I don't know why this is so hard for me to admit this time around, but I'm really struggling with this whole postpartum depression idea. I had it pretty badly with the twins and went to see my primary care provider early on. She's a mom of twins, as well, and knows all too well the individual issues we MoMs deal with that singleton moms never experience. I clearly remember breaking down in her office and begging her to help me. I was overwhelmed with extreme guilt because, after all, I had been to hell and back trying to have my kids. How could a woman who has spent her entire life only wanting to have children possibly feel the way I was feeling? We had sought out the medical community to have a child after a devastating loss and 12 years of being told I'd never have kids. We prayed with our priest. We made bargains with God. We promised. We begged. We cried. So, how is it after carrying those two precious babies in my body for so long, that I could actually feel the way I was feeling? Of course, I knew the answer. I'm a psychology major. I was premed. I know the logical answer to the question...but that was other women.

So, how is it that after two years of successfully raising twins, that I find myself back in this position? I knew what to expect. I planned it out, perfectly. I prepared myself and asked for help from friends and family so that I could avoid this.

Yet, here I am. Again.

I'm feeling hopeless. Agitated. Anxious. Angry. My thoughts are irrational. I can't sleep. I have moments of suicidal thoughts. I truly believe my family would be better off without me. Then...a moment of clairy takes over and I realize I'm being completely irrational.

My husband stayed home with me the first week. Bless his heart, he tried his best. Men just don't understand, and he's no exception. He tried, he really did. But, how can you possibly understand unless you've been there? So, my mom stayed home last week and I can't possibly begin to explain the relief I felt, instantly. I slept. I nursed. I enjoyed my two year olds because someone else was paying attention to them. My stepmom arrived on Saturday and I know she has the best of intentions, but she isn't being a world of help. It's nice to see her and to visit with her, but she came out here with the intention of helping and hasn't done that. She brought my aunt with her and they show up to the house around 11:00 in the morning. I've explained that I need help early in the morning, but apparently the traffic is just not ideal for them. So, rather than showing up to actually help me while I try and adjust and figure out a schedule and routine, they show up an hour before lunch and sit on the couch while I prepare lunch, feed the kids, change diapers, feed Meghan, and get them in bed. And then, of course, I feel the need to keep them company. So, instead of napping like I really should, I am sitting downstairs with them. Add to that the fact that she smokes like a chimney, I'm buiding big resentments because I don't want her holding Meghan while she reeks of smoke. As a result, I'm limiting her contact with the baby.

So, here I am. I'm 18 days postpartum and I'm exhausted and finding myself back in the same spot I was two years ago. I feel like I should be able to pull myself up by the bootstraps and move on. I feel like I should be ready to go and have everything figured out by now. After all, I've been doing this on my own everyday for two years.

I feel like a tremendous failure tonight.