Down Will Come Baby: Help

Help

by Rebecca Kaminsky

Down Will Come Baby is a serial column. In previous installments, the author tripped, dropping her four-week-old baby and fracturing his skull. Home from the ER with baby Simon fully recovered, postpartum depression set in. Weeks went by, and Rebecca hit rock bottom. She began therapy, and for the first time looked at what had happened to her life and her marriage. She began taking Paxil for her depression. She felt more able to stretch herself and try new things. She made peace with her family history. After hard work and much consideration, she and Jack came out on the other side. They decided to have another baby. There were complications with the birth, and Gus spent a week in the NICU. Rebecca managed to get through that without another depression, and now her main challenge was getting through motherhood *not* being depressed, trying not to fall with each new challenge.

When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody's help in any way,
But now these days are gone and I'm not so self assured,
Now I find I've changed my mind I've opened up the doors.

–The Beatles

The first few months of Gus' life were very different for me than the first few months of Simon's. I couldn't remember details of Simon's early babyhood, but I'd be changing Gus' diaper or wake up to the sound of his cries and a flash of grayness would come back. I'd remember what felt like hours of nursing and no sleep, and smile. I'd smile because now things were So. Much. Better. The sleep deprivation had been the worst part of the depression. With Simon, I often felt that with time to sleep, the depression would have gone away. So, this time around, night-time coverage for me became our first priority. With enough sleep, I felt confident I could handle the days without relapse.

I allowed myself help -- help in many forms. There was the help I gave myself: a break when I needed it. I stopped nursing Gus at night after three weeks, so I could sleep. I let him take a bottle of breastmilk or formula if I was too tired to pump. There was the help I accepted: Jack parented at full capacity. With Simon I hadn't been able to give over any of the parenting -- and then blamed Jack for not doing enough. Now Jack stepped in, providing full night-time coverage three nights a week. And then there was the help we hired: Gina, our nighttime doula. She slept at our house three nights a week for the first four months of Gus' life. Gina was amazing -- she was so nurturing with Gus while truly respecting my privacy. Everything was great. Or so it seemed.

There were trade-offs. Yes, I had been depressed with Simon. But I also experienced motherhood for the first time, all the time. I felt completely and totally bonded with him, so much so that at times it became overwhelming. With Gus, achieving balance was complicated. I wanted the sleep, but I didn't want to let go of him. But Gus didn't seem to have the same ambivalence. From day one, he was independent, able to connect with others. He had no problems at night with Gina. Yes, he cried -- he was a colicky baby. But she was able to calm him as well as I. Rather than feel comforted by this, I'd find myself flashing back to his birth and the NICU. Did he know I was his mother? Were we having problems bonding? Did he know me, really? I couldn't prevent that doubt from creeping in, especially when my period started again when Gus was two months old. I found it difficult to negotiate feeling those monthly shadows of depression without wondering if "it" was coming back. That worry mostly manifested itself in doubts about my connection to Gus. The truth was I just didn't know what I was "supposed" to be feeling. I loved Gus, was much more "in love" with being a mother this second time around.

But why did it take a certain amount of separation from my baby for me to feel that love? Was something wrong with me that I needed so much help? Should a "Good Mother" be able to do all this all alone? On some level, I knew this wasn't true, I was a feminist for god's sake! But there's nothing like the vulnerability of the postpartum weeks to make a woman doubt herself. So I continued to negotiate these feelings of ambivalence. At four months, Gus began to sleep through the night and we stopped needing Gina. I felt like crying and cheering at the same time. I was scared, but also relieved to be "getting my baby back." I wrote Gina a letter thanking her for her work with us, for taking the time to nurture and love my child, and I invited her to keep in touch, to see him as he grew. I didn't misrepresent my feelings in that letter; every word I wrote was true. But later, in my journal, I wrote another letter. One just for me.

Dear Gina,

I need to thank you for helping us, and though I'm glad that you did, honestly I wish you were never here. In fact, I don't want you to spend time with us and watch him grow -- I want to forget about you. Yes, Gus loves you, and yes, your experience with newborns who spent time in the NICU helped us feel safe. And yes, we needed your help as a night nurse to be rested as a family and so I could avoid triggers for a depression relapse, like sleep deprivation.

None of that mattered at night, during his first weeks at home, when you'd bring him to me to nurse and I wasn't sure he recognized me. Did he know his mommy? He was snatched away right after the birth. Did I get a good enough look? The day after the birth at the NICU I couldn't let go of the horrible question: If it weren't for his storkbite over his eyelid, and I had to guess among all the babies, would I recognize my own child? would he recognize me? And so, when you came to help, I had an equally horrible conundrum: I needed you but I didn't want you. I wanted your help but I wanted Gus to know me, only me. To have me, only me.

