The last four weeks of my pregnancy were hellish. First, my doctor almost killed me and my unborn son by administering an anemia treatment to which I had a severe allergic reaction.
I could barely walk by the end, and when my doctor told me she wanted to deliver me five days early, I issued no protest.
Now I'm wishing I could turn back the clock.
It isn't the baby - he is as sweet as pie, some nights even sleeping for six hours at a stretch. He wakes twice at the most. The blessing of birthing an almost 10-pounder. I earned some good karma while waddling around with his big noggin pressing on my cervix.
But this week? This week after the birth?
Is from HELL.
First, every in-law I have descended on me, with my FIL and MIL doing their level best to divert my husband's attention from me and our new baby. Their 30-year-old divorce feud spills over into every family event, culminating this time in a call from my MIL to my husband the day after I came home from the hospital, summoning him to her hotel room so she and her husband could interrogate my husband as to his "feelings' about the divorce.
IT WAS 34 YEARS AGO. GET OVER IT ALREADY.
Then my brother found me on Twitter and made his way to my blog. This is such a bad, bad thing. Such a very very bad bad thing. He and his wife now have the goods on me - my mother doesn't know about my blog, and my brother - and especially his wife - hate my mother.
There is little to deter him from using my blog as a weapon against my mom - or me, for that matter - should one of them get in a snit about something.
And I don't want to hurt my mom. I never told her about my blog, because at the beginning it was a place for me to vent and grieve in private anonymity. Not even my husband reads it, giving me free reign to write honestly about my inner life.
A freedom now curtailed.
I am stifled by the idea of their eyes on my words. I'm tentative, where once I was fearless.
What do I do? Clear out my archives of precious words and tell her? Or wait, crouched in defensive position, to have the bomb dropped for me?
How do I explain it?
Oh, and just after that, my husband decided we should finally, after six years of marriage, combine our bank accounts. Let's just say we have very different ideas when it comes to finances. And that was the last vestige of freedom I had - my own checking account.
As a woman who gave up all her independence to stay home and raise children, the few dollars I earn from my writing gave me a sense that I am not totally reliant on my husband.
And now I am.
I had hoped to avoid anti-depressants this time around. But major life changes are my biggest triggers. How about a series of stressful life-changing events?
Please pass the Lexapro.