The downward spiral

I don't even know where to start.  Forgive me if I jump around with this topic and the blog, the only way my writing comes out naturally is if it comes from my heart.  So it may seem a bit jumbled or out of order sometimes.  Around 2 months of age, the sweet chunky baby who had been doing so well gaining weight and nursing suddenly started having issues in those areas.  I'm not sure which came first, me beginning depression or his nursing troubles.  But one fed the other and so the downward spiral began.  I had issues with oversupply, which I did many things to try to help.  Even still my baby was not content nursing.  He would start off fine and then pull off after a couple minutes and scream once I tried to put him back. I researched tirelessly trying to figure out what was wrong and how to fix it.  This became my obsession.   I cut out dairy, as well as other foods I thought could be the problem.  I lost interest for eating period because everything I enjoyed I couldn't eat, so one week I just sort of stopped eating for a couple days....  I lost 5 pounds in one week (after being back at my pre-pregnancy size).   I didn't want to go anywhere, I didn't want to talk to anyone, I just wanted to figure out what I could do to feed my baby and give him what he needed.  I had anxiety upon each feeding, and cried every time he repeated his pulling away crying.  I felt hopeless.  Each doctor visit and hearing he was "slow-weight gain."  Yet the doctor was encouraging to me.  We thought he might have reflux and tried medication for that.  Didn't really change the way he nursed or gained.  I was beating myself up.  I kept telling myself it was all my fault and there was something else I could learn or do or figure out to fix it.  After all of this, I think I was so confused and had lost all confidence in my ability as a mother to meet my baby's needs. And then there was my firstborn who needed so much of my time and attention, and much more than I was giving or could give him.  I could see the sadness in his eyes every time I wrestled through yet another feeding with the baby. Feedings would most of the time take an hour.  I tried a bottle and prayed that he would drink from it.  He never took one.  I remember one particularly bad day when I was walking around trying to feed him, my firstborn came over to me (only 2 1/2 years old at the time) and said, "Mommy, he's okay. "  I knew my son was speaking the words he had heard the Lord speak about the baby (I love it when He uses my kids to speak to me).  It seemed to break the heaviness and confusion, even if for a brief moment.  I lived life like this without realizing what was going on for 5 or 6 weeks.  When a mother figure in my life sat me down and said, "Melissa, lets talk about this.  I think you may be experiencing some depression" I finally realized I had been crying every day, dreading every day, surviving through every day.  It took her together with my husband to finally recognize and accept it.  Then, of course I felt like it was my fault I had depression and there was something I had done wrong or could have done differently.  But, I finally came to grips with the fact that it wasn't so much about what was "wrong with my baby"  - I needed help.