Monday, January 27, 2014

Fun with Stain

Our house doesn’t have a coat closet. People didn’t wear coats 100 years ago, I guess. When we first moved in we mounted a small coat rack near the front door, which was useful but couldn’t bring complete order to our entryway.
It always looked at least this bad, and usually much worse.

This past summer I commissioned Nemo to build a larger coat rack for the coats and a storage cube to hold the hats/shoes/mittens/earbuds/random junk that is always cluttering the floor in the entryway.

After Nemo got all the pieces cut, things started to get pretty busy at work and the project had to be put on the back burner for a while. To speed things along I decided to do take the matter of staining into my own inexperienced hands. I was scared, but also desperate for some organization.

It was a long time coming, but I finally got my revamped entryway!

I am especially proud of the fancy stain work I did on bench/storage cube.
It all started with a can of Valspar clear sealer that I had lying around.

I picked up this cool stencil at the craft store (Martha Stewart brand), then laid it on the unfinished wood that was destined to be the top of the storage cube. I weighted down the edges and covered any exposed wood with newspaper.

Then applied a very, VERY thin coat of the clear sealer. One pass was enough to fulfill the purpose. If you put it on too heavily, the lines will run and the edges won’t be as crisp.

I gave each completed section a few minutes to dry before lining up the stencil to do the next section.

When it was all completed it looked like this:

Next I started applying the walnut stain with a cotton rag. The wood coated with the sealer couldn’t take the stain as well, which resulted in this cool effect:

And after a couple coats of polyurethane, it looked like this!

There is a storage basket for each of us to keep all that stuff that used to clutter up the entryway. It also makes an excellent time out spot.

The stain on the coat rack ended up matching the original woodwork pretty well. Looks like it belongs, wouldn’t you say?

So there you have it.

entryway collage

It may not be one of the glorious mudrooms I see every month in This Old House, but I dig it anyway.
Just a Girl and Her Blog

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Postscript: There's more Humblebee on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Hope to see you there! Especially on Instagram. I love Instagram.

Friday, January 24, 2014

The Almost Saturday Seven {7 Quick Takes}


Linking up with Jen, who recently wrote a blog post which is now one of my favorite things on the internet. (Sorry, Dear Prudence. You have been demoted to #11). I think Jen's post should be printed off and handed to all new mothers checking out of L&D, along with a bottle of bourbon and the complete works of Joss Whedon on DVD. I should start a charity that does that.

Her own quick takes contain this gem:

"I had the great misfortune to get both a stomach flu and a terrible sinus infection at the same time, and I pretty much feel like I spent yesterday drinking a bottle of tequila, running a marathon, snorting chili pepper, then hitting myself in the face repeatedly with a hammer."

Guess who has my vote for the "Funniest Blogger" Sheenazing Award. Also my prayers for her recovery from that train wreck.


I recently started following Verily Magazine on Facebook, and yesterday morning they linked to a purveyor of vintage clothing called Nifty Thrifty. Obviously I had to drop everything and check them out. (And when I say, "drop everything", I mean impatiently wait til nap time so I could access it from my desktop.)

The verdict is: good concept and great inventory that I could look at it allll day long. The site is a little buggy, but I'll give them a pass for a while since they are a fairly new company.
Yep, I bought something. Kind of hard not to when they're running an 80% off EVERYTHING sale.

You might want to check that out. Just sayin'

I joined a gym back in December. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't so much about attempting to loose the mom belly as it was about getting an opportunity to watch cable undisturbed for an hour--but lately I have started to dabble in weightlifting. I know, I am so hardcore.

It's great and I really like it, but it makes me OBSCENELY hungry. I actually took a pregnancy test (which was negative) even though I didn't have any reason to suspect I was preggo. I was THAT hungry. So, it appears that, in addition to shelling out my own hard-earned Etsy money for the membership, I am now going to have to spring for food, glorious food. Excellent.


Gratuitous picture from Noni's birthday celebration last week:
Noni took turning one very seriously--I can't believe how many new things she's started doing in the last week. She went from not walking at all to running, and from the occasional babble to a vocabulary of six words: mama, cat, milk, banana, bottle, and ball. Because a girl has to have priorities.

It seems like there a lot of toddlers out there who are currently on a nap strike. It is high time we reminded them that they aren't actually unionized, and for good reason.

