Motherhood, postpartum and getting back to feeling yourself

It was both a shock and a joy to discover I was pregnant for the third time during the summer of 2019. I couldn’t contain my excitement, eagerly anticipating the arrival of another precious baby. Ben was just nine months old and Billy was just about to be three. Yet, my pregnancy journey took an unexpectedly rough turn about fifteen weeks in. Amidst the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, I found myself isolated for the entirety of my third trimester, caring for my two toddlers alongside my husband who worked from home.

With no external support available, even simple tasks like grocery shopping were off-limits, as my husband was adamant about keeping both me and the baby safe from potential risks. Feeling isolated and confined, I couldn’t fully embrace the joys of what I knew would be my final pregnancy. But that was just the beginning of the challenges.

My OB began to notice something concerning in the baby’s stomach during the anatomy scan, hinting at the possibility of fluid accumulation which could lead to various complications. The uncertainty loomed heavy, with fears of serious conditions like spina bifida, down syndrome, or heart defects haunting my thoughts. Week after week, speciality doctor after speciality doctor, we were getting no answers. We were given options as to what could be the worst possible case or that it could be absolutely nothing and the fluid would just dissipate. I was asked if I wanted to have an abortion at twenty two weeks because the baby could possibly not make it or I was at risk for bleeding internally. Dadjogger and I knew that we wanted to protect and keep this baby and whoever he/she was going to be we were going to handle it. Thoughts of needing a wheelchair ramp at our home loomed in my brain, or just feeling sorry that this baby was going to take any more attention from Billy and Ben. My brain was spiraling into hundreds of different directions.

Week after week of tests provided no definitive answers, leaving us in a nerve-wracking state of limbo until the baby’s arrival. Consultations with surgeons over zoom, due to pandemic restrictions, only added to the anxiety as we discussed potential post-birth complications and the uncertainty of surgical intervention. Will was unable to come to any of these appointments with me because of the pandemic which left me making huge decisions on my own. We decided against having an amniocentesis, in reading about the risks of miscarriage, which were met with much confusion. Doctor’s couldn’t figure out why we didn’t want to know the issue even though they told us it could still be nothing. We didn’t want to intervene in any way that could possibly harm our precious baby.

I vividly remember the smell of the maternal fetal medicine doctor’s office where I was left more confused than ever after each of my appointments and with so much fear of what was to come. I hated that office because of the uncertainty they caused. I understand that they were just doing their job, but the bedside manner for a terrified mother was just not even close to what I would expect.  I was told during some of the genetic testing appointments that being twenty nine years old was getting close to a high risk pregnancy because so many more complications come on your way to thirty. The blame just kept going back to me: “you decided to have this baby”, “you are too old”, “you are the problem”! I have always strived to be as healthy as I could and it felt like none of that paid off during this pregnancy.

However, I took it upon myself to keep up with exercise, a healthy diet, and as much movement as possible. Throughout it all, I maintained my dedication to fitness, continuing my regimen of running, YouTube workouts, yoga, pilates, cycling and walks, just as I had with my previous pregnancies.

In May 2020, despite the baby being due in June, he arrived earlier than expected due to Intrauterine Growth Restriction (IUGR) and low amniotic fluid detected during my thirty-eighth-week sonogram. His premature arrival was anticipated due to these factors as well as his small size. For some reason, I just make very small cherubs. What remained a mystery, however, was his gender. We had opted not to learn the sex of any of our boys, preferring the excitement of the surprise. Interestingly, Will stumbled upon a clue during a sonogram, inadvertently catching a glimpse of a chart that revealed the baby’s gender. Despite this accidental knowledge, he admirably kept the secret to himself for five months, earning him well-deserved praise.

