Today on NPR, there was a segment on how frighteningly common is for a parent to take the life of their children. They briefly discussed the merits of the “insanity plea” for these cases. I don’t want to talk about this because it is tragic, but I will say, that in my unreaserched and biased opinion that a mother MUST be mentally ill to do such a thing.
It got me to thinking about when L was an infant. He was my first baby and he was colicky. I didn’t know what I was doing (nieces and nephews, no matter how much child care you provide, do not prepare you for parenthood). I was overwhelmed, exhausted and I felt empty. There was a period of time that the only way he would stop crying was to walk with him in our tiny kitchen with the fluorescent light on. I can’t tell you how many nights I wanted to bundle him up and put him on our neighbor’s door step.
I know moms don’t like to talk about it; there is a great fear of judgment. Judge me if you will, but I am being honest. Those first three months of his life, I often felt like I could simply walk away. There were even times when I thought to myself, “what would happen if I just dropped him?” So scary to think about now, but it was my reality then. I realize now that I was depressed. My pregnancy had been so uncomplicated but his birth was a nightmare. I felt like I had failed my precious baby boy. I missed the first hour and half of his life, I missed his first cry. I missed the nurse crying out, “it’s a boy!” I judged myself more harshly during that time, than any else could have.
I had, of course, read the chapter on post-partum depression from my pregnancy book. I remember thinking that I was not depressed but I followed the advice anyway. I talked about it. I talked to D about what I was feeling, including the scary stuff. But I didn’t talk to my girl-friends, because it seemed like they had it all-together. I wish that I had been brave enough to talk to my girl-friends about this. Maybe they were struggling too, and we could have supported each other. I smiled for them, just like I smiled for the camera. But inside, I was desperate to "feel normal" again. We made it through this hard time, the three of us, and no one worse for the journey.No one ever told me that I could feel that way. No one could have prepared me for how difficult it was. I never felt more alone than when I rocked my crying baby at 3 am. Moms need to talk about this and share our experiences; we would find out that we were not alone on those endless nights.
2 comments:
I felt so bad for you during that time. I was stressed too however, I "got" to leave and go to work for 10+ hours a day. It seemed that dealing with drunk drivers, abusive spouses, and raiding meth labs with the SWAT team was more of a break than I could give to you. I tried to give you as much of a break as I could but it was not the same. I am glad we talked. I am glad you talked. We got through those phases with both boys, the current ones and those to come because we talk. You are the best mom ever. When we are in the middle of one of those phases I remember what you always say;"this to shall pass." And without question the statements "Today on NPR", "Today on Oprah", and "Today on Dr. Phil" are the highlight of my day. ;)
Well written, Mary.
I have two comments.
First, having done therapy for almost 20 years, I've found that things like post-partum and infertility are very private, isolating topics. Everyone fears what you mention, the imagined "all-together" folks who will judge, and so we stay quiet. Thanks for writing this. I plan on sharing it with some people who need to read it.
Second, having had those "fed up" 3AM moments with a non-colicky baby, I began asking clients who seemed to loathe their kids whether their child had been difficult as a baby (colic, premature, other medical issues) and found that MANY of them did. It blew me away. I'm so glad you talked to your husband and didn't keep it in. You kept it from controlling you such that you could connect to your son.
Great piece!
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