Postpartum Blues

My youngest child, Grant Russell Lane, was born on April 14, 2000. A highly negotiated third child, my husband thought two was a good number whereas I was insistent on three. Grant came into the world loved by all. The baby of our family. Born after an easy labor and with a great disposition that has remained with Grant into adulthood.

The three Lane boys were all born in April. I was a CPA with the annual tax deadline of April 15th always looming in front of me. April birthdays worked well with my schedule.

My oldest son, Zachary, dutifully came into the world on his due date of April 30th. Three years later, Benjamin, the middle, was born on April 29th. Ben’s birth was assisted by induction and spot on his due date as well. Planning like a pro.

And then there was Baby Grant.

Grant’s due date was April 27th. Perfect. With my meticulous planning, Grant would come into the world about two weeks after the close of tax season. There would be final pre-delivery preparations and then home from the hospital just in time to celebrate his brothers’ birthdays.

Perfect planning! Until it wasn’t. There was a great lesson I learned in the spring of 2000: Although you can try to orchestrate a plan for yourself, you cannot plan your OB’s vacation schedule.

Knowing this would be the last time I would carry a little human inside me, even the pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel seemed more bearable. I tried to look for the bright side. Each pregnancy milestone was seen as a cherished last.

Going in for a monthly exam in my final months of pregnancy, my OB shared with me that we needed to make some scheduling decisions. He was casual in the conversation. With this being my third child, there was a tone of normalcy with an expectation that I was now a childbirth pro.

My OB: “I am going on vacation for the last two weeks in April. With your due date of April 27th, we have three options: 1) I can assign you to another OB in my clinic for delivery or 2) we can induce you early on the 14th before I leave, or 3) you can wait and hope you don’t deliver until I get back on May 1st.

In shock that my birthing plan and timeline were completely thrown out the window, I chose the only viable option to me: #2. My last baby had to be delivered by our beloved doctor, the same man who walked me through one miscarriage and two births. The trade-off: This CPA mom would now have a child with an April 14th birthday.

My OB’s expectation that his news would be a nonissue wasn’t a surprise to me. I found this to be a typical reaction to my #3 pregnancy. There weren’t a lot of asks from others about how I was doing. No fancy baby showers. I had been through this before and was having another boy.

But for me, I never viewed the pregnancy as #3. I viewed it as my last. This was the thought that followed me through the birth and newborn days of Baby Grant. I wasn’t in cruise control mode. I was enjoying every feeling of each little moment for the last time.

I credit this mindset to a co-worker who shared advice with me in my early years as a mother. Pre-Grant I was complaining about toddler tantrums and potty-training mishaps, etc… As a working mom, I was exhausted.

My co-worker was the father of girls who were older than my sons. He shared with me advice that his parents gave to him during this same trying time of parenting.

“Never wish time away. Some day you will miss these days and you can never get them back.”

The advice stuck with me. Each time there was a crying fit at the grocery store or a fight over toys, I would repeat this line to myself. I would still have to deal with the issue at hand, but the thought helped me relax a bit and smile instead. Never wish time away.

The night before Grant was born, Ben had a tee ball game. I vividly remember enjoying the warm spring night while conversing with the other parents. When the game was over, people casually wished me good luck with a ‘see the baby at the next game’ while my husband chatted it up with friends. Annoyed, I wanted to get home and prep for my last trip to the hospital. I wanted to take it all in. But it seemed I was the only one in the world who understood my need to enjoy my last.

The next day I coached my OB on getting his taxes signed and filed between my dilation progression but before he left for vacation. Later I endured golf talk between my husband and the OB during my final pushes to Grant’s birth. Realizing this attention change from the careful concern given to me when I delivered my first, I knew it didn’t matter. Moments were my choice to cherish or not.

After two quick days filled with introducing Grant to his big brothers and the first photos of our new family of five, we left the hospital for home. The day was cloudy, and I found myself very blue. With our new baby sharing the back seat with his brothers, we drove west to our Omaha home. Silently looking out the car window, I tearfully watched the hospital fade from our view.

I found myself feeling blue for a couple of weeks. My mind was mourning the finality of ‘the last’. Pregnancies, OB visits, and delivery planning were all now in my past. It was the end of my childbearing era. In retrospect, I am sure I was fighting postpartum depression. But it slowly lifted as the quiet from spring sunshine filled the days with my newborn. The big boys would play in the backyard while I held tiny Grant in my arms.

My perceived sadness in having my last child was odd to me. Women often talk about having a maternal instinct to have more children or on the flip side, know strongly when they were done. I was firmly on the ‘being done’ side of this equation after Grant. But I still struggled with sadness about this desired prospect.

My sadness turned to peacefulness which eventually turned to happiness. But the lingering thoughts of Grant being my last never left. They stuck with me through his toddler milestones, and then to kindergarten round-up up until his senior year lasts.

The benefit of this overthinking has been the vividness in my recalling these memories. I can clearly remember the little moments I was careful not to wish away. The downside was my holding on too long at times. I kept Grant in his crib longer than necessary and held him on my hip until his legs dangled too low. The key was knowing when to move on.

As I look back at my thoughts on the ‘lasts’ I now realize that is what the journey of life is all about. Life is a continual series of firsts and lasts. We experience many ‘lasts’ with no forewarning; the sudden death of a loved one, or the abrupt end to a relationship. Many times, we don’t see them coming. Was my acceptance of known endings that bad? The result of this acceptance was my not taking life for granted and relishing the moment.

Enjoying moments in real time while looking forward to new beginnings is the sweet spot to living.

This weekend Grant and I are together celebrating his 23rd birthday. With milestones of childbearing and child raising far behind me, I don’t think in terms of lasts as much anymore. I did my best to enjoy the moments of all my boys as they grew. But it was #3 Grant, the youngest, who was my constant reminder that there would be an end to the boys’ golden childhood years. I am so glad I got great advice from my friend early on.

Never wish time away. Pass it on…