CJ is 1-6 this week.

This morning he  had a fun time reenacting his non-napping. The role of CJ was played by a package of diapers.

Real CJ insisted that I put Diaper-CJ down for a nap with Blankie and Meow Meow.
Two seconds later he snatched Diaper-CJ out of the crib, shouting, "But diapers is AWAKE!!!"

Cute. But ugh.
Not one, but TWO fun things have been canceled today due to the stupid, stupid Polar Vortex. I was really looking forward to the local MOPS meeting, and I was really, REALLY looking forward to an overnight moms retreat that was supposed to start this evening. Mope. 

Today I am also over at Living in the Green sharing a recipe that is sure to warm you up: Polar Vortex Hot Cocoa!

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Postscript: There's more Humblebee on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Hope to see you there! Especially on Instagram. I love Instagram.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

How to Survive a Nap Strike

And on the fifth day, he napped.
I'm not going to far as to say the strike is over, but for now, he's sleeping.

I've been through nap strikes a lot for someone who has been a mother for under three years. CJ gave up one of his naps altogether at the shocking age of eleven months, and then there was the legendary Great Nap Fail of 2013, when he napped only four times in 30 days. Not that I was counting.

Whenever a strike rears its ugly head my first instinct is to wig out--and I did so, with great fervor, for the first several episodes. Just ask Nemo.


I don't know much about nap strikes. I don't know why they happen or how to make them stop (and I have to decided that pondering these things is a waste of energy and will make me crazy) but I AM (albeit slowly) learning how to get through them without being all

Listen up, grasshoppers. Here's how it's done:

Gather Supplies

The thing about nap strikes is you never know when (or if) they will end, so you have to plan for the long term. You're going to want a stockpile of delicious, calorie-dense foods to sustain you through the ordeal. Experts recommend Nutella (straight from the jar so as not to dilute the key nutrients). In dire straights, semi-sweet chocolate chips will do.

Be sure to keep your food stores up high and eat on the sly so the scavenging toddler doesn't make you share.

Stay Hydrated
Your survival depends on choosing beverages that are either a) caffeinated b) alcoholic. It's probably best to save the alcohol for the evening hours so the neighbors don't talk, but if it's 4:30 and you have absolutely had it, who cares what they think! Desperate times and all that! Whichever you choose, keep in mind that the restorative powers of your beverage will be enhanced if it is also c) insanely yummy. Go with the black coffee or cheap red wine if you must, but I would like to submit for your consideration:

White Russian Milkshake, recipe here. You're welcome.

Conserve energy
Cleaning has no place in a nap strike stricken household. It is of the utmost importance that every moment NOT spent dealing with nap time drama should be spent in relaxation. At this juncture I would like to point out that all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer are on Netflix.

Band together
Call a friend. Heck, call the whole internet (*ahem*). No one with an ounce of compassion is going to begrudge you a little complaining when you have to hang out with a sleep-deprived toddler all day.

Don't Panic
There are only two possibly outcomes to a nap strike: Either it's temporary and the toddler will eventually resume taking naps, or it's not temporary and the toddler will never nap ever again, ever. Hey--I said don't panic!

When I do start to feel the strain, I remind myself that there is a good chance that it's just a phase. If it isn't, my backup plan is to rebrand the 2-3 o'clock hour as "rest time", chuck them in bed, and carry on sewing as usual.

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Postscript: There's more Humblebee on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Hope to see you there! Especially on Instagram. I love Instagram.

Sunday, January 19, 2014


Linking up with the ladies at Fine Linen and Purple today. Kendra, one of the founding mothers of FLAP,  had her second baby yesterday afternoon. I'm super psyched for her!

As I write this, CJ is skipping his nap for the third day in a row. His personality is really beginning to suffer from his self-imposed sleep deprivation. He's perfectly happy to sing to himself instead of napping, but as soon as I get him from his crib he is weepy, crabby, and destructive. Woe is me. And all that. Moving on.

I wore this dress a few weeks ago but today I incorporated some different accessories. Except for the boots, of course. I bet you wouldn't recognize me if I wasn't wearing them.

 Noni wore a pair of hand-me-down pink corduroy overalls. Which really reminded me of this picture of me at my grandma's farm. Clearly I need to be giving Noni some stink-eye lessons. She seems to have a bit of natural ability so with a little coaching we could have a world-class glare-er on our hands.

