This morning as I laid snuggling Talon, I was overtaken with joy and love. I just laid there breathing him in, savoring the moment. As I looked at his sweet dreaming face, I thought back to his first few months. Tears began to flow. Not the happy kind.
You see, most people look back to the beginning months and it is all happy and rainbows and unicorns. Or something like that. For me, with Talon, it was not. I had postpartum depression. A phrase that brings me such shame and embarrassment. A term that is so taboo. Even as we have learned so much about it, people make so many assumptions when you say those words. Hurtful things. I had one woman ask if I wanted my baby dead...how do you ask someone that? No, I did not want him dead. Not even a little. I wanted him. I wanted happy mommy time.
What I did feel, was a lack of love. I remember one day just staring at him and thinking, I feel nothing for this child. Saying those words now destroys me. My sweet boy, who I am so in love with, that I cannot get enough of, I felt nothing. I cannot even put into words the amount of love I feel for him now. I cannot tell you how much I look back on the first few months and weep. Wishing I could get it back, wishing it wasn't wasted.
It didn't start that way. I loved him from the first day I held him. I take that back. I loved him before he was even born. I loved him so much. I brought him home and life was wonderful. My family was perfect. And then, at about 3 weeks. I don't know what happened. Things just changed. The love for him and myself was gone.
I never thought about hurting him or myself. I still cared for him. Just as well as I cared for Rhiannon. I nursed him, I bathed him, I changed him. He was happy. He was easy going. HE was perfect. I was not. I felt like a failure. I felt like he deserved more. I felt like Rhiannon and Steven deserved more. I thought they should have someone who was so much better than me. I was nothing. I was horrible. I deserved to die. I never thought of suicide, I was too afraid of the eternal consequence. I guess that fear speaks that maybe I did think about it. It was NEVER an option though. On countless nights however, I prayed that God would just end my life right then. I didn't care where He sent me. Hell was probably the better fit. That's where I should be.
I was lucky to recognize what I was going through, I should have spoke sooner. I dealt with it for a month without saying a word. I was lucky enough to have a husband who saw it. And a doctor who acted quickly. I was put on anti-depressants and after a few weeks felt great. I was me again. And this baby, oh this baby. I loved him. I loved him like no other.
It was only a couple months that I went through this. But that was too much. That was a time I can't get back. A time with my babies that I cannot fix. A time that still breaks me.
I am so glad that I we caught it. That God revealed it to us. That He held me through those times. That He kept us safe. That He mended my brokenness. PostPartum is no joke. It is scary and devastating. Pay attention to the signs. Do not be ashamed of it. Talk to someone. Tell your doctor. Do not wait. It is valuable time. You are worth the help.
