Action feels good to me. I realize control of externals (the world, other people) is an illusion, but I can direct my own intentions and behavior.

Friday morning I awoke after admittedly too little sleep, still feeling on the verge of tears, but also feeling less hopeless. (Please note: I think there’s a difference between feeling less hopeless and more hopeful. By the end of the day I felt more hopeful.) I proceeded to act on several fronts. I called my doctor and left a message. Husband had gotten up with The Bean (one of our many nicknames) and experienced how she is in the morning: Alert! Alert! Alert! He wasn’t exactly tuckered out, but it did make him start researching portable swings.

Shortly after noon we got out. We went to Target and purchased a portable swing. She loves the one we have so much; it’s a monster size and not easily moveable in our multi-level home. Plus we figured it would help when we go see friends. Since my aunt and uncle recently sent a money order baby gift, we decided to splurge. We also stocked up on more binkies and diapers. At home Husband assembled the swing and tried it, and The Bean responded positively and immediately.

Then we went to Purlescence, where Sandi and Nathania helped fit me with the Infantino sling for carrying Claire. It’s not an ideal sling, but it will do until I find another that fits my short torso.

After the yarn store, we went to Borders, where I purchased The Happiest Baby on the Block. The book offers strategies for calming crying called the 5 S’s, three of which we’ve been using:

• Swaddling: wrapping tightly in a blanket because upset babies flail their limbs which contributes to a sense of vulnerability.
• Side/Stomach: upset babies feel more insecure on their backs, but holding them on their side or stomach short circuits the Moro reflex that panics them. This is not used for sleep but in the process of calming.
• Ssshhhing: replicating the white noise sounds baby heard in utero.
• Swinging: jiggling baby on your lap, using a swing.
• Sucking: offering a breast, finger, or pacifier for calming.

The book also has a lot of interesting tips, such as the need to meet baby at her level of vigor. For instance, if she’s hysterical, the Shhhing sound needs to be louder at first so she can hear it and become calmer. I tried it last night, and it worked.

I joined a Las Madres play group for babies born in 2007 and live in Santa Clara. I just need to find out when and where the group meets.

I’ve also recognized that I need to find a way to alleviate my physical response to Claire’s crying. I’m hard-wired to respond to my baby, but I’ve been surprised at how anxious the crying makes me, and at the physical discomfort I feel. It’s hard to describe. But then I remembered something. I was eight when my brother was born, and I remember for the first couple of years of his life, when he would cry, I would cry — not every time, but often. When he was born, I felt eager and proud to be a big sister, and I vowed (to myself) to protect him from bad things and bullies — a tall order for a petite girl who herself was often bullied by other kids. I adored my little brother. Even now, when I look at photos of him as a kid, my heart clenches at his cuteness. (Sorry if I’m embarrassing you, T.)

Also when I was a child, upon seeing babies in public I felt a rush of love that felt like heartache; I would say a prayer that they never be hurt by a harsh word or act. I realize now that I was projecting my own wishes for myself as well. I just felt so intensely. In my adolescence and early adulthood I toughened myself to the point where I felt negatively toward children and the idea of having them — this was overcompensation. Sometime in my thirties that part of me healed to the degree that it could, and now as a mother, I’m approaching it from a new angle.

(Of course, I wasn’t an ideal sister. When I was a teen, I didn’t play Mousetrap with him as often as he asked, and I considered him a pest sometimes. I also treated him crappily on occasion. I remember one time: I was 19 and still at home, going to community college. He was 11, and we had a fight before he left for school that morning. I did something I should not have, and he ran out of the house screaming I hate you!. I spent the rest of the day on the campus skipping my classes and crying, agonizing over what I’d done and certain that I’d be a horrible, abusive mother. Eventually I forgave myself, but I haven’t forgotten, although my brother probably has.)

So anyway, I’ve concluded that I may simply be acutely sensitive to crying sounds. Last night I used earplugs to take the edge off. I could still hear Claire very well; the plugs muffled just enough of the sound to make her crying bearable. (An aside: Claire also seems to have incredible hearing and we joke that it’s her superpower. She startles and flinches at sounds that aren’t very loud, like someone in the room coughing once. I don’t want to read into this and assume she will have the same sensitivity, but we noticed this reflex within the first day of her life.)

By the end of the day, I felt considerably more solid and brighter. My OB called in the evening and we had a long chat. She provided me with a couple of referrals for support groups. We discussed my medicine dosage and decided that if in a week or two my efforts at social support weren’t enough, we would increase one of them. We agreed what is crucial is that I not isolate. Husband is willing to help with this in whatever way I need. It was also gratifying to hear her tell me I’m a dream patient in this regard, because I’m aware and proactive and willing to take steps.

It also helped that people left such supportive comments, and that my mother-in-law and mom called. I also heard from my siblings. This evening we’ll see our good friends who are Claire’s godparents (for lack of a better term). Intellectually I understand the positive comments and know I’m being a good parent; my task is to internalize it in my core, and this takes time and repetition, as well as acceptance (of this as the truth, of my vulnerability, of the fact that this just is).

One observation was made that I’m flagging for myself. It was pointed out that writing on the blog, while it helps me, may also be risky. I’m in a different role now as a parent. There are people in the world who don’t understand depression, who are judgmental and self-righteous, and (I’m stealing this person’s words) who may feel justified in taking statements out of context and blowing them out of proportion because there’s a child involved. That’s true. It could happen. So I need to be mindful of what and how I write here.

I would like to think that by writing honestly, it helps not only me, but other readers who feel alone in what they experience. I know that my blog presents me in a certain way: as accomplished, multi-faceted, and many other positive things, and that it can be validating for someone to read how even such a “together” person can also struggle. Sharing the ugly helps dispel either/or thinking: you’re either a good mother or a bad one, you’re either professionally successful or a failure, etc. The road to wholeness is understanding that life is more than either/or, it is both/and. Yet I need to protect myself and my family as well. I don’t know exactly what this means in terms of what I share here, but I’m heedful.

Onward…