like, because I apparently believe that keeping my mouth busy somehow helps me concentrate at night, like, on work and stuff.

If only I wasn’t TERRIFIED of gum.

So, maybe that means I go to bed shortly after dinner JUST so I don’t eat?

But, how will I get my work done? I no longer work when I’m alone with the kids. They’re DISTRACTING, and I love hanging with them. Love love love. Which is also why I’m tired.

“Monkey,” I ask, “Who are you talking to?” “NO ONE, MAMA! I’m just talking to MYSELF!”

Yes, motherhood is GOOOOD right now (except for the constant leftover preggers anxiety that just hovers there like a cat hair dangling from my eyelash — so annoying). I’m loving the ages they’re at: 2 and 4. Oy! And life is short. They grow up so fast. And some other cliche. So, I stay up late so I can enjoy my kids AND work my arse off — so I can have my cake and eat it, too. (Mmmm…. Cake…..)

Where was I?

Which is why I’m tired. And nudged at the end of the day, when they’re finally in bed, and I have a boatload of work to plow through.

AND, now, I’ve just eaten a handful of low-sodium, gluten-free pretzels and vegan hot cocoa. Not SO bad. But, unnecessary. I wasn’t hungry. Why eat when you’re not hungry? At night? WHY? I need to get to the bottom of this.

It’s not about weight, Gorgeouses. It’s about addiction and habits and moving FORWARD after my pregnancies. Maybe some counseling is in order. Or some energy work. Lots of energy work and counseling. I’ll never be my old self. And I don’t WANT to be my old skinny pre-pregnancy self. I just want to stop hiding. I want to be free of these self-sabotaging habits! Heyyy…! Who invited Dr. Phil to this party…?

So, HELP! What can I do to STOP eating at night? Believe it or not, I’ve QUIT STARBUCKS! I haven’t had a grande soy no-water tazo chai in over a week. HOORAHHH! I’ve also been exercising HARD CORE for 11 days straight. HOORAHHH! AND, I’ve been doing major yoga daily. HOORAHHH! I’m definitely patting myself on the back for all of this. But the next big thing is conquering the night eating. THEN I’ll be happy (realistically, though, I’ll probably find something else to conquer — must. stoppit.) Anyway, help?

I’ll take any advice on stopping the night eating other than GUM. Gaaaahhhhhhh GUMMM Gaaaaahhhh!

By the way, check CHEATY GOODIES for the WINNAH of the FLIP VIDEO CAMCORDER contest — it’s another fun-filled video STARRING the Monkey, the Rascal, moi and Josh-O. Enjoy!

Ooo! And, by the way, my designer spruced up my Kids Deserve Art store! NEW HOME PAGE, and I’ve lowered prices. I know — sweeeeet! Many thanks to the ridiculously talented SARA KUGELMASS (aka the brillers force behind SKART, and much more)!

Happy 2010! It’s gonna be a GOOD ONE!

Love!

xo Haley-O

I’m back at the gym. Doctor’s orders. Actually psychiatrist’s orders. YES, I go to a psychiatrist. Not once a week or anything, but once every few months just as a followup to the psychological DISASTERS that were my pregnancies. I think they’re calling it “pregnancy blues,” now. Like, enough women are going (certifiably) insane during pregnancy that there’s finally a term for it. Not “prenatal depression” or “prepartum depression,” as I expected, but “pregnancy blues.” This doesn’t NEARLY describe what I went through (see HERE and HERE for all the gory deets), but at least they have a name for it….

ANYWAY, once you go through something like I did — major, irrational, debilitating pregnancy-hormone-induced anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) — it doesn’t just go away. It comes back every now and then. Most troubling for me is that I still experience the PHYSICAL symptoms of the anxiety/OCD, and I’m finally accepting that certain things trigger these symptoms — like, for example, erm, hem, haw, CAFFEINE AND SUGAR, aka the STARBUCKS GRANDE SOY-NO-WATER-CHAI-TEA-LATTE to which I am majorly, irrationally, debilitatingly addicted.

