My sister called on a day that wasn’t working.
My three-month old daughter was supposed to nap at noon. Like most nights, I hadn’t slept well, and was exhausted instead of rested in the morning. I was hungry for sleep at 9, yearning by 10:23, biding time anxiously at 11:15 and 11:37.
When noon came around, I lay down with my baby in our big bed and tried to be patient while she fell asleep.
Except she didn’t.
Desperate, I tried, and tried again while she turned from side to side and gurgled and fussed when I didn’t pick her up to play.
Every minute that passed, I ran through why she wasn’t falling asleep. I’d gotten five different books on sleep, and tried, in my exhaustion, to decide which of the methods I should follow. All of them had suggestions, many conflicting, and all of them would need a level of commitment and sanity from me that I hadn’t had since before my child was born. I didn’t feel skillful enough or brave enough to do anything, but if I didn’t do something, I—well, I didn’t know what I’d do.
A year later, I’d see my darkness for what it was: depression. But at the time, I couldn’t see clearly enough to understand why my brain was going haywire…
I’m at the lovely Bronwyn Lea’s blog today, sharing some words that changed my world. Won’t you join me there?
Photo Credit: Ladybug Larva/Eric Begin (Flickr Creative Commons), edited by Bronwyn Lea.