Boy howdy, this week has been a lesson in humility. Whether we moms want to admit it or not, the first couple of months with a new baby is a parade of sweats, yoga pants, no makeup, and messy buns.
It also goes without saying that dreams of a clean house go right out the window. Aside from the occasional load of dishes or laundry, it's all a Mama can do to remain upright and conscious enough to keep the kids alive. Ironically, in today's Superwoman-charged society, we also feel guilty for said mess and for not jumping right back into the swing of things with energy and confidence.
I've been no exception, and after some chronic sleep deprivation and anxiety, have accepted an increased dosage of antidepressant from my doctor. I've also been semi-forced to come to grips with the fact that the pile of randomness stacked in my closets and cabinets is a clear representation of my state of mind- cluttered and dusty, and not something I can deal with alone.
God Bless my husband for seeing what I've been too stubborn to admit, that I need help getting this house back in order. I'm no superhero, not impervious to bullets or exhaustion. So today we met with our new cleaning lady, and I think I'm in love. Not only did she not make me feel the least bit lazy or incompetent, but when I casually mentioned I was being treated for PPD (Post-Partum Depression), she gave me a huge, sympathetic hug and said she'd do all she could to help me.
Now, not only am I okay with not being Superwoman, I kind of like it. My support team has a new member, and I am tremendously grateful.
All that's left is to cuddle the baby and pray she doesn't spit up on my last clean shirt.
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