When you'd bring him to nurse, I'd find myself wondering, If you had nursed him would he have known the difference? If he had gone home with you would he have known the difference? Would he have known that there was another heart beating for him out there? It was wonderful to rely on you, to be able to sleep knowing Gus was in such good hands. Horribly wonderful. Why was he so content? Shouldn't he have been crying for me? Inconsolable without me? If he fussed while nursing, I'd wonder, did he want you?

God I feel so awful with this in my heart. I know Gus and I are mother and son. Totally, completely. But really, sometimes it makes me so sad that we couldn't have done it all without you. That I couldn't have done it all without you. And so, guiltily, I'm glad you are leaving. So Gus knows I'm the one who stays. I hope you understand. And I know that Gus is thriving, and bonded in the heart of our family. We have shored up our strength, and I'm ready for you to go. Gus is sweet, smiling, and knows his mommy now.

But in those fragile first few weeks when I felt like an eggshell with nothing inside, doubt so easily slipped in. I wonder if you saw? Thank you, thank you, thank you for not saying so.

Love, Rebecca

Comments (1)

Rebecca Kaminsky lives and writes in Berkeley. After having a tough time when her first child was born, writing became part of her healing process. Hoping to feel less alone, she shared her writing with other mothers. She wrote imagining an audience of women, some who knew postpartum depression personally, some who could just relate because having a baby is always some combination of struggle and beauty, difficulty and wonder. For more on her writing life, see this site's About Us section.

If you or someone you know suffers from PPD, or is just having a tough time post-baby, here are some helpful resources:

Bay Area: UCSF - Women's Mood and Hormone Clinic www.ucsf.edu/brizlab/wmhcindex.html

State of California: Postpartum Health Alliance www.postpartumhealthalliance.org/index.htm

Nationally and Internationally: Postpartum Support International www.postpartum.net/




