Who knew? I did.

Looks like my diagnosis of bipolar II has been removed and in place we have a diagnosis of postpartum depression.  Treatment seems to be helping (little by little) and there are more and more breaks in the clouds as the days go by.

I heard once that there are people who don't "believe in" postpartum depression.  To those people I will only say that I sincerely hope you never experience something like this.  It's devastating.  Sometimes I read people's blog posts and facebook statuses about how wonderful and perfect their lives are as new moms.  I've never felt that way, and that makes me feel guilty and sad.

So can we talk about what's real for a minute?   Can I stop talking about how wonderful and perfect my life is long enough to say that this is hard?  Because it is.  I knew it was going to be hard, but there was no way to grasp how things were really going to be. I knew there was a chance I'd have postpartum depression.

But I didn't know it would feel like this.  I didn't know I would look at my kids and wish I could feel something.  Some days I wish so hard it hurts.  I didn't know my children's cries would make me feel like I'm losing my mind.  I didn't know how hard it would be to force myself out of the house.  I didn't know that I'd lose the desire to cook, to take pictures, to talk to friends...all the things I love to do.


So in the mean time, I'll look forward to the small moments when the sun peeks through the clouds, and hope that we can all forget the hard times and remember the good ones. Here's that hoping that in the picture of forever, this time won't feel so long or challenging.

Freeze!

Sometimes I wish more than anything that I could freeze a moment in time.  The munchkins are growing too fast.  There are so many moments that I'd give anything to capture, because I hate that in a few months, let alone years, I'm going to forget how amusing it is that James leads with his head when he runs.  That Sam picks up his bottle with his feet when he drops it.  The slow sweet smile that spreads across Sam's face when we wake him up and he opens his eyes to see one of us right in front of him.  The way James's excitement fills the room when I ask him if he wants to play with the Play-Doh.  The moments a camera can't capture.  The sparkle in James's eyes when he hears Daddy's key in the lock.  The way Sam sighs and turns his head toward his blanket when it's time for a nap.

The way it feels to hear James say, "Mommy snuggle."

The way sometimes Sam just wants to be held.

While I fight through the I'm-not-bipolar-maybe-this-is-postpartum-depression battle and sometimes I feel like I can't even see anyone around me, I'm thankful for the little beacons of light in my little boys.  I'm a very blessed mommy