It's like learning to drive. Trying to survive while driving. We'll call this driving 101: Do not try to over correct.
My biggest problem lies in my over correction. I see myself about to go off course. Instead of admitting I was upset and needed someone to talk to. I felt the need to clean, cook, take care of baby, and smile. I felt the need to perfect myself and what I was doing. Over correcting makes it worse than it was/is, just as in driving. WARNING: DO NOT TRY TO OVER CORRECT YOURSELF. There is nothing more I can stress than just that. My mother gave me some great advice. She says "The baby will not always be there, but the dirt will." In other words, take care of my son because before I know it he will grow up and be gone. The dirt will always remain so I will have something to clean...not that I'll want to by that point.
Point being, please do not try and be perfect. So what if your laundry is backed up, or your bed isn't made, or maybe your husband will have cereal for dinner. Bottom line is that you and baby are the most important thing. Your husband can cook, he can clean, he can make his own dinner if he really wants. Chances are, he won't and he'll order out. Nonetheless, you are not perfect. I am not perfect. If I was I wouldn't have PPD and you wouldn't be reading this.
Every day I'm closer to getting my laundry done. Every day I'm closer to love.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
The Curse vs. The Blessing: Windows.
Let's talk about "windows." No, not the windows you look into, but close! Definetely not the Windows operating program..such a hassle! I have two windows. One is a curse. One is a blessing.
My blessing of a window: I'm talking windows of opportunity. I've had plenty of windows or chances to open up about my PPD and life. Why now? Why am I talking to you? I find that I speak to myself much truer when written rather than spoken. I have a chance to read what I say. Erase it if I don't like it. Re-write it if it doesn't make sense. Yes, I chose the window known as the computer screen to speak & let you view my world.
Now that other window; Yes that glass one we all have at least one of at home and the one I find to be my curse. It's such a hard feeling to explain. I try so hard to find the words but sometimes I just can't. I feel like I'm on the outside looking in (corny reference, I know, but this is my other window). It's like I can see and hear myself but I'm not here or there to actually control myself or say what I want.
There is so much pressure to be a mother, wife, while holding down a job. This is something that, sorry guys, but you'll never understand. Single fathers will get the "idea" but until you have carried your child for 9 months, labored, and have taken those precious 6 weeks off to take care of them, it's hard to fathom what anyone could feel. I know I couldn't until I let pregnancy/labor/motherhood run it's course.
Today I noticed my son's perfection. His eyes are perfect. His nose is perfect. His lips are perfect. His tiny ears are perfect. His big feet are perfect. Well, you get it. He is perfect. I heard others tell me, but now I see it.
I hope that in some way I am making sense to you and a part of you, even the tiniest bit, can connect and say "HEY! I know/remember that!"
Every day I am closer to shattering my window of challenge. Every day I am closer to love.
My blessing of a window: I'm talking windows of opportunity. I've had plenty of windows or chances to open up about my PPD and life. Why now? Why am I talking to you? I find that I speak to myself much truer when written rather than spoken. I have a chance to read what I say. Erase it if I don't like it. Re-write it if it doesn't make sense. Yes, I chose the window known as the computer screen to speak & let you view my world.
Now that other window; Yes that glass one we all have at least one of at home and the one I find to be my curse. It's such a hard feeling to explain. I try so hard to find the words but sometimes I just can't. I feel like I'm on the outside looking in (corny reference, I know, but this is my other window). It's like I can see and hear myself but I'm not here or there to actually control myself or say what I want.
There is so much pressure to be a mother, wife, while holding down a job. This is something that, sorry guys, but you'll never understand. Single fathers will get the "idea" but until you have carried your child for 9 months, labored, and have taken those precious 6 weeks off to take care of them, it's hard to fathom what anyone could feel. I know I couldn't until I let pregnancy/labor/motherhood run it's course.
Today I noticed my son's perfection. His eyes are perfect. His nose is perfect. His lips are perfect. His tiny ears are perfect. His big feet are perfect. Well, you get it. He is perfect. I heard others tell me, but now I see it.
