This post is the second in a five-part series about my struggle with postpartum depression. Click here to read Part One.
After realizing that something was definitely not going right up in my noggin, I started thinking about how it would probably be a good idea to go get checked out.
There were a couple things in particular that finally got me into my doctor's office to have a conversation with her that I never in a million years expected to be having with her.
One was realizing that Dennis had an Ice Queen for a wife the day that I cracked a joke about an old man - it was the first joke I'd cracked in I don't know how long. The next thing was the encouragement of some fellow moms, urging me to talk to my doctor about feeling so dang cranky all the time.
Add the two together, and you get me - going to my doctor's office, hoping that it was just my birth control adding extra hormones and causing my bitchiness and not the dreaded postpartum depression.
I wasn't DEPRESSED. I wasn't sad. It must have been the birth control. It had to be - right?
Certainly it must be something other than ME causing the irritability. I really wanted to be able to point the finger elsewhere.
So, my doctor started asking me questions. I started giving her answers.
Once I started giving her answers, she gave me 2 things.
A diagnosis and a prescription.
Two weeks later, Dennis got his wife back.