rainy Monday

So, it seems as though I'm suffering from PostPartum Depression. Friday night, my dad had to pick me up and bring me to their house because I was afraid I would hurt myself if I stayed at home, even though my husband was here. Sometimes, when I wake up with Finn in the middle of the night and hubby doesn't even stir, I feel utterly alone. It mostly sucks, because I'm living in a fog, punctuated by moments of utter despair and hopelessness. I'm missing out on my kids' childhoods, and I'm paralyzed by apathy. I should take more pictures, I keep thinking, so that I can look back at this time and not have it completely blanked out in my memory. But then I don't get the camera out and so we've gone since Easter with not one shot of my sweet kids. And they're changing every day. And I'm missing it. And even if I did take pictures, even if I took one thousand pictures a day, I still wouldn't remember fully. I'm crying at my computer as I type this. I should go spend time with Darby, but then I feel guilty that I'm not doing a million other things. I'm never 100% with the kids, and it sucks, and I don't know what to do about it.

One thing to remember: Finn's breath smells sweet like apricots and he pulls off while he's nursing to smile at me and say, "Ah-ooo."