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I had the perfect pregnancy and delivery. No, really. I wasn't sick, I glowed beautifully, and at 3 o'clock the morning my due date, I went into labor. I arrived at the hospital already 6 centimeters dilated and gave birth within 5 hours. Ahh.. bliss. Unfortunately, no one ever told me what my life was going to be like for a few weeks after delivery. No one ever told me the truth anyway.

Firstly, I didn't immediately fall in love with my baby. I was happy to have her. She was beautiful (save for all the gook on her face), but I did not fall madly in love with her as so many women told me I would. Honestly, I don't know how you can. You're meeting this little person for the first time-there is no such thing as love at first sight.

The first night in the hospital is exhausting. Your new baby has no clue what nighttime is at this point, so she's up every hour. At some point in the middle of the night, we ended up asking the nursery to take her for a few hours so we could get some sleep. At 7 a.m. I woke up feeling guilty. What did the nurses think of me? I thought I may have shattered any chance I had to bond with my daughter. I felt immature, lazy, and worst of all, I felt like a bad mother. I sort of slid over to the nursery (you can't walk well after delivering a baby) and peeked into the windows. There were so many babies-and they all looked the same. I looked at each one. I had no idea which one was my Audrey. Can you believe that? If it had been up to me to walk in there on my own and find my own child, I would have brought home someone else's. They all had dark, moppy hair and purplish hued skin. Thankfully, the nurses match wristbands so unfortunate things like that don't happen.

When we brought her home, all I wanted was sleep. I knew I was depressed. For the first few days, I dealt with it quietly. The guilt was suffocating me. I felt guilty about everything-sleeping, showering, eating, anything I did for myself. If my husband wouldn't wake me in the morning and would get up with the baby to let me sleep in, I would wake up with a jolt. I would actually feel anger towards him for not waking me and letting me feel the guilt. I thought he was deliberately trying to make me feel guilty. If someone else was holding my baby, I would feel guilty. What if she cries? Should I take her back? Certainly, no one wants to hold a crying baby. No one wants to feed her for me. No one wants to change her or rock her to sleep. That's work, not fun.

The turning point was about eight weeks postpartum. I was cradling Audrey in my arms, rocking her, and I stared into her dark, tiny little eyes, perhaps for the first time really seeing her. I just kept staring, pretending to travel into her mind and for a split second, and I would have missed it had I not been looking, she widened her eyes at me. She recognized me. I saw it. This is what all those mothers were talking about. I just had to wait a little longer to experience it is all. But there it was: Love.

After that, I made a lot of changes. I joined a gym (which helps you feel good for many reasons), I make time for myself, I hang out with my friends occasionally, and best of all, I love every minute I spend with Audrey. She's like an extension of my own body.

I still feel that guilt creeping back sometimes, but it is getting much better. I talk it out with my husband, who is very supportive and understanding, and we work through it together. I consider myself very fortunate that the depression did not last long and was not terribly severe. I share my story because I don't want anyone to feel alone.

Learn more about this author, Jennie Kelley.
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