How did I finally come to accept that I have a fabulous case of post partum depression?
Could it have been the fact that I am still wearing clothes two sizes bigger than I should be and have no motivation in my gut to lose the gut? No.
Could it be the fact that I have all but forgotten how to put make up on? No.
Could it have been going out to dinner with two of my pregnant friends recently and realizing as I sat across from them that I was struggling to say something positive about being a mother that day? No.
Could it have been the fact that poor Husband has become a master of walking on eggshells in my presence, never knowing what combination of words is the one that will set me off on a "you don't think I'm a good mother" tirade. No.
Want to know what made me realize and finally accept that I needed to address this new gloom residing in me?
I wasn't blogging and I wasn't reading other peoples' blogs.
Strange that realizing I had essentially stopped blogging would be my *lightbulb* moment, but it was. Blogging is something I started doing for myself when I was first on bedrest--it saved my sanity from the clutches of boredom, and while I am no Shakespeare, it was fun to tap into my creative energy and occassionally, my sense of humor (let's face it, every English teacher is a frustrated novelist). It became a part of my identity and my sense of self; it was a record of my life.
But I stopped. I haven't been too busy. No, I still have a baby sleeping on one of my arms most afternoons for at least an hour (yeah, the independent napping thing pooped the bed as soon as Ethan got his first cold--then it was right back on Mommy). I have plenty of time to blog. I just don't. I sit and watch TV. Ugh.
And I stopped reading other peoples' blogs, with a few exceptions. Amy, Becki and KMW still got my daily attention, because we all went through similar pregnancies and because Becki and KMW just had their little miracles (congrats, girls!). But the blogs I usually read simply for a laugh--"eh, why bother??" is how I've been feeling. Seriously. Why bother clicking on that link and running my eyes over the words on the page that pops up? Why bother laughing? Sigh....
So I dragged my sorry butt to the doctors, said, "PPD" and walked out with Zoloft. Husband & I used to laugh at the gloomy little bouncing ball in the commercial, bouncing his way over to the other, happier balls. Now I am that mopey little bouncing ball. Depression isn't new to me, so I think deep down I've known it's been gnawing it's way back into my life for the past few months. But how do you admit, when you are supposed to be at your very happiest, that there is a part of you that feels so utterly alone and lost?
Yes, poor me. It's all so melodramatic. I just wanted to explain where I've been and why I've been neglecting the blog. Hopefully now I will be able to kick my butt in gear and write more regularly. I have no intention of turning this into my PPD blog; that sadness is something that feels totally separate from my relationship with Ethan (ironic, isn't it?) and this blog is about him and how wonderful watching him grow has been and continues to be. And to prove it, check this one out...