I surrender

There is a prescription for Zoloft waiting for me at the pharmacy.

After having been up all night again, the morning was rough.

He was screaming through his bottle, I was exhausted and frustrated and just couldn't take it.

Yesterday's Oprah episode really spoke to me.

Something had to give.

I don't think I have PPD. I think it's exhaustion induced. But either way- it's depression.

I have a lot of shame about it, I'll be honest. I feel like a failure.

We struggled for so many years, through surgeries and miscarriages and then pre-e and months in the NICU. And here I am- the answer to my prayers finally answered and I'm completely overwhelmed.

Yes, yes, I know you'll all reassure me that it's normal. Because you're all wonderful. I have conversations with 2 moms of older children today who did make me feel somewhat better.

But the shame is still there.

Here is this perfect angel. This amazing soul that has fought through so much. He spent six month in my belly being accosted by a noisy Doppler checking him, then was ripped from my womb early and spent the next 3 months being tortured. Tubes down his throat, needles in his arms & legs, lights and noises constant. Then surgery brought cuts and bruises all over. Tubes down his throat again. A tube was put into his stomach.

It drains and leaks almost constantly. He has rubber probes strapped to his chest at all times. His stomach betrays him in spite of the surgery- burning acid up his throat, up into his nose.. gagging and choking him.

But still he soldiers on. Feisty, they say. The nice way of saying cranky. I'd be cranky, too.. I AM cranky, too.. and I haven't been through half as much as him.

In spite of all of this, his occupation therapist says he's "wonderful" "excellent" "better than just about any preemie she's ever seen." Months of torture and still he likes to look at people, make eye contact, turn his head to follow interesting things. In spite of the constant negative oral stimulation, he still likes to eat and to nurse.

He's far more resilient than me.

And in spite of knowing all of this, of living all of this, I find myself frustrated- angry even- when he won't stop crying.

ANGRY. At a 5 pound helpless infant that I love more than life itself.

"ROBBIE COX!" I said loudly, nearly yelling this morning. "STOP CRYING!"

And he did. Surprised, I think, by my stern voice. It only lasted a moment, but he was surprised. Something new he shouldn't learn yet. A frustrated mom.

I tried to sing my nonsense song to him, bouncing him around hoping to soothe him, but really just going through the exhausted motions. I was rougher than I should have been. Not soothing at all. I wasn't hurting him, of course. But I wasn't helping either.

He finally finished his bottle and fell asleep.

I cried.

One thing was abundantly clear. Robbie deserves a better mother. One who isn't too tired to sing nonsense songs and pat him incessantly if that's what he wants. One who hears him wake up and thinks "YAY! My amazing son is awake! We can play now." Not "Crap. I'm so tired. I wish he'd go back to sleep."

I called the doctor's office. They weren't open yet, so I waited.

I called my dad hoping to pass the time. He asked if I'd slept. I told him no. Then I told him the truth- I was waiting for the doctor's office to open because I needed help. I wasn't dealing well.

He didn't laugh this time. Instead he offered to come watch Robbie in the morning so I could sleep. I agreed.

I fell asleep before the doctor's office could open.

I dreamed that Robbie was crying and I couldn't get to him. I woke up in a panic but he was fine.

I called the doctor's office immediately and left a message.

They called me back and agreed. They want to see me in a few weeks to make sure things are improving.

I emailed David at work and told him that we needed to talk. I need help.

He agreed.

Tonight when he got home, I proposed that he gets an hour when he gets home from work to relax, but then I get 3 hours and at least 1 feeding "Off." And he agreed.

You can tell he doesn't quite understand. He just knows that I'm not functioning well. And he's willing to work it out with me. That's all I ask.

So.. pray for patience for me.

Pray for the drugs to work and for my support system to not only support, but for me to be able to accept it.

Tonight when I had my "off time." I had a hard time. I wanted to go to him. I wanted to say "no no.. I have him." but I didn't. The frustration of the morning was fresh. And I knew it would be another long night.

So I napped.

And they survived.

Maybe with some luck, we all will.


--Trish