With this post, more than anything, I think I just need to "talk." Don't feel obliged to reply, but I'll take any perspective, anecdote, or advice I can!
I actually got pregnant with my daughter the day after I was released from my psychiatric hospital stay. Talk about
a homecoming! My daughter will be two this fall, and I'll be 31, and I'm starting to really think about
having another. My husband and I have talked a little bit, but nothing definite yet.
During my pregnancy, I was on Celexa and Risperidal, and they were pretty average doses. When I discovered I was pregnant, I cut my pills in half, but didn't go off, because it was too risky for me to be without meds. Now, I'm on Celexa and Lamictal, with Xanax only when I feel an anxiety attack coming on. And I'm on higher doses - 40mg Celexa and 150mg Lamictal. I know my doc will be nervous if I want to lower my doses, and I am, too. But if we have another baby, that's what I'll do. I need as little risk as possible!
Interestingly, I'm already considered a high-risk preggo because of my heart defect. Yet, my first pregnancy wasn't too bad (except for my mild existential crisis
) and my daughter is healthy and wonderful and perfect. I've just started thinking so much about
trying again - and while my husband manages the financial end of things, I worry about
being a good womb that won't stunt my child's brain with all of my prescript
I can deal with being BP almost any other time. But it's these moments that I feel like I'll never be normal. Most women worry about
their babies. Yet how many freak out that the thing that's keeping Mommy in one piece might be breaking Baby apart?! That's me. I'm that nutty. But I'm scared to wait too much longer for a second baby - partly because of my BP and meds, partly because of my heart, and partly because of my Ehlers-Danlos (aka freaky dislocating joints).
I just want to be normal, feel normal, instead of this guise of normalcy that masks something dark and brooding. Yet, I'll never be a "normate," and it also seems unfair to burden a little child with that when she never asked to be born in the first place.
"Sanity is a cozy lie." ~ Susan Sontag