I love my daughter, but in the moments after giving birth, holding my newborn baby, I was not overwhelmed with feelings of love, awe, and wonder. In fact, if I’m being honest, I resented her.
My hope is that by telling my story I can help to normalize this experience for anyone else who may have felt the same way. The more I’ve heard from other women and parents, the more I’ve realized I’m not the only one. And yet it feels like such a taboo subject. A shameful secret.
“You take what the enemy meant for evil, and you turn it for good.”
See a Victory – Elevation Worship
I play in our church orchestra, which means I have the privilege of listening to the words of the music in Sunday worship 4 times every Sunday. Recently the choir sang “See a Victory” by Elevation worship.
The words of the bridge echo over and over again “You take what the enemy meant for evil, and you turn it for good.” These words instantly struck a chord and brought me back to this recent season of my life. There were so many weapons formed by the enemy meant for our destruction. And yet, now standing on the other side, I only feel stronger.
But first, a disclaimer!
Sharing this story is really difficult for me. I feel this huge sense of conviction that I should. That it could help someone out there feel less alone. But I also have a huge fear that people I love will read this and feel guilty. My purpose of writing this is not to blame anyone, but to just paint an accurate picture of the road I have walked.
The weapon may be formed, but it won’t prosper
When the darkness falls, it won’t prevail
‘Cause the God I serve knows only how to triumph
My God will never fail
See A Victory – Elevation Worship
My pregnancy with Katelyn…
Katelyn’s delivery came at the end of a really long road. It wasn’t necessarily that my pregnancy was hard, it was that life was hard
Zach and I have always felt very strongly that when God clearly opens a door for us, we would be obedient to walk through it. As such, when our daughter Elizabeth was 6 months old and we were asked to adopt her older sister, knowing it would be a contested adoption, we said yes. Two days later, we found out we were also pregnant..
After dealing with 3 years of infertility and 3 years of seemingly unanswered prayers for a child, I didn’t know if the baby I was pregnant with was child #2 or child #3. So I just repressed thinking about it altogether.
That’s unhealthy, I know.
As I entered my third trimester, we finished our final court hearing where the judge ruled to keep Elizabeth’s sister in her current placement. We were at peace with this decision. As an aside, we are still at peace with this decision and God has been so active in redeeming our relationship with this family and allowing the girls to have a relationship with each other. But that’s not the point of this story.
Finally, some calm. I could begin to visualize what our family dynamics might look like with 2 under 2. Only 2 under 2.
And then came the summer. And my even-tempered chill baby, Elizabeth, started to learn she could have opinions of her own. She could crawl away from me. She could arch her back and scream to fight being put in her car seat. She could open cabinet doors. She didn’t want to be put in a confined, but safe, play area. For a season, she was no longer my easy chill baby.
And then, when I was 34 weeks pregnant, my grandmother came to town to meet her first great grandchild. On the first night of her visit, my grandmother fell down the stairs and ended up in the ICU. This sent life into a tail-spin for our family. I was already overwhelmed with being so pregnant with a newly independent one year old. And now I felt side-lined in this family emergency. I felt guilty that I couldn’t do more.
And then, when I was 39 weeks pregnant, catastrophe hit the other side of our family. My sister in law faced a devastating emergency while giving birth to our nephew. Our nephew was taken to a specialized NICU and later passed away 6 days before Katelyn was born. It was very unexpected and has been very heartbreaking.
At 40 weeks and 2 days, my water broke but contractions did not start on their own. I was admitted and labor was induced. I experienced a largely drama-free labor that lasted through the night. I felt as if I was in a daze.
Katelyn was born at 5:11am and was immediately placed on my chest… Where she proceeded to scream at full-force for the first hour of her life. A lot of stuff happened, doctors coming in and out, and my doctor tried to explain to me what was happening but I had a newborn screaming into my ear. I’m still not sure I fully understood everything that happened to me physically. Katelyn continued to scream and cry for roughly 75% of the first 72 hours of her life. Every doctor and nurse who witnessed this was quick to tell us she was just “feisty” or “gassy”.
