Dear Ehren,
It’s been 6 months. SIX months. Seis meses. Wow. I cannot
describe the relief I feel for making it to six months. For what seemed like
forever, it felt like we’d never live to see that sixth month. I thought we’d
be counting in weeks forever. I was terrified that it would never get better. I
had no idea how much I was suffering with depression and anxiety. I tell you
this because one day, I hope you have a child, and I hope that you and your
partner will support each other just as your father has supported you and me
throughout this struggle.
I always knew that having a child would be hard. I
understood that things would change, but I never realized that things would continue
changing on a daily basis. That it wasn’t the singular change of “here’s your
baby.” It’s a tumultuous rollercoaster of ongoing change. There was no way to
truly fathom the chaos that waking every 2 hours to feed a baby while recovering
from surgery and suffering with an undiagnosed gallbladder infection would inflict
on our lives. I didn’t realize that breastfeeding would be so difficult, and the
entire world of feeding and mommy guilt that comes with it. I thought I understood
that my awful childhood would surface someday and that I knew what that meant. I
thought I was strong enough to do this, on my own, without help. I was so
wrong.
It took 12 long weeks for me to walk into that doctor’s
office and say “I think I have post-partum depression.” A full 6 weeks after
the lactation consultant referred me. I only said something because I felt so
perpetually angry. I had no idea that anxiety could make someone so angry,
agitated, and miserable. That’s what it was, anxiety. I was so scared that I
was doing everything wrong and ruining you before you even had a chance at
life. I was afraid that the supplemental formula and donated milk I was giving
you were the wrong choices. I was terrified to take you out in public in fear
of you becoming hungry. I couldn’t go to a doctor’s appointment on my own. I
was absolutely obsessed with feeding. I couldn’t quit breastfeeding and I
couldn’t continue. Mostly, I couldn’t stand how much I felt like a failure.
When you have to do something 8-12 times a day, it becomes
all-consuming. When you feel like you’ve failed at something 8-12 times a day,
you feel like you’ve failed at everything. That’s how I felt. I felt like I had
absolutely and irrefutably failed you. I couldn’t feed you. I tried so many
things from pumping to medication only to find that I couldn’t make enough to
help you grow. You quickly fell from the 85% in weight to the 2%. I had to
supplement with formula. At least 8 times a day, I was reminded exactly how I’d
failed you. I tortured myself over it. I felt like the whole world was judging
me when you cried after a feeding in public. I could feel every mom staring at
me when I fed you a bottle. Everything I did felt like it revolved around
feeding and it was all wrong. It was a dark place. I started to question if
your father and I had done the right thing in having a baby. I started to
wonder if I was so un-maternal that I couldn’t raise you. I feared that I had
ruined my life.
I did not tell your father that’s how I felt until after I
let it escape my lips in a therapy session. This letter is also the first time
I’m truly admitting that I needed therapy to cope with a new baby. I needed an
impartial person to hear what I’d been through and just say “damn.” For me, it
took a professional to coach me into realizing that I had experienced birth
trauma, that I had given so much more of myself than I realized, and that I
needed to make time for myself as well. It took professional help for me to
really understand that what you and I have done in the past 6 months has truly
been incredible. Against all odds, we’re still breastfeeding. Against all odds,
we’ve bonded so remarkably well that not one psychiatric professional has
questioned my devotion to you. Against all odds, we’re happy together. I’ve
given you so much more than I even knew I had to give. You have shown me what
it means to be devoted in a way that no other relationship could. I have
learned that I’m so much more than I ever fathomed I could be. We have grown together
in these last 6 months, and I am eagerly awaiting the next 6 months.
The fog has lifted. The help that I was so afraid to ask for
has made a world of difference for me. I now look forward to the next 6 months.
I am eager to see you crawl (so much that I get on the floor and crawl in
circles around you as an inspiration), love to watch you try new foods, and
absolutely melt when you laugh. Your favorite foods are mango and pizza crust
(just like daddy), but you just kept picking up the broccoli and asparagus
spears to stick them in your mouth like they are familiar to you (these are my
favorite vegetables). You are a child that is truly a reflection of both of
your parents, and it gives me such great joy to watch you develop your own personality.
It gives me such relief that the terror and anxiety of the first 6 months are both
unfounded and gone. The anticipation I have for your development has created so
much joy in my life. I look forward to tomorrow, and the weeks, months, and
years following. I am just so happy that I’m now truly here to enjoy it, and I
hope that if you ever have a child that you can enjoy it as well. Just
remember, the hardest things in life are the most rewarding. You, sir, are by
far the most rewarding and difficult part of my entire life. My heart explodes
with love for you, my whole being loves your father for helping me to create
you, and my inner voice is now cheering me on for being so good to you.
I can only hope that one day you experience this love and
awe with someone you adore. You are my sunshine.
Love always,
Mom
