In preparation for the baby, I’ve completely weaned off my Zoloft.

My doc suggested I start in June, so I started in April. Obviously.

And this is why he is a doctor and I am not a doctor.

So now I am feeling…I am feeling….I am feeling too much, I guess.

My heart feels heavy.

My breath feels short.

Most of my days are spent going through the motions. X-ing the days off my calendar. Waiting to feel normal again.

I’ve been camouflaging my emotions, hiding the heavy ones from my sweet boy. Smiling, hugging him, making him laugh, hoping he doesn’t see the cloud hovering over my head.

I have a lot on my plate at the moment.

And it’s nothing delicious, like enchiladas.

Periodically, I’ll hear Dory from Finding Nemo in my head.

Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.

So, that’s what I’m doing.

Swimming.

Well, floating along, mostly.

And without a beer.

Total Bummer.

These hormones and me? Don’t get along.

I can’t wait to feel like myself again.

40ish more days to go.

*No one send any men in white coats to come check on me (unless they are totally hot). Because, really, in the grand scheme of things, I am OK. Still showering. Still feeding my kid. Still shaving my legs. Still writing stupid shit on the internet. This is just me venting on a tough day. Because, the writing? Definite therapy.

**Join me for my next post, where I go into detail about cockblocking a pigeon in the Walgreen’s parking lot and how I think massage chairs are weird.