Friday, March 25, 2005
Post-partum
We found out Friday that Scott's best friend, Duane, and his girlfriend, Lori Beth, are 6 weeks pregnant. We went over to congratulate and bring them a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting," and we were sitting around chatting about pregnancy, etc. They mentioned post-partum depression, and Scott asked, "Stacey, did you have any of that?"
I stared at him: "Honey, I'm in the middle of it."
I'm cheered that he had to ask. It means I'm not the horrible, overbearing, bitchy, nasty, man-eating ogre I'd viewed myself as. (Can someone put that sentence in a grammatically correct form? I can't move the preposition.) But, to be honest, there have been a few times I've been tempted to throw myself into traffic. Mostly, the experience of being a new mother is overwhelming. I mean, they REPEATEDLY TELL YOU it's a 24-7 job, and you think, "Okay, already. I get it. But it can't be worse than being pregnant." Then you have the baby, and you realize that they lied to you. It's a 48-hour a day job, 8 days a week. Although I am filled with love, pride, and amazement at our little girl 10 times a day, I am also overwhelmed with how much she needs.
Would I change it, had I the chance to do it all over again?
No. Emerson is the one thing in my life that I know I haven't screwed up (yet).
But the hormone rollercoaster is a rough ride and I don't know how to get off. I try to grin and bear it, maintain a sense of humor about things (like the spit-up on my sweater that I didn't notice before my meeting with a bride this morning), and keep myself in check when I want to scream. I also try to remind myself that Scott has probably had a harder time because he's home with her all day long. And it seems to be fooling people, at least. But I don't know if it's working for me.
I stared at him: "Honey, I'm in the middle of it."
I'm cheered that he had to ask. It means I'm not the horrible, overbearing, bitchy, nasty, man-eating ogre I'd viewed myself as. (Can someone put that sentence in a grammatically correct form? I can't move the preposition.) But, to be honest, there have been a few times I've been tempted to throw myself into traffic. Mostly, the experience of being a new mother is overwhelming. I mean, they REPEATEDLY TELL YOU it's a 24-7 job, and you think, "Okay, already. I get it. But it can't be worse than being pregnant." Then you have the baby, and you realize that they lied to you. It's a 48-hour a day job, 8 days a week. Although I am filled with love, pride, and amazement at our little girl 10 times a day, I am also overwhelmed with how much she needs.
Would I change it, had I the chance to do it all over again?
No. Emerson is the one thing in my life that I know I haven't screwed up (yet).
But the hormone rollercoaster is a rough ride and I don't know how to get off. I try to grin and bear it, maintain a sense of humor about things (like the spit-up on my sweater that I didn't notice before my meeting with a bride this morning), and keep myself in check when I want to scream. I also try to remind myself that Scott has probably had a harder time because he's home with her all day long. And it seems to be fooling people, at least. But I don't know if it's working for me.
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