One of the things I struggled with when I had Postpartum depression (PPD) was channeling my frustrations at my baby (sometimes subconsciously, other times consciously, thanks to the monster that depression is). It has been, and still is, a work in progress. I am glad for the progress thus far; it is not something I take for granted. The other day, I had an incident that made me smile, think of it as my pick me up.
After a particularly hard day (with work, power blackouts and just the toll working from home has on any mom), I was not having my best of moments. It didn’t help LO was in a super exuberant mood. Exuberant here means active, energetic, and just about everything that resembles blending food without your lid on! And so somewhere in that mishmash of events, I found myself lashing out, initially just venting out loud before it morphed into talking AT him…
At some point I literally just had to walk away because I felt my frustrations boiling in me past tipping point. LO came around, and for a moment, I pursed my lips thinking, “Oh boy, not now.” Then he did what I least expected. He stretched forth his hands and gave me the warmest bear hug I have had in the last couple of weeks.
In that very moment, every frustration melted away. For a couple of seconds, I was holding on to the fleeting nature of his kind gesture, soaking in the warmth and embracing the gift of grace at the least expected times. These ‘Small’, and I hesitate to use the word small, moments of grace in the midst of mundane days. I carried this with me for the rest of the week, and to-date. I don’t think there’s a better pick me up than the genuine innocence of a child’s kindness. A constant reminder of the far we have come from scary anger.