When you find yourself suddenly and unexpectedly pregnant,
you can’t help but look up articles, advice, blogs, etc. that talk about
unplanned pregnancy. The thing is, the vast majority of these address unplanned
pregnancy as a first pregnancy, usually under some sort of desperate
circumstance; being too young, being single, being financially unable to raise
a child. There really isn’t much to go on when you’re married, and already have
three kids. It seems as if the idea of unexpected pregnancy for someone that
already has kids is not meant to be a big deal. You’ve already got three,
what’s one more? And maybe for some that is how it feels, but what if it isn’t?
The honest truth: when I saw the positive pregnancy sign on
that pee stick I bawled my eyes out. I wept on the bathroom floor, while my
three kids were sitting, eating lunch and “Dora the Explorer” was playing on
the TV. I was paralyzed. I kept telling myself I needed to get up and take care
of my kids, and all I could do was lay, glued to cold floor, and sob.
After the crying stopped, after I went about the rest of my
day trying to act normal, and after the kids were asleep, I sat on my bed
feeling like the most wretched human being on the planet. How awful was I? How
ungrateful? So many people who so desperately want to have a child and can’t,
and here I am crying about having a fourth? I wish I could say those feeling
somehow made me feel better about the situation, but really it just made me
feel guilty on top of all the other overwhelming feelings that were swirling
inside me.
Let me be clear, it isn’t that I resent my unborn child. I’m
sure that I will love her just as much as I love my other children. However, I
totally resent being pregnant. I resent the months and months of endless nausea
and barfing. I resent the agonizing pain in my joints because my body really
doesn’t like having to expand to accommodate a growing human. I resent the
headaches, the heartburn, the restless legs keeping me up at night. But above
all of this, I resent the fact that I am now facing the possibility of going
through postpartum depression. Again.
After both my first and second children I had postpartum, I
was incredibly lucky to avoid it with my third. Now though, I am haunted by the
fact that it could happen again. When baby number three was about six months I
remember feeling this incredible feeling of relief, knowing that I had somehow
managed to avoid it- especially since I had thought at the time that I was done
having babies, so there was zero chance of having to go through the horror
again. I always knew postpartum depression was a high possibility for me
because I have a depressive mood disorder. I was totally unprepared for how
much more difficult, more terrifying, and more debilitating postpartum would be
in comparison to my “usual” depression. Mostly I think it was because it was no
longer just about me, it involved another person- this tiny, innocent, little
human being, that I was responsible for bringing into the world in the first
place, was tangled up in this convoluted web of emotions that were so
overpowering I was incapable of saving myself, let alone them.
When you’re someone with a history of depression, and
especially postpartum depression, getting pregnant feels a bit like playing
Russian Roulette. Even if you do everything to try and avoid it, even if you
take all the precautions, there’s no guarantee that you won’t find yourself
staring down the barrel of that gun and wincing as the trigger is pulled.
Of course, these are things you’re not supposed to talk
about. Having a baby is supposed to be this happy, ecstatic time in your life.
People expect you to be glowing, excitedly picking out names, planning the
nursery, nesting, and all that goes along with it. It’s hard for some to
understand that the fact that I’m scrubbing my house isn’t in anticipation of
my new arrival, but because I clean and organize when I’m stressed, and right
now I am totally losing my shit. I started decorating for Christmas early this
year, not because I just couldn’t wait to set up the tree, but because I
desperately needed to distract myself from how wretchedly afraid I feel these
days. I thought the twinkly lights would cheer me up a bit. Maybe gallons of
eggnog and pulling out the Christmas movies would take my mind of off things.
But not even Clark Griswold has been able to numb the fear.
So here I am, fully admitting it, maybe even trying to
embrace it. I’ve got a great husband, three amazing kids, and a beautiful home…
and I am pregnant. I’m also a little angry, totally overwhelmed, and completely and
utterly terrified. How’s that for brutal honestly?
Oh, and my feet are swollen- which isn’t really the main
issue, but it sure as hell makes putting on shoes miserable, so I’m annoyed as
well.
No comments:
Post a Comment