One year ago today, my daughter came earthside after what seemed like the longest, most traumatic, joyless pregnancy. Admitting those awful things hurts, but I hated being pregnant. Just like every other pregnancy I’ve been through, hers came with a constant battle within myself. Control. I had none. This is my truth. It’s ugly, but it’s real. As a pulled my baby into my arms for the very first time, I immediately felt the most intense emotional relief of my life. As I sat back in my own bed, just moments after delivering my sweet girl, I looked at her face for the first time and…stopped. Something was wrong. Her eyes were not symmetrical. The room was filled with so much joy, I didn’t want to ruin that feeling so I kept quiet. I remember mentioning briefly to my midwife about her eye. Her face. Does this look okay to you? As the days passed, something was wrong. She was upset all the time. I took her to the chiropractor several times a week, that should help right? It didn’t. Soon her crooked eye revealed it’s true identity; dacryocystocele. At three weeks old, her tear duct ruptured. Her pediatrician prescribed an eye ointment, she was born at home and didn’t get any erythromycin in her eyes; sometimes it happens, she said. It's just a mild infection. Thrush followed, accompanied by severe acid reflux. Her eye wasn’t getting better, and I spent my day taking care of a screaming baby and her infected eye. So why did I not take her in to see a doctor? Because I couldn’t. I was *SO* overwhelmed with my day to day life, the thought literally never crossed my mind. I was that far gone into depression. Anxiety ran the show. Logic wasn’t there. At seven weeks old, her older sister had a checkup with her eye doctor. I took Ellavie along, praying she would sleep during the car ride there because the screaming in the car from my newborn was intolerable after enduring it for weeks. He took one look at her eye and told me he needed to fix it immediately and since we had the last appointment of the day, he would stay and do just that because this was a medical emergency and it could kill her. My postpartum anxiety stood in the way. I could have lost her because I couldn’t function. Fortunately, the probing in office was a success and both cysts blocking her tear duct were flushed out. The thrush, however, was not. It took another three months to resolve. The reflux is still ongoing. And here’s the hard part... I hated her. I hated my own baby. I did not feel a connection to her for many months. I didn't feel like she was my baby. I forced a smile whenever I had to but on the inside, I was DESPERATE for relief. I didn’t want to drive the car because it took every ounce of energy and strength in me to keep it on the road. I wish I could describe the feeling better but the urge to take my own life was almost like an instinct I had to fight CONSTANTLY every single day. The thoughts became so frequent, they were just normal. People would comment on how great I looked and how amazing I was for keeping it all together with all these kids. I wish I could have spoken up. I wish they could have heard me screaming internally. Occasionally I would get a comment, they would say how tired I looked. Tired. I was tired. I had a baby, three other kids, who wouldn’t be tired? But “tired” really just didn’t cut it. I don’t know if there was ever a distinct moment that I started feeling that connection to her. It seemed to just slowly grow and develop with time. My midwife could see I was in a crisis of sorts early on and took the initiative to call and help me schedule an appointment to see a doctor for the postpartum depression and anxiety. I was prescribed an antidepressant, but the anxiety prevented me from taking it for several weeks. I finally did start taking it, and it was a love-hate relationship from the start. I had horrible side effects from it. It helped with the anxiety, but it made me numb. As I look back on her first year, I am filled with grief, remorse, and regret. I remember so little and the majority of what I remember is traumatic. I feel like I’ve ruined her, set her life up so very wrong. I cannot even begin to explain how angry this makes me. At myself. Today should be a celebration, and it is! My beautiful girl is a whole year old. But oh how I wish I could have a do over. I wish so badly that I could go back 365 days and start her life over. It’s just another piece of the grief that comes with the realization that I will never have another baby.
I spent so much time preparing for her birth. I needed it to be perfect, healing, and it was! But I never imagined her first year would be like this. Postpartum mental illness took my joy. It stole the love and bonding that is my right as a mother. It has caused the deep aching void in me to grow. But it’s also taught me a whole new level of compassion. It has also brought out the true colors of those in my life. It has shown me just how wonderful people can be, and how horrible and closed-minded others are. I love my sweet girl so very much. She is so sassy and determined, smart and agile. I waited so long for her to come and now as she transitions out of baby-hood and into being a toddler, we will both navigate these new territories together. I just hope one day I can be as strong as her.
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