I Thought I Killed You

My favorite time of the day also happens to be my most un-favorite time of the day.

During the work week, I creep into my nineteen-month old son's bedroom at 7am with his sippy cup filled with milk in hand. He hears me enter the room and he never fails to reach out for me. I scoop him up and give him a giant bear hug as we prepare for a diaper change.

He lies upon a plush towel on the floor, head propped by his favorite red pillow with the baseball on it. As quickly as possible, I fasten a new diaper on him and lie down beside him. I can hear his every sip and his every breath. I watch his tummy slowly move up and down in a rhythm and I snuggle right up next to his body. The body that perfectly fits beside mine.

When the last sip is drawn, I cringe. Our time is up. It has gone by too quickly. One last squeeze, a smooch on the cheek, and back into bed he goes. Then I walk out of the room, close the door and face the day ahead.

It's my favorite time of day because the house is quiet and calm and my son is at his most vulnerable. He's still sleepy-eyed and affectionate without my asking. Having to him leave for the next nine hours makes me insane with rage.This would have been understandable at this time last year. I was under the impression that this was a combat I had won!

Postpartum Depression (PPD) revisited. A relapse. Yes, it happens. Did I know it could happen? Was I prepared for the possibility? No and no.

I was very open about having PPD on my blog during the first round. My blog originated because of it. Writing was very therapeutic for me and it still is. In fact, I recapped many moments in this post. I just reread it myself and a lot of emotions came rushing back.

I have searched high and low for articles about PPD relapse. I have found nothing. The only information I can seem to muster up is that if you stop taking your medication too soon, the likelihood that PPD symptoms will return are rather high. I really feel like I kicked PPD's ass the first time. Like, it was lying in a pool of blood. This isn't some, "I think I'll stop taking my meds today and see what happens..." kind of situation. Hell no. I was better y'all. I felt great. When I weaned (under doctor's supervision and advice), I continued on the up and up. So what the fuck? I have a list of shit to get done, shit I want to get done. Does it get done? Nope. And if it does, it's probably really half-assed. For a perfectionist, that just won't do.

Anyhow I sort of dropped a bomb on many of you last week with my relapse news and I felt like I should share a bit of what's going on. How long is it going to last? I have no idea but for now, I'll write from time to time because it really does help me to release some of the pent up emotions.

I do want to leave you with a bit of advice. Yesterday I heard several disturbing instances involving PPD...

Number ONE: If a new mother decides to take extra time off from work after having her baby, do not make the assumption that she just wants an extended maternity leave to coo and smile at her new bundle. It's not a vacation, trust me. In fact, she's probably too paranoid and anxious to leave her baby.

Number TWO: Do not EVER fake PPD to get time off from work and collect disability. You can read this post to see what I'm talking about.

And Number THREE: The last one I promise... If a woman with PPD reaches out to you in confidence, first realize how hard it was for her to do so. Then, take her seriously. I'll describe one instance which stands out for me, but I'll leave out names. I once was in the middle of a breakdown and reached out to someone to say how I was literally breaking in half because I wasn't at home with my son. The response I received, "Oh, it'll be okay. You'll be home in about an hour!" It. Doesn't. Work. Like. That.