Down Came The Rain

Since Dom is getting a little older and much more independent, I find myself with a lot of free time. I kind of like it, because I finally have gotten the chance to catch up on a lot of Netflix shows that I have missed the last couple of years. Seriously, it's awesome that I can actually sit down for more than 30min nowadays. However, everyone around me is getting or wanting to get pregnant...which leads me to believe....is it time for me?

 

I'm not going to lie. I am TOTALLY satisfied with my little family. I love how we all fit in one car  (with luggage) and still have room to roam. I like how Dom no longer has to be fed every 4 hours, and how he sleeps for hours at a time, and can actually sit still while watching tv. I come from well established couch potato genes (as my aunt likes to say) and I am totally content with that.

 

When I was 16, I got a blessing and it stated something about how I should prepare myself to be a mother, because THIS is what was planned for me (and it contained the word "children" not "child"). I think that was a big blow for me. I had never really thought about being a mother (I was NOT the typical Mormon girl that at 6yrs old knew she wanted to have 8 children all within 10 years). I was concentrating more on my future career and what I wanted to do with MY life (and not necessarily involving a partner either). I couldn't play the ignorant card anymore...I knew they were coming.  The point being that I was terrified of being a mother. It just looked like a lot of responsibility....and it is.

 

 Finally, when I had my first baby almost two years ago, I went thru something that at the time, I didn't understand, but now (having a clear mind) I know that I had  postpartum depression.

When I found out I was pregnant, I did my homework- I read blogs, and books, and parents' magazines.  I wanted to know what I was getting myself into economically, physically, and psychologically, and how to lessen the blow for all of us. I even read a book about baby proofing your marriage and what actually happens during delivery.  I had read about PPD in an article, and it mentioned that it hit 10% of all mothers, but that number might be wrong, because doctors don't really know how to ask the right questions, and some of them go undiagnosed. I thought about it, and I said to myself..."well, depression runs in the family" but honestly, I thought that was another name for "baby blues" ...maybe they just lasted a bit longer.

 

When I had Dom, My mom was with me 2 weeks before, and 2 weeks after....and I was fine. I loved having her around. She is such an awesome mommy. She would help me with house chores and cleaning...but more than anything...she provided safety (after all, that's what mothers do- they make us feel safe). My mom and I have (now) an awesome relationship where I can tell her anything. She left around Christmas morning to be back with her own family...and the panic hit me. How was I suppose to take care of this baby by myself? Spencer had already gone back to work nights, so it was just me and the baby. I would have a lot of time alone (with no other grown ups to talk to) and finally concluded that I was terrified of being a mother, because I was afraid that Dom and I would never have the bond that my mom and I have. My mom is just...too good. She was meant to be a mom, I didn't think I would EVER be like that. This realization, having an unplanned C section, the troubles of breastfeeding, the initial panic and self loathing started a chain reaction that I cannot explain- but things got DARK....quick. I think it escalated when he went thru growth spurts (you know...when they drink like 10 oz at 2 weeks, and then they throw up over everything because they ate too much???). The insomnia, and lack of control in my life had sent me into a downward spiral. I stopped caring- I stopped going outside, and even stopped attending church. I stopped looking in the mirror  (and probably did for about 3 months) in order to avoid looking at the beached whale on the other side. Life was over for me. I didn't even want to see Dom because I feared that he would cry as soon as I got near, especially because I was alone (Spencer would work most nights).

I recently finished reading "Down Came The Rain" by Brooke Shields. In the book, she tells her struggle with PPD. I loved the way she phrased certain things and how close they were to what I had experienced. She talks about how jealous she was of her husband's peacefulness when he held their daughter, and how envious she was of women she would see in the store, and their ability to enjoy their children. She went on to say "I was failing at things that, according to popular belief, were supposed to be the most natural in a woman's life. I got hit with a wave of self-defeat and self-loathing and had the urge to smash my head against the wall repeatedly. I started strongly believing that I couldn't be a mother. Misery enveloped me. I didn't want to take medication due to breast feeding, and besides, none of the women I knew ever needed to take medication after giving birth, so I shouldn't either. This was yet another sign on my weakness and failure as a mother."

 

If I would read this under normal circumstance, I would think "she's nuts". But, because I know 100% what she meant...it's terrifying. I knew there was something wrong with me within a week, and so did my husband. Yet, none of us decided to do anything about it. Spencer  recently confessed that the first 3 months of Dom's life were the scariest for him, because he was afraid of coming home from work....and finding something scary. I felt so alone and so lonely all the time. I thought that I could conquer it with "mind over matter", and not take pills, because if I didn't then it would just be an added failure to the list already piling up. Things didn't get better until around March, when (after visiting family in AZ) decided that fresh air was actually nice ( I do believe that the fact that I didn't work did have a lot to do with PPD as well). I had bought a baby carrier for the AZ trip and started using it to take baby to stores, and we would just walk around....he would nap and I would see other people. We also took walks around the various parks. When he fell asleep, sometimes I would sit on a bench and prayed in my head...that it would go away, and I would stop hurting my husband. Eventually, I'm not sure what happened, but life got better. But during those 3 months...I do believe I was in hell. This little gray cloud would follow me everywhere...and I couldn't see behind me or beyond me. I was stuck....in a bad place. And today, was the worst day of my life....it was never better. I cannot blame anybody (when feeling this "low") for taking their own life. I really did feel that life was not worth living.

 

The reason I'm willing to admit all of this (because after all...this is a sign of weakness) is that IF I'm meant to have another child, I would HATE to go thru it again, and WORSE have my firstborn witness it. I did read that just because it happened with your first one, does not mean it will happen again. But still, it makes you wonder....if I'm still willing to take the chance. On the other hand, am I really that selfish...to never give Dominic a sibling? What am I to do? 

Honestly, It really doesn't matter what I think...or anyone thinks, because I feel like the decision  has already been made for me.....for US....

Only child expiring soon....