Two Months

Today on his two month birthday I said this:

"I'm just starting to feel like I couldn't imagine not having him."

I believe I'm almost over the hump. The postpartum depression is still egging me on from time to time. Anxiety attacks hit without warning, and my mother is driving me insane. I have had hideous thoughts about her, and actually looked up real estate in Illinois so I can dream about getting away from her. She is truly crazy and not helping at all at this point.

The doctors have been checking up on me with some consistency, and they dispense medication at the drop of a hat. But I've been resisting the urge to pop an anti-depressant, due to the breast feeding. Every time I'm tempted, I am awash with feelings of guilt. It is impossible for that pill to pass my lips knowing it will end up in the baby.

So I deal with the feelings of dread and worry, knowing most of it is in my head and totally irrational: No, the baby won't die in his sleep. No, he isn't a down syndrome baby. No, he isn't going to be kidnapped. No, you won't fall down the stairs and die and leave the baby in the house alone, screaming for his mother who is dead as a door nob.

It's a daily battle, and I sometimes wish I wouldn't wake in the mornings so I don't have to face it again. But I love my son, and my son needs a healthy mother. I need to pull it together somehow and beat this depression.

Holding Out

Every day, I hold out until 4:00 p.m. That's the time I know my husband is on his way home. I imagine him weaving in and out of traffic trying to get to the front door. It's comforting and relieves some of the anxiety I always have built up in my gut at that time. It usually sits there from noon until evening, poking my stomach, daring me to eat something spicy.

Now that the breast infection, also known as mastitis HELL, has pretty much gone, I am dealing with plugged ducts. It's as if someone is testing me, or testing my breasts.

A plugged duct is not nearly as horrific as mastitis. Instead, it's just annoying and achey pain that seems to go on and on and on. I've been massaging it for a while but it's stubborn. I have a feeling I'm in for more of this kind of discomfort as long as I breast feed. People keep telling me it will get better after two or so months, so I hold out. But it just keeps getting more and more frustrating and I'm losing patience.

I'm feeling the beginnings of being burnt out. Five days a week, nine to ten hours a day I'm alone with my baby, trying to soothe him, play with him, keep him happy, content...it's more exhausting than I thought it would be. It's also hard to stop and enjoy being a mother when you're so tired, although I try to remember to be thankful for what I've got in my arms, even when it's screaming bloody murder.

Mastitis Hell

At 5:15 in the morning, I sit on the couch watching Tivo'd shows feeling not unlike a naughty kid trying to get away with something she shouldn't be doing. That's what motherhood feels like to me when I get a moment to myself...I'm getting away with something.

But the reason I'm up at 5:15 in the morning instead of sleeping while the baby slumbers is something far more sobering than daydreaming about being a naughty kid. I have mastitis.

For those who have never had mastitis, here's a medical description from Dr. Sears:

Mastitis means that the breast is inflamed, and there is swelling, redness, tenderness and pain. There may be an infection, so it is wise to consult your health-care provider to determine whether or not an antibiotic is necessary. A breast infection can become a breast abscess that requires surgical draining, but this can almost always be prevented by treating mastitis promptly.

Signs of mastitis include:

• Part or all of the breast is intensely painful, hot, tender, red, and swollen. Some mothers can pinpoint a definite area of inflammation, while at other times the entire breast is tender.

• You feel tired, run down, achy, have chills or think you have the flu. A breastfeeding mother who thinks she has the flu probably has mastitis. Mothers with mastitis will sometimes experience these flu-like symptoms, even before they get a fever or notice breast tenderness.

• You have chills or feel feverish, or your temperature is 101F or higher.These symptoms suggest that you have an infection.

• You are feeling progressively worse, your breasts are growing more tender, and your fever is becoming more pronounced. With simple engorgement, a plugged duct, or mastitis without infection, you gradually feel better instead of worse.

