On Being to Blame – Part 3

While my last post got too long so I broke it up (Part 1 and Part 2), this post is a result of what happened after I shared my story of PPD. Like my PPD story, it is something I have a very difficult time articulating coherently out loud with those that I love most dearly. 

I didn’t realize your PPD was so bad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this when it was happening?”

This statement and question, spoken tentatively, vulnerably, and filled with emotion from the mouths of my people… the ones I can’t live without… cuts me with fear. I don’t want them to feel bad or think they could have done more. I don’t want them to believe it is about the trust in our relationship.

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Riding the Waves

My children aren’t regular beach goers. We live in the middle of the United States and it is mostly cold anyway. Last year’s family vacation was the first time they had ever seen the ocean and they loved it. As we were preparing for our trip, Littles unequivocally stated that she was only going to the beach for the sand and would not be going in the water. (Trust me there was no discussion of shark attacks to induce the comment. If there had been, she would have refused to go on vacation.) Thinking back to last year she didn’t really like the water and spent most of her time in the sand — playing, building, creating.

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It Sounds More Glamorous than It Is

My husband works for a professional sports team. Don’t be confused. He isn’t a professional athlete. If that were the case, I would get my nails done weekly… or something like that. Instead, I find myself attending many more sporting events than the average thirty-something woman who is not a superfan. I am a fan and I love to see the team win, but my purpose in attending is much simpler. They feed me there and my children are entertained by something other than an electronic device.

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