Hitting the wall

Every mom that makes it to the other side of the first year can tell you about "hitting the wall". When we get there, the first thing we want to do is tell new moms about it, to warn them. But we hold back because we don't want to be "that mom" that thinks that just because she lived to tell about something, that she is now the mom whisperer. So we wait, we listen, we nod in agreement when new moms go on about how much they have it together, how it's hard but rewarding, how this is such an amazing experience, etc. Of course we agree, but we still cautiously wait for when our friends reach that wall. There's a point in every new mom's journey where they hit a wall. We reach a point where we are STILL not getting any sleep, we're STILL changing diapers and washing bottles, we're STILL trying to defend our decisions even though we doubt them ourselves, and damn it, we STILL have not gotten a chance to eat lunch. We hit the wall. We reach that point where we realize that we CAN'T have it all, something needs to give a little. We CAN'T live our lives like we have for the last 5, 10, 15 years of our adult life. Our life HAS changed, and if we don't embrace it, it's going to run us right over.

I hit the wall when my son was about 4 months old. Coincidentally, right around the time I was supposed to go back to work, but instead decided to be a SAHM. I had been a mom for 4 months, I should have had a handle on things by this point, right? My son was sleeping pretty well (good 6 hour stretches anyway), we had a nice schedule down, it was the middle of summer and there's was a whole world out there for us to enjoy. I was handed this opportunity to SAH with my son and I was UPSET? I actually MISSED perfusion mice and mixing chemicals all day long? Immediately following these thoughts, came the guilt that of course I would love this. This is what I wanted, this was going to be great. I would flip flop between emotions every second of every day and it was literally driving me crazy.

I was tired of being the only one able to calm him down. What once was an ego boost was now this incredibly overwhelming burden. I wanted to leave, but was too anxious to actually do it. I would imagine my husband getting frustrated with him and ignoring him. For some reason I thought it was OK if I couldn't calm him down, because I was him mom and could control myself. What if someone else that didn't have that connection to him got frustrated with him and hurt him? All for a trip to Target for a Starbucks? No thanks, I didn't need THAT guilt to. It was irrational and ridiculous, but I just didn't have the stamina or mental capacity at that point to know the difference. Sometimes when he would cry, I would stand with him in my arms looking out the window and wish that I could just put him on the lawn chair for a little while. Just put him out THERE, while I was in HERE, and then I could have a few moments of peace. I'm telling you, I have the highest respect for moms with colicky babies, because my son barely cried in comparison, and I still couldn't handle it. Score, another thing for me to feel bad about myself for.

I don't like to take drugs. I had two unmedicated labors because I had a botched spinal tap in college and was TERRIFIED of an epidural. So I did everything in my power to avoid anything but a natural birth. Fortunately, I got my wish. When I started having all these emotional issues, I really wanted to try and resolve them without medication. Not that it's evil, or that it isn't absolutely necessary if you do need them, I just wanted to exhaust other avenues before I got to that point. My OB/ped put me in touch with a few numbers from the hospital of woman that I could call that had experienced exactly what I was going through. Not some psychologist that didn't who wasn't even married or dating, not some old man that got his MD a bazillion years ago, but moms with young children that would understand me.

I believe that call saved my life.

I remember talking to that poor woman for over two HOURS. I just needed someone to tell me it was ok, and normal, and that everything would work itself out. If I needed medication, that was ok, but if I just needed someone to listen to me, that might make it ok too. I only talked to the woman that one time, and to this day still don't know her name (that was the whole point of this network). But she saved me. She was that objective, non-judgemental voice in my head that I needed to hear. She pulled me back down to earth, out of the thoughts in my head, and gave me the confidence I needed to move forward. I honestly felt better. I still gripped my son a little tighter as I walked down the stairs, but it wasn't accompanied by the panicked FEAR that something bad was going to happen. Every day got a little better. A month or two later I started babysitting the son of a friend at work 2 days a week and it made all the difference. I felt like a contributing member of our household again, it gave me much-needed confidence boosts when I was able to watch that little boy learn things from ME, and it gave me a schedule that resembled more of what "real" people have out in that world that I had felt so disconnected from. Being a SAHM, hell being just a MOM, can be so isolating and lonely, and finding something that gave me a little bit of my "me" back helped to break down that wall that stopped me dead in my tracks. I even started sewing again, which I never seemed to have time for before, and it ended up turning into a new career while I SAH.

