I'm Not The Mom I Was Ten Weeks Ago

“I feel like I could throw up.”

That’s the title I found as I scrolled through the notes on my phone. Curious, I tapped on it and read. 

       “We’re at 9 weeks. And about 4 days into a sleep regression and 2 days into sleepless nights. I can’t do this. I can’t be a mom.”

According to the American Psychological Association, one in seven women experience postpartum depression. And now, you’re reading the blog of that "one".  And it felt like one.

“I can’t be alone. I can’t even put my kid to bed without waking her up. When she cries, my stomach lurches. I can’t do this.”

My postpartum depression made me feel like I was the only one struggling. The only mom who felt this way. The only one.

“I ask, and I ask, and I ask God to help. To help her sleep. To help me sleep. And it doesn’t come.”

It didn’t matter if Will was by my side. It didn’t matter if I knew my mom was almost to my house. It didn’t matter if I read that God was always faithful. I had never felt so alone. 

        “I’m alone. I feel so alone. I’m just so goddamn tired.”

I don’t cuss in my blog, I barely swear out loud, but I didn’t want to edit anything out. Because this was real. This was the mom I was just ten weeks ago. I was sitting on the bathroom floor listening to Zara cry through a closed door wondering if life would ever be enjoyable again. I had happy moments, but moments are moments. And moments don’t last. My depression and anxiety were eating me from the inside out, a parasite I couldn’t shake. Just when I would think I was doing better something new would set me back. 

And then I got help. I was already receiving counseling, but it wasn’t enough. I needed medication and that was hard to stomach. But now, two months later, I feel like me again, and a new me because now I’m a mom. I was a mom before, but just the shell of one. Now I don’t cry on the bathroom floor (or the kitchen, or living room floor). Instead, I fall asleep on the landing and laugh about it later. 

I’m not the mom I was ten weeks ago. I’m not the Molly I was ten weeks ago. She was smothered in sadness and uncertainty. Now I’m smothered in baby drool and breast-milk and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Constipated Much?

I’m five days constipated. Too much information? You should read some of the articles I’ve been reading to help with my flow problem, now that’s too much information. Anyways, here I am, day five into constipation, learning what it really means to count my blessings.

It started at camp on Tuesday. (Well, it actually stopped on Sunday, but you get my drift.) On Tuesday I noticed that this wasn’t a normal catch in my schedule. My bowels run a pretty tight ship, so when something goes off course I notice. I tell some people at camp and they give me Miralax and one of the girls runs into town (which takes about 20 some minutes) to get me apple juice. Nothing. Now I’m in pain, waddling to the toilet at almost every cramp. I wake up every 2 hours that night to have a less that satisfying trip to the bathroom and decide in the morning to go into town to statcare.

As I’m driving into town I’m praying for healing. But then my heart hits a wall. I miss my friends. I miss my fiancé. I miss my mom. I feel alone. My prayers are no longer focused on how uncomfortable I am. I just want to know I’m not alone. I just want my Heavenly Father to whisper, “Molly. I’m here. I’m with you. And I’ll never leave you.”

That was Wednesday, this is Thursday and I’m still backed up. My camp director let me go home; home to my comfortable bed, loving parents and my own bathroom. As my mom cooked dinner the radio was playing and I heard them talking about the hardship in Syria. Then an ad came on about the lack of Bibles throughout Africa. And then I thought, “I am so grateful that I’m only constipated.” With a new perspective I prayed for the people in Syria and my mind was brought back to just how grateful I am for the people I have in my life.

I have a mom that takes care of me, a workplace that wants what’s best for me, and friends that pray for my butt. My life is blessed. My cup overflows with goodness from the Lord, allowing me to see how faithful he is. He’s not just faithful to me, but to the suffering in Syria as well. Circumstance doesn’t define his character because HE IS. He simply IS. And he cares for me and my troubles just as he cares for yours and those less fortunate. That’s who he is.

So take a moment, let your perspective change from one of constipation to gratefulness and praise. Give thanks for the people in your life and lift up praise because we have a God who simply IS.