Damn PTSD

March 17, 2015

All right.  My mom does keep pointing out that I’m also post-partum, so yesterday wasn’t solely the fault of PTSD. Definitely didn’t make things easier.

For the record, having a living child does not make having lost one easier.  It does not negate the grief.  Having a successful birth experience does not cure one of childbirth-trauma PTSD.

There was a tsunami yesterday.  You may remember my mom describing those times you just can’t stop crying as a tsunami.  That was me yesterday.

The second night with just Anna and me did not go quite as well.  Someone decided that she didn’t want to go to bed.  I got her down long enough for me to go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, get bottles set for quick preparation in the middle of the night, and climb into bed.  Then she decided that she was going to cry unless I was holding her.  For an hour.  It probably would have been longer, but that was when I put her in the co-sleeper with the vibration and heartbeat sound turned on.  This meant that the schedule was a bit off.  Instead of feeding at 5, she woke up at 3:30.  (And slept until 7:15…  So I pumped after the 3:30 bottle and went back to bed at 5.)  I did not sleep well.

This was particularly frustrating because I had a 10:30 appointment at the jewelers about resetting my pendant to add an amythest for Anna.  And I was exhausted.  And that usually means I just want to crash at 10.

Not that it turned out to matter.  I got to the jewelers and discovered that they’re closed on Mondays.  Now, I know I said “10:30 on Monday” when I confirmed the appointment time.  I actually sent them an email while standing in the foyer outside the store.

But that was it.  I got back to my parents’ house (they were watching Anna) and started to cry.  And I couldn’t stop.  And it was such a silly little thing.  Frustrating, to be sure, but just a little thing.

And then the diaper service called.  In the middle of my 2pm nap.  To insist that we hadn’t returned all of the diapers and covers.  Which we did.  (If I’d recognized the number, I wouldn’t have answered.)  I put my dad on the case.  (They’re also saying he returned four that we’d missed returning with the last pick-up.  Which is also wrong.  He returned one, not four.  Either they can’t count or they have us confused with another client.)  But it was still one of those little things.

It was just one of those days.  

My mom stayed last night.  (She’s feeding Anna as I write.)  My dad came for dinner.  And because my mom had Knitters’ Guild, he stayed while I took a shower and did my bookkeeping.  And then he stayed a bit longer, just to make sure I was okay.  And I was.

It was just one of those days. 

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