What is postpartum? Only you can define it. Here is my story...
The nursery is perfectly pinterested; every onesie folded delicately in it's place. Your mommy-and-me matching hospital outfits have arrived and you just can't wait to share that first "BABY IS HERE!" post on Instagram. You've got your meals prepped for those first few weeks so you "don't have to worry about cooking." The newborn photography session is booked and you even had the time to escape with the hubby on a beautiful "baby-moon". Your home is set, your hospital bag is packed, and you're ready for this new adventure!
Mamas.......if that wasn't your reality, you aren't alone. Because I was, too, sucked into the idea that even though becoming a first time mom was going to be "challenging", I'd make the most of it if I just sprinkled a garnish of Pinterest here and a dash of Spearmint Baby there in front of a perfectly curated backdrop!..........no?......oh. Now I want to be as uplifting and positive as possible so excuse my sarcastic undertone, but the reality is..... my postpartum experience was immediately and intensely difficult. Postpartum anxiety and depression is real and it is a B!tc%. (with the capital B) And maybe that's exactly what a lot of you need to read today.
I always knew that because I've had a lifelong case of anxiety and a touch of depression that I would be predisposed to some various postpartum psychological..."whatever". After all, they don't really talk much about this stuff and I'm even a registered nurse! Oddly, during my pregnancy, though we were extremely ill-prepared, I had an overall sense of calm the entire time. Maybe it's because I was working full-time and in a full-time graduate program so I was thoroughly distracted by wanting to knock out as much school as possible. Ultimately, I think I knew that if I lingered in the worries too long, I would fall very deeply into the belly of depression, never to return again!!! bwa-ha-ha-hahaaaa.....anyway.
I think most of my pregnancy angst came from the pressures of getting ALL the pictures, getting the nursery SO perfect, and having THE cutest baby outfits. Bottom-line, this nursery was NEVER going to be perfect. I had a million and one ideas that cannot all fit in 120 square feet. I was just trying to pour my energy into something that didn't really matter so that I wouldn't sit and worry about the fact that I was terrified to become a mother. Could I be as nurturing as I needed and wanted to be? We didn't financially plan for this. Could I possibly be ready to provide for this baby? Who is going to watch her when I go back to work? What is this going to do to my marriage dynamic? How will I ever travel the world now?! Those feeling were allllllll there. Just pushed deeeeeep down. These should have all been things I worked through instead of suppressing them. I can't say for certain it was the cause of what was to follow, but I assume a part of it was.
As the due date got closer, I began regretting not taking those labor classes. I was still working full-time and wondered why the hell I ever thought I could work my body so hard for so long. Sure enough, early one morning, 4am to be exact, I felt a little pop over my pubic bone while laying in bed. My water had broke and I knew it was game time before I even stood up. She came the next day; 3 weeks early. ( I will be making a post about my glorious labor soon). I joke that she knew if I had more time to "prep" I would have just drove myself insane anyhow.
The day we were to be discharged, I was holding my baby in bed as a nurse charted meds to my right. It had rained all night and the beautiful sky shined through a big window to my left. Baby was healthy, mom was tired, but all was right in the world. I had just been staring at my baby in complete awe that entire morning. My heart ached because I already loved her SO much and didn't know how to translate all that emotion to her. I was tearing up and smiling as the nurse came up to my bed. I remember wiping a tear and giggling, "Sorry I'm being such a sap!", I told the nurse. She replied to me very matter-of-factly, "If those tears last more than 5 days, make sure to seek help." "Oh no, no. They're happy tears!" I sort of scrunched my brows to my husband when the nurse turned her back. When she left, I remember we both thought it was odd; as I was truly just so beyond in love with my new baby. Seek help? For what? Loving my baby too much? OOKKKKAAAYY!
