Well, the day we arrived home (3/18/10) was interesting. I remember laying a big blanket on the living room floor and placing Seth on the floor. I laid next to him and we just stared at one another. I was wondering how I was going to connect with this little baby laying beside me. I had been nursing and thought that due to nursing I would automatically have a stronger connection to my child, but again, what I thought ended up being wrong. My mom came and stayed with us for about five days. I am so grateful to her for helping us. I felt completely helpless and although I had prepared for the baby, I had no idea what to do once I got home. It was as if I had never even been around a baby before. My mom showed me and my husband how to bathe Seth and how to clean his umbilical cord. She showed us several other things. She helped with washing bottles, doing laundry, and making meals. I have no idea what I would have done without her. I felt like I was completely inadequate and that there was NO possible way that I could do everything without her. I cried every day--multiple times per day. I cried about how I was not sure what to do with this new baby. I cried about feeling like I could not handle all of the motherly duties that I was supposed to be taking on. I cried about being worried about Seth not eating enough, spitting up too much, not sleeping enough, not being on a schedule, and on and on. Every time someone told me that I should be doing something that I had not done, I was immediately overtaken in anxiety. I would constantly think about what I had been doing wrong. I thought about how now my son was going to be "screwed up" because I had not made the right decisions. I worried and worried and worried to the point of having panic attacks.
The panic attacks started about three or four days after being home. I would try so hard to sleep, but I couldn't. Every time I went to lay down, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. I was worried about Seth. I was worried about me actually getting some sleep. I was worried about everything! I would lay down and not be able to fall asleep. I would lay on my side and I could not quit moving my legs, I would start sweating, my feet would start going numb, and my heart would start racing. With all of that going on, it was impossible to sleep. If I got up and made myself busy, some of the anxiety would go away, but there was always some there because I was worried about not getting any sleep. Eventually the panic attacks worsened. I could not sleep at all and I was breaking out in hives on top of all of the other issues. I was virtually running on little to no sleep and felt like I had made the worst decision of my life.
Because of this, I was constantly asking myself why I had made the decision to have a child. I thought we were wrong in having a baby and maybe we were better off without having a child to begin with. Unfortunately this feeling did not go away for several months. I know that most moms go through a phase of emotions, possibly the baby blues, but you know it is something different when the weeks turn into months and you are still not better. The hives worsened and so did my depression. I thank God for my supportive husband and my wonderful mom who helped support me through these first days and every day since then. I thank my God who heard every one of my cries. I might not have felt like He heard them at the time, but looking back, He definitely did or I wouldn't be here today.
Eventually my mom had to go back home. I was thankful for her stay, but I had NO idea how I was going to handle this on my own. My husband worked from 11pm until 7am, so I was really in a bind! I just could not get over my thoughts...of making the biggest mistake of my life!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Days after Giving Birth
Well, my son was here! I was excited and trying to encourage myself to be happy. Those two days after giving birth were pretty much a blur. I knew deep down that things were not how they were supposed to be, but I figured I was just tired and stressed from everything I had been through. We had several visitors that I was so happy to see, but my reactions were not typical of my personality. This should have been a "red flag" for me, but I again figured it had to do with being tired and going through the strain of childbirth. There were times that people would come in and see my son and not too long after entering the room, I would hand him over. I never asked them to wash their hands or use sanitizer. I never asked if they had been sick. I never did anything that I would typically do if I was "myself". I never asked anyone to take pictures of our new little addition and our new little family. Thankfully, some of our visitors did take pictures of us, so we do have some, but I myself never asked for this to be done. I wanted pictures of our new baby, but it never occurred to me to get the family pictures.
