According to recent polls, roughly 85% of statistics are made up on the spot, and this one is no different. If I had to guess, I'd surmise that roughly 60% of my friends are on some sort of anti-depressant, myself included. Why, you might ask? Well, I'm glad you brought that up.
I'm not sure if this has been some sort of "postpartum" thing, but that's how my Doctor (with a capital D) diagnosed it after Aidan was born, and I found myself going through the same feelings this time around. Not the super-depressed, cry my eyes out, why is this happening to me type of depression, but rather the feeling of looking around one's self and realizing it's been roughly 4 days since my last shower, my leg hairs could be shaved off and sold as a fake beard (Halloween?), I can't find the floor of the laundry room, my youngest child is only happy when playing the "up/down" game (or maybe its cruel cousin, the "Mommy, Fetch!" game), and I have no idea what day of the week it is, much less the actual date.
I travel the roughly 5 miles to the Big D Doctor's office and complain about my woes, so he says he's got the perfect pharmaceutical dream for me. Generic Celexa. Citalopram. At the time, I told him, "Whoa, Doc. I thought Celexa was for people with joint pain." He kindly informed me the joint pain one was Celebrex. "Dammit!" I thought. "Curse those stupid television commercials!" How do the Doctors keep this shit straight? I looked around the office for his crib sheet, but couldn't see one readily available. Damn him. In hindsight, I'm betting it's all encoded in the fancy calligraphy of his wall-hanging-diplomas. How many diplomas does one even need, anyway? Three exam rooms times three or four diplomas hanging in each room, glass picture frames for each...I'm beginning to think this guy is either a sham or a brilliant sham. I decide to take his handy-dandy prescription and give it a shot.
Now that I'm taking this stuff, shit just doesn't bother me anymore. AT ALL. As in, "Homework deadline? Fuck it! I'm rereading the 'Dark Tower' series and CAN'T BE BOTHERED RIGHT NOW." Doesn't that sound much better than being all Type-A and constantly worried about homework and bills and cleaning and diapers and grocery store lists? Hell yes. Yes it does.
Except this one part. There's this small little thing that bothers me. Minute, really. Actually, it's quite minuscule when you really think about it. It's just...okay. Sometimes, I forget where I put the baby.
Listen, it's nothing to be ashamed about. I'm sure a LOT of people have forgotten where they've placed their child. I'm sure it happens ALL THE TIME. I mean, one minute I'm sitting there enjoying myself, reading, the next minute I stand at attention with my arms out at my sides, drop down into a middle stance like a WBA basketball player, and I think, "Holy shit! Where is Caleb?" I try to go through the past few minutes in my mind, but I draw an absolute blank. Then I start looking. Nine times out of ten, he's in his high chair eating lunch, and I smile and think, "Oh, Cherstin. You're so silly. Don't lose the baby again." And then I usually won't lose him for the rest of that day.
Another thing about my anti-depressant? Sometimes, when I'm in the car driving to school, I think, "Man, now would be a good time for a nap." I don't TAKE a nap, I follow that initial thought up with, "That's a stupid idea!" but I still do think I could just take a nap right then and there. Going to school equals NO KIDS. The car becomes my personal bedroom. Plus the car is usually nice and toasty from sitting in the driveway. Is there a more sleep-conducive location than that long stretch of Ponce de Leon Blvd.? I think NOT. Anyway, I'm sure plenty of people feel like napping in the car. Why else did they invent cruise control? Just to let you know, I have never napped in the car, and I will continue to not nap in the car, but how bizarre is that? I don't even feel like I need a blanket when I'm in the car, and who naps without a blanket?
Time to run. I'm fairly certain I forgot to eat breakfast this morning. Also, did I take my pill?
Hasta la vista,
Cherstin
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