A comforting realization about my mental health

I can still vividly remember taking LB to our family doctor for the first time. The doctor, Dr. L., walked in the room, took one look at my face and told us that I had post-partum depression, proceeded to outline what it was, what I might do (hurt the baby, try to commit suicide were a couple of the things she mentioned), and how Tomek should keep a really close eye on me. I know a girl who's a nurse and she said the doc probably laid it on thick like that because they are required to try to catch all cases of this... or something.

I didn't believe I had ppd because I had no thoughts of ever hurting LB, or myself. I remember feeling sad and overwhelmed, and I also remember feeling the same way when I left my family in Toronto to start grade 10 at a high school in Oregon. It's called starting something completely new. I've never enjoyed change... not to say that the change with LB wasn't a great one, but I'm not good at handling change at first. I stress over the smallest details and at the same time feel the enormity of the whole picture and wonder how I could ever possibly just do well at being a parent going on what I've read and my own gut instinct.

I've wondered on and off if maybe I did have ppd, after what Dr L said and what a midwife who came to check on me afterwards said. Everything seemed to hinge on a two-week period, that was the distinction they made between baby blues and ppd. I vividly remember that my mom was with us when the midwife visited, and she hadn't yet arrived when Dr L made her diagnosis. My mom stayed with us for just under two weeks. So that means I was only maybe 1 week into being a new mom when Dr L said I had ppd (not to mention she didn't even ask me questions, she just looked at my face and laid it out there), and 2-3 weeks when the midwife suggested I go to group sessions of new moms that have emotional troubles.

Oh, and add to that Tomek and I were prepping to move and actually did move when LB was 3 1/2 weeks old.

I finally remembered how the time line of these events played out when LB and I were at the park today.

I've been worried about that emotional crap hitting me again the 2nd time around, and possibly even harder than with LB. But knowing that it was only the first couple of weeks, and I was completely fine by 3 weeks (I remember helping with the move, taking LB to rent a storage locker, and slowly assembling our new apartment in the days that followed the move without tears), has put those fears to rest a bit. Plus, I've done this before.

I'm going to be ok.