I’ve always dealt with some sort of minor postpartum depression. Nothing too crazy, just a day or maybe two of the baby blues and I’m done. I know it’s coming and I try and convince myself that I’ll be OK with a good cry and a nap. And it usually works. I need to get into a room, alone, and let it all out. I ask someone to come watch the kids for a hour and I’m back on my feet.
I knew this was going to be a hard one for me though. I don’t have nearly as much help as I did with my other kids and I just feel like if I can figure out a routine, all will be well. I do better if I’m not depending on anyone else to get me on my feet. I’m a control freak.
I find myself thinking of Frank so much. More then ever. I keep thinking he’ll text me or call me or something. But there’s nothing. I don’t know why I think he would contact me but I do. I keep trying to find an excuse to call him. I feel like I’m stuck at home and therefore our almost weekly meet-ups have ended.
I know this happens when my husband is gone a lot. And now he is and I’m tired and crabby and I just want things to settle down faster then they are. But they aren’t. When he is home he’s a crabby fuck that just annoys me and yells at the kids. Then I think about Frank and how he isn’t like this. He’s more calm and in control. And then I wish I had that. I know it’s not going to happen but that doesn’t mean I don’t dream about it at night. It makes me feel bad. Or maybe more sad then anything.