I woke up with a spleen. In fact, I have been waking up with a spleen for the last three days. Another good old shower could not wash away my gloominess so I wikipedia-ed ‘postpartum depression’. I finally self-diagnosed myself as not going through the big D. Note: It is stupid to self-diagnose when it comes to D so if you have doubts, please see someone. I have learnt some interesting stuff though such as ‘Some cultures believe that the symptoms of postpartum depression or similar illnesses can be avoided through protective rituals in the period after birth. Chinese women participate in a ritual known as “doing the month” in which they spend the first 30 days after giving birth resting in bed, while the mother or mother-in-law takes care of domestic duties and childcare. In addition, the new mother is not allowed to bathe, wash her hair, leave the house, or be blown by the wind.’ Amazing, right?
If it was not depression, then what the hell was it? How did it start? And more importantly how the f*** can I make it go A-W-A-Y??? I wondered if it was just a question of numbers. I decided, a long time ago, to laugh in the face of numbers such as the extra pounds still to be shed, the shrinking level of her savings or the non existent number of interesting job postings out there. However, I was in a funk because of stupid numbers.
3 years ago was the last time I received a salary check.
1 year ago was when L arrived in our lives and he is still not sleeping through the night; which means 1 year ago was the last time I might have had a decent night sleep.
38 is how many candles my BFF, Natasha will blow Down under without me…again.
2 unpleasant phone conversations with people who were trying to screw me by double charging me. Guess whom? The building rental company and a health provider. Typical USA, I suppose.
25 is the number of unknown ‘busy moms’ I agreed to meet for a work lunch at Bryant Park. I don’t do moms support groups – strange, I know. However, for some reasons when I saw this vague but somewhat simple and endearing tag line ‘busy moms networking’, I thought why not? I am a mom and I am busy…kind of. But as my red lipstick broke while I was applying it and thus trashed my shirt, I almost bailed out. Not only I don’t do moms support groups but I don’t do chit chat either. I am more like an intense geek-o-mama who scrutinizes you from head to toe, punches you hard when she laughs, swears like a truck driver and wants you to start some kind of rebellion somewhere. In other words, I am not good material for casual work lunch breaks.
But I kicked myself in the a** once, twice and three times and found the perfect outfit to fight my blues: a Flip Jackson jacket from Natasha, a combination of beads and chains (I liked the cute and tough combo), a LINKS friendship bracelet, a stripes shirt by good old Marks&Spencer (can you feel the British nostalgia vibe?) and a pair of Jhay shoes. Yes, if you cannot snap out of it, you may as well wear it!
And it did help. The Busy moms group thing was actually very good. Yeah for strong and kind women. Most of them were working moms with only one child: lawyers, branding specialists, fashion designers, business owners etc. And then, the weirdest thing happened. One of them brought her tot who chose me out of the whole lot to feed her. Everyone was in awe and seemed to think I was some kind of Mama guru with 3 children. I blurted: ‘Ok, now this freaks me out. I am not even a great mom and my kids never want me to feed them!’ Most moms actually got my humor and laughed. It was getting weirder and weirder indeed because as I took the bus home, I realized I no longer had the blues.