The Mama In Me: Postpartum Anxiety Part II

[ The Shell of A Mama: Postpartum Anxiety Part I]

Jeremy took this picture of Owen and I when Owen was four months old. I was uploading pictures off of the camera when I came across this one, I remember just staring at it for a long while. Jeremy always says to me, "You are this boy's world, and nothing will ever replace you in his eyes." I saw that in this picture for the first time. I may not be the best Mama in the world, but I truly believe that am the best Mama for Owen.

I have always been high strung, a classic type A personality. I set goals for myself, reach them and instead of patting myself on the back - I examine what I could have done better and set a new goal. Most of my anxiety about things is fear-based , specifically a fear of failure or not being good enough. Motherhood is the perfect petri dish to cultivate this sort of self loathing. All of this resulted in my crash-and-burn frame of mind and a little back patting was in order.

In therapy, we worked on building confidence in my abilities to parent Owen. After all, I was succeeding. He was gaining weight. He was happy and healthy... and perfect. I just needed to recognize it and trust in my abilities as a mother. Each week I set small goals for myself - goals that either I could think about accomplishing, make some step to accomplish in the near future or actually accomplish.

I wanted to drive again, but Owen's hatred of the car seat resulted in him screaming the second we put him in the car. This made navigating a new city, by an already fearful Mama very challenging. But after ten weeks on bed rest and two months cooped up in the house with a newborn, I wanted to go to Target.

My first goal was to pay attention while riding in the car with Jeremy driving.
My second goal was to drive with Jeremy as the navigator (we did this quite a few times).
My third goal was to drive with Jeremy in the car but silent - letting me figure it out for myself.
And my final goal was to go to Target alone with Owen.

And this is how I gradually got better.

I worked on 'positive self talk' (I know it sounds kooky) every time I would fret about SIDS. I would tell myself my fears were irrational and Owen was fine. Jeremy bought me a video monitor and gradually my trips back to check on a sleeping Owen were fewer and fewer.

I never took a feeding for granted, and still don't. I use nursing and pumping as my quiet time to go to a place where I am the best possible Mama for Owen. I watch and cherish my baby. I let my mind be free and focus on relaxation and breathing. I play this song over and over again in my mind. I started being less neurotic about saving milk and my goal of 20 oz per day dwindled to 14, then 10, 8 and now still - 6. I have an embarrassing amount of milk in my freezer, of which O has only ever needed 12 ounces. My boy is going to be serving breast milk popsicles for his sixth birthday party - but it was all part of the process.

I wanted to take Owen to the public library for baby story time from 11:30a-12p, but I always had an excuse. I didn't shower, he was hungry, it was nap time, maybe next week - maybe next week. Finally, one day I was done spinning the excuses around in my head. Owen was tired and even a little bit hungry - I funbled with the Moby, the diaper bag, the house keys and left the house at 11:35am. I was late. I was walking into a group LATE with a tired, hungry three month old. WHAT IN THE HELL WAS I DOING? I walked the three blocks to the library the entire way repeating to myself, "You suck at this. God, you're a shitty Mom."  It was packed, there were probably 30 moms and babies sitting in a circle. I sat close the door so not to disturb anyone and watched Owen's eyes light up for the 15 minutes of baby storytime. After it was over, the girl next to me leaned over and asked if I was new. I said we had just relocated for my husbands residency. She said, "Oh yeah? What specialty? My husband is an ENT."  the girl next to her said, "Mine too, dermatology. Welcome."

Then something crazy happened. The woman to my right said,
"Is that wrap hard to tie? I always wanted to try one but it looked way too complicated for me. Did you walk here?"

Owen got hungry so I took him out of the wrap, put on my nursing cover and nursed him right there amongst women I had just met. Another woman, a GI fellow, looked at me and said,

"Wow, you are good at that! I still can't figure out how to use that damn cover. I'm always fumbling around with it worrying that my side flab is going to hang out -- I don't even care if someone sees my boob - its my gut that I want to cover!"

Before we left they told me they had a playgroup on Tuesday mornings and asked if Owen and I wanted to come. I wanted to come, more than they will ever know. I wanted to come.

I walked home, those same three blocks that I walked less than a hour before - this time - celebrating. I did it. I made it to the library, albeit 15 minutes late. And someone said I'm good at something! I wear my baby and I nurse him in public! He likes to go to storytime! The next week I was only 10 minutes late, and 5  the week after that. I've never been on time for anything in my life - so I give myself a little credit with that.

I go to playgroup with Owen on Tuesdays.
We go to Le Leche League meetings once a month.
We walk to the library storytime.
I am joining a young Jewish mothers group this week.

I slowly started to gain confidence and I began to walk with my head held higher. Being around other moms showed me that I wasn't the only one who worried about ruining my child before his first birthday. I wasn't the only one who was self conscious about my changed body and new role. I read every parenting book I can get my hands on. I take it for what it is, trust my instincts and look for strategies that will work for our family.

I remember that walk home like it was yesterday - the day that I started to see in myself the Mama I wanted to be. Last month, after almost three months with Pam she told me that if I was comfortable with it, she didn't think I needed scheduled visits anymore. She told me that the woman sitting before her was miles ahead of the broken Mama who entered her office back in May and that if I had any bumps in the road I could always call. Jeremy started residency and his 80 hr+ work week leaves me caring for Owen alone most of the time. For all intensive purposes, I am a single Mama. I probably would have gotten there eventually, but not in time and not at the level I'm at today. Its definitely hard and I have days where my 'positive self talk' voice just isn't loud enough to drown out the teething cries, laundry and dwindling bank account. But those days are few and thankfully, my husband is here to pick me up when I need it most.

So, me? I'm better now. I set little goals for myself and I celebrate my successes. I cherish every moment with my family and, I breath.

I have a therapist on retainer.

I am a work in progress.

I wake up in the morning with a desire to do my best and go to bed each night with a promise to do better tomorrow. Just like every other Mama I know.