17

SNOT AND TEARS

You power through your labor for four and a half more hours, giving in to the waves of pain and trusting your body to do what it is meant to do. It is the worst pain you have ever experienced in your life, but when you look down afterward, you don’t see teeth and claw marks where lions tore your flesh apart . . . you see your still-round but slightly deflating belly, and you see your precious daughter lying on your chest, staring back at you. You name her Lily. She is pure magic.

You feel a slight pang of not having her father there to share this moment with but are happy that your mother and Anna are there to witness this life-changing, heart-expanding experience.

And then there’s the cheeseburger. The best fucking cheeseburger you have ever tasted in your life—even though it came from the hospital cafeteria and would probably taste mediocre at best under normal circumstances. This is your reward for making it through labor without drugs: instant gratification of the edible variety, since you don’t need to wait for medication to wear off before you can eat.

• • •

Despite having the uncomplicated birth that you strived for, your recovery feels difficult. You experience painful constipation, crazy night sweats, and a lurking sense of worry. Your milk supply isn’t sufficient to keep Lily satiated and so you finally have to give in and supplement with formula—a compromise that goes against your plans to exclusively breast feed. Thank goodness your mother has come to stay with you for the first few weeks to help with diaper changes, food for you, and bottles of formula for Lily when your chapped and bleeding nipples aren’t enough.

Unfortunately, your mom has to get back home after a few weeks. You have several friends that have organized a meal train for you and who promise to visit you frequently. But you feel scared and alone.

Lily has reflux and seems to be crying most of the time. And your mind feels like it is playing tricks on you. You feel like a failure for not being able to make Lily comfortable, a failure for having a baby without a father in the picture (especially since you had the option of having him around), and a failure for not being able to stay on top of your coursework in your early days of motherhood. Soon you find yourself crying even more than Lily.

You are experiencing postpartum depression (PPD), a condition that affects as many as one in seven women after having a baby.¹ You start spending entire days and nights barely leaving your bed, crying snotty tears onto Lily’s perfect velvety head.

A few of your friends who have been bringing you meals compare notes and decide you need help. Anna sits with you while you call your doctor to make an appointment, and then she drives you and Lily there two days later.

Your doctor diagnoses your PPD, prescribes you an anti-depressant, and suggests counseling. You feel so low that you don’t believe any of this will actually help, but you go along with her recommendations. You start on the antidepressants and begin seeing a counselor twice a week.

Slowly, your fog of despair begins to lift. You start going out with Lily for short walks, meeting friends for coffee, and generally looking toward the future again.

And as you do, you continue on to Chapter 24.