Time is a parent’s most precious commodity. But these days, it’s hard enough to find time to breathe, let alone to make time for you.
The kids’ list of demands seems never-ending. The day is full of “Mommy, I want (blank).”, “Mommy, can I have (blank)?”, and the ever-popular, “NO!”. Top that off with with play time, laundry, errands, tidying, and maybe even some work demands, and there’s just not much room left for you. By the time the day ends, all you really want to do is crash.
If you’re like me though, after a while, you reach a breaking point, where you’re sodesperate for some quality time to yourself, you end up cranky, moody and just plain miserable. But it really doesn’t have to be that way.
Hey Momma. I see you there. It’s the end of another long day of parenting your little munchkins. “Mommy, can I have a snack?” “Mommy, can you read me one more story?” “Mommy, can I have a glass of water?”
Your little one’s have asked you for everything under the sun, in relentless high-pitched, squeeky, outdoor voices, and you’re just done.
I know you probably just want to go to bed, and I know you probably just can’t even anymore, and I know taking care of yourself probably isn’t even on your priority list.
Bringing a child into the world is one of the hardest transitions a woman can go through. Being thrown head-first into the late night feeds, the crying, the soothing, the epic diapers, and the sleep deprivation, you’re already hanging by a thread. Add postpartum depression to that mix, and coping with motherhood seems utterly hopeless.
I know. I’ve been where you are and you’re not alone. You can cope.
Valentine’s Day is synonymous with showing the people in your life how much they mean to you, how much you appreciate them, how much you love them. It could be your spouse, your friends, your kids, or even your dog. The list of the people you love could be endless.
Postpartum depression is the single hardest thing I’ve ever had to contend with in my life. Don’t get me wrong, giving birth was no picnic either, but having my recovery sabotaged by a dirty little mental illness just made everything so much harder.
Postpartum depression is a sneaky little bastard that creeps up on you when you least expect it. It hides in and among your already-raging hormones, stealthily camouflaging itself, and prays not to get caught.
But I did. I caught that bugger red-handed, treated it and now I’m the best mom I can be.
But how do you Know You Have postpartum depression?