You can hold the ocean

Saturday, February 12, 2011

park

I was all set to write this maudlin recap of just how lousy I feel as a human being, how I kicked off my Saturday night by sobbing into the crappy turkey sandwich I was making for dinner when I followed someone's email link to this site and spent the next 30 minutes laughing so hard that I was afraid I might break the baby. I'm sure it won't be nearly as hilarious tomorrow, but good lord I need to laugh like that.

This afternoon Harlow and I were taping up some more awful crafts, this makeshift paperdoll beachhouse complete with floaties and buckets, when she handed me a piece of paper slashed with blue marker. "You can hold the ocean, mom" she told me before scampering off to find more tape. I sat staring at it, feeling like I was doing just that.

Unfortunately I'm now familiar enough with the signs to know I'm one of the estimated 13% of women (who admit it) who suffer from prenatal depression. Yes, apparently it's not enough to sink into the mire after the baby comes. I'm already there. I was like this when I was pregnant with Harlow, so I take some comfort in at least understanding I'm hardwired to feel this way. It doesn't help that the past few months have piled on enough stress and material to keep my blog (and therapist) busy for the next several years. So if you see my hardworking hubby, give him a hug. Or a beer. Poor thing is married to the mayor of Crazytown.

Me? I'm determined to keep off the meds. For now. Fortunately, Damn You Auto Correct updates almost daily.

1 comment:

  1. Thank whatever (or whom) for therapy, eh?! Hang in there. This too will pass.

    And remember: You CAN hold the ocean. Together. With me. And the rest of us.

    xox

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