New Momma on the Block

Being a first time parent is… amazing, exhilarating, confusing, scary, and most of all, insane. You will will experience the full spectrum of human emotions when you are thrown (more like catapulted) into parenthood. Life as you know it is forever changed, in the best way. However, there seems to be an unwritten rule that as a new mom you should automatically feel elated- bursting at the seams with purpose and prepared for the transition into you new role. Essentially, you are expected to adapt immediately without issue. Forget the mental, physical, and emotional toll your body endures…you should be thankful you have a healthy baby; at-least that’s what we are told. But I’m here to say that it’s ok to feel overwhelmed, lonely, and worried. I wish someone would have told me it’s fairly common to have those feelings, too.

Those first few weeks after we came home from the hospital were nothing short of a blur. The days blended together and we never quite knew which day of the week it was. Surprisingly enough, the early mornings didn’t bother me and neither did the late nights. I would voluntarily wake up at all hours to take care of our new baby, Rhett. “I got it! Go back to sleep Zach,” I would whisper, as if I had my husband’s best interest at heart. Although Zach’s well-being is extremely important to me, my motives were purely selfish. I’d jump right out of bed each morning (not literally… you know I birthed 9 lb. baby, right?) and take care of Rhett. Oddly enough, I felt more energized than I had in years. Mind you, I’m the same girl who is typically in bed, preferably asleep, by 9 pm sharp. So imagine how confused Zach and I were when I was the one who could survive on little to no sleep. I was wired every moment of every day for about a month. When friends and family came to visit they would often ask me how I was doing and if I needed a nap. But truth be told, I thought I was doing well and I definitely wasn’t going to take a nap. Because that would mean someone besides me would have to watch Rhett. Nope. Not gonna happen.

This new surge of energy didn’t come out of the blue. I should’ve noticed my behavior change immediately. Anxiety is something I’ve struggled with since elementary school and for me it’s always been a double edged sword. It makes me productive and highlights my outgoing personality, but it can also overwhelm my system and cause irritability, exhaustion, and irrational thoughts. My OBGYN warned me that my anxiety could worsen after giving birth, but I simply rationalized my feelings and thoughts as standard among new parents. But if I’m really being honest, I knew Zach wasn’t having the same new parent “side effects” that I seemed to be having. Part of me wanted to just chalk it up to his laid back personality and the other part knew that I was desperately seeking was control. If I was in control, I reasoned, I could single-handedly ensure that nothing bad would happen to my baby. I held tight to the reigns. But here’s the thing: Rhett isn’t just my baby, he is Zach’s too.

Behind my enthusiastic smile and crisp winged eyeliner (seriously, how was this not a red flag?) was someone who was constantly on edge and fearful. I frequently played out morbid scenarios in my head of myself falling down the stairs holding him, tripping on the concrete while getting the mail with Rhett in hand, Rhett’s head hitting the stone fireplace because I slipped… and those are just a few. At night I would lay awake waiting for even the faintest noise to emerge from Rhett’s bassinet, propped beside the bed. I was on high-alert, certain that he would inevitably choke or suffocate in the night. I had countless dreams where I would “wake up” in a panic because I fell asleep while burping him. It was the same dream every time. I would then tear apart the sheets in search of his body. He was somewhere in the bed losing oxygen with every passing second. I could never find him. It was gut-wrenching.

Clearly, those were some dark dreams; a manifestation of my paranoia. I would wake up sobbing, accompanied by an unsettling sensation of imminent doom. Oftentimes when I was unable to fall asleep I would resort to googling all of my worries, which consisted primarily of statistics and articles related to SIDS and uncommon diseases in newborns. It became an unhealthy obsession and even my husband took notice. I convinced myself and him that I was doing this research as a preventative measure but in reality, it was only exacerbating my fears. My rationale for all this catastrophizing? I had been fortunate in life and it only made sense that my luck would surely run out. I cried many tears that reeked of unwarranted dread about situations that were likely to never occur.

If I could turn back the clock I would’ve been honest with my OBGYN, my family, and myself from the start. Truth be told, “the start” was the very beginning of my pregnancy. Thinking back, I was overly concerned with the umbilical cord being wrapped around his neck and I constantly worried I was going to lose Rhett in utero. My anxiety grew as the pregnancy progressed and it all came to a head when he was born. Ultimately, my behavior spiraled and I became a shell of myself. Thanks to my husband and family for voicing their concerns, I got the help I needed which consisted of seeing a doctor and getting on some beneficial medicine. Gone are the dark thoughts and dreams. Moving forward, I have to make a conscious effort to live in the now. It’s something I’ll always strive towards.

Reflecting back, I think the quintessential mom role was easy for me to play because I fall into the type-A, perfectionist category. But how suffocating and lonely that facade was. It’s hard to be transparent about your struggles when you don’t want to face yourself- your shortcomings. I don’t think I was ready to come to terms with the fact that that I was not the parent I envisioned I would be. Guilt riddled me. All I ever wanted to be was a mom and when I finally had a healthy, beautiful baby to care for all I could do was think about the potential dangers surrounding him. So much precious time with my baby boy wasted worrying about things out of my control. Postpartum anxiety is a sneaky little guy. Beware and be aware of him. It’s not your fault if you struggle with it and you should never feel ashamed. Learn from me.

My final piece of advice? Check in on your friends who are new mommas, especially if they’re wearing winged eyeliner.