Why I am Not Going to Go Crazy this Time

I am not sad that I will not be having a “normal” delivery. Who in their right mind would want to do THAT, anyway? The pushing, the panting, the staring at your own exposed “area” in the mirror until the baby emerges. Nah, a c-section is fine by me. I did it before and I can do it again. The surgery itself is the least of my concerns.

If you are related to me, then you may know that I went a little crazy after I had Doug. I thought I was prepared. I thought knew the drill.

Hospital-Epidural-Baby-Love-Home-Health-Happiness.

And everything was great at first. Post-surgery pain was a cake-walk compared to nine months of morning sickness. I felt on top of the world after giving birth.

In fact, I felt so good that I decided to leave the hospital early. True, a doctor had just sawed open my body, yanked out a few internal organs (and 8.5 ib baby), scraped out my insides, and stapled me back together… but I wouldn’t let that keep me from being the best damn mother in the world.

We went home and I began my motherly duties. I had a hard time accepting help from my mother or husband. I was Super Mommy. I didn’t need naps. I didn’t need pain meds. I just needed to do what came naturally… mothering.

But mothering didn’t come naturally. Breastfeeding was not working. Doug was frustrated. I was crying.

I am failing.

And I didn’t love Doug the way that I was supposed to—the way I had been told I would. I thought he was cute. I liked him. But he was a stranger to me.

What is wrong with me? I am a horrible mother and a horrible person.

Then I caught some sort of flu. My old friend, Nausea, never left the building after all. Sneaky booger.

I am never going to feel better. I am ALWAYS going to feel sick.

I am so tired.

My body hurts.

I can’t do this!

So, I had a few panic attacks… in front of my husband, in front of my mother, in front of my mother-in-law. I felt so naked. So embarrassed. So sad.

I was another victim of post-partum hormones. It is real. It is awful.

Needless to say, I overcame all of these problems. With the help of medication, rest, loving families, and priesthood blessings I was restored to full sanity and health after a few feverish weeks.

And I learned that I did indeed love my son and that I was a decent mommy after all. Thank heavens.

I survived.

And I will use that experience to strengthen the next. I am going in to this delivery with realistic expectations. I am going to stay in the hospital as long as I want. I am going to start my Zoloft before the doctor can even say “It’s a girl.” I am going to let my mommy and my husband take care of me. I am going to love my baby in the way that I love her, and not the way I think I am suppose to love her. And I will be prepared for the inevitable bumps and bruises along the way.