I loved, loved, LOVED being pregnant.

Apart from being extremely tired in my first trimester —which was during my last semester of grad school and I was not allowed to be tired —and having extreme heartburn (Lennox had LOTS of hair. No it’s not an old wives’ tale), my pregnancy was rather smooth. You could say I was spoiled.

My skin was glowing.

I felt energetic, especially in the second trimester.

My hair and nails were gorgeous and growing like weeds, oh, and the attention.

The attention you get when you’re pregnant is incredible. Everyone is always asking about you, helping you and sometimes — well a lot of the times— awkwardly touching your belly.

Too bad this attention doesn’t carry on once the baby comes earth-side. Then you become a pariah.

Glowing, happy Lorena thinking ‘only four more weeks until I can drink one of those.’ Little did she know she would never enjoy a drink like she used to.

           Going back to my pregnancy, I used to believe; ‘If I am such a champ at pregnancy, then I’ve got this motherhood thing in the bag’- or so I thought. I used to think a lot, scratch that. Now that I think about it, I didn’t really think about motherhood that much at all. I did, however, do a lot of researching and buying of baby products. Oh, and I did read a couple books. According to myself I was more than prepared to take on a baby. Anyways, all they do is eat, sleep and poop right?

 Not only was I not prepared— and high on life from my perfect pregnancy — but I had all of these misconceptions about what my experience would be like. These misconceptions and lack of knowledge contributed to my PPD. In the next couple of posts I will dive into these topics; the first of which is my labor and birthing of Lennox and how my picture-perfect natural birth turned into a c-section-hell.

Read more: My postpartum depression realization

Labor and Birth

       Lennox was born at 41 weeks. He did not want to come out, however, I just could not take the suspense any longer. That’s why I exaggerated my non-existent contractions on the morning of the night I was supposed to be induced just to speed the process up.

I was so excited to be the first of four women in my family to have a natural birth. Going into the hospital was so exciting for me especially since try sister-in-law always emphasized how much she loved her two hospital experiences. She also had two C-sections and loved being waited on hand and foot.  

Little did I know that I was going to be probed and poked for the next 20 hours: the epidural, the machines, the catheter, the catheter, oh my god, the catheter. I was basically numb from life from the epidural, but that damn catheter felt like someone was stabbing my insides, and to make it worse, the nurses added another catheter because it was not inserted correctly. Also, I was STARVING. Unless you’re one of the lucky few who have a quick labor and birth, except to starve because they do not let you eat anything except for ice chips due to possible aspiration during anesthesia.

20 hours passed and I thought I was nearing the end of the worst part of my hospital experience.

WRONG. At 8:40 am— 10 cm dilated, exhausted and hangry— my OB-GYN came into my room bearing bad news. She explained that Lennox was quite comfy and nestled on my bladder so I had to pick from one of two options:

Option 1: Pushing— which most likely would take a couple hours and he would probably come out with some type of dystocia since he was measuring 9.4 pounds! and I would still most likely have to have a C-section— or,

Option 2: undergo a C-section.

What a shitty choice of options. My brain tried to reason with my hunger and exhaustion but they quickly convinced my brain that a C-section was the quickest and safest option. Off to the operating table I went.

Hours 10:00 and 11:00 were very blurry as they prepped me and carved my baby out of me. I remember feeling very peaceful and pain-free for the first time in 20 hours. I did feel them tugging on my lower half but I just felt a tickling sensation. It all happened so fast then, WHAM! I heard a cry.

What? Is that my baby? Awe, he sounds so cute, but why don’t I feel anything? I literally felt nothing. It was almost as if the anesthesia had numbed not only my body, but my emotions also. I watched from afar as Carlos finished cutting Lennox’s umbilical cord and then one of the nurses brought him to me. I remember her asking me “well, do you want to kiss him?”  

Why was someone instructing me to kiss my baby? Wasn’t I just naturally supposed to feel compelled to? This wasn’t right. I was supposed to have a natural birth, where I immediately put the baby to my chest for skin-to-skin. That what they taught me in my breastfeeding class and what I read in my books.  I was supposed to feel feel this so-called love-at-first-sight that all mothers feel once their baby is born. What was happening? I for sure must be dreaming.

I was quickly woken up from this not-so-much-a-dream as soon as the nurse wheeled me to my box-sized post-delivery room that I would call home for the next five days. They handed me Lennox for the first time after about a half an hour after he was born. I still felt relatively emotionless, something I would never dare to admit.

Shortly after meeting my baby for the first time, I started to break out into a profuse sweat. The sweat was then followed by an intense itching, especially on my face. I told the nurse and she informed me that what what happening to me was called Pruritus- a reaction to the anesthesia that results in a severe itching.

Apparently this reaction is rather common and according to Babymed, around 72% of women get this reaction following surgery. The best thing you can do if you start to feel this is to immediately tell your nurse so they can add a substance to your IV to alleviate the sensation.

