The Crash After the High in Inside My Head

When I would hear about postpartum depression used to feel confusion and condescension toward the women who complained about this ‘disease.’ I understand the crippling effects of anxiety and depression; I’ve battled with these two my entire life. But women feeling depressed about having a baby? Especially since it was a baby that they wanted and it was healthy. Get real, I used to think. Then I had my son Sam. After childbirth all of the feelings of euphoria and gratitude that I felt during pregnancy had evaporated. Replaced by those feelings is neverending tidal wave of depression, anger, resentment, and bitterness. These feelings sometimes ebb but never go away. I look at him and think that I ruined not only my life as well as his. I no longer have any desire to be a mother.

The baby is up every 1-2 hours. He lost weight while in the hospital. While it is normal to lose some weight, he lost 1.5lbs. His urine output is borderline low, and he hasn’t pooped since passing meconium in the hospital. I had to pay $175 that I didn’t really have for a lactation consultant who recommended feeding him every two hours with breast milk and then on top of that pumping and feeding him that as a supplement. It takes 20-30 minutes for Sam to feed, it takes 40 minutes to set up the pump, pump the milk, and then clean the pump. Plus I have to burp Sam and change his diaper. By then time I’m done I have less than an hour to sleep (forget showering) before the next feeding time.

My mother came to stay with us to help with Sam. She had promised to do the cooking, cleaning, laundry etc after he was born. The experience has been a complete disaster. She makes coffee in the morning for herself and throws the rest out and puts the coffee maker in the dishwasher. She doesn’t actually turn on the dishwasher or put items in the sink in the dishwasher. She runs to throw her stuff in the laundry before Michael and I have the chance to. She doesn’t clean except her guest bedroom and the guest bathroom. She doesn’t cook or offer to bring food in. She essentially takes marathon-long showers that will jack up my water bill and hangs out in her bedroom or on the couch. She complains I don’t give her direction because I’m always in my room. I’m in my room because I’m exhausted and trying to sleep. If you see dishes in the sink put them in the dishwasher and actually turn on the dishwasher. This isn’t difficult. Mike is bickering with her over superficial stuff, which I’m sure isn’t easy on her. She told me once that she didn’t care about bickering with Michael, she would stay for me. That lasted three days. My father arrived last night for New Year’s Eve. She told me shortly before he came here that she would be leaving today. My dad offered to go to Whole Foods for us to do food shopping which would’ve been amazing. Before I could even answer my mother told him we didn’t need it. Nice, Mom. She packed up her stuff and left so fast it was almost comical.

I’ve looked into adoption agencies. When Mike and I were trying to get pregnant I did some research regarding adoption. In the United States it costs a minimum of $30,000 to adopt a (somewhat) healthy white child. I wouldn’t take any money for the adoption of my son. Clearly though there is a demand for babies like Sam. Sam is generally healthy, I didn’t eat/drink/smoke before or during pregnancy, I eat a mostly organic diet. He’s still young and has an excellent chance of being adopted. The older he gets, the less appeal he has to potential adoptive families. He deserves to have a mother that loves him and wants him. I shouldn’t be a mother. I broached the subject of putting him up for adoption with Michael and my mother who were understandably horrified. They told me that my feelings are normal and are due to postpartum changing hormone levels, fatigue, and stress of being a new mother. This may be true, but at the moment I truly do not want to be a parent. I don’t deserve my son.

I’ve looked into online postpartum depression support groups with little success. Mostly it’s women telling new moms that these feelings will pass. What if they don’t? You see on the news all of the time about mothers who killed or seriously injured their children. Clearly it didn’t “just get better” for them. Their feelings weren’t just due to fatigue and changing hormones. I have no desire at this point to hurt or kill Sam. I just feel that too often the severity of people’s depression is downplayed. And if I’m telling people that I cannot handle a child, maybe they should listen.

For now I shall continue with my sleep depriving schedule, care for a son that I don’t want, and hope that these feelings shall pass.