My friends AB and Eliza (I believe) introduced me years ago to the phrase “dropped my basket.” I always liked how it made somewhat light of the serious act of going a bit crazy.
Irish people and southerners and their dark humor.
Dear friends, this week I dropped my basket all over the place.
I won’t go into the gory details, suffice it to say, though, that Tuesday evening, after having failed the postpartum depression screening so fantastically huge, and learning our little girl has colic in addition to reflux, I acted like a very foolish, though clearly not-in-my-right-mind, individual.
The signs, of course, have all been there. Even if you look at this blog, the signs of postpartum depression have all been here – and if you would be so kind, don’t reach out to tell me that you suspected something was wrong all along or even just once.
Here is the truth:
There hasn’t been a day I haven’t cried.
There hasn’t been a day where I felt genuinely happy.
There hasn’t been a day where I didn’t in passing wish I hadn’t had a baby.
There hasn’t been a day where I didn’t think some relatively dark, sad things.
I have been irritable and without hope. I have been angst- and anxiety-ridden. I have been sad.
Here is the good news:
Since crashing and burning on Tuesday, we have done the following:
I’ve gotten loads of sleep.
We’ve secured our parents (give it up for grandparents!) to each come over weekly to give me a break for a few hours so I can sleep some more.
Had a long talk with my father, who by virtue of his pep talk, helped me give myself permission to just put her down if she’s safe, fed, dry and just generally inconsolable, and instead take the time to shower, do my hair, eat, whatever it is I’ve been putting off because Abigail’s cries have been more than I can handle and I put off everything else in order to keep from hearing them. Mom needs to take care of mom to take care of everything else and I’ve been piss-poor at doing that.
My midwife is working on a list of local resources for me, so I can secure a therapist to visit weekly and get back on the road to…whatever it is I’m on the road to/for.
Since then, I felt hopeful. Yesterday, I didn’t cry once and for the first time, when I left the house without her, I found myself missing her and excited to see her when I got home.
I can’t begin to explain how life-altering it was to realize that the handful of times I’ve left the house by myself since she was born, I never once really wanted to go back. Last night, after dinner with my girlfriends, I was so happy to go back to her.
I never once thought about hurting her, or myself, though I sincerely believe that had I not broken down on Tuesday, and had Scott not helped me secure an immediate plan of attack, those thoughts would have eventually found a way to nestle themselves into my brain.
I believe the sleep has helped me tremendously. I believe knowing that a few times a week I’ll get a break has given me perspective. I believe knowing that I’ll soon receive professional help has made my current head space seem less like my new reality, and for me, just an unfortunate side effect of having a baby that we’ll treat and manage.
My friend Shelane last night mentioned that having a baby alters completely how you define yourself, and holding on to the last vestiges of that person before the baby, at least in the beginning, is Sisyphean at best. I knew having a baby would change things, and I welcomed that change. I wasn’t prepared for the all-encompassing demand that came from being a mom, taking care of a newborn, and just how quickly I’d need to adjust. From the small things – making sure there are enough clean burp cloths – to the big things – looking for signs that she’s in pain from the reflux – I honestly didn’t realize the demands of a newborn baby, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.
All that was me felt pushed out forever, and in its place was a screaming, fidgety, pooping, eating, sleep-sucking little girl who needs me more than anything. I simultaneously resented this but at the same time have taken that task so seriously that common sense went flying right out the door.
This is part of depression, I know, but there you have it.
My dad mentioned that babies were never a part of my life, and that’s so true. Knowing that babies just cry, and that colicy, reflux babies cry even more, is enough for some people not to spiral but not me. Since getting some sleep and some hope, I haven’t once felt fidgety or on-edge about her cries. They’re just cries, and our pediatrician has already given her the cleanest bill of health possible, so better I go ahead and just put her down, give her the chance to fuss and maybe sleep, and then, you know, sit here and write something at my blog.
She’s sleeping right now, by the way.
Everyone – and I mean everyone – has told me over and over again that it gets better. And each time I read that I cried. I believe, without a doubt, that hearing that, over and over again, helped me even more. I can’t thank you all enough for being a part of that life raft for me.
