Why I'm Not Ready for Another Baby. Part I {a brutally honest post}

{this is a long, honest post about my struggle with my depression after Claire's arrival. If you don't care to read about my struggle, or are feeling snarky, I suggest you stop reading now. kthx}

Last  Wednesday night, I found myself taking a trip back in time & looking through albums on Facebook from when Claire was brand spankin' new.


Most normal mothers would hear their ovaries chanting "PRO-CRE-ATE M-O-R-E". And think to themselves, "awww, how I miss those days. I miss that teeeeeny tiny baby."


But not me. In fact, I am the complete opposite. I think, "wow, I so don't miss those days." I get a lump in my throat looking at the pictures from those first few weeks that we were home from the hospital. {Don't get me wrong, I don't not miss my baby being little. I just, don't miss those times.}


Those hours sucked. Those days sucked. Those weeks sucked.


I wouldn't go back to the way things were if someone paid me. They were so full of darkness, sadness, and zero interest in the amazing human being, that is my daughter.


I was a robot on auto-pilot for the first month & a half of Claire's life & I am scared to death to have another child because of it. 


If you remember, back when I was about 35 weeks pregnant, I wrote a post about how scared I was that I was going to have PPD {post partum depression} when Claire got here. I have dealt with {& still do} depression since the age of 11 & was on Lexapro {and still am} all through my pregnancy. Sure, being on that little pill while pregnant didn't automatically exempt me from getting PPD, but it sure brought my chances down. So, I felt good about bringing our daughter into the world. I felt positive & excited.


That all changed when I was told, after 16 hours of labor, that I would need a c-section. I was upset, ya, but it was what was best for the health of Claire & I. When they began to slice me open & I could feel everything, the anesthesiologist put me out.


I was unconscious for the birth of my baby. I didn't hear her first cries. I didn't see my husband's reaction when he saw her. I didn't meet my daughter until she was about 15 minutes old. And even when I was awake, I was in a deep fog from all the medication & really didn't know what had just happened.


In fact, I was in a fog for a good month after that too.


I truly think that the fact that I was put out for the birth of my daughter played a big part in my feelings towards her in the beginning. I felt, nothing. I was numb. I was waiting for a big burst of LOVE & EXCITEMENT for her & the fact that she was finally here. I was waiting to cry because I loved her so much & not for other reasons. But that didn't come until about 2 months into Claire being here & that guilt lives with me every. single. damn. day.


The day we were getting discharged from the hospital, I went down to my OB's office & got a progesterone shot, per my OB's recommendation {read: Feel Happy Not Depressed Shot}. "Ya! I'm just going to get this shot & I will be happy and ready to conquer motherhood!!" Not quite. I wish it were that easy. I wish I were able to automatically switch gears to motherhood & be happy & lovey dovey with my kid, but it was so not like that.


Without giving you a day-by-day, play-by-play & bore you to death, let's just say that I dreaded feeding time {I was breast-feeding at the time. This was before we found out she wasn't getting much of anything}. I didn't feel that bond that a new mom should feel with her sweet baby. It was a chore to have to feed her. Not a joy. I wanted nothing to do with her. I wanted to return her to the hospital. Wow. I can't believe I'm saying this on the inter-webs.


My breaking point came on a Saturday evening in September. I don't remember the exact date. Claire was screaming. As always at this time of day. & Dallas sent me upstairs to screamintomypillow relax. "I've got this" he said. "I'll call you when she stops crying" In the meantime, I blared the t.v. to drown out the sounds that were coming from downstairs & I cried. I cried that ugly, nasty, can't catch your breath cry. My palms got sweaty, my heart was racing faster than ever before & I had a complete breakdown.


"I HATE MY LIFE. I DON'T DESERVE TO BE A MOTHER. I DON'T DESERVE TO HAVE A HUSBAND THAT LOVES ME THIS MUCH. I WANT TO DIE." I yelled to myself.


And that's when I contemplated hurting myself. That was the breaking point. I needed help. I knew that there was the normal"post partum blues", but this couldn't be normal. I couldn't let this continue. I couldn't keep thinking these thoughts & living this way. My daughter needed me. My husband needed me...


To be continued.