Dear Alex,

this letter is hard for me to write, but I feel like I should be honest with you about every step of our lives together.

I feel like I may be struggling with some postpartum depression. I know almost every woman gets some baby blues, but it feels like more than that. I've dealt with depression in the past, so I recognize the signs. Actually, because of the problems I've had in the past, I have been pretty hyper-vigilant about PPD.

What you have to understand is that this has NOTHING to do with how much I love you. The moment I saw you for the first time, I was in complete awe of how amazing you were. I simply couldn't believe that your father and I had made something this perfect. But sometimes, after a woman gives birth, the chemicals in her body get a little screwed up, and it's hard for her to be as happy as her heart knows it wants to be. It's very frustrating because she is constantly in the presence of a tiny miracle, and she finds herself overwhelmed, intimidated, and terrified -- more than is probably normal.

When you are older, you may watch a movie called "As Good As It Gets." It's a really good movie, so I hope you do. In it, Jack Nicholson's character has debilitating Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. He's out on a date with Helen Hunt's character, and he says something really hurtful to her. She wants to walk out, and she says the only way she will stay is if he pays her a really good compliment. The following conversation ensues:

Melvin: Okay, now. I got a great compliment for you, and its true.
Carol: I'm so afraid you're about to say something awful.
Melvin: Don't be pessimistic. It's not your style... Okay. Here I go. Clearly a mistake. I've got this...what?...ailment. My doctor, this shrink I used to go to all the time...he says in 50-60% of the cases a pill really helps. Now I hate pills. Very dangerous things, pills. I am using the word hate here with pills. Hate 'em. Anyway I never took them...then that night when you came over and said that you would never...well, you were there, you know what you said. And here's the compliment. That next morning, I took the pills.
Carol: I'm not quite sure how that's a compliment for me.
Melvin: You make me want to be a better man.

That's how you make me feel, little guy. In the past, I tried to find a lot of different ways to deal with my depression and anxiety. I took some herbal supplements, exercised a lot, and just tried to get out of the house and be with friends. Right now, I can't do any of those things, so it's hard. One of my doctors mentioned that PPD is one of the only forms of depression that doesn't generally respond well to talking therapy; it just has to be medicated because it's a physical, chemical, hormonal problem. I hate the idea of taking anti-depressants. I have never wanted to. But if that's what they think will help, I will be HAPPY to take them. I will gleefully take them every day, if that's what I have to do to get myself out of this funk. Because you make me want to be a better person.

You make me want to be a beacon of joy and hope in your life. I don't want to miss a second of happiness right now because you will only be this tiny and helpless and innocent for a very short time. I don't want to let it drag on for months, denying that anything might be wrong, and find myself in a hole too deep to get out of. I can't afford that kind of stubborn selfishness anymore. It's no longer about me. It's about you. And your Dad, who leaves me in awe every day, when I see how he is with you.

Now, from everything I've read, the baby blues are normal, and you should only be concerned if it drags on past a couple of weeks. So I made an appointment with my doctor for your two-week birthday, and if I still feel down, then we will do what we have to do. If there's anything I can teach you from this experience, it is this -- don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it. Don't be afraid to admit that something might be wrong.

I love you so much, and I hope you don't think less of me as a Mom. From what I hear, being a parent is about making sacrifices, so this time, I am sacrificing my unhealthy pride. I will do what I need to do.

Love,
Mom

9 days out of the oven