If you are where I am, and make no mistake, I know that some shuteye hasn’t cured me completely, don’t wait. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Everyone who is volunteering to help you? Let them help you. Get a plan of action in place. I am sad that it took an act of stupidity for me to get my ego out of the way long enough to ask our families to help on a permanent basis and amazingly, I don’t feel guilty or ashamed because of it. Everyone needs a break – don’t take as long as I did to ask for one.
Get help – Katie mentioned the Fussy Baby Network in the comments of my last post. In Chicago they have in-person visits but they offer a nationwide telephone service to help parents.
Get sleep – not only do you need to get out of the house and not have a baby on you, but you also need to sleep. When people come over to take care of the baby, use it to sleep. Ask someone to take the baby for a night so you can get a full night’s worth if you don’t have a partner who can help shoulder the load.
Long-time – and I mean long-time, like back in 2003 – readers may remember that I suffered from some pretty awful anxiety at one point in my twenties. After therapy, a change in my diet and an introduction of exercise into my life, I was able to manage that anxiety to the point where I forgot I have a bit of a predisposition to it. So, at this moment I’m not entirely surprised by this turn of events.
Plus? That labor and delivery did not set me off on a positive path. It didn’t. That wasn’t anyone’s fault, and I honestly believe that – as my doula mentioned later – I went from experiencing the normal pain of labor and crossed over to suffering. Much of that triggered something chemical, as all birth does, and I never really recovered from it. I thought about this long and hard this week, and all I remember is at the end, lying on the operating table, arms pinned, shaking uncontrollably, not really caring about seeing Abigail, and only wanting to sleep.
Instead, I ignored those feelings and headed to the recovery room to breastfeed. I still think that was a good call, but it set me on a path of thinking that the right choice was to just trudge on through and not voice what I needed.
Live and learn.
“Live,” being the operative word.
I have no good way to end this – we’re off to the pediatrician now, and then to the midwives. I promise to keep updating here, to not let this be the last I talk about this. And I really, really hope that if you need help, you get help, too.
Oy! What a road you’ve travelled so far. I just want to offer my sympathy. I had a very dramatic birth with my daughter and it probably took a year before I could talk about it without crying. An emergency c-section prompted by the loss of my baby’s heartrate was the scariest, most powerless moment I’ve lived and I’m not sure I’ll ever be over that trauma. Luckily, for me, the drama ended there and all the things that went right after that helped to mitigate that sadness.
You, on the other hand, have not had a smooth ride. It will get better though. Even when everything is going relatively smoothly, there is always that feeling that others are better at this than you are, that you aren’t a perfect mom but that your child deserves one and a host of other unhelpful and painful insecurities. But, after about 3 months, and definitely by 6 months, everything starts to change. I remember Angelina Jolie being villified for comparing her newborn to a loaf of bread. They aren’t loaves of bread but they aren’t exactly scintillating personalities either. You give and you give and you don’t get much in return. And that is HARD. Anyway, everyone says it because it’s true: it gets better.
I now have a 4 year old who makes me laugh and torments me in equal measure. But oh the laughter! Hang in there.
This post left me in tears. So thankful for you to have realized this so early on. For getting the help you need and deserve. And for me, for not asking for help sooner. For missing out on enjoying the time with my daughter, and instead, dreading it. (But boy, was the second baby a MUCH different – read, better – experience.)
Abigail sounds much like my daughter was. Reflux, colic, only want to sleep on me (if she slept at all). But what REALLY hit me was your description of yourself after her birth. After her delivery, I, too, only wanted to sleep. I had issues during her birth, and was exhausted after. I specifically remember telling my husband that I did not want to hold her. I still have guilt and sadness over this (8 year later). So good for you. Good for Abigail, and good for your family. You’ve made great progress, and will continue to. *hugs*
Erin I’m glad you’re getting the help you need. I’m not a mother yet, and haven’t really been around babies a ton either. I think there is no “right way” to do anything, but no one really, REALLY digs into HOW HARD this is. And because of that so many women try to pass everything off as “oh we’re just fine,” when really, everyone is not fine. But if you’ve never done this parenting thing before, how would you know.
