I have a guest blogger here today. She's not blogging at her own place today because (wait for it) she is here.at.my.house. Diana from Hormonal Imbalances is having a little vacation down memory lane, coming to see me, (and my husband, he's known her family since before she was born) and then hitting the BlogHer writing conference in NYC. What could be more perfect than that? You all know I adore and respect Diana - she's the reason I started blogging. She's the first blog I ever read. She's my 'Heir to Blair,' my 'Dooce.' And she's right here. Probably in my van as you read this. (that noise you hear? Me. Losing my mind.)
There was a time after having Bella when I thought I had lost my marbles.
She was a few months old and I began to think that something was wrong. I couldn't shake it. The
constant nagging that I was a terrible mother. That I wasn't doing my
best. That if I wasn't with her every waking moment I was neglecting
her. I was exhausted and dealing with a very sick little girl
(diagnosed with failure to thrive and severe reflux later).
So I went to my doctor. I told her what was going on, that I simply
couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. I didn't react the same to
situations, I felt trapped in my own mind with my thoughts of screwing
Listening to me, she assured me that many mothers deal with what I was
going through. She told me that I was just dealing with months of
stress, from a rough pregnancy to a tough newborn phase. She also said
that she thought I was dealing with mild Postpartum Depression.
This made sense. I'd been blogging a few months and in that time, had
read story after story from the women I'd grown to know online that
realized something was wrong. But mine didn't feel the same. I wasn't
depressed. I was just...a mess.
All I wanted to do was have everything clean and neat. All the time.
To have a schedule and my days run like clockwork. With a newborn,
this was impossible and I got panicky that I couldn't keep it all
I began to read up on both PPD and more closely of the women going
through it. And I realized that I didn't have it. I didn't know what
was wrong (and I still don't) but it wasn't that.
So this brings me to having another baby. I don't know what was wrong
the first time. What if it happens again? What then? And until I know,
I can't choose to have another child on purpose. And that's ok with me
for now. I just want to know, at some point, what was wrong.