I hope that in some way I am making sense to you and a part of you, even the tiniest bit, can connect and say "HEY! I know/remember that!"
Every day I am closer to shattering my window of challenge. Every day I am closer to love.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
"It happens," or so they say.
I decided I would be the best mother I could be & breastfeed my son. My first experience was breastfeeding was difficult. He would not latch on. Was this my fault? The nurses assured me that "it happens." If I knew how many times people would say "it happens" I would have banned those two words from my life. My first visit out was when my son was 4 days old. I refused to breastfeed in public, demanding to go home with him. I needed to be comfortable. I was still a confused mother. This is when I first realized I had PPD. I was being attacked for not breastfeeding in public. Was I a bad mother? Was I horrible for doing things the way others had not? Had I known what I know now I would have spoken up. ENOUGH. ENOUGH. ENOUGH. My mind screamed. I am not a bad mother and will never be. I will never keep quiet. Never again.
My son is 9 weeks now. We tried and tried breastfeeding him. I made too much milk. You're probably thinking "TOO MUCH!? LUCKY HER!," wrong. I was cursed. My overflow was unnecessary. So unnecessary that my son wasn't able to latch on because it was too fast. I made the decision to pump & bottle feed my son. I was exhausting myself, pumping every two hours. I could get over this I said. Then more problems arose: He was never full; I had to return to work; He did not sleep full nights. Sadly, I decided to discontinue breastfeeding. I had to make the best choice for my son. He was switched over to formula. You are not a bad mother if you cannot or choose not to breastfeed. Do NOT let anyone tell you otherwise. You're feeding your child aren't you? What's so wrong about that then?
I never realized how exhausting breastfeeding was or would be. I found myself awake at night, feeding my son on the couch, physically exhausted & crying. I felt that I wasn't feeding him correctly or it was something I was doing wrong. If someone had only told me he was constantly hungry because he was growing and/or not full I would have had much more confidence in myself and stood up stronger to the challenge.
Now I did not back out or back down to the challenge of breastfeeding. I did what was best for my son. I can happily go to work and leave my son with my husband or family member, without constantly worrying if he has enough milk. I was able to say he had a full belly and enjoyed sleeping. I lean over his crib sometimes and watch him sleep. I begin to cry. I always whisper "I promise" as I kiss his cheek. I promise to always care for him, love him more than I knew possible, give him the best possible life. I promise to share my story; my feelings; my struggle; most importantly my new found strength.
Every day I wake up, ready for the day, awaiting a smile from my little man. Every day I'm closer to love.
My son is 9 weeks now. We tried and tried breastfeeding him. I made too much milk. You're probably thinking "TOO MUCH!? LUCKY HER!," wrong. I was cursed. My overflow was unnecessary. So unnecessary that my son wasn't able to latch on because it was too fast. I made the decision to pump & bottle feed my son. I was exhausting myself, pumping every two hours. I could get over this I said. Then more problems arose: He was never full; I had to return to work; He did not sleep full nights. Sadly, I decided to discontinue breastfeeding. I had to make the best choice for my son. He was switched over to formula. You are not a bad mother if you cannot or choose not to breastfeed. Do NOT let anyone tell you otherwise. You're feeding your child aren't you? What's so wrong about that then?
I never realized how exhausting breastfeeding was or would be. I found myself awake at night, feeding my son on the couch, physically exhausted & crying. I felt that I wasn't feeding him correctly or it was something I was doing wrong. If someone had only told me he was constantly hungry because he was growing and/or not full I would have had much more confidence in myself and stood up stronger to the challenge.
Now I did not back out or back down to the challenge of breastfeeding. I did what was best for my son. I can happily go to work and leave my son with my husband or family member, without constantly worrying if he has enough milk. I was able to say he had a full belly and enjoyed sleeping. I lean over his crib sometimes and watch him sleep. I begin to cry. I always whisper "I promise" as I kiss his cheek. I promise to always care for him, love him more than I knew possible, give him the best possible life. I promise to share my story; my feelings; my struggle; most importantly my new found strength.
Every day I wake up, ready for the day, awaiting a smile from my little man. Every day I'm closer to love.
Closer to love.
