"I only dog paddle."

*I wrote this post last summer, but for whatever reason, I didn't publish it at the time.

Summer 2015

In the spring, Ida learned to swim. The week of her tryout for the junior swim team, I decided to take her to the swim team's pool so she could practice. She was so, so nervous. It was Memorial Day and the pool was crowded. I couldn't get in the pool with her, because Polly was still barely 2 weeks old. She was on her own. I watched Ida gather up every ounce of courage, nod nervously to herself, take a deep breath, and jump in. She made it a little over halfway across before the lifeguard blew his whistle, dove in after her and pulled her the rest of the way.

I had noticed the lifeguard watching her before he dove in. He was on the opposite side of the pool from me, and I tried to get his attention, yelling, "She's OK! She's with me!" But he didn't notice me. His eyes were fixed on her. Ida was tearful and told me later that she was both embarrassed and relieved that he had rescued her. I thought she would have been able to make it on her own. Maybe she could have. But he saw a problem and got her out of there. 

The deep end was swarming with other kids. Just in her 5-yard journey she had run into about 4 of them. Instead of rolling sideways to breathe, once she had dodged a few kids she began lifting her face up to breathe and was almost vertical. In her confusion she forgot what she was supposed to do to get across efficiently and was only focused on getting air.

Have you read those articles about how drowning "really" looks?

The myth is that a drowning person waves her arms and splashes and calls for help. But in reality, a person who is truly drowning is operating purely on instinct and can't perform voluntary actions like waving or calling. Her body only knows it needs air and can't do anything but reach for the immediate available air. People who are waving their arms and calling for help are not truly drowning yet, but rather in "aquatic distress," and as long as they can get the help they need, they don't get to the drowning point.

The lifeguard wasn't rooting for Ida to do it on her own. He only knew it was his job to keep her safe. But of course after that experience she was terrified to get back in. I took her to the pool again a few days later and let her swim in the shallow end for awhile, then encouraged her as she practiced swimming next to the side in the deep end, and then finally watched her swim across the required distance, this time with a coach next to her in the water and encouraging her and answering her many, many nervous questions.

I had thought the best way was for her to plunge directly in and let confidence carry her, but the best way for Ida was actually to ease into it, to know for sure that she could get constant encouragement and help until she knew for herself that she would be safe. She couldn't find that confidence without a certain amount of practice.

When Lars was a baby, I was OK for the first few months, but after that I think I started drowning. Eventually I went on and off an antidepressant, and I regularly saw a therapist. By the time I got pregnant again three years later, I felt good, like I was at a happy new normal, but I was on alert for a repeat experience. My midwife knew about this and suggested throughout my pregnancy that I should consider antidepressants again, but I didn't want to unless I felt I needed to. When Polly was not quite a week old I recognized my mounting anxiety and called my midwife's office. She gave me a prescription and also her personal cell phone number, inviting me to call or text any time. A few days later, I found myself in the middle of a panic attack. I have had panic attacks before, but this one was different. I felt confused, disconnected, and very afraid. I dropped my fears on Matt's broad shoulders like I always do, and he told me I would be fine and encouraged me to call my therapist and my midwife right away.

So I sent off a text and an email and they both called me back right away. Neither of them was shocked or told me to go to the ER or that I couldn't be trusted with my baby (all reactions I was afraid of in the moment). Instead, after asking a series of assessment questions, they echoed Matt's assertions. I would be fine.

Within a few weeks I started to feel pretty close to fine. In addition to taking medication, I spent a lot of time talking to people. I went to a psychiatrist who specializes in helping pregnant and postpartum moms. I talked to my regular therapist. My midwife texted and called me multiple times. I took short walks alone outside, every day, getting sunshine and listening to music. I enjoyed the company of my mom, dad, and sister. I went to bed early every night. And I prayed.

So it turns out that in an emergency, or what feels like might become an emergency, asking for help can result in... immediate help--along with mixed embarrassment and relief. In the end, I only felt truly anxious and afraid for about a week. Whereas with my pregnancy and postpartum time with Lars, I spent several months worrying and obsessing and lying in bed and crying and yelling at my kids, this time it was almost like magic. It was embarrassing to ask for the help, yes, and even embarrassing to get it. But I was never drowning, because I never got past "distress."

The lack of sleep is starting to catch up with me and I have a hard time being patient with my kids sometimes (like a much harder time than I did back when I slept 8 hours a night) but somehow at the same time, I honestly don't even mind waking up 2-3 times a night to Polly's sweet face. That will end so soon. It goes by so fast. To continue the swimming metaphor, I feel a little like the kid I remember from my lifeguarding days who did this super awkward dog paddle but somehow always made it across the pool, wearing a goofy smile the whole time.

And just for fun. Jim Gaffigan on having a fourth child.