.................I felt like such an idiot later that day. We got home to a clean house that my MIL had prepared the morning my water broke. My mom and grandma were making a pot of chicken and veggies in the kitchen. My husband ran the dogs to the groomers since we hadn't gotten it done before her arrival. I was starting to notice that the baby, though she had been latching just fine in the hospital, was fussing at the boob all of a sudden. My heart sank by the hour. All the new mom concerns crept in like a dense, dark fog. The nurse said I have 5 days, right?
By the end of that first week, I felt like the sky was falling. I was in a sleep-deprived, hamster wheel of breastfeeding, crying, and irrational thoughts. A lactation specialist made a house call and confirmed the baby was latching just fine and that my milk was starting to come in. Her pee diapers confirmed she was getting enough and even though my nipples were beyond in pain, we were doing just fine. She encouraged me to continue sitting by a sunny window for baby's jaundice and my mood. But even then, I couldn't relax. It was taking about 30-40 to get the baby to latch, another 40 for her to eat, 10 to change diapers, 5 to apply more nipple cream and have a snack, and 10 to use the restroom, myself (status-post episiotomy). By the time I sat down, I couldn't turn off my brain before it was time to feed again. This cycle lasted two weeks before I had a mental breakdown and nearly ended up in the E.R. with exhaustion.
I vividly remember my husband trying to get us out of the house. (It couldn't have been easy for him to handle as a new dad either and I think I forget to sympathize with that sometimes.) He took us to Starbucks and then the park to walk around with the baby. It was a gorgeous day with a film of grey over it (in my eyes only). As soon as we sat down on a park bench, I began hysterically crying in front of all the passerby's. I wasn't embarrassed then, and knowing how I was feeling, I'm actually still not embarrassed by it now. It was as if someone just told me all the bad news someone could hear. My mind and body were too heavy to carry. my husband, who had always been my comfort blanket, my rock, my bodyguard, could no longer comfort me. I saw him growing more and more frustrated that he couldn't help me the way I needed help most. Just looking at my baby made me cry and I didn't know why. I knew that I felt love for her, but it was a love that HURT. I couldn't even smell her or her spit up on a burp rag without breaking down. The time had changed for daylight savings so it was getting darker earlier. That was the worst time of day for me, regardless of the baby and what she was up to. Every evening, it became the ritual to go around the house and turn on every single light before the sun would go down.
One of the most awful thoughts that ever crossed my mind was during maybe only the second shower I had taken at this point. "Why would we bring this sweet little girl into this world?" "Why would we disrupt our lives like this?" "Why would God trust ME with this responsibility." "Is there a way to turn back time?!" .........and that's not hyperbole. In my mind, I irrationally thought that there was some way I could squeeze my eyes so tight that when I opened them again, I'd be 10 years old and carefree. But instead, the sun shined into the bathroom window and brought me to my senses. I spent the rest of that shower sobbing over the fact that I had lost my mind and even let those thoughts cross it. I know that was at the two week mark because it was the day before my mom had to go back home. I had, had all that my mind and body could handle.
The evening my mom left, I walked into the laundry room where my husband was cleaning and collapsed into his arms. I finally surrendered to giving her a bottle of breast milk and allowed myself to sleep off and on for about 5 hours that night while my dad and husband cared for her. I'd put ear plugs in with headphones on TOP of that. I'd put The Office on Netflix from my phone because any music hurt my heart. I'd cover my eyes with a night mask but left the lamps on in the room because even knowing they were off made me feel scared. I'd be on the verge of sleep and then POP up in bed because I'd hear my baby SCREAMING! Only......she wasn't. (currently crying thinking about how awful that felt). I'd run into the living room where she was being lovingly cared for, snuggled up with dad or taking a nap. That carried on for 2 months.
