I’ve been weepy lately. Like REALLY weepy. Like break out the calendar because there’s no other explanation weepy. Except I’d be three weeks early. And I’m not pregnant because that would be a medical miracle or possibly the Messiah. (And if I’m carrying the Messiah we are in trouble. Because I’m bringing him up a bleed-heart liberal and what will far-right wing Christians and far-left wing atheists do with all their free time?)
So I’m left with depression or as I like to call it, my Ã¼ber-crazies. A diagnosis I’ve been trying on for the last few days. I hung out with major depression years ago, and we keep in touch now and then. Nothing necessitating medication these days — I just shore-up my eating, sleeping, talking to friends, and praying, and the days pass. Because I can survive a few days of hating you and me. But this has been a week and a half. And I have been doing EVERYTHING that I am capable of doing to keep myself in check. And I still cry. And I recall the definition of major depression is five or more of these symptoms nearly everyday for two weeks. Stupid medical school. And this makes me cry some more.
But between my tears and pleas for my husband to come home because I CANNOT PARENT FOR ANOTHER MINUTE LIKE THIS, I realize what the heck is going on.
I AM having the crazy hormonal crazies. Because N is WEANING. She’s only breastfeeding once a day and is beginning to skip ENTIRE DAYS. And my body is like HOLD UP GIRLFRIEND, this is the last of the hormone tidal waves of baby-making and parent-making, and I AM NOT GOING DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT.
The hormones get revved up in pregnancy, freak out during labor and birth, go COMPLETELY INSANE (also known as days three through five postpartum. take note of those dates because if you EVER have children or have a wife who has children or a friend who has children YOU WILL NEVER FORGET THEM IF YOU SURVIVE), hormones then spill out during breastfeeding, and, as I’d almost forgotten, make a final bow (with a standing ovation) at weaning.
So I’m almost back to ME! with, hopefully, less weep.
I feel a bit relived since, between my blog and twitter, I can’t deny that I’ve had a string of bad days. Although I may have to put the hurry-up on the weaning process because not only am I ready to get off the ride, but my family is waving their arms and screaming HELP US THIS ROLLER CAOSTER IS OUT OF CONTROL. Except when N is banging her head against my chest.
If I hate you meanwhile, you can hate me right back. But please give the got-my-boobs-back Alex another chance in a few weeks. Because I’m coming home! (And if she isn’t. Well, I hope that I call myself out before you comment: N’S BEEN WEANED FOR TWO MONTHS. GET IT TOGETHER WOMAN AND SEE YOUR STUPID DOCTOR, NOT YOUR BLOG.)
PS. My other realization: I will never breastfeed again. Not because I hate it. But because we are DONE. At least with the biologic babies. Oh weepy weepy, how did I even type that through the perma-blur that passes for my vision these days.