I don’t tell the following story to scare the hell out of you; rather, to emphasize how grateful I am that you’re sharing your postpartum news with all your readers. I’m in my later 20′s, and there’s a baby explosion beginning amongst my friends. I’d never really considered PPD, nor known what to look for as signs, until a friend killed herself last fall. She was suffering from PPD that morphed into postpartum psychosis overnight. She left behind a 3 week old and 2 year old daughter. To say that I am hyper vigilant amongst my friends is an understatement.
The most important thing we can all do is be aware of PPD, the signs, and how to help someone. Thank you for sharing your story, in that doing so brings PPD into the light.
Best of luck to all of you in moving forward!
You are amazing. You’re going to be better than fine and Abigail is lucky to have such a mother. I’ve been where you are and I’m still recovering from my third. I’m so grateful for other women who are shaking off the stigma of PPD and admitting out loud how difficult this road is to travel. Keep writing, keep sleeping and keep asking for help. And PLEASE snuggle that baby’s cheeks!
I actually dropped my basket at 7.5 months into my pregnancy, so my therapist and I set up a plan of attack so that I wouldn’t suffer too badly from PPD = Meds + Weekly visits. I still got the blues, but as you know, that was because TJ had reflux (and probably a little colic), and I didn’t know it. So for the first three months, my therapist and I had weekly phone sessions so that I could stay at home, have someone come watch the baby, and then I could go into the bedroom and talk, then have a nap afterward.
The sleep is huge. HUGE. You will get to a point where you can feel every little bit of sleep helping you out more and more. God bless grandparents for being there to make sure you can get it. And every day Abigail will find her personality, and you get to witness that, and it really helps even when you have trouble recalling why you got yourself into this fine mess in the first place.
Remember the Irish saying “it’s always darkest before dawn.” Like that. LOVE YOU.
I’m sorry this is happening, but am glad that you are taking the steps to take care of yourself. You are amazing that you know yourself that well! Love you!
Glad you are able to get help you need and that you are feeling a little better. I somehow passed my screening with my son, and it was so dumb to just say things were going ok. Fortunately, at some point, my husband suggested that maybe I need to call them back, because I wasn’t coping well at all.
The very first thing my therapist told me I had to do was to get a good night’s sleep, and more than just one night. It really makes a difference. Also, to bring in help to make shorter blocks of time to be on my own caring for the kids. Of course, this meant that my poor husband had to take on the brunt of the work, both at work and at home. I could cry even now thinking about how much he had to take on, but it wasn’t forever.
So, all that to say good luck, it sounds like you are moving in a good direction! Things will get so much better.
I am so glad you have a plan and are getting help.
I was just at my 24 wk OB visit discussing some of the pregnancy symptoms I am having. We began talking about lack of sleep makes them worse and lack of sleep contributing to postpartum depression.
I am so glad you have taken these steps and so sorry you’ve had such a tough time of it so far. I know I’m kinda spacey and crazy and not-follow-through-ish sometimes, but if you ever need anything CALL ME and I will come over. I may have to haul the crew, but we will be there. <3
“Dropped my basket” wasn’t me, but I wish it had been, because it’s awesome. Thinking of you, beloved friend.
It’s been 11 years since my almost identical birth experience and I still remember lying on the operating table, shivering. Post partum with my first lasted 6-8 weeks and you are 100% right enlisting help to sleep! So critical. I will never forget how hard those first days, weeks and months are. Every stage is so challenging but so wonderful…the contrast of emotions messes iwth your head! And amazingly, it gets easier, and it gets better. Now when I have a night out with my friends…my son texts me! Crazy. Good Luck and Enjoy!!!