So, when I kvetch DAY IN and DAY OUT here about how I CAN’T STOP drinking this ELIXIR OF LOOOOVE and ALL THAT IS GOOD FOR MOTHERS OF VERY YOUNG CHILDREN IN THIS WORLD crack — CRACK, I tell you (again) — it’s not a small deal. My psychiatrist actually wants me off this stuff. Why? Because it makes me shake for the better part of the day. It brings on the physical symptoms of my anxiety. I literally feel the anxiety coursing through my veins, even if there’s no obsessive thought connected to it.

HENCE, as per my psychiatrist, I need to GET OFF THE CHAI. Also, as per my psychiatrist, and I need to GET OFF MY BUTT. Yes. My Rascal is 19 months now, so a) we’re no longer talking about “pregnancy weight” here, b) or nursing weight, and c) that pain in my tailbone that’s SO BAD that my NEW BOSS had to switch seats with me during MY INTERVIEW because I COULDN’T TAKE THE PAIN that I get from sitting on hard surfaces for more than ten minutes or from sitting AT ALL for a prolonged period of time (speaking of which…, ouch!) HAS TO GO. Yes, I need to fix all this. I need to FEEL better. I need to HEAL from the physical and emotional pains of my pregnancies already. It’s time to move forward.

So, I’m at the gym again in the effort to move forward — to move more. And it’s amazing. AMAZING (a word I am known to overuse but that’s perfectly appropriate here). I sweat. I huffed. I puffed. I need new shoes. Anyone know a good vegan running shoe?

Yes, I’m back at the gym. But, I’m still drinking chais. BUT, as my GORJ online buddy Lindsey reminded me on Twitter yesterday, baby steps. Baby steps, baby steps, BABY STEPS!!! Anyone see that movie: What About Bob? With Bill Murray? Richard Dreyfuss? BABY STEPS!!!

LOVE! Anyway, I’ll start with the gym, and then I will definitely, finally, ditch that chai. Again.

And then, maybe, as the book I’m reading explains, I’ll figure out what’s REALLY behind that self-destructive addiction. Maybe I won’t need the chai anymore now that I’m starting to take care of my body? Maybe I won’t want it?

Basically, I’ve had an epiphany. Yes. I’m finally ready to set up some new boundaries. All my years of dieting and eating issues were filled with STRICT BOUNDARIES. When I became pregnant, and crazy, ALL those boundaries collapsed. And I’ve been living on chai tea crack, sugar, breads, peanut butter, ever since. So, it’s ALMOST time, Gorgeouses. It’s almost time time to start GRADUALLY rebuilding the boundaries. Correction: to gradually rebuild HEALTHY boundaries — working out, eating RIGHT, taking care of myself, and moderation. Moderation, baby. And baby steps.

Tomorrow — SAMBA CLASS at the gym! Weeee!

Now, go check CHEATY GOODIES for our EMERGENCY PREPAREDNESS contest. Only Canadian’s are eligible for this one, but the post and video will make everyone think.

I’m taking the rest of the night off, Gorgeouses…. I hope these women don’t mind my sharing, but I just had two really intense phone calls. I won’t go into detail, but I spoke to two wonderful, brave women just now — one after the other — who are both going through exactly what I went through in my pregnancies: prenatal depression and anxiety (if you want to read about it, go to my “prenatal depression / anxiety” category — and feel free to laugh at me because I can fully laugh now at how COMPLETELY INSANE I was).

I could feel THE THING in their voices. I started to shake and get chills. I felt for them IN THE THICK of it, but I know they’ll be fine. I want to help them and be there for them because NOBODY ELSE CAN — aside from the doctors, nurses and psychiatrists, but even THEY can’t fully get at THE THING.

Nobody can possibly understand what it’s like to be paralyzed with FEAR while you’re pregnant. I can’t imagine much could be worse. It’s hell on earth. But, as I explained to the women, it’s a gift. They’ll be better mothers for it. They’ll learn to live with fear and uncertainty. To cope with it and accept it as the mind’s way of saying “WHAT ABOUT MEEEEE? WHAT ABOUT MEEEEE?”

