When I had you in my tummy, I wasn’t happy. I thought this was what I wanted at the time, and the pregnancy and hormones kept me thinking negatively about that. As time went on, the pregnancy became physically harder on my body and I just wanted to meet you at that point.
When I met you, I started to cry. They pulled you out during an emergency c-section because your heart rate dropped so much when I was pushing and I became so weak, physically. I was rushed in. They pulled you out and Daddy was there next to me. Your Daddy. We both cried with joy and the relaxation of fears floating away in the temporary initial dopamine rush.
I felt like a weight had been lifted off me with the mental health struggle I experienced while pregnant and the physical exertions I endured during that time, too. It had been. All that was next was to be stitched up and taken care of.
Daddy helped me take care of you from day one. He helped me get out of bed in the middle of the night to use the bathroom when I needed, helped when you cried, helped with the house, and helped with the love and support I craved on the days I felt alone.
I see you grow up into this almost 1-year-old boy and I’m amazed at all I’ve gone through with the first three months of losing highly massive amounts of sleep. So much I gained Post Partum Psychosis. I couldn’t tell the difference between dealing with Schizoaffective disorder, honestly. I’ve seen your milestones and how healthy you’ve been so far and I’m grateful for my ability to care for you, grateful for your dad to still be here with me when some dads don’t want to be, and grateful for 2 grandmas and the only grandpa you have left. Your father’s Dad passed away from a heart attack a couple of years back. I wish you could’ve met him, he would’ve just loved the heck out of you.
You are my sunshine, sweetheart.
I love you, son.