Post Partum Post

by Marinka on March 12, 2009

After my son was born, I developed a mild case of insanity, although the technical term may have been “moderate insanity” or postpartum depression, for the purists. Everything made me cry.

Papa tried to comfort me.

“You waited a long time to have baby and your hormones are confused. You are like a person who never had the cake and now you went to the cake festival and ate very many cakes. And now you are sad. If you had baby at twenty like normal people, you would feel happy now.”

Mama tried to comfort me.

“Having the baby is so important and everyone is so happy. Feel cheerful.”

Husbandrinka wasn’t without wisdom, either.

“All women are nuts after they give birth. What’s for dinner?”

My baby was very cute but had a huge nose.
“Well, at least we know he wasn’t switched at birth,” my anti-semitic friend John told me as he goose-stepped around the nursery.

He also didn’t seem to eat a lot. (My son, that is. John’s appetite remained healthy).

“Ok, I’ll meet you at the office in a few hours,” my gay pediatrician told me one Sunday. He put him on the scale. “He’s gaining weight normally,” he reassured me. “These kids will give you a fucking nervous breakdown if you let them. That’s why I’m on the pill.”

But what really put me over the edge was that I was convinced that my son was a dwarf.
“Look at his legs,” I told papa. “They seem short.”
“He’s the baby,” papa said.
“Don’t his legs look short?” I asked mama. “In comparison to his body, I mean.”
“All the men have short legs,” mama said. “That’s why they look so unnatural. You never noticed this before?”
“I’m worried that he’s a dwarf,” I told Husbandrinka, “although he is in the 95th percentile for height.”
“That’s a very rare condition,” Husbandrinka told me. “Tall dwarves.”

I honestly don’t know how I survived with these people around. I think it was my inner strength and wisdom that saw me through.

Public Service Announcement:  Postpartum Depression is no laughing matter. If you or someone you love is suffering from this condition, you should read Down Came The Rain. Because it helps to know that someone more beautiful than you’ll ever be went through this shit, too.  And also, see a doctor.  The more you know.

One year ago ...

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