GRATUITOUS ANALOGY: It’s like Minden not wanting to make room for the Rascal and showering me with wet sloppy kisses all night long (AND RIGHT NOW…excuse me, Minden!!)!

Like Minden, the mind (or “ego,” as we yogis call it) needs to make room for the baby. We just have to let it know we still love it — like, with a hot bath, a manicure, a FACIAL, healthy food, yoga, walking outside, etc..

Maybe this sounds crazy. But, I think, for people who’ve gone through what I — and these woman — have, it makes a lot of sense, and thinking this way may just help us heal.

I know, even now, as a mother of two, when I don’t take care of myself I get depressed and irritable and anxious. Those are gifts — my mind’s saying “HEYYYYY, TAKE CARE OF MEEEE!” And, making time for MOI, I’ve learned, is one of the best things I can do for me AND my kids.

Anyway. I could go on forever. There’s so much to say.

I’m so grateful my psychiatrist asked me to call these women. This is yet another wonderful thing that came out of the hell I went through in pregnancy: I can help other women through it. I can tell them they’re normal. That it’s NOT THEM. That they are not their thoughts. That their baby’s FINE and happy and thriving in its own little home, safe from their anguish. I can tell them to be grateful for the experience because it will make them better mothers, better people. I can tell them they’ll get through it and that I’m here for them. Sometimes all you need to feel better is the knowledge that YOU ARE NOT ALONE. That others have walked the same path and come out alive and happy and better for it.

I can tell them this is their initiation into motherhood….

And, I can tell them that it’s all worth it….

All of it……..

“Don’t cry over spilled milk” — my daily mantra….

Sigh…. I wish I could make them better….

HAND!!!!!

HAPPY 1st BIRTHDAY, LITTLE RASCAL! I CAN’T EVEN TELL YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU! AND, YOUR HAIRCUT IS STILL DRIVING ME CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAZY! LOVE! MWAH MWAH MWAH MWAH!

Sigh. In love!

xo Haley-O

P.S.: Send some good healing vibes out to these two moms-to-be, if you think of it, Gorgeouses! They need it….

The rascal’s almost one month old. Well, he’s 3.5 weeks. And, I STILL haven’t posted that birth story I promised. So, today’s the day. Hopefully, I won’t get interrupted by a little grunter too much while I write — it’s hard enough to concentrate on the virtually NO sleep that I’m on. Anyway, let’s give it a shot.

September 22, 2007

10pm: I’ve just STUFFED myself at the Yom Kippur breaking-of-the-fast table. I think I’ve eaten EVERYTHING in sight. I’m burping like a MAN, and my feet and hands are swollen BEYOND. “Bye mom, bye dad! Oh, wait, let me just grab one more cookie for the [3-minute] drive home! Bye everyone! Shannah Tova! Happy New Year! C’mon Monkey! Let’s go home! Burrrrp!”

Patting my tummy, I think to myself, “Thank you, little fetus, for making it through the High Holidays! You can come out now!”

September 23, 2007

5:30am: Waking up from a relatively deep sleep, I say to myself, “Oh no, I better get up. Ugh. I think I really have to pee.” I SLOWLY lift and roll my whale of a self off the bed. I slooowly stand up, and… tinkle tinkle tinkle…! Huh? Wha? Who? Water? BROKE? JOOOOOSSSSHHHHHH!! “JOSH! JOSH! WAAAAKE UP!!! My water! It broke! I’m standing here! And, I’m peeing! But, I’m not peeing! It’s just wooshing! It’s WOOSHING! Grab a towel! I can’t move! TOOOOWWWELLL!”

Calmly. I call triage. “Yup! Come on in,” they tell me.

So, I call my mom to come stay with the monkey, get my stuff together (while Josh does I-don’t-know-what around the house — something about cleaning the cupboard out? A-ny-way…), and run downstairs to announce the water-breakage on all three of my blogs. I couldn’t leave my readers in the dark when they’ve been SO SUPPORTIVE throughout the pregnancy! MWAH!

