I Didn’t Know I Had Postpartum Depression with My First until I Didn’t with My Second

It’s Caesarian Awareness Month, and because I was honoured to receive two c-sections, one for each little gaffer I’ve grown and birthed onto this Earth, I feel compelled to write a bit more about the experience of becoming a mother for the first and the second time.

What I’m hoping in writing this piece is to help another mother or father identify with this story, and feel like it is okay, and very much encouraged, to speak to someone, anyone, about what they are going through.

I did not know I had postpartum depression with my first child until I didn’t with my second.

I have never said that out loud, and I have never said this even to my own family. Today, 7 months after the birth of my second child, I realize that I had suffered in silence for about 3 years, and lied to the healthcare teams in 2013 when they called to check up on how I was feeling as a new mother to my first baby. I didn’t know I was lying to them at the time, but I do now.

How could this happen? Well, for me, in 2013 it was a combination of a lack of knowledge and a lack of experience. Fairly common for a first time parent.

You see, healthcare quality is improved every day. New stories and new experiences come forward and inform the changes and improvements across the community. An example in this context is the motto ‘being a good mother’ in 2013 was translated to “breast is best”. Today, the motto has very thankfully been improved to “fed is best”. This movement came upon the heels of a story covered by the media of a mother who tragically took her own life after “failing” (ugh!) to produce enough breastmilk for her new baby, and, in the throws of PPD, ended her suffering. Sadly, I do not believe she was the only one, however, her widower shared her story, and now we are all wiser from it.

In 2013, I had a very base knowledge of PPD, in that I knew it existed, but not what it really was, and I didn’t know a thing about postpartum anxiety (PPA), or postpartum psychosis (PPP). There are now several other postpartum diagnoses for mental wellness of which the healthcare community is aware, and I would imagine other diagnoses will surface in the future as more stories are shared, and the hive mind becomes cohesive.

So I’m throwing my story in the pile, hoping for some stickiness.

2013 was my first year of parenthood, and the birth of my son came unexpectedly by emergency c-section after 40 hours of labour. My body was exhausted, and I was emotionally drained because I had made my “birth plan”, and I chose ‘Caesarian’ as my worst case scenario; I’d built this up in my mind over 9ish months, and suddenly my worst nightmare was coming true after not sleeping for 2 days. At that point I did not know that I wouldn’t be sleeping for another few months after that exhausting experience. I was fortunate to have a baby who slept. I do believe that from the initial deprivation, I did not recover, and spiralled into a fog of fear, intrusive thoughts, darkness, and despair. For 3 years. And no one knew. Not even me.

The experience of my second pregnancy and birth was very different.

I work in healthcare quality, and gained a breadth of knowledge I did not have in 2013. Also, now that I had experienced the process of birth with my first, I knew that I wanted to schedule my c-section in an attempt to side-step the exhaustion I had experienced from my labour in 2013. It was less important for me and my mental health to attempt to deliver vaginally, and very vital that I slept the night before my son’s arrival. Elected c-section was my choice for my second son, and his birth was so utterly amazing that I do not have the words to express how I felt.

Recovery in hospital after my elected c-section was awesome. I felt like Wolverine, healing in record time, and released home after 2 nights. Obviously I had a very skilled, hand-picked surgeon who caused this miracle to happen, although I do like to buff my knuckles on my shoulder (just a smidgen) to celebrate my body epically pulling through another abdominal slicing.

So, this second baby does not sleep. He is up, even at 7 months, 5-6 times a night, and although I am very tired, I am not exhausted. I’m not afraid of the night like I was in 2013, and I felt connected to this little soul, his first cry in the OR ringing in my ears. A song just for me.

I so wished this for my first, and I am thrilled I had the opportunity to feel elated during my second birth experience. I am so grateful that my eldest is such an amazing human, connecting with me when I was in the darkness, patiently and unknowingly pulling me into the light over the first 3 years of his life. My indigo child. My love.

I did not know. There are others now who may not know.

My hope is, in this month celebrating c-sections and birth, if my story resonates with you, and you see yourself, even a little bit, I hope that you will talk, or write, or sing, or dance, or whatever language feels right — about it. There are resources where you live, and if there aren’t local resources, the internet and social media platforms have support groups that make the world feel smaller and much less lonely.

You are brave, and a wonderful father or mother. The community will support you. Reach out. The light is warm, and our inner child would roll their eyes saying ‘I told you so’, but parenthood is better with the lights on.

Love always,

Your Fumbling Mom — my friends call me Kel

Your ID…Ma’am?

I’ve read somewhere, everywhere, that when you become a parent, your whole identity changes. The transition from not having your DNA breathing, running around, barfing on you and getting into everything, to it doing just that everyday is a bit…bumpy. The person you once were exists too, but as a sort of, quieter inner voice. A hush, almost…

“Did you see that episode of Friends where Joey eats everything in the fridge because it’s broken? That’s you! You’re the fridge! How are your nipples feeling today?”

“Gosh, remember when you showered every day and everyone remarked on how great you smell all the time? Did you buy deodorant yesterday?”

