Soul Searching (extremely long post)

Yesterday, I read the blog of a new mom who had gone through infertility treatments in order to conceive. Many of my friends know that I also went through the trauma of trying to conceive for years, more than two to be exact. Something like that does something to you. It matures you, it hurts you, it hardens you, it can make you crazy, and it can put a lot of stress on you, your partner, and your marriage. Oh, and it can take the fun out of sex.

Through it all, only some of that happened to me, thank goodness.

Harry and I got engaged at the beginning of 2003, about 1 and a 1/2 years after we started dating. We had originally planned for a wedding in CT in September of 2004, mainly so we'd have the time we needed to plan the big to-do. Once we decided that we were going to get married in Hawaii instead, we moved the date up to December 2003 because we knew the weather would be gorgeous then. Of course, my company decided that it was moving the very same week we had chosen for our wedding and honeymoon, and we were told that we could not take time off during that week. Go figure. So we moved it to February 2004, and naturally my company moved the moving date to THAT week. I ended up pleading my case, seeing as I had already moved the date once for them, and they agreed I could have the time off.

We were also in the middle of the sale of Harry's Co-op during that time, which put a good deal of stress on us during a time when we just should have been celebrating. The deal was supposed to have been absolutely over and done with by the time February came around, but alas, the best laid plans...blah blah blah. I don't think we closed until April. THAT was a freakin' mess.

Anyway, around December, we decided that we'd start trying to get pregnant. No sense in waiting, right? Unfortunately, I didn't get pregnant right away. December and January passed with no baby conceived. We hoped maybe it would happen on our honeymoon, but the last day of our trip confirmed I was, once again, not pregnant. 6 months later at my OB/GYN, I told my doctor that we had been trying to no avail. He told me that if I still hadn't conceived within the next year, we could start looking at other options. A year?

Well, that year went by. And no baby. So there I was at the doc's again, telling him it had now been a year and a half that we had been trying to conceive. So he ordered some blood work done to check out my hormone levels. Harry had already been tested about 6 months before, and his little swimmers were fine. My blood work, on the other hand, had some alarming results. Both my prolactin and progesterone levels were WAY off, so much so that my doc was worried there might be something wrong with my pituitary glad and immediately ordered an MRI for me. Talk about freaking me the fuck out!

The MRI was a traumatic experience in and of itself (see here), but it came back fine which was a relief. We did another blood test, and the results still showed the levels being off. So the next step was to start taking Clomid, a drug that helps induce ovulation.

I took Clomid for 3 months with no results (other than it making me feel icky and not like myself). I stopped treatment because of the side effects. The next step would have been injections, but I just wasn't ready to go that route yet. I wasn't ready to start investing vast amounts of money into conceiving when we were trying to SAVE vast amounts of money for a possible future child, a new home, a better life. I'm not sure if that makes sense to everyone, but it made sense to me.

At the 2 year mark, we decided to stop "trying". All that counting. Ugh. I will say we at least had fun through the whole thing. The sex never got boring or felt forced. We were very lucky in that respect; I know a lot of couples aren't so lucky.

We talked a little about adopting, and we found out Harry's company actually helped with that kind of thing. We decided we'd start looking into it the next year. In the meantime, we planned a little getaway for our 2 year anniversary. We didn't want to go far, so we decided on the Poconos in PA. It was a mere 2 hour drive from our house which was perfect. Unfortunately, it's fucking COLD in northern PA in the beginning of February. It snowed the entire weekend which made the place pretty but difficult to walk around. And the place was a complete '80s throwback. We laugh about it now, but we were pretty peeved at how crappy it was given how much we paid for the weekend.

In the end though, that total hole ended up being the magic we needed because Little Miss Ellie was conceived on that weekend. After all the trying, counting, stressing, etc, it was a dilapidated, cheesy "resort" that made it happen.

I had a wonderful pregnancy. I loved every minute of it. I'm a stressed out, worrying mess the majority of the time, but that all went away during my pregnancy. I've never felt better.