6am: Enter triage, get set up. Freak out about intravenous tubes and insist that the nurses wear latex gloves to protect themselves when they puncture the patients! Apparently, I’m only, like, 1cm dilated, so they’re sending me out for a 4-hour walk. Greaaaat.

I start putting my clothes back on and realize there’s GREEN! THERE’S GREEN STUFF in my water! Is my baby okay?

“Let me see that,” the nurse says, as she grabs my underwear from me. “Yes, there’s green,” she confirms.

“And, LOOK,” I say, “It’s on the bed, too!” Why didn’t they check this before? Isn’t this, like, a serious thing? I ask myself. “AHEM.”

“Okay! Haley-O’s staying put,” the nurse yells out, “We’ve got meconium. Wheel her into delivery and keep a close eye on the baby.”

Omigosh. Did I just save my baby?!? Thank UNIVERSE I have anxiety and, therefore, know everything that could possibly go wrong in pregnancy and labour! Otherwise, I’d be walking around with my baby possibly at risk! Anxiety can be a good thing sometimes, see…!

7am: We wait.

8am: And, we wait.

11am: Still waiting. The whole family’s here now. The parents, the in laws, the sister, brother.

12pm: “Anna” arrives to give me my epidural. Actually, his name is “Anesthesia.” Well, that’s the nickname I give him. Because when he came to the door, he said, “Hi, I’m Anesthesia!” So, I called him Anna the whole time. We are having SUCH a ball, exchanging jokes, etc.. LOVE! No, seriously!

I LOVE Anna! And, I’m ECSTATIC when he tells me he’s married because he’s SUCH a good guy — I want him to be happy.

1pm: Still, waiting for things to happen.

We interrupt this Birth Story to announce: THE MONKEY IS NOT IN HER BED. It’s 10:17pm, and she’s apparently in The Rascal’s room doing I-know-not-what. Josh-O just went upstairs and found her there. The Rascal is actually in his crib…actually sleeping…with the monkey doing I-know-not-what in his room.

2pm: Still waiting.

3pm (or something — the times here are TOTALLY guesses because LIKE I knew what time it was, but you get the picture): The OB FARREAKS out at the nurses: “WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME! Look at that heart rate! How long has the baby’s heart rate been dipping like that!? WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME! Do what you can to regularize it. Haley, don’t worry. It’s going to be fine. I’m right outside watching.”

Okayyyyy!

In the next few hours, nothing changes. The OB runs frantically in and out of the room: “Haley, I can’t believe how calm you are. Huff Puff. You’re amazing!”

“Ummm, is it too late to tell you I have prenatal anxiety and depression, Doctor????” I think to myself….

“What a trooper,” she continues, “Keep it up. Keep it up. We need you to stay calm…. GET HER AN OXYGEN MASK! Stay calm, Haley. You’re doing great. How do you DO IT!?”

“Well,” I say, “I’ve learned to trust my resources………ahem.”

4pm: “Okay,” says the OB, “We need to test the baby’s blood oxygen level — the cord is around the neck.”

“Oh freaking crap,” I think to myself.

“Okay, we’ve got the blood sample!” yells the OB. “Take it to the lab, NOW — RUN RUN RUN!”

4:15: “YES!” OB exclaims, as the nurse presents the results, “We’re all good, Haley. Now we need to speed up the labour and get the baby out of there STAT. We need you to push like last time: wait for that RECTAL pressure and push him out in 11 minutes — like you did with your daughter! You can do it!”

6pm: Still waiting. Praying for no C-section….

7pm: Rectal pressure has arrived! YES! Let the Olympic-caliber pushing begin!!!