“Let’s go dancing! Ooooooh remember dancing?! It felt good right? All the people, free flowing drinks, great beats? No, not beets, Mom. Beats! Tunes lady! Yeah, let’s do that again! You should buy beets though…”

Sometimes my inner voice says things that result in situations that were once very familiar, but now foreign being the guardian of two small humans:

I went out to a club. Like, out, out. I haven’t been out out in almost a decade.

But not just one stop, no no, that would be half-assing it! A youthful restaurant with a DJ, a bar with live music to follow, then a dance club to cap off the night, all wrapping up nicely at the crack of 3am after visiting the 99 cent (now $1.49) pizza place. Snapchat captured it all in a brief 24 hour story that has disappeared into the bowels of the internet somewhere. Like whiteout for social media. Sigh. Best invention ever.

I’m going to be honest here. I didn’t think I was going to have fun. I have an infant at home with hubby, a high energy 4 year old, and I’m an introvert; so picture a completely exhausted dirty dishpan, and that’s me, except with messier hair, on my good days. AND I was “Ma’am-ed” at the beginning of the night! Ma’am-ed!! Lord give me strength.

BUT

I was in GREAT company. Two of my favourite ladies were out with me, and it was one of their birthdays. The drinks were flowing, the nostalgia was strong as the live band was the same from my early 20s and they were playing 90s jams. We got great seats at the bar for some pretty epic people watching. The conversations were deep and inspiring. My vocabulary and expressiveness increases 100 fold after a few spiked ice teas, and I can spittle at strangers with confidence. Yes, yes, this was a good time. Even when I tried to explain to the bouncer at the club that he really should see my ID as he explained it was 100% not necessary (and I was belligerent, arguing for 90%) it was a great time.

The people were a total mess. Like, the kind of mess where you’re wiping vomit off your shoe that isn’t yours (or your DNA’s), you find yourself sympathizing with the bar tender who tells you tales of the office party that was in there at 4pm that day getting annihilated and limiting career opportunities…

and as I looked on at a girl and a boy who had just met that night, making out on the bar, tongues a-flailing, in front of a packed house, I thought to myself…

I’m definitely a Ma’am alright. Definitely.

That bouncer deserves a raise, he One Hundo P did not need to see my ID. Because you know what, inner voice? Even though you get me into trouble sometimes, you’re right. I DO like dancing, and I’m only sometimes a broken fridge, and dammit I CAN smell good sometimes if I want to! And although parenting the day after this late night adventure was like conducting a marching band of monkeys on ice, it was nice to do something different with my favourite people. Self care is a big deal when you’re responsible for small ones who look to you for balance and love, and laughter, and light. Loving you makes loving them all that much more rewarding. Take it from this tired pigeon. Do you think I should just shred my ID?

Best,

Your Fumbling Ma’am

A Letter to You, My Youngest Kiddo…

Dear Youngest Kiddo,

You’re asleep now in your crib, hands cast above your head, fists relaxed, currently dreaming of your few short months on this earth…and perhaps the ether that came before.

I write to you, as I did your brother, in the first few months of life to also let you know what I see, where you come from, and hopefully inspire you at a later time when I am gone, and you need me.

You are the youngest in our little family of 4, and you will find it is inevitable that you will, at some point in your life, be compared to your older brother.

Even now I am guilty of posting adorable photos of you and him, side-by-side, as your birthdays are so close together, just 4 years apart. I cannot help myself as I clutch these memories of you both in those photographs with the fierceness of a mother’s love for her boys. Hoping to hold on to time, freeze it ever so briefly.

Even so, you are your own man. You are already, at such a young age, strong and independent, wanting warmth and love, and slightly surprised by the ferociousness of your older brother’s love for you. “Please be careful! Don’t smother your brother!” your Dad and I say on an hourly basis. We laugh, and exclaim that your brother will follow you to the ends of the earth to hug you as hard as he can. We hope you will let him.

This is a beautiful gift, to be the youngest, as your Mommy is the youngest sibling too.

It is important to understand that as the youngest, you have responsibilities to be not only adored (undeniably!) but to show the beauty of being unexpectedly strong while also being vulnerable. Even now I see you absorbing the essence of light and laughter around you, eyeing everyone, reading their thoughts, then responding, as you do. Intuitive you are, my little one.

Your qualities already precede you.

You are tall, with kind, grey eyes. Although ample height is not known to be common in our genetics, I hope you understand that you should always feel tall, even if you are not necessarily that in stature. Be tall in kindness, generosity, compassion, and empathy. With these qualities, others will see you from a mile away, and follow your lead. This world will thank you.

You find patterns to be marvellous wonders, and are astonished by their existence. You see these before anyone else notices they are there, and I hope you hold on to this curiosity and astuteness. Life is made of patterns, and the sooner you see them, the more you can share them with others, perhaps helping them find their way in a confusing labyrinth.

Your voice is powerful, and you are not afraid to share your opinion, my sweet child. Currently, you use this to let me know when you are hungry or annoyed, but it should be acknowledged that you have a strength that many others do not. I hope you will use your voice to stand up for what is right, and talk openly about when things feel wrong. Communication is vital to relationships, and you are so gifted in this, just like your father, and his father before him.

