But this time? This time months have gone by quickly and quietly.
instead of celebration, and with each passing day, week, and period, I hurt. I ache, and I am gutted. Empty, hollow, and sad because I want another child.I desperately want a sibling for my daughter.But I would be lying if I said that is all I feel. I would be lying if I said sadness is all I feel, because strange as this sounds, negative pregnancy tests also make me happy. Not “jump for joy” happy, but a “now I can breathe” sigh-of-relief sorta happy. Because while I yearn for a second child, the idea of having one also makes me nervous.
To be honest, it scares me, and it terrifies me.
Make no mistake: I love my daughter. My beautiful, rambunctious, sweet, smart, and sassy little girl, and everything about my first pregnancy was perfect. Picture perfect. I was healthy. My baby was healthy. We really couldn’t have hoped for more.My husband and I were overjoyed beyond belief.
But things changed shortly after I gave birth, shortly after we came home from the hospital and I settled into my new mommy life. My emotions and feelings changed without warning.
I was angry. I was sad. I was anxious. And I was crying.
The tears came in torrents — three, four, and five times a day.
At the time, I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I assumed I was just overwhelmed and overloaded, exhausted and stressed, but when things got dark — when I began thinking about death and became fixated on it, when I began planning my death and fantasizing about (hell, romanticizing) it — I knew something was wrong. Very wrong.
I knew I needed help.
The good news was that I got help. I saw a psychologist. I went to therapy and took medication, but it took me 16 months (16 long and painful months) to “come out” of my postpartum depression, and during that time, I wrote off a second child.
I vowed I would never, ever have another child.
I mean, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. The first time nearly killed me. What if it happened again? I thought. What if it happens again while I have a new baby and a young daughter to care for? I couldn’t fathom it then, and I can’t fathom it now.
Of course, I don’t think my feelings are unique. I know many moms who have, and still do, feel the same about adding more children to their family after struggling with postpartum depression — especially after living and fighting through a postpartum or perinatal mood disorder.
But here I am three years later, doing the one thing I swore I would/could never do.
And it is weird, awkward, bizarre. It is complex, and now I am stuck in this strange place — this strange, confusing, and disjointed space — where I am both happy and sad when my cycle arrives. Where the sight of blood excites me and also breaks me, simultaneously. And where every negative test results in a celebratory drink , but also a mourning period.
I mourn the loss of my future child, my unborn child, and my yet-to-be-conceived child every period. I want that child so badly. I yearn for that baby. But that baby also scares me because I have been in the trenches of PPD, and it was hell, and nobody wants to go through that again.
And this is where I will be until I give birth to another babe, until my feelings change, or until I “dry up.” I will be afraid, but I still want you little one.
If you are suffering from postpartum anxiety or PPD, there are resources for help.
© 2017 Kimberly Zapata, as first published on Scary Mommy
