More of this Feature • Part 1: PPD Basics • Part 3: 7 Steps to a Better Day

Join the Discussion "When it hit me the week after we got home from the hospital I didn't know what was going on! I cried when dh held the babies, I cried when he didn't hold the babies. I cried in the morning, I cried at night. I refused to eat, to bathe ... it was horrible." JEN

Related Resources • Caring for Twinfants • Finding Support

From Other Guides • Am I At Risk for PPD? • Postpartum Depression

Elsewhere on the Web • PPD Checklist • Depression After Delivery

by Suzie Chafin

It is a normal day that begins after a long night with the twins. The morning starts around 5:00 a.m. I nurse my four-month-old twins and quickly lay them back down hoping to steal another hour of precious sleep.

At six-thirty my five-year-old is staring me down, starving for breakfast. "Okay," I tell him, "Mommy will be there in a minute." I close my eyes wishing I could just stay in bed five more minutes. Before I can complete that thought, I feel a jabbing in my arm. I open my eyes. It is my three-year-old. "Mommy, the babies are crying and they woke me up." The day has officially begun.

The clock reads 8:05 a.m.. I am holding my sweet little boys who are fast asleep on my chest. Do I cat nap with them on the couch while the big two watch Disney, or do I try to lay them down and get a load of laundry started? I choose the catnap -- if I lay them down they are sure to wake up.

By 10:15 a.m., I manage to get all four dressed and loaded in the Suburban. We're driving in a torrential summer thunderstorm on the way to the pediatrician's office. "No matter," I think quickly. "I'll just valet at the hospital." When I pull up to the valet the attendant says, "Sorry, lot full." I lower my window to give him the full effect of my four children -- ages five and under -- in the car. "Please," I ask, "I have four small children in the car. Please do not make them get out in the rain." My sympathy plea does not work. He obviously has never had one child, let alone four in a thunderstorm. "Sorry, lot's full."

The closest spot is located at the back of the remote parking lot. Thankfully, the rain has somewhat let up and I manage to get our stroller and my other children inside the hospital without getting too wet. The twins are screaming now. I think its time for them to eat, but I can't remember what time I fed them last. All the feedings just seem to run together. I brought some formula with me (nursing twins in public is somewhat of a side show). Once inside the pediatrician's office I pray, "Please Lord let them take the formula." They drink some, maybe a half-ounce each and are screaming again. I'm holding them both now while trying to read a book to my other children. "Mommy, what's taking soooo long?" they ask (for the 100th time).

Finally, we're admitted -- all four kids and our huge stroller -- into a room smaller than my utility room. Before long the pediatrician comes in, "Oh my, you brought them all," he says as he scans the room. "Yes," I say politely. (Surely he knows that if I had a choice I would not be here alone. I do not have a nanny, and my husband already used all of his free days when I was in the hospital for three weeks before they were born.) The twins are still screaming and don't enjoy the exam in the very least. The shots come and thankfully a nurse comes in for back up. She holds one while I try to comfort the other. Unfortunately, there is no back up for my other two children, who are sure their brothers are being tortured.

We somehow make it back to the car where I promptly call my husband on my cell phone and inform him in no uncertain terms, "I will NEVER take all four of them to the doctor alone again. You can't imagine how hard it was." To which he lovingly replies, "Okay honey, we'll work something out."

But of course, for reasons that neither he nor I could avoid, I did, many times. And for the first nine months of my twins' lives, every day began as this day and ended with me emotionally and physically drained. Finally at nine months they slept through the night; at 14 months they walked. Each of these events proved to be huge milestones and made my life considerably easier. Yet, until they were about 18 months old, I still felt as though all my emotional reserves had been depleted. The weariness of everyday life had taken its toll and I no longer felt the joy I used to feel as a mother.

I was suffering from Postpartum Depression.

PPD does not mean you don't love your children. I couldn't have loved my four children more. I loved to hold them; I loved to read to them, I loved each of them intensely. Postpartum depression doesn't mean that you're not a good mother. I was a great mom. My children were very well cared for. I was room mom for my son's class. I was intent on making sure my older children were not "lost" in all of the needs of the babies. I still worked from home. I still cleaned and cooked. There are cases where the PPD is so severe that it interferes with these daily tasks, but for me I appeared quite normal. In fact, in reality I was so good at being a good mom that no one, not even my husband, had any idea of just how badly I felt.

Postpartum Depression happens to the best of mothers. If you are feeling like you are suffering from PPD, don't accept the lie that you are not a good mother, or that you will never feel better again. You can get to the other side, you can get back to the point where a day isn't so overwhelming and where you are excited to face a new day.

Suzie Chafin is a Dallas, Texas mom of four children, including identical twin boys. She writes and lectures about family topics such as postpartum depression, managing multiples and Christian parenting. She can be reached at suzie@novocoat.com.

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