This Friend Is My Guardian Angel(ene)
I'm already kind of a worrier. Fine, OK, there is no "kind of" about it. I'm a champion worrier. When my son was born, worry took on a whole new dimension, because then I had to worry about him and his safety and well-being, even more than my own.
By the time T came along, I was 38 years old - almost 39. I had waited all of my adult life for this sweet, perfect little baby and I had no idea what I was doing. That was the shocking part. I had no.... Earthly... idea... what I was doing. Is he eating enough? Is he sleeping enough? Is his onesie too loose? Too tight? Am I swaddling him properly (see Exhibit A and B - my swaddling definitely improved over time)? Sure, I had done my share of babysitting for friends and for my sister, and I thought I knew how to take care of a baby.
I asked everyone and their brother/ sister/ wife/ mother for advice. I read every book I could get my hands on. I even asked the wives of male acquaintances for sleeping advice in desperation because they told me their babies all slept well. "There must be a magic formula I am missing!" I thought. Of course, now I know that every parent has to figure out what method works for them and go with that. My husband soothed me with "It's just a phase. Hang in there."
While I was frantically trying to figure all of this out, I was crying every day, but doing my best to put on a brave face to the world. That wasn't hard in Austin, since I had only lived here for 10 months by then and didn't know too many people. I sent a long missive to my friend Angie (Angelene), asking for baby advice, when T was about a month old. She has seven kids... surely she knows the magic language of baby-raising.
Not an hour had passed after I hit send, Angie called me. "Kristin, I think you need to see a doctor, and this is why," she said. She explained to me the signs of postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety and spotted some of those signals in me. I hadn't considered it; what I thought was just the baby blues was escalating without my knowledge. Somewhat casually, I took her advice and made an appointment to see my OB a few days later. By that time I saw the doctor, I had full-out insomnia, slept 2 hours a night, and was shaking as if I had chugged two pots of espresso. I could not focus long enough to read one page of a magazine. I hovered over the crib, listening to my baby breathe.
The doctor took one look at my face and could see I was floundering; she diagnosed me with Postpartum Anxiety, the close cousin to PPD. She helped me, and it took two excruciating, anxious, terrifying weeks for the help to kick in. I could take care of my son, but I had no idea how to take care of myself in the meantime. I lost all of my baby weight by the time T was a few weeks old, which seems like a fantastic feat but was really just me worrying myself through more calories than I could take in. If I had waited much longer to see the doctor, I may have checked myself into a hospital to get the rest I needed to function.
Fortunately for me, I also have a mother-in-law who taught OB nursing, a fantastically supportive husband, and the best parents and sister in the world. I also had a friend who was looking out for me, and took my crying follow-up calls to listen, even with seven kids of her own to take care of.
I tell every new mother I can about postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety. It's scary, it's real, and you may not even know you have it. My friend Angie spotted it from hundreds of miles away, via email, because she has known me since we were 16. I'll never forget that she took the time and initiative to reach out and tell me that I needed to ask for help. That's love, in one of its many forms. Asking for help is hard, and when you don't know that you need help, having someone care enough to tell you means the world.
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| Exhibit A - swaddled?? |
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| Exhibit B - much better |
I asked everyone and their brother/ sister/ wife/ mother for advice. I read every book I could get my hands on. I even asked the wives of male acquaintances for sleeping advice in desperation because they told me their babies all slept well. "There must be a magic formula I am missing!" I thought. Of course, now I know that every parent has to figure out what method works for them and go with that. My husband soothed me with "It's just a phase. Hang in there."
While I was frantically trying to figure all of this out, I was crying every day, but doing my best to put on a brave face to the world. That wasn't hard in Austin, since I had only lived here for 10 months by then and didn't know too many people. I sent a long missive to my friend Angie (Angelene), asking for baby advice, when T was about a month old. She has seven kids... surely she knows the magic language of baby-raising.
Not an hour had passed after I hit send, Angie called me. "Kristin, I think you need to see a doctor, and this is why," she said. She explained to me the signs of postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety and spotted some of those signals in me. I hadn't considered it; what I thought was just the baby blues was escalating without my knowledge. Somewhat casually, I took her advice and made an appointment to see my OB a few days later. By that time I saw the doctor, I had full-out insomnia, slept 2 hours a night, and was shaking as if I had chugged two pots of espresso. I could not focus long enough to read one page of a magazine. I hovered over the crib, listening to my baby breathe.
The doctor took one look at my face and could see I was floundering; she diagnosed me with Postpartum Anxiety, the close cousin to PPD. She helped me, and it took two excruciating, anxious, terrifying weeks for the help to kick in. I could take care of my son, but I had no idea how to take care of myself in the meantime. I lost all of my baby weight by the time T was a few weeks old, which seems like a fantastic feat but was really just me worrying myself through more calories than I could take in. If I had waited much longer to see the doctor, I may have checked myself into a hospital to get the rest I needed to function.
Fortunately for me, I also have a mother-in-law who taught OB nursing, a fantastically supportive husband, and the best parents and sister in the world. I also had a friend who was looking out for me, and took my crying follow-up calls to listen, even with seven kids of her own to take care of.
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| My motivation, every day |
I tell every new mother I can about postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety. It's scary, it's real, and you may not even know you have it. My friend Angie spotted it from hundreds of miles away, via email, because she has known me since we were 16. I'll never forget that she took the time and initiative to reach out and tell me that I needed to ask for help. That's love, in one of its many forms. Asking for help is hard, and when you don't know that you need help, having someone care enough to tell you means the world.
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| Me, when T was 4 weeks old, trying to look like I have it together |
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| My friend Angie |