I don't want to be super mom.... I rather be human

I have a Jewish co-worker whose sister has twelve children, runs carpool, keeps an organized and immaculate home and cooks supper every night for her husband, herself and their children. On Fridays she has to cook enough food to last the entire day until sundown Saturday evening. She has no job outside of the home, no nanny and probably hasn't had a vacation in years. She can barely catch a break let alone catch a flight. She's a super mom and loves every minute of it. She receives her validation from her neat and well mannered children, clean home and self prepared Kosher gluten free meals. I'm pretty sure that along with being a super mom that she's also super tired.

When I had my first child I didn't want any help. I was my own little mini super mom. I insisted on changing every diaper myself and breastfeeding around the clock to the point of exhaustion. I even remember that I did my newborn daughters dirty laundry every night as well. By hand. I was obsessed with the notion of being the perfect mom. I felt as if I had to prove something to myself and others, especially my in-laws at the time. Then something shifted. The once happy cheerful person that I once had been was gone. I was extremely fatigued and suddenly replaced by an irritable version of myself. I cried at the smallest most inconsequential things.  I remember one time crying because I couldn't find a particular tube of lipstick. I sat on the bathroom floor and cried an entire half hour over the sadness of my life over having lost this lipstick. It was my favorite shade from my favorite brand and now it was gone. The agony. I had also lost an extreme amount of weight which I assumed was because I was breastfeeding and hardly eating. I had insomnia and would pace the rooms of my house, baby in tow throughout the night going over random thoughts in my head. At one point, I  even lost interest in the baby. All of a sudden the super mom that I started out as had become a less than super person. I was disappointed in myself for becoming this way. What was wrong with me? I blamed the turn of events on myself and some failure on my end. Maybe I wasn't cut out to be a mom. What if I was a bad person? Eventually, I found myself relinquishing all of my parental responsibilities to my sister, my mother and mother in law, relying on their assistance to help me with the most mundane of tasks related to the baby because I was too sad to do any of it. This was probably one of the lowest points in my life. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. The baby blues that I assumed were from having a new baby were lasting too long and my emotions were spiraling out of control.

During my six week follow-up appointment, my Doctor listened to my complaints, my fears and my concerns and knew exactly what was wrong with me. Being diagnosed with Postpartum Depression was a saving grace in my life. There was finally a tangible explanation for my actions. Even so, I couldn't help but feel disappointed with myself. I remember asking the doctor how did I catch this? Inquiring as if PPD was some sort of sickness that was going around like a virus. Looking back now I can see that all of the warning signs were there. Signs that I attributed to being a new mom and the anxieties that came with that. According to WebMD, 10% of moms with newborns will develop PPD. There is a stigma associated with having postpartum depression that I understand all too clearly. I was afraid to let others know what was going on with me internally and mentally. I was afraid I'd be judged as a bad person or even worse, a bad mom. I had unrelenting thoughts in my head all day long about what people would say. Finally, I realized that I had to get help for myself first and foremost and not worry about how others would respond. Only once I helped myself could I be the best mother to my daughter.

Eventually, after some time the symptoms of PPD subsided. This took effort on my part by closely following my Doctors instructions and taking my medication as prescribed. I also kept a journal which allowed me to talk my feelings out everyday. Keeping a journal was and still is very cathartic to me. About a year ago I gave birth to another precious little girl. Thankfully, I didn't experience any of the signs or symptoms of PPD this go around. This time around I am also more than happy to let my family and husband help me out with her day to day care. I don't obsess about breastfeeding, changing diapers or if our laundry is perfect. This gives me an opportunity to bond with her in other ways. As far as my relationship with my firstborn goes, our bond is a bond like no other. I love her beyond words and it's a love so deep that I find myself smiling at the simplest thought of her. Sometimes, when she sleeps I sit at the edge of her bed and watch her little chest rise and fall and I thank God for the amazing, thoughtful, empathetic child that he gave me.

Having postpartum depression doesn't have to dictate your life or control your life. It also doesn't have to dictate your relationship with your children in the future. Most importantly it's not your fault or some failure of character. For my readers that have PPD guess what? You're an amazing person and you're doing better than you think you are. If you or somebody you know has the signs of postpartum depression please seek medical help immediately.

Like everything else in my life I used to look at being a mom as some chore or job that I could tackle. The fact is you're trained for jobs and given specific instructions. There is no instruction manual for parenthood. You learn as you go along. I wanted to be some sort of super mom all of the time, with all of the answers. But I'm not always a supermom and I'm OK with that. I love being imperfectly human. I mean let's face it we're all superheroes to our children anyway. I never found that lipstick by the way, but I found myself and that's even better.