 Happy Sunday, everyone!
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Postscript: There's more Humblebee on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Hope to see you there! Especially on Instagram. I love Instagram.

Saturday, January 18, 2014

A Smattering on Saturday

Well, the kitchen is (mostly) tidied, the toys are (mostly) put away, and six loads of laundry are (mostly) folded and put away. I'm calling it a win. Looking forward to my day of (relative) rest tomorrow!

Here are some stories from this week that could be elaborated into complete blog posts, but unfortunately I have to jet to go watch last week's Downton so I will be all caught up to watch live tomorrow. You know how it is.
Something that went right:
After the nightmare month of an ear infection, holiday traveling, and cutting two eye teeth, Noni has evened out a little bit. I might even go so far as to say she is content more often than not.This. Is. HUGE!!! I attibute some of the attitude change to the fact that she learned to walk the night before her birthday--seriouisly, it was all at once--and she is having a blast walking in endless loops around the house. Love that new toddler zombie walk.

 Something that went wrong:
CJ skipped his nap the last two days. Other than a memorable nap strike when he was 15 months old (during which month he napped only 4 times), he is usually pretty good about getting some zzzzs in the afternoons. Almost 3 hours of zzzs, actually. I know a lot of kids his age (2.5) are starting to give up naps, but I don't think it's possible to go from needing 3-hour naps to not needing any. But I really hope this strike stays on the short side, because he is getting MEAN.

Something thrifted:
I am technically on a spending cleanse, but today I was running errands kid-less and I couldn't  help but notice I was in the general vicinity of Salvation Army, so I thought I'd pop in to see what was new. And I'm verrry glad I did, because I found this:

{Hair courtesy of a magazine-recommended curly hair styling tip that went awry}
That is genuine vintage, y'all, and for only $3.49! Matching belt included. It needs some altering, as it's on the large side and I think it would look way better with 3/4 sleeves, but obviously I adore it. 

 When I was taking the pictures I realized that it had pockets, and when I reached into one of them I was alarmed to feel a wad of something in there. There was definitely a moment of OH MY PEAS WHAT AM I TOUCHING?! But there's a happy ending: it turned out to be a cute (and clean, thank goodness!) hanky. Whew.


Something sewn:

I tried making boot socks from the arms of an old sweater, like these:
It was a fa-fa-fa-fail. They were super baggy and way too long--plus I broke a sewing machine needle in the process, so it's a double fail. It's back to the drawing board.

Something said:
We took the kids to McDonalds for the first time in their lives. We're not fast food boycotters or anything; we just prefer to spend our money on house renovations. Anyway, we had a little bit of cabin fever setting in so I thought we would head out to the golden arches for lunch and let the kids run around in the play area. CJ was super confused, as he had never been there before, and was convinced that we were going to Old MacDonald's Farm.

So we were sitting there, CJ is drinking from his bottle of milk, and he's singing, "Old MacDonald had a MILK!!! Ee eye ee eye ooooooh!"

That kid's got to get out more.

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Postscript: There's more Humblebee on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Hope to see you there! Especially on Instagram. I love Instagram.

Friday, January 17, 2014

Frankendress, Take 2

So, I've been meaning to make another Frankendress for a while (numero uno here). Since I refuse to make anything new for the shop until I figure out the ruffler foot for my sewing machine that I got for Christmas, yesterday seemed like the perfect opportunity to make something for myself.

I had these two thrifted items in my "to do something with" pile:

Hmm they kind of look like polka-dots in the picture.
But they are actually stars. I just like stars. Stars are my favorite.

Then there was this strapless maxi dress that I had no interest in wearing. I just bought it because that's a lot of fabric for $3, and I thought it might come in handy someday.

I always mean to take step-by-step pictures, but after I do the "befores" I get lost in the zone. So no "durings".

The process was essentially the same:

1. Cut off the bottom of the shirt.
2. Cut off the top of the dress.
3. Sew them together.
4. Cut the skirt off at an appropriate length.
4. No hemming because it's jersey, yay!

Of course it is a wee bit more complicated than that--I had to do a lot of fiddling, sizing-wise. 

