I'm wondering what I got myself into right now as I try to begin this part of my story. The truth can be very scary and isn't always pretty, as my good friend Laura reminded me. So here we go...
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I wish I could go back and enjoy it more.
I wish I could re-live some of those newborn days and take in all of their sounds and smells...really take it in.
I wish I could remember exactly how they felt in my arms, the way their little fingers felt in my hands.
I honestly wish I could remember.
Those first few days and weeks of motherhood are in so many ways a blur in my memory. Everything all smushed into one big pile of anxiety, depression and thoughts of "what the hell was I thinking having these babies?" I remember at one point my Mom asking me if I was having second thoughts about motherhood. I don't know if I answered her, or how I answered her. But I was. Of course there is no turning back. And I knew that.
I prayed for relief. But I didn't know what form that relief could come in. I truly felt that my life was over. I was forever going to have these two foreign beings attached to my chest for hours upon hours. I wasn't ever going to enjoy a full night of uninterrupted sleep again. I would never look in the mirror and be happy with the body I see again. I wasn't prepared for this shock to my system.
I didn't see an end in sight.
I looked at my precious boys and all I felt was fear. I didn't want to hold them. I didn't feel attached to them in any way. How was it that I could feel more in love for them when they were inside my womb than now that they are staring back at me with those beautiful blue eyes? The love just wasn't there, not matter how hard I wished for it to appear.
I dreaded when they woke up because it meant they would start crying. Which meant I had to feed them. Which meant over an hour of breastfeeding that was painful and not giving them what they needed. It felt like they were always hungry. And I felt like a complete failure.
For the first month we slept with the boys downstairs {their room and ours were both upstairs}. Dan on the sofa. Me in the recliner. The boys in the pack-n-play.
I know that probably sounds really odd, but we were so overwhelmed and it worked at the time. The PNP was a huge PITA to move upstairs and we wanted the boys in our room with us. Their crib wouldn't fit through our bedroom door. You get the idea. So downstairs we stayed. For a whole month.
No wonder we looked like this...
I don't know what I would have done without Dan. Bless his heart he not only had to deal with two new babies but a depressed wife as well. He had his moments too. But he was so good with the boys from day 1...
And thank goodness for all of the women in our family...our moms, Dan's sister, and his Grandma. They stayed the night...they cooked...they cleaned. They had quite a few wet shoulders from my tears.
I don't remember how old the boys were, probably somewhere between 1-2 weeks, when with the help of Dan, my Mom and my mother-in-law, we decided I had to get some help. I owed it to my boys to get some help.
So I called my OB's office and while choking back tears explained how I was feeling and told the nurse about my past experience with anxiety. Without having to go in for a visit, the doctor prescribed me an anxiety medication and some emergency xanax to help bring me out of the black hole I had fallen into.
I also stopped breastfeeding. This was all at once the biggest relief and greatest guilt I have ever felt. But I couldn't breastfeed on the medication. And without the medication I couldn't handle breastfeeding. So there you go...formula it was.
The boys were sucking down bottles like there was no tomorrow...and they were full....and happier!
And after a few days so was I...
Don't get me wrong...it was still hard. Like really hard. But manageable. I didn't feel hopeless anymore. And with each passing day..minute even...I started to feel a connection forming between us.
And then all of a sudden they were a month old!
And we finally got up the courage to let them sleep in their crib {they shared for a few weeks}...
And we slept in our bed. Life was getting back to normal. Well...a new normal anyway.
And I started having fun with them. Like posing Ben in his Papa's childhood rocker...
And taking our first trip to the park...
Those are my first real memories of motherhood.
Motherhood as I know it now. The way it is supposed to be. The good stuff. The good stuff that makes the hard stuff bearable, and even desired in a strange way. Because we know the hard stuff is making us stronger.
So there it is. And I managed to only shed a few tears. I actually think I smiled more than I cried while writing this. And that seems about right. The smiles and laughter we experience as parents always overshadow even the darkest moments. I am so thankful for that, and for my boys.
