I did go late.
One day late.
Baby Andrew made his appearance on March 12 at 11:51 pm,
just in time to share his Uncle Bryan’s birthday. The weeks since have been a
whirlwind. His first month of life has been absolutely nothing like I thought
it would be…
Labor and delivery went well, even if the epidural didn’t
numb me completely. I got through it. I was happy, I had a healthy baby boy,
and we left the hospital after two days…
And then everything got pretty dark. I was so emotional and
got upset easily. I was still in pain from giving birth, moving slowly, and tired
from waking up several times a night to feed the baby. Andrew did not
breastfeed well, which quickly took a toll on my already fragile emotions.
I had help. My husband, parents, and in-laws were there and
very supportive. Even so, I started wondering why I had a baby. I never
imagined that I could have such a thought. I’ve always wanted to be a mother.
But there it was… Why had I wanted this? I was a wreck; there was no joy in
being a mother. It was nothing but listening to baby’s endless crying,
exhaustion, pain, failed attempts at breastfeeding, and me feeling more sad and
frustrated than I can ever remember.
I knew having an infant would be hard, but no one ever told
me it could feel like life was being sucked right out of me.
Three and a half weeks passed before I called the doctor and
got diagnosed with postpartum depression. I started meds and was connected with
some nurses who specialize in PPD. One of the nurses prayed with me.
I’m starting to see the light. I feel much better than I
did, and I know it has a lot to do with medication, but talking to others who
have experienced this also helped quite a bit. I don’t want to forget how it
felt. In the future, I may never meet another woman who is dealing with PPD,
but if I do, I know empathy is important. It made a difference to hear that
someone else had felt the same way and recovered from it.
I can (thank you, God) now see the joy in being a mother. :)
