Post

My friend, and super-blogger, Jos, wrote an article on Post-baby depression. While reading it I realized two things: first, she's right, it's something women need to be talking about more often and more openly; and second, while I also experienced depression after having a baby, my experience was completely different. So, I thought, in the spirit of sharing our experiences as moms and women, I would share what I went through after each of my babies.

My mom had been staying with us for a few days after getting home from the hospital with Sophie and I distinctly remember a moment when she turned to me and said "I suppose you want to hold your baby!" She can be a bit of a baby-hog and suddenly realized that she'd been holding my brand new baby for most of that morning. I also remember telling her that no, it was okay, she was grandma and could hold Sophie all she wanted. But the fact was, I didn't want to hold my baby. Months later a friend of mine, who had had her first baby about a year and a half before me, asked if I had experienced "baby blues" at all. Of course I said no. I wasn't about to admit that I had felt anything other than total love and admiration for my child. But then she shared with me that after years of trying to get pregnant and eventually using in vitro fertilization, she had looked at her brand new baby girl and thought I don't know if I want you. "That's exactly how I felt!" I told her.

My baby blues didn't last more than a few weeks. And I believe they were mostly due to exhaustion and feeling overwhelmed. And after talking with my friend I learned that they are actually more common than not. But after Max was born, I had a completely different experience.

For about a year after Max was born, I lived in fear. I feared that someone would break into my home and I wouldn't be able to get to my children before they did. I feared that my car would fly off a bridge and I wouldn't be able to get my kids out of their car seats. I feared that if I unbuckled Max while he was in his carrier someone would be able to reach in a take him without my noticing right away. These are probably normal fears for any parent, but my fear was deeper that normal. I believed, truly believed, that something awful was going to happen. I thought there were people with guns in the woods behind my house, watching me. I was sure that even though I couldn't see them, they could see me while I was watching TV, folding laundry, nursing my baby. At times, when I was driving, I would look over at the empty passenger seat and swear that, for a split second, I could see the devil sitting there. I felt terrorized by evil. I was in such a haze that it never occurred to me to ask for help. But I do remember Wade, at one point, telling me that I was not myself. That's probably when I became aware of how different I felt, but I thought that I could handle it on my own.

Eventually I started to come out of it. And one day it occurred to me that I wasn't afraid anymore. But I wish, for myself and for my family, that I had gotten help. I was so consumed with being afraid that I missed out on Max's babyhood. I can never get that back.

Lily is 9 months old now and this is the first time I haven't felt anything other than happiness for my baby. I certainly have moments when I am frustrated, but normal frustration. And of course I have fears, but nothing like I felt after my second pregnancy. I'm not sure why I didn't have post-partum this time around, but I do know that just like every child is different, every pregnancy is, too. I guess I just got lucky this time.

Having a baby (whether birthing one yourself or adopting) is wonderful, heart-warming and exciting. But it's also scary, overwhelming, frustrating, and exhausting. I've learned, over the years, that there's nothing wrong with sometimes day-dreaming about how clean my house would be if I didn't have three little people messing it up all the time. It's okay if, sometimes, I just want a little time to myself. And it's perfectly acceptable to go on a date with my husband purely so that someone else has to put my kids to bed. I wouldn't trade my kids for the world, but if you catch me at the wrong time, I might.