Pregnant again
Deciding to have a second child was easy. We knew we wanted to at least two, and thank God we didn't have any problems getting pregnant. I didn't have time to think about PPD this round because I was too busy with all the indignities of pregnancy: (we are going to get graphic here!) You've got all-day nausea, carpal tunnel, constipation, hemorrhoids, oooh, gas, and water retention. The glow of pregnancy? Puh-lease!
There were good days, mind you. My body knew what to do, which was nice, but also meant I felt more aches and pains. "Didn't anyone tell you the discomforts increase with each child?" a nurse asked me. Uh, too late for that.
In my eighth month, I started talking to my midwife about PPD. If you had PPD with your first baby, chances are you'll get it again and get it worse with No. 2. Thank goodness she took me seriously. We agreed that at the first sign, I would call her, and we would skip the Talk-to-the-Mental-Health-Person stage and go straight to meds.
There were good days, mind you. My body knew what to do, which was nice, but also meant I felt more aches and pains. "Didn't anyone tell you the discomforts increase with each child?" a nurse asked me. Uh, too late for that.
In my eighth month, I started talking to my midwife about PPD. If you had PPD with your first baby, chances are you'll get it again and get it worse with No. 2. Thank goodness she took me seriously. We agreed that at the first sign, I would call her, and we would skip the Talk-to-the-Mental-Health-Person stage and go straight to meds.
Wonder Boy was born on a clear, winter morning, Feb. 16, 2005. Aside from all the attendant activity of having a newborn in the house, I also quietly monitored myself: made sure I napped, ate well, did whatever it took to be as relaxed as ever. Hubby was a marvel, and even worked major overtime when he heard he was being sent to Taiwan for a business trip two weeks after Wonder Boy was born. He did all he could from this end, but they still sent him off and PPD broke the day before he left.
Here's what usually happens:around nightfall (5 to 6
p.m. ) I sense a creeping feeling of foreboding come over me, not
fear but anxiety. I can feel myself start to hyperventilate. I can’t honestly
say what my thoughts are, but they’re panicked: whether I have to cook, what I
need to do next, if I’ll get any sleep that night, how my boys are doing. I try
to breath slowly (in through the nose, out through the mouth), I think of other
things, I think, “This will pass.” And if I’m lucky, I won’t burst into tears.
I find talking it through helps SOMETIMES. Otherwise, it makes me cry even more.
Most episodes don’t last long, but are horrific enough for me to remember it so
vividly. I don’t want to suffer like that again and I don’t want my family to
suffer along with me…hence, my active campaign for medication which thank God,
was answered promptly. It was great to be taken seriously.
Hubby and Firstborn Son were lifesavers too. Joseph seems to know intuitively when to hug and kiss me, when to say, "I love you, Mama!" or "You make my heart happy!" He doesn't demand much at all in terms of care, just my company. "Mama, do you want to play with me?" And when I have to tend to his baby brother, he doesn't complain.
As for my baby boy, we slowly got to know each other better.
From my March journal entry: "He is starting to smile more and even giggle and I am learning all about him, little bit by little bit. I can’t wait to see how his personality is and how different or similar he is to his brother and I know I will grow to love him more and more. The yucky part abt PPD is feeling distanced from my baby, or being so distracted with these overwhelming feelings and waves of anxiety and sadness you can’t be a mom: can’t cuddle or play with him, can’t just enjoy having this wonderful little creature in your arms!"
Would I have another child? You bet. But I would also be more responsible and assertive about my mental health care. As Hubby likes to say, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!"
Here's a shot I bravely share, taken a couple of weeks after Wonder Boy's birth, defying the pink ruffled nightgown vision of what a new mom looks like:
Not a pretty sight, but take heart. It does get better!
Here's what usually happens:around nightfall (
Hubby and Firstborn Son were lifesavers too. Joseph seems to know intuitively when to hug and kiss me, when to say, "I love you, Mama!" or "You make my heart happy!" He doesn't demand much at all in terms of care, just my company. "Mama, do you want to play with me?" And when I have to tend to his baby brother, he doesn't complain.
As for my baby boy, we slowly got to know each other better.
From my March journal entry: "He is starting to smile more and even giggle and I am learning all about him, little bit by little bit. I can’t wait to see how his personality is and how different or similar he is to his brother and I know I will grow to love him more and more. The yucky part abt PPD is feeling distanced from my baby, or being so distracted with these overwhelming feelings and waves of anxiety and sadness you can’t be a mom: can’t cuddle or play with him, can’t just enjoy having this wonderful little creature in your arms!
Would I have another child? You bet. But I would also be more responsible and assertive about my mental health care. As Hubby likes to say, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!"
Here's a shot I bravely share, taken a couple of weeks after Wonder Boy's birth, defying the pink ruffled nightgown vision of what a new mom looks like:
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