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.

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.

The Best of Times, the Worst of Times

Aside from being tired every minute of the day, the baby has been doing quite well in most areas of life, including eating like a hoover vacuum cleaner. This kid can put it away like no newborn I've ever seen. It was so impressive, in fact, the nurse at the lactation center said we needed to feed him less. I guess gaining one pound in 5 days isn't in vogue anymore.

The best parts about being a parent of a newborn is the feeling of accomplishment when your baby burps, poops, pees, latches on properly...basically anything he does, you praise with that annoying baby voice that drives all non-parents insane. It's dumb parent pride, I guess. I love feeling like my husband and I have created something good.

It's also amazing to see my husband with the baby when they're cooing at each other like lovebirds. My favorite thing in the world right now is seeing him so enamored. He holds the baby in his arms and turns into a nurturing machine. The baby stares at him, they lock eyes, and you can feel the adoration. It's pure bliss.

Our son has been showing us up in the sleep department lately, taking in anywhere between 6 and 9 hours a night. He's also been keeping us entertained with his strong Pele kicks. Other things that impress us include his eye contact, as if he's doing the mind meld and trying to control our every move...it works like a charm, too.

The baby has been locking eyes since week one, albeit sometimes those eyes are crossed in an effort to focus. He seems very alert for a newborn, although I've heard these stories of parents with delusions of grandeur bragging about their baby like he belongs in mensa already. Apparently, I have turned into this type of parent already. I'm hopeless.

Breathing

It's 9:30 a.m. I'm sitting upstairs with the baby monitor by my side waiting to hear a peep, squeak, wail or all of the above. I woke up at 6:45 a.m. in anticipation of noise, and instead heard nothing but the occasional soft crackling of the monitor. The baby has been asleep since 11:45 p.m. last night.

The argument on the mommy internet sites rages on about when to wake the baby, or if you should wake the baby at all. My head is pounding with a consistent ache that has plagued me since yesterday. I say let the baby sleep until he wakes and let my head recover from a day of fussy behavior.

He was alert and cranky yesterday for hours. When my husband came home from work I immediately handed the parenting reigns over to him, pumped milk, and promptly lay down on the sofa and breathed steadily for five minutes. I thought I was going to explode.

But on a positive note, I haven't freaked out or hysterically cried in a few days. I don't want to jinx it, but I am starting to believe that the worst is over. Perhaps I've dodged the post-partum bullet. I'm hoping my hormones have settled into place and that I'm coming back to life again.

My feelings about the baby and being a mother have remained somewhat muted, if not detached at times. In one moment, I'm completely overwhelmed and unenthusiastic about this abrupt new life change. Then things change instantaneously and I'm in complete love with this little boy. I kiss his little fingers and toes with gusto. I eat his soft cheeks.

Breastfeeding goes along the same lines. I love touching his downy hair and slowly rubbing his cheeks with my fingers while he suckles. But then he'll chomp down and cause me real pain. It wakes me from a happy state of nurturing and violently shoves me into a creepy feeling of unsettled resentment. And although I do find some sense of accomplishment from seeing how much milk I can produce in one sitting, I equally dislike pumping with a machine. It feels like being milked like a cow.

But all in all I have more of a positive feeling about my new life. It's up and down, and never consistently good or bad. It's easier knowing I won't be returning to work soon. It's harder when I realize my husband will be returning full time October 1st.

Today he was required to go to a conference from 8:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. It's the first full day away for him and the first full day alone with the baby for me. When he kissed me goodbye in the morning, I cried. I'm still afraid of being alone with my son. That's hard to admit, and not something I'm terribly proud of.

Now I feel like I'm just waiting for everything to normalize. My pain has subsided, the hemorrhoids have shrunk to a manageable size, my belly is slowly shrinking to a mass of jelly rolls that makes me think I won't be wearing a bikini anytime soon.

But I still wait for that feeling that everything is as it's supposed to be. That is still beyond my reach.

Exhaustion

Baby turned 3 weeks. Now it's official. I'm exhausted.

