My PPD Experience

I keep telling myself how bad things are going to suck after the Little Prince is born. I feel like I have to keep reminding myself so I won't be deluded into thinking that everything will be rosy when in fact I know it won't be. Babies cry, poop and are demanding little shits. That's just the way things are. But I'm conflicted, you know?

For one thing I had zero, I mean zero experience with babies when the Prince was born. I didn't even know how to change a diaper. I had no idea how much my life would change with the addition of something so tiny, albeit loud as hell. Some women are born mothers, I'm just not one of them. I lived in Florida away from all of my family so I had no one to help me. It was like jumping into the deep end of a pool not knowing how to swim. I struggled to keep my head above the water. ( Not to mention our living arrangements at the time, which is a story in itself. We sold our small house when I was about seven months pregnant and then squatted at the King's parents house which they had abandoned due to a failed business. Every day I imagined getting evicted by the sheriff. After the Prince was about a month old we were finally able to move into our new house. Long story short, don't ever move with a newborn.)

I don't know if it was just having a baby, or having a baby plus moving, or the Prince's colic or just plain old rotten bad luck, but I developed some serious pain- in -the ass post-partum depression. I'm with Brooke Shields on this one, thank God for drugs. Tom Cruise can go to Hell. I never wanted to hurt the Prince, I just didn't want him. I would think of really crazy shit like going to the mall and giving him to the first person I saw and the go home and pretend we never had a baby to begin with. Yeah, like King wouldn't notice when he came home from work that the baby was missing! Or I would sit and think about running away, just leaving the King and the Prince and going to live back at my parent's house. Worst of all, I would think about jumping off of a bridge and killing myself. I even had the bridge picked out. Crazy, crazy stuff. I didn't want to do anything. I never wanted to get out of bed, get dressed, nothing was fun anymore. So I went to the doctor and got some damn Prozac. It worked. I'm still here, I learned to take care of a baby (trial by fire) and I love my son.

I keep telling myself that it is going to suck all over again, so I am prepared for the worst. I know a few things now that I didn't back then, so maybe, just maybe this time won't be so bad.