Want to know a secret?
I thought Motherhood would fulfill me.
It was my calling - what I was meant to do. I'd sit at my computer and look up names. I'd browse clothes and read all about the joys of parenting. A baby would make me feel complete - whole. Best part about it, I could leave my job and stay at home with them. I was going to be Holly Fucking Homemaker. Dinner on the table (everything from scratch), a happy cherub faced baby, and the house sparkling. Life would be good.
Then reality hit.
First it started with our fertility issues. Over a year of not trying/not preventing had yielded no results. Seven months of actual trying were just as fruitless. My midwife didn't like this - she ordered a round of tests and when they showed nothing conclusive, swept us off to their partner Fertility Center. This was fine though. I was ok. Sure the emotional beating of getting my period every month was like no other. But I could handle this. After all, being a mom was my destiny.
Four IUI's later, we were finally blessed with our son. Pregnancy was wonderful. Aside from an early SCH (Subchorionic Hematoma), I couldn't complain. Hell, even my birth was ideal. Water broke, labor was induced and not twelve hours later came my healthy baby boy, Luke. He was beautiful. Our families fell in love with him.
I, on the other hand, felt a growing a sense of dread.I didn't feel all googly-eyed and gushing. I was tired. My body was destroyed even with such an easy birth (I literally thought my uterus was falling out). I hated breast feeding with a passion. So much so that as soon as we got home I switched to exclusively pumping. Everyone says it's an adjustment with a baby and of course there was. The ever-so-lovely 'baby blues' hit. There were a couple nights that both my husband and I cried together asking what we'd done to ourselves. I remember locking myself in my bathroom and just bawling. All I wanted to do was crawl into my bed and cuddle with my cat. This sounds awful right? I sound like a horrible person. Believe me, I know it. I still guilt myself for feeling this(that) way. I was so extremely lucky and yet here I am...Blogging about it a year later. No fulfillment, no overwhelming joy. This wasn't what I had imagined.
At my six week midwife checkup, I got diagnosed with Postpartum Depression. I knew I had it before then. I've always dealt with anxiety and mild depression, but after Luke came it was out of control. More than once I thought about jumping in my car and driving off. A few times I even considered a more permanent out. To say that was scary is an understatement, This wasn't me and yet... It was now. Everything, including my personality had changed. Medication helped, but the hole that I had hoped my son would fill remained and it was only growing larger with each day.
Fast forward to now. My son is amazing. Smart, adorable, all those things parents say but for real. We are so lucky. And yet, with all that, I'm still struggling. Every day is a battle. I've been on a whole gamut of medication. Lexapro, Prozac, Paxil, Klonopin, Xanax, even Lithium. Currently, I've cut them all out to try and start fresh. To see if I can find my old self without medication. At this point, I'm not even sure what my old self feels like. In the past year Ive been diagnosed with PPD, Moderate depression, GAD, and now 'soft' bipolar. I am so fucking lost and confused as to what the right path is to take. I see a therapist. I see a psychiatrist. So when does it get better?
The worst part about it is that I fear my son will be affected. Some days are fine, others are bad. My anger is never directed at him, but just at my situation. I feel like I should be doing something, but don't know what. This is how mommy blogs are born. Why MLM companies are joined.
I guess that what this is. An attempt at something. Chances are it will fail, but it can't hurt to try.
