Its been sixteen days since I cried and for someone who knows me, that would sounds unusual. After Malcolm suddenly stopped nursing right before he turned ten months old, I think that finally broke me. In my last blog I tried to convey the feelings of rejection and despair I felt, trying to pacify an infant that seemed to now hate everything. He resisted every other means of hydration, and continues to get virtually all his hydration from baby purees.
I decided to start taking an anti-depression/anxiety medication to see if it could help me manage my days better and I think it has. Although I feel more even-keeled, it also feels like I’m more two-dimensional. Lately I don’t really miss the three-dimensional depth of feeling, as it was mostly negative. I don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed of being on medication, but I plan to stop as soon as things even out around here.
We had a good week. Nothing seemed too overwhelming and I think we have adjusted to the new normal around here, as well as Malcolm’s new feeding pattern. He still does not get any formula or breast milk, but I plan to try and get him some home-made formula in small quantities when he’ll tolerate it. He eats constantly, so I just try to keep up with it and try not to let him get constipated. My milk supply is now gone and I feel the familiar tug in my gut that aches for the connection he and I had, but its like I can’t access that part of myself fully anymore. Crying was always so cathartic for me, but for now I suppose it will have to wait until life settles.