Tis The Season…for postpartum depression.

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My hair is a mess, the dishes are overflowing in the sink, the dogs are barking outside, the baby is crying and I haven’t peed in 5 hours. 


For nearly 2 years I begged God for this, all I wanted was to be here, to be holding my baby. I asked for this season, I asked for this .


Yet I find it extremely overwhelming and I’m exhausted. I can’t tell if that bad smell is me or the garbage that needs to be taken out. 


As I sit, rocking my baby who will only nap when I’m holding him, watching re-runs of SVU and Grey’s anatomy I can’t help be feel completely consumed with guilt. 


My husband works so hard so I can stay home with our baby. I’m sure the last thing he wants to do when he comes home is clean, but I’m nap trapped again. I’m stuck talking in a high pitched voice entertaining my sweet boy who needs constant attention. 


I’m busy running errands, I’m busy getting the big kids to and from places, the baby has occupational therapy, physical therapy, I have mental health therapy. 


We are busy During the day doing our homework, sound swings, gum traces, hang hugs, rolling practice, I’m making sure he’s getting the appropriate amount of tummy time. I’m making sure he’s getting enough stimulation, but not too much. We are reading, singing, dancing, counting. 


We go outside and touch the grass, the levees. 


I’m making sure I’m drinking enough water so I can stay hydrated since I’m breastfeeding, I’m pumping since baby only nurses on one side, so I don’t get a clogged duct and mastitis again. 


I’m trying to bag my breast milk and organize it in the freezer. 


And before I know it someone is asking me what’s for dinner. 


Oh and I have to pee, but the car just threw up, and the washer just stoped. 


I need a nap. I need to take a shower, I want to brush my hair and shave my legs. 


The baby needs me. 

Mama. 


This season is so beautiful, because I’m holding the only thing I wanted for so long. 


And I wouldn’t go back to the days of negative pregnancy test, miscarriages and screaming in my bathroom floor at the sight of blood after a positive test. 


I wouldn’t give this up, for that. 


But it’s okay that I’m tired. I’m touched out. I’m overwhelmed. 


I’m sad. Days where he’s crying in the backseat and I’m just desperately trying to get to my destination, and the intrusive thoughts just keep telling me “that tree looks nice” 


I never would. I tell my therapist and she gives me a funny look, but she trust me, probably more than I trust myself. But I never would, intrusive thoughts are just that, intrusive. They have no place here. 


The grass needs to be cut, the dogs need a bath, the floor needs to be mopped. 


7:30pm the baby is asleep, and I finally have time to myself, I have time to check something off my to do list. 


But I’m tired, and I just want to go to bed. 


So I turn the light off , crawl in bed like a beaten dog, with my tail tucked and feel myself melt into my bed. 


The weight of everything I didn’t do is so heavy. It sit on my chest until I’m finally completely suffocated out by it’s weight and I fall asleep. 


Just to do it all again tomorrow. 


I love it here. 


But I’m so very sad. 




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