Parenting

In early adulthood, the bipolar disorder that was my genetic destiny was pushed around — shuffled from doctor to doctor, city to city, misdiagnosis to misdiagnosis. Deeply distressed, consumed by sadness after the birth of my first child, they called it “postpartum depression.” If I had manic energy, they called it “drive” or “passion” or “dedication.” Snap decisions, irresponsible, risky, promiscuous behavior — it was just “life learning.” I never finished anything I started, something always got in the way.

When my son was a baby, I used my husband as a second set of hands. He was my co-parent, the other caretaker... I was no longer viewing him as my partner, but rather as an aide to attaining the next level of mothering. Even though my husband never called me out on my behavior, I slowly but surely hung up my need for perfection. Because if being a great mother means being a crappy wife, I don't want any part of it.

After having three kids in four years, my life IS toys and play. It’s a knee-high jumble of babies and boxes, of little pieces of cut up cotton buds and impossible to transform robots, and it is that stomach-sinking feeling at the whooshing sound of a box of Legos being upturned in the toy room.

Despite endless exhortations to "enjoy every second," the reality of three toddlers is not always a Disney postcard. And it's okay for some moms to admit that they look forward to having a little less mess, a little more serenity.

Many women encounter pressure in the delivery room to opt for surgery. If you're a minority, you might face additional scrutiny. But never forget: as long as baby and you are healthy, the choice to push is yours.

Many women encounter pressure in the delivery room to opt for surgery. If you're a minority, you might face additional scrutiny. But never forget: as long as baby and you are healthy, the choice to push is yours.

My daughter was just reaching her first birthday before the dense fog of postpartum depression started to lift off of me. I didn’t realize it right away, though – and I certainly hadn’t even realized I was suffering from PPD at all.

There is a chasm separating "bad behavior" from "being bad." Our kids have to learn from us that their one-time actions do not permanently define them.