I am working every day on my memoir Adventures With Postpartum Depression but in the meantime, here is a deleted scene that might resonate with your personal experiences. You are not crazy. You are not alone.
Or maybe this passage will help you understand what your loved one is going through. She’s not crazy. She’s not alone.
My parents had a guest room with a queen sized mattress and plenty of space for Pippa’s cradle. That was where the newly displaced Novaks should have slept, except I did not want to share a queen sized mattress with my 6’5” husband – not after five weeks of insomnia. Nathan volunteered to sleep on a cot in the guest room – I was too afraid to sleep alone – but my parents insisted that we sleep on the king sized mattress in their master bedroom instead._
I was thrilled that I could share a bed with Nathan, but now we had a new problem: where would we put Pippa? We had brought her cradle, and there was more than enough room for it in my parents’ room. You could easily fit a dozen cradles in their master bedroom… but for the large, scary chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. What if it fell? What if there was an earthquake? The chandelier would kill Pippa!
I moved the cradle from place to place in the master bedroom, and my mom pointed out several places where Pippa would be safe. She suggested a spot near the window. Next to the window?! What if some hooligan threw a rock through the window and it hit Pippa? We moved the cradle away from the windows, but now it was near a side table with a large lamp. What if there was an earthquake and the bedside lamp got flung fifteen feet across the room? My mom moved the cradle closer to the door. The door?! Holy shit, why not invite the local union of kidnappers to stop by at midnight and hand them my baby. How had I survived my childhood?
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