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In the days following Fritter’s birth, I got a lot of questions about my mood from the public health office. They called to check on me when we got home from the hospital, a week later, and again when Fritter was six weeks old.
Through some sort of file sharing with the hospital, they know that I have a history of depression and so they kept reminding me to expect baby blues. In fact, you could tell they expected it to turn into full on post-partum depression given the whole depressed-husband-and-a-four-year-old life situation.
I expected baby blues too. I mean, that’s pretty normal. Weepiness, sobbing over Skittles commercials… that sort of thing.
But it never came.
In fact, when they took me through a depression questionnaire at the six week mark, I passed with flying colours.
Look at me, all not-depressed
I don’t know why I have been spared any sort of bizarre hormonal fluctuations, or post partum depression, but I am grateful.
Maybe it was having the support of my parents and mother in law (who flew out here again once my parents returned back to Nova Scotia). I haven’t had to behave like a fully fledged adult since the nightmare that was early January.
Support. It helps.
In any case, I’m feeling pretty happy, but I DO still have my generalized anxiety gnawing at me.
When Owl was a baby, I used to fret over his head. I kept having images of accidentally crushing it like an egg or melon.
With Fritter, I am terrified of SIDS.
If By Yes 