3 Shades of Postpartum Blues

This photo was of me 7 months pregnant with my first baby, Skylar Rose. We did it all; Ricky came to all my appointments, made a baby registry, threw a baby shower, booked a maternity photo shoot and flew to Cappadocia, Turkey for a baby moon in the hot air balloon capital of the world. I was healthy, the baby was healthy and we were both ecstatic. Just the year prior, I had a life-threatening ectopic pregnancy and was emergently taken to surgery. We made sure to cherish these 40 weeks. 

Throughout my pregnancy, I heard so many snit bits of advice along the way. Most of which was associated with sleep and labor so I focused on getting rest. I mentally prepared for the Hollywood moment when my water would break and I would be sped away to the hospital by my husband which ends up being exactly what happened. Well, labor was easy. My epidural worked, I was dilated within a couple hours and I pushed her out in 30 minutes. “That wasn’t so bad,” I thought as I was getting sutured up and ordering my Italian sub. 

The evening rolled around and I had been trying to get the hang of breastfeeding all day. How to hold the baby, latching, switching sides, burping. Okay, I can do this. The second evening was what had me shook, a nightmare. Skylar was on my boob the entire night. The instant she was off, she started to scream until she was red in the face and hyperventilating as if I was torturing her so back on my chest she went. I stared at the clock. I couldn’t distract myself and with each tick, I was going insane. Wtf, I can’t do this. My nipples were on fire and I couldn’t adjust into any comfortable position as the soreness set in. The nurse walked in at 3am and must’ve sensed my distress. It’s second night syndrome, she’s going to cluster feed until you start producing milk so do your best to keep her on. So I kept cluster feeding until dawn as my husband woke up between snores to check on me. 

Later that morning, I managed a shower and an interrupted nap as they got ready to discharge us home. We had to stop at Walmart to pick up a few items before getting settled in at the apartment. It was my favorite kind of cloudless day in Naples, Florida but today it felt too hot. The sun was shining too bright. I felt a strange apprehension starting to build up as we walked through the parking lot and enter the crowd of shoppers. Skylar’s head kept bobbing in the carseat. I stopped every few steps like an uncontrollable twitch, adjusting the carseat in the shopping cart, repositioning her neck, tucking the swaddle, fidgeting her to dress. Ricky went ahead through the aisles, grabbed what we came for and found me when when it was time to check out. We stood in a short line and before we arrived at the cashier, I was desperate to leave the store. I pulled sunglasses down over my swelling eyes. I’m just tired. It’s fine. 

The weeks went by and I didn’t know what was happening to my spirit. Ricky wanted us to go out but every time, I shut his ideas down and made an excuse to stay home. He started to do the errands alone and by the time he got home I would be crying. Overwhelmed with being home alone without him and overwhelmed with leaving the house with him. He couldn’t win and I couldn’t compromise. For Mother’s day, he booked me a massage and I nearly had a breakdown before leaving for the appointment. You have to get out of the house, Babe. I couldn’t even look at him. I’m not ready. It felt like betrayal. Your appointment is at 10am, go before you’re late. Skylar will be just fine. Go enjoy yourself. Sobbing the entire drive there, I pulled into a parking spot at the spa, took a deep breath and a glance in the car mirror before stepping out. I’m just nervous to be away from the baby. It’s fine. 

Breastfeeding wasn’t going well. My supply was low and latching was painful. I had to breastfeed Skylar for 30-45 minutes then pump for 15 minutes each side then sterilize the bottles then put coconut oil on to ease the sting of raw skin irritation then it was time to breastfeed again. Every 2-3 hours. For 24 hours. Weeks on end. In between, Skylar had no interest in sleeping or napping unless she was held. Within moments of being out of our arms, she was awake and colicky. We split the night holding her when nothing else- 3 different types of swings, noise machine, midnight drives around the block, etc- worked. The routine was wearing us down. Then getting a bit stir crazy, Ricky had suggested we go out for lunch at the food truck spot on the water that I love. It’ll be fun. I was dreading it. Good food, fresh air, live music, cocktails, waterfront vibes- none of it sounded appealing like it once did.  Nevertheless, I agreed to go. I had to. For us, for me. I showered. I don’t want to go. I dabbed foundation around my dark eyes. I still look drained. I powdered bronzer on my dull cheeks. I just haven’t adjusted to family life yet. It’s fine. 

Prior to Skylar being born, Ricky and I had planned a 6-week trip to Central America including Mexico, Costa Rica and Nicaragua (another blog post!). Skylar would almost be 3 months. Ricky and I had 3 months off together between his fellowship training and us starting our new jobs. Time to travel! I could not wait and urged him to book the trip. One week in Mexico, four in Costa Rica and Nicaragua somewhere during the trip. Postpartum, my enthusiasm quickly transformed into tension. The packing, the preparation to care for a newborn abroad in a third world country without safe drinking water, researching the nearest hospital with a pediatric unit, travel insurance and the planning. We had signed up for an intensive medical Spanish class, booked excursions all over the country, surfing lessons and leisure. Now add a newborn. Are you sure we should still go? I couldn’t believe I was asking my husband this. Travel is a strong passion for me with zero hesitation to discover the globe. He knew that. We should go. And so we did. I’ll feel better once we get there. It’s fine. 

I did feel better for a period. Being somewhere new, surrounded by a different language, exploring new landscape and indulging in a foreign culture all sparked a familiar feeling in me. The me that I had known for 35 years before having a baby and although, familiar, it wasn’t the same. I was guarded. 