• Recent events have set you up for mastitis: cracked or bleeding nipples, stress or getting run down, missed feedings or longer intervals between feedings.

Now here's my personal description of mastitis:

First, you feel like you may shiver to death. It comes out of nowhere and hits you like a sledgehammer. Then, the fever comes on even faster. Mine rose from 101 to 103 in less than a few hours.

So you think, "Hm, I have the flu. This too shall pass." But NO. It shall NOT pass. It shall continue to get worse until you are praying for death. In fact, you FEEL like death. One of your breasts suddenly starts getting pink in a spot, then it gets warm. Perhaps it starts to itch. One way or another, your breast is in pain. You notice it most when you try to breast feeding and your baby's tongue feels like it has spikes on it. It literally brought tears to my eyes.

Then you call the advice nurse or the lactation specialist. She gets you connected with your doctor who prescribes you some antibiotics that will supposedly kill whatever has obviously created evil in your milk ducts. While you are waiting for your medication to work you pump 10-12 times a day or your breastfeed constantly to drain your breast of the infection. Sounds gross to be feeding your baby infected boob milk? The baby is the one who probably gave you the infection, so he/she won't mind.

Now the antibiotics have been in your system for a little while and suddenly you start to feel queasy. You pick up the instructions for the meds and see the first symptoms on the sheet...nausea and vomiting. Then, you vomit.

You can't eat because you feel sick to your stomach 24/7. Then, you can eat, but you throw it up. Meanwhile, you're still trying to get rid of the fever and pain you've had for two days with prescription Motrin, which you can't take on an empty stomach. But wait, you can't take antibiotics unless you're on an empty stomach. You're screwed.

So here I sit at 5:15 in the morning, starving, but on antibiotics. I pray the meds will get rid of this crap because I can't seem to get over the feeling that I may actually be dying of mastitis. I may be the first person ever on the planet to die from this stupid infection. I'll be in all the medical journals for sure.

It's all in the name of breast feeding my baby. Am I being punished for having inverted nipples? Or maybe it's because I've been sneaking a supplement of formula in at night when I'm too tired to nurse...either way, someone up there hates my guts...and my boob.

Changes

Losing friends is messed up. Losing friends because you had a baby is confusing. The hard truth is that I have lost friends over this huge life change, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I can't give the baby away. I can't shove it back in. I can't turn back time. I'm no longer one. I am two now, and three, if you count the terrific husband.

But some friends believe they have to discard friends because they have something new that does not fit into their lifestyle. They stop seeing you as someone who can relate to their life. It's harsh, and possibly true. Maybe I can't relate, or maybe I don't fit anymore. I'm the square peg in their round hole world.

But it's painful. I'm in pain right now, for one. I have mastitis and can barely function....and I look around me and see no one to call to come over and give me comfort. It's hard.

After the baby was born, I was in a very dark place. I still linger there on occasion, yet I manage to dig myself out every time with the skin of my teeth. Yet when I was at my lowest point in this whole journey into motherhood, no one was sitting by me to hold my hand. I was without a friend.

I do have friends, that's certain. But the closest friends I have are scattered to the far ends of the earth, as far as I'm concerned. They're in Chicago, Hawaii, London, New York...no where close by where I can get a daily dose of support. Phone calls and emails just don't cut it sometimes.

The closest friends I have in the area are too busy or simply gone. Gone in spirit, in heart, in mind. I'm feeling like I'm on the "out" list with this baby on my arm. It makes me sad.

Friendships are supposed to be bulletproof, even when babies are the bullets.

Baby Mine

The baby smells good. I love his scent right out of the bath. I put my hand on his head and feel his freshly washed hair and it's like down feathers. He's so lovely.

I love him. He is precious, clean or not. But straight out of a bath he is perfect. It's as if he was just handed to me, reborn and placed on my chest so I can nuzzle my face into his and take in a deep breath. That's the memory I have.

He smells the same way he did when he was born when he's right out of the bath.

