Freedom.

The burn-out. It's not a pretty topic, not one that any of us mom's like to admit to feeling. But, I am there. And I have been for a while. It is just now, now that there's a light at the end of this pregnancy tunnel, that I feel like maybe the fog lifting is a real possibility. Let me explain.

2011 did not start well for our family. I'd just finished a very stressful season of working for the holidays part-time. This was as much out of necessity than anything else, and it was not something that our family was prepared well for. We did not cope well with mama being gone random hours during the day. I developed anxiety bad enough that I went on medication to help with the attacks. We took a trip to Oklahoma and Dallas in January to re-group as a family. It was a much needed vacation for us, and we came back ready to jump back into life.

Our then five year old wanted to try public school, so the Monday after we got back she started at the local elementary school. Her teacher was mine in first grade, a woman who I still cherish and adore for her understanding of my awkward six year old self who wanted to read books meant for far older kids rather than socialize on the playground. Three weeks later, it was obvious school was not working for her. She was grumpy. She was begging to never go back. She loved the teacher, she loved being with the kids. But it took her joy away when it came to learning. And she LOVES to learn. So, with a prayerful heart we pulled her. We decided to unschool that year, let her just get back to loving learning while she was still little.

February began with the passing of my grandfather. Shortly later, my husband was injured at work and had to take a month off. Both of these were setbacks to our routine, to our hearts. But we still were managing to settle into life with a family of five, finding our daily groove after floundering for months. The big girls had always loved their baby sister, but now at 11 months, she was able to join in the playing with them. Life was looking good for our little family.

Then came a surprise. Literally. We found out mid-March that we were expecting baby #4! Such a blessing, definitely. But, we were shocked to be pregnant so soon. I was still in the pit of nursing all night, dealing with postpartum anxiety, and didn't I just have a baby!?!? But we were excited, nonetheless. Until a week later when I found out I needed to abruptly stop my anxiety medication and the hyperemesis gravidarum set in. I was so sick that a couple nights I wound up taking my pillow and blanket into the bathroom and sleeping on the floor in there. Then I started getting panic attacks about getting sick, especially when out alone with all of the kids, since seeing mama sick scared especially the little ones. Only now I didn't have my medication that made me feel human again. And it turned out my anti-nausea medication, unlike when I took it with my oldest, was making my anxiety worse than it was otherwise. Not wanting to take any mood altering medications in the first trimester, I floundered. I did the most I could, but it was rarely enough, and we just tried to keep afloat from day to day. We lost our footing, for sure.

And, as with most tough pregnancies, that's where we've stayed. It's gotten easier. These past few weeks that I've been seeing a chiropractor for the SPD, it hasn't been as debilitating. But third trimester exhaustion and the return of hyperemesis have offset that improvement. I've realized, I can't do this again. Not for a while. When I got pregnant I was just getting back to normal after months of postpartum anxiety. Now I have dealt with months of not just anxiety, but hyperemesis and pain.

NOTHING will change the fact that this baby is a blessing. That our family will love this baby and they will be cherished and adored. But, after a serious round of talking, and a lot of prayer my husband and I have decided that we have to make sure no more babies for a while. We neither one feel done. But I feel done for now. I have mama burn-out. I haven't been able to be the mother, the wife, the WOMAN, the ME that I feel God calling me to be. I feel called to be so much more than I am right now. To be so much more present that what I am able to be. So the decision has been made that there will be no babies for at least 3 years.

And knowing that won't be something to think (worry?) about, I feel...free. Freedom in getting to enjoy and chase a toddler without that familiar pull of round ligament pain. Freedom to nurse my toddler without worrying about painful nursing from pregnancy hormones. Freedom to go to school for my CNA and work overnights to honor the part of me that isn't just a mama, but a person as well. Freedom to look at taking some photography courses as a real possibility and not just a dream because they don't fall into my schedule of pumping or due dates. Freedom to take my doula training. Freedom to look at the four souls God has given my husband and I to guide and teach and learn from and soak them up and rejoice in them. Freedom to find myself as His child again, which is where the real freedom comes from, isn't it?

Getting beneath the surface

It's pretty fair to say that our lives have been pretty chicken-centric as of late. So, it makes sense that when trying to put my battle with ppa into words, the images coming to mind have to do with eggs.

Broken, cracked shells. An egg shell doesn't shatter. The shell breaks and cracks, while being held together by a thin, transparent membrane. My outer shell is cracking, too. My ability to hide my reality was forced upon me my.whole life. I was the only one not surprised by my parents' divorce. Because they hid the problems and acted happy around everyone else. I was told without words that I was expected to help protect the facade of the perfect nuclear family.

So I still hide problems. I feel like showing imperfections is weakness and makes me an imposition on others. I try to act like things are great.

Great. What a lie that word is! How many times do we say that we're doing great when the truth couldn't he further from that? I know I'm not the only one who is like this.

And now, with this facade, this shell, cracking away there's exposed vulnerability. This is new to me. Me, the girl who finished small talk while paying the hairdresser seconds after finding out her Pa had died. Who doesn't break in front of anyone. Who's pulled together, at least marginally so.

This affects me in ways I'm not used to. Which brings us to the inside of the egg. Two words that fit an egg and my nerves: fried and scrambled.

I am constantly on the verge of tears. Stress of any kind renders me incapable of handling even daily life. And I can't take excess noise. The baby crying, the girls playing loudly, dogs barking, tv. All can cause me to mentally shut down. Because I can't cope if there's noise around me. I start to get why they put people in padded rooms. Because one sounds really nice about now.

Most of my days are spent outside with the kids (where noise doesn't bother me as much) or in the house sending them to play in a different room. This doesn't make me proud, and I feel guilty for constantly shooing them away. I keep saying soon I'll feel better. But when is soon?