Flashback to 8-9 months (I found a note I typed on my phone)
I fought really hard to feed Charlotte breastmilk. I stubbornly battled three rounds of mastitis and antibiotics. Many nights of crying in literal pain trying to get clogs out. Crawling around because I couldn’t stand. Nursing didn’t work so I gave up at 10 weeks and switched to exclusive pumping. But because we had so much trouble early on, my body regulated at a low level of producing very little milk, so we were supplementing with formula. I started to feel hope and considered quitting pumping and just feeding her formula, but then she started refusing formula bottles. I mixed formula with breastmilk to try to get her to take formula and sadly dumped more ounces of breastmilk than I care to measure down the drain when she refused those bottles too (I’ll bend the hygiene rules to save breastmilk, but I don’t mess with formula rules). I pumped 8 times a day, 7 times a day, and then finally 6 times a day by 6 months for 30+ minutes each time. My hands cracked from washing pump parts so many times a day, I had to enlist Kevin to help me wash. I didn’t play with Charlotte, I didn’t sleep, and I didn’t shower or brush my teeth or eat. I didn’t drink. I didn’t clean or cook. I didn’t relax. I had to pump. Anytime I was not pumping, I was exhausted and gone.
I battled postpartum anxiety. I still do. I thought I had a normal amount of anxiety and was like any other first time mom, but looking back and evaluating how I feel now, I think I can say I had and have it really bad. I despised and resented anything that took me away from fixating. All I wanted to do was fixate on her sleeping and her eating. I felt in control of her well-being by fixating and trying to do the right thing to meet her needs. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to look at anything. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I didn’t want to do anything. I just wanted to make Charlotte better by sheer force of will. And I’ll be honest, I’m convinced it worked. She’s alive. I take care of her really well. It got dicey when she couldn’t sleep and wasn’t eating. But she does both things now. Kinda. She’ll never be a perfectly happy baby around the clock. I desperately wish for her to be happy, because it would be a sign that she’s well fed and well rested.
At least she isn’t a colicky baby anymore. She grew out of that at around 3-4 months. I’m so thankful ... I’m sorry to you mamas who have babies with colic for YEARS. Lord bless you. Jesus save you. Charlotte still has bad reflux at 8 months, and she’s still fussy. But she has happy moments now! This is huge. She didn’t have any happy moments or moments of contentedness the first 4-5 months of her life. All I can think about is how she was half starved, sleep deprived, and in pain. It puts my stomach in knots and I feel so bad. She’s not an easy baby, and for that I give myself props for doing what I’ve had to do to survive.
Kevin has been able to weather it all, including the extreme agitation from me, middle of the night feeds, washing endless bottles and pump parts, cooking, and going back to work. He is the rock and sanity in this house. I’m so grateful for him, but yet so many times I’ve felt angry that he doesn’t care as much as I do about getting everything right, and getting everything right away. Why don’t you jump to attention as soon as she cries? Why do you let her cry for ten minutes before feeding her in the middle of the night? Why don’t you immediately stop what you are doing and prepare things for her to minimize her crying and streamline gettin food into her? Why don’t you consider every aspect of her comfort before putting her back down? Why don’t you worry about her poop, her development, and her eating? Why aren’t you wracked with disabling anxiety all the time? Why doesn’t caring for her on your own bring you to your knees with exhaustion? For that matter, I think it’s because you don’t spend every single moment and breath attentive to her. Why don’t you do that? How can you look at your iPad while she’s awake? How can you live a normal life? How can you read? How can you have and enjoy hobbies?
To be clear, this rant is entirely fueled by my hormonal imbalance and anxiety. Kevin works full time and then comes home to calm me down, wash the dishes, do middle of the night feedings, laundry, cook, etc. He always tries to get me to live life and take a break (go out, meet friends, eat in a restaurant, make appointments, have hobbies, do what I want) but my anxiety keeps me from all of that. I also think of how grateful I am when I have him present while I’m watching Charlotte, so I want to make sure I’m there when he’s watching her too. I know.
I need to learn from Kevin to be normal. It’s hard to say that because I feel like I am giving Charlotte the best care. I’m giving my full capacity to her. Changing my ways would feel like I’m moving away from that. But I think common sense says that my way isn’t healthy. The combination of sending her to daycare (thank you God for professional caretakers so I don’t have to do it 24/7/365), her growing older (she’s less helpless), sleep training, and Kevin setting an example are all things that have brought me back from the edge. It feels like everything starting from pregnancy has been traumatic for me. Thinking about the birth and taking care of her for the first few weeks still makes me cry from the fear and pain and regret. I can feel my stomach sinking just from typing about that time. Clearly a trauma that I have not yet been able to move forward from.
