Beckett was born on the 26th of August. Like everyone had told me, it was the best day of my life. It's indescribable. The love that you feel when you hold that little pooping machine, is deep. As stated in my previous post, I had an unexpected cesarean section. At that point, I just wanted him out. I was tired. I was hungry. He was stressing out. I had lost a baby prior to Beckett, so really, I just wanted to take our child home healthy.
August 28th was a Wednesday. This is the day err'thing started. I was in pain, counting down the minutes until my next pain pill. I had nurses coming in every 20 minutes for check on me, then Beckett, then empty my trash. I was tired. At around 2 PM, after my mom had left for the afternoon, it hit me. I started sobbing uncontrollably. Why was I crying? I had this beautiful, fat baby that was snuggled on my chest. A baby that had made my dreams come true; a baby that made us parents--OUR DREAM! I couldn't stop. I cried so hard my incision felt like it was tearing. "I love him so much" I would tell my Mark. I did! I loved him SO much. I chalked it up to being overwhelmed. Perhaps the constant in and out of nurses and assistants just doing their jobs. Or maybe it was the lactation consultant making rude remarks because he was losing weight, not latching, and I had no milk. I figured I was just being sensitive, I was overwhelmed, and that this would pass.
We were discharged from the hospital on August 29th around noon, with instructions to come back the next day for a bilirubin check for Beck. He looked like a pumpkin. He was so orange. He was tired, he had no interest in eating. He was born at 8 lb 11 oz. He was discharged at 7 lb 13 oz. I cried. I left the hospital crying. I was already starting to feel like I was failing my son by not being able to feed him. I spent the rest of the day and night offering him what I had (no milk yet) and he was frustrated. I cried. I sobbed.
The next day, we went back to the hospital for his heel stick and weight check. "7 lb 11 oz" the nurse said. "He's lost weight." I had a breakdown.
"I don't know what to do--I have no milk. He wont stay latched because he's not getting anything. Please, please help me."
I met E, one of the sweetest, most helpful ladies that I have met. She was a lactation consultant and she delayed her lunch break to help me. She weighed him before and after a feeding. He had transferred nothing. She taught me techniques and gave me advice that I would have never been educated on without her. At the end of our session, she gave me a huge hug, her phone number, and some formula. Beckett HAD to eat something.
Anyways, as the weeks went on, feeding him was a total fail. I had to pump, then I started producing less and less. I tried supplements, more water, everything. Nada. I dreaded every feeding. I cried all day long. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
At my two week appointment to check my incision, my OB's amazing nurse asked me something that not many people had asked me since Beckett had been born. "How are you doing?" she asked. I broke down. "I think something is wrong with me. I am so sad. All I do is cry." She gave me a tissue and a hug. My OBGYN came in, and asked me the same thing. I started crying again. She asked me if I had a history of depression or anxiety. I told her that the only time I was depressed was after I lost our first baby, and I was anxious my entire pregnancy with Beckett because I thought something was going to go wrong again. Other than that, I had never experienced any mental illness. We talked about my options and I did not want to go the anti depressant/SSRI route. I chose the estrogen patch to help replenish the hormones that my body was missing from not being pregnant. I wore it for a month. Little did I know, that estrogen can depleat your milk supply even more. It was counter active. I talked to my husband and told him (while in tears) that I still felt like a failure. I couldn't deliver my baby the "natural way", I couldn't feed my baby "the way nature intended to", and I wasn't enjoying this stage as much as I should.
At night, when Beckett would wake up in the middle of the night, I loved the snuggles, but would sob and sob. I wasn't tired; he was a pretty good sleeper. I just could not control my emotions. I hated myself. I wondered if Beckett deserved a different mama. Someone who would hold him and not cry while doing it. Someone who could breastfeed him whenever he wanted.
At my 6 week appointment, I broke down again. "It's not helping." She gave me another hug. I told her I was ready to try something else. My OBGYN gave me a prescription for an anti depressant. I felt weak. Like I couldn't handle my emotions. I got it filled and stayed on it for 4 months. I started feeling SO much better.
Please, please new mama, please do not be afraid to ask for help. Do not let anyone tell you that you do not love your baby or that you are a bad mama because you are so sad, feeling defeated, helpless, etc. You do not choose to get PPD. You do not choose those emotions. You are a prisoner in your own mind. Talk to your OB. Talk to your Primary doctor, another mama, your own mama, anyone. You can battle it and you can win! Happy mama--->Happy baby.
Love you and be kind to yourself.
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