Alone with Company

Today was the first rain of the season, and boy it was a doozy. Monsoon-like torrents fell from the skies like a warning from God: Be a good mommy or I will smite you with the croup baby from Hell.

Today was also the first day I felt truly, absolutely alone. It was a haunting feeling of seclusion that overwhelmed me around noon, when nap time was over and Chucky wanted to plaaa-aayyy...

Baby started bemoaning the lack of milk coming from my breasts. Then, it took too long to warm up the bottle of expressed milk. After eating, he was uncomfortably gassy. And then he was too damn tired to nap. All in all, a stormy day inside and out.

But it wasn't the squirmy baby that just discovered he had the capability to raise the volume to eleven that drove me to near insanity today. It was the fact that it was raining and I no longer had the choice to go outside. There was no break from the monotony of the couch, Tivo remote, and finicky baby on my lap. I had no options. It was maddening.

It was also lonely. I realized how isolated I was feeling, and that it was a familiar feeling I had been having since the husband returned to work full time. Having no friends with babies, I was the odd-man-out among my non-child-having pals who sometimes looked at me as if I had a third eye. They had all scattered as soon as I brought the little dude home. The few friends who love babies, regardless of their situation, are in other parts of the country, or out of the country altogether.

So, here I sit, friendless, lonely, and bored to tears. My little buddy is staring at me like I'm a milk dispenser. My husband won't be home until it's too late to save me from another anxiety attack. I wait with iPhone in hand, playing scrabble. I feel like The Little Prince...but the version where the Prince is lactating and hasn't taken a shower in days.

Truths

After months of irresponsible Googling and good/bad/horrible advice I received from numerous sources, I finally had my moment and gave birth to a son...and it was NOTHING like what was described to me from dozens of people who shared their birth stories with me.

1) I was in labor for 22 hours, 20 of which were relatively painless thanks to the epidural.

2) The epidural did not hurt at all. I barely felt the needle and catheter go in.

3) I had a catheter put in to collect urine. No one told me this would happen, and they still wouldn't let me drink water even though it did.

4) The epidural bag ran out, which was horribly painful. Once they replaced it, it was never quite the same. My leg went numb for about 3 days afterwards.

5) The epidural did not make me shake uncontrollably, like so many warned. Also, I did not get nauseous from medication given to me pre-birth.

6) A resident delivers your baby, not your OB/GYN.

7) I did not poop/pee on the table during delivery.

8) I could totally feel the contractions during the pushing part of the delivery, which was beyond painful.

9) I did not feel the head or shoulders come out. All I felt was relief.

10) The resident/doctor scraped my uterus with her hand and it was worse than the delivery of the baby.

11) I had a medium tear, due to the suctioning of the baby. It was not painful at all. In fact, I never felt pain from the tear.

12) I DID feel terrible pain from the hemorrhoids. They were the size of walnuts. The first bowel movement after giving birth was really frightening, and for good reason.

13) The hospital stay was awesome, post delivery.

14) The baby does not instinctively know how to nurse. Breast-feeding in the hospital was a bad experience for me, and continues to be extremely challenging nearly six weeks later.

15) The nurses/doctors/lactation specialist do not discuss formula. Ever. And they push the breast-feeding like a cult. It's a lot of pressure on the mother, and it shouldn't be.

16) Colostrum isn't always enough for the baby.

17) They massage your abdomen after delivery and it HURTS. However, they need to do it to get the placenta out. Mine did not cooperate, however, no matter how much they massaged.

18) After you go home, you're so shell-shocked you don't know which end is up and you are in so much pain you want to die. Medication saves you a little suffering, but what is essential is an amazing husband/family member/friend.

19) Having visitors right after getting home SUCKS. It's more of a chore for you than a help, in my case.

20) Your mother/mother-in-law WILL drive you insane, no matter how good the intentions.

21) The baby will not be cute until he/she has somewhat of a routine established. For me, it took two weeks to get there.