I wanted to start a blog during my pregnancy but never found the time to. I told myself I would keep a blog to update family members and friends throughout the pregnancy who couldn't be with us. Little did I know I would be completely exhausted from work and preparing a house for a newborn. I then promised myself "after the baby arrives." The is the first of many promises I broke to myself.
My son was born December 26, 2012 at 6:21pm. My husband, Adam, and I were thrilled to welcome him into this world. We waited eagerly during those nine, seemingly never ending months, to meet our beautiful boy. So many emotions ran through my body; excitement: I finally had the family picture I always dreamed of. a dog, house, husband, and a baby! Fear: How could I be trusted to take home this small human?! It was up to me to keep this thing alive. Exhaustion: I just labored for 7 hours...my body did what it was made to do. Confusion: why didn't I cry when I held him for the first time? Was this normal?
I didn't believe it could happen to me. I refused to. But here I am admitting this publicly, for the first time. I have Postpartum Depression. Why am I admitting this to you? I don't want to be alone in this fight anymore and if you have, might, or will experience this, I don't want you to be alone either. This is not a plea for help. This is a scream for truth.
Having PPD doesn't make you a bad mother. You are human. You don't have 8 heads, so why do people look at you like you do when you admit to having PPD?
Throughout pregnancy we as women and expecting parents read all these articles from other women eager to share their plight of happiness through early motherhood. One woman will say how wonderful being a mother is; locking eyes with your baby for the first time. Another will say how phenomenal it is to look at your newborn & see yourself in them. Why wasn't I feeling any of these feelings or experiencing these breathtaking moments?
I waited all my life to welcome a child of my own. Was this because we didn't plan this pregnancy? Was this because I was only 22 when I gave birth? I can't answer these questions because I still wonder myself.
It wasn't until my son was nearly 7 weeks old that I realized I loved him. I knew I loved him but I didn't know I LOVED him. If you're a mother you'll understand what I'm talking about. If you're expecting you'll understand one day. Our eyes met for what seemed like the first time. He coo'ed & I cried. He smiled & I smiled. I knew we were going to be okay.
I invite you to join me on this journey; a journey into motherhood & through PPD. I will fight it every day. Every day I'm closer to love.
My son was born December 26, 2012 at 6:21pm. My husband, Adam, and I were thrilled to welcome him into this world. We waited eagerly during those nine, seemingly never ending months, to meet our beautiful boy. So many emotions ran through my body; excitement: I finally had the family picture I always dreamed of. a dog, house, husband, and a baby! Fear: How could I be trusted to take home this small human?! It was up to me to keep this thing alive. Exhaustion: I just labored for 7 hours...my body did what it was made to do. Confusion: why didn't I cry when I held him for the first time? Was this normal?
I didn't believe it could happen to me. I refused to. But here I am admitting this publicly, for the first time. I have Postpartum Depression. Why am I admitting this to you? I don't want to be alone in this fight anymore and if you have, might, or will experience this, I don't want you to be alone either. This is not a plea for help. This is a scream for truth.
Having PPD doesn't make you a bad mother. You are human. You don't have 8 heads, so why do people look at you like you do when you admit to having PPD?
Throughout pregnancy we as women and expecting parents read all these articles from other women eager to share their plight of happiness through early motherhood. One woman will say how wonderful being a mother is; locking eyes with your baby for the first time. Another will say how phenomenal it is to look at your newborn & see yourself in them. Why wasn't I feeling any of these feelings or experiencing these breathtaking moments?
I waited all my life to welcome a child of my own. Was this because we didn't plan this pregnancy? Was this because I was only 22 when I gave birth? I can't answer these questions because I still wonder myself.
It wasn't until my son was nearly 7 weeks old that I realized I loved him. I knew I loved him but I didn't know I LOVED him. If you're a mother you'll understand what I'm talking about. If you're expecting you'll understand one day. Our eyes met for what seemed like the first time. He coo'ed & I cried. He smiled & I smiled. I knew we were going to be okay.
I invite you to join me on this journey; a journey into motherhood & through PPD. I will fight it every day. Every day I'm closer to love.
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