Read the Introduction Recent Columns My Mother's Big Day Motherhood, Money, and Growing Up Passionata Pink A Most Unusual Valentine Riding Shotgun Finding the Girl, Finding the Woman Of Weddings and Milestones My Mother's Gift Who's your Dada? Help Archives "Down Will Come Baby" Archives E-zine Don't have time to check for updates? Let us come to you! Click here to subscribe or unsubscribe to the Literary Mama E-zine. Literary Mama About Us Submissions Contact Privacy Policy Literary Mama Bookshop Literary Mama Gear Powered by Movable Type 3.16	Down Will Come Baby « A Tale of Two Brises \| Back to "Down Will Come Baby" main page \| Who's your Dada? » Help by Rebecca Kaminsky Down Will Come Baby is a serial column. In previous installments, the author tripped, dropping her four-week-old baby and fracturing his skull. Home from the ER with baby Simon fully recovered, postpartum depression set in. Weeks went by, and Rebecca hit rock bottom. She began therapy, and for the first time looked at what had happened to her life and her marriage. She began taking Paxil for her depression. She felt more able to stretch herself and try new things. She made peace with her family history. After hard work and much consideration, she and Jack came out on the other side. They decided to have another baby. There were complications with the birth, and Gus spent a week in the NICU. Rebecca managed to get through that without another depression, and now her main challenge was getting through motherhood not being depressed, trying not to fall with each new challenge. When I was younger, so much younger than today, I never needed anybody's help in any way, But now these days are gone and I'm not so self assured, Now I find I've changed my mind I've opened up the doors. –The Beatles The first few months of Gus' life were very different for me than the first few months of Simon's. I couldn't remember details of Simon's early babyhood, but I'd be changing Gus' diaper or wake up to the sound of his cries and a flash of grayness would come back. I'd remember what felt like hours of nursing and no sleep, and smile. I'd smile because now things were So. Much. Better. The sleep deprivation had been the worst part of the depression. With Simon, I often felt that with time to sleep, the depression would have gone away. So, this time around, night-time coverage for me became our first priority. With enough sleep, I felt confident I could handle the days without relapse. I allowed myself help -- help in many forms. There was the help I gave myself: a break when I needed it. I stopped nursing Gus at night after three weeks, so I could sleep. I let him take a bottle of breastmilk or formula if I was too tired to pump. There was the help I accepted: Jack parented at full capacity. With Simon I hadn't been able to give over any of the parenting -- and then blamed Jack for not doing enough. Now Jack stepped in, providing full night-time coverage three nights a week. And then there was the help we hired: Gina, our nighttime doula. She slept at our house three nights a week for the first four months of Gus' life. Gina was amazing -- she was so nurturing with Gus while truly respecting my privacy. Everything was great. Or so it seemed. There were trade-offs. Yes, I had been depressed with Simon. But I also experienced motherhood for the first time, all the time. I felt completely and totally bonded with him, so much so that at times it became overwhelming. With Gus, achieving balance was complicated. I wanted the sleep, but I didn't want to let go of him. But Gus didn't seem to have the same ambivalence. From day one, he was independent, able to connect with others. He had no problems at night with Gina. Yes, he cried -- he was a colicky baby. But she was able to calm him as well as I. Rather than feel comforted by this, I'd find myself flashing back to his birth and the NICU. Did he know I was his mother? Were we having problems bonding? Did he know me, really? I couldn't prevent that doubt from creeping in, especially when my period started again when Gus was two months old. I found it difficult to negotiate feeling those monthly shadows of depression without wondering if "it" was coming back. That worry mostly manifested itself in doubts about my connection to Gus. The truth was I just didn't know what I was "supposed" to be feeling. I loved Gus, was much more "in love" with being a mother this second time around. But why did it take a certain amount of separation from my baby for me to feel that love? Was something wrong with me that I needed so much help? Should a "Good Mother" be able to do all this all alone? On some level, I knew this wasn't true, I was a feminist for god's sake! But there's nothing like the vulnerability of the postpartum weeks to make a woman doubt herself. So I continued to negotiate these feelings of ambivalence. At four months, Gus began to sleep through the night and we stopped needing Gina. I felt like crying and cheering at the same time. I was scared, but also relieved to be "getting my baby back." I wrote Gina a letter thanking her for her work with us, for taking the time to nurture and love my child, and I invited her to keep in touch, to see him as he grew. I didn't misrepresent my feelings in that letter; every word I wrote was true. But later, in my journal, I wrote another letter. One just for me. Dear Gina, I need to thank you for helping us, and though I'm glad that you did, honestly I wish you were never here. In fact, I don't want you to spend time with us and watch him grow -- I want to forget about you. Yes, Gus loves you, and yes, your experience with newborns who spent time in the NICU helped us feel safe. And yes, we needed your help as a night nurse to be rested as a family and so I could avoid triggers for a depression relapse, like sleep deprivation. None of that mattered at night, during his first weeks at home, when you'd bring him to me to nurse and I wasn't sure he recognized me. Did he know his mommy? He was snatched away right after the birth. Did I get a good enough look? The day after the birth at the NICU I couldn't let go of the horrible question: If it weren't for his storkbite over his eyelid, and I had to guess among all the babies, would I recognize my own child? would he recognize me? And so, when you came to help, I had an equally horrible conundrum: I needed you but I didn't want you. I wanted your help but I wanted Gus to know me, only me. To have me, only me. When you'd bring him to nurse, I'd find myself wondering, If you had nursed him would he have known the difference? If he had gone home with you would he have known the difference? Would he have known that there was another heart beating for him out there? It was wonderful to rely on you, to be able to sleep knowing Gus was in such good hands. Horribly wonderful. Why was he so content? Shouldn't he have been crying for me? Inconsolable without me? If he fussed while nursing, I'd wonder, did he want you? God I feel so awful with this in my heart. I know Gus and I are mother and son. Totally, completely. But really, sometimes it makes me so sad that we couldn't have done it all without you. That I couldn't have done it all without you. And so, guiltily, I'm glad you are leaving. So Gus knows I'm the one who stays. I hope you understand. And I know that Gus is thriving, and bonded in the heart of our family. We have shored up our strength, and I'm ready for you to go. Gus is sweet, smiling, and knows his mommy now. But in those fragile first few weeks when I felt like an eggshell with nothing inside, doubt so easily slipped in. I wonder if you saw? Thank you, thank you, thank you for not saying so. Love, Rebecca Comments (1) Rebecca Kaminsky lives and writes in Berkeley. After having a tough time when her first child was born, writing became part of her healing process. Hoping to feel less alone, she shared her writing with other mothers. She wrote imagining an audience of women, some who knew postpartum depression personally, some who could just relate because having a baby is always some combination of struggle and beauty, difficulty and wonder. For more on her writing life, see this site's About Us section. If you or someone you know suffers from PPD, or is just having a tough time post-baby, here are some helpful resources: Bay Area: UCSF - Women's Mood and Hormone Clinic www.ucsf.edu/brizlab/wmhcindex.html State of California: Postpartum Health Alliance www.postpartumhealthalliance.org/index.htm Nationally and Internationally: Postpartum Support International www.postpartum.net/