It's not because of anything tangible. In fact, we've been spoiled by all the generous and good natured friends delivering us food in exchange for a turn holding the baby. I'm actually surprised at how many people have never held a newborn before. They all come in, looking for a turn holding him. And when they do, they gingerly cup his head and balance him with two hands like he's a breakable sculpture...every one who has come by has done this. It's pretty amusing.

And it's not the baby keeping me up at night that is making me so tired. In fact, he's been a good baby, sleeping all night and waking in the morning light, just like clockwork since day one.

He's also been doing a number of other things that are unbearably cute, such as sucking his fingers and finding his thumb, smiling and making newborn noises...(which aren't really that much to describe but are still adorable.) He is the first person who makes me melt by yawning at everything I say to him. He sticks out his tongue and my heart dissolves.

In the morning he tends to wake up in a good mood, sit around on a pillow for 30 to 45 minutes, just staring at things. Then, he eats, naps for two hours or so, wakes up, eats again, and then makes more noises and smiles some more.

The witching hour comes around 8 or 9 p.m. when the sun sets. Then he turns into the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde baby.

Oh, the screams. He eats, he screams. He poops, we change him, he screams. We swaddle him, he screams. We rock him. Screams. It's neverending and in the first two weeks I thought I would lose my mind. Nothing seemed to soothe him, not even a finger in him mouth, which usually pacifies him for a good 20-30 minutes.

He finally passes out after a 3-4 hour marathon, sometimes less, sometimes more. Around midnight, he is so over-tired he simply can't keep up the drama. He is knocked out for hours after that. We've managed to get him to sleep at 11:30 p.m., but that was the earliest he's ever gone down. It's usually midnight or 12:30.

Admittedly, my husband is far better at soothing him at night. He has the right temperament for it, and doesn't get upset easily, unlike me and my raging hormones. They're still finding their balance, apparently. And although my mood swings have calmed down considerably, there is the occasional "burst into tears" moment that I can't seem to contain.

The only thing I can reason when it comes to being exhausted is that I'm emotionally wrecked and still healing from the birth. The baby can be tiring, on occasion, especially when I just can't figure out what he needs from me. I tend to get frustrated and throw my hands up in the air more than I care to admit, but it's getting better, slowly but surely.

Also, the pain is pretty uncomfortable. I'm still trying to breast-feed, which has been no picnic. I won't give up, but I will complain about it. It hurts. A lot. I'm cracked and bleeding a lot, which leads to bloody breast milk. When I pumped the other day, it was pink, not white. And when the baby spit up clots of blood the other week, I freaked out. Then, we called the advice nurse and she explained it was most likely MY blood, and I freaked out some more.

Breast-feeding is a chore right now, but I'm anticipating a change soon. Hopefully, what everyone tells me is true...it will be better by the 1st or 2nd month. I'm holding out with a clenched jaw until then.

The pelvic pain has subsided somewhat, and the hemorrhoids have calmed down to a manageable state. But I'm still popping prescription Motrin and praying for my body to return to a normal state eventually.

Being in pain on top of being depressed, and then capping it off with caring for a newborn is what pushes me over the edge on bad days. If I was tackling one of those three things, it would be far easier for me to remain positive. But these three things all at once make me feel...well, exhausted.

Little Voice

I saw my doctor the other day and she discussed medication for the postpartum depression. I felt relieved and disillusioned at the same time. The relief was because I now had an option, a choice. The disillusionment was because I swore I would never take medication while pregnant, and now I was posed with this dilemma...taking medication while breast feeding.

She also recommended a weekly therapy group for postpartum mothers, which I'm still thinking about. I do not do well in group therapy, as I am very self-conscious and tend to shrink away from speaking out loud. But the thought that it is there for me is a comfort nonetheless.

Either way, there's no definitive cure for what I have fallen upon. Although things have seemed to calm down somewhat since last week, I am still in constant discomfort/pain and working through a recovery that I couldn't have guessed would be this prolonged. It's only been two weeks, everyone says. I just want it to end so I can start feeling normal again. Perhaps then, I hope against hope, I will be a better mother to my baby.

The baby is sleeping in his bassinet next to the sofa while I watch television, trying to drown out the little voice inside me that keeps saying the things I'm afraid to say out loud. "You'll never be able to do this. You should give up now. Leave while you can. The baby and your husband will be better off without you there to burden them."