Six months later looking back at it, I was experiencing postpartum blues perhaps even borderline postpartum depression. I was constantly irritable, anxious and sad. It took time to bond with Skylar and despite Ricky’s efforts and encouragement, I couldn’t snap out of it. I cried in the shower often and self-soothed by telling myself it was the hormones, the sleep deprivation, the incessant pressure to protect this precious life. I would power through it and feel better again. Even my OB who screened me borderline positive for postpartum depression asked about how I was coping. Who wasn’t feeling this way, right? We shook our heads in agreement and brushed it off. Suddenly, I went from the woman who could conquer anything to a new mom that couldn’t handle one baby. 

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Shortly after going back to work, I began to feel like myself again. I was getting out of the house, my mother moved in to help, there was daily social interaction, and I was applying my education and training. I had another purpose aside from motherhood as a critical care anesthesiologist and that was deeply fulfilling to me. I was feeling so much better that I got knocked up again and Skylar was about to turn 5 months old.  

“I feel like I need to protect my happiness,” I had confessed to Ricky over cocktails on the beach of Costa Rica. I meant that wholeheartedly. I have to protect, preserve, prioritize and be proactive about my happiness. Now more than ever as I was on the verge of losing it and myself as a martyr to motherhood. 

With baby number 2 on the way, I had to change the course of this pregnancy to get us to a better postpartum place. We went to Morocco for our baby moon (check out that post!). I traveled to Trinidad to celebrate my best friend’s bachelorette. A gender reveal had a baby boy in our future and we were finding a bit of time to date with my mother being around. I found a therapist that focused on couples and I asked Ricky to join me. He graciously agreed and we attended every other week for an hour until Maverick was born. For us, being new parents exposed weaknesses in our relationship that did not exist when we only had to care for and consider ourselves. The problems and disagreements that  came with a new baby put a strain on our marriage. I wanted to work on us so we could be better for them understanding that another baby came with more love and more stress.

Maverick’s postpartum period was different and better for many reasons. We actually had an idea of what to expect. I didn’t allow the pressure of breastfeeding to deter me from formula. I got out of the house everyday and started becoming active as soon as I could. Sunshine is nature’s antidepressant and endorphins are natural stress-relievers. I was taking full advantage of both.

Don’t get me wrong. It was still very hard. Ricky only had a little over a week off for paternity leave and the pandemic was in full force. Daycare plans for Skylar were on hold due to Covid restrictions and we were too exhausted to use the coping strategies we learned at therapy. Unfortunately, I slipped back into the blues. This time as soon as I recognized it, I started to fight my way out of it. We went back to therapy. I napped when the babies napped. We made plans to get together with a few very special friends. We ordered take-out more and hired a cleaning service to find some relief in daily chores. We popped the babies in a double stroller and went for walks to chat about our days, making sure to remember that neither was more challenging than the other’s. We took a few short road trips to the beach to make the most of summer. Twelve weeks later, I returned to work feeling more like myself. I bounced back and found out I was pregnant with baby number 3 when Maverick was turning 3 months. 

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Here I am, 38 weeks going on 39 pregnant writing this blog post and again, trying to find ways to improve my postpartum experience. The postpartum phase scares me. I can’t recognize who I am at times and can’t fully grasp my feelings. For me, whether it’s a few days, twelve weeks or a year, I don’t want to feel this way during such an important time to bond and grow with my family. Life is short and promises of a happier reincarnation rarely satisfies me. It’s NOT fine. 

I started to write and channel my energy into something new- a personal blog based on journey through motherhood. Laying out my thought process allows me to sort out my mixed feelings in a productive way. Reflecting on my interactions and relationships grants me a more genuine appreciation of them especially my marriage. It lets me step back and look at the grand picture. A lot of times, the frustrations and demands of day-to-day life hardens my heart and obstructs my intentions. I get impatient with Ricky, aggravated and forget how much he contributes to me as a whole and our life together. His unconditional support of my aspirations can almost feel undeserving. I want to see the world, finish my book, start this blog, expand my nonprofit, become a better doctor everyday, give back to my mother, inspire others, get fit,  check off my bucket list, etc. This goes on and multiplies. It can’t be easy, it’s too much! I want him alongside forever. I need him. Remembering to kiss him before he leaves for work, then again when he walks in the door after a long day makes a difference. The more I can deepen my gratitude for my husband, the better position we will be in when going through it all for the third time. He was disappointed when I had told him I needed to protect my happiness because he had been doing his best to protect it too. Now I realize that we can protect our happiness by putting one another first, a concept that counseling had been emphasizing since day one. 

Writing has been wonderful therapy. However, it wasn’t just writing. I read Untamed by Glennon Doyle which had powerful lessons for moms, women and our expectations. I occasionally drank a small glass of pinot noir after the babies went down whenever I felt like a hectic day called for it. I hired a babysitter on the weekends for 4 hours to give us all a break to catch up on adulting or just take a long, peaceful shower. I read more, I kept exercising, I went on a permanent mom guilt strike. Ricky and I went away by ourselves for 5 glorious days. We started watching a show we both liked. We created a vision board. I asked my OB/gyn doctor what more I could do and she recommended a small dose of a low-risk profile antidepressant for a few months. I filled the prescription. I will do whatever it takes to optimize my happiness.

I deliver next week and when it is said and done, I still anticipate that this sh*t is going to be hard AF! Probably really hard but I’m a firm believer that happiness is not passive. Happiness, my happiness, is a proactive process. If nothing else, I feel as though I set myself up for an experience marked with more positivity than the last time I had a baby. Maybe I took some control back and empowered myself by promising not to lose myself. Or perhaps, I just think I did. Either way, none of that matters. It’s an approach, a perspective, a mindset more than anything else. The postpartum blues appear a little lighter every time as I prepare for more love, more chaos and more mixed feelings about it all!