I never went to get help despite the nurses advice. Why? well, it's hard to say. My baby was being well-cared for by her dad and I didn't end up in the E.R. with exhaustion after all. Google said "lots of moms feel this way". It's only "baby blues" unless you stop wanting to care for your baby. I didn't want to be put on meds. I am stubborn. ALLLLLL the excuses. I hated even hearing other moms tell me, "it gets easier!" because at that moment, I needed more than words. I needed proof, ASAP. (and I need to keep that in mind considering I already tell other new moms the same thing) Looking back now, I totally should have. And I wasn't ashamed. I just wanted to figure it out for myself, I guess. my husband decided to take more time off with me. I think it was about a month that he stayed home. When he finally returned to work, I felt like a child who was lost at a carnival. We eventually got a little routine down, but even then, knowing I'd be going back to work made that time feel like a ticking time bomb.
I don't exactly know when or why I started to have my breakthrough, but it was sometime around the 2.5 month mark. They days got a little brighter. she was starting to latch like a champ. My anxiety about letting the baby "just be" was still hard to overcome. I had to check if she was breathing every 10 minutes. I had to make sure she was on her back and there were no blankets around her face. She has terrible reflux so I had to make sure she was at a steep enough incline so she wouldn't choke on her spit up. One of my favorite days is when I heard her cough intentionally to clear her throat. But my tears started to become fewer and further between.
Now that we are 4 months in, it feels like night and day. I actually feel as back to "myself" as I'll probably ever be. (I honestly don't even feel like the same person as I was before motherhood) My depression about going back to work is really just frustration compared to the depression of those early days. Her smiles have helped cure a lot of what was clouding my mind before. When you realize that this child is actually looking at you now; taking in your face, you want to put your best face on. I somehow managed to complete 2 of my graduate courses during my maternity leave. Don't ask me how. It has all been entirely a blur. I know i'm technically still in the postpartum phase, but I feel that the worst of it is behind me. I still cry on occasion, but its usually for a good reason.
I never knew the emotional, financial, or physical toll I would experience through this postpartum process. As non-moms, we rolled our eyes at the moms who read off their list of mommy warning labels. The sleepless nights, the sore nipples, the crying babies; you think you're invincible until you realize you're SO not. And what about those unrealistic, "ideal" instagram images? I still want all the pinterest perfect visions to come true which makes it all the more ridiculous. I think it's because we envision the absolute picture-perfect scenario when we imagine our one-day families. Those flawless little babes deserve the best of the best, after all.
I can spend an entire post listing off things I would have done differently so I just wont. I will always resent the fact that my own brain betrayed me! This internal entity stole my joy during some of those most sweet and tender moments of my baby's life. I'm irritated that I didn't enjoy any of her "first" holidays. I thought she was going to contract a rare illness at the pumpkin patch. I almost bailed after waiting 30 minutes for the gate to open. Billy was so annoyed with me that day. We spent our Halloween crying together, NOT passing out candy. My crippling anxiety kept us from taking her to any Thanksgiving festivities. My husband and I got in a huge disagreement right before taking her to take pictures with Santa. It was overall, a really crappy year for holiday cheer.
It's not a postpartum experience I wish on my worst enemy. (I don't have any enemies besides PPD) haha I will always feel guilty, no matter how many other moms tell me not to. Going forward, I feel most nervous about my anxiety. The idea of not being able to go an entire day, let alone 5 minutes, without feeling complete worry about my baby is hard to grasp. They say your babies are always babies in the eyes of a mother and now I can see how that is true. There will be a stage for every season of our lives together. This is the postpartum stage. Then there will be a post-postpartum stage with an entirely new set of worries. I could never fully transcribe and translate those feelings onto "paper". And as awful as those memories were, I hope I always remember the sting of those emotions as a reminder to love every minute with my family. And while it IS fun to dress my baby up in the cutest tot shop trends, to produce a stylish mommy-and-me image, and sneak away on mini-vacations with fun content, the harsh realities taught me that, for one, I'm tough! despite how weak I felt. I overcame what was unthinkable at the time. And if you stuck around to read this and you are going through the same struggle, you are tough too! You are not alone in this. Reach out to your local mom support group. Make one if you need to. Your struggles will soon become another mommy's hope!