Mom of two needs life transplant
I have been a mother of two for five weeks, and it has been a very difficult five weeks. Before giving birth to my second son, I was occupied by my toddler and a full time teaching job. Since then, adding a newborn has been the straw that broke the camel’s back. I was depressed during my third trimester and sadly, that depression carried over into post partum depression. They say one of the best things you can do is have a good support system in place. That’s the major factor I’m missing. My husband works from 5am to 9pm six days a week and sleeps most of the seventh day. My family and friends live hundreds of miles away. I am alone. Add sleep deprevation on top of that, plus financial stress due to the loss of my job and benefits and you’ve got one sickly cocktail. I have thought many times in the past few weeks about “disappearing” from my family’s lives. I think about how my husband will be closer to the kids because they’ll cling to him if I’m gone. My oldest son will no longer have me screaming at him just for being himself (a noisy, wild, and crazy two year old). My new son will never know what a terrible mother I am or will be as he grows. But then I think about how they will hate me for leaving them when they are older. I think about how much I will miss watching them go to their first day of school, ride their first bike, learn to sit up, take his first step, celebrate his first Christmas, and those thoughts keep me here.
It was hard to tell my husband how I have been feeling so alone for so long, as well as these feelings of worthlessness. I had such a hard time saying it out loud I had to write a letter and watch him read it. He is trying to help out around the house and with the kids more, but it’s not an overnight fix. I have to tell my doctor at my appointment on Monday, which is also scary because in this day and age you worry about the kids being taken away or being committed to a mental facility.
I spend most of my days crying and trying not to lose my temper on my toddler. PPD is no joke. It’s not anything to be taken lightly either. I’m glad that I’ve been able to admit (at least to myself) that I need help. The next scary step is asking for and accepting help.