Post. Just post.

This should be post-partum, or post-pregnancy, or post-birth. But there has been so much going on, I can't sum it up in one word. Post-chaos, maybe.

We had a baby on May 10th, and I had a successful VBAC, and no, I didn't die, which almost never happens, but that's not the same as never. And then I had a major depressive episode and spent three weeks wishing I had died there in the delivery room. And then there were doctors and meds and sleepless nights and going back to work and money and all that. But Charlie is doing well, he's getting the hang of sleeping at night, and he's starting to smile and laugh. That makes things much easier.

It's hard. Sometimes I wish I wasn't here, but somewhere else alone. The desert maybe, watching the sun set, or Paris, sitting in a cafe and maybe not quite alone. Being a mother involves a certain loss of identity - you sometimes feel as if you are the least important person in your house. But you aren't; you are the most important person, but only for what you can give.