3. The Blues

The week I had a urine bag strapped to me was the hardest.

I was crumbling physically, emotionally and mentally.

My husband had to shower me because I was in so much pain and he had to empty my urine bag every 2–3 hours. My sleeping position was restricted to one side of the bed so I could strap the bag to a chair while I sleep and it was difficult for me to find a comfortable position for my baby to latch.

I fought to maintain my composure and hold a strong front. I wanted to cry every single time the baby cried but I told myself I should not because shouldn’t first time moms be beaming with all the glowing mummy hormones?

Then we were swarmed with well-meaning visitors who wanted to share our joy as we welcome our firstborn… and that was when I succumbed.

It was tiring entertaining guests after guests. We had visitors almost every day and weekends were the worst. There were days when I was just about to get a shut eye since the baby was asleep and our phones would ring with guests informing us that they are on their way.

With every visitor that came along, I found myself overwhelmed by all the comments made by some of them … I found it hard to accept most of the advice given and the questions asked.

The year I became a mom, everyone was hyped up about drug-free natural births. While I respected all the moms who had the grit to bare it all for their drug-free natural births, I felt that there was a handful of women out there who were perpetuating the wrong message to other moms who did not or could not. Everyone was eager to know if you took the epidural and quick to lay out the reasons why you failed to have a natural delivery. Everyone was quick to judge how strong and weak you were depending on the type of birth you chose.

2. Formula milk vs breastmilk

This hit me the hardest. I could not fathom why everyone was preoccupied with the type of milk we give our babies and I was genuinely hurt by some of the comments made by the people who visited us. I had people who gave me the straightforward “Breastmilk? Eeee…” and some who said “Kesiannya susu badan, tak kenyang…” (Poor little baby on breastmilk,.. baby will not be full) and some who laughed at my choice to breastfeed straight to my face, telling me breastfeeding is not easy and how I was setting myself up for failure.

3. Baby looks like daddy!

Of course the baby has to take after mom / dad right? The baby has our genes. But EVERYONE who came rattled on about how the baby looked like my husband, has my husband’s nose, my husband’s eyes and what have yous. It was too much I felt invisible.

Come on, I went through 9 months going in and out of the hospital, got my girly bits torn apart, i am walking with a urine bag and nearly lost my life giving birth to this child that all of you claim look nothing like me and now you are going on and on and on about how all the good genes came from my husband.

How sensitive.

But because its not right in my deeply rooted Asian culture to talk back and give them a piece of my mind, I swallowed it all in.

I ended up crying every single time after every visitor left our home. I cried when the baby cried. I cried when I breastfed. I cried when I am alone in the toilet. I cried in the car. I cried every single day sometimes for no reason or rhyme. I cried when I suddenly remember the things people said about my baby or about the choices we made for the baby. I cried at everything and anything. There were days when I refuse to hold the baby. There were days when I blamed the baby for how miserable I was feeling.

I cried throughout the first two months. I was full of resentment. I was angry. I was tired. I was frank and outright. I started sharing my feelings with my husband. I told him I dreaded meeting people. I hated every comment that was made about how my baby looked nothing like me. I told him I was jealous. I told him I had enough.

He took it all in his stride. I was very lucky my husband was very supportive and proactive. He brought me out of town for a while and we spent a lot of time together to bond as a family of 3. He was my biggest cheerleader throughout my breastfeeding journey (so supportive that I bet he would take over breastfeeding if he was lactating lol!).

I eventually snapped out of it after 3–4 months. Things eventually got better when my lochia stopped and I was able to fulfil my daily prayers.

The best remedy for post partum depression?

Love and faith.

My advice for moms-to-be?

I have read many stories about post partum depression but I never thought I would crumble and be the one to suffer from it. The whole experience of overcoming infertility, conceiving, birthing and going in and out of PPD was a humbling experience that taught me so many valuable lessons in life.

I took an extra 2 months of no pay leave to compensate the time I lost bonding with the bub. In my search for some form of closure, I wrote a long email to the hospital 6 months later to thank the midwife who held my hand and was with me through all the drama. In that email, I expressed my regret for crying and shouting at the nurses at the ward who were trying to insert a catheter in me. Oh the drama.

Post partum depression robbed me of joy during one of the most amazing periods of my life. The pain of PPD still lingers till today. I still tear thinking about what I went through. But as much as I lost to PPD, I also gained priceless insight into the importance of self-care.

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