Before I even start to say what is that I want to say, let me start by saying this: I know I should not feel this way. I know I am just about the luckiest new mom on the planet. After a horrible pregnancy, I delivered a premature baby who was the size of a full-term baby. And other than a few mild bumps in the road, he had no physiologic impact of his prematurity. For this I am very thankful.
I do not know what in the hell is wrong with me lately. My baby is 3 months old and I feel horrible emotionally. I burst into tears at the slightest provocation. And I literally feel jealousy toward other pregnant women, which I know is awful. So I have been doing some soul-searching lately to determine the root of my problem, since I am not generally a mean-spirited person.
I feel as if I was robbed. And despite the fact that noone wants me to have another child, my doctors included, I find myself wistfully looking forward to the day when I can have another baby. Because some part of me wants another chance to get things right. And I cannot tolerate the idea that it is all over for me. 2 days ago, I was organizing Zach's clothes in preparation for the coming season change. And I came across a very small amount of things he has recently outgrown. As I folded them and placed them in the storage bin to be packed away, I wanted to scream. Instead, I cried, provoking John to ask me what was wrong. I tried and tried to voice to him how I was feeling, but all he could think was that we have this sweet, perfect baby boy and how could I possibly be sad? H couldn't get that Zach's outgrowing his tiny newborn things (really not even newborn things, but preemie sizes designed for babies up to 7 pounds) is just more evidence that it is all really over before I am ready for it to be.
So yes, that is the perfect statement--that I was robbed. I will never have the pregnancy and childbirth experience a woman should have. And I cannot blame the medical establishment or politics of obstetrics. This is all because of my own body. Hell, I haven't even had the breastfeeding relationship I hoped for. Instead, I have to work for every ounce of breastmilk Zach consumes, and virtually nothing increases my supply while the tiniest little thing will make it drop even further. So yeah, I want to do it all again because I want another chance. Of course I know how illogical this really is. Another chance just means another opportunity for one of my pregnancies. They already told me it will happen with every child I have.
This all makes me wonder if I am suffering from postpartum depression. I don't feel hopeless, can feel joy and enjoy my baby, so I think not. I think it is more just a delayed case of the baby blues. When I start to think that I should maybe find someone to talk with about it, I just feel silly. Regarding the breastfeeding, I keep wanting to seek out a group to join, but I am afraid there will be noone there who can relate to my experiences and it will just leave me feeling more bitter, which is the last thing I want.
Of course the few of you readers who followed my pregnancy blog or read it after the fact are probably disgusted with me right about now. I was so ready back then for it all to be over because I was so miserable. Now that it's all is behind me, I'm complaining. Maybe I just never will be satisfied.