Cicada Song: My First Days As A Mother

Here in the Midwest, you know it's August when you hear the omnipresent song of the cicada.  Click HERE for audio if you are unfamiliar with this sound.  These insects begin chirping toward the end of July, but by August every hour of the day is filled with their loud hum.  To be honest, until I was 25, it never really left an impression on me. But, that year, my first son was born at the beginning of August.  Cicadas then became part of my story.

I won't go into the birth story except to say it was a good birth.  At 4:14pm I delivered a 10lb. 6oz baby boy.  After he was out of my womb they placed him on my chest and all I could think was "Oh.My.God. I have a baby.  What am I going to do with a baby?" 

Those few days in the hospital were filled with sleeplessness, learning about breastfeeding (and supplementation), diapering, and lots of paper work.  Then, it was time to go home.  As much as I hated being in the hospital, I just didn't know what I was going to do with him once we got him home.

I wish I could say once I got my new little (read very large) bundle into the house, all of that uncertainty melted away.  It didn't, it actually got worse as I crept into the mouth of the hole that is post-partum depression and anxiety those first few weeks.  He cried all the time because he was hungry.  Being such a big boy, he was eating every hour FOR an hour.  I had to have my husband hold him and walk around trying to soothe him while I took a break from nursing to eat, drink, and use the bathroom.  He was also the most awake newborn.  He barely slept during the day...all he did was nurse.  It was terrible.  I had called the lactation hotline 4-5 times.  His visits with the pediatrician hadn't gone well because he wasn't gaining weight.  Everything was exhausting and stressful and hard.   I remember falling into a heap on the floor by the bed (a few times) and with heaving sobs cry, over and over, "I don't know what to do with him!!" 

The agony of post-partum depression continued.  After having my son hospitalized for failure to regain birth weight, I decided to stop breastfeeding for the sake of my mental health.  The depression and anxiety associated with his failure to gain weight was causing me to be unable to bond with him.  Whenever he cried I just wanted to shake him.  I even hated the smell of him.  So, in order to save myself from myself, I put a bottle in my baby's mouth. 

During this tense and literally insane time, I did find one way to quiet my screaming baby and give myself the breather I needed.  When I just couldn't take it anymore, I took my baby outside and sat.  He stopped crying as soon as we stepped out onto the deck.  I could see him listening to the hum of the cicadas.  It worked every time!  My husband kept saying "we can't take him outside every time he cries."  I thought, "Like hell I can't!"  I took him onto the porch as much as possible.

That constant whir of insect voices gave me the only rest I felt in those first few weeks.  I felt confident that I knew ONE thing that would help my baby...ONE thing that made him happy.  It might have been small and not really all that beneficial to his overall health, but he liked it and I KNEW that about him.  Thus, I took my first teensy steps into the world of motherhood. 

My son is turning 6 this week.  And bless him...he's had to suffer through 6 years of mommy's "angries" (how I explained my depression to him).  I wish I would have been brave enough to get help for my depression when he was a baby.  I didn't take that step until after my 2nd son was born (and my first one was 3).  But, because God is gracious and merciful and kind, my son and I now enjoy a very close relationship. 

I get to have a relationship with a special boy who is smart and inventive...sweet and thoughtful...imaginative and filled with wonder.  He is a "sensitive".  He is strong, strong willed, and endlessly energetic.  He gives wonderful hugs and soft sweet kisses on the cheek.  I love him more than I love my own life. 

On those first days of August when I hear the cicadas sing, I am whisked back to those first days of pain and sadness...but then I reach over and hug my Big Boy and tell him the sweet story about when he was a giant baby and would only stop crying for the cicadas.  He giggles.  And we silently exchange love between our hearts.