When I had DD1, my labour was a nightmare from start to finish. Three days, resulting in failed forceps and an emergency c section. I was an absolute wreck afterwards. Completely fucked. I didn’t attempt to breastfeed and no one questioned it.
I was moved to the post natal ward at 1am, long after my husband had been sent home. At 3am I was so exhausted I was seeing things. I couldn’t settle DD, I didn’t have a single clue what I was doing and I could barely move. I hadn’t seen a midwife in hours.
So, for reasons that I will never myself understand to this day, I took her into bed beside me, snuggled her up under my arm and she fell asleep. As did I, unintentionally. I woke up as she tumbled from the bed.
I hammered on the call button and finally someone came. They rushed her down to paeds to be checked over while I howled in a ball.
She was absolutely fine (to this day I don’t understand how) but I was utterly berated by a midwife for being so irresponsible.
The truth was, I wasn’t well enough to be in charge of a newborn by myself at that point. I can see that now. I don’t think I have the words to convey how poorly I was at the time. Now, in my state of full health, I would never have done that.
The impact this incident had on my mental health was huge at the time, even though she was fine. It is cathartic to talk about it. I replay it in my head most days but I have told very few people in real life because I’m ashamed of it.