It's become increasingly evident that I no longer exist, or at least my idea of me is lost in this inky world. Let me begin from this stranger's beginning about 6 weeks post partum...
I was so excited to go to the doctors and thank him for bringing my baby into this world and for being more supportive during that disorienting time than I expected. How many male docs do you expect to accept a doula in the birthing room and offer a bedside manner even in a potential emergency?! Well, I was one of the lucky ones and was eager to say thank you.
First thing first...paperwork. The sheets in front of me asked questions from the physical to the mental and my overall experience and changes and caring for my new baby...I expected this post partum fill in, but was surprised that I could outsmart the questions. Exhausted: yes; moody: sometimes; crying: um...no; sleep: never. I thought about each question carefully, knowing that certain ones were red flags. I wanted to make sure I was honest, but didn't need to be too honest. I wasn't sure that there was anything that concerning at the moment.
What I knew about PPD ranged from the Lifetime movies about mothers hurting or even killing their helpless children accidentally in a PPD psychosis and the feud between Brook Shields and Tom Cruise. I knew it was a real illness brought on by the hormones and life changes and the stress of being a parent. I knew that I had some blues and fears, and that they should be buzz feelings, but didn't realize that was the darkness creeping into my reflection.
My 6 week check up went smoothly right down to losing those 20 pounds I had gained during pregnancy. I couldn't believe it, but my body still seemed like it had an extra 60 pounds and was shaped funny...no worries it's only been six weeks, and everything else looks and healed wonderfully. Thanks, and see you next year.
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