September 29th, 2008
You know when you write something and you’re kinda proud of it, but a little embarrassed at the same time? I’m sure we’ve all done it at some point. You know the one; you’re about the spill your heart out to The Internets and share something that will expose you to theyour very core, but you’re concerned about being a little too open? One where you teeter between hitting hit publish or delete?
I had one of those, and for some cosmic reason my computer freezes (Um, fuck you Vista. Kthxbai.) and said post has vanished. I was a little relieved, while slightly disappointed because I put so much effort into it; that disappointment turned to heartache when I opened my reader today to see that two other wonderful people are suffering just the same (Coincidence that our children are just weeks apart in age?). Heartache because I know writing it doesn’t only help myself, but others who may be in the same situation.
It’s a funny thing, that darkness. The way it brings out characteristics which would normally be wrapped tightly within our psyche. The lack of sleep warps and blends reality into a dreamworld where one tends to lose grasp on what is right and wrong. Flirting at the realm of what’s real and dream is a scary and dangerous ground which seemingly overcomes us at our weakest.
Each night I fear that place; the place which my silent house and lack of sleep takes me. Nights should be peaceful and comforting while everyday distractions are dismissed and it’s finally just me and my baby. But when I hear him stir resentment overcomes me; as my husband snores peacefully beside me, deep in sleep I dread getting up and tend to the baby’s needs. Each movement, sigh and grunt increasingly infuriates me the less sleep I get. I hate that I become this tyrant when my sleep is interrupted; I hate that I want to put my selfish needs before my innocent child.
Friday I fought to stay awake the whole day and by nightfall I was more then ready to succomb to sleep. To relax and put an end to the day, but my night would stretch beyond my comprehension. Deliriously tired, I sat in the darkness as my baby sucked the last of my willpower from my breast.The fussing, the whining, the inability to relax sent me over the edge of my sanity. I was at the point where I invisioned, too clearly, shaking my baby, throwing him down in the crib and walking away.
As the tears rolled down my cheeks, splashing silently upon his head, I immediately felt guilt. I felt horrible for even thinking I could do harm to my child. Knowing that I would never, the image was so vivid it was truly frightening, embarrassing even. Repeatedly telling myself this was just a phase, I rocked back and forth, coddling, cooing and shushing through tears, eventually calming us both.
His serene and porcelain-like cherub face resting pacefully wedged between my arm and breast made my heart melt. As I kissed his rosey little cheek, soaked with my tears, his released a peaceful sigh.
At that moment, I knew it would be alright: at least for now.
Ah, Sam. It’s been so many years, but I do remember feeling as if my life had been sucked out of me. It was easier with my last, but I was much older than with my first two. I, too imagined too clearly all kinds of things. At some point, I stopped fighting, and just let everything else go to the wayside. In the long run, I figured it didn’t make much difference. I’m envious that young moms today have this place to share their feelings and know it would have made a difference to me with my first two. As punishment, in my next life, I’ll probably be a flea or something, yanno? *sigh*
September 29th, 2008 at 9:13 pm
I know that all too well. Usually I delete the ones that reveal too much. (My computer tends to eat the posts for my paid blogging job — grrr.)
I wish I could offer more comforting words, but I hate when people say “You’ll get through it… it’ll be okay…” Write the hard stuff for yourself — in a notebook with a pen where the only way they can get eaten is if you tear it them up yourself. (I’ve done that too.) Sometimes you just need to spill your guts for you.
September 29th, 2008 at 9:19 pm
I never know what to say, everything sounds so cliche in my head. But you aren’t alone, I know that much.
September 29th, 2008 at 9:29 pm
I too have many many posts in “draft”. Sometimes I just need to write and maybe not share with all the people who read my blog.
I was going through the same thing with our little one. I was up nursing him 4-5 times a night. It got to the point where I slept with him in the spare bed rather then in my own. But last week he turned 6 months and I felt okay about letting him cry it out. Obviously he doesn’t need to eat 4 times a night, he just doesn’t know how to put himself to sleep. So this week he has been learning.
It will get better….
Jenn
September 29th, 2008 at 10:48 pm
I blogged my way through post-natal depression and some of the girls I blogged with (and still blog with now) were some of my greatest support. However you’re feeling, however dark it seems, we’re all here for you, whether you blog it or not.
September 30th, 2008 at 7:33 am
@ girl:
Girl, just saying something means so much - whether it’s cliche or not, I appreciate it!
September 30th, 2008 at 10:03 am
Sometimes you just have to get it out of your system. I wish I had blogging when my kids were babies . . . even those posts that disappear would have been written and stored and put away instead of swirling inside my tired head, wrecking havoc on my psyche.
I’m glad you were able to get it out, even if nobody saw it. Get some rest!
September 30th, 2008 at 12:12 pm
You can always, always talk to me. Anytime.
xo
September 30th, 2008 at 1:07 pm
I just left a comment and I don’t think it went through. So…test? Does Sam’s blog hate me again?
September 30th, 2008 at 1:08 pm
I think it hates me. Are you getting these comments?
September 30th, 2008 at 1:08 pm
Ohhh, hon. It’s hard. It’s so, so, so hard.
What helped me most was writing this down, and taping it next to my side of the bed at eye-level:
“It’s this hard for everyone.”
It’s might seem silly, but it helps. Go get a pen and paper. I’ll wait.
September 30th, 2008 at 7:17 pm
the rage. i know it well.
we’ll share war stories in boston soon. *smooches*
October 1st, 2008 at 9:50 am
HIHI. Testing.
October 1st, 2008 at 3:17 pm
I so remember nights just like that. When Jes had colic I knew why some people beat their children. I would never do it but I knew why they did. It is the lack of sleep that makes it worse. With 2 kids it is hard to catch that nap or get in the bed and just sleep. It does get better, slowly, but it does get better. {{{{{HUGS and SMOOCHES}}}}}}
October 1st, 2008 at 3:19 pm
Vista only seems to screw up when I want to play games from a CD on my computer. I’ve been having a lot of trouble with Google’s Chrome browser, not loading pages, freezing up and losing everything I just spent time typing into a comment window.
October 2nd, 2008 at 7:38 pm
PPD sucks. It sucks really really bad. And things are so much harder than anyone can tell you before you’re there.
I know.
PS - I was catching up on my blog reading for the week and just wanted to tell you that I LIKED the rookie mom challenge! I just didnt get a chance to post a pic of Brooklyn in her peanut shell sling to post last week
October 3rd, 2008 at 3:22 pm