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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.  

 

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