Wednesday, August 12, 2015

How Are You Feeling?

Though I didn't have a name for it until a month ago, I've been dealing with prenatal depression for five months. I didn't know it was happening, though.

My firstborn daughter was eight months old. She wanted to nurse every hour for twenty minutes. She had been sleeping through the night but now started waking for feedings. We weren't sure if she was sick, but figured I would nurse her out of whatever was ailing her, as I had victoriously done since her birth.

As this behavior continued, we thought, "It must be a growth spurt! Look: her wrists are thinning, she must be getting taller!" Confident I was feeding my daughter with the same vigor and supply as ever, I pressed on. The night nursings increased. I was grouchy and tired, but knew my efforts would pay off. Her wet diapers decreased. We started to worry. At her nine month well-check, the scale revealed she had lost weight. We admitted to her pediatrician I was ten weeks pregnant.

We were having difficulty starting solids, so the pediatrician was gentle but firm that Diana would need formula. We went to a convention that weekend but I barely attended any sessions due to exhaustion. This was a huge, unwanted change and I cried frequently. We kept trying solids but Diana was insisting on the breast. I continued to acquiesce her requests on demand, certain that the old wisdom, "demand creates supply" was still true.

My breasts were deflated. I had been milking myself for about 5 mL every night to mix with Diana's crushed pill, but for days I could barely muster this amount. We returned to the doctor's office for a weigh-feed-weigh and discovered that even after twenty minutes, Diana had only transferred one ounce! I was devastated. I cried some more. My husband put his hand on my shoulder and softly suggested that attempting to draw from a dry well might not be good for the new life growing inside me.

But I didn't care about that new life! I hadn't made any commitments to her! I was DIANA'S mom, I quit my job to stay home with her and take care of her! Why couldn't I have just THREE MORE MONTHS to reach my nursing goal? Why did we get pregnant? What were we thinking, having children 16 months apart?

I had worked so hard to bring my supply in. I had the support of my husband, family, in-laws, friends, and Diana's medical team. I spoke with two different IBCLCs who both apologetically told me there was nothing I could do to increase supply while pregnant. I wept. I hated Baby #2. I wished she would die inside me, but I was fairly certain my milk would still be gone -- and then there would be another loss to mourn, as well as Diana still without her milk but then with nothing to show for it!

I was not joyfully expecting this second baby. I was indifferent to her. Fear of her impending birth mounted as I was sure everyone would know what an uncaring mother I am as soon as she arrives. Most days I saw her as a parasite and me the impatient host. I still struggle every day to be optimistic and convince myself that I will feel different once I see her. When #2 is born, will I nurse her begrudgingly because it's the right thing to do, trying to dwell on how special our bond is, while stuffing my grief over the end of my nursing relationship with #1?

To add insult to injury, Diana truly seems happy with formula. I am now free to leave her in someone else's care for the day as my body is no longer sustaining hers. But I hate buying formula, cleaning bottles, making sure all her supplies are on-hand or taken with us when we leave the house, trying to find non-distracting places to feed her so that she'll finish a bottle, and finding hot water on the road. I hate that formula requires preparation and is not available on tap. I hate that we don't automatically know who is going to feed the "baby," that there is more to pack and consider and plan. But what I hate the MOST -- what absolutely makes me grind my teeth with rage -- is that we did this.

Like every other life preceding hers, it is not #2's fault that she was conceived. And it's not her fault that my milk dried up. Some women are able to nurse through pregnancy, and maybe one day I will be one of them, but not this time. I held out hope for months that I would miscarry. When she ushered in the third trimester with kicks and rolls, I realized I should let go of the expectation that losing this life could fix anything.

Prenatal/antepartum depression may look different for every single expecting mother. I was able to see myself in the description on this Wikipedia page. I have difficulty concentrating, making decisions, forgiving myself and others, and relaxing. I am paranoid, angry, withdrawn, and tired. I fear that I won't love this child, and that she will be able to sense it. I'm anxious about having two children in diapers. I'm terrified I won't be able to take care of them both by myself. I'm worried that I will hate her if she is even remotely more difficult than Diana. I'm scared she will learn to resent her sister. I'm nervous my husband will leave me if I can't pull it together.

These are just a few of the things I am thinking when you ask, "how are you feeling?" If you ask me that overwhelming question, I will probably tell you I'm tired and sore but otherwise healthy. I might tell you how far along I am and describe vital stats from a recent doctor appointment. I might try to distract you by letting you feel her kick. You will NOT catch me saying how much I am looking forward to meeting this baby. I am not eager for her birth or to set my eyes on the tiny human about to change our lives forever. I wrestle with controlling my thoughts and feelings toward her every day. Some days I can get out of the fog just long enough to catch a glimpse of the sunshine I am sure is there -- though it feels far away and unobtainable.

I am feeling discouraged and inadequate. Please carry me through the moments I am too preserved in doubt to walk or crawl or move on my own.

3 comments:

Unknown said...
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Unknown said...

I just want you to know you are not alone. You. Are. Not. Alone. I went through these same emotions with my third. I used to call him an accident. He was not planned. It was two weeks before he was born before i could tell myself he was a surprise and a gift. Depression while pregnant is even harder to deal with than when not because you feel you are hurting them by being depressed. Thank you for voicing feelings that i was too afraid to voice myself. Stay strong, pray, cry, pray some more and know that you are not alone.

Naomi Jones said...

I also wanted to tell you that I struggled with being unsure that I would love Eliza as much as I loved Phoebe, especially since Phoebe was born in the land of my heart, Kosova. It is only this year, as I am truly walking in freedom in Christ, that I am seeing and appreciating her for who she is. That is not to say I haven't loved her and cared for her this whole time. But I am bonding with her now in a way I didn't previously, but this mostly occurred after soul cleansing on my part.

You are a special person and I know that you will come to love Peanut #2, especially as you help Diana learn to love and care for her.