meditations of a blueberry

I've moved on. From the baby stage. From the nonstop diaper changing and being the sole source of nourishment. From the endless nights of clusterfeeding. From the pregnancy heartburn. From the feeling of a baby digging its foot into my ribs. From torpedo bellies. From not being able to see my toes. From not being allowed to sleep on my stomach. From strangers' inappropriate questions. From nonstop leaky breasts. I've moved on. And yet, I linger. In the sweet baby squish that still remains. In the smell that I can still faintly smell amongst her baby fine hair. In her still pudgy little fingers and toes. In the way she still snuggles into me, like I am the only one there. In the eyelashes that rest against her cheeks as she sleeps. In the memory of how it felt to carry life within. In the urgency of her latch when she's tired and is looking for more than just nourishment for her belly. In the lines and marks that pregnancy graced me with as a reminder to the miracle ...

Dear postpartum depression, You are not my friend. But I have come to realize that you are my constant companion. Not a welcomed companion, mind you, but a companion nonetheless. No matter what I do or say, you will be there. At what point do you cease to be postpartum depression and just become depression? Because if I'm being honest, you have always been there in some capacity since I was a teenager. Sometimes laying in wait for the perfect moment to show yourself again, letting me believe that you have gone and I have won. Sometimes hiding in the shadows, reaching out with your long fingers caressing my soul and whispering your evil little nothings. Sometimes screaming your lies in my face while your talons dig deep into my heart and mind. Sometimes I've been able to ignore or fight, and sometimes I've succumbed to your attempts to discourage and destroy me and needed someone to come help me fight you. But now, I've realized that you are alwa...