You know, it was all blurry at first. My memories aren’t strong when I am in that God forsaken place. Two months of a precious little mouth at my breast and then into a howling windstorm of post partum, psychosis, mania, call it what you may. And then everybody was the Antichrist. And people were lifting up their hands in allegiance to this Antichrist. I have megalomania cal tendencies, as you may have guessed.
I pumped breast milk every day, thinking that was all I had left to give as a motherly duty. My new, precious baby was staying with the in-laws, and I was riding a wave of psychosis that seemed to plateau, not break. I departed from reality, and began to believe the Bible was being re-written by hooligans, and the notes written in my Bible were not penned by me. Oh yeah, and false miracles were happening all around me.
Well, Jess is back. Over a year later, and she’s back. It was a nauseating wave that I rode. I seemed to make a little headway and then slip back into tumult. But now I wake up in the morning to a cheery little face and my husband puts on the coffee. Now church is love and fun. Now my little one and a half year old runs to meet me and we play every day in the lazy river at the pool. I’m on some good dope—you know—meds.
My memories are pockets. I don’t have much of a memory of those first six months of my son’s life. And then even when I was better I wasn’t better. My memories lie like the colored leaves all about the ground right now. Here and there one gets picked up. Did I do that? I think I did.
But now I am proud as the sun. I beam while my son says “purple,” “feathers” and “crane,” the new words on the list for today. He laughs and I giggle. He giggles while I tickle. We are so alive. He says Mummy all the time. I am his favorite flavor. So now I just breathe it all in, and hold it all close to my chest. This is my Alma mater, the school I attended when my beautiful baby was first born, and now I am back in the business of cherishing moments.