I’m currently browsing the manuscript of a guidebook for postpartum women, and it’s literally scaring the living crap out of me.
According to good ol’ Wikipedia, postpartum depression is “a form of clinical depression which can affect women, and less frequently men, typically after childbirth. . . . Symptoms include sadness, fatigue, changes in sleeping and eating patterns, reduced libido, crying episodes, anxiety, and irritability.”
After the Baby’s Birth (written by 2011 CNN Hero of the Year Robin Lim), the book I’m reviewing right now, offers a lot of advice on how to overcome postpartum depression, and even gives tips on exercises, recipes, and herbs that mothers can do/take to help make them feel better. I cannot relate on some issues because I’ve never given birth before, but I like the idea of mixing the physical with the spiritual, of healing that is both external and internal, both for the mother and child, and even the father. It’s a learning experience, that’s for sure, except that it’s something I cannot apply in the near future, not unless I suddenly pull an Immaculate Conception from out of nowhere.
Pfft. Like that’s going to happen.
(I’d do shameless plugging for the book, except we really don’t have a set release date yet. There’s an old edition by a foreign publisher, though I’m not sure if it’s still available anywhere.)
I asked Mamucha (our petname for our mom) yesterday if she ever experienced postpartum depression after she gave birth to me and/or my sisters. She said she didn’t even know what the term was. When I explained it to her, she looked incredulously at me, and said that no, because she was very happy when we were born. Except a little later, she told me that I was very difficult to take care of, and would only sleep when I was lying on her chest. One move, and I’d wake up and cry and cry and cry, and sometimes she just wanted to smack me or something because she got very tired. And then she went on to tell the story (for the nth time) of how she had such a hard time giving birth to me (twenty-four hour labor, no sleep, etc.), but I’ve heard it so many times before I stopped paying attention to her after a few minutes.
Oops.
Now I’m not sure if what she experienced was considered postpartum, but I’m just glad (relieved, actually) that she didn’t go batshit insane while nursing us. I wouldn’t blame her if she did, though.
Reading about what may happen to me when (if) I give birth is freaking me out a bit (or maybe a lot), because I was never good with kids to begin with. I mean, the mere idea of carrying a child in my belly for nine months and needing to be disciplined enough to ensure the health of myself and the baby is enough of a fright for me already. Learning that it doesn’t get easier after giving birth isn’t a comforting thought, that it’s not. (Ugh, I think I watched too many episodes of Rurouni Kenshin recently.)
And then I read this part:
"Who would venture to bring offspring into this world if they knew ahead of time that hemorrhoids were often part of the deal?"
Okay, I'm double scared now x_x
And then this anecdote:
"After a long and difficult labor I was finally in the delivery room. My legs were forced apart, and put into stirrups. The doctor, a man I hardly knew, examined me. He asked me if I wanted a boy or a girl. I remember saying, 'I don't care if it's a set of dishes, just get it out of me.' "
And I’m like, darn it, I don’t want to end up like that!
So comes the dilemma (and the reason why I’m seriously considering just adopting a kid years from now, if I end up not marrying, or if my husband is cool with the idea too): Will I ever be mature enough to successfully go through pregnancy and child birth? Will I follow my mom’s footsteps and be in perpetual bliss after giving birth, or will I be one of those postpartum women who do nothing but cry and get cranky and feel the urge to smother their husband and/or kid (with pillows, not kisses)?
I’m sort of scared to find out.
But then again, if my mom did it, why can’t I? Heck, she survived me, right? How bad could it be? If I make Mamucha my role model, I think I’ll be just fine. She is, after all, a wonderful mother, up until now. Sure, she has her faults, but come on, raising three kids singlehandedly and sending them to the best schools in the country? If I can be half as good a mother as she is, then I’m pretty sure my future kid/s (natural or adopted) will have nothing to worry about (a lot).
Well, at least I don’t have to worry about that in the near future. Not with the way my non-existent love life is going. Not that I’m in a hurry, though. Well, my mom is, because she wants grandkids soon. Me? Probably not in the next two years or so.
(I’ll start panicking when I reach thirty, perhaps. Or maybe not even then.)
P.S. My favorite line from the book?
“How do you become friends with food? Enjoy it! It is a wonderful part of life.”
Hell yeah.