My itching and profuse sweating lasted for what felt like an eternity, probably because it was happening it the midsts of my multitasking— trying to recover from being cut open, taking care and nourishing myself, trying to get my newborn to latch, all while dealing with a million nurses. Let me repeat myself. A MILLION NURSES.

Be prepared to be interrupted by a nurse every five minutes. You get a phone call, nurse. A visitor comes, nurse. Baby starts to latch, nurse. Finally close your eyes for the first time in two days, nurse.You get where I am coming from. Why didn’t anyone tell me about this annoying, constant, around the clock hovering of the nurses?

Read more: Tips for Breastfeeding After an Unexpected C-Section

Also, breastfeeding after a C-section is a complete joke. It’s nearly impossible. You are literally connected to so many different machines that you don’t even know how to hold your child correctly, much less put him in a  football/cradle position.

Then, the baby may have trouble latching so you  have to invite a lactation consultant to come in and join your never-ending nurse party, and on top of that you may not even have a milk supply. For me, my milk didn’t come in until day FIVE. Yes, day 5! You may ask; what did your baby eat before your milk finally came in? Pretty much nothing, but according to the nurses, he didn’t need much— just a little bit of colostrum will satisfy his tiny stomach. They recommended hand-expressing. Next they gave me a hand pump. Then a nipple shield. Sure, yeah, I’ll just add that to my growing list of impossible things to do after a c-section.

By day two I was pretty much deteriorating. I had zero energy.

My incision was starting to hurt, and worst of all, my newborn— who I swear to this day was never a newborn, except for the fact that he was newly born (he came out already having head control and wide awake)— was not being satisfied by my nonexistent milk supply and therefore would not stop crying. I could see all the other families on our hall looking at us with concerned eyes.

One traveling nurse even told me that I needed to give Lennox a bottle, but my stubborn-ass-first-time-mom-self kept telling her I was EBF!!!  On day 3 I gave up. I paged a nurse and told her I needed a break and also a bottle for my baby because he was screaming and hungry. You know what she did? She sent in another lactation consultant and apologized saying they don’t take EBF babies to the nursery. Well for fucks sake!

 Last, but not least, were the never-ending visitors. It was so great to see them, but at the same time it was exhausting having to put on a smile and pretend that everything was as picture-perfect as those posts I was publishing on Facebook. Of course, Lennox played right along and slept like champ when the visitors came around.  I knew Carlos and I would pay the price as soon as they left. Thank you son, for making it look like I had my shit together.

So yeah, my hospital experience was FAR from ideal.  I hope I have not scared any of you with what ifs, however, it is very good to go in with an open mind of what could happen. Some personal advice that I would like to offer:

Advice for before and after L & D

• Eat a big meal before you go to the hospital, even if your go into labor naturally.
• Wait as long as possible to get an epidural- something I didn’t do. It’s not natural for a woman to be on her back during labor and with the epidural you have no other choice.
• If you end up having a C-section, ask for a hospital-grade electric pump, and bring a homemade (super easy to make) , or purchased pumping bra therefore you don’t have to worry about hand-stimulating your milk. It will allow to to be hands-free, save you time and hopefully encourage the milk flow faster.

• Do not be worried about offending people by declining a visit. This is a valuable time for you and your baby to get to know each other. Visitors are nice, but they can visit you as soon as you are home.
• Last but not least, not everyone experiences a ‘love at first sight’ moment with their baby and that’s ok. Just make sure to stay in-check with your feelings.

The post My Unexpected C-Section Birth Story appeared first on Bilingual Beginnings.

Para leer en español: La verdad detrás de la foto: La realización de la depresión posparto

“Postpartum depression makes a woman feel like she is in the grip of something dreaded and dark, and it’s scary. . . but she’s likely ashamed to admit it because she can’t explain it!” – Judy Dippel

“The very damaging, frightening part of postpartum is the lack of perspective and the lack of priority and understanding what is really important.” – Brooke Shields

All of the pictures in the post were taken Teresa Robertson Photography

  Do you ever look back at a picture and feel invaded by a rush of emotions? The photo above of me, Lorena, and my ten-day-old son, Lennox, is one of those pictures. Nostalgic is the first feeling that arises because it feels like it was taken yesterday. Fast forward almost 17 months later, and this cute, little, sleeping-burrito is now a goofy, handsome, tantrum-throwing toddler. To say time went fast is an understatement. I remember when he was first born, everyone and their mother would tell me “enjoy it while you can, they grow up so fast.” This comment baffled me. Fast? What is fast about the lack of sleep, the constant perfume of spit-up, the sore-breasts, the never-ending cleaning for all those friends and family members who couldn’t resist visiting— even though in a few weeks they wouldn’t even remember you and your baby exist? Fast was the way I walked my newborn in his stroller to get him to calm down and finally (maybe) sleep, all five days after a C-section. Fast was how quick I learned to swaddle a fussy newborn and rock him to sleep for an hour- until he woke up upon setting him down. Fast was how quickly I threw things into closets and drawers when visitors came to see us. Fast were the stretches of sleep I (sometimes) got. Fast was how soon Carlos (my significant other) returned to work and left me solely responsible for this tiny, little creature. Nonetheless, looking back on the past 17 months, I have no idea where the time went.

