My Pregnancy and Birth

I’ve been going back and forth for the first four months of my baby’s life about whether I should write this blog. There are so many mom blogs out there and I’m sure the last thing the web needs is another one. I am scared to put my true feelings about motherhood in writing. I don’t necessarily want my family and friends to know how I am really feeling, so I finally decided to write the blog anonymously. Whether anyone reads it or not, I think I need to get my feelings out. I am by nature a writer, so this seems like the best outlet for my feelings. If anyone out there reads this and can relate, that’s more than I could ask for.

I have been trying to ignore the horrible thoughts I keep having about regretting becoming a mom, but I can’t help it. I love my baby more than I thought I would, thank God, but sometimes I feel like kicking myself for going through with getting pregnant and having a child. I know in my heart of hearts I wasn’t and am still not ready to be a parent.

I’ve tried to imagine how my life would end up if I chose not to have kids. My husband would probably leave me because he did want kids; I might find myself wanting kids when it is way too late for it; or I might end up old and alone with no family around me. Those things seem unbearable, and besides, everyone told me I would never regret having kids no matter what and that I would not be able to imagine life without them. I so desperately want to believe that.

I was really hesitant about getting pregnant, always feeling like I wasn’t quite ready. My husband, on the other hand, has been ready for at least the last two years. Last year, I turned 30 and decided I was “getting old” and it was now or never for a family, so we got pregnant. I was nervous and scared the entire nine months, punctuated by moments of excitement, mainly because of the excitement of others around me.

The day I delivered my son wasn’t even close to the best day of my life. In fact, it rivaled my worst day. After 18 hours of being in labor, I had to have a c-section because I wasn’t dilating. I had a major panic attack and hollered and cried and hyperventilated during the entire surgery, putting my baby at risk. Afterwards, the pain was so intense, and the painkillers they were giving me weren’t working. The nurses kept massaging my uterus before checking to make sure the pain meds were working (which they weren’t). I nearly blacked out from the pain. Meanwhile, 2 other nurses and my husband were trying to force my baby onto my boob to breastfeed while I was so pumped full of drugs and in so much pain I didn’t even know where I was.

Needless to say, the first time I saw my son was not the moment of joy and love everyone had told me it would be. All I could think about was a) get me out of this pain and b) please let me sleep.

The next few days in the hospital were not much better. The hospital policy and my decision was to have the baby room-in with me so we could get to know each other and he could nurse on demand. However, I was not prepared for the sheer exhaustion of going through 20 hours of labor and surgery only to be woken up every 1.5 to 2 hours by a screaming baby. I was also not prepared for the amount of pain I was in from surgery, and I couldn’t seem to make anyone understand – not my husband who kept waking me up telling me to feed the baby, and certainly not the nurses who kept scolding me to get out of bed and walk around the next day. For those of you who have had a c-section or other abdominal surgery, you know what it feels like, but for those who have not, the best way I can explain it is this: every time you move, even if you are just shifting in bed, you feel like the staples in your incision are literally tearing out along with your skin and insides. Now imagine this feeling as you are trying to get out of bed and walk around. Those first days it took me about 10 minutes to get to the bathroom 2 feet away from my bed because I would double over in pain after every step, waiting for it to subside. And this was AFTER I had taken painkillers.

Four days later I was finally released from the hospital, and could not be more relieved to be at my own home. I thought things had to get better and easier being at home, right?

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