I’m processing a lot of internal conflicting things. I had no problem with crying out for help to friends when I got desperate, but have strong resistance to asking for it from family. I didn’t want help from family. But I wanted help. Wait, no-I don’t want help, I want more capacity! Wait, no. I want help. But not anymore. No one will care for her as well as I do, but I also don’t want to ask anyone else to care for her as much as I do because it’s crazy. I know people say that motherhood is hard but worth it. Or hard and wonderful. Or hard but joyful. So far, it’s just been bad for me. I feel bad for saying that, but also literally, I just feel bad. It’s only been 8 months, though, so I‘ll give it a little more time.
I started loosening up about her schedule at 8-9 months. She was going like six hours of wake time at daycare so ... 🤷🏻♀️
I battled postpartum anxiety. I still do. I thought I had a normal amount of anxiety and was like any other first time mom, but looking back and evaluating how I feel now, I think I can say I had and have it really bad. I despised and resented anything that took me away from fixating. All I wanted to do was fixate on her sleeping and her eating. I felt in control of her well-being by fixating and trying to do the right thing to meet her needs. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to look at anything. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I didn’t want to do anything. I just wanted to make Charlotte better by sheer force of will. And I’ll be honest, I’m convinced it worked. She’s alive. I take care of her really well. It got dicey when she couldn’t sleep and wasn’t eating. But she does both things now. Kinda. She’ll never be a perfectly happy baby around the clock. I desperately wish for her to be happy, because it would be a sign that she’s well fed and well rested.
At least she isn’t a colicky baby anymore. She grew out of that at around 3-4 months. I’m so thankful ... I’m sorry to you mamas who have babies with colic for YEARS. Lord bless you. Jesus save you. Charlotte still has bad reflux at 8 months, and she’s still fussy. But she has happy moments now! This is huge. She didn’t have any happy moments or moments of contentedness the first 4-5 months of her life. All I can think about is how she was half starved, sleep deprived, and in pain. It puts my stomach in knots and I feel so bad. She’s not an easy baby, and for that I give myself props for doing what I’ve had to do to survive.
Kevin has been able to weather it all, including the extreme agitation from me, middle of the night feeds, washing endless bottles and pump parts, cooking, and going back to work. He is the rock and sanity in this house. I’m so grateful for him, but yet so many times I’ve felt angry that he doesn’t care as much as I do about getting everything right, and getting everything right away. Why don’t you jump to attention as soon as she cries? Why do you let her cry for ten minutes before feeding her in the middle of the night? Why don’t you immediately stop what you are doing and prepare things for her to minimize her crying and streamline gettin food into her? Why don’t you consider every aspect of her comfort before putting her back down? Why don’t you worry about her poop, her development, and her eating? Why aren’t you wracked with disabling anxiety all the time? Why doesn’t caring for her on your own bring you to your knees with exhaustion? For that matter, I think it’s because you don’t spend every single moment and breath attentive to her. Why don’t you do that? How can you look at your iPad while she’s awake? How can you live a normal life? How can you read? How can you have and enjoy hobbies?
To be clear, this rant is entirely fueled by my hormonal imbalance and anxiety. Kevin works full time and then comes home to calm me down, wash the dishes, do middle of the night feedings, laundry, cook, etc. He always tries to get me to live life and take a break (go out, meet friends, eat in a restaurant, make appointments, have hobbies, do what I want) but my anxiety keeps me from all of that. I also think of how grateful I am when I have him present while I’m watching Charlotte, so I want to make sure I’m there when he’s watching her too. I know.
I need to learn from Kevin to be normal. It’s hard to say that because I feel like I am giving Charlotte the best care. I’m giving my full capacity to her. Changing my ways would feel like I’m moving away from that. But I think common sense says that my way isn’t healthy. The combination of sending her to daycare (thank you God for professional caretakers so I don’t have to do it 24/7/365), her growing older (she’s less helpless), sleep training, and Kevin setting an example are all things that have brought me back from the edge. It feels like everything starting from pregnancy has been traumatic for me. Thinking about the birth and taking care of her for the first few weeks still makes me cry from the fear and pain and regret. I can feel my stomach sinking just from typing about that time. Clearly a trauma that I have not yet been able to move forward from.
I’m processing a lot of internal conflicting things. I had no problem with crying out for help to friends when I got desperate, but have strong resistance to asking for it from family. I didn’t want help from family. But I wanted help. Wait, no-I don’t want help, I want more capacity! Wait, no. I want help. But not anymore. No one will care for her as well as I do, but I also don’t want to ask anyone else to care for her as much as I do because it’s crazy. I know people say that motherhood is hard but worth it. Or hard and wonderful. Or hard but joyful. So far, it’s just been bad for me. I feel bad for saying that, but also literally, I just feel bad. It’s only been 8 months, though, so I‘ll give it a little more time.
I started loosening up about her schedule at 8-9 months. She was going like six hours of wake time at daycare so ... 🤷🏻♀️