7:37pm: He’s out. I pushed him out in 3 minutes! Record time! To top everything off, the little guy was posterior — facing the wrong way. But, smartie-pants that he is, he turned himself around in the nick of time. LOVE! The pushing was, of course, dramatic — in keeping with the entire birth process…. One of the nurses even jumped over my shoulder and on top of me to help with the pushing because the rascal’s shoulder was caught. But, we made it! He was super blue and in shock, but he was amazingly alert; just look how he’s gazing RIGHT at his mama!

I love this picture….

And, now look these CREEPY pics of him! LOVE!

My BIG BOY! I’m in love…clearly!

Oh, and, it’sgrandma and papa’shere bought the monkey a new coat, and she LOVES IT!

Sooo much CUTENESS!!!

That’s my story. Back to the rascal now — diapy needs ANOTHER change!

Want gossip? Check it — at CHEATY’S CELEBRITY GOSSIP!

I read your gossip column every week as emailed from the Urban Moms weekly mailer. I look forward to it every week. I am a 30 something mother of a 4 year old who has been trying to get pregnant again for the last two years. In my journey to get pregnant I have met a ton of woman along the way who have no children, and have been unsuccessfully trying for years. One thing this experience has made me realize is that we are blessed with one beautiful child and it would be really insensitive and selfish for me to complain about not having a second. Why am I saying this? I am tired of reading about how sick you are from being pregnant. Do you know how many women would love to have that problem just once in their lifetime? Many of these woman suffer in silence with their pain. I can only imagine the number of woman who read your blog and close the screen in tears after reading about how sick you are. Please think about how your comments make other women feel. I too was severely sick when I was pregnant so much so that I did not gain any weight throughout my pregnancy. I took the drugs and never complained about it. I was just so happy to be pregnant. Pregnancy is a gift. Its not a given. If you are really that sick, take the Diclectin and get over it already.

– Asquared, comment on today’s Will Ferrell post.

Dear Asquared,

I’m truly sorry that my blog has affected you in this way. And, I’m troubled that my writing about my pregnancy symptoms has struck you as insensitive and as a sign of ungratefulness.

Are you aware that I suffer from PREpartum depression? That I suffered from it in my first pregnancy, as well? Have you read those posts in which I try to bring awareness to this very painful condition? (Please see the posts in the category “Anxiety / Depression.”) Because, as extremely grateful as I am to be pregnant, pregnancy is a bigger challenge for me — both physically and emotionally — than most people can even imagine. And, as I always say, it’s all so worth it.

In the midst of this prepartum depression, from which I suffer painfully every single day, I have actually challenged myself to reflect in writing on the joys of pregnancy, and I have emphasized the fact that my complaints about my symptoms on this blog in no way relate to my gratitude. I urge you to read this post, in particular.

My kind and supportive commenters are also very right when they say (in response to your comment) that “this is my blog,” and that I should not feel the need to censor myself. Although I want to be as raw and real on BOTH blogs as I can be, I am aware that I have a responsibility — to choose my words carefully and to be as compassionate a writer and person as possible. And, I don’t take that responsibility for granted.

Of course, I don’t want anyone, as you put it, to “close the screen in tears after reading about how sick [I am]“! People are only allowed to cry with laughter from reading this blog! In any case, I do try to make light of my symptoms most of the time because, Asquared, they are DARKER than you could ever want to know. I have shielded my readers from some of the grosser realities of my daily life right now. And, now I’M crying.

Remaining light-hearted about my symptoms helps me deal with those grosser realities. It also helps other women who are going through the same thing — there are many of them out there, too. Yes, there are many pregnant women going through what I’m going through. I have received many emails thanking me for being so open about my struggle. This site has received countless hits from google searches for “pregnancy and anxiety,” “depression in pregnancy,” and the like.

You also got me thinking….There are single mothers out there. Is it insensitive of me to complain about how difficult my toddler can be when I’m privileged enough to stay home with her AND to have a husband help me raise her? I cannot please everyone. I cannot write for everyone.

No, I cannot please everyone, Asquared. All I can do is be as honest as possible — without being as dark and anxious as I could be given what I experience from the moment I wake up in the morning.