Ellie's delivery was not so wonderful, but I got through it. And I have this amazing little girl to prove it.

The first few weeks after I had Ellie were extremely hard though. I had a slight case of PPD AND I was on all kinds of drugs for pain and infections. I was a complete mess. I cried a lot. I worried a lot. I was completely sleep-deprived. I felt like a crap mom. I fully admit that now.

And, in all honestly, I was a little bit afraid of my child. I felt like I didn't know her, didn't know what to do for her, didn't know how to take care of her. Ellie cried a lot as a baby, and she had colic. She didn't really like to be held for long periods of time, but she also didn't like to be on her own. I cannot even begin to tell you how much stuff I read and how many things I tried to make my baby happy. I'm lucky I didn't go insane in the process.

About a week and a half after I had her, I seriously thought to myself, "What have I done? What have I gotten myself into?" I was afraid I'd accidentally drop her, I was afraid something horrible and tragic would happen to her, I was afraid of SIDS. I was simply afraid. Terrified.

And I had no one to talk to about it. My mom had no idea what I was going through because she never felt any of the things I was feeling. She was seriously worried I had major PPD, especially after she saw my sister go through it when she had her daughter. She suggested I talk to my doctor since I was scheduled to see him soon, and I agreed that I would.

Once I was able to get off all the meds, though, some of the fear started to dissipate. I started to feel normal again. Ellie still cried and had colic, but I suddenly understood that we could get through it.

The only fear that didn't leave me was the one of something tragic happening to her. I'd have these awful dreams, both while sleeping and awake. What if she was taken away from me? What would I do? How would I cope? How would I be able to move on? I didn't think that would even be possible.

Around that same time I also came to the conclusion that I was not cut out to be a stay-at-home mom. I had planned on quitting my job to care for her full-time, but that didn't end up happening. I admitted to myself that I couldn't do this 24 hours a day. Oh, the sheer agony of having to admit that. I had absolutely NO RIGHT to do it, to go back to work. I had wanted this baby for YEARS, and now, what? I was just giving up? I couldn't do it? What kind of a mother was I? I was right... I WAS going to be a terrible mom. All the fears I had had when I was younger, telling myself I didn't want children because I was sure I'd screw them up, was I right all along?

The guilt was overwhelming. The first day I dropped her off at daycare, I cried for hours. I didn't know what to do. I wanted (and needed from a financial aspect) to go back to work, but I felt like I was already failing Ellie. How could I just leave her with someone else, a stranger, to care for her. *I* should be caring for her. How unloving, uncaring, was I to do this to a little baby?

Harry talked me through it, and I managed to take her to daycare again the next day. And it was a little easier. And the next day was a little easier still.

And then she got sick, and we ended up in the hospital. My nightmare was coming true. Something bad was happening. They said it was pneumonia. And she was just 10 weeks old.

The next day, though, we found out it WASN'T pneumonia, and we were sent home. And more than that, we were sent home with Teri's phone number. When I met Teri, my guilt started to dissipate. It's amazing how finding the right person can alleviate your emotions. Teri did that for me.

I soon realized that I had made the RIGHT decision for my family, going back to work. Ellie thrived in her new daycare environment. She loved being surrounded by the other kids. She benefited from being with Teri for a few hours everyday instead of being stuck with boring, old mom. And the little girl I have today is testament to that. Not every kid is cut out to be a daycare kid, and not every kid is cut out to stay at home with mom. There is no definite right and wrong.

A few months later I found Maya's Mom, an online community for parents (mostly moms). And I met some wonderful women on there, people who could answer my questions and understand what I was thinking and feeling. One mom in particular really helped me because she went through a similar case of PPD, right down to the fears of something tragic happening. It was through that group of women that I realized I was not alone.

And that has helped me more than anything else. I learned that there are numerous definitions of being a "normal" mom, and the title "mom" is not a one-size-fits-all.

I have lots more to say on the subject, and I will in time. For now, I thank you for reading, and I hope that maybe, just maybe a new mom will stumble upon this entry, read it, and get the help and reassurance she needs.