When I took that fifth pregnancy test and it came back positive, I finally accepted that I was about to welcome my third child into the world. At 41, this wasn’t exactly the plan; even my doctor was astonished when I shared the news. After all, my hormone levels suggested that my chances of conceiving naturally were less than 5%. It was a real shocker that I had beaten the odds, especially since we weren’t exactly trying hard.
To be honest, we were on the fence—my husband, Jake, had been keen on having a third child, while I was leaning more towards a firm “nope.” Coming from a family of three boys, he believed that more kids equated to more joy. But the thought of adding another child sent chills down my spine.
I couldn’t shake the memories of my earlier motherhood experiences with my two daughters. It was like reliving daily battles against my anxious self. The constant demands left me feeling drained and irritable. I was constantly second-guessing my parenting choices, which only added to my exhaustion.
I tried to conceal my negative feelings, especially from my precious girls, but I didn’t always succeed. I lost my cool more often than I’d like to admit, cried frequently, and genuinely felt like I was failing at this whole motherhood gig. Every hug and kiss from my girls felt undeserved, and I couldn’t believe my husband when he praised me for my parenting.
Looking back, it’s clear I was grappling with postpartum depression after my first child and again after my second. I was too ashamed to confide in anyone about the overwhelming feelings I was experiencing. I had been raised with the notion that I could overcome any challenge if I just tried hard enough. Rather than seek help, I convinced myself I could manage my fears and feelings of inadequacy solo.
When my first daughter was born, I kept my flexible consulting job, adamantly refusing to hire a nanny. Instead, I relied on babysitters for client meetings or when I needed to work on-site. I worked while the baby napped and in the wee hours after nursing. I was exhausted and irritable, but I insisted on being the sole caregiver. After all, I had wanted to be a mom, so I was determined to do it all by myself.
By the time my second daughter arrived two and a half years later, I realized my work-life balance was unsustainable. Instead of finding childcare, I opted to quit and become a full-time stay-at-home mom. I thought that focusing solely on motherhood would lead to greater happiness and fulfillment.
But depression doesn’t just vanish because you want it to. I pretended it had gone away, but I developed coping strategies to manage it. I took time-outs, practicing deep breathing with my daughters when they felt overwhelmed. I enlisted a housekeeper to alleviate some of the pressures of daily chores. I stopped stressing about playdates or signing my girls up for endless activities. I learned to let my husband take on more parenting responsibilities instead of insisting on being in control all the time. I made an effort to appreciate the little things, like my eldest learning to read and my youngest joyfully riding her tricycle. While I managed to suppress my sadness most days, that didn’t mean those feelings had disappeared.
Just as my youngest was about to start kindergarten, I found myself unexpectedly pregnant again. The thought of returning to sleepless nights and long days filled me with dread. I didn’t want to experience another round of motherhood that left me feeling depleted, ashamed, and convinced I was failing. If I was going to have a third child, I needed help—like, a full-time nanny kind of help.
Acknowledging that I needed support was both eye-opening and uncomfortable. It was difficult to admit that motherhood triggered my depression and that I couldn’t handle it alone. I felt ashamed to rely on help while staying home with this new baby.
Luckily, I could afford full-time assistance, which felt extravagant, but at the same time, asking for help lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. This time around, I would have a support system when the familiar waves of sadness threatened to overwhelm me. I could hand my newborn to a caring adult while I took a moment to breathe and regroup.
I hired our nanny a few weeks before the arrival of my third daughter. I’m not exaggerating when I say that having her around almost every day for four years improved my parenting immensely. Her big heart shared the load with me and my girls, easing some of my anxiety and sadness. Therapy also played a huge role in my journey.
Now, my youngest is in kindergarten, while her sisters are in middle and high school. I’m back to working part-time, and I’ve learned that it’s tough to know what we need as mothers—let alone ask for it. If you find yourself in need of help, please don’t hesitate to reach out. My experience may not resonate with everyone, but the essential takeaway remains: We don’t have to navigate motherhood alone.
For more insights on pregnancy and parenting, check out this excellent resource from the CDC. If you’re considering options for home insemination, visit Make a Mom for more information on their at-home insemination kit.
Summary
After unexpectedly becoming pregnant at 41, Sarah faced the challenges of motherhood while grappling with postpartum depression. She initially resisted hiring help but eventually recognized the need for a nanny to support her through the ups and downs of parenting. With the right resources and assistance, she learned that asking for help is vital and that no mother should go it alone.