In January 2009, I had my daughter, just shy of 4 years after my son. The second time around was SO different. I still had some of the same anxieties that come with having a newborn, but I knew what to expect. I knew what to try and when, and how to LET THINGS GO. I walked into my second round with low expectations. I set reasonable expectations for myself, because I knew it wouldn't last forever. I knew that I WOULD get back to a new normal that I was comfortable with and everything would be ok. I went into it knowing that I couldn't do it all, that in the end it wouldn't matter if I did, and that with patience I would get back on track (it just wouldn't happen OVERNIGHT). I was realistic. I still was anxious when I carried my daughter across our second floor catwalk with visions of me dropping her over the side, but I could calm myself down this time and just embrace that it was part of the process. I surprised myself the second time around, I really did. I let my husband and family help more, I didn't worry about things that were pointless to worry about (like OMG, she's sleeping in the swing for X # of hours), and I just enjoyed the newborn moments that I knew wouldn't last forever. I soaked up all those nights when she would fall asleep in my arms and let her stay there as long as she wanted. All the housework would eventually get done, my carriers would still get sewn, but I only had right now to enjoy those short moments of my last cuddly newborn.

Now, there were some lessons that were harder to learn than others. I still pushed myself a lot. Hell, I shipped 9, yes NINE carriers the week Sadie was born. Clearly I was back on the crack of new motherhood, BUT I recognized my mistakes quickly and slowed down a little. I kept my business going, but didn't overdo it. There were things that I simply could NOT slow down on this time around because my son was in preschool and still needed to get there and home again every day. My daughter was born on a Wed, and we picked up my son from preschool on friday on the way home from the hospital. The next monday, I was already back to taking him to school. What can you do? Life still has to move on right?

What helped the most the second time around was that my husband knew how it all goes down now. He understood that I would be frustrated when I woke up in a pool of sweat and milk, or when laundry simply became clean and dirty piles on the bedroom floor. He knew to bring home takeout when I was having a hard day, and didn't try to crack jokes when he came home to find me in the same position on the couch as when he had left. He actually "got it" this time around, and believe me, it made ALL the difference.

So the second time around, I didn't turn a corner and WHAM into that wall. I jogged along, saw it coming in the distance, and did what I needed to do to get through it. I still had all the same feelings, but I was less removed from them this time. I didn't feel like I was having this out of body experience while I watched life go on around me. I felt like I owned my emotions and could keep them in check. Somewhere between having my two children, I also had the opportunity to build an amazing network of support with other moms, which I can even explain how important it really turned out to be.

I don't think what I experienced can be defined as PPA. I guess it was, but there are obviously people that suffer through much worse than I did, so in a way I feel guilty for using the term. What I DO know is that it is absolutely impossible to expect that ANY new parent, regardless of their age wouldn't experience what I did. We spend HOURS reading books and taking "classes" on becoming a parent. We learn how to eat during pregnancy, and breath during labor. But where are the classes on how to SURVIVE being responsible for a new human life? They don't exist. No where in my pre-parenthood journey did anyone tell me about waking up a sweaty mess after giving birth, or how you would feel like your organs were falling out when you got out of bed. No one tells you about how it burns to pee, or how incredibly painful and NOT natural breastfeeding is. They don't warn you that listening to a newborn cry can actually be ANNOYING and that when your now sex-crazed husband tries to kiss you that his head will look 10 times it's normal size. Once the medical end of labor is over, they just send you on your way and that's it. It's like throwing a dog into the water and waiting until instincts kick in and they can paddle to shore. It's as if the before and during is this magical journey we're supposed to share, and the after is everyone for themselves.

It doesn't have to be that way. We can reach out and help other moms. We can embrace and OWN our decisions and recognize that putting down other parents for their choices doesn't make our own any better. We can stop pretending that having a child is all puppy dogs and rainbows and accept that it really does take a village.

It's time to do something.

Because a mom that isn't healthy herself, can't take care of everyone else too.