6 Months with Postpartum Depression
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| She is not about the selfies. |
6 Months with Postpartum Depression
An honest update on my last 6 months from a mom, who never wanted to be a mom.
Today is my sweet baby E’s six month birthday. Six months ago, she made me a mother, despite my months of protest. Six months ago, I stopped being the woman I was and began growing into the woman I am meant to be for her.
If you haven’t read my first post on the topic of never wanting children, you can read it here. I Didn’t Want to Be a Mother. I honestly discuss my devastation when those two lines appeared on that First Response pregnancy test, and the tears I shed from that moment until my baby was born.
I was diagnosed with Postpartum Depression (PPD) at my eight week postpartum check up and six months later I’m seeing the light at the end of a very dark tunnel. All with the help of my doctor, depression medicine and a very understanding spouse.
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| Taken from the AHN Women website |
My Experience with Postpartum Depression
The first few weeks you expect to be exhausted, confused and overwhelmed. But I had an extra emotion-- extreme unhappiness. This wasn’t the “baby blues,” the overly emotional experience most women get due to previously mentioned conditions and fluctuating hormones. No. This was different. Much different.
When family stopped by, or during a Facetime call with long distance friends, I solemnly smiled and politely answered questions about the “joys” of being a new mother. The sadness for the loss of my old life, resentment towards this tiny helpless baby for depriving me of sleep, my regret for having sex the night we conceived--all consumed my mind,
Knowing those thoughts made me a “terrible mother,” caused anxiety about my capability as a mother. PPD fueled anxiety driven thoughts like, “will I ever love my baby?” “How can my baby love me when I feel like this?” “She can tell I didn’t want to be a mom, can't she?” As you can imagine, this anxiety propelled me into a further depression. For me, it’s cyclical.
Breastfeeding Isn’t Always Best
“Breast is Best.” Do you know how many times I heard that? Read it? Believed it? From the
time I knew I was pregnant I KNEW I HAD to breastfeed. No doubt about it. I read books, watched videos and took a class. Nothing was going to stop me from doing what was “best” for my baby.
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| She's begging me to stop taking pics. |
After only a week and a half of breastfeeding, we realized she wasn’t getting enough milk due to low milk supply--devastating news to a new determined mother. Our lactation consultant recommended pumping to increase supply. Pumping and bottle feeding became our go to method of feeding because our baby girl seemed happy and full compared to when she breastfed.
Okay. I could live with that. She was at least still getting breast milk. So for the next month and a half I spent the most miserable weeks of my life attached to a pump, waking every two hours to keep my supply up, trying every herbal tea, lactation diet, and made up home remedies--only to have my “good” breast make a maximum of 3 ounces in a 45 minute pumping session.
Every time I unhooked myself I felt shame and disappointment from my insufficient milk supply. I was failing as a mother because I wasn’t even able to do what my body naturally should do for my child. This greatly fed into my depression.
This was only after the first month and a half, when I was still able to see family and friends. I was still able to call someone to come over so I could shower or eat. Then mid-March, COVID-19 lock-down started.
COVID Isolation
I don’t know how much you know about depression, but one way to make it worse is isolation.
When you have a baby, the first two months you expect to be stuck at home. You don’t want to take the baby anywhere until they’ve had their shots, don’t have to eat every two hours and sleep the whole time. And being sleep deprived, who wants to go out and have to put on pants anyways?
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| OMG her lip lol |
Easter rolled around and we hadn’t seen family in almost two months. The only two faces I saw were my husband and baby. We decided to have my in-laws over to sit on the porch six feet away to see the baby and let me socialize. I should have been elated to share in a chit chat that wasn’t about baby poop, face to face with people that I love.I wasn’t. Gone was my ability to fake a smile, maintain eye contact and hold a conversation.
I remember so vividly how I behaved, almost as if it was an out of body experience. I didn’t smile. Not once. I didn’t engage in conversation. I couldn’t even look them in the eyes because I felt they could see my shame. I was a shell of myself. After they left, my husband hugged me and said “It’s okay, that you’re not okay.” That was the moment I realized I needed to ask for help.
Getting Help
At my postpartum follow up the following week, I filled out the standard PPD symptom checklist. As I was going through the list seeing questions like “Are you finding joy in things you used to love doing?” “Are you able to laugh the way you used to?” I found myself, checking “Not at All” more frequently than I’d like to admit.
When I met with my doctor, I was relieved to hear from a medical professional that I’m not a terrible mother. I’m one out of eight women who feel/felt the exact same way I did. She even RECOMMENDED that I stop pumping for my mental health. She herself tried breastfeeding with both children and it didn’t work. Hearing my OBGYN say her own children are bottle fed babies gave me the green light to be kinder on myself. I quit pumping shortly after and I think it’s the best decision I’ve made for my mental well-being in years.
She prescribed medication to help me through this time. Because I received a PPD diagnosis I was required to follow up with the doctor a month later. My scores on the PPD evaluation sheet were night and day.
Within the month of my diagnosis, I believe the medication began to level out my hormones, I stopped pumping, and our baby girl started sleeping through the night. I began to feel like myself again. Self loathing began to fade, I felt happier and I could now look at my baby and smile.
My pretty girl is six months today and I’m in love. I love the weird sounds she makes, and her gummy smile. I love that she responds to my voice, and giggles when she farts. I love the disgusted face she makes when she tries a new food. I’m in love with my baby and I don’t think I would be at this point emotionally if it weren’t for the help I received.
Admitting these feelings, reading back about my experience, sharing my story, is not easy. But I spent so much time feeling ashamed and alone, I don’t ever want someone else to feel this way. I’m telling this story so you know you’re not alone. If you’re reading this and see yourself, don’t be too prideful or too ashamed to ask for help. It’s what's best for your baby and what’s best for you, momma.
In true first time mom fashion, I did a photo shoot of my gorgeous baby. Enjoy!
You can get her little 1/2 birthday outfit here! They have a bunch of color options and different birthday ages too!!
XOXO, Meg
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