A large portion of my postpartum depression with Shepherd was based on the fact that he was born with hypospadias, and the first thing my OB said when breaking the news was: "I've done some research, and there's a small possibility it could be linked to Topamax." Before I left, he gave me two printouts of early research. Now you can see "legal" commercials for 1-800-BAD-DRUG all day everyday.
Now, here I sit, filling out forms for the Child Development Unit, where Shepherd will be evaluated for a social delay in just two weeks, and again I have to answer the questions: "Did the mother take medication during pregnancy? If so, how much?" Yes. Too much.
I try to repeat to myself: It could have been so much worse. But that doesn't erase my guilt when I am buried in tasks like this. On days like today, my "what ifs" from the worst days seem to be coming to life and engulfing me in defeat.
Tonight, Shepherd & I have a special Mommy/Son night planned at the Pittsburgh Zoo for Member's Night, and I will not let this overtake me. I will not be defeated.