There's a whisper (but quite frankly, it's like a damn bull horn),
"Mommy, I want to cuddle you."
Crap. My damn mom ears physically respond like there's been an earthquake but as the hairs on my arm standing on end retract, I smile,
"I want to cuddle YOU!"
He crawls in bed and fits in the arch of my arm but his legs are longer now. I feel his freezing toes and warm them between my knees. It's damn early. Physically, I'm so over this but my heart knows: this won't last forever.
We stay avoiding truth as long as we can, Daddy/Husband sleeping soundly beside us, & then the cries come. Unintelligible sounds that I understand: "I'm 6 months old! I want my bottle!" So the little Mr. and I leave Daddy/Husband in the warmth. We rattle the bed enough for him to turn over. Physically, he knows we're gone but mentally, he's nowhere to be found.
The carpet touches my feet and alerts me: Here we go. I grab my ugly socks (the ones that are too warm to stop wearing-the ones my little mr. steals from my that go up to his knees--his "mommy socks"). I'm tired, hungry but before any of that I make a stop at the counter: Friday-pop the lid- throw the pink pill back in my mouth- close the lid/swallow simultaneously. Ok. If I don't do anything else for myself that day, I do that. Take that pill that has leveled me out, been one in a series of things that have helped bring me back--back to the land of the living.
Here's the thing about post partum depression for me: it felt fictional, it felt fake but I knew better. It also felt like unbelievable failure...until I got so damn desperate to be better that I could admit: I need help, this isn't forever, this is going to be a fight and I'm going to win.
Step 1: The hotline, the doctors, the stabilizing. Step 2: Swallow, Sleep, Wake, Repeat. Step 3: Talk. TALK. T A L K. Step 4 : Look yourself in the mirror and see my face, feel alive (and now it feels good!), seek God, JOY.