Holding Hands With the Devil

Tonight I am finding myself a little heartbroken. A few minutes ago, I wandered into RJ’s room. She was sleeping peacefully, all snuggled up with her six or seven stuffed animals and her blankie. I couldn’t help but notice that for a moment she looked so much like my new born baby that I brought home from the hospital almost two years ago. Her sweet little mouth curved the same way. Her long dark eyelashes fell on the tops of her cheek bones. Her hair looked as dark as it was the day she was born, and it brushed the beautiful smooth skin of her forehead.

My beautiful, peaceful angel.

And then I tried to remember the times I stood next to her bed when she was an infant and watched her sleep…

There were very few of those tender moments.

I can think of only one time specifically. She wasn’t in her bed though. I was holding her in the middle of the afternoon. We were sitting on the couch. RJ looked just like she did tonight, only smaller. I just couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. So perfect. So sweet. I have a picture of her laying there in my arms from that moment. But it is one of maybe three or four.

That’s not to say that I didn’t take pictures of her or hold her. I have hundreds of pictures.I held her a lot. I snuggled her and smelled the top of her head. I played with her. I sang to her. I rocked her. I did all of those motherly things. But her first year of life was so hard on me that I didn’t enjoy the majority of it. I look back, and it is a foggy, hellish nightmare.

I am and was so blessed. My pregnancy, labor, and delivery were text book and uncomplicated. RJ was healthy at birth and is still healthy to this day. We had a blissful, sleep filled newborn period. But around the 8th week postpartum, something inside me shifted.

No, shifted isn’t correct. It slipped, fell, and busted wide open. I lost myself.

I think it started a few days after Cameron’s great grandmother passed. Unfortunately her passing was unanticipated and she never got to meet RJ. Nana’s death was rather tragic and it took quite a toll on our family. I’m not sure if it was the guilt I felt about RJ not meeting Nana, or residual guilt from my pregnancy. But something started eating away at my insides.

It turned me into a monster.

I became impulsive and obsessive. I stopped sleeping. I started fighting with Cameron constantly. I was so stricken with anxiety that I couldn’t leave the house unless I knew I would be with my mother or my best friend. Then the horrible, intrusive thoughts came.

I was convinced if I had to hold RJ over a hard surface that something would happen and I would lose my grip on her. I would see the scene play out behind my eyes every time. I could see her falling and her head splitting open as it hit the kitchen floor.

So I stopped going into the kitchen if I had RJ in my arms. I started keeping bottles and formula next to my chair so I didn’t have to leave her side or carry her across the hard floor.

Cameron and I had had a plan that I would go back to school after I left work. But I couldn’t bring myself to even think about applying for college.

I just knew in my core that I would put RJ in daycare and some horrible person would abuse her. Eventually I wouldn’t be able to think of leaving her with family members. Not even to step out of the room to use the restroom. I didn’t  want them touching my baby. At all.

Then my grandfather was hospitalized. He was my rock. His illness wasn’t new, but it still shook my foundation. He was in and out of the hospital for months. Seeing the man that I never imagined could fall ill in a bed hooked up to machines was horrific. But I was obsessed with making sure I was with him as much as possible. I wanted him to know how much I cared.

It felt like I was constantly in the car. In reality once, maybe twice a week RJ and I would take off to see him. He was the only person I could be around and not fear but the hospital staff and family coming and going during our visits put me on edge. I was afraid they could see my anxieties written on my face and that they would rip my baby away because I was crazy and an unfit mother.

A little more time passed and I started noticing I had some very obsessive behaviors. I would lay RJ in her bed, but I was certain she had died of SIDS. So I would run in and check on her two or three times an hour every night. I would check and recheck that I had locked the door, the car, and turned all but the laundry room light off.

In the time I wasn’t going through my check list, I was scanning all of the mommy forums online to make sure I was doing everything just right. If I wasn’t parenting perfectly, in my mind, I was failing my daughter.

In the middle of all of my checking and rechecking, Cameron’s father passed away unexpectedly, and I had a sudden moment of clarity.

I needed help right away.

Clarity gave way to fog quickly, however. I became convinced that if I spoke to my doctor she would institutionalize me. Or worse, Cameron would leave me and take RJ because he would think I was just a druggie out to get pills to fuel my addiction. After all, my searching forums and Web MD told me that I was NOT suffering from postpartum depression and anxiety. I was just plain crazy. So it was rational to me that no one would believe me.

The fog turned into a heavy precipitation with little visibility.. We were in a bad car accident. Because of limitations on our insurance, we had to take RJ to the emergency room afterward to be checked out. She was fine thankfully. We all were. But that sparked a horrible fear of driving and accidents.

I remember driving home from Claremore one day. I was just coming in to town. I had to cross a couple of small creeks. In front of me and in my mind I could see myself losing control and hitting the guard rail. I could see my car flipping over the rail, landing on its top and killing us. Of course the only solution was to start exclusively taking back roads to get anywhere I had to go. Driving the highway was just too much of a risk that I was unwilling to take.

A little more time passed. My grandfather’s health further deteriorated, and he eventually passed. I was completely broken. For a few weeks leading up to his death and a few weeks after, I cried myself to sleep during nap times and bedtimes. But I was sleeping again. And strangely I was starting to feel a little better.

RJ was now crawling so I didn’t have to carry her across the kitchen floor. Some of my behaviors started to dwindle. I didn’t dare to think that maybe I was on the mend though.

It took very little time for everything to come crashing back. We were transitioning RJ to solid foods and a sippy cup. She was teething. She was starting to nap less.

I was uncertain of my survival at this point. In fact a couple of times I wondered if she would be better off without a mother who couldn’t handle raising her. But ultimately not being with my daughter was a more terrifying thought and I never considered leaving her side ever again.

We pulled through and one bright summer morning I woke up and the clouds parted. It was like coming up for air after having held my breath underwater for awhile. I don't know what changed. But I imagined some black hole or vortex that sucked all of the negative of the last year up and sent it to God only  knows where.

In about three weeks time, it will have been a year since I regained my footing. I still struggle daily, but not nearly to the extreme that I did. I made it through by the grace of God. But I am now realizing that I was robbed of my only child’s infant hood. What should have been the most joyous time of my life was a walk through hellfire holding hands with the devil, postpartum obsessive compulsive disorder.

And so we’ve come full circle. Back to tonight where I am standing crib side, marveling in the wonder that is my beautiful daughter. I wish to have the time that I missed out on back. But I know that is not how life works. So, I will choose to enjoy the moments I get now. I will do my absolute best to enjoy RJ’s childhood.