I Needed Someone to Check on Me Long Before Six Weeks - A Personal Postpartum Story

Now I understand why people shake their babies.

The thought had stolen into my brain like a thief, unexpected and uninvited. It horrified me. I pulled my two-week old baby into my chest - his whole body red and sweaty from what had felt like hours of screaming - and began to shush louder, sway faster, hoping that the sheer force of my determination to calm his piercing cries would also banish this unbidden thought from my mind. But my body was electrified - I felt like a guitar string that was being wound tighter and tighter, stretching dangerously close to its snapping point.

What kind of mother would ever think something like that?

All kinds of mothers think things like this though; some even act on them.

My husband and I learned this during our six-week childbirth education series that we had attended before the birth of our first baby. We dutifully took this series of classes to prepare for birth, not postpartum, but one of the classes was devoted to adjusting to life after baby. It was during this session that we, along with the other five or six couples in our group, assembled our folding chairs in a semi-circle around the little television screen and watched a video about the “Period of Purple Crying.” The narrator explained that some parents become so overwhelmed by their babies’ crying that they lose control and shake them. We nervously glanced around, sharing knowing looks with the other expectant parents -- this might be some people’s experience but it would not be ours. We were educated. We had resources. We would be great parents.

We had no idea what was coming. 

And we were not alone in that. This country shamefully fails new mothers. After birthing a baby, we are often sent home within 48 hours, leaking from every imaginable part of our bodies, exhausted and sore, and with the overwhelming task of caring for this new life that totally depends on us for survival. We’re given discharge instructions and little else. And then no one checks on us -- the new mothers -- for six weeks. Six whole weeks!

We have to do better. 

This country needs routine screening and care throughout the postpartum period and it has to start well before, and continue well after, the six-week mark.

In other countries, home health nurses or aids are a routine part of postnatal care. Within days after the birth, these professionals come to the new parents’ home to not only check on the baby, but to check on the mother too. They can help with lactation and feeding issues, answer questions for overwhelmed new parents, and of course spot any troubling red flags. These countries also have generous parental leave policies that give families the proper time to recover from birth and find their footing in the postpartum period before returning to work. These places prioritize the physical and mental health of new mothers and there is a proven link between access to support like this and lower rates of postpartum depression and other mood disorders. 

The United States needs to do better. Here, new mothers are not seen until six weeks after birth. Even more disheartening is the fact that for many women this checkup includes nothing more than a quick glance at the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale and a prescription for birth control. Couple this with our country’s meager parental leave policies and it is not surprising that rates of postpartum mood and anxiety disorders in the US are near 20%.

It is time to push for policies that improve the postpartum experience, such as expanded parental leave and more frequent postpartum checkups that begin soon after birth and continue long past the six-week mark. Speaking from experience, I needed someone to check on me well before six weeks postpartum.

For a month and a half, I struggled. My baby cried continuously. The only respite was when he was breastfeeding. I would collapse onto our couch after pacing and pacing the floors, my back aching from the constant holding and rocking and patting, my stomach grumbling and empty from lack of food. My body would sink into those worn cushions and I would bring his little face up to my breast in the hopes that he would latch and be quiet for a few minutes.

And in that quiet stillness my soul would sink too. It would sink into a dark abyss that was full of doubt.  You graduated second in your law school class and can write briefs that are argued in front of the highest courts in the land, but you cannot take care of a baby. My mind would sink into a black hole, oozing with despair. This is what life will always be like and this baby will never stop crying. This baby will never love you. My joy for life settled like a heavy stone at the bottom of that sunken place and in no time at all it was covered completely by feelings of shame, desperation, and unhappiness. You are a failure. 

At six weeks postpartum, I emerged from my home, weary to the bone and to the soul, carrying my screaming newborn at my side, for my postpartum checkup. My midwife took one look at me and wrapped me in her arms. She lifted my downcast face so that my brimming eyes could meet hers and she said:

“It’s okay to not like the newborn phase. This phase is so hard. This does not make you a bad mom.”

Rivulets of tears silently escaped over the dark circles beneath my eyes and coursed over my pallid cheeks. And for the first time in weeks, a light shone all the way down into the deepest pits of my despair. It swept through this deep, dark place where these deadly thoughts lurked, and those thoughts shrunk back, like a vampire shrinks from the sun. I hugged my baby tighter, breathed in his delicious newborn smell, and kissed the top of his head. I inhaled his sweet warmth, took a deep breath, and allowed myself to exhale those feelings of failure that had shackled me so low. I was not out of the storm -- not by a long shot --  but I was no longer drowning. Somebody had seen me, had reassured me. Somebody had normalized thoughts I had been too scared to speak out loud. 

I can only imagine what the first weeks of my child’s life -- and my new life as a mother -- would have been like if I had had that support sooner.

YOU do not have to imagine. I am sharing this intensely personal story because I want your experience to be better. If you need support - someone to wrap you up in their arms and listen to the thoughts that you are too afraid to speak out loud - all you have to do is contact us. This is exactly what a postpartum doula does and we are here to make sure your first six weeks of parenthood are supported and uplifted and cared for. This is why we’re here. Reach out today.