hope in a jar.

Why do most of the women I know who stay at home with kids struggle with depression at least some of the time? Were our moms depressed too? Our grandmas? Did they have the luxury to think about such things when there were meals to make and diapers to wash? What if there were no Prozac?

After Claire was born it took me months to regain my footing. I cried. A lot. What pulled me out then was trips to the gym.

This time I was prepared. I talked with my midwives about the possibility of post-partum depression. I had a plan. I had a fancypants double stroller. It wasn't going to happen again. Only it did.

Exercise is great, but when you're exhausted, it's not particularly helpful advice. Also the logistics of lugging 2 kids to the gym alone seemed impossible. I saw a naturopath. I started taking a tincture. I started drinking a tea. In no time, I started wanting to get some exercise. I feel more like myself than I have in months.

I don't want to be the girl that needs my herbs to feel fine, but it seems that I am that girl. I have written about my nethers, I've posted photos of my pregnant self and this is the post that I didn't want to write. A small part of me wondered about a time when I am no longer at home with kids. What if those imaginary future people that I want to impress google me and find that in the spring of 2009, I saw a naturopath for depression?

But I feel so much better that I just can't keep quiet. I find myself turning into a herb-pushing hippie. At the playground the other day, my kid is one the who picks up a handful of barkchips and says, "Here's your herbs, