Those first few months

I did not have a quick or easy delivery. My husband used to own a thumb ring that he wore forever. He can no longer wear that thumb ring. Because I squeezed his hand so hard that I smashed it. Sorry, babe. I’ll spare you the delivery details unless you’d like to grab a drink and discuss a play by play. It’s weird how once you have a baby you become all in for birthing stories…

Through a series of events and effort over the course of a few days, though, we had our son in our arms. It’s taken me a long time to kind of process through those days in the hospital. It was what I expected in some ways and also not at all what I expected wrapped into what will forever be our story and journey to becoming a family.

And my story to becoming a mother.

We were definitely the family that cried on the (three minute) drive home from the hospital. Such a strange mix of emotions. We were ready to be in the comfort of our own home, but terrified of leaving the nurses who checked in on us before even starting their shifts or brought us fudge from their staff stash. In the glow of a string of white Christmas lights that we had hung in our room, it was their constant, quiet presence that gave us reassurance that we were going to figure this all out.

Their names are forever imprinted on my heart.

The first four weeks are the hardest.

Since becoming a mom, I have tried really hard not to impose my journey and experience onto expecting women because everyone has such a different story to live. I never want to dictate their expectations or experiences. But there is one thing I have felt sure enough to share, and that is that the first four weeks are the hardest. The first four weeks are just about surviving.

I remember calling my mom one day in tears insisting that I had no idea what I was doing. I’ll always be able to hear the heartache in her voice, being three hours away, reassuring me that I could do this and that it gets better. I had been around babies for as long as I can remember, coming from a large extended family. So I had this false confidence that I knew quite a bit going into this process. But you don’t know what you don’t know until you’re finding out that you don’t know it. And there were so many things I was finding out I didn’t know. Parenting is learning as you go from sun up to sun down to sun up again.

I was struggling with nursing with delayed milk so our son was cluster feeding. It felt like all I did was nurse him nonstop but he never seemed satisfied. Something that I had assumed would just sort of naturally happen was so difficult. The fear was creeping in and the lack of sleep was catching up. I spent many late nights sobbing in the shower. If you’re struggling with nursing, reach out to an IBCLC (lactation consultant). One of the pieces of the puzzles that luckily fell into place for me was having a friend who happened to be a professional sit down with me and gently guide me along on options that would keep our baby fed and me less panicky.

Those first four weeks are tough. We all cried. A lot.

Beyond all the obvious reasons to cry (no sleep, physically recovering, nursing struggles, an entire life changing), my anxiety was weighing me down more than ever. Which leads to another piece of the puzzle that I needed to figure out to find my solid ground. I was dealing with Postpartum Depression and Anxiety.

Postpartum Depression is real and in no way dictates your ability as a mother.

If you have experienced PPD/A, let me shout the above sentence to you from a rooftop and wrap you up in a reassuring hug.

My husband helped me to recognize the symptoms that lead us to believe that I might be experiencing PPD/A. We lost our boxer a month into parenthood and the grieving of this loss hit me so hard. I didn’t know what to do with such a wide range of emotions all day long. I would stare at my baby and be blown away by the love I felt for him and for his father. But I would struggle with nursing or getting up throughout the night and feel myself sinking. But then I would smell his sweet little head as I rocked him to sleep and my cup would overflow. I would then see the empty spot next to the rocker that our sweet pup used to occupy and I would crash back down again.

The day I officially knew I was dealing with PPD/A was the day of my six week follow up appointment. I had made a quick trip to the office to introduce my son to co-workers. I was heading to my follow up appointment after that visit when a train rolled through town. I had no idea how to get around the blocked tracks and I started panicking. I realized there was no reason to panic. I wasn’t running late. I wasn’t in danger. But in my head, this moment was too much and I was terrified my baby would wake up crying and I would be stuck. My mind was spinning and my heart started racing. I didn’t feel like I had control of anything.

I didn’t feel like me.

So I talked to my doctor that day. Putting a name to why my struggles and emotions felt so immense was like opening a window and getting fresh air for the first time in six weeks. It was a conversation I needed to have that brought me answers and options to help me cope and start getting back to me.

Please, if you are struggling do not hesitate to reach out to someone, including your healthcare providers. Motherhood is intense in so many amazing but challenging ways. Taking care of your own health opens you up to being the best mother you can possibly be. There is no shame in seeking help.

Motherhood isn’t meant to be a lone journey. Let’s do this together.

We survived the first four weeks.

And things just kept getting better. Our boy. Our sweet baby boy. We were getting to know him and he was getting to know us. I guess we were getting to know us too.

Every single day I looked at that baby and my jaw dropped. We brought to life this tiny (well…maybe not tiny) person.

We were parents. I was a mom. This was my baby.

Rocking that boy and listening to his sweet, soft breaths became the very best part of my day. “Don’t hold the baby while they’re sleeping,” was always common instruction, but that was a hard pass for me. That boy had spent nine months growing inside of me and I had no intention of not soaking up every single minute that I could now that he was in our world.

My boy.