I stood over the garbage can, carrot in my left hand and vegetable peeler in my right. Hamburgers sizzled in the skillet, and beans rolled in boiling water on the stove.
In the nursery, Bobby was reading aloud to Noah, “Hey, come join the lot of us…” I’d heard Noah’s laughter just moments earlier and was glad they were having some time together. Noah’s been going through a clingy phase where he only wants me, and I know it’s been hard on Bobby, too.
“But not the armadillo,” Bobby reads.
And I sigh and think that this is just the way it should be. That life is good.
Last week was a major emotional battle, the worst since I came off PPD meds.
For the first time, I seriously entertained the thought that I should just start taking the pills again.
And you know what? At the time it seemed like such a hard decision that it was paralyzing, but it would have been OK if I had needed to do that. At the same time, I’m proud of myself for sticking it out through several tough days and coming out on the other side feeling a little better.
I don’t really want to dwell on details, but I’m glad I’m past that for now. I suspect that’s not the last time I’ll feel an onslaught of negative emotions, but hopefully next time I will be better prepared for it.
I think it’s toughest on Bobby when I go through periods like that because he’s seen a glimpse of the old me shining through as I’ve come out of the haze of PPD/PPA. And I know a lot of times I take my anxiety out on him in some form (most often it’s being extremely short-tempered for no apparent reason). I’m really thankful that he’s here with me, willing to fight through it with me.
I also have to admit that I do wonder how to know if I really do need to go back on my meds. Last week I just kept telling myself I wanted to make it one more week, just to see if this funk was going to stick around. And it didn’t. But at what point do I say, “OK, this isn’t getting better on its own?”
It’s a little scary, I guess. I have a pretty sensitive husband, so I think his attentiveness will help. I just don’t want to go through the rest of my life with bouts of misery that last several days or a week followed by a few days of feeling semi-normal only to dip back down into a near-debilitating depression.
That probably sounds more hopeless than I feel, but like I said, last week was tough. I’m glad to have my head above the water again, though, and praying that I’ve passed the worst of it. Moments of contentment like the one I shared above give me hope that maybe I have.