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Strap yourselves in because this is going to be a long one with so many twists and turns...

This year has been taking a a hard toll on my mental health.
Last fall my then boyfriend (now husband) got a puppy. I brought my adult English bulldog into this relationship, and he fell in love with the breed so we got another. Unbeknownst to me he was planning a proposal during that time, but ended up getting very sick so the plan went out the window and the proposal got postponed. Twoish months later we found out I was pregnant. We both wanted to get married, but felt like most everyone would think it was shotgun instead of something we both wanted, so we had it be just immediate family and planned to have a reception this summer. We got married this last January, at 6 months pregnant. No real proposal, not the dress I wanted, no close friends, and an 8$ ring that turned my finger green because my ring never showed up from online ordering.

A month later at the end of February I had to go on early maternity leave because of preterm labor symptoms and severe pain. From then it seemed pretty simple with a very relaxing time before the baby came. My husband works all day everyday (farm life) so it was just me and the dogs most the time.

Flash forward to April 1st, 9 months pregnant, due on the 23rd. I was running late for my OB appt and rushing, which led to me running over our 6mo puppy. She had to be euthanized because there was nothing they could do. I cried everyday that month. She was our first baby. And I hated myself for it.

Then COVID struck. No more friends, no more nights out before the baby came. And our reception planning came to a screeching haunt. We don’t get to have our celebration. We don’t get an all night party celebrating us and going all out.

Our baby came a week late, labor and delivery was fast, but came with complications and a very hard and depressing healing time. I could barely walk, but felt like I had to do everything alone since my husband was back at work after the first week. I resented him for it (though I knew it wasn’t his fault). I had depression before but this amplified it. After two months I finally felt like I knew what I was doing.

I took my nightly farm chores back while my relief took the morning chores. At first our baby went with my mom while I did them, but doing that everyday made me feel as though he wasn’t even my own son. I take him out with me half the week now, which adds 30 minutes to my time.

Here we are (almost coming to an end) 4 months postpartum. I feel like I understand his cues now, but his sleeping has gotten much worse so I am constantly exhausted waking up every hour between 11pm until 5am when baby is wide awake.

Yesterday felt great. My wedding band finally arrived and my husband told me he is ordering a new engagement ring in a couple days. Everything felt ok, we were having fun, our baby fast asleep. I was about to go to bed myself when I decided to change out the laundry, and walked into the garage to find our original English bulldog seriously injured. The vet suggested taking his leg, but he is so active and would be depressed that way so we are trying bandaging, although the dr said they aren’t sure if it’ll ever work the same again. Twice daily bandage changes for the next week, and months of recovery ahead of us. I got home at 2am with him, and our baby crying (screaming) soon after for the first of many night time feedings. Today, we woke up to smoke so thick day time looked like night time and outside was completely reddened, and our once athletic, active baby dog laying in one spot and refusing to eat.