it's real.

One day, when Miss O was about seven months old, I left her with Uncle Benna for the day. I packed up all my clothes in laundry baskets, put gas in my car, and drove away. 

I wasn't going anywhere in particular, but I needed to go.

I was suffocating and stressed and a miserable wreck. And nobody knew. If they did know, they sure didn't say anything to me. I felt broken and alone, an unpleasant cocktail of postpartum depression and birth control.

And for sure I didn't say anything. On one hand, I like to be in control. It was more than I could handle to mention that I just couldn't handle any more of anything. On the other hand, I was crippled physically and emotionally. I couldn't describe how I was feeling, I had no words at all.

I drove around in my loaded-to-the-gills minivan all day. I considered visiting a friend in Cleveland, but the thought of driving there--a trip I had made hundreds of times--terrified me.

So I went to garage sales.

I realize that makes no sense.

I did go home later that day, and I remember clearly the look on The Mister's face when I pulled in the driveway, a mixture of relief and she's-gone-off-the-deep-end-don't-let-her-know-how-crazy-you-think-she-is.

I had a pretty firm grasp on how crazy I was.

I stopped the birth control pill, and that helped enormously. Eventually things seemed to even out.

I hit another rocky patch after Wee Man was born, fortunately we were on the look out for The Crazies to return. I had a back-up plan in place just in case things started to get out of hand. People were keeping an eye on me for signs that I was reaching my limit. So even though the postpartum zombie came back to bite me again, it wasn't as bad with the safety net.

Things weren't bad at all after HB was born, other than the not sleeping at night thing he had working. Fortunately, that cleared up after eleven long months.

And now Sweets is here. I could tell this was going to be tough. Back in December I started to lose it. And he wasn't even born yet.

So I went on the Keep It Together Pills, and they've been simply lovely. Meaning, I have been lovely. I check with The Mister to make sure I'm really and truly as lovely as I think I am, because my Pamela Barometer doesn't always match up with other people's Pamela Barometer. And despite having to live with me, he does tell the truth.

Also, for the record, I was totally kidding about being mad at him for shattering my life the French Press. I felt like you all might have been concerned for him, and I want to assure you that his life is not in jeopardy. I actually had him read that post before I posted it to make sure it was all right with him. And it was. He even laughed.

Back to the story about Whack Job Me. Because it's my blog, and I can make it all about me if'n I wanna. That's why.

Where was I? Right. The Keep It Together Pills.

They're not as effective now as they were in December. And this is stressing us all out. My fuse is shorter, my house is messier, our diet includes a whole lot more empty calories than usual, I'm a little less nice... and each of those statements is in the running for Understatement Of The Year.

Why am I bringing this up? Aside from the obvious It's My Blog And I Can Make It All About Me If'n I Wanna? I know I'm not the only one. But I only know that because I've been through this tunnel before. And the first two times I was in this here tunnel, I didn't know that I wasn't alone.

It's just that the tunnel can be so dark that you can't see the other mamas who are standing right next to you. We're all holding our breath in here. That's why it's so quiet. And our hearts are all beating so loudly in our ears that we can't hear the shuffling feet and the dripping tears of the other mamas in the tunnel.

We are all there, together. Don't forget.