When my third son, Charlie, entered the world in May 2020, weighing just four pounds three ounces, the relief of his arrival was coupled with the doctor’s reassuring words: there was nothing wrong. It felt like a triumph, proving them wrong, affirming that Charlie might be small, but he was perfect. Despite his flawless health, Charlie still required NICU care due to his size. While this wasn’t our first NICU experience, it was manageable, especially considering the concerns I had anticipated during childbirth. There were moments of uncertainty, with threats to my own well-being as internal fluid was mistaken for blood, but the birth proceeded smoothly, albeit without time for an epidural. This wasn’t unfamiliar territory for me, being my second completely unmedicated birth. The experience of childbirth often brings forth intense pain and tears of fear. My stamina, determination, and focus made all three labors bearable, allowing me to welcome three beautiful boys into the world with confidence and strength.

Back to Char man. He was doing so well in the NICU, taking his bottles and even latching a little during our nursing sessions. The only problem is that he hadn’t pooped yet. No one seemed very concerned as all babies poop at different rates. I was able to go home the next day and get back to my two toddlers, however, no book, story or experience prepares you for the feeling of leaving your baby in the hospital and leaving with an empty car seat. But, I was positive in my thoughts because the specialty doctors seemed to have gotten it wrong! I did it and once Charlie pooped we would pick him up as they were saying maybe even that night or at the latest the next morning.

Unfortunately, that did not happen. I received a phone call that I would never want to pick up again on my mom’s birthday. If you know my family, you know May is nutty with birthdays. I was told that Charlie was spitting up his milk and they were predicting a blockage somewhere and they had to take him in for an x-ray. They let me know the results showed that in utero, Charlie’s large intestines and small intestines never connected together so nothing was able to pass through his tiny, sweet body.  Charlie was born with a condition known as short bowel syndrome, necessitating surgery just four days after birth to address the issue. Watching a helpless baby go into a surgery where you weren’t sure of the outcome was traumatizing. All we could do was wait, pray, and hope for the best.

During surgery, his surgeon decided to put in a g-tube (feeding tube) so that if we needed to use it for feedings it was in now and we wouldn’t have to go into another surgery. While this was the absolute correct move, it was difficult seeing Charlie come back from surgery with a giant scar across his belly as well as a button inside of his stomach. It all felt so unnatural to me. But, this is the beauty of modern medicine in how they can save a child’s life in just a couple of hours. Charlie was a champion and the healing process was going to be a long one as there were multiple steps that needed to come before moving onto the next stage of healing. Again, if you know me, waiting is hard!

Charlie’s journey was filled with many obstacles – a feeding tube, struggles with weight gain, and difficulties in nutrient absorption. Charlie was in the NICU for five weeks post surgery but because of COVID he was only allowed visitors two hours a day. One hour in the morning, which is when I went and one at night when my husband would go. Normal NICU hours are twenty three hours a day, just not that one because of the nurse change. I was pumping every three hours all night long with no baby in my arms in order to have enough milk to put into Charlie’s g-tube. Pumping is not for the faint of heart, and I acknowledge all of the mother’s who pump on demand! My dying wish in the NICU to the wonderful nurses was to please just hold him as much as they could so he could feel love and care in his body. The thought of him laying in a bed for twenty one hours a day sent me into a spiral of guilt and frustration.

All of these downfalls in his recovery, fear of the unknown, and the blame I put on myself were the heart of my postpartum depression.  In the midst of caring for a sick newborn alongside my two toddlers, I found myself drowning in self-blame and despair. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had somehow caused Charlie’s illness, convinced that I had failed him as a mother. The failure led to being unable to function normally and feeling so sorry that I had done this to him. As much as friends, family, doctor’s, or anyone else told me that it wasn’t my fault – I still knew that he came from me and I did this to him. My entire life is dedicated to being healthy, exercising, eating right and being an example to my boy to follow. How could someone so healthy fail so much as a mother? These were the darkest days ahead.

Charlie was able to come home on father’s day 2020 which was the most amazing gift to us all. He had gained enough weight to come home and was progressing well with his g tube feedings as well as bottle feedings. We were told to visit the doctor in a week to get his weight checked and make sure he was gaining. My husband, being the wonderful father he is, bought me a baby scale so that we could weigh him at home to calm my nerves. It soon became a tradition every night to feed him and then run to the scale to make sure he gained weight.

