When my youngest of three was born, I realized how different this postnatal experience was than my other two. I was struggling so much with my son when he was born. He was great. He loved his mom. He wanted to cling to me all day long. He slept great at night, so I didn’t have a lot to complain about like many parents. However, I couldn’t shake the baby blues. I couldn’t do a lot of the things I could do before due to being exhausted. Guilt was eating me alive when the dishes lay in the sink for the third day in a row, and my poor husband would wake up early enough before work to make sure he could wash his clothes. Mom guilt was real. It was a constant struggle, and all I wanted to do was close my eyes and rest. Or shower! Oh, I would have loved a shower.
I remember the first day I tried to go away from my baby. Hayes was about 6 weeks old. I was still in the mom fog. I decided to go take a yoga class that my friend teaches. I felt like an actual individual when I left the house. I didn’t have to put a child in a car seat. I threw my yoga mat in the back seat. It was amazing! I was about to get my first workout in in over a year! I was on bedrest at 22 weeks pregnant, so I wasn’t able to be very active. Halfway through the class, I was feeling great. My adrenaline was rushing and the endorphins were making me feel like Melyssa again. The music was cut short as my friend’s phone rang. She glanced down and looked up at me with a worried look. It was my husband calling her. I looked down at my own phone which had been on silent. It had 10 missed calls from my husband. My stomach dropped. The class stopped abruptly and I grabbed the phone. It was every new mother’s nightmare. My little newborn son had broken out in hives and was struggling with breathing. I yelled through the phone for my husband to call 911 immediately. I ran barefoot to my car and beat the ambulance to my home. It was all as if I was watching myself from an out of body experience while I scooped my son up from my husband. My husband’s face was red. He had clearly been crying. I ran to the EMT with my arms outstretched with my little son covered in hives. His breathing was ragged. I begged him, “Please help him.” I will never forget the way the EMT looked at me. He was terrified, bless him. Our baby was so small.
I rode in the ambulance still barefoot. Nothing mattered except my sweet child. I sobbed while they checked his vitals and gave him injections. I prayed hugging him in my lap, but trying not to get in the way of the professionals. I felt awful for needing to get away from him so badly. I told myself I would never EVER leave my child again. I pleaded with God that I would never take a moment for granted with my baby again. His breathing became regular and before we got to the hospital his hives started to clear. It was an allergic reaction to something unknown. We never found out what that allergy was. It never happened again. My baby was fine and healthy.
Fast forward 2.5 years. Looking back, I allowed that one incident to heavily influence me. Over the past 2.5 years, I didn’t ask for a lot of help. I allowed my baby to be clingy and didn’t complain despite my back aching and that I was hardly able to feed myself. I self-sacrificed to the point where I almost disappeared. I struggled with maternal depression and found I was losing myself slowly. Eventually I got the courage to start going to the gym when my son was 2 years old. It was the best decision I made for myself. It’s pricier than other local gyms, but I needed a place with childcare I was comfortable with.
If I could go back in time, I would have hugged that mom that begged the paramedics to help her child. I would have comforted her and told her everything will be fine and you can’t allow mom guilt to cause you to sacrifice everything, including yourself. I would have told her, “You are allowed to let him sit in the high chair and not in your lap. He can cry a little without you immediately having to run to him. Just because you need some you-time does not mean you are a bad mother. Bad things happening because you’re not there is a fluke and it can happen whether you are there or not. Take care of yourself and allow other people to help you take care of him.” I wouldn’t have allowed myself to have waited two years before being able to focus on myself.
Today, I find myself taking cute moments for granted. I am human. I am busy. I am a mother. I try to enjoy and be present in the moment, but I fail often and that’s OK. I do the best I can. My hope is that someone who has a little person they love reads this and allows some time for themselves. Go the gym. Go on a walk. Date your partner. Take longer showers. If you struggle with post-postpartum depression or anxiety, spend the money to seek a professional. You are worth it. You can’t give anything to your family if you are running on empty.
