I wrote this mid-July, when Little A was about three weeks old. I was in the throes of emotional breakdowns and constant stress and never-ending tears. I debated about posting it at all, since it is pretty raw and jarring – mostly to me. I vividly recall how I wrote it – sitting on the floor of the nursery, exhausted, sobbing, pounding this out on my tablet as the kid slept in the crib after hours of fussing. I am honestly surprised there aren’t more typos. It’s not a perfect post by any means, but it is a recollection of that moment of time for me.
Things have gotten WAY better since this. WAY BETTER. We’ve found a groove, we’re working on a schedule, I am no longer freaking out about feeding. I still think being pregnant is way easier than motherhood – but it is incomparable. Pregnancy does not deliver the smiles, the faces, the grunts, the personality of your spawn. Motherhood is awesome…just not for the first few weeks.
Pregnancy is a hell of a lot easier than motherhood.
Maybe it is just me, but there is a whole lot of guilt, about everything, once that fetus is a baby. And with all that guilt is a whole shitton of tears. And more ugly cries than the entirety of the pregnancy. And I can’t stop.
It’s over stupid things like a photo not turning out exactly right or being peed on.
It’s over legit things like having an ounce of breast milk thrown away that took you two pumping sessions to obtain or the blinding pain of the first few days of nursing.
It’s over regrettable things like not taking enough pictures in the hospital or in the first few days.
It’s over things only I would get emotional about, like not appreciating the labor process enough, being in the moment enough or wanting a do-over.
Yes. A do-over. I often wish I could rewind a few weeks, enjoy and revel in the last few days of pregnancy more, take in and be more in the moments of labor and birth, appreciate every moment that gets spent. I would go through every moment again in a heartbeat if I could take these lessons I’ve learned and use them to have a less emotional time about all this. I would take thousands of pictures, make other people take thousands more, write whenever I had a spare moment so I wouldn’t forget a single detail, I would cherish everything.
Instead, I’m tired and frustrated and impatient and constantly on the verge of tears because I can’t shake the feeling I have done everything wrong and there is no going back. And while I know that is far from the truth – we are all healthy and had zero serious complications throughout this journey – I still feel an intense need to rewind and start again.
It’s hard place, knowing you’re being irrational but unable to contain it. I snap at Big A, I have to walk away in frustration from Little A, I swear a lot. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m in the post partum depression zone, but I also can’t help feeling that this is also a little beyond the baby blues.