I should be on a total endorphin high right now. Today I took 5 of my dancers to a small competition, just 5 solos and one duet for my girls. In comparison, our large competition is for my full team: 29 dancers, 13 solos, 6 duets, 4 groups, 1 production, 1 teacher feature, 1 adult dance with 7 ladies in it. Quite stressful. Today was easy and my kids did GREAT. Fantastic, actually. I am extremely pleased with their scores and their critiques were in line with what I was seeing as mistakes. Excellent day.
Here I sit, upset and with a headache. I was on stupid Facebook and saw that one of my dancers was hanging out this weekend with two other girls who can't stand me. I used to teach these two girls and I have nothing against them, but the rumor mills tell me they have nothing nice to say about me.
This shouldn't bother me. I am an adult, these girls are still in high school and one is just out. Their opinion of me SHOULD NOT MATTER.
But it does.
Because I am still fighting post partum depression.
Dave and I had an interesting conversation on our way to the competition this weekend. We discussed for a long time how people aren't really honest about how difficult life with a newborn-baby-toddler is. People gloss over the hard things and focus on how cute the baby is, how nice the snuggles are, how sweet they smell.
These things are WONDERFUL and yes, they do outweigh the hard stuff. Normally. Unless you have a baby like Trace who can't stop crying for four months.
Did you read that?
FOUR MONTHS. He cried, no lie, 10 hours a day at the end. As his mother, I felt like the hugest failure. I couldn't help my son. Dirty diaper? Change it. Hungry? Feed him. Fever? Give him Tylenol. Cold? Grab a sweater. But colic and acid reflux? Unfixable by mom.
You know what else people aren't honest about?
Post. Partum. Depression.
It hurts. A physical ache at times. Achey joints, headaches, sore legs.
It's racing thoughts, uncontrollable worrying, sleepless nights and loss of appetite. (Well, in my case, I am starving all the time.)
It's a lack of desire to do things you normally really enjoy. The inability to rally enough energy to get up and out of bed until the last possible second.
(These, friends, are just my symptoms. Some people have it so much worse.)
Today is a dark day for me. I'm back in the fog of PPD. I am choosing to do something about it though, I'm heading to the doctor tomorrow and I will get it straightened out. I refuse to let PPD mandate my life and my schedule. Rory and Trace deserve me at my best, not at my weakest.
And that is the truth.