This dress is slightly different from the first in that I made a sash out of extra fabric and attached it to the new dress at the side seams. I made it so that it ties in the back, but I may end up nixing that and just cut off the ties and sew it together in the back.


With a black cardigan (which I made from a 3/4 length top because I don't actually have any black cardis) and a glitzy brooch, I feel fancy enough to go to the opera. But I am actually going to toddler storytime at the library. Good thing it rates a 10 on the comfort scale. 

Linking up at Cari's Theme Thursday for the first time evah. Head over to ogle all the crafty goodness.
Too Much Time On My Hands

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Postscript: There's more Humblebee on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Hope to see you there! Especially on Instagram. I love Instagram.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Miss Thang Turns One (5 Favorites)

Noni, Noni, Noni. What a year it's been! Difficult, to be sure, but I wouldn't change it for the world.

We're not doing a big celebration...just cupcakes (which have yet to be baked) when daddy gets home from work. But I did make a costume for my little superhero so I could make this trading card to commemorate the day:)

She's a feisty little girl, as was foreshadowed by her precipitous birth. You can read the story here if you're into that kind of thing. If not, the short version is that she went into stealth-labor mode and she's very lucky she wasn't born at my in-laws' house with only her big (19-month old) brother to catch her. That day was crazy, in the best possible sense of the word.

So, in honor of her birthday, here are my five favorite things about my best girl:

Her Nickname
 This girl has the most names of anyone I know. There is one name on her birth certificate, a shortened version that was supposed to be her official nickname. Then CJ met her and insisted that her name was "Noni. One year later and it's still going strong.

Her 'Tude 

 Yes, the majority of the time it makes me want to pull my hair out, but secretly I really like that she has such a strong personality. I've always had a more timid disposition, and I am of the opinion that life is a lot easier for those who aren't afraid to start a ruckus! But we DO need to work on her tone to make sure her message isn't lost (what with all the screaming and everything).

 Her Sleeping Skills

 I don't want to get into specifics lest I jinx myself, but let's just say that I get a pretty decent break from her aforementioned feistiness due to sleep.

Lefty Alert!

I stashed CJ in a shipping box with some crayons so he could write on walls to his heart's content. Of course Noni wanted to join the fun. Don't tell her that her crayon is actually a spoon!

Ok, I'm only mostly sure that she's a lefty. She loves to imitate CJ so they both spend a lot of time coloring (or pretending to color, shhhhhh!) and the last few weeks I've started to notice that she uses her left hand about 75% of the time. I'm a righty myself but I've always thought that lefties are pretty cool.

 She's awesome!

This girl is amazing. She may be infuriatingly clingy and insufferably loud at the moment, but she's got all the makings of a storybook heroine. She's going places, and I hope she takes me with her!

Linking up with Hallie, who I hope is busy planning a conference right now:)
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Postscript: There's more Humblebee on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Hope to see you there! Especially on Instagram. I love Instagram.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

The Story I Never Told You: My Experience with Postpartum Depression {Part 2}

First of all, thank you all so much for your kind and encouraging responses to Part 1 of this story. It means so much to me!

I originally only planned to write two posts about this experience, but until I actually sat down to write it I didn't know how much I really had to say! And in remembering how bad things were I am better able to appreciate how truly wonderful things are right now. Thank you for listening!

These posts are a huge bummer (sorry),  but I want to be clear: this experience was a fire that tested and tempered me, and I am a better, happier person because of it.

It was obvious that my OB’s office took postpartum depression very seriously—I was given an appointment for the following morning. The physician's assistant that I saw was very kind and compassionate, as she had personal experience with PPD. I felt I could unburden myself with her, and I did.

I hadn't bonded with the baby; I didn't want anything to do with her. Holding her in my arms filled me with such awful panic that I wanted to vomit. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. Smiling, even talking, took so much energy that it pained me physically to do either.

The PA asked me at some point if I was able to find joy in life. I didn't know how to answer. It wasn't that joy had been taken from me or I had lost it somehow; I no longer even understood the concept.

Of course she offered me antidepressants. She talked over the benefits and drawbacks of two different medications, one of which was also used to treat anxiety disorders. Since my symptoms seemed to be more like anxiety than traditional depression, I pushed for that one. She gave me the prescription and before I left she instructed me to call immediately if I noticed my symptoms worsening.

