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Strong Start Day: I Just Wanted to Be A Good Mom

Oct 052011

Apparently more babies are born on October 5th than any other day of the year. Mine weren’t, though I can tell you that cold weather is good “baby-makin’ weather” as mine were born from November 17 to December 13. Just sayin’.

That aside, I’m here to talk about Strong Start Day. Postpartum Progress is hosting the day to talk about the grim numbers facing mothers (and thus fathers and children) when it comes to postpartum depression.

Currently, only 15% of women with postpartum depression ever get the help they need. That’s not enough. We want more women to be aware of the variety of risk factors and symptoms of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders, to know where to go for help and to be able to find the support they need. When they have this information and support, they’ll be able to recover fully and their families will get off to a much-deserved stronger start.

Anyone remember this girl?

Or maybe this one?

I don’t. Because the first three months of either boys’ lives? Are a blur — and not just the sleep-deprived kind. I may be smiling in the first picture, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. Note that I didn’t even bother trying in the photo with LittleBrother; I had no will left to smile. I won’t even get into the lack of gleam in my eye after Munchkin was born. Know this: there was no gleam. There was nothing.

After each boy was born, it was a dark time. It was a difficult time. My only wish was to be a good mom, and I felt that I had already failed and could never be a good mom to my sons.

Her symptoms can range from the inability to eat or sleep, to disturbing thoughts about harming her child, to numbness or feelings of unbridled rage, among others. She is unable to function on a daily basis. She is convinced without question that she has failed as a mother.

I made it out — without driving into trees — with the help of therapy, medication, yoga, the support of my husband, blogs (like Postpartum Progress), my faith and a desire to do the best by my children. And food. Ahem. That’s why the work that Postpartum Progress is doing is so important to me. I know how important that work is, where I might be without it.

I donated today. And now I’m blogging to remind you that if you’re going through postpartum depression, you’re not alone. I promise you. You are a good mom. You will be a good mom. There is nothing inherently wrong with you.

I encourage you to share your story — whether you’ve already come out the other side or you’re still muddling your way through the muck of postpartum depression. Show others that they’re not alone. Help give their families a Strong Start. And pass on the post at Postpartum Progress so that others can get involved.

By the way?

I’m okay now. We’re okay. You’ll be okay.

I’m Having Trouble Feeling Like Me

Health 8 Responses »

Aug 242011

I hate my back.

And I also hate the word hate, but my back has pushed me across the line of severe dislike into the deep, icky area of hate. I hate my back. And not just because it is causing me pain whether I am sitting, standing or sleeping.

I hate my back because it has made me doubt myself in many different ways.

1. As a mother.

Since my back injury, I have not been able to lift the boys at all. Now, with BigBrother, this is not an issue as I couldn’t really lift him anyway. He’s too tall, too long, too heavy. LittleBrother, however, is still rather small and needs help with various things. When we traveled with FireDad this summer, I had to have LittleBrother crawl in and out of our SUV by himself as I couldn’t help him. And once, when he was throwing a fit in a restaurant, I forgot about my back due to the ~~crazy anger and embarrassment~~ adrenaline surge, lifted him out of his seat to go outside and talk and paid for that move for quite some time afterward.

Mornings with LB at the park are lovely.

Beyond logistical issues, I can’t run around in the yard with the boys. I can’t walk them to the local city park as we were known to do regularly. I can’t lift them to the monkey bars. I can’t even push the darn swings. It hurts me to sit on the floor and play a game of Chutes & Ladders or Cariboo. I can sit and blow bubbles — but not for too long as it hurts to stay in the same position for more than five minutes. I can’t bend over the tub to wash them. When I cuddle up with them in bed to read a story, it hurts so bad to get out of the bed and stand up.

I feel like a useless mommy.

2. As a woman who used to be pretty darn happy with her body.

Lack of exercise means change in body shape. Which has made me question my self-image. Big time.

The weight gain is not my favorite part about this back injury. I am not feeling like myself because I don’t feel like I look like myself. My clothes do not fit properly. I sometimes get all stubborn and force myself to walk two miles — and then I can’t move for days afterward. As someone who had taken back to running and was at yoga class twice a week, the lack of movement has hit me hard — especially considering that movement and exercise help me manage my anxiety.

I don’t like the way I look right now. And when I would feel that way before, I’d go for a walk or a run and remind myself to eat well. But now I can’t walk or run and the anxiety builds up and I say, “Screw eating well! I need comfort food.” And the scale keeps tipping.

3. As a wife and partner.

I missed this guy yesterday!

See above and add in relationship-based body insecurity. Of course, my husband keeps telling me reassuring things like “you look great!” and “I love you!” And I look at him with an eyebrow raised, the “Daphne Returns” episode of Fraiser playing in my head. Is he blinded to my change in shape by his love? Or is he just a smart man?

A clip from the middle of the episode in which Fraiser tells Niles that his perception of Daphne is blurred by his intense attraction to her.

I don’t know.

I do know that my back is not healing as quickly as I’d like. Or as quickly as my chiropractor would like. And an MRI is going to be scheduled soon… and I don’t like that either. I don’t like feeling this way — the not knowing what is next, the self-doubt, the mother-doubt. I also hate shuffling around like someone’s Great-great Grandmother. (I can’t even say Great-grandmother because mine walks better than me right now.)

I’d give anything to wake up tomorrow and feel better. Then again, I’d also like to win the lottery, have a book published or make sure BigBrother never comes home from Kindergarten in tears ever again. All of those seem somewhat doubtful too.