Opening up about PPD

The first time when I knew I was pregnant I was so happy.  It had taken many years for me to finally conceive so when the positive was up on the test I wanted to jump for joy.  I wanted the very best for my little one, and I wanted to be the best mother I could possibly be.  I wanted to be perfect.  I wanted a brand  new nursery with everything just perfect and new.  Then I learned I wasn’t going to be your typical first time pregnancy, and reality took over and I put away the dreams of a brand new nursery.  I still wanted to be perfect though.  When I delivered 8 weeks early I was so happy to finally be able to breathe, but scared for my little ones fighting up in the NNICU.  I remember being ready to leave the hospital after 4 weeks there, and as soon as I was in the car I knew I wanted to stay.  Not because the food was great, not because I enjoyed taking cold showers, and not because I could lay in a super sweet hospital bed while everyone asked me the last time I went to the bathroom.  I wanted to stay because my tiny babies were there, and the farther we drove the more my heart broke.  I went every day possible and we stayed for hours on end, and just enjoyed the time I had with them.  My experience with the NNICU was scary, but probably not as scary as someone that hadn’t prepared for it.  I kept moving forward one day at a time, and then all of our babies were home.  First Max and Alexis came home, and then Carolyn.  Carolyn had to go back to the hospital for another week, but she came home with Aiden that next weekend.  From that moment on it’s been go go go, and when I look back I tried to be perfect.  I tried my best to be the best I could, and then about two months ago that I will never be perfect no matter how much I try.  Why did it take me so long?  Why was I so ashamed to open up to someone and get help?  Because I had postpartum depression and I had no idea.  There was one time when the first intrusive thought came to mind.  I was making bottles and I thought about putting bleach in their bottles.  Not normal.  In any way.  Not ok.  It scared me so bad I shook, and I was terrified that something was seriously wrong with me.  Yet, I didn’t tell anyone I just hid the fear.  I was irritable, I was tired, I didn’t want to do anything except sleep once the babies went to bed.  I thought it would all pass.  It didn’t.  While the bleach thought was the only one I had like that I was constantly scared something would happen to the babies.  I was scared something would happen to me on my way to or from work and who would pick up the babies?  Some days I wished I could just leave the babies at daycare so I could sleep.  Then I started counseling  and the lady said I think you have postpartum depression.  I didn’t want her to be right, and as a matter of fact I thought “uh ok”.  I didn’t think I did.  I thought I was happy when I was with my babies, and PPD is being sad.  It isn’t just about being sad, and that’s something that I never knew.  I wish someone had spoken to me early on that there is also postpartum anxiety.  I wish I had spoken up about having strange thoughts so I could have gotten help a lot sooner.  I’m currently being treated for PPD, and I feel better than I’ve felt in a really long time.  I’m starting to want to do things again besides just sleep.  There are ups and downs, but there are more good days than bad.  I don’t have to be perfect I just have to do the best I can, and at the end of the day pray that it is enough.  I love my children more than anything on this Earth, and I pray when they look back on their childhood they think I am an amazing mom.  Not perfect, but just perfect for them.