Jaded

Worn out.
Fatigued.
Weary.
Enervated.
Drained.

What more synonyms that I can relate to being tired?

It's depressing.
It makes me lose time.
It makes me hollowed out.

The only thing that keeps me going,
Is my son.
I am trying to not expect anything anymore.
Not the good,
Nor the bad thing.
I won't ask for help.
Maybe it will do me good in the future.
When I'm alone and helpless,
I'll remember that I was the only breather in a dark corner.

Void

I feel crap.
Marriage has taken its toll on me,
I guess.

I know it's not about give and take.
It's about giving without expectation.

But I guess I've been giving,
And giving and giving,
Till there's none left for myself.

I give my all to not just someone else,
But to the family I gave myself too,
I get scared for Harraz though.

He's too small,
Too fragile,
Too breakable.

And all people see is just an amusing tiny little thing,
That they want to coo,
Want to touch,
Want to held,
Disregarding his feeling,
And mine.

I get antsy when people come over,
I get agitated when they want to touch,
I get anxious when they hold him,
Because the one who bears the pain,
Will be Harraz and I.

I feel thankful for the help,
I truly do,
But sometimes I just want to crawl into a hole,
And stay there with my son,
Protecting him,
Sheltering him.

And in marriage,
It feels like I'm doing everything alone.

Alone.
Huh.
That word used to be my friend,
My malicious fiend,
My company.

I have Harraz.
He is my everything.
It takes a village to raise a children.
And I have a couple helping hands.
Except from the person I needs the most.

I am alone in raising him.
That's what I feel.

Postpartum Depression

It hurts.
It is maddening.
It claims my (what's left of) sanity.

Ever since giving birth,
I try not to give in to shaytaan's whispers,
To do deceitful things,
That could harm my marriage,
Or our son.

But I couldn't help it.
It maddens me,
And I couldn't convey it to my own husband,
Keeping it to myself.

There was a time I hated Faez,
I wished he won't come home,
I wished he won't ask anything of me,
Because of my Postpartum depression,
Or whatever I think of it.

I hated my husband,
Thinking he doesn't care,
Either about me or our son,
That he's being laissez faire,
That he is not fully invested in parenthood.

But that was when he was away,
When he is here,
I try to conceal it as much I can,
Because I don't want to stir our marriage.

But I cry,
And I cry.

I was not that weak,
To the extent of hurting our son.
I love him too much to do that.
I gripped through so I won't lose it.
Though lacking sleep,
Through tears and wailing,
I want a happy newborn memory for him,
Not the memory of me doing something sinister to my son,
Just because I was depressed.

I hated my husband,
When he wants me to be at in-laws alone,
Without him,
When I'm better at my own home.

He doesn't go through what I am going through,
He doesn't feel the sinking feeling,
Of your mental deteriorating,
Your physical crumbling,
And you hate every single thing about yourself.

I'm pulling through,
Everything is because of Harraz.
He is the only reason.

Arrival

It's been soooo long!!

Alhamdulillah,
Widget has safely arrived in our arms a month ago.

I have so much in my tiny little hands,
Juggling my time as a new parent,
And marveling this little Allah's creature,
Sent to us to be cherished,
To be loved.

I started calling our Widget "Woodpecker",
Since I found out his habit of pecking during breastfeeding.

Motherhood is tough.
There are times I want to cry,
Times I think that my husband doesn't fully invested in our child,
The feeling that I am alone in parenting.

It's exhausting,
To wake up every 2 hours in the middle of the night,
And to ensure he doesn't choke on his milk,
To always be aware,
And the insecurities of not fully able to breastfeed.

Breastfeeding is the ultimate challenge.
I am constantly worried about my lack of milk,
I'm worried he won't get the nutrition from a mother's milk,
That he won't get satisfied,
That the milk will squirt out from his nostrils,
That he'll get SIDS.

I'm worried and scared.

I guess this is the life of a Mum, huh?
Constant worrying and getting scared something will hurt your child,
Or you're not good enough to keep him safe.

I tried.
By God I try so hard.
I try to be patient,
I try to give him what he needs and deserved,
And it exhausts physically and mentally.
It's exhausting because I feel so alone.

I hope I will stop thinking like this after my confinement,
Since Post partum depression is really nerve-wrecking,
And I only want the best for him.

Be patient with Ibuk,
Love.
Ibuk is learning too..

Not-So-IIUM-Confession

I haven't update this blog since God knows when.
And I've read too many IIUM Confessions to start blogging again.
So here;
My updates.

Widget/Hiccup is 7 months old now.
Not long now before we could see him.
I want you in my arms already,
Baby.

I'm enduring all sorts of pain right now.
Insomnia,
Backaches,
Headaches,
Swollen feet,
And the worst of all,
Asthma during sleeping.

I want my body back, 
And I want to be able to control my bladder and flatulence again.
Do you know how embarrasing it is,
Not to be able to control your farts??

I can't wait for my motherhood era.
Everything that my parents went through,
To bring me up till the woman I am today,
I want it all.
So I will be able to be grateful to Allah SWT,
Of how much patience needed to raise a child.

I want you here in my arms,
Muhammad Harraz bin Muhammad Faez Idham.
Ibuk have so many love to give to you.