What a Life!

This weekend, I came to the conclusion that I might be suffering from postpartum depression. Even though I was spending time every day doing things I love to do, I was simply unable to find joy in anything. There was a big, ugly, non-descript cloud hanging over everything I did. Not fun.

Sunday is my day for rest and reflection. I know I’ve said I do my best thinking while I’m knitting. I also do very good thinking while watching sporting events. I mean, both teams are well qualified, but somebody is going to win and somebody is going to lose. It keeps things in perspective.

This Sunday I actually got up early – hadn’t been able to do that all week no matter how much I said I was committed to doing so – and I had some time to myself. I went through my to-do lists and re-organized them, as I usually do. Then I thought about the bigger picture and pondered why I might be struggling with depression. In the past, when the clouds have come, looking back, I can find a reason. If I can find a reason, I can change what needs to be changed and the sun will come out again.

Ever heard of Murphy’s law? If something can go wrong, it will. Stuff like that. Well, here’s one for being a SAHM with a three-year-old and a three-month-old: If it isn’t done by 9:00 in the morning, it probably isn’t going to get done.

Sad, really sad. [Sigh]

The only day last week when I remembered feeling happy was Monday when I cooked supper in the middle of the afternoon. Yeah, really. I had supper made and the dishes done when Steve got home. It was a very relaxing evening.

That got me to thinking.

Joey gets up in the morning and I head downstairs to surf the web and blog. That’s my “watercooler” time. Then he goes down for a nap and I try to do something productive. That lasts for about 45 minutes because Joey wakes up. Then I do things that I can do with him awake, and a while later he goes down for another nap. That’s usually when we have lunch. He wakes up, I limp along doing what I can do when a baby is awake. Finally, he goes down for his third nap. I’m tired. At that point, I’m no longer motivated to do much. I watch Oprah, M*A*S*H, whatever. I’m tired – I don’t feel like doing anything.

Joey wakes up again, and I’m stuck on the couch holding him because he’s fussy and cries if I put him down. I sit there on the couch and hold him and look around at our un-tidy house and think about all the things I need to be doing. But I can’t do them. I’m holding McFussy. No, he doesn’t like his swing. The mobile is broken. By the time Steve gets home, it’s everything I can do not to cry. I want some adult conversation, and I want to get up and get something done.

But Steve is a good husband. He comes home and then spends fifteen or twenty minutes or a half hour going around doing things. Tidying the house. Washing the dishes. He doesn’t take his jacket off because he “can’t relax” until he takes care of these things. We have wood floors, and he has a heavy step; it sounds like he’s stomping even though I know he isn’t. He’s doing what I’ve been sitting there wanting to get up and do myself. It’s all I can do to keep from crying.

We eat supper. Joey goes to bed. Ben goes to bed. And then I spend the evening knitting because I’m lost and I need to find myself. My mind is numb. No ah-ha moments. No stunning realizations. I get up and go to bed.

All the women of the world are going to hate me for saying this, but I wish my husband wouldn’t be such a model citizen when he gets home. I wish he would take his jacket off, grab a beer, sit down and hold Joey so I can get up and do something. I know it sounds bad, but I’d like to wash dishes. I’d like to put the laundry away. I’d like to pick up toys. It would feel great to get up and actually do something. Go ahead. Throw rocks at me.

Perhaps I’ve lost my joy because I’m not getting the boost one gets from a sense of self-accomplishment. I know I struggled with that a lot when Ben was this age. I just couldn’t get anything done. I’d feel tired like I’d worked hard all day, but what I had to show for it was hardly respectable.

So I went through my list of things to do and narrowed it down to what I really wanted to accomplish this week. What I really thought I could actually get done this week.

And I felt much better.

The tiger was on his way back to his cage.

This morning I arose early. Sometime during the 5:00 hour. I read for a bit and then knit for a while. Steve got up. Ben got up. Steve left for work. I showered and dressed, as I usually do. Joey got up. And we headed downstairs.

I cleaned out our file cabinet. We have a four-drawer file cabinet in our office. I needed to make my 2007 files for the items we keep for tax purposes. I went through all our manuals and threw away the ones that belong to things we don’t own anymore. I made the new folders. I filed my stack of stuff. I went through the other drawers and sorted things.

I made bean soup. I ran the dishwasher. For supper, we had chef’s salad. Joey took his naps. I conquered Mt. Washmore. Mt. Foldmore is on its last breath.

I got lots done today.

And I’m so wound up I can hardly relax. It’s like I’m in perpetual motion. And I’m tired from all I have accomplished. I’m so tired I don’t know how I can relax.

It’s early in the evening. I’m not going to bed yet. But I do not know if I will make it through C.S.I: Miami. You know I’m tired when I don’t feel like knitting. Or maybe I’m depressed. Maybe the tiger snuck back out of his cage. We’ll see tomorrow.

I shall go put my pajamas on. Wash my face. Open the bed so it is ready to crawl into. Perhaps the tiger is just scouting. If I keep moving, perhaps he won’t pounce.

I must keep moving so the tiger won’t pounce.