Most nights were bad, he would either lose weight or maintain the same weight as the night before. We were also not able to get his bowel movements under control. He would poop sometimes ten to twelve times a day because the milk wasn’t being absorbed. It was flying through him quicker than we could keep up with. It was depleting, exhausting and brutally painful to be his parents at this stage because it felt that we were doing everything wrong. Right as you would finish his feeding and he would let out a nice burp, you would hear the entire feeding empty into his diaper at rapid speed. I would hear this and just cry as I knew that wasn’t life sustaining for a seven week old baby. We were bottle feeding him, using the pump for g-tube feedings, and doing bolus feedings, which is literally dumping milk into his g tube every 3 hours. Will and I weren’t sleeping, we weren’t communicating effectively and we were drowning in the realities of Charlie’s condition. What do you do when you are drowning? Ask for help and that is what we had to do.

We finally succumbed and brought Charlie back to the NICU one week later which added more to the failure as a parent. We had to resort back to his g tube for all feedings 100% and we needed help figuring out the way to do it correctly because it wasn’t working at home. We had to slow everything down, which again is hard for me to do. I had nightmares that the worst was going to happen to him and one day I just cried on the laundry room floor questioning my entire existence.

Postpartum life in 2020 was the hardest period I had ever experienced. I lost myself in a cycle of self-pity and uncertainty. I was unable to eat, drink, or function. It wasn’t until I sought therapy and began to focus on self-care that I started to see a glimmer of hope. Charlie came back home just after the fourth of July 2020, and I was ready to take on this syndrome guns a blazin’! With the support of therapy and the solace of running, and of course the support of family and friends, I gradually emerged from the depths of despair, realizing that I couldn’t “fix” Charlie – I could only love him unconditionally.

With this realization came a newfound sense of purpose and determination. I laced up my running shoes once more, embarking on my postpartum fitness journey for the third time. Running became my sanctuary, providing clarity amidst the chaos and serving as a beacon of light in my darkest moments. Some of my favorite times were taking Charlie with me on my runs as I had always dreamed of doing. Running and exercise gave me a purpose in what felt like a lose-lose battle with myself.

The next 5 months of Charlie’s life were filled with lots of ups and downs. We utilized the g tube, we suffered through many difficult feedings but we worked as a team and did it! Will gets credit for all of the bottle feedings as we also found out that he was allergic to my breastmilk. Of course, it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of our family who spent hours watching Billy and Ben and making sure they were getting the attention they deserved.

Charlie remains petite due to his syndrome, which can pose challenges at times as I strive to shield him from feeling self-conscious. However, his endearing, humorous, and astute personality eclipses any concerns about his size. Dealing with others’ comments, like “Oh, he’s so small,” can be tough, even four years into his life. Yet, I’ve learned to respond with pride, emphasizing Charlie’s intelligence, wit, sweetness, and humor – qualities that define him far more than his size. Despite his selective eating habits, Charlie is a content child. While his gastrointestinal issues persist, we find hope in his progress. With the removal of his g-tube at 5 ½ months, he transitioned to solid foods, marking a significant milestone in his journey. Despite the challenges, we consider ourselves profoundly fortunate as short bowel syndrome can lead to a multiple of life long complications that we are not dealing with.

In the end, it was the combination of therapy, running, and unwavering love for all of my sons that pulled me through the toughest chapter of my life. Back to the “lessons” of life of the wise Mary Corva, God knew that I needed Charlie in my life to teach me patience, grace, understanding, and that I can’t have control over everything in life. Control leads to fear and a fearful life is not living.

I am here for anyone who needs that help as a shoulder to cry on or a listening pad for anger. Even when it feels impossible, remember that you are not alone. Asking for help is not a sign of weakness but a testament to strength. Life may throw us curveballs, but with love and support, we can overcome any obstacle. Charlie helped me to see how important it is to take time for myself, prioritize exercising, and not blaming yourself for things you can’t change. These days, you can find Charlie working out with me while doing You-tube workouts and asking me when I will be done on the treadmill. Thank you to my Charles John, I love you more than you could ever imagine!