It is these moments. Today is the second day in a row. At about this same time.
When my daughter will not listen and I am tired and feeling very pregnant.
When Cole has a 103-degree fever and is lying on the floor crying.
Dishes undone.
Toys all around me.
When I sit on this red dining room rug and cry. And wish I were anywhere but here. And wish I were anything but a mom.
And I can understand why women would take their own lives when overwhelmed by it all.
When sitting and crying and asking where is the joy that I feel like some 1950's homemaker, trapped. Wondering how I will go on.
And, of course, I can reassure myself that it is my depression. Overwhelmed. Feeling helpless without my own mother to speak with. To say, to cry, "Mommy, how did you survive?"
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