The one where I confess

This blog was never intended to be written. I was initially so ashamed of my feelings that I had a hard time even sharing them with Mike.  Just to speak the words out loud brought me to frantic tears.  Even though this story will be deeply personal (and I still wonder if writing about it publicly is the right thing to do) I feel that I want to for a couple of reasons.  Writing helps me deal with my emotions and make sense of them.  Somehow getting them out of my heart and into black and white words helps me to disconnect from negative emotions like fear, guilt, anxiety, and burden.  The organization of words is like organizing the tornado of emotions swirling inside me.  Gradually it all starts to slow down settle gently into place.

The other reason is to hopefully find someone to relate to.  Surely I’m not the only one that felt this way upon the birth of a second child.  Surely its normal, common, or at the very least not completely unheard of.  If nothing else, then sharing it with my friends who desire to have a second child will be more prepared than I was.

From the day we got the news that we were expecting another boy I had a fear that I wouldn’t be able to forge a bond with this baby.  Reed was my shining star, the twinkle in my eye, my everything.  I couldn’t expect to love another boy the way I loved Reed.  He consumed my entire heart, and I thought that only by having a girl, would I be able to unlock more of my heart to love another child.  I have previously expressed my feelings of love for Reed thoroughly so I’ll move on.   So, I convinced myself that it would be fine- people who have multiple children can tell you every day that they love their babies differently but equally.  This is what I was expecting to happen.  I had a fear that I couldn’t love Bryce as much as I love Reed, but was comforted by the idea that it just happens.

What actually happened was completely unexpected. I was utterly unprepared for the cold numbness that came over my heart.  Sitting on the couch, I watched my mom playing with Reed and I knew how I was supposed to feel when I looked at his smiling eyes.  I knew how I felt just days before… but suddenly there were no wings on my heart.  There was no sparkle or shimmer or song in the air between us.  Reed was just a boy.  Beautiful, happy and charming, but just a boy.  My chest turned to lead as I realized that something was wrong with me and I couldn’t stop the tears that followed.  What happened!? Where did my love go?!  It wasn’t fair and I was so angry and ashamed of it.  I knew what was missing because it was just there a couple days ago and then suddenly it had vanished.

I kept trying.  I tried to miss him when he wasn’t in my sight. I tried to feel that connection with my little man.  I tried to fill my heart with pride as he worked his alphabet puzzle and impressed everyone watching.  I tried to feel that pang of envy when someone else made him laugh.  I knew what I was supposed to feel, from memory, but I couldn’t dig the emotions up inside me. It was driving me insane.  Reed didn’t do anything to deserve this.  He didn’t do anything wrong.

So there I sat, watching each day pass by from my spot on the couch, feeling nothing but shame and guilt for not being able to love my shining star.  I ached inside.  I wanted to pull him into my arms and take care of him again, the way it was when it was just the two of us. My mom came and went, Mike’s parents had also come and gone. They were a tremendous help since I was still in so much pain from the delivery.  Every movement made me hurt, even lortab only took the edge off the pain, so I saved my physical activity for getting myself to the bathroom and back.  Those first couple weeks I had to have someone do everything for me and I couldn’t be afraid to ask for the simple favors that really added up throughout the day.  “Can you bring me some water?  Will you slice me an apple?”  The resting and recovering were keeping me from doing things with Reed. I couldn’t pick him up. I couldn’t snuggle him at night before bed or hold him in the morning.  He loves to be held, but he’s not a lap-loving boy, which was the only way I could be close to him.  It broke my heart even more when I tried to sit on the floor with him and hold him close, because he’d pull away and find something to busy himself. 

To make matters worse, I found myself emotionally neglecting my new baby.  At one point I realized that I’d been going through the motions with Bryce- feeding him, changing him, comforting and holding him.  But, I’d been so focused on trying to find my love for Reed, that I was neglecting Bryce.  I didn’t want to fall in love with him if I couldn’t fall back in love with Reed.  That was too much betrayal. I knew this was stupid, but even still I couldn’t just stop. I had to make a conscious effort to look Bryce in the face and smile and love him.  When I did, I knew that I loved his tiny nose, his fuzzy ears, his long eyelashes and heart shaped lips.

The logical side of me sent constant reminders- I have a lot of crazy hormones working themselves through my body. I just had a baby, I’m starting to breastfeed, I’m sleep deprived, in pain, and on pain medication.  I can’t blame myself for my feelings and I’m sure it will all work out in due time. I just had to give myself a couple of weeks for the pregnancy hormones to flush out and things inside me to settle down. 

Patience. I had to ask myself for more patience, which anyone who knows me knows I could use a great deal more of.  I think it’s especially hard to be patient with yourself, because you expect your brain to be able to control your heart.  However, just because you can think it- doesn’t mean you can feel it. I think we can all relate to that.

It wasn’t sudden, and I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when it happened, but the ice melted and my heart was able to swell at the sight of my Reed again.  To be able to entice a chuckle from him and feel whole again.  To hug him and kiss him and tell him I love him and to feel REAL again. 

Going through this I thought- no one should ever know.  I’ll never tell anyone, I’ll fake this thing all the way and I’ll never admit to it if they guess. This is the worst thing that can happen to a mother’s heart. But, now that I’m on the other side of it, I think it will be good to share the experience.  Or, as I mentioned earlier, at least get the therapeutic benefits from writing about it. I wish I were more emotionally stable (post partum), it makes me feel bad for my loved ones around me who have to suffer from it!  I’m in the upper 99s on percentage of how sure I am that this is my last baby.  I enjoy many aspects of the miracle of life, all the way from conception to holding the brand new body in my arms and looking into the teeny face.  However, there are too many reasons to stop now and just raise my boys with all the love and attention that I can give them.