Despite any strong convictions of my own, and despite being perfectly happy formula-feeding Elizabeth, I felt this immense pressure to breastfeed. I heard woman after woman tell me it was painful the first few days and weeks and to just endure it and push through. So I tried. Katelyn would latch on and I wanted to scream, it was that painful. But this is normal, right?
The lactation consultant finally walked in and I was relieved and told her we were so happy to see her. I told her what was happening and she tossed a pamphlet onto my hospital bed and advised I try some skin-to-skin and to call her if we had any questions later.
Around this time COVID cases were on the rise and our area had reached an outbreak status once more. Visitors were forbidden.
I was missing my one year old daughter, Elizabeth. I dropped her off at daycare the day Katelyn was born and never said goodbye before going to the hospital. I felt this immense desire to just have life carry on and “get back to normal” whatever “normal” was now. So I asked my parents to bring her back home the day I got out of the hospital with Katelyn. They brought her home just before her bedtime.
The next morning my parents came over to watch Elizabeth while we took Katelyn to the pediatrician. Where we waited in a hot doctors room for over an hour, with me panicking over when I needed to next feed Katelyn, not feeling comfortable trying to breastfeed in a more public setting, and feeling like I was going to pass out from the heat and likely dehydration/sleep deprivation.
The pediatrician told us Katelyn had been losing too much weight and we would need to come back in two days for another weight check.
At this point, I calculate that in the 84 hours that had transpired since waking up the day of my water breaking.. I had gotten maybe 8 hours of sleep combined.
We got home and my parents had lunch waiting for us. I heard my mom planning out her 2.5 hour drive to go be with my grandmother in the rehab hospital. I wanted to cry. I didn’t realize we’d be left home alone just the 4 of us so quickly. I wasn’t ready for that. But I wasn’t the type to say any of that.
I was in more physical pain than I’d anticipated. My newborn screamed a lot more than I anticipated. And I had a one year old that just wanted to play and didn’t understand the concept of “gentle”.
The luxury of simply putting Katelyn down in a swing didn’t exist because Elizabeth thought it was fun to try and climb in. And the idea of putting Katelyn down in a crib wasn’t really an option because she just cried.
One week after being discharged from the hospital, we had our first family outing of 4… to attend our nephews graveside service.
I was in shock. I was in disbelief. When I look back, it all feels like an out-of-body experience.
I was not prepared for the fact that I would not be able to pick up Elizabeth for two weeks after giving birth. I couldn’t pick up “my baby” (Elizabeth). It all felt so wrong. Elizabeth had just started walking, after so many years of infertility there were all of these fancy ideals I had of what it would be like when my first child starting walking. The things I could do with them.. Like go to the park, wading in the kiddie pool, etc. But instead I felt so chained down.
Chained to the couch because recovery was hard and slow. Chained to my newborn because she was so unsettled most of the time.
When I looked at Katelyn all I could see at the time was what she was taking away from me and what she was taking away from Elizabeth. And I was angry about it.
Everything felt so all-or-nothing. It’s either “you love your child completely from the first second you lay eyes on them” or “you’re a terrible mother”. That’s a complete lie. Don’t listen to it!
There were small glimmers of hope here and there. Like the morning after I stopped trying to breastfeed. It was one of the first times I remember looking down and really enjoying Katelyn. Rather than dreading the pain I was about to have to endure again.
But I could still barely look at photos from the hospital. Every time she cried, which was a lot, it was like it became the devil’s mouthpiece reminding me how much of a failure I was. Because clearly if I was a “good mom” my child wouldn’t be so upset.
Bonding wasn’t some light switch that came on. It was a slow fade of recovering from postpartum depression. Of acknowledging and appreciating the little milestones. Until one day that resentment felt like a distant memory and it was replaced with all those warm and fuzzy feelings everyone is so quick to talk about.
Bonding took time. I’m still a good mom.
I love Katelyn. Looking at her now, it’s hard to believe I felt any of those feelings before. But the feelings were real, and repressing them or pretending they were never there does no one any good.
It’s okay if bonding takes time for you too. You’re still a good mom.
You take what the enemy meant for evil
And You turn it for good
You turn it for good, oh
The wicked are out
The wicked have fallen, Lord
See A Victory, Elevation Worship
Growing A to Z 
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