This post will not be happy. It will not be inspiring, but it will be the truth however ugly it is.
The Baby Blues are hard. No one tells you about them. No one tells you about the tears that flow, and the thoughts that can run through your mind.
It is a voice inside your head that tells you “this is impossible.” It’s the voice that keeps you from sleeping, steals your appetite, and leaves your soul raw. For the first few days my only prayer was God help me. I didn’t know what else to ask. I could feel myself sinking into the terrible thoughts that went through my head.
When my son would visit the hospital all I could think was “How can we do this? It’s too hard.” In my head I had two separate families; one with Little Sister and one with Big Brother, but never together. I wanted to be a parent of one, two was just too hard. But I wanted them both and I wanted to want to be a family. And then some times I wanted to run away because it was too hard. The thoughts ate away at me. They are still there, but better. I was scared and worried, and I know I worried D. I knew what I was looking like in the mirror. I saw the bigger and bigger bags under my eyes and the desperate look I had.
I broke down and cried to the nurse, I laid it all out there. I felt terrible admitting the awful mother that I was sounding like. But I had to get it out. It was eating away at me. I had spent the previous hour crying and praying for God to send me some help. And the nurse did help. She hugged me and told me I wasn’t alone. She told me of her dark hour after her second child. She helped me to see that it was more than the overwhelming feelings I was having at coming home, but also my fear for Little Sister. Would she be ok? What if we miss the signs and she gets even worse. What if she does need a transfusion? What if, what if, what if. And I felt like it was all my fault. It was my blood after all that was attacking her.
These are not the thoughts that come from God. I knew that. But I couldn’t stop them from coming and tearing me down. And I knew something was wrong. I knew this was not me.
And so D prayed for me too. And I got a lot of sleep when I came home. Sure I cried that night and I was overwhelmed, but D was great. D ran interference and took over caring for G. I only had to care for me and feed the baby.
The scared part of me still tries to come out, but everyday that we make it work helps. Next week D goes back to work and it’s just me. I know a lot of women do it and they do it well, but it scares me. Being a mom of 1 was so much easier. Time didn’t have to be split, love didn’t have to be shared, it was all Big Brother. The guilt still runs deep but I try to think of all that we are giving Big Brother and not what we are taking away. He will have a sibling, a friend for life, and he really does love her.
The dark thoughts are not pretty but apparently they are normal and they are going away… slowly.