On Postpartum Depression

I'm hesitant to write this. But if there's one thing I've been told over and over and over again throughout this experience, it is that I will be able to help others in the future. I hope that sharing this will help someone, anyone.

Throughout my pregnancy, I focused so much on labor and delivery that I had little room to think about actually caring for a baby. When I did, I imagined baby and me lounging around all day, feeding, napping, and staring at each other in pure bliss. The adrenaline from having a natural birth was going to fuel me through the sleepless nights. I remember shortly after my sister had her first child, she told me she was exhausted but had never been happier. We're sisters, so I'd have a similar experience, right?

That first week was hell. I had no appetite, no happiness and I couldn't sleep. OH THE INSOMNIA. It'd be 3am, Jude and Sky would be fast asleep, and I'd be wide awake, wishing I could go back to the life I'd had just a week earlier. It was like my body had forgotten how to fall asleep. I had never felt more lonely or overwhelmed. Which brought on the anxiety. OH THE ANXIETY. Anxiety about nursing and sleeping (for both him and me). Anxiety about anyone else holding him. Anxiety about my anxiety. Then there was the guilt. OH THE GUILT. Didn't we want a baby? Hadn't we spent thousands of dollars on fertility treatment?

I assumed all of this to be the infamous 'baby blues.' Everyone told me that the first few weeks were hard, but that it'll just keep getting easier and easier. And that was somewhat true. The second week was a little better than the first. And the third week was a little better than the second. And the fourth a little better than the third. I was sleeping ok, and while I still didn't feel happy, I didn't constantly feel sad. I was still dealing with severe anxiety, but that just meant I was a good mom, right?

I remember talking with my sister during this time.

"Do you love being a mom?!"

I lied. The answer was no. I didn't love it. But I kept patiently waiting to. Surely it was going to come soon; it was just a matter of time.

Between 6 and 7 weeks postpartum, things got worse. My anxiety reached an all time high - so much so that I couldn't think of anything else. I had a hard time following conversations and even watching movies. My ability to sleep started declining rapidly and one night I couldn't fall asleep at all. I stayed up all night long, so frustrated with myself and seriously questioning my sanity. Skyler woke up with me laying next to him in tears.

"Do you think I have postpartum depression?"

"Maybe a little bit."

I met with my midwife the next morning, where she got me started on a treatment plan. She was very down to earth and I found a lot of relief in that. It wasn't my fault. I wasn't a bad mom or a bad person. I was going to be happy again. I was going to feel like me again.

***

It's only been a short 2 months since all of this, but what a world of difference 2 months can make. I still have trouble falling and staying asleep, but I don't spend all day dreading the night. I still have bad times, but overall I feel happy. Jude makes me enjoy the days, even when he's being a little snot. It's all a work in progress. A work in progress. Motherhood.