I've decided I wanted to tell you all about my experience with post postpartum depression. This is very different for me because I never talk about the negative aspects in my life. I post pictures of my extremely handsome husband, we are hugging and kissing and I tell you how perfect he is. (Which is true.) I post pictures of my smiling happy baby and tell you how in love I am with my daughter. (Which is DEFINITELY true.) And to be honest, the chances of me posting the downs in my life are slim. You won't see me on Facebook talking about the (rare) spats I have with my husband, or the times when I feel like I'm not being the best mother I can be. And its not because I'm fake or want everyone to think that my life is perfect. But frankly it is none of anyone's business. What happens in the 4 walls of my home is private and what I share is for me to decide. BUT I do want to tell you a little about the couple of weeks after I gave birth to my daughter. It wasn't pretty and I really thought that I was in a hole that I would not be able to climb out of.
So let's start from the beginning.
Tenley's birth was a little traumatic ending in a C-Section. But the moment I held her in my arms I knew that I was the happiest I had ever been. On our 2nd day the nurse came in with a pamphlet and check sheet and wanted to talk to Mark and I about post postpartum depression. I literally laughed in her face. I thought to myself, "Is she kidding?? ME? Does she not see this perfect baby I'm holding? How could I EVER be depressed??" I thought post postpartum depression was about not wanting your baby or physically hurting them when you couldn't take the crying. I didn't know PPD came in many forms. Fast forward to the day we brought our bundle of joy home. My dad picked up Olive Garden, my grandmother was at my house cleaning, and we all had lunch together. They left that afternoon and all of a sudden it was just me, Mark, and this little creature that I had no idea what to do with. Everyone told me it would happen but not 2 minutes after my family left and the commotion had settled I burst into tears looking at my daughter. I was so in love and in awe of her but I realized in that moment that I was also terrified. Could I do this? Could I be the best Momma to her? What if I screw it all up? After all I had never done this before.
The hardest thing was breast feeding, the first couple of days it was ok but I had an extremely lazy eater. She would nurse for what seemed like an hour and not be satisfied. She would try to sleep once she latched and we would have to stimulate her through the entire process. There is nothing like nursing your baby but it is also HARD. It became extremely painful and she never seemed to be truly full. We got help from friends and family (without them I wouldn't have made it as long as I did) and even went to Birmingham to meet with a lactation consultant. After 2 weeks I decided I would pump and gradually ease her into formula. Her 2nd formula bottle she violently spit it up to the point it was coming out of her nose. Talk about MOM GUILT. Could I really not work through the pain to give my daughter what she needed? What about what I needed??? Then we realized if we gave her breast milk first and then supplemented with formula she did just fine. I wish I realized then that I could have done both. Why did I feel like it had to be one or the other? I wish more than anything I would have stayed with it but at the time formula was all I could see.
I also cried pretty much constantly. Over everything. Poor Mark would come home and I would fall apart. He was supportive and everything I could have asked for. One night he took me, my sister, and the baby to dinner. She was less than two weeks old. I'm sure my mom was having a fit! Ha! But it was just what I needed. Just 2 hours out of the house helped me so much.
I had ZERO appetite. Not eating and breastfeeding do not go together. I think part of all this was the pain medicine which is why I want to try very hard for a VBAC the next go around.
I felt like I had to prove myself as a wife and mother. I was a week post postpartum and I was trying to do do dishes and laundry because I felt like I had to. I had just had MAJOR surgery and my body was still trying to heal. Looking back I wonder why I thought any of that mattered. All I needed to do was hold my baby, feed her, change her, and try to squeeze in a shower. No one cared that my house was messy, they just wanted to see my baby.
I felt like I was in a very dark tunnel with no light at the end. And then one day I realized that I was doing it. I was being a MOM. We fell into a routine and the rock on chest started to lift. I started to give myself a little slack and stopped worrying over the small stuff. It was an amazing feeling. Don't get me wrong there are still days where I feel like I'm not getting any of it right. But I've learned to trust my insticts and thats the best advise I could ever give. Go with your gut. You know what YOUR baby needs.
So my message to all you mothers to be, try not to worry. Feed your baby however is best for you and your child. Screw the house work it can wait. You don't have to prove yourself to anyone. And it will get better. I won't say easier because just when you think you have it all figured out they will throw you for a loop. But isn't that the fun part of being a parent anyways? Maybe next time I will have a better handle on things. As long as my babies are provided for and know without a shadow of a doubt they are loved, then my job will be complete.
