N. and I want more babies someday, if the good Lord decides that's the right thing for us. We may have biological babies, or we may adopt. We're not making plans just yet, but we talk about it.
There are things I'd do differently next time. Some little, some big.
Like, not only would I introduce the swaddleme sooner, I'd take the darn thing to the hospital.
I would try my best to breastfeed longer. I realize that I couldn't do much about it, since my supply packed up and left town, but I didn't try any herbs or anything, and I hear that helps. Formula is too darn expensive.
I'd let other people help me with the baby more. I had this weird thing where I felt like people would only like to hold the baby if he was happy. Performance anxiety? I'm letting that go next time. Babies are crying 70% of the time if they're not sleeping when they're that little. I'm over it.
But the biggest thing I'd do differently next time,
is admit that I'm not O.K.
I'm crying already, y'all. I knew this would be a hard post to write.
I wasn't OK. I'm not OK.
But I'm finally asking for help.
Like so many, many, many other wonderful moms I've read about, I was panicky, scared, sad, angry and depressed for the first nine weeks of my baby's life. But I was too deep in the trenches to realize it. I thought it came with the territory, maybe. That I needed to put on my big girl pants and deal with it.
After the first nine weeks, it mellowed, then came back with a vengeance as soon as I stopped breastfeeding, which brings me to now.
Since the beginning of December, I have an anxiety attack each night. It starts when the sun goes down. I get this feeling in my gut like you get when your boss says "Can I see you in my office?" or when your boyfriend says, "We need to talk." It's like dread churning in my gut. When I get in bed, my heart pounds. N. has to talk to me and rub my back so I can fall asleep. I don't know why his talking to me helps. I get anxious, so anxious, and fearful about the silliest things.
I've gone to my doctor, he ran a bunch of blood tests and told me it's an anxiety disorder. I'm getting a second opinion from a hormone specialist next week. I'm asking for help. It's scary and humbling and good.
This was a long one. Congrats it you made it to the bottom. This was hard to me to write, because I usually like to write things after I've figured them out. This article along with my sister-in-law inspired me to share this story.