Frail Garin


I had horrible post-partum depression which I believe has permanently affected my relationship with my son.  I hated him as an infant.  I wished him dead, yet worried about him all the time. How can a mom feel that way? I was horrified, but couldnt help it.  I felt so guilty about my feelings.  And he was and is a very difficult child. As a baby and toddler he was a mess:  failure to thrive, high texture eating disorder, delayed speech,  and respiratory problems kept my husband and I constantly stressed.

Postpartum depression left me apathetic even when I was better.  Unknown to me I was bipolar, which I am sure contributed to the problem.  To make myself feel better, I coddled him and gave him what ever he wanted. But I could not enjoy being a mom for worrying about what a bad mom I was and my helplessness over his constant medical problems.  Did one cause the other? I think yes as I read study after study. For the mom, I think that postpartum depression has elements of post traumatic stress disorder. I cannot think back on his infancy without bitterness and feelings of anxiety.  I wonder how other mom’s with this condition feel. I feel like it is swept under the carpet, a secret aching sadness.

Of course it didn’t help that he had a long term lung condition that wasn’t diagnosed correctly until he saw the pulmonologist at my pediatric hospital.  A simple procedure corrected the problem, although his lungs are scarred from untreated pneumonia. Now that he is healthy (but still terribly thin) he has been a psychiatric nightmare. I think I prefer the health problems to ADHD, drugs, anger disorder, stealing and lying. And I wonder how much the early bonding issues have contributed to his current situation.  The below poem is a rather anguished cry from a mom who right now just doesnt know what to do.

Combined from Darin and Gary

My own home made name

Together perfectly married

Your unique thumb mark fame

My own sweet beautiful boy

Dark blue eyes and glittery gold hair

A source of anxiety and joy

Sweet innocence treasured and shared

Frail child, poorly thriving boy

Worried over, mom worn with care

Healthy body our main drive

Constant illness sadly shared

Fear poorly suppressed, fully alive

Happy grins, infectious giggles

Love of balls and trains

Full of toddler ticklish wiggles

Determined to win the diaper game

Stubborness hard to curb

Love of sleepovers driving mom insane

Teenager, that hard aching word

Hormone filled, intemperate brain

Topsy -turvy stress- filled home

Give me my sweet baby boy again

My memories painfully roam

Oh to retrieve time!

Hindsight seizes my thoughts!

Frozen with regrets, now seeing the signs

Consistent punishment would have fought

Your soul may be the cost

All Lost! All Lost!



2 comments on “Frail Garin

  1. What you’ve shared has opened my mind to just how complex the feelings that come with postpartum depression can actually be and the regret/guilt involved. It’s heartbreaking from all sides. My own mother went through postpartum with one of my siblings and I do believe it has an impact on how she thinks of him still and has treated him in the past.
    I do hope you, your son and family can find a better way moving forward where you’re healthier and happier together for all that you’ve been/still going through.

  2. I have never told Garin about my horrilble hate and depression, just that I struggled with his illnesses. I have mentioned it some to my family and they replied, “Oh, we thought there was something wrong but didnt know what it was, you acted so strange with him.’ ….. Nice, thanks for helping, I could have strangled him. This issue is a big problem, every mom should be assessed for it. It has long reaching arms. At least in your family you somehow knew about it, so I assume there was some discussion. No one discusses my bipolar issue. It’s the, “If we dont talk about it, it isnt there” problem. Or, worse, when they are exasperated it’s, “Stop being crazy, youre overreacting”!
    I think blogs are very helpful with issues like this to remove the chains and open up the doors, let the dark rooms empty and get filled with light again. Ok, a little poetic, but you understand!
    I am thankful that over the years I developed a wacky sense of humor about life….mostly.

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