Let me begin by saying that I am a firm believer in the phrase "Better Living Through Chemistry". Before you go thinking that I'm some kind of freak who wants to legalize marijuana (actually, I do!) let me clarify by saying that if my child has a fever, I am right there with the motrin. If their throat hurts I PRAY that they have strep so I can get an antibiotic to cure them. When I gave birth to my oldest, I TRIED going the no-drugs route (at least to start...) I sat on the birthing ball (don't ASK!), I tried a hot shower on my contractions, I tried to "...take the edge off" with Nubain... In the end, I was SCREAMING for the epidural.
Drugs? Hand 'em over!
So now my life is classified between Pre-Prozac and Post-Prozac. Pre-Prozac I was a babbling mess about a week before my period arrived. One day a month I would call my husband in hysterics, telling him what a failure I was at everything and how I couldn't believe he married me. I remember one January 31st when my hormones were particularly rampant claiming "..my New Year's Resolution is to be dead!" Lovely,
Post-Prozac I'm not radically different, but I will say it takes the edge off those sensitive PMS days (PMS stands for Poor Mr. Flossy Suffers!) My lows are nowhere near as low as they used to be. Rather than getting frustrated as I try to corral my kids through the gift shop at the zoo and biting one of them (guilty!) or screaming "WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU????" at the top of my lungs, the medicine keeps me on a much more even keel. As Fitfreak aptly describes it, it's Mommy's Little Helper.
Today my first grader was fooling around and he smashed a glass hurricane vase that sits in the center of the dining room table. It's not the first time he's been warned not to touch it (this is actually the THIRD!) and when I heard the smash, the first thing I did was of course evaulate whether he had been cut (he hadn't). Then in a voice as calm and cold as ice, I sent him to his room for the afternoon.
When telling a friend about the incident she commented, "I can't believe you didn't go into his room and break something of his. Wait a minute, that's the old you".
The old me (or Pre-prozac me) would have probably done just that. And berated him at the top of her lungs. Maybe even spanked him.
As I said, "Better Living Through Chemistry".
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After I had my youngest and had Postpartum depression, Zoloft saved my life. Literally. Some people just aren't balanced naturally in the hormone department and a little prozac goes a long ass way.
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