Peccadilloes and Brussels Sprouts

After having Oldest, I realized pregnancy and labor & delivery had changed my body in many ways, but one change I neither counted on nor initially realized was that I developed post-partum depression (PPD). I was 32, happily married, the mother of a beautiful baby boy, and miserable. But I did what I often think I do best…I buffaloed my way through the dark days and survived. And for the most part things were moderately good and then got better.

Then I had a miscarriage. And the darkness that I attributed to losing that baby came and just never left. When Middlest arrived 13 months later, I had gained not only more stretch marks and grey hairs, but the ability to recognize just how dark my emotional place was. Within two weeks of her birth I was on Zoloft and I started to inch my way towards a brighter place.

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Valentine’s Equals Guilt

Happy Valentine’s Day.  There sure is quite the hullabaloo about a day that supposedly makes folks feel happy.  I figure for most it really is about consumption, chocolate and guilt anyway.*

I was a high school teacher when my Oldest was born and so when I went to work, he went to daycare.  In order to prove my motherly love in spite of working full time whilst paying someone else to ooh over his first time rolling over, I knew near-Hercluean effort was needed.   Continue reading