The First Two Weeks: Baby Blues

We left the hospital on a Sunday.  I wanted the morning to slow down.  The hospital felt safe.  Everyone knew what they were doing.  And though Jason and I had tried for Ezra for two years, I still felt ill prepared to bring my baby home.  I wanted to stay there and have nurses bring me juice and pain medication and take Ezra to the nursery if I was tired.  But the morning went by quickly.  Ezra was circumcised and 30 minutes later, we were released.  We packed all of our bags and passed families in the waiting room, took the elevator down three floors, and popped Ezra in the back seat and that was it.  We drove home slowly, awed that we left home as two people and returned as three.

Nothing can prepare you for having a newborn at home except experience.  People will tell you that you'll never sleep again.  Or that you should sleep when the baby sleeps.  Or that breast feeding is difficult.  Throw all of that out the window.  It doesn't mean anything.  Until you experience it, those words mean absolutely nothing.

A thousand things worried me on the first night.  Ezra had no interest in latching.  He was fussy and angry and not the baby I had in the hospital.  He had been circumcised that morning and also diagnosed with jaundice.  All around miserable.  When I called the nurse, she suggested I give him a bottle.  And there is where I ruined my breastfeeding relationship with my baby.  He didn't sleep, I didn't know what to do, and as I rocked him in his nursery, I wondered out loud, "What have I done?  I have made a HUGE mistake.  I am not meant to be a mother."  And I cried.  And he cried.  And we rocked like that for an hour.  The hours of that night seemed like days and I came down the stairs in tears the next morning.  And that afternoon.  And that night.  Everything set me off.  I couldn't do anything right and my baby surely hated me, my husband thought I was a failure, and CPS was going to come take my baby from me. The first 24 hours were the worst.

On Tuesday, I went to a lactation class, and cried through the entire thing.  They were helpful and had lots of advice.  But Ezra was a show off and pretended like we didn't have any problems, but the second we got home, he wanted to fight.

On Wednesday, I cried all day.  Jason hugged me and told me he loved me and that I was doing a good job, but I just couldn't get it together.  I cried.  And I cried.  And I cried until I was exhausted.  And then I made an appointment with my midwives to talk about the baby blues.

On Thursday, I met with the midwives while Jason watched the baby on his own.  I cried on the way there.  I cried in the waiting room.  I cried when they weighed me and took my blood pressure.  I cried when they had me fill out a survey.  And I cried through the whole appointment.  She patted me and told me that every mom feels this way.  Every mom goes through this emotional phase while the hormones are leaving your body.  What is making me sad, she wanted to know.  Everything.  I feel like failure.  I feel like because it took so long to get pregnant, I'm not allowed to feel anything but positive about it.  I feel scared that I'm doing things wrong.  I feel horrible that breast feeding isn't going well.  I'm tired.  I want to know when it will get easier and no one knows.  I cry because I cry and I'm embarrassed.  I just feel sad and hopeless.  I left with a prescription for Zoloft.

On Friday, I decided not to fill the prescription and to wait it out and see if it would get better.  Antidepressants seemed like a big trigger to pull.  We celebrated one week home and the hardest week of my life.

On Saturday, we started the new week.  I talked to Jason about the possibility of giving up exclusively breast feeding.  The stress, the pressure was too much.  He hugged me and told me he would support whatever I felt was best.  And I cried big, big ugly tears into his chest.

On Sunday, we stayed home.  I felt like I turned a corner and only cried once.  Ezra and I spent the day on the couch and the pressure seemed to lift.  I took deep breaths and loved my baby.  His umbilical cord fell off and totally grossed me out.

On Monday, my mom came back and we gave Ezra his first bath.  He enjoyed it for about a full minute, and then he did not enjoy it anymore.  I kissed him and loved him and he slept beautifully.

On Tuesday, we went to the doctor and Ezra was cleared of his jaundice but now had a blocked tear duct.  He got some eye drops and a visit to The Fresh Market where everyone in the store cooed over him.  He also had his first blow out in the Walmart parking lot.  I didn't know someone so little could produce so much poop.

On Wednesday, we went to a pumpkin patch.  It was hot and Ezra was a good sport for about 10 minutes.  And Ezra did not sleep well that night.

On Thursday, I went back to the doctor and told them about how Zoloft wasn't for me.  I cried throughout the appointment and the survey indicated that I was still in the worrying range for baby blues and gave me another prescription.  But I was too tired from my late night to fill it.  Jason changed his first poopy diaper.

On Friday, today, we celebrate two weeks.  Ezra and I have turned a corner and have reached a mutual understanding. 

They say it gets better and you won't believe them--but it does.  Nothing prepares you for a newborn.  But once you let go of being perfect, you can focus on being enough.  One hour, one diaper change, one feeding, one night at a time.