Many of women, some of whom I know personally, have struggled with postpartum depression. Postpartum depression is a serious case of sadness, anger, and fear that one can experience after giving birth to their baby. It can be very extreme in some cases or seem rather subtle in others. I have not personally suffered from postpartum depression, but I would like to birth a new diagnosis called postpartum brain damage, which I have suffered from greatly.
I have been asked by many different and very gracious people to write guest blogs or pieces for various different things on various different topics. However I have found it quite difficult to find the time to sit down and actually write anything at all, let alone something someone would actually want to read.
Ok, that was a little tiny lie, I have had some time. But what I haven't had, is the ability to connect one thought to another, or even have more than one thought in my brain that would even need to be connected to another thought, as the first thought probably wasn't even in itself one whole complete thought in the first place. Since having my second child, I have been missing something in my life that I love even more than my husband. It is called sleep. With sleep being erased from life, I have noticed little pieces of brain activity being erased along with it.
"Pregnancy Brain," yet another symptom that is totally real among moms (shit aren't we just the luckiest?) had bled over it's time frame. I was not pregnant anymore. I was supposed to know why I was standing in front of the open fridge, and I was supposed to be able to remember how I had gotten to the open fridge (teleported?). Well here I am eight months later, and I am still trying to get back on the sanity bus. How come no one ever warned me about postpartum brain damage? How come no one ever said, Natalie, you just might fall off the damn horse, but you'll find your way back on. Perhaps if someone would have spoken those words to me, I'd be feeling pretty damn peachy right now.
Well anyway, my second born has FINALLY learned how to sleep through the night. He so graciously gives me from 8pm to 6am, which is a better gift to me than if God himself were to hand me a purple unicorn. I am desperately chasing after my thoughts, catching them in a clenched fist, wrestling them to the ground, and shoving them into an airtight jar where they will find it absolutely impossible to escape me. After I have accumulated a few, I shall string them together into a sequence of excellence, double knot the unpromising end, and throw them over my shoulder until I can add to them again.
If you are suffering or ever have suffered from postpartum brain damage, I tip my glass to you. Here's to regaining what was originally ours.
