Living with PPD: gaining perspective

Living with PPD: gaining perspective

He’s covered in blueberries. There are blueberries in his hair, and up his nose. It’s on his clothes (bibs just slow the inevitable mess). There are blueberries on my chair. There are blueberries on the floor, and, at the risk of sounding like Seuss, there are blueberries on more. The kid is a mess.

A year ago, the mess is all that I would have seen. I would immediately have felt anxious; I was his mother and the task of cleaning him up would have weighed upon me (even if my husband had offered to help, which he did). I would have looked at this beautiful, berry covered boy and saw only what I needed to do. I would have missed his gigantic smile. I would have overlooked the twinkle in his eye when he asked for more. And, I damn well would have been frustrated when he clapped his blue hands because I thought he was going to spread the mess.

I was missing it.

Speaking up about Postpartum Depression was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do. Admitting that I didn’t have it all together and that I needed help impacted every part of my life. Admitting that I was suffering and beginning treatment may very well have saved my life. I know doing so certainly changed it.

Last night I laughed at my son’s blueberry covered mug. I took seventeen pictures and encouraged him to have at those berries. I gave zero cares about the mess because I would clean it up—eventually. Instead, I watched him splash and play in the bath (holy hell, how else could I get all that off of him?).

Almost a year after admitting I had PPD I’ve gained perspective on motherhood. The mess will always be there; the moments are fleeting. The experience of mothering is more than work and responsibility. It is love and joy. Life can cloud that, but I hope to never forget what I’ve learned.

Read my other post about PPD here:

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