Five bad things about depression

1. You are depressed

2. Bad fashion choices. Today, for example, I thought jeans, a green shirt and bright blue socks would be a good look.

3. Everyone seems so happy. REALLY annoying.

4. Everyone seems physically active. Double annoying.

5. You are depressed.

Five cool things about depression

1. Rapid weight loss, due to lack of appetite.

2. Unbridled empathy from friends and family who have never seen you like this.

3. Numerous compliments on your new weight. But please don't lose any more. Kate Moss would look HUGE next to you.

4. Rapid weight loss, due to lack of appetite.

5. Housework, indeed any kind of work, is granted a stay of execution. You can't DUST when all you want to do is jump in front of a moving train. Or at the very least sleep for five years straight.

Did I mention the weight loss?

Well, well

Postpartum depression in the house, y'all!

You read me right. After a month of unrelenting anxiety, guilt, fatigue and sadness, yours truly was diagnosed with a moderate case of postpartum depression. A la Marie Osmond, Brooke Shields and Bryce Dallas Howard. See? I do have connections to the stars.

I am proud that as soon as I started feeling not quite right - as soon as I realized I couldn't draw a deep breath, as soon as I realized I couldn't shake off the lingering sadness, or stop waking up inexplicably at three am every morning - I hauled my ass into the doctor's office. He took good notes, asked a few questions, and wrote me a prescription for Zoloft.

Which I took gratefully, thinking it would restore me to my usual sardonic, bitter self.

Oh no.

Perhaps the dosage was wrong, perhaps it was my system retaliating for being fed an anti-depressant. Whatever the case, I woke up three days after starting the meds and felt as if a train ran over me. A diaper train. It hurt to stand up and plant my feet on the ground. I felt as if I had swallowed ten pills of Valium but didn't die.

So, in the quest for health and sanity, I rehauled my ass back to the doctor's. He didnt care for my side effects, did not care for them one darn bit, and wrote a new prescription for Prozac. Finally! I was part of the mythical Prozac Nation.

I have been on the drug for a week and I have to say, I feel like I am inching closer to my old self. If you have never experienced depression or postpartum anxiety, screw you. I mean, good for you. It is a terrible disorder the likes of which I have never experienced and hope to never experience again. If George Clooney came a-knocking and asked me to bear his only child, I would run screaming in the other direction, citing my love of hormonal balance and good mental health.

You probably want to know how long I will be on the drug, right? Six months. I know, I was a bit shocked. However, it takes at least a month for most anti-depressants to work, and then one has to be weaned off the medication. Kind of like heroin detox, but not as glamorous or reality TV-worthy.

So, ah, that's what's new with me. And the two beautiful babies.

Supply and demand

Hello! Miss me? I have missed you all and spent many a sleepless night wondering if you would welcome me back into your good graces.

So what is new with yours truly? Adjusting to fluctuating hormones, two beautiful ( if slightly demanding) newborns...and the reality that I will not meet my goal of nursing for six months. Oh hells, no.

In addition to the fact that our firstborn twin, Mr. Logan, is almost nine pounds at just four weeks and puts away at least four ounces per feeding, I was spending a HUGE amount of it tethered to the breast pump, or having a baby dangling from my boob. Time away from Magnus. But also, supply seemed to be dwindling after the third week. I was tired, with elevated blood pressure, and slightly dehydrated, for which I had to make an unfortunate trip to the ER for some meds. Upon my return, less milk seemed to be emerging, no matter how much I was pumping or getting a baby to latch on. After a week of frustration and seemingly starving babies, I packed away the pump and drove to Whole Foods to buy organic formula. And that's all she wrote.

Initially I felt guilty over giving up the god-given right to breast feed, and had more than one vision of the babies growing up to be bank robbers, obese and resentful due to being fed an early diet of formula. But as my hormones started to stabilize, I knew this was the best decision for me and ultimately them. I am sure they could sense my frustration and anxiety, and spending days in tears worrying that they might die of starvation wasn't doing me or anyone any good.

So there we are, slightly one month since the babies arrival into this world. Their pediatrician declared them healthy and perfect at their recent check up. I am at peace with my decision, and even able to laugh at irony of the inscription on the Medela baby bottles when I feed them (breast is best!)

On to the next adventure, then.

A thought at 3 am

Just caught a Folgers commercial and it gave me serious pause. Who still drinks Folgers coffee, with so many (and better tasting) options? Who thinks it is really the best part of waking up?

They are here!

Logan Francis and Cyrus Page Alt made their debut December 3rd. And it's a good thing they did, as my ankles were beginning to swell and I was becoming dehydrated. Logan came into the world first and I heard one of the nurses remark incredously, "He's a chunky one!" I was relieved and happy about the first fat joke about my son. Cyrus came two minutes later screaming his head off, so between tears I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

We are home now and walking around like zombies. I will endeavor to update you, faithful readers, on every feeding, burp and diaper change....perhaps not the latter...

We're going in

Had my weekly baby doc appointment with Dr. Personality, who advised that we need to deliver soon due to the fact that I am "puffy." How I wanted to bear hug him for not referring to me as a majorly swollen cow. Earlier in the week I expressed to J that my ankles were swelling, which he dismissed. Either he was lying to keep my mood in check or he likes the cankle look.

So that's where we are, kids. Mama Alt will spit out Cut and Paste in a few days. How surreal. Did I mention they are also about 7 lbs EACH? How I have hauled them around for nine months and not fallen flat on my face is a credible scientific mystery.

Will write when I can! So looking forward to sipping a small, chilled glass of white wine.

Don't start with me.