The Fraud

Happy late Mothers Day to all my favorites Mommies out there, you mommies who I adore and look up to personally and to you daily ah-inspiring IC mamas.

My husband and 8 month old son really spoiled me for my very first Mothers Day. They got me a fancy video camera and a Tiffany and Co charm for my necklace that Zach got me when he proposed; it is a little padlock with a T for Titus inside. I felt very blessed and all that day we lazed about and ate yummy food. I got into bed feeling completely content and pleased with the day celebrating my first year of being a Mommy as well as my own Mom.

Then lying in bed that night I started thinking… that’s what always gets me into trouble… and the evil magic seed of doubt and guilt was planted in my head and grew at an alarming rate. Now here I am 3 days later convinced that I not only did not deserve any thing for Mothers Day but that I am a complete fraud and the FBI should be called.

Yes, Zach and I conceived Titus. Yes, I carried him in my womb for 9 months while struggling with IC and hyperemesis gravidarum (which is severe and persistent nausea and vomiting). Yes, I was sawed in half to bring him into the world. Yes, he has drunk milk I produced since day one. Yes, he slept in a bassinet in our room for the first 3 months of his life. Yes, I have made homemade solid food since he could eat it. Yes, I have done all that and much more but still I can’t help feeling like a lovable aunt rather than his Mommy.

I guess it all started when I had to have my first surgery post-baby when he was 2 months old… I started to rely on my Mom when I was unable to do so many things that I needed to do. At that age he was so sweet! He ate well and was happy to lie in my arms while I rested and watched unhealthy amounts of reality TV.

Then I recovered from that and my endometriosis started acting up which ticks my IC off… so more shower time for me, and more Grandma time for Titus. I would sit in the shower and hear him out there living his little baby life crying or chattering away. Some times I closed the door or covered my ears so it wouldn’t hurt so bad to hear all that I was missing.

While dealing with that I got shingles which could have caused him to get chicken pox with no trouble, so I had to stay covered head to toe and try to hold him as little as possible except to nurse him… which was an interesting plight while trying to expose as little skin as possible.

Oh and don’t let me forget throughout that time I had two bouts of mastitis, constant nausea, occasional vomiting, a serious rash from dehydration, and I was diagnosed with post partum depression.

Before I knew it I was back in the operating room for another surgery with strict instructions to not lift Titus for at least 6 weeks post-op. That was 5 ½ weeks ago… Tears are welling up in my eyes as I tell you about the last 5 ½ weeks…

The first two weeks I pumped Titus’ milk and my Mom or Zach fed him, changed him, put him to sleep, got him up, played with him, they did every thing. They would come by for visits but I was timing my pumping and my narcotics doses so I was either in extreme pain waiting to pump so I could take meds or not very coherent from all the medicine.

Finally I felt like I was up to nursing him… so I got comfortable in my bed, positioned the boppy, and the Mom/ Zach team put Titus right up to his “milk bar”, at first he latched on but quickly unlatched and cried on and off for the whole feeding. My back was hurting so bad I could barely breathe, my nipple was raw because I lost the protective calluses from not nursing, and worst of all I was more discouraged than I knew I could be.

I was tempted to switch Titus to formula but my heart hurt every time I thought of it. Some times those 15 minutes every 4 hours were all I got with him, even if they were spent in pure agony… I got to hold my suckling satisfied baby, pet his downy hair that was growing in unruly fuzzy patterns, kiss his pudgy fingers, stroke his roly-poly limbs that seemed grown over night, and know that I was feeding my child with the body that betrayed me every single day.

So I forged on. The surgery pain got better… I could do more and most days narcotics-free but due to my strict rules I still couldn’t lift or carry my baby. So I found myself not even making an effort to wake up when he was up or spend time with him because I felt discouraged by how little I could do. Before I knew it every time I would try to hold him he would just cry… My Mom convinced me it was because he related me with eating and was just disappointed to not be getting a treat. But really is that any better? That the only time I held my child was to feed him so that was my only value to him?!?

My mom and Zach would try to make me feel included, talking about his schedule and wondering if it was time for a nap but I couldn’t even talk about it because I didn’t know. I knew what time he ate but that was it… they were in charge of the rest. I didn’t even know how they put him to sleep any more. Did they sing the same songs I used to? Did the read the books the way I did? Or would he just snuggle up with his blankie and bunny and go right to sleep like I always wished I could teach him to. Some times I would watch him on the video monitor and feel physical pain in my heart. I missed him and wanted to be his mommy again…

During the night was the worst, he usually slept through the night but if he ever woke up there was nothing I could do. I took pain medicine most nights to relieve the agony that a day full of tension caused so I worried I wouldn’t hear him… and even if I did I couldn’t get him out of the crib anyway. So my mom took the monitor and rocked him if he woke up with his painful new teeth breaking through his gums. When he woke up in the morning she brought him into my bed and I nursed him then when he finished she took him away to start the day with my baby and I went back to sleep. I reminded myself my body is going through a lot and I need rest but… I still wonder if I am a fraud.

Days turned into weeks and now here we are… it’s almost 6 weeks and my back is still sore from surgery and I am having more incontinence issues than ever before. I have barely left the house for fear of wetting my pants in pubic. Worst of all, I still can’t lift or carry Titus! We are both relying 100% on my Mom and Zach. It’s exhausting for all of us and I’m sure they are just as anxious for me to be back to “normal” as soon as possible. Really though, what is normal for me? I will never be able to devote my life 100% to him he will never be able to depend on me 100%...

I know on paper I am a mother and I work very hard for Titus every day, even if that just means taking care of me. I am not the typical stay at home mom but I do what I can. I am Titus’ Mom and the only one he has so I have to buck up and “grow a pair” as my extremely classy husband would say. I guess I can’t berate myself for not being able to do the things that I am not able… just like no one would criticize a “normal” working mom for putting their kids in daycare.

I am so thankful for my Mom who supports me physically when I can’t be the Mom I want to be. Also for supporting me emotionally as she sits on her metal folding chair next to the shower soothing my mind when I feel completely inadequate and depressed by my seemingly impossible situation. She is the perfect Grandma for Titus and the perfect Mom for me…

I am so thankful for my husband… who has been through so much with me through the last 5 years and is still by my side every day… even after I pee my pants at the dinner table two nights in a row… oops. He writes me notes almost daily reassuring me that I am the perfect mom for Titus, maybe some day I’ll believe him…