Strange weakness

On the sixth day of my staying in hospital, I began to notice a strange feeling of laziness in my hands. The concept of weakness did not come to mind then, because of my diligence. When breastfeeding my son, I felt the inconvenience associated with the fact that he was sucking long with intervals of an hour and a half.

After coming home from the hospital I clearly realized that I would not be able to keep my baby at the breast and started to decant milk with an electronic pump. I didn’t want to hold my little treasure on my hands, I would even say, I was afraid. As if my intuition told me that it was not safe.

I was not willing to go for a consultation with a physician — it was much more pleasant to be with my loved ones.

Meanwhile, Sasha fed Seraphim from a bottle and I decanted milk.

Everything seemed to be okay, but I began to notice strange changes in my condition. When my little son let me know he wanted to eat, I was feeling a new feeling of aggression I never knew before, the one I was not able to suppress. Or rather, I could suppress the desire to break anything, or to throw, or hit. But inside myself, I was not able to substitute the feeling of aggression for that of offence, or some other less dangerous feeling. This feeling was overly exaggerated and was felt as unnatural for a normal person. Moreover, I understood that this change in me could lead to my bad treatment of my nearest and dearest.

When lifting a five-liter saucepan with homemade stewed fruit, I was sweating and nervous: the pan seemed to me extremely heavy. It is impossible to blame someone for the fact that the saucepan was too heavy. But when talking with people close to me they were the ones I was blaming for everything. And every small thing could cause of my irritation. It was especially hard for me to bear the demand of our baby to eat that same minute. I wanted to sleep all the time. No one would call me a happy mother then.

Sasha was wondering:
«Mommy, you sleep so much! Many families have more than one child and the same household chores, but they do not have to sleep all the time! Why do we see you only in bed?»

The only thing I could do was to hide at nights in the bathroom and cry quietly asking myself silently ‘What is happening? And why is this happening to me?’ Given my curiosity and discretion, I was looking for information required at a certain point in life on the worldwide web.

Having studied the possible changes in the behavior of women, I understood that these internal metamorphosis taking place in me have absolutely nothing to do with the postpartum depression. Well, it is hard for all women, but yet not to that extent.