I was scared to death to take the pills. I tend to be very sensitive to medications; even something as mild as Tylenol throws me for a loop, but I saw no other option. I had to do something to knock myself off the disastrous course I was on. I took my first dose that evening, but as soon as I got into bed that night I could tell that something was wrong.

There was a tingling sensation throughout my whole body, so strong that I could almost call it a vibration. I couldn't stop shaking. There was a ringing in my ears and bright lights before my eyes, almost like an aura of a migraine. I was sweating and shaking and I was so very thirsty, but I couldn’t force the muscles in my throat to swallow. Every time I dropped off to sleep, a jolt would run through me like I had grabbed two live wires, and I would be instantly awake again. Eventually Nemo came and wrapped his arms tightly around me so that I wouldn’t jerk myself awake, but that only worked for a short while.

This went on for three days and nights. Over the weekend Nemo would get up early with the kids to give me an opportunity to rest, but even after being awake for multiple nights, I couldn’t fall asleep.

Monday morning came, and Nemo had to go to work. I hadn’t slept in three nights. I hadn’t eaten in weeks. I knew I had to go downstairs so Nemo could leave for work, but I had to stop at every step to rest. When I got halfway down I had to stop. I was too weak to go further and too emotionally depleted to force my body to move. I would’ve cried if I had the strength. Living my life seemed impossible. Not hard; inconceivable. I couldn’t even stand up; how was I going to do my job? I literally didn’t think I would survive the day. Whatever had been plaguing me mentally had crossed over to destroy my physical health as well. I was so sick; I felt like I was dying.

At some point Nemo asked me if he should take the day off work, but I didn’t answer for a long time. I simply didn’t know what to do. Taking care of the kids was my job, not his. He had to go back to work sometime; he couldn’t do my work forever. And even if he did stay home that day, what would it help? I still wouldn't be able to sleep. The medication that was supposed to help had only made things worse. This was the end.

One of the one clear memories I have of that morning was telling Nemo, “I want to tell you I can do this, but I can’t.”

I called my OB's office. When I got the PA on the line I sobbed that when I saw her on Friday, things were more terrible than I could ever have imagined, but now they were a thousand times worse. I didn't know what to do. There seemed to be no way out.

"It's time for us to talk about you checking into the hospital," she said.

I didn't want to go; I handed the phone to Nemo.

She explained to Nemo the laws regarding Mental Hygiene Involuntary Commitment. It was her responsibility as a medical professional to make sure I didn't hurt myself or others, and she thought that without proper treatment, something very bad could to happen. Either I checked myself in to a psychiatric unit, or she would file mental hygiene papers on me. It she did that, law enforcement officials would come to take me into custody and escort me to the hospital where I would be held for an observation period.

Yes, she was threatening me, but it was truly out of concern for my well being. Even in that terrible frame of mind I could understand that. So, to avoid the scandal of being carted off in a police car, I agreed to check myself in to the hospital.

As soon as I said it, an immense feeling of relief was able to break through the suffocating buffer of depression. Something was being done. The last place I wanted to go was a hospital, but at least it was a way out.
Read Part 3 here.

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Postscript: There's more Humblebee on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Hope to see you there! Especially on Instagram. I love Instagram.

Monday, January 13, 2014

The Story I Never Told You {Part 3 - Hospitalization}

If you haven't already, go back to read Part 1 and Part 2 of this story. Once again, thank you for reading!

I cannot even begin to explain the surreal experience of being a patient at the hospital. At home, I was charged with the physical, emotional, and spiritual care of two little humans. I was supposed to control what they ate, how much they slept, how much tv they watched, and how many germs they were exposed to. But once I checked myself in to the hospital, all of that control, all of that responsibility, was taken from me.

When I walked into the unit for the first time and saw what I had gotten myself in to, I was terrified. The other patients were people I would ordinarily never come into contact with. Drug addicts. Schizophrenics. People with anger disorders. People who had tried to kill themselves.

I'm a middle class stay-at-home mom. I have a degree in Library Science. I've never even tried drugs. I have nothing in common with these people. What am I doing here? How could being locked up with these people possibly help?

But it was too late to turn back; even though I had voluntarily committed myself, the law allowed for me to be held in the unit for four days. I had no choice. I was not in control.