As I stayed in the hospital, I realized I was having anxiety. I could not sleep. I was afraid that my son would stop breathing or the blanket would cover his face and he would be smothered. I had him in my room and would just stare at him as I longed to sleep. At one point, I did somewhat give up and allowed the nursery staff to take him so I could get some sleep. That two hours of sleep was helpful for the journey I had ahead of me...almost two months with little to no sleep. I was very irritated with the hospital. Every time my son had started to fall asleep, and as I would start to drift off, they would enter the room and wake us both up. I think at one point I was somewhat rude to the "picture lady". She came in to take the newborn pictures and I told her it wasn't a good time and that she would have to come back the next day. Evidently I did not say it very kindly because I never saw her again, nor did we get newborn pictures taken!
The hospital stay soon came to an end and we were released. I was ready to go home, but at the same time, I felt like I just didn't care. I was "happy" to have our baby and to be going home, but something just wasn't right. I got in the back seat with my son and stared at him the entire way home. I was concerned about him. I wanted to make sure he was comfortable and that his head was snug in the car seat, but there was something empty about my gaze upon him. It was almost as if I had never even had him. Of course I was still healing from the delivery, so I knew that I had in fact given birth to him, but as I stared at him, I could feel my anxiety rise and I wondered how I would ever be a good mom. I thought, "he is not quite three days old and when I look at him, I am not overjoyed nor am I excited." We never really put him in his "going home" outfit, nor did we change his clothes in the hospital. I had brought several outfits for him, but never changed him until the last day. Looking back, there were sooooo many signs that I should have caught onto, but how was I supposed to know? This was my first child and I figured this was all normal. Some moms will say that it is all normal, but as the weeks passed, I realized that things were not "normal".
Again, I have to say that I did and still do love my son. My feelings were not my own. You will later hopefully understand what I mean by this. It is very difficult to write these posts knowing that I love my son with all of my heart. The only reason I am writing is in hopes of reaching someone else who is suffering from PPD. To know that you are not alone and that things can and will get better. Writing my feelings about my son and about myself is not easy, but I feel it will help someone.
As I stayed in the hospital, I realized I was having anxiety. I could not sleep. I was afraid that my son would stop breathing or the blanket would cover his face and he would be smothered. I had him in my room and would just stare at him as I longed to sleep. At one point, I did somewhat give up and allowed the nursery staff to take him so I could get some sleep. That two hours of sleep was helpful for the journey I had ahead of me...almost two months with little to no sleep. I was very irritated with the hospital. Every time my son had started to fall asleep, and as I would start to drift off, they would enter the room and wake us both up. I think at one point I was somewhat rude to the "picture lady". She came in to take the newborn pictures and I told her it wasn't a good time and that she would have to come back the next day. Evidently I did not say it very kindly because I never saw her again, nor did we get newborn pictures taken!
The hospital stay soon came to an end and we were released. I was ready to go home, but at the same time, I felt like I just didn't care. I was "happy" to have our baby and to be going home, but something just wasn't right. I got in the back seat with my son and stared at him the entire way home. I was concerned about him. I wanted to make sure he was comfortable and that his head was snug in the car seat, but there was something empty about my gaze upon him. It was almost as if I had never even had him. Of course I was still healing from the delivery, so I knew that I had in fact given birth to him, but as I stared at him, I could feel my anxiety rise and I wondered how I would ever be a good mom. I thought, "he is not quite three days old and when I look at him, I am not overjoyed nor am I excited." We never really put him in his "going home" outfit, nor did we change his clothes in the hospital. I had brought several outfits for him, but never changed him until the last day. Looking back, there were sooooo many signs that I should have caught onto, but how was I supposed to know? This was my first child and I figured this was all normal. Some moms will say that it is all normal, but as the weeks passed, I realized that things were not "normal".
Again, I have to say that I did and still do love my son. My feelings were not my own. You will later hopefully understand what I mean by this. It is very difficult to write these posts knowing that I love my son with all of my heart. The only reason I am writing is in hopes of reaching someone else who is suffering from PPD. To know that you are not alone and that things can and will get better. Writing my feelings about my son and about myself is not easy, but I feel it will help someone.
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