I am a Mother

Yesterday was my first official Mother's Day.  It was beautiful.  Jeff made me a yummy breakfast and basically wouldn't let me lift a finger all day.  He taught our Primary lesson, watched Max so I could peacefully enjoy Relief Society, and took care of him at family dinner so I could eat.  Max gave me lots of slobbery kisses and even cuddled on Mommy's shoulder a few times (he is not generally a cuddly baby).  I soaked in my time with my two favorite boys, knowing I am so very, very blessed.  I am a mother.

From what I've heard, Mother's Day often evokes a variety of emotions for women.  It was no different for me.  Ten months ago a tiny little person was placed into my arms and in that moment my very self was changed.  I was a mother.  I realized how very few life events change your status and title for eternity.  This was one of them.  It was an intensely surreal and beautiful moment.  I felt awed, humbled, and overwhelmed.  This beautiful baby boy had been entrusted to me.  He was mine!  Forever!

I jumped in wholeheartedly.  We tried nursing for the first time, and wow- I’m pretty sure that was worse than actually having a baby.  No matter, I thought.  I knew it rarely just “clicked” and he and I would figure it out shortly.  My delivery had been surprisingly easy, and so I felt that perhaps Justice was a little miffed and was dealing out other challenges to make me feel like I truly belonged in the “Mom Club.”  I expected hard things.

Except that it didn’t get easier.  In fact, it got worse.  I began to dread trying to nurse because of the pain and the damage that was being done to my body.  I met with nurses and lactation consultants and they all encouraged me to keep trying.  So I nodded my head, squared my shoulders, and promised I would.  After all, he was dependent on me.  I would make this work.  I was his mother.

Our first night home, he screamed and cried almost constantly.  I was terrified.  I was his mother.  I was supposed to be able to soothe him and care for him.  Nothing worked.  Could this be the same sweet angelic bundle that I’d cradled in my arms in the hospital just a few hours earlier?  Exhausted, guilt-ridden, and with emotions whirling just beneath the surface, we headed to our first appointment with the pediatrician in the morning.  After weighing him and checking his measurements, she said, “He’s lost too much weight since his birth.” 

I burst into tears. 

She passed over tissues and reassured me that mothers did this all the time in her office.  After asking some questions, she determined that he wasn’t getting enough nourishment from me since my milk still hadn’t come in yet and that I needed to supplement with formula until it did.  

I knew and expected my hormones and emotions to be off-balance in the weeks following Max’s birth.  Although nursing never got better, I made things work.  I pumped exclusively for almost 4 months and then switched to formula. After discovering that he had head and neck issues that needed medical treatment, I took him to oh so many doctors’ appointments.  I soothed him while he cried at each one. I took him to get doctor-recommended injections and held and fed him while the anesthesia wore off.  I learned to research on my own, listen to my “mother’s intuition,” hold my ground, and be the advocate my baby needed. I took him to a pediatric chiropractor.  I learned about physical therapy and what I needed to do at home to help him get better.  We stretched, did strength training and “play” exercises all designed to help him get better.  And, thank goodness, he did.

But I didn’t.   

You see, I expected to feel a little crazy and a little “off” for a couple of months after birth while hormones sorted themselves out and while we established a new “normal” as a family of three.  Except that five, six, seven, eight months after his birth, I was still feeling crazy.  I felt out-of-control and ruled by my emotions.  I would get angry over something small, realize that it was a little thing, but still feel so very angry that I didn’t care.  I felt awkward in social situations.  I felt lonely and homesick.  I often felt overcome with hopelessness.  I remember sobbing to Jeff once in the middle of the night and admitting that I felt lost.  That somewhere along the way I had lost myself.  And I didn't know how to get me back.  I loved being a mom, loved my son with my whole heart, and yet, I was suffering.  Worst of all, my relationships were suffering, especially with the one who is most important to me – my husband.

Looking back now, I realize that I was suffering from post-partum depression.  There were several contributing circumstances: we'd moved right before Max was born and didn't really know anyone around us, I'd gone from working full-time to being home full-time which was an adjustment, Jeff was training for a marathon and so was gone more often than usual, Max had medical issues that took a lot of time to resolve etc., etc.  But to me, struggling in the midst of this, it seemed like I had failed as a wife and mother.  Everyone else I knew seemed to have made the transition seamlessly.  This was something I had planned for, prepared for, and looked forward to my entire life.  I wanted to be a mother and thought I was ready.  Then why was it still so hard?  I placed the burden of being an entire support system on my husband because I was too ashamed to admit my struggle to anyone else.  I felt that it would be equal to admitting I was failing and that was something I couldn't do.  I was Max's mother.

I want to be clear that I in no way blamed this on my baby or that I ever regretted staying home with him.  He was my one bright constant in all of this.  Also, my sweet husband talked with me, held me while I cried (often), and supported me to the best of his abilities.  Neither one of us recognized my problem as post-partum depression while it was going on.  I am happy to report that in the last few months, things have begun to improve.  I remember hanging out with some friends and saying to Jeff afterward that for the first time “I felt myself again” in a social situation.  However, we are emerging from a time of trial that lasted for quite a while and are still feeling the effects.  

Jeff and I have talked a lot about what we’ve gone through and our plan for moving forward.  So often during this trial I felt so much sadness and regret for the hard times.  I felt that it had irrevocably marred my sweet baby’s first year of life.  However, I forgot that there is beauty in hard things.  There is beauty in change, in learning, and in sacrifice.  I am different now.  I hope I am better.  While there are many things I certainly wish I had done differently, I have a better understanding of myself and of what I want for my marriage and family and what it takes to get there.  It requires a lot.  But we’re ready.  Oh, we know that other trials will come our way, maybe even some that are more difficult, but we have better learned to utterly rely on each other and to stand together…even when things seem impossible.  My sweet husband has seen me at my very lowest point, when I thought I had lost myself, and he helped me find my way back.  Yes, we may face harder challenges in the future…but, as always, we will face them together, turning to each other and the Lord (and hopefully others, next time) for support.  And if I had to struggle through eight-ish months to more fully realize these lessons, then I would do it again.

I am a mother.