10 weeks in and I wouldn’t say I have postpartum depression so much as postpartum blah of blahs. By this I mean only that vomit, spit-ups, green stringy poops, yellow runny poops, boogers or spraying-every-which-way breast milk is not cute. Not at all.
The first time around, these bodily excretions did not bother me so much. It was a novelty I suppose. But this time I have to leave the house for there is a toddler present and toddlers must leave the house if one wants a ‘sane’ family. When you leave the house, other people see you because that is what happens out in public. Communication and interaction with human beings above 4 feet also happens if you are really, really lucky (and nobody smells you coming first.) All of this conversing with the public is handled much better without the fear of projectile body goop landing on you or- god forbid- somebody else.
Perhaps I am being melodramatic. Forgive me. Today is just especially horrific as there is a combined poo-pee-puke-spit-beer-lake algae-outhouse-campfire stench emanating from me. I am a walking gag-gift bag of jelly beans.
At the same time, Brennyn is on a nursing strike. Maybe I just smell too bad for her. At any rate, she does not feed and I wake up in the middle of the night levitating. That’s right. levitating. My boobs have hoisted my entire body above the bed. Watch out Criss Angel.
“It’s okay,” people tell me “it will get better!” and to them I pout: