Bailey's Birth Story: Part Three- The Truth About the Aftermath

It has taken me a long time to get to the point where I am able to write about this. I feel like it's behind me now, so I can deal with it, if that makes sense. I'm not writing this post so that people can say, "Oh, poor Tara, she really had it rough." Like I said, it's over and done with. My reason for writing this is so that you know how crazy your hormones can go after birth. I am so thankful for my friend's story about her postpartum depression.

Statistically, I was not a candidate for postpartum depression. They told us about it in the childbirth classes. I have heard about it from friends. I just hoped I wouldn't have to deal with it, and figured if I did have it a little bit, I would just force myself to "get over it." I had a fairly easy pregnancy- I know I griped about swelling and stuff like that at the end, but no real complications. Bailey's labor and delivery was great. My physical recovery was very easy. I didn't have pain from the stitches, I didn't need incontinence supplies, I didn't have pain from the epidural.

The first time I put her to breast in the hospital, she did fine. After that, she would not latch on. Well, I should say she had a very lazy latch and the nurses kept pulling her off. This was very stressful for me. I have no idea if this was the beginning of me going downhill or not. I found myself crying a lot in the hospital. I was having a lot of trouble breastfeeding, and I was exhausted. I thought I really loved Bailey, but I just wasn't sure what to do with her. And I was overwhelmed with the responsibility. I mean, come on, I have been around tons of babies before. But my own? Whole new ballgame. I became terrified of going home. The lactation nurse helped me make a breastfeeding plan. I felt like I was begging her to give me a shred of hope, and she did that. It involved supplementing with formula. If I had to do this over again, I would not go that route, but I think it's what helped me make it through this time.

The first day or two we were at home were pretty good. We were adjusting to having a baby. Jonathon was very supportive. Bailey was (and still is) a very good baby. She liked to sleep, and she didn't have to be rocked to sleep. However, the second day we were at home I had a breakdown. I confessed that I wasn't sure if we had made the right decision about having a baby. (Bailey- if you ever read this- that was just my hormones, I promise!)

When Bailey was four days old, we left her with my parents and went to a wedding. I was convinced things were going to be good and easy. It would get better, right? We were capable of leaving the baby, getting a sitter, and going out in public. This baby thing couldn't be too hard. But things got worse from there. I dreaded seeing anyone other than Jonathon and my mom, for some reason. People from church were bringing us meals and I didn't know what to do when they came over. I would sit for hours in Bailey's room and cry- about stuff like what if she died when she was a teenager, what if she went away to college and didn't need me anymore, what if she liked Jonathon better, what if she grew up too fast and started preschool and I missed her. Not very rational.

It got worse. I was not able to eat anything. Literally, food made me gag. My mom had to sit with me and force feed me with a spoon (yeah, that's embarrassing). Even ice cream and pizza were not appealing. And let me tell you, I've never been one to turn down food! I spent most of the time in my room, in the dark, sleeping. At first I thought I was just tired from having a new baby, but then I realized something was Really Wrong. Whenever I thought about Bailey, I started to feel sick to my stomach. I kept telling myself that I wanted to love her, I really did... she was so cute, but I just couldn't feel any attachment. It was really frustrating and depressing.

It got even worse. I couldn't come out of my room. My memories of her newborn days are of me laying in bed crying. I would lay in bed and my heart would race. My mom and Jonathon and sometimes other people took care of her out in the living room. She had a lot of formula because I felt like throwing up when I had to feed her. Horrible anxiety, I think. Friends called, and I told them everything was great. I knew in my heart that I would never have another baby. I think I even told Jonathon that if he wanted another child, we were adopted a toddler. Any time Bailey cried, I ran out of my room and freaked out. I wanted to help, I didn't know what to do, I cried, I felt like a failure as a mother. And she was such a good baby. I was unable to make decision about anything. My mind just wasn't functioning. I felt like I was in this weird surreal haze.

I was really mental at this point. My mom gave me a bracelet with a heart on it (I'm sure some of you have seen it). I remember thinking that as long as I kept that bracelet on, I could cope. Jonathon kept trying to give Bailey bottles and letting me sleep. I was terrified, because I had wanted to breastfeed. She did not have a bath for the first two weeks of her life because I was scared to do that as well. We did not leave the house except to go to the pediatrician for her many weight checks. The pediatrician's office made me sick to my stomach. You can tell by how pale I am in this picture that I wasn't doing well. I was fake smiling, but I felt like a zombie.


Somewhere around two weeks old, Jonathon suggested again that we call the doctor. I did it. I remember I was crying and my hands were shaking as I talked to my OB. I kept telling her something was Really Wrong. She told me it was okay and it wasn't my fault. She prescribed Zoloft and some anti-anxiety pills. I remember thinking that something had to get better or I couldn't go on like this. Was I suicidal? Not sure. I don't think I would have ever done anything like that, but I didn't really want to live another sixty years in the dark of my bedroom.

After I started the medication, it got worse before it got better. My appetite continued to decrease. It's amazing that I still kept on so much of that baby weight during this time :( I started having anxiety attacks. I remember laying in bed at night and waking up screaming. Jonathon called my mom several times to come over and help with me. Not the baby, me. I didn't even care. I felt like when she was there, I could go on. When I was alone, I couldn't cope. Apparently they had agreed not to leave me alone, but I didn't know this. My mom took vacation from work to take care of me. After about a week on the Zoloft, I called my doctor and she switched me to Prozac. It's amazing what that stuff does. I gradually got better. Within two weeks of starting that, my mom and I were going to the mall with Bailey, going out to lunch, and I felt capable of being a mother.

I stopped begging everyone to tell me it would get better. I knew it would. I am thankful that I had such good family to support me. I can't say that I am thankful for my friends at that time, because I never told anyone what was going on until later. I didn't want to look like a failure or like I was crazy. When Jonathon's parents came in town, I hid in my room. I wish I could still hide from them in my room, to tell you the truth.

There are a lot of other scary parts that I did not write about here. I guess the main things I dealt with were sleeping all the time, then bouts of insomnia, then night terrors and anxiety, loss of appetite, panic attacks, feeling like a failure with Bailey, failing to bond with Bailey (or at least I felt like it even though I tried), feeling like I wanted to love her but wasn't sure how I felt, being terrified of the baby... I just hope that anyone reading this will remember what I went through, so that if they ever experience anything like this, they will know to get help. Calling my OB was the best thing I have ever done. If you feel yourself starting to go down this road, please ask for help early on. Don't wait to see if it gets better. Maybe it will, but this is no way to spend the first weeks of your baby's life. I am thankful that it didn't take longer for me to get better.