Having a new baby is a glorious time. It’s also the time when you are poised on the brink of insanity and dangled like a chew toy for the family dog. And it begins the moment when they hold a crying newborn in front of you, while you are trying to not vomit, while being splayed open like a blonde scream queen in the latest horror flick, all during your cesarean. The thoughts running through your mind run the gamut from euphoria for seeing this beautiful child you created, to fear for having said child, to pain and discomfort having just gone through bringing that baby into this world.
For me, I had so many fantasies for what the hospital stay was going to look like. I brought my comfy clothes, and my big girl camera, and my make up bag. I planned out all the photos I was going to take of my new sweet baby girl and planned on looking pretty for photos my husband was going to take of me holding the baby. Being that this was our FOURTH child, I knew what to expect, I knew what the room was going to look like, I was (kind of) excited for the hospital food, because it’s good damnit! But what I got was far from my fantasy. The baby never left our room, not once, and she cried out of starvation 24/7. My husband and myself were arguing most of the time with very little love being passed around the room. I could breathe in his resentment for me wanting this baby like thick smoke at a bonfire. I was awake the first night, the entire night, begging him to help me, with only attitude being thrown back at me. Infuriated, I stayed awake with her, trying to attempt to figure this new little being out, without being able to get up or move at all, because I was on some heavy pain killers (ones that make you so sleepy you can’t hold your eyelids open if you try) and I still had a catheter attached and my legs were stuck in this blood-clot-reducing blow-up toy. I felt helpless. Completely helpless. This is where it began, this is the beginning of the darkness. My husband didn’t take one picture of me holding the baby, not one. I didn’t get my big girl camera out once. I didn’t put make-up on. I barely brushed my hair or teeth the entire time there. I did however enjoy the food, that is, after the first night, when I unexpectedly threw up in a plastic bag while sitting on the toilet for the first time. Sigh.
Battling the baby blues, which I expected because with every child I had it. Not full-on postpartum depression, but a mild form. The space where you are weepy and cry at the drop of a hat, that kind. It is very difficult to maintain your sanity when you are crying all the time and not sleeping much. Not knowing why you’re crying, but it’s happening anyway, is what will drag you into the darkness.
We brought baby girl home and thought it was going well, until about week 4, when all she did was cry. She cried all day long, with no end in sight, just crying, and screaming and making my anxiety rise. This lasted 6-7 weeks after that point. I went into a dark place. I began to hate her. I had imagined what my time off with her was going to be like and this was nothing like it. I began wishing my days with her away. Those thoughts just made me cry harder. How could I do that? I wanted her so bad, and here she is and all I can do is dream of going to sleep so I could get some peace for a few hours? What a horrible mother I felt like.
Then there’s my house. I had my house completely clean from top to bottom before the baby got here. It was even repainted and dirt scrubbed off the walls (by me, of course). The attention to detail was amazing. I was proud and ready to have people come over to visit. Well, that didn’t last, because our house quickly fell apart, with toys EVERYWHERE, stuff EVERYWHERE, clothes EVERYWHERE, trash EVERYWHERE, dirty dishes overflowing in the sink, even fruit flies taking over our kitchen from the mess. And I was feeling like I couldn’t even keep my head above water with the baby, much less the house. I was getting zero help with any of it. I would clean something and it would take me forever, and the older kids would come home and they would trash it and I would crumble. I knew I had to do something. I just didn’t have the time to invest in the house with a baby that wouldn’t let me put her down for a minute. Forget the baby carriers, what a back breaker. For someone with chronic back pain, those are torture devices, not to mention how bad my back was getting, carrying her around all the time and having just had her. I felt like I was dying. And I couldn’t even get in to see my massage therapist.
So here I am, carrying the burden of the baby, the household, the bills, the cleaning, the scheduling and I’m a ticking time bomb. No one is visiting me like I thought they would, and I’m alone. I’m home by myself, afraid to leave the house, because when I do and she starts crying, I panic, and sweat through all my clothes because of my anxiety. I feel like I’m trapped and I resent her for crying so much and I feel like I’m a failure at everything related to motherhood. I have my older children talking back to me, not respecting me. I have a house falling apart, and a credit card bill that’s rising due to my late night pick-me-up, online shopping. I was feeling out of control. Very out of control. I stopped taking pictures of her every day because all she did was cry and I was going insane. After a few weeks of this I told my husband and my parents I was going crazy. I told them I couldn’t do it anymore and I needed help. Neither one had any idea I was feeling that way. They tried to help, offering suggestions for things I already tried, both completely forgetting my anxiety and not having an understanding for what that actually means. It means my heart races all the time, but beats out of my chest when she cries. My body tightens and gets tense at the thought of her crying. My IBS acts up and I am using the bathroom all the time. I begin to sweat and get so hot it’s hard to breathe. I get tightness in my chest that feels like a panic attack and there’s nothing I can do about it, it just happens. And unless you have gone through it, you don’t know, and unfortunately that is why I’m misunderstood. They suggested I take her to the park, but she cried every time I strapped her in her car seat. They suggested I take her for a drive, but she just screamed the entire time. It wasn’t until the whole family was over and everyone tried everything and all she did was cry, for 4 straight hours, being held, being loved, being bopped around to relieve gas. Nothing worked. For anyone. Then they understood. All of them did. I began getting out of the house when my husband came home from work. I would run an errand or two. Meandering down every aisle at Target to get away and get some quiet me time.
Struggling to heal myself, and get myself emotionally stable was hard. I feel like I’ve pulled myself out of the darkness, and I’m beginning to see the light. It’s a new day and I’m getting the house in control, the kids in control, my body and my mind in control, and the baby is turning a corner into a happier state of being, as she coos and smiles and chills for a little longer. And at this point, after 10.5 weeks of her being on the outside, I’ll take all I can get.
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