Prepartum depression, also known as antenatal depression, affects 10-15 percent of pregnant women — and perhaps more, since most women do not come forward with it. Because of my condition, no, I cannot take diclectin; it makes my symptoms of depression (i.e., panic attacks) worse. Thank you for the recommendation, though.

Seriously? I do NOT like talking about the same symptoms every single day on this blog. But, unless I close this blog down until they pass, there’s no way around it. It’s my reality (a lightened up version of my reality). And, as I said, many people relate deeply to what I’m going through.

I also don’t like to complain about my pregnancy symptoms because this SEEMS to suggest that I’m ungrateful for what I know is such a blessing, such a gift. I am CONSTANTLY reflecting on how blessed I am to be pregnant, constantly THANKING THE UNIVERSE for granting me this miraculous gift. (This is starting to feel a little too personal even for me, but….) Every night I devote time to being thankful for this pregnancy.

I have friends who are having great difficulty conceiving both first and second children. I have friends going through infertility treatments…for years — some with success and some without. I have friends trying to adopt. I am aware. I am sensitive. I am sorry. I am so sorry that you are having difficulty conceiving. So very very sorry.

I have tried to minimize discussion of my symptoms on both my blogs. One of the reasons for this is that I don’t feel like people want to hear about it — especially on the gossip blog (and, I’ve next to eliminated all discussion of myself on that blog because there’s nothing else I want to say about me). But, when I sit down to write on this, my personal blog, it’s what comes out. It’s what HAS to come out. It’s a release that you’re reading, my friend. It’s the way I help heal myself so that I can better take care of my child (my cheaty monkey who, thankfully, is too young to understand what I go through) and take care of my pregnant body and mind.

Pregnancy is very painful for me. But, it’s also an opportunity. An opportunity to release and to cleanse. This releasing and cleansing involves a disturbing and debilitating manifestation of major anxieties. This is what you’re reading on my blog. A process. An honest (but light-hearted) cleansing, releasing and preparation for another beautiful miracle.

Of course, this blog is not my only therapy. I have lots of professionals working with me, and lots of loved ones (and loved readers!) supporting me.

Thank you very much for sharing your point of view and your experience. I can’t promise I’ll stop writing about my symptoms, but know that I’m an extremely empathetic person, and I write largely because I HAVE to. Although I joke about my symptoms, they are very serious and very debilitating. But, they are worth it. Thank you for bringing to my attention, yet again, how grateful I should be even to have these symptoms — as painful as they are on so many levels.

I hope you understand a little better where I’m coming from. I certainly appreciate where you’re coming from. I wish you all the best in your efforts to conceive. And, I hope to bring you more laughter in the future — no more tears.

xo Haley-O

Hi guys…. So, yeah! I’m preggers! That’s why it’s taken me longer than usual to email you back if you’ve emailed me in the past few months. That’s why I haven’t been to your blog as regularly as I used to. That’s why I’ve been ranting my ARSE off lately on this blog! And, that’s why I had some rather dark and “mysterious” posts for a while there back in January! (You were wondering, weren’t you!?)

The past 3 months have been really really really really REALLY hard for me. I’ve been beyond tired, nauseous 24/7, indigestiony, unable to sleep, jittery — the works! I’ve also been struggling, like last time (see here and here), with pre-partum depression. The obsessive compulsiveness hasn’t been as bad this time, but the anxiety and depression were very painful. The fact that my parents went away for 3 weeks made things even more challenging for me. Anyway, I’m so glad I can finally tell you what I’ve been going through and that we’re having a baby! Now that the first-trimester symptoms, including the anxiety, are starting to dissipate, I can enjoy this pregnancy and sharing this beautiful news.

Thank you so much for making me laugh these past three months with your supportive and hilarious comments, emails, etc.. You don’t know how much you helped me stay afloat. You don’t know because I seriously can’t even tell you. LOVE!

