The Baby Blues Paradox

Postpartum depression is a very real thing.

That said, just like in pregnancy, there are crazy hormones that make you cry or overwhelm you at certain points during your postpartum first year.

For example.

Two absolutely in tears moments for me.

One caused by a clogged toilet. My poor husband was out getting snow off our driveway. The toilet was clogged (again) and not unclogging. Luckily, Anna laid quietly in her bassinet while Mommy cried because she was overtired and felt completely and utterly hideous (see previous post regarding aunt calling me HOMELY). Thankfully for Mommy, Anna put herself to sleep, while unfortunately for Daddy, he came in to the bathroom to see Mommy covered in toilet water, crying her eyes out, completely incomprehensible.

And then there's today. Where I cried in the parking garage over losing my parking ticket. Since my company doesn't own the garage, we have a deal with them to get rebate tickets. I had my rebate ticket, but not the parking ticket for the garage. You used to be able to get away with just the rebate ticket. Apparently this is no longer the case.

And of course, as the sh*ttiest classiest most expensive garage in Boston, if you lose your ticket you have to pay full price. OK, fine. But in order to get helping actually LEAVING the garage, you have to get a real person.

This is the 21st century. 98% of garages have some sort of button you can push to call for help.

Not these.

You have to pull out your damn cell phone and call the phone number that is stuck to the machine with MASKING TAPE.

Classy.

So excuse me if after a day in Boston with my newborn (who was a goddamn angel, and I'm not kidding), when some lady comes yelling at me to get out of the way with my car (not that I can understand her voice bouncing off the garage walls) and then to get OUT of the car to go fill out a FORM because I lost my damn ticket, I wasn't in the best of moods. My boobs were killing me, and it takes over an hour to get home. Just let me out of this godforsaken hellhole of stationary vehicles and take my newborn home so I can empty these babies out before they explode all over your shoes. OR I WILL RUN YOU OVER.

So not only was I late getting into the city (stopped dead on the highway twice for NO REASON), now it's taken me 20 extra minutes of painful boobs and and extra $35 spent to buy my way out of hell.

At least I resisted the urge to run her over....