You have an affinity for snuggling like no other. Touch is your most favourite of the senses, and you should always feel love in this –never suffering, or pain. If you find yourself in the latter, I hope you have the strength to leave. Know that love is where you belong.

Although still little, I see you are wise. Your eyes give you away, revealing an old soul, and it is clear to me that you have seen the stars up close. Your experiences will make up a large part of who you are and who you will become. We have all had those days we wish we could forget, but I hope you know that mistakes are human, and learning from them is what makes you better than you were a minute, a day, a week, a month, a year ago. Mistakes are opportunities. Seize them my love.

As I lay here, post partum belly still squishy and soft with the memory of your growth, I listen to you breathe in the baby monitor, thinking of you, and the future life that lay ahead. I am already in awe of your spirit. Your transition from wherever you were onto this plane was flawless, and you have owned every second of your new life. Rock on, my small one. You have a huge village that loves you so.

Love your biggest fan,

Your Fumbling Mom

10 Things You Forgot to Remember, I Think?

We are so lucky in Canada to receive 12 months of maternity leave to raise, bond with, and love our new children. A magical year indeed. So many firsts for them, so many firsts for new parents.

In all the excitement and newness of having a baby family member, and all the coordination involved sorting out life with babe, sometimes parents forget they matter as individuals and adults too.

Although I hear through parenting circles that this is considered the norm, the details of what this forgetfulness and neglect looks like is a little elusive, at least to me. I think it’s important for people (not only parents) to get the chance to peek behind the curtain to understand the specifics of forgetting to be, well…a person. At least, the person you thought you were.

1. You forget you have pants you could wear that do not resemble sweatpants.

This may sound simple, but in all the hub bub of bathing, changing, and dressing your child, you forget to spend the time to dress yourself. You consider it a “fancy” day if you put on pants that require you to wear underwear.

2. You haven’t showered in 3 days, and have resorted to wearing more perfume instead

Although horrid, this is an every day reality. You’d rather wash the cheese out from under your infant’s chins than take 5 minutes to approach a loofa yourself: “these 5 minutes could be better utilized with tummy time” because “we are so frigging behind on that.” Lady, take a shower. Alright fine.

3. You Battle Entropy Every. Single. Minute. of the Day.

You have children? Your house is a tornado of mess from spilled milk stains on the hardwood floor to poopy laundry. Rug fluff dances with your dust bunnies, escaping out the front door on the bottom of your guest’s socks. Your hand always carries a wet cloth, the skin on your knuckles displaying dry cracks from cleaning detergents and hand washing. Clean when the baby cleans. Righto. Entropy.

4. Your vehicle has become a baby and stroller transport system.

When I bought my first vehicle, I walked into a dealership and asked them to put me in a car that made me look like I had my life together. 2 door, lipstick red, V6, gas guzzling sports car. When I traded that car in, I walked into a dealership 9 months pregnant and asked them to put me in a car with at least 4 doors, could fit two car seats when required, and allow me to get in and out without ripping the ass of my pants. Priorities, you know.

5. You Tell Time Based on When Ellen Starts.

One year of mat leave. You can only go on so many walks and trips to Walmart. Better start a blog.

6. You’re like, ‘What Makeup?’

Even though you probably look the most tired you’ve been since your last teenaged growth spurt in the 90s, makeup to cover up those Mommy bags under your peepers is simply out of the question. Forget about it. I’ve already put on underwear today, date night, I’m ready.

7. You forget to be hungry until you’re hangry.

If you’re like me, you’re always counting the hours from the last time you pumped a bottle for your very large, very hungry infant. Between the counting, nap time scheduling, diaper changes, grocery shopping, parenting classes, exercising, and dozing, you find yourself asking “why am I mad?” Oh that’s right, I haven’t eaten since 8am and it’s dinner time. I know this because Ellen is on.

8. You hum the Winnie the Pooh theme song when you’re not with your child, and you don’t even like that song

I prefer Abba.

9. You baby talk to your spouse by accident

Barf. You’d think I could control the pitch of my voice at 29 years of age after the kiddo has gone to bed. Nope. “Does Daddy want seconds? Num num num!” Not in that tone of voice he doesn’t. Divorce.

And last but not least:

10. You’re so stupidly happy that you forget you’ve forgotten yourself

This is usually the thing that happens when your kid laughs for the first time. Or rolls over. Or sits up. Or talks to you. Smiles at you. Oh jeeze the list could go sappily on and on.

What’s important to realize in all this is that you really haven’t forgotten or neglected yourself with all the mess, dirty hair, stained clothing, etc. You’ve actually remembered what is important in life:

Happiness.

Making others happy, and thereby making yourself happy. Simple.

So, even if you have forgotten to put on a bra before taking down the garbage, with your hair doing that alfalfa thing it does when it’s greasy, and via Murphy’s Law run into your hot neighbour…

…you don’t have to be a parent to have this delight happen to you…

Spread happiness. In the end, it’s really all that matters.

Sincerely yours,

Fumbling Mom