We’ll talk more later. Today’s ultrasound and obgyn appointments took ALL DAY! We were there from 9:30am until 4pm — waiting, waiting, waiting and waiting. Can you believe!? Josh was with me — thank goodness! So, we both chased after the monkey all day…. Anyway, my point is I’m EXHAUSTED from this day, and I still have to manage to stay awake during the ballet I’m going to tonight, AND to write my Cheaty’s Celebrity Gossip column! Gotta go get the monkey bathed before I leave (wish me luck with that one!!!).

xo Haley-O!

Just when you thought my Depression posts where over…PART II has arrived…. Another post to brighten up your day with. Actually, my symptoms were quite comical (serious, but comical), so feel free to laugh — that would be just one more silver lining….

In My Depression Post, I didn’t talk about all the people who were instrumental to my survival. So, here are a few of them, and some more of my wacky questions for your laughing pleasure….

Ali. Ali. Ali. One of the best things that could have happened to me during my tumultuous pregnancy was dear dear Ali, whom I like to call “Leeshy,” or “Best-thing-that-ever-happened-to-me- when-I-was-pregnant-at-work.” She was pregnant with Bella at the time; our due dates were a week apart. I walked in to work with my ultrasound pictures and my big ol’ announcement, and, a week later, in walked Leeshy with hers! We totally bonded over this.

Several times a day, I’d trot over to Leeshy’s cubicle and lay my wacky questions on her:

“Leeshy, is it okay if I eat peanut butter?”

“Yes,” she’d reply, always with a smile, gesturing to her own half-filled jar of peanut butter.

“Leeshy, the microwave?”

“You’re fine.”

“Leeshy, Jo-Anne just gave me a static shock on my belly. Do you get static shocks? Is it…is it okay? Can I photocopy?”

“You’re fine, Haley.”

And, she always smiled and giggled with me. I have to ask her if she realized that there was something not-just-a-little wrong with me. I wondered if everyone knew? For I hid my insanity under a veil of humour and hyperactivity. At least at work.

In between questions to Alicia, I’d run to a private room and call Adrienne, the assistant director at Motherisk — she kindly gave me her private number early in my pregnancy. She specializes in pregnancy-related mental disorders. I’d ask Adrienne the same questions, and more:

“My coworker told me the almond I almost ate was half-eaten by a mouse and a weevil! It was in the bag with all the other almonds I ate! Is it okay?”

“My cat’s paw touched my cheek! Did I catch toxoplasmosis!?”

She’d always answer my questions (well, she wouldn’t always answer them) with a dose of tough love, “Haley, you’ve called me 4 times in the last 2 hours! I’m busy! You’re fine! Bye for now!”

Adrienne and I continue to keep in touch. She’s since written an article about me that was accepted into a prestigious journal of psychiatry. She’s busy preparing herself for my next pregnancy. But, let’s all hope my next pregnancy is better, right? Y’all will probably sense if I get psycho again….

There are so many people who helped me who I can’t name for privacy’s sake. Doctors, parents, siblings, inlaws, friends, and JOSH! Josh couldn’t have been more understanding and supportive — coming with me to doctor’s and therapy appointments and accepting my freak-out calls 20x a day. That’s love — in sickness and in health. I’ll never forget it.

If you or anyone you know are experiencing depression during or post pregnancy, please email me. I will always be grateful to Jennifer Lawrence (TOMAMA, MUBAR) — who went through a similar experience during and after her pregnancy. My psychiatrist, Bev Young at the perinatal psychiatry clinic at Mount Sinai (yes, there is a clinic just for this!), gave me her phone number.* It was so healing to speak to someone who understood exactly what I was going through and what I needed to do. I am so grateful to her for making herself available to me. Now, it’s my turn. Email me if you need someone who understands to listen.

*UPDATE: Little did I know that TOMAMA was a BLOGGER! Bev just gave me her phone number, and we spoke extensively about prenatal depression…. I’ll never forget the generosity. I didn’t know what a blog was until I met Ms. Alimartell…. I’m sure MUBAR would have been extremely helpful. It’s since been taken down.