Shortly after the nostalgic feeling of wanting my little burrito-baby back, the second emotion emerged; an overwhelming sadness. This sadness comes from two places; the sadness I felt when this picture was taken and the sadness I feel now. The sadness I feel now comes from my knowledge of motherhood and how I wish I, the mother I am today, could go back and tell this stubborn, know-it-all, first-time-mother, that she is doing it all wrong. I will go into further detail in future post. The second sadness is from June 18, 2017, while I sat on a couch watching Teresa Robertson, a very talented photographer, take pictures of my beautiful baby boy. I remember feeling guilty of how good it felt not to be holding my child for a change. Lennox did a great job. He slept for most of the photo shoot. Teresa could not keep emphasizing how great he was doing. I remember at the end of the shoot Teresa was almost moved to tears as she talked about Lennox.

She said he was so calm and that she can tell he is so loved. Carlos is a natural when it comes to parenting, probably due to the fact he raised half of his 17 (yes, 17) nieces and nephews. I, however, must have been putting on a good act. Teresa told us that as a newborn photographer, calm is not usually the case with some newborns, especially those of first-time parents. She said she could feel the tension in some first-time families which is reflected in the newborn. I remember wanting to curl into a ball and weep. She couldn’t be talking about my son, could she? Her words started to break me down and the more we talked, the harder it became to force a smile. I was trying so hard to mask my feelings from her – and myself – but I could tell that she felt the unhappiness in my eyes.

We left Teresa’s studio, and I got home and wept. Carlos was used to me crying and this made me feel so guilty. I had a healthy, beautiful baby boy for fuck’s sake. Why the hell was I crying?  I kept blaming it on the baby blues. I remember one day my dad came over and I tried to open up with him about how I was feeling. He told me that I needed to suck it up, that all women go through this and I need to be content that Lennox is a happy, healthy baby. He mentioned his girlfriend at the time, who has an adult son, born with a very rare illness, and that I cannot act so selfishly when there is nothing wrong with my child. This broke me down even further. How could I be so unhappy about this new chapter in my life?

 It wasn’t until my two-week check-up for my C-section incision that I realized how severe my unhappiness was, and to be honest unhappy wasn’t the correct term. I felt miserable, disconnected, and started having dark feelings that I was embarrassed to reveal. After my OB-GYN examined my incision, she sat me down and asked me how I was doing. I lost it. I couldn’t control my tears, and she just stood next to me and rubbed my shoulder. Once I finally composed myself, I told her I thought I was having a bad case of the baby blues due to my hormones changing and my lack of sleep. She proceeded to tell me that that was a possibility. She informed me that most mothers go through the baby blues, a series of mood swings after postpartum; however, they usually subside after two weeks. I was going on my third week, and she was worried that what I was experiencing was something more: Postpartum Depression. She handed me a folder of information on PPD, prescribed  25 mg of Zoloft and said she wanted to schedule a follow-up appointment in two weeks to see how I was doing.

I got home and started researching Postpartum Depression. Once I started understanding my diagnosis, I immediately felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. I wasn’t a horrible mother and I for sure was not alone in this feeling. One of every seven mothers experiences this deep, dark place. As the days progressed and I came to this realization, my fast-paced walks started to get slower, my miserable breastfeeding experience started to get bearable, and for the first time, I started to feel a desire to be around my child. I began to sing to him and smile with him during his middle of the night wake-ups. My relationship with Carlos started to get back to normal as I didn’t feel so helpless anymore. My resentment towards my child-free friends began to disappear. I began accepting that my life had changed and I wanted to make the most of it.

 Sometime in the middle of July, Teresa called me saying she had finished Lennox’s newborn pictures. I was so excited to go back and see her, this time in an enlightened state. After she showed me his photos, she asked me how I was doing, and I openly told her that I was being treated for PPD. She then opened up with me about how she also suffered from a severe PPD with her first child. We chatted for a while on the subject. It felt SO good to talk about it openly and have someone with whom to talk. That’s when I decided I wanted to be open and honest about my experiences with PPDwith anyone and everyone that wanted to hear about it. This year, many of my friends have gotten pregnant or had their babies, and I try always to take the time to talk to them about my experience. My intention is not to scare anyone, but to offer an insight into what could be.

Thank you for letting me share part of my story. Writing this brought me to tears as I remember how scary it felt those first couple weeks of motherhood, but I am honored to be able to write about such a taboo subject. Today, as the mother of a 17-month-old, I still struggle with moments of PPD, but now I know how to control these moments and not let them push me down to a depressed-state. I welcome anyone who would like to share their story with me or just talk with me about their feelings. Please do not hesitate. Having a listening ear and a support system is one of the best ways to push past PPD.

The post The Truth Behind the Photo: Postpartum Depression Realization appeared first on Bilingual Beginnings.