Your situation with AG sounds VERY similar to mine with my sweet AJ and I’m here to tell you that not only does it get better, but you will be better for it. You will be the kind of person who knows when she needs help and can get it. That getting some sleep every week, knowing it’s coming, makes a HUGE difference. It sounds like you are on your way, just keep on keeping on, keep asking for help and be patient with yourself, Erin. Be as patient with yourself as you are with your sweet baby, because you are both new to this particular world! I know you can do it, I know it will get better. Hang in there. xo
In addition to what you’ve done/are doing to feel better (and sleep is No. 1!), the estrogen patch (like Vivelle Dot, or any bioidentical estradiol patch) has been shown in a number of clinical trials to lift postpartum depression faster and more effectively than antidepressants. The usual prescription is for 6 weeks or so. Your estrogen crashes from 100 times its prepregnancy level during pregnancy to way below its normal level after you give birth, & that’s a huge contributor to mood disorder. When your estrogen is low, it’s like the sun coming out to put a patch on.
Good luck!
I just copied this from a post I wrote a few weeks after Dylan was born:
“I went and took a bath and startled myself by sobbing sort of hysterically for a few minutes and finding myself thinking, I’m angry. I’m angry that there is so much drudgery to life right now, I’m angry that I can’t seem to consistently enjoy motherhood at the moment, I’m angry that my attention is constantly pulled away from Riley, I’m angry that JB gets to escape to work every day and I don’t, I’m angry that I spend so much time cleaning and picking up and cooking only to have to do it all over again the next day, I’m angry that I have to get up two or three times a night and it feels like that’s never going to end even though I know for a fact that it will, I’m angry that I have these selfish moments of despondence over the things I don’t have time to do, I’m angry with my body for being such a mess, I’m angry that I sometimes feel like such a shitty mom and a complete and utter failure at this whole parenthood thing, and I’m angry for feeling sorry for myself when my kids are healthy and our life is so good.”
Just to say, this stage is SO goddamned hard. Hang in there, my friend.
Its very hard. I too had post pardum depression. Having children changed my brain chemicals forever. If you ever want to talk please now that I am here and you are not alone. ((((hugs))))
Giving yourself permission to just put the baby down and go on about things is huge. And very hard to do in practice. Just try to keep in mind that you need to choose your own happiness in order to be a good parent.
And – much as I didn’t believe this myself just a few months ago – remember, it gets better, it gets better, it gets better!
More hugs sent your way, Mama. Glad to hear you’re taking care of you. Its a good reminder to all of us with newborns not to forget to do that.
I am so glad you’re getting help. No one can possibly prepare you for how overwhelming it all is, and that you’ve recognized something is wrong and are doing something about it is terrific. You are a strong person and a good mother, and if you don’t know that now, one day I know you’ll realize it.
It’s so fing hard- even when things go text book perfect. I can’t imagine- colic on top of that. Wow. Degree of difficulty- unimaginable. You are a trooper!
A few years ago, my Mom told me a story that I’ve shared over and over since then with new moms. She told me that when I was an infant, sometimes I just couldn’t be consoled. I wasn’t colicky, but…you know…screaming infant. And she remembers that one afternoon, she just couldn’t take the screaming anymore. I didn’t need a diaper change, I wasn’t hungry, I wouldn’t sleep…in short: I was perfectly fine, but incredibly unhappy.
She said she put me down in my crib, went into the backyard, and shut the door behind her. She just sat on the back porch, where she couldn’t hear the screaming quite so loudly, and let me go.
All of this to say–yes. Sometimes, if everything’s OK, but you can’t stand the screaming, go someplace where it’s not quite so earsplitting and try to maintain your sanity. I’m not a mom, but I think this is amazing advice, so I share it widely. And someday, when I am a mom, I plan to use it myself.
Good on you for hanging in there. Know that we’re all in your court!
Yes, this this this. I’m glad you’re getting help Erin, and to echo others, yes it does get better, but that certainly doesn’t make things easier now. Just a hug and acknowledgement from the peanut gallery here that yeah, it does totally suck sometimes. My boy doesn’t have colic but is certainly fussy, hours of whining/screaming are not completely unheard of on bad days, and it’s very very hard.
My version of postpartum was a fast birth which was easy for me (induced, pitocin, epidural early so no serious pain, but a very quick delivery due to dropping heart rate, they cut me and yanked him out quick as a whip), but once I was moved to recovery things got a little rocky. The change from having 5 people hover over my every twitch in delivery to being basically left alone in recovery, couldn’t walk from my epi still, my husband was asked to leave since it was 10pm, couldn’t figure out how to get the kid to latch, the hospital was overcrowded and my nurse was swamped, both my and my roommate’s baby were howling (I heard her crying in the bed next to me – the mom, not the kid), hadn’t slept in 36 hours. I finally broke down when my nurse asked me how my bleeding was at 4am. I was attempting to change my first diaper leaning on the baby’s bassinet, legs trembling. I burst into tears and informed her that since I’ve never given birth before, I have no fucking idea how my bleeding is. I mean, I appear to be on my feet so I must not be dying, right? God bless her, she whisked baby away to the nursery, gave me a percoset, helped me use the bathroom to check my bleeding and put me to bed. And you know, other than give birth at a convenient hour when my husband could have been there and a lactation consultant could have been there and etc etc etc I don’t know what could have improved my situation. But I also have anxiety issues (GAD that I’ve handled with diet and exercise since the year I was diagnosed) and those few hours in that room were a special kind of hell, it hurt my bonding with kiddo, and anything related to my stitches healing and that pain had a faintly traumatic bend to it for me for a few weeks.
But anyway. Stitches are healed, I can sit on hard surfaces again. Kiddo goes whole hours without crying sometimes, he belly laughs, he smiles, he holds onto my shoulders when I hold him. The good times are precious, and they will accumulate to make up for this.
It’s just so difficult in the beginning. So intense. I do not believe that I suffered from any post partum depression, but I still felt overwhelmed by the burden of taking care of my baby and feeling like my entire self and my wants and my needs were subjugated to his whims. Because I was breastfeeding I felt like he could be hungry at any minute and only I could take care of him. How could I sleep more than two hours a night when he woke up needed to be nursed? Then it suddenly got better. I got more than a few hours of sleep at a time for a few nights in a row. I always loved him, but the sheer and total delight didn’t start until 6 months. While it seems so all encompassing and like it has always been this way and will always be this way, it won’t. You’ll look back and your perspective will shift and the time you spent anxious and suffering will seem somewhat hazier and much more temporary than it seems now. I think these things are true dropped basket or not, but perhaps moreso when you have a difficult baby. Keep on hanging on and now that it’s only going to get better.
So sorry you are going through this, but happy you’re getting help and think it’s amazing that you’re writing about it so honestly. I don’t think I had PPD (although I cried A LOT), but I was shocked at how hard it was. While people do talk about it being difficult, I just felt so unprepared (emotionally and mentally) and felt that the stories weren’t out there — so again brava for writing. Also, I felt so much stupid competition from (some) other new moms: “Oh, my baby never cries. She just such an EASY BABY.” Ugh. Kill me.
Don’t discount the sleep factor. Sleep deprivation is an actual torture technique — you are being tortured. I don’t mean in any way to be flip — the impact is just so much more enormous than you think in every way: physically, emotionally, mentally. I used to think, Oh, I’ve gone without sleep before, this will be fine. But it’s a whole different level, and you can’t easily catch up. Lean on your friends and family and sleep as much as you can. It will change your perspective immensely.
hang in there toots! Reading your blog has me reminicing.. so much the same- and the same outcome. In chicago viisting when my Grace was 3 months old and everyone was oohing and ahhing and don’t you just love it – and my seriously real answer was no, I don’t love it yet. but I love her and we will get there. I really think some heads rolled- and thankfully that was after the zoloft- lord knows what would have come out of my mouth before it!!
it gets better- but you will always have a point every few months (or weeks in my case) where you realize you are putting yourself down at the bottom of the totem pole again- and then you have to claw back up – and then you curse yourself for not putting yourself first- because it really does make a difference in your family and their happiness when the mama is happy.
xo