I guess I’ll have to talk about my “dirty little secret” tomorrow….I had this whole silly jokey post I was going to do, and I gave it a lot of thought this evening. But, after reading this, this and this, I’m just not in the mood.

I’m not ready to divulge everything that went down. It just seems like so many “mommy bloggers” talk about it. I mean, it’s important to talk about it, right? It’s important to talk about it so that others going through it know that they’re not alone, that there is help.

What is it?

Depression. For me, depression did not occur post partum. No. Mine occurred during my pregnancy.

Mine was not a typical depression. It was more of an all-consuming gross anxiety disorder, the major symptoms of which were OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder), panic attack, and depression. Good times, huh? I’d never had a panic attack in my life. And, there I was: pregnant, shaking all over, virtually unable to leave my bed.

My mother says you could see the panic in my eyes, that she’ll never forget it, that she’ll know I’m suffering if she ever sees it again.

It came on when I was around 6 weeks pregant, when pregnancy hormones shift dramatically. We were having a turkey draw at work. My colleague, Jenny, voiced that she didn’t “want Haley to win the [Thanksgiving] turkey draw because she wins it every year.” Nice, huh? Anyway, I wanted to win that draw just to spite her! And, I wanted it bad. My heart started pounding uncontrollably. I felt like I could see my chest pumping in and out. It wasn’t normal. Then, the worry started. What’s happening to the baby? Is my rapid heart beat affecting baby? What about adrenalin? Is my adrenalin going to hurt the baby?

It was all downhill from there.

Next was the meat in a restaurant my family went out to. Did any juice from my mother’s rare meat drip onto my dish? Was that hardboiled egg I ate cooked enough? Were the raisins I just ate washed? Can I wear sunscreen? My makeup has a derivative of vitamin A in it — can I still wear it? Can I stand in front of the microwave? Can I take my food out of the microwave? Can I microwave my food at all? Can I use a hairdryer? The toaster oven? My cats! I have to get rid of my cats for the sake of my baby! Omigosh, a balloon popped near my tummy — did I damage baby’s ears? I practiced yoga in my friend’s backyard a couple of months before I was pregnant, and there may have been cat poop there — did I catch toxoplasmosis? Is it okay to eat the green jujubes?

The list goes on. And, on. And ON. I wasn’t safe anywhere. Nothing was safe. Everything was doom and gloom.

I went to my doctor right away. She told me to hold out my hands.

They shook uncontrollably.

Doctor said I don’t care I’m giving you Ativan. I said no.

I’m not ready to talk about the course of my therapy. But, I worked through it and felt well by the end of the pregnancy. The third trimester of the pregnancy was relatively enjoyable — my swollen feet and achy back were a cinch to deal with (well…). And, I did not suffer from post partum depression, thanks to the therapy that I continue to practice now.

Ironically (is this an Alanis Morissette irony or irony in the real sense of the world? I don’t know…but I’m on a roll), and thankfully, the Monkey is the happiest baby ever. It’s the first thing almost everyone says about her. “She’s so happy!” “What a happy baby!” Whenever someone says that to me, I feel warm and thankful and relieved and just elated. People don’t realize what they’re saying to me — how meaningful it really is….

….Even when she was in my womb she radiated happiness. My 80-something-year-old yoga guru put her hand to my belly and said, in her thick French accent, “this is a happy, happy baby.” She was blissfully right….

So, the monkey took what she needed from me. She turned me inside out and upside down in order to become who she was meant to be. In order to become her amazing, happy lil self. I am so grateful to her. She’s one year old and, already, has taught me the world. I always suspected my children would be my great teachers. She was my teacher before she was born and continues to teach me every day.

I’m a better mother for her teachings: I know more about who I am; I’ve travelled to my darkest depths; I am stong; I am happy; I am as ready as ever to teach her.

I struggle with the trauma of this experience almost every day. But, the rewards of my daily struggle are great. I am always thankful. I take nothing for granted.

Oh, and, I didn’t win that damn turkey draw. But, neither did Jenny, so it wasn’t all bad….