Reflections

Being a mom has made me aware of aspects of myself that I didn't know existed before and new dimensions to my already crazy-town personality.

After being diagnosed with depression/anxiety several years ago, D and I have had many tearful (on my end), late night conversations about how d/a would affect our future.  I was terrified that I would pass d/a onto my children and so I fought the idea of having my own kids.  I knew how debilitating d/a had been for me and I didn't want my children to ever have to deal with that knowing that it was because of me.  I was also terrified of postpartum depression.  I knew that because I had d/a, I was much higher risk for PPD and I didn't want to be one of those moms who loses it on her kids one day or whose kids thinks of her only as a sad panda.

When J was born, the doctor immediately called a Rapid Response team into our room.  J was grey, not really breathing and not really moving.  I remember feeling so helpless and so afraid.  I couldn't do anything for my baby.  I just laid there and watched and cried.  The Rapid Response team got J breathing and moving and he turned pink.  The nurse and D watched J to be sure that he kept breathing and I waited to be allowed to hold him.  Unfortunately, J started wheezing and the call was made to send him down to NICU.  I got to hold him for just a couple of minutes before he was taken down to the NICU.  And then he was under the care of the NICU nurses and doctors and we were only allowed to visit.

Now that J is home, I've found myself full of anxiety.  I hear J start wheezing or coughing and I worry that a team of nurses is going to descend and take my baby away.  Or that he'll stop breathing all together.  I worry that if I leave J, something will happen and I won't be there to help.  I have a hard time sleeping if he's not near me - we put him in his crib one night and slept in our bed and I straight up could not sleep.  I was just so scared that something would happen and I wouldn't be able to get to him in time.  The fear of being unable to help my own son has become overwhelming at times, mostly at night.

And the guilt!  If I'm not there taking care of J, I feel guilty.  I feel guilty for needing sleep.  I feel guilty for not being able to hold him and watch him every second.  He's so perfect and I don't want to let a moment slip by, I don't want to miss anything.  And I feel guilty if I can't comfort J.  He's had a hard time with acid reflux and that's painful.  He also has a clubbed foot and gets a new cast on every week and having his foot manipulated and cast hurts him.  I wonder how much of it is my fault.  And I can't always comfort him when he's crying or screaming in pain and discomfort.  I can't always ease his pain.  And I feel guilty about it.

I'm not nursing, really (there's more guilt there).  J had a difficult time with my breast milk and I wasn't producing much, really (because of the reduction surgery I had when I was 18).  Each feeding I had to supplement with formula, more formula than breast milk.  And it was such hard work each feeding.  J would get impatient because he was hungry but my milk didn't flow that fast.  But even though I'm not nursing and my body's not having to support another life, I'm still exhausted!  More deeply exhausted than I knew was possible.  I know, I know, the exhaustion is part of motherhood and I'll be exhausted for the rest of my life.  I just wish that I had something more to justify my exhaustion...

I love my son.  I love being his mom.  He is a miracle and I'm grateful for every moment with him.  I didn't know that I had this much love in me.  I love D deeply.  But this love for my son is different.  And the love I feel for my son has deepened the love I feel for my husband.  The joy is fuller, as well.  But the more you love, the more there is at stake to lose.  And I definitely feel the higher stakes.  The "what-if" scenarios that spin through my head are scarier than they were before because I have more to lose.  Sometimes, I wonder if I was crazy to ever get married and have a kid.  Sure I know that much more love and joy, but there's the risk for that much more hurt and pain.

I adore this face.  I adore his coos, his smiles, his squeals for food, the way he grabs my fingers, the way he sucks on my pinky, his deep blue eyes, his dimpled chin, how ticklish he is, and on and on and on.  He is a blessing and sometimes I feel very unworthy.  But I'm grateful.  And despite all my crazy-town quirks, I am trying to be a good mom.  After all, there's a reason we were sent to each other, right?