under mothered, part 2

if you haven't read part 1 yet, scroll down and read it so you'll know what the heck i am talking about in this post. or not. whatever.

when i was pregnant with punkin, my parents were threatening divorce. they also were kicking around moving to a city that would be a 3 hour drive from here. i was very insulted that they were even thinking about leaving or divorcing at such a critical time in my life. thinking back now, i shouldn't have been surprised. since when did what i want matter much to them anyway? they decided to stay in town and to "see what happens" with the marriage.

on march 1, 1999 at 2:58pm, my life changed drastically. all of a sudden, i had this helpless little person depending on me for her very survival! the thought overwhelmed me! in hindsight, i see that this was an irrational thought, as i have a wonderful, supportive husband and an extended family that would be there for me in a pinch. but i was used to being independent and not asking for help because my earlier experiences told me that help was not available. the first night in the hospital i slept really well - i was totally exhausted. the second night, however, was completely sleepless, even with the baby in the nursery. panic gripped me as i kept thinking over and over, "she's depending on me and i can't help her!" nursing wasn't going so well and that caused me much anxiety, too. i didn't want to be the sole source of this child's nutrition. at 1am, i called the nurse in to give me something to help me sleep. since i was nursing, all they could do was give me a shot of b*nadryl. it made me sleepy, but real sleep never came. at 4am, i called the nurse again after pacing the floor for a couple of hours. i told her i had made the decision to bottle feed, so she brought in a bunch of formula and brought punkin to me to feed. punkin took to that formula like me to a chocolate bar! despite her obvious contentedness, i felt like a complete failure as a mother.

the next day, i was supposed to go home. i called my parents to come to the hospital. all of a sudden i wanted my mom to be there with me. they arrived, and i paced the floor waiting to be discharged. i picked punkin up when the nurses came in so they would think i was bonding with her. the rest of the time, she was in the bassinet or someone else was holding her. after a long day, i was finally released at 3pm. i remember walking in the door of my home of 5 years and thinking that i had the wrong house. everything was as i had left it, but it just felt...different. my husband offered to watch the baby while i took a nap. i had some amb1en left over from an earlier prescription, so i took one and waited. after 45 minutes, i came out and asked my mom to come talk to me until i fell asleep, which she was more than happy to do. i finally fell asleep...for about an hour. the anxiety was so bad that even potent prescription stuff didn't do it for me. my parents decided to go home and let our little family "establish a routine." i'll never forget falling to my knees in the foyer and crying as the door closed behind them.

the captain had just started a new job, so he was back at work within 2 days. i entered into one long, constant panic attack. i took care of punkin's basic needs - feeding, burping, changing, bathing. the rest of the time, i put her in her swing or bouncy seat and sat on the couch to stare at the television without seeing it. the minute the captain got home, i handed him the baby and went to take a shower. i let him do everything in the evenings. i didn't hate the baby, but i felt no love for her, either. i had thoughts about leaving her in the grocery store for someone to find and adopt. she needs a good mother - not me, i would think. the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months.

finally, when punkin was about 6 weeks old, i started having thoughts about doing myself in. i was creative. i wanted it to look like an accident so that the captain could get my life insurance money. i wanted him to find a woman who could be a good mom. by then, my mother was coming to stay with me during the week, force feeding me and trying to get me to talk. i was way below my pre-pregnancy weight and looked pale and gaunt. i don't know what snapped in me, but one tuesday morning while the captain was getting ready for work, i begged him to stay home. i told him that i thought i might kill myself. needless to say, he stayed. we called my parents and spent the day trying to find a doctor - any doctor - that could see me as soon as possible. my insurance provider list was of no help, as most of the numbers were disconnected. when i did get through to someone's office, i got an answering machine. the day was almost at an end when the phone rang. it was a therapist that had been recommended by a friend. she made time in her schedule to see me the next day, and gave me the phone number of a psychiatrist that i could call for medication issues. i ended up seeing the therapist for about 4 months, and the psychiatrist for 3 years. they saved my life, and while i know they were just "doing their jobs," i will always be grateful. the therapist didn't have to squeeze me in, but she did. and that made the difference. i strive to do the same with my own practice now.

so how does my experience relate with being "under mothered?" you guessed it - i will tackle that subject tomorrow.

happy hump day.