22) You may not bond with your child right away, and that's ok. It will happen when you're not exhausted, in pain, or depressed from the hormones raging through your system.

23) The "Baby Blues" can be "severe depression" in disguise.

24) I did not have a raging appetite due to my breast-feeding.

25) My body looks like hell. I lost 30 pounds, but still look 6 months pregnant. Also, my breasts look like deflated footballs.

Waiting for the Flood

I read my own gripes and complaints and I feel guilty about how ungrateful I must seem. Honestly, I feel blessed to have this amazing experience. I have been waiting a long time to be a mother, and now that the moment has arrived, it doesn't seem real. It's as if I'm watching a reality show with someone else as the star.

When the baby was born, the first day was exciting and unbelievable. I was in love immediately, but it didn't last. The first two weeks were so brutal, I didn't feel that connection or bond that mothers are supposed to feel with their newborns. I felt so detached, apart from the family unit. It was a horrible feeling. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die from the guilt.

In the third week, things were still healing, but it was tolerable. The baby was getting into his routine. I wasn't crying every minute of the day anymore. It became more of a reality...I was taking care of a new baby. But I still did not feel like the mother of this child. I loved him because I was his mother, but I didn't feel the bond. It just didn't feel honest.

A month old and the baby was into his routine like a pro. The pain was nearly gone, except for the breastfeeding, which was (and still remains) terribly hard. I had my husband to help me, even if it was part of the day. My head seemed cloudy, I was still exhausted, but feeling more levelheaded. I was still waiting for that epiphany that would jolt me into reality. My body had just gone through this incredible experience of pregnancy and childbirth. It pushed a baby out into the world. It knew I was a mother. But my mind was still closed off to the idea. After nearly four decades of taking care of me, myself and I, my mind was not ready to accept the fact that I had a new life to look after. It was a commitment I was not ready to accept.

Then one day, suddenly, the baby spit up blood (which turned out to be MY blood from breastfeeding, but little did I know until we called the advice nurse.)

I panicked. The thought of the baby being sick made me want to vomit. I couldn't stand the thought of losing my child. The very idea of him in pain made me cry hysterically.

This is when I bonded with my child.

When your body and mind don't agree on what reality is, ultimately it will be your heart that will break the tie.

Update

Emotions have been controlled this week. The husband went back to work full time on Thursday, which made me want to run away from home or hire a nanny, either one. At first I felt complete panic. Being left alone with a newborn for 8-9 hours seemed impossible to me, considering I had been crying nonstop the first two weeks of his life. When he cried, I cried. When he screamed, I had to leave the room. How was I going to survive for the entire day without help?

Thursday and Friday went without too much trouble, however, and increased my confidence level a tad. Although I still feel anxiety, I know that I can hold out until my husband comes home. At least I hope I can.

My energy is still low, and knowing my history I know it's depression that's sapping my strength and not the baby. Not to say the baby isn't work. It's hard to imagine a more stressful job. But there are moments with him that make me at peace. He can be the most calming influence when he's quietly staring at me with those impossibly large eyes.

The difficulties so far have been far harder than I could have ever imagined. I never thought it would be so hard to recover from the birth. The pain was intolerable at times, and always intense. It was trying to be happy about having this lovely baby in my arms when I was cringing inside because of the hemorrhoids and bleeding.

Breastfeeding has been the bane of my existence, however. I can't seem to enjoy it just yet, but I can understand why women love doing it. Even though it's painful and seemingly neverending at times, it gives you a moment with your child that no one else can share. I sit quietly, holding his head and neck to my breast while he is nourished by milk I have produced. Really, it's pretty cool when you think about it.

But the grating pain can be horrifying. It literally takes my breath away when it's bad. But when the baby latches on properly and everything is working smoothly, it's a time I cherish. So at the same time I dread and look forward to it. I believe this qualifies as a paradox.