I’m all about trying to celebrate the small victories these days.
I’ve been feeling pretty down – I’m not sure if its postpartum depression or baby blues or my normal anxiety and depression or even some combination of the above. Regardless of what it is, it is horrible and mean and lies, as most mood disorders do.
It tells me that I’m not doing enough or what I am doing, I’m doing wrong. It tells me that I should be more careful with putting Lucas down for tummy time. It tells me that I should have him on an actual sleep schedule instead of just following his cues. It tells me that I should have him sleeping comfortably in a crib instead of co-sleeping and waking to nurse through the night.
In a conscious effort to fight these feelings, I am silently congratulating myself for what I consider to be small victories. For example:
- There are currently no dirty dishes in the apartment.
- I managed to pump a couple of feedings’ worth of milk today despite not being on a proper pumping schedule.
- I sorted a bunch of childhood photos by year and put myself in a position to organize them further and scan them.
- I just changed Lucas’ diaper without waking him.
These victories sound silly when I type them out or say them out loud, but each one feels monumental in my head. Each one is like a lighthouse shining through the fog of depression.
Of course, there is also a foghorn in this metaphor: baby giggles. I’m convinced that if you could bottle baby giggles and the amazing sweet, milky smell of a baby, you could solve so many problems at once.
Who knew that becoming a mother would turn me a bit more optimistic?