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"The second he was born I knew something was wrong with me. I didn’t even want to hold him. My wife tried to hand me the baby in the operating room and I was like 'No, just go, just go.' She said, 'Don’t you want to see him?' I said, 'No. Just go.'

Of course I didn’t tell anybody. I didn’t tell my wife. She had no idea. I had this overwhelming sense of embarrassment. How could I not want to hold my baby? What kind of woman doesn’t want to hold her baby?

I knew this was postpartum depression. I was hoping my hormones would balance out and that it would just go away.

I would go through the motions and do everything I needed to be doing, but I didn’t have any attachment. It was like my son was a complete stranger to me. Somebody else’s baby. There was this part of me that missed my old life. I couldn’t do anything anymore, and I had to take this baby with me everywhere I went.

Plus my body – I was hard on myself when I was pregnant, and I was even harder once the baby came out.

I had stretch marks all over my stomach, all over my thighs, all over my breasts. Stretch marks everywhere. And I had the c-section scar. Now every time I got naked and looked in the mirror, I saw this traumatic reminder of that day.

I felt like my body is disgusting, my hormones are all messed up, my boobs are huge, I can’t fit into any of my clothes – plus

I don't have any attachment to this baby, and now I hate myself and I hate my body.

My wife was so good at being a mom. There was this part of me that was secretly jealous that her body was the same. She didn’t have to feel everything that I felt, and she just got this beautiful baby boy to take care of."


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