This is a rare Mama post. No bragging on my babies in this one. So, umm, feel free to ignore it. Because, let's be honest, their stories are far more interesting than my own. I actually hesitated to write it, because I don't like to share my weaknesses. But, then I thought that many of you are moms, and maybe it could help you. If I am going through this, then somebody else might be, too. And maybe we don't have to be quite so alone.
Anyway, I had always considered myself very lucky that I did not experience any postpartum depression after my babies were born. When Jocelyn was born, I had the oxytocin spike that made me fall instantly in love with her. Instantly. And I was happy. I was exhausted. I hurt. And I did not enjoy being up all night (and the misery of it all) with a very difficult baby, but I never once thought about hurting her or myself. I had only the smallest touch of the baby blues, and the only real PPD symptom I had was inability to cope with stress. So going back to work was really hard at first (especially before I actually went back). But, overall, I was fine.
When Donovan was born, the story was a bit different. Yes, I loved him immediately. But I was also very worried. I worried about how Jocelyn would handle being a big sister (fine, it turned out), I worried that I wouldn't love him as much as I loved Jocelyn, because how could I possibly (I could, it turned out), I distanced myself from him because he was in the NICU and I was afraid he would die (he didn't obviously, but a mama worries about these things), and I went home without him, which was awful and hard. But, even with all of that, I never experienced anything more than a bit of baby blues. Again, no PPD. More exhaustion, but he was an easier baby during the day, so I had a fairly restful maternity leave. He was also born during a mild winter, so we got out and exercised a lot (contrasted with Jocelyn, who was born in a hot summer, so we almost never got out!). Still, stress was hard to cope with. But I never had any real depression symptoms.
Anyway, with all of the above, I was fine overall. And I counted myself really lucky. I know that PPD is a real thing, and that some people really suffer. But I skated by. I beat the odds. I was one of the lucky ones. Except that I wasn't.
Over the past few months, things got hard. I had been exhausted. I was stressed about work, and dreaded waking up every morning to go there. I was making a concerted effort to lose weight, only to lose and gain the same 4 lbs. over and over again for 7 months. My exhaustion would cause me to pass out on the floor while playing with the kids, or in the recliner while nursing Donovan to sleep, and I was requiring 5-6 coffees to stay awake at work.
At that time I did a few things. First and foremost, I started to look for another job. The goal was to get near Michigan, to be near family. It was a casual search at first, and I had one internal job interview with Tropicana in Chicago (I didn't get the job). To try to heal my body, I talked to my chiropractor about getting my immune system back on track. See, I had strep throat for 19 months in a row. That was 19 courses of antibiotics in a row (actually, more, since some had required double courses to kill the bacteria). My gut was shot. So we took some bloodwork and started a protocol. And I made the decision that, if I didn't feel refreshed about going back to work after my vacation, I would quit my job.
Well, I'm half-way through the protocol and don't feel any better physically. I quit my job and got a new one in Wisconsin (4 hours from the MIL, a day's drive from my mom). I still send the kids to daycare, so I have time to rest and get the house ready to sell. And, yet, I don't feel any better.
A few weeks ago something happened. I had Donovan home with me because he had a fever. He was nearly 18 months old at the time, and was acting like a typical 18 month old. He is obsessed with wanting to take sips from my cup. Obsessed. Even if he has the same drink I have. And as soon as he is done with his sip, he wants another sip. So I sit there and will literally hold my cup to his mouth for 5 minute stretches as he drinks all of my water. Well, this particular morning, I was very thirsty. I really wanted my water. And every time I tried to drink some he freaked out, demanding sips. And I was just so thirsty, and there was one small sip left in the cup and damn it, I wanted it. It made me so angry. So I gave him a sip, and since it was nearly empty, I had to tilt the cup over into a big pour - a pour that dribbled down his body, up his nose, and made him gag, and I screamed (SCREAMED) at him, "Here's is your fucking sip. Drink it. Fucking drink it until you drown!" Donovan got a look of panic on his face and burst into tears.
And right at that moment I realized what I had done, and how horrible it was. I had never done anything so horrible in my life. I held my baby tight, I cried onto his head, and I apologized more profusely, more sincerely than I had ever done before. I wanted to hurt my baby. I screamed at my baby. I scared my baby.
I am not a religious woman, but I thanked every deity who would listen for stopping me before I hurt my baby. I didn't know what came over me. I have never, ever been the kind of person who loses control of her actions. I would never hurt somebody. But I knew I had a problem. I knew I had to fix it.
So, off to Dr. Google I went. It turns out that delayed-onset PPD is a thing. It's not uncommon. It often comes at the time of weaning, because there is another hormonal shift. While Donovan is not yet weaned (the kiddo doesn't want to give up the night time nursing, and I don't want to force him with a major life change coming up soon), I know my supply is way low and my body is preparing to wean. And, as I think about it, the exhaustion started around the time I stopped pumping / daytime nursing. Couple that with the stress of quitting my job, getting ready for a major move across the country, selling my house, buying a new one, etc. etc. It broke me. Depression kicked in.
Once I became aware that there was an issue, I started to notice other weird thoughts. I have frequent thoughts about how I will fail at my new job, how I can't cope with the stress of relocating, that I got so fat that my husband is going to leave me, that I am a terrible mother because I have no desire to be a stay-at-home mom, that I can't deal with the stress of it all so I am going to run away and never come back (sometimes in these scenarios I drive off a bridge). All of a sudden it hit me that this was really bad. That I had gone to a very dark place. I needed help.
Being a woman of science, I talked to my doctor about it. I didn't bring up the PPD theory yet, I started with the physical symptoms first - exhaustion, inability to lose weight, inability to cope with stress, etc. She looked at me, told me that she would, of course, check my blood work and look for a physiological reason, but asked me if I thought it might be a more mental / emotional issue. She evidently went through something similar when her older child was about 18 months old. So I guess I missed my calling - I could have been a doctor with my awesome ability to diagnose (thanks, Google!). We talked about it. I finally felt like I wasn't alone - that this other woman, who is my age, who has her life together (she's an amazing doctor), who is smart and nice and thin and pretty and also a mom of two kids - well, if she went through this then I guess it's normal and I am okay. We talked through treatment options that were safe for nursing (she is FULLY supportive of me nursing Donovan for as long as we both want to).
So here I am. I am by no means cured at this point. But I am getting better. It is going to be a journey. And it is going to be okay. I got help. I am on the road to recovery. This is a very good thing.
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