Some moms who have PPD can’t bring themselves to leave the house. I went out almost every single day. I had to. I really think I’d actually have gone crazy otherwise.
There was one baby group I went to quite regularly even though it was at a slightly awkward time and it was downtown, which meant it was harder to find parking. For a PPD mom with a baby who screeched a lot, having to drive around to find a place to park and then walk a couple of blocks with an uncooperative infant was an anxiety-inducing situation I generally tried to avoid. But this one was worth it.
Every Wednesday afternoon new moms and their babies would walk through the entrance to the store and gather in the large room that was home to classes – prenatal and fitness – and what can only be described as a new moms’ support group. We’d park strollers, gather pillows and sit down. Some moms would gently set the car seat containing their sleeping baby down next to them. I stood. And bounced.
The beautiful thing about this group was there was no agenda. The owner of the store – a woman from whom wisdom and patience poured like rain on a parched desert – led the group. She went around the circle and asked a simple question: “How was your week?”
On one particular day the tone for the discussion was set early in the circle. A new mom, desperation practically dripping from her pores, complained about the lack of support from her husband. Her list of woes was long and contained many of the usual steps of the husband-and-wife dance. Help around the house. Meal prep. Errands. But what it came down to was this: she was exhausted. Her husband refused to get up in the night, even when the baby didn’t need to be nursed, and the lack of sleep was scraping the bottom of her soul.
I was on the far side of the circle that day. As we went around the room, I sat in silence at the many sympathetic exclamations of “me too” and “mine doesn’t either”. I had nothing to contribute to this conversation. Nothing but empathy. I listened to tale after tale from women going it alone at a time they most needed help – help they weren’t getting from the person who was supposed to be a partner in parenthood.
I simply couldn’t relate.
My husband is amazing. I knew this before Connor was born, but his amazingness overwhelms me now, even nearly three years later. Especially nearly three years later.
He has always been there for the hard stuff. The middle-of-the-night stuff. The stuff that would drain most new mothers and threatened to drown me.
And he is there still. I work and he does the stay-at-home-dad thing and yet, when needed, he still steps in when it’s my turn at bedtime or on weekends.
Right now I’m not working. This past week I’ve been sick, in more ways than one, and at times he has practically done it all. He gets up mornings and takes care of nights. He’s sorting out meals and walking the dog. He’s taking care of toddler duty – feeding and playing and changing and disciplining. And he’s doing all this while managing to simultaneously leave me in peace and checking to make sure I’m okay.
We didn’t actually use traditional wedding vows, but the sickness-and-health sentiment was certainly there. Not only has he not retreated from this promise, he’s taken it to a level I never could have anticipated. He is my partner – in life and in parenting and in so much more.
One of the things we did say is “I do”. And I’m so glad I did.
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Sorry, dear Fledglings. I missed this week’s edition of Fledgling Friday. I’ve been sick and, frankly, had no idea what day it was until it was too late. Please come back next week!
