I am a postpartum nurse. Before my patients are discharged home, I sit with them, and go over a checklist to prepare them for the days ahead at home; where the effects of sleep deprivation and the overwhelming realization that this little creature who does little more than eat, sleep, cry, and fill several diapers an hour will cause feelings in them that they had not expected. My discussion with my new mothers and their families on Postpartum Depression is one of the most important aspects of my job. And sadly, this is the time when my captive audience starts squirming in their seats.
As I launch into my description of what Postpartum Depression is, I immediately notice one of two things: 1. My audience is listening attentively or 2. My audience suddenly wants to start packing up the room; grandma mumbles something about how "this didn't exist when I had kids"; dad walks back and forth in front of me with the car seat, fumbling with the straps and interrupting my words by asking me, "Do you know how this thing works?"; and/or the patient herself will stop me with a polite, "You don't have to go into this part. I've already read all about it in my baby books, and it won't happen to me."
She assumes it won't happen to her because:
1.Her experience with her first child was idyllic.
2.Her conceptual version of motherhood does not include a dramatic drop in her estrogen and progesterone levels which contributes to PPD.
3.She is not yet so exhausted that the mere sight of her newborn will cause her to wonder why she wanted a baby in the first place, the chronic guilt of which contributes to PPD.
4.Her beautiful image of baby sweetly suckling on its mother's breast has not yet been shattered by the possibility of a frantic baby screaming for hours while she wonders why her babe won't latch on properly as he/she did in hospital.
5.She is convinced that she will be the perfect mother she has read about in parent magazines were propaganda about cause and effect abound, causing helpless moms everywhere to wonder why their child is still wailing and miserable despite the steps they have put into place as perfectly detailed to prevent colic, separation anxiety, picky eaters, and/or ~insert any other fallacy women believe about raising a perfect child~
I stress the latter point because it is this particular aspect of motherhood that causes the most psychological damage to a woman who has walked into the hospital with a birthing plan and left it with a perfectly crafted mental image of what the perfect child and its perfect mother should be. I can say this with great certainty because I was that person. Every single point I mentioned above about potential causes for PPD contributed to mine, and the last point was the one which caused me to feel like a failure as a mother and a person.
When my newborn twisted in hunger in my arms because my body was not doing its job of producing milk, and I had to resort to boiling water and mixing formula at 3am, my head resting on the countertop as I waited for the kettle to boil; I can see now that that was the moment I realized I was going to be the failing student from the prenatal classes I had attended in which nobody had warned me about this moment.
Obviously my previous fight with depression and anxiety was certainly a precursor to Postpartum Depression, as I stress to my new mothers; but my beautiful image of my child and myself dancing and singing to Sesame Street only further served to solidify the catastrophe of motherhood for me. Because as I spent every available moment stimulating my baby with flashcard of the alphabet, and reasoning in soothing tones to an 8 month old who had knocked over an ornament I had not removed from his reach because good mothers had told me, "Oh I never baby-proofed. I just taught my kids that mommy's things were off limits" - I wasn't basking in the glow of shaping a young mind.
Rather I hated every second of it. Nobody had told me that it was okay to not enjoy sitting on the floor for hours playing cars. Nobody had admitted to me that my child would eventually learn how to pee and poo in the potty even if I didn't start toilet training by the age of 20 months. My daughter didn't sleep through the night till she was almost four. The looks of shock on the faces at our playgroups further fueled the thoughts that I sucked at this motherhood gig.
The feelings of gloom that enveloped me like a cloak of failure because I was not as perfect as I had set out to be, only served to send me deeper under the covers with a box of tissue by my side, as I cried for hours, not only because I was unable to master motherhood with a smile, but also because my Postpartum Depression was not only aggravated by the lie I had believed about perfect parenting, but also perpetuated.
So to those mothers who do listen to me with rapt attention, their eyes fixed on me as I sit before them with their chart in my lap, and check off the sections we have discussed, I leave them with this piece of advice:
"Do what keeps you sane. I'm not saying this will keep Postpartum Depression at bay, but a realistic expectation of what you can handle, not what you want, will help to keep both you and your baby healthy."
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