I'm almost two years out.... I had my kid almost TWO YEARS AGO. And it's taken me until fairly recent to realize that I had postpartum depression and still may have traces of it.... and that's OK.
It wasn't until I took a step back and saw how different things were in my life and how I wasn't sure I was 'ok' with these changes that made me realize I am still struggling with my post partum lifestyle change.
I want to be clear that I don't regret getting pregnant and having Oliver. He is my joy, my steadfast light, my pride. I can't imagine life without him. And yet, having him, brought a tumult of emotions and raw new feelings I'd never experienced and makes me shudder to think of re-living those.
My Body
My body went through some serious shit creating Mr. O. In the first trimester alone, I lost 15 pounds. I barely made it to work. There were many days I could hardly lift my head or turn over in bed without retching into a trash can. I had several visits to the hospital for IV fluids. I wanted to die. There were many moments I truly would have rather died than wake up and suffer through another day. Not to mention the hormones that are catapulting through your system. Pregnancy is supposed to be a happy, glowing time and I found myself resenting the child inside of me for slowly ruining my esophogus, my career, my relationships, my emotions. I resented pregnancy. I resented my husband for not truly being able to understand my turmoil. He was so helpless. There was nothing he could do. I resented other pregnant women who had 'easy breezy' pregnancies. I resented their doting and knowing husbands. I resented their ease of being a stay at home mom or wife and not having to worry about keeping their job to pay bills. I resented them going to their jobs and being able to carry on other than occasional swollen ankles. I resented that they didn't have to run to the bathroom while trying to catch acidic vomit pouring down their clothes. I resented it all.
The Birth Itself
As you can imagine, when my OB agreed to do an elective induction at my EDD, I was beyond thrilled. Who wouldn't want this hellish experience over?! Looking back, that wasn't a sound decision but it's done now and I can't change it. That's not to say I had a traumatic birth experience. Indeed, it went all 'according to plan'. I delivered within the time frame that the OB would expect me to. Oliver was a very healthy baby and I didn't have any major medical issues. But because Oliver wasn't allowed to progress in the natural way God intended, I believe my emotional state wasn't able to prepare for Oliver's arrival.
The Arrival
When Oliver did arrive, I was just finishing up retching into one of those lovely blue hospital barf bags. Once he announced his arrival, my nausea vanished. And in those few moments, I had to transfer from sickly exhausted pregnant lady to mother. I had to step up and do my duties: feed, burp, change diapers, care for my completely dependent wrinkly, red child. A laundry list of responsibilities greeted me as I wiped the vomit off my face and readied myself for motherhood. And while these responsibilities were daunting, I had prepared as best I could. However, one cannot prepare for the emotions you will have to process, nor the physical healing process of your very first vaginal birth. The midwife that delivered Oliver did a wonderful job (according to my mom, who was pretty much right beside her), she stretched and prepared me, helped Oliver ease out, etc. But, having never delivered a bowling ball out of my nostril before, that first delivery is going to leave your lady bits messed up. Especially if you have a larger baby. Oliver was 8'5" and I know women deliver much larger, but I'm going to go ahead and assume that delivering a 5-6 pound baby would be less grevious than 8+. When the epidural wore off and I started to really feel that pain, I was completely miserable. Nothing would make it feel better. Baths and showers stung, going to the bathroom was terror-inducing, sitting down on a hard surface was excrutiating. Don't even get me going on post-partum sex.
At Home
If you read my post about breastfeeding, you'd know that it was a really rough start. Add that to everything else I just mentioned and I was in a sorry state. In addition, there is no time to sort through these emotions as the only time you have is consumed by caring for your precious bundle. I had no time to process my thoughts, emotions, and relief and no longer being sickly. Pregnancy was like having a chronic illness and I 'miraculously recovered' but instead of being relieved or rejoicing, I had a whole new basket case of maladies.
My relationship with my spouse suffered big time with the start of this and it is still slowly on the mend. There are many days I just can't sift through all my feelings, mental and physical. I still struggle with both. My 2nd degree tear didn't heal well and I have to deal with that for the rest of my life. That shit's depressing.
You can't expect a child will magically fit into your fabulous freshly-or-seasoned married life. Your child will define your new life. And boy, what a life. I am so blessed. I am blessed by an ever-understanding and patient husband who would go to the moon and back for me and love me with every breath he takes until we return to the dust. I am blessed by my beautiful baby boy who has made me a better person, better wife, daughter, sister. He is the glue to my chaotic existence.
So as the bassinet gets booted out of the house, infant toys and baby equipment go into storage, and my breastpump collects dust, I feel such a tremendous relief that we SURVIVED it. It made me realize that I was trying to pass off my struggles as 'normal' and I kept a lot of my feelings in. I didn't want to appear weak or unable to care for myself or my child or my family. It was a rough couple years. This is the part that pastors refer to '.....in bad times' in wedding vows. Thank God as humans we are given a certain resilience.
I'm aware many people don't understand depression (post partum or otherwise), and that's because they never suffered it or witnessed someone close to them suffer through it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. And it certainly doesn't mean you have the right to judge; we merely wish for support.
I'm almost two years out and sometimes my life is a mess but I can truthfully look around and say 'what a beautiful mess'.
