I got my hands on Joel's camping photos. You love it.
So here is a thing: I have mild Post-Partum Anxiety. This is a different thing from Post-Partum Depression, and is also not a thing I knew existed until I had it. You know what ELSE I didn't know existed? Dysmorphic Milk Ejection Reflex, which I have just been referring to as the Breastfeeding Sads because it's shorter and I can never remember all the words in that first thing. But instead of feeling majestic and triumphant and kind of smug when I breastfeed, I feel horribly, horribly sad. Also, like I might barf. I remember telling Joel, shortly after Geneva was born, I think I'm SICK or possibly PREGNANT AGAIN. I feel nauseated ALL the TIME.
Between the anxiety and the feeling overwhelmingly depressed at (what felt like) random times (because I'm not just sad when I breastfeed, I'm sad about 30 seconds before WHENEVER my milk lets down, so there I am, walking along and trying to figure out when I'll have to feed Geneva next and if I have time to go to the store first and then boom, feelings of cavernous hole in chest, feelings of barfiness, and then the boobs go off), I started to think I should maybe tell someone. Then Robin Williams killed himself and I made an appointment with my doctor.
There's nothing really you can do, either, except for the things you do for regular depression. Go outside, get exercise, get rest. But I have these two kids, and Joel is gone a lot right now, so I don't have a lot of time for either exercise or rest. And because of the anxiety, I don't WANT to go outside. If it hadn't been summer, if I hadn't been so opposed to missing out on the best season in Saskatoon, if I hadn't had a toddler who needed frequent airings, I would just have stayed inside with my nerves and read Pride and Prejudice.
D-MER has only been recognized as a Thing, medically, for the last couple of years, so there isn't a lot of research about treatment through drugs. Plus I don't feel like I'm going to hurt myself or my kids, I don't feel like I can't cope, and it's mostly for 10-15 minutes at a time, a few times a day. I DO feel like locking myself in the baby's room because Eleanor keeps talking at me and I'm just trying to feel sad and feed Geneva at the same time. Sorry, Eleanor.
And it's too bad, because I kind of love breastfeeding. I thought I would hate it, before I had kids, but it's so satisfying and HILARIOUS. Geneva always gets all like HNNNNN HNN HNNN HNNNNN with frantic delight when I sit down with her across my lap, and then goes at the boob with ferocity. But the thing that helps me cope with this more than anything else is the finiteness, because if it never gets better on its own, it will at least get better in about eight months when I wean this baby.