It doesn't feel like depression-depression, but I'm constantly overwhelmed, want to cry for no particular reason, and various other things.
It passes. You've got about another two and a half years. (Wish I were exaggerating.) Erm, it gets easier? Or at least, it *changes* when she's self-mobile; you get random bouts of *panic* to go with the exhaustion and lethargy.
It doesn't sound like PPD. It sounds like the absolutely normal exhaustion that comes from focusing your entire waking life on somebody else's needs, especially when the somebody isn't verbal enough to tell you what those are. You are, like most mothers, attempting to force yourself to spontaneously develop telepathy, and it's wearing you out. (Oh, and you feel guilty for not being telepathic enough, and for not getting enough "real work" done, whatever that is, and for every moment you realize that your attention has wavered from the object-of-desired-telepathy, whom you're pretty sure is going to learn to fly or teleport into very dangerous locations if you stop watching her.)
TAKE. WHAT. YOU. NEED.
If you need to lock yourself in the bathroom and shower until the water runs cold, then sit in the tub and cry until it's warm again, and repeat, twice more, do that. If you need to take dishes and break them with a hammer so there's a mess you are in *control* of, do that. If you need to eat something that takes a knife and fork and no interruptions whatsoever, do that. If you don't know what you need and you're just tired and achy and bitchy about it, go ahead & be tired and achy and bitchy. (Avoid over-use of knives and anything involving electricity not kept inside wires.)
Babies eat your brain. They're supposed to; they can't survive in the wild, and they need a guardian. Preferably, several guardians.
All the guardians go a bit crazy as they try to figure out the needs and wants (and geeze, let's not think about what *social* lessons the sprout's picking up) of someone who can't explain what's wrong and often can't appreciate when things are done right. (Babies do not thank you for pulling splinters.)
There are damnfew Feri exercises that even remotely help, because all that "keep your power" focus doesn't work when you're trying to feed power to someone else, as fast as she can grow to take it. You can't risk balancing your souls because *your* Fetch says "I'm tired and hungry and sick of listening to that screaming person in the bouncy-chair; I'm going to bed." (Instead, you get to try to substitute *her* Fetch for yours. Crazy-making, that is.)
Umm... good luck? Hugs? {{{YOU}}} It's not always exhausting, and the rewards are incredible.
If you're wondering if you sound, erm, "normal," or "close to the edge"... nah, this is normal. Parenting sucks sometimes. Makes you wonder how they did it for the thousands of years before they had night lights and stored food.
no subject
It passes. You've got about another two and a half years. (Wish I were exaggerating.) Erm, it gets easier? Or at least, it *changes* when she's self-mobile; you get random bouts of *panic* to go with the exhaustion and lethargy.
It doesn't sound like PPD. It sounds like the absolutely normal exhaustion that comes from focusing your entire waking life on somebody else's needs, especially when the somebody isn't verbal enough to tell you what those are. You are, like most mothers, attempting to force yourself to spontaneously develop telepathy, and it's wearing you out. (Oh, and you feel guilty for not being telepathic enough, and for not getting enough "real work" done, whatever that is, and for every moment you realize that your attention has wavered from the object-of-desired-telepathy, whom you're pretty sure is going to learn to fly or teleport into very dangerous locations if you stop watching her.)
TAKE. WHAT. YOU. NEED.
If you need to lock yourself in the bathroom and shower until the water runs cold, then sit in the tub and cry until it's warm again, and repeat, twice more, do that. If you need to take dishes and break them with a hammer so there's a mess you are in *control* of, do that. If you need to eat something that takes a knife and fork and no interruptions whatsoever, do that. If you don't know what you need and you're just tired and achy and bitchy about it, go ahead & be tired and achy and bitchy. (Avoid over-use of knives and anything involving electricity not kept inside wires.)
Babies eat your brain. They're supposed to; they can't survive in the wild, and they need a guardian. Preferably, several guardians.
All the guardians go a bit crazy as they try to figure out the needs and wants (and geeze, let's not think about what *social* lessons the sprout's picking up) of someone who can't explain what's wrong and often can't appreciate when things are done right. (Babies do not thank you for pulling splinters.)
There are damnfew Feri exercises that even remotely help, because all that "keep your power" focus doesn't work when you're trying to feed power to someone else, as fast as she can grow to take it. You can't risk balancing your souls because *your* Fetch says "I'm tired and hungry and sick of listening to that screaming person in the bouncy-chair; I'm going to bed." (Instead, you get to try to substitute *her* Fetch for yours. Crazy-making, that is.)
Umm... good luck? Hugs? {{{YOU}}} It's not always exhausting, and the rewards are incredible.
If you're wondering if you sound, erm, "normal," or "close to the edge"... nah, this is normal. Parenting sucks sometimes. Makes you wonder how they did it for the thousands of years before they had night lights and stored food.