children of postpartum depressionTomorrow my son will be ten.  10!  I can’t believe it has now been ten years since my glorious boy was born, and approximately nine years since I had postpartum depression, or to be more precise, postpartum OCD.

Ten years ago I was a mess.  I thought my son would never love me.  I thought I’d end up being taken away and locked up somewhere and not be his mother for long.  I thought that would be a good thing, if I wasn’t his mother for long, because I thought he deserved much better than me.

Now I see how he loves me.  Adores me, even.  We are very close. This is such a gift to me, given my fears back then.  That I had ruined him.

I am a good mom and he is a good boy.

He wasn’t ruined by postpartum depression.  He isn’t ruined.  He’s great.  He’s very healthy.  He’s witty, does great in school and is wonderfully kind.  He’s cute, and thoughtful, and last night we laughed and laughed as he tried to complete his first clarinet lesson and ending up mainly honking out painful notes.

I’m so glad I’m his mom. and that I was so wrong about myself and my ability to mother those ten long years go.

Love conquers all.