When I first arrived on the unit a nurse took my vitals. I was weak and dehydrated. I had dropped to almost ten pounds below my pre-pregnancy weight and my blood sugar was out of control. I was just as much of a mess physically as I was mentally.

After intake procedures were completed, I was pretty much ignored by the staff. I didn't even see a psychiatrist until almost 36 hours after I first checked into the hospital, which was very frustrating. When I did finally see him he just ordered for me to keep on taking the antidepressant that my OBGYN originally perscribed, and added a second one that was supposed to help me sleep. It didn't.

Even though one of my primary complains was insomnia, I wasn't given any special consideration. The rooms were doubles and I had a new roommate almost every night. The first night I shared with a very sweet older lady whose snores literally rattled the closet doors. The second night it was a heroin addict going through detox. Another night it was a woman who was on suicide watch and had to be checked on every 30 minutes throughout the night. And so on and so on. We all had to wake up at the same time every morning to go to the nurses' station for vitals, and there were very few opportunities to nap during the day. If you skipped seeing the doctor, or going to groups, or a meal, it went into your chart as further proof of your mental illness. I've never liked getting bad grades.

I saw the doctor for less than five minutes every day. Random staff members who didn't bother to introduce themselves or inform me of their function within the unit would sit down with me and ask me random questions from time to time. There was no Whoopi Goldberg character to share no-nonsense, life-altering advice.

During the profound, intermidible, lulls in the action I found myself talking a lot with the other patients, the same people who I had found scary and off-putting just days before. I even began to develop friendships with a few of them, and discovered that I have more in common with drug-addicted teen mothers than I thought.

Nemo visited me every opportunity he could, and one of the first times he brought me pictures of the kids that he had printed off at the pharmacy. I kept the pictures tucked in a book, and challenged myself to look at them throughout the day. Disassociating my beautiful children from my mental illness was difficult and painful work. Rationally, I knew it wasn't their fault, but my life since Noni's birth was such a confusing muddle that it was difficult to tease the strands apart. At first, even glancing at my children's faces dropped me into a panic attack, and I would have to quickly tuck the pictures away again.

I felt a deep spiritual suffering. I had always found consolation in prayer, but I had never prayed so hard in my life as when I asked God to lift me up from my depression when I first started spiraling. At the time those prayers seemed to go unanswered. I ended up in the hospital; that was kind of the opposite of deliverance, wasn't it? I spoke with the chaplin and even a priest from a nearby church, but I can't even remember what it was they told me. They were kind and genuinely concerned for me, but I wasn't in a state to take in what they were saying.

On Friday, the fifth day of my hospitalization, I was sitting in group session when a nurse came in and, without ceremony, dropped discharge forms into my lap.

I didn't understand. Discharge hadn't been discussed in my last meeting with the doctor. By what criteria was he judging me ready to go? I hadn't slept for more than a few hours a night since I got there. I still had panic attacks when I looked at mere pictures my children. I still hadn't adjusted to the medication. I still couldn't face being  a mother. I started crying and crying and crying.

This was the turning point, not just in my illness but in my life as a whole. At that moment I found the courage and the humility to say, I am weak. I need help. I can't do this alone. 

I refused to be discharged. For the first time in a long time I used my voice, and I was heard. I wasn't discharged that day.

My psychiatrist wasn't seeing patients over the weekend, so on Saturday I had my daily appointment with a different doctor. I was still feeling the sting of "my" doctor's betreyal, and I poured out my woes to this new guy. Can't sleep. Can't eat. Can't even think about my kids. Basically a mess.

First of all, he scolded me for going to my OBGYN when I was experiencing symptoms of PPD. "What do they know about the brain? Nothing. Their job is to deliver babies, not prescribe psychotropic medications."

He wasn't a pleasant man, but I owe everything to him. He saw that the medications I was taking weren't working and would likely never work. He wrote up orders for me to start taking two different antidepressants and sent me on my way. I was skeptical; my prior experience had shattered my faith in the healing power of drugs.

I don't know if it was the drugs or just finally getting fed up with the hospital, but by Sunday night, I was ready to get the hell out of dodge. The thought of being at home with my family scared me and I didn't know how I was going to get through it--but I was ready to be a wife and mother again.

Read Part 4 here.

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Postscript: There's more Humblebee on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Hope to see you there! Especially on Instagram. I love Instagram.