It's a horrible little voice, with a very loud message. I am simply not good enough to be a mother to this infant.

I ignore it as much as possible, and that's the best I can do for now. Ignore. I ignore the screaming when the baby is upset. I ignore the hatred I have for my own incompetence. I ignore the fact that I am exhausted for no apparent reason other than a debilitating depression. I ignore the fact that I resent my own child when he won't stop crying.

I remember being in my third trimester, pregnant belly out to *here* and feeling excited, joyful, amazed by the ability to create life within me. I was happy.

Now, two weeks and some days later, all I can imagine is being trapped with this responsibility for the rest of my life, knowing in my heart I will never be as good as this child deserves. It breaks me in two and shoves me aside like nothing.

So all I can do at this point is wait for the bonding that everyone says will happen soon enough. I wait for the hormones to pass through me, leaving me a clear path away from this sadness. I hope for a better future with this baby. I want to appreciate him, to love the days we have together while he is smaller than I ever imagined he would be when I was dreaming of him in my pregnant state.

Pass Baby Blues...Go Directly to Post-Partum Depression

As I sit here typing, husband is trying to calm a screaming baby. I feel as if I have failed yet another night, unable to soothe my own son into sleep.

Seeing that I can't even soothe myself, I shouldn't be surprised. I have been suffering the after-effects of pregnancy, and my hormones have been raging like a waterfall of uncontrolled emotions.

It's been a week and a half and I've been in constant pain and discomfort from the delivery of our son. Although we delivered only a short while ago, it seems like months have passed. My moods have been swinging, my crying non-stop. I can't seem to get a grip on the reality of the situation for more than a few seconds at a time. I feel like I'm suffering from dementia, totally in a daze and making no sense. In an occasional lucid moment, I will talk to my husband about my depression, about my history with it, and how worried I am about my inability to cope.

My history with depression goes back over two decades. I am not unfamiliar to meds, psychologists, and panic. Toward the end of my pregnancy, all I could think about was the dreaded post-partum depression that was talked about on every pregnancy chat board. I knew I was susceptible to it, and probably more than most women. It scared me more than the impending labor and delivery.

And now that the baby has arrived, I am suffering inside, fearing the worst things possible and unable to get out from underneath the avalanche of paranoia.

I am a horrible mother. My baby hates me. I will do something terribly wrong and something bad will happen to the baby. I hate myself. The baby and my husband would be better off without me. I am not cut out for this. I want out. I can't handle a baby. When my husband returns to work full time I will freak out.

The thoughts keep coming. It's nonstop and relentless. I'm sleep deprived as well, which doesn't help.

The baby has become very fussy at night. He is the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde baby. During the day he is a prince. He wakes up, eats, looks around, doesn't make a sound except when he's changed.

But as soon as night arrives, he shifts gears and starts screaming. There is a look of terror on his face at times that makes my heart stop. I can't help but wonder if he knows I am a terrible mother.

He's awake and screaming from anywhere between 9 p.m. and 1 a.m. and it has quickly become unbearable. The awake part is fine. The screaming part is killing my last nerve. I pick him up and he screams. I put him down, he screams. I swaddle him, he fights me like he's fighting death. I can't soothe him. I can't make him calm. Nothing works.

I haven't yet come to terms with the idea that we may have a colicky baby, or a fussy baby, or even a high-needs baby on our hands. It makes me cringe thinking this may be our fate for the next three months, as all the baby books have warned.

Husband has had better luck and has become nearly impervious to his crying. But he can't keep this up forever, and he will be going back to work full time soon. This is what I am dreading...I will have to take over the night shift as well as the day shift. It will be pure Hell with no sleep at all.

In the meantime, I have become desperate for help and have contacted my doctors asking for them to intervene in some way with either medication or advice. I've emailed some night doulas in the hopes we might be able to afford extra help with the baby. I don't know what else to do, frankly. In my current state of disrepair, I have no consistency in my logic or moods. Everything is on an hour to hour basis.

I know this spiral all too well, and I'm sad for my baby, for my husband as well as for myself. It's not a good path to be going down.