The Break Is Not A Break-Up

I don't know. I guess if I were to look at me from outside, I might see it more. I know I've been unusually cranky and sad and blah and despondent. I've had a lot of moments in the last couple weeks when I've threatened to run away from home, mentally planned my escape, weighed the pros and cons of taking the children with.

I saw a joke in the Reader's Digest on Monday that said something to the effect that this woman wasn't suffering many ill side effects from weaning off of her anti-depressants, but her husband suddenly became a jerk.

I don't think the children are any more difficult than before, and I'm pretty sure that Chris hasn't actually turned into an apathetic slob. I think it's me who has changed.

So I mentioned wanting to run away when I was talking to my mom. She thinks it would be a great idea if I ran away with the kids up to Minocqua for a few days. She would help me with the children, and I could relax and sleep more and not have any real responsibilities for a couple of days. My mother thinks I might be suffering from post-partum depression. My mother of all people. That's a wake-up call if I ever heard one.

I don't know if I'll go yet. We'll see how the next week goes. I might have Ben go up north for a few days or I might have him go to daycare once a week for the next month. It would give me a break. Anna isn't really all that difficult, or, it's harder to remove myself from her because of our breastfeeding tether. Or I could go on the prescribed vacation. I'm just scared I wouldn't want to come home. I'm scared that I'd come home to a huge pile of dirty laundry, empty coke bottles scattered around the house, fetid dirty dishes in the sink and no apple juice or clean spoons. I'm scared of what that would do to my marriage.