The monsters they forget.

When I was pregnant, I thought I knew what I would be like when I became a mom. I knew that despite my friend Nicole swearing up and down that I would use a nose frida, that I would definitely not be sucking snot (I couldn't even wipe a child's nose without gagging) up a tube with my mouth. Despite what Nicole said about washing mixed loads, I would not be washing my own clothes in scent and dye free detergents with my baby's clothes. I loved the smell of my clothes. I loved to use lavender Tide and scented dryer sheets.
Nicole gave me much needed pregnancy advice and support but I sometimes thought she was a little "out there" with her mom suggestions.

Yesterday morning I sat on the living room floor folding the umpteenth load of laundry in the last 5 days and I didn't even flinch as I ripped my 5 month old daughter's velcro bibs off of the elastic of my tank tops. I actually smiled for a moment when I put on my shirt this morning because my own clothes smelled like baby Dreft detergent which reminded me of snuggling close with my daughter. Then I laid her on the floor and proceeded to suck snot out of her chronically stuffy nose through a nose frida. 

You think you know.
But you don't. 

You think you know the limits and depths of love.
People tell you. 

And just as most people say - you cannot even fathom it until it happens. 

Until that tiny human being that lived in your body for many, many months is laying on your chest and in your arms you don't know. 

Your heart bursts with joy and I'm pretty sure it leaks love throughout your entire body. 

From the moment my daughter was born I was overfilled with joy. 

Obsessed. 

In love. 

Enamored.

Mesmerized.

Afraid. 

I was afraid.
I was afraid something would happen to her.
I was afraid of things I didn't even knew I could be afraid of.
Fear took over my mind on a minute to minute basis. 

Make sure she can breathe. 

Make sure she's not swaddled too tight.

Is she eating enough?

Can she breathe while she's nursing?
Is her head tilted back enough?
Can she breathe?

Is she breathing?
Why is she wheezing?

Don't fall asleep.
I can't fall asleep.

The first month of my daughter's life was a blur.
People would oooo and aaaaah over her and they would say "She's so tiny! Don't you just love when they're this small?" and I would say "No! I wish she was bigger! I don't want her to be this small! I want her to be able to move around and play and not depend on me 24/7."

No one caught on. Not even me. 

I thought it was normal. I thought it was the overwhelming frustration every new mother feels.

I was very aware of the possibility of postpartum depression. I knew it was real. I wasn't afraid of it. I was ready for it. In my history of mental illness I wasn't going to be ashamed and I wasn't going to hide it. I read up on it when it would show up on websites I was browsing. I read through other people's blogs and personal stories. I was supportive and sympathetic when my fellow moms started to confess to having it. I was ready.   

But I was ok. It wasn't happening to me. Not even in the slightest.  

Is she breathing?
Did she eat enough?
Is she one year old yet? 2?
Please grow faster!
Is her breathing monitor on?
We can't leave the house!
We can't go to the dr office! What if she catches a cold from sick babies?!

What if she gets sick and I don't even know?

Check her breathing.
Is she hungry?
Should she sleep this much?
Oh my God, what if I lost her?!
What if I lost her dad?
What if I lost them both?!
HOW WOULD I EXIST WITHOUT THEM?!
I can't exist without them.
Is she breathing?

I don't need sleep.
I'll sleep when she's 2.
...On her bedroom floor. 

Are they holding her too tight?

Are they watching her belly rise and fall?

Will the doctor find something wrong with her?
What if something's wrong? She can't tell me!
Is she breathing?

And then I start to watch her grow and every morning I'm overwhelmed because every morning I thank God she's still here and I run through all of the things we survived the day before. I cry for the moms who no longer have their babies. I cry for the moms who watched their children grow and then lost them. I cry because I can't fathom my life without my daughter. 

Her dad goes out one night without us for a friend's birthday and I spend all night in a panic that he might die. My daughter will never know him! What if I lost him?! What if I lost him and I can't do this alone?! I message him constantly to remind him to be careful. I tell him things he already knows.
I'm not religious, but I pray.

I sleep and I dream of death and in the morning I thank God we are all still alive. 

My daughter babbles and I reach out to touch her tiny foot. She sleeps close by even though the pediatrician said to move her to her own room.
I can't. 

I can't. 

I can't. 

I can't. 

I won't. 

Being a mom consumes me.
It's ok.
This is what it's like... right?
I love her. I love being her mom. I don't mind.
I don't go places or do things.
We are safe here at our home.
She is safe with me.
Is she breathing?

Is she choking?
Is she puking?

Make sure to prop her up so she doesn't choke on puke.
Don't lay her flat.
Is she breathing?

This is what it's like to be a mom.
I spend all of my spare time researching everything I need to know about my baby.

My husband is good.
My husband is supportive.
He makes me dinner and reminds me to eat and when he takes the baby I can do things.
I can wash bottles.
Do her laundry.
Pack her diaper bag.
Clean her room.
Organize her clothes.
Steralize her bottles.
Do her laundry.
Did dust from the garbage get on the clean bottles?
I can wash them again.
Change her sheets.
Change her changing pad.
He's taking the baby for a walk.
I stand at the door and remind him of the things he already knows.
He listens because he knows I have to say it or I'll end up running after him. 

I start to imagine all of the bad things that can happen in life.
I'm scared for her.
It's overwhelming.
I don't know what to do with it.
One night I awake from a nightmare and I lay in the dark and I think to myself "I'd rather die than live in fear for her."

And then I finally know.
Something's not right.

I call my OB. I explain a few feelings and they prescribe me a drug over the phone.
It makes me violently sick.
Eventually my family doctor agreed to see me. He prescribes me something different.
He looks at me with pity. 

He tells me I'm doing a good job.
He tells me I'm a natural mom.

I know about postpartum depression. 

I watched for all the signs. 

I knew I was ok. 

I knew I didn't have it. 

I'm ok. 

I'm not ok. 

I don't have postpartum depression. 

I have postpartum anxiety and postpartum OCD.
They're the monsters they forget to tell you to watch for.