Babies Don't Keep

I remember the day that my son was born almost 2 years ago. I had been in labor for well over 24 hours at home, and the contractions were getting worse and worse, but not progressing like they should have. At one point, as I was watching The Voice, and my husband was trying to force me to eat an orange Popsicle, because I hadn't eaten all day, my whole body shook uncontrollably for hours, as contraction after contraction was about 5ish minutes apart, but lasted 5 minutes each. Contractions were so unbearable, that my un- eaten Popsicle just melted down my hand, as my in- laws' chihuahua licked it up and the occasional bit of juices landed on her head. Before too long, we were heading to the hospital. The nurse bringing me in told me I was probably just dehydrated, because 5 minute long contractions weren't normal. "Well no duh," I told myself. When the doctor came in to check me, I was  6 centimeters dilated; we were ready to rock and roll. From there, things progressed, regressed, and progressed some more. By 7:12 in the morning, on July 2nd, our beautiful baby boy was born, after 30 some hours of labor. Immediately after he was born, he began to breastfeed like a champ. Unfortunately, that was where the ease of it all ended. Within 1/2 an hour or less, the room was flooded with family and tears of joy and happiness. Little did we all know, that that night would begin the frightening journey of  Postpartum Depression. No one really talks about it, because really, who wants to be around someone with Postpartum Depression? Who even wants to HAVE Postpartum depression? I can honestly say, it was THE WORST time of my life. THE LOWEST time of my life; even lower than when I was self- harming and starving myself. I remember that night, because I remember trying SO HARD to get my son to breast feed, and he was trying so hard, but couldn't seem to get it. He was awake EVERY hour on the hour, screaming his little head off, and not wanting to be put back in his bassinet after eating. I was SO exhausted, and worn down. Why wouldn't he stop screaming? Why wouldn't he latch correctly? Why did he have to be held 24/7? Why wasn't I enough? The last question, is what did me in. He cried and screamed whenever I held him, but when his dad, or especially his grandma held him, he would stop. I don't know what was wrong with me, but that is when I think I finally snapped. The first time he screamed non- stop, and the moment he went to his grandma, and he immediately ceased his wailing, I broke down. Not because of her, but because what was wrong with me? Why did he want everyone but me? Why did God make me his mother, when obviously he wanted his grandma, his dad, everyone but me. For the first few weeks, all I did was cry. Non stop. I don't know how many times I told myself that I didn't deserve to be his mommy. Looking back on those first few months, I hurt inside. I hurt inside, for everyone who had to be around me. No one said it to my face, but I heard comments about people not wanting to be around me. I could see the looks on peoples' faces when they had to be near me. For many months I just staid holed up, because I couldn't face what I had become. I couldn't face the criticism, and the shame, and the hurt I was un- intentionally causing. I hurt inside, that I couldn't just be a normal mommy, who was so over-joyed to have her baby in her arms. I hurt inside, mostly, for my son, because those first few months can never be given back to him. Instead of a happy, tired, successfully breast- feeding mommy, he got the depressed, crying all the time, overly exhausted, breast feeding and pumping zombie mommy. I try not to dwell too much on those first few months, though, as they can't be done over. In all reality, I have learned from my terrible experience as a new mom. I have learned, first off, to get help if you need it, which I didn't do. Also, I have learned to just try to take it all in; it's okay to cry when you need to, it's okay to ask for someone to take baby for an hour or so, just so you can take a shower, it's okay to feel like you are doing it all wrong. Because really, no mother is perfect, and even though we feel like failures, if our baby is warm and full and loved and safe, then THAT is a successful mommy. But even then, our jobs are never really done, until they grow up and blossom out of their cocoons, into beautiful butterflies, and spread their wings towards their own journey in life.
             As I watch my almost two- year- old snuggling in bed, or coloring, or talking on his fake phone, or listening to his little laugh, I smile, and think of how big he has gotten. I smile at the fact that, yes, we did it. We got through those crazy months, and now he is a "big boy," with almost 10 teeth, and a giant heart full of love, and a huge personality of his own. Gone are the nights of him screaming every hour for me in the middle of the night. Gone is the constant need to be held. With those, are replaced with a dirty little face, a giant laugh when I tickle him or play hide and seek, a cute little smile, when I tell him to give mama kisses and he obligingly kisses me. The old challenges are now replaced with new challenges. I try to remind myself to take everything in stride, and love on my little boy as much as possible, because no matter how much I don't want him to, he will grow up and leave me. I mean, I never imagined he would be almost 2 already, and here he is. Before I know it, he will be 18 and leaving for college. For now, I will hug him a little longer, hold him a little tighter, rock him a little more, read him more books, smother him in kisses even when he screams, and love him as much as I can, because I hate to admit it, but Babies Don't Keep.