Just a few things. I'm reading The Scarlet Letter. Nathaniel Hawthorne is a literary genius. His wit and humor bleed onto every page. Unlike every other 16 year old in America, I missed my opportunity at reading this incredible classic because my gray-haired, overweight, bell-bottom wearing, Cadillac-driving American Lit teacher decided to literally "bark" at all the classroom norms and never asked us to read the classics. Instead, he gave us a list of texts we could choose from to read and write papers on every 4 weeks. So what did we all do? We chose the shortest, easiest novels on the planet and avoided anything with real depth and meaning. Let's just say that I got an A in that class, and I did it without thinking. So thanks for nothing Mr. Worley. I'm discovering all the great American classics on my own and in my thirties. I'm the coolest.
Timmy turns a year in less than 2 weeks. I'm pretty sure I've noted this in several of my recent posts. Obviously I'm traumatized by it. But his birthday has me thinking about my postpartum. I'm still nursing and plan to do so until he quits, unless he's older than 2 because I have my limits. But I assume he'll quit sooner because the boy eats like a king, and I'm more of a midnight snack, really. Anyway, I've been taking zoloft for postpartum depression since October. I feel that it has greatly improved my quality of life, so much so that I truly feel happier as a mother and a person. And I've been worried about Timmy turning 1 because I keep thinking, well crap, does that mean that my postpartum depression disappears after he's 1? I'm pretty sure I heard somewhere (and I know cannot actually be true but I got it in my brain so I can't get it out) that postpartum generally subsides around the child's 1st birthday. Is this true? I'm not sure.
As I said, I really feel happier. I don't get so wound up as I used to. I don't yell nearly as much as I used to; in fact, I don't really yell at all unless it's after 8pm and the kids refuse to go to bed (you have to give me that one). I feel calm when Mya yells at me each morning, even though I know a part of me wants to yell back that no Mya, I don't know where your damn pants are. I clean them every other day, and I am not in charge of them after you wear them. But I don't yell. In fact, I don't even get agitated. I just take it in, and I sternly reply that I refuse to be spoken to in such a tone and she can find her own pants because I will only help kind people. And so on and so on.
I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that I am a perfect mom now. I'm not. I still get frustrated and grumpy. I'm still human. I'm still a woman with raging hormones. But I feel different. And so I am left wondering, is it all the medication? Is any of it actually me growing up? Or growing as a mother? Or is it happening because I know there are no more babies in my future so I don't have to stress about pregnancy or infancy or sleepless nights? There are a million unknowns. And all those unknowns freak me out.
I don't really want to go back to the old me that yelled a lot. I hated seeing the girls wince when I raised my tone. My house is so calm and quiet 70% of the day because the 3 kids I have at home with me really don't push my buttons too much (except for Birdie at the moment...oh man...I could've killed her today when she refused her nap...but I digress) and so I don't want to mess with our current dynamic.
So what do I do? Who am I anyway? These are real thoughts. They are hard questions with few answers. But for now I still have 2 weeks so I am just going to mull over these things and try and schedule a doctor's appointment so I can talk to a medical professional who most likely won't have the answers either but will manage to assuage my fears with some fancy medical jargon, and all will be right again.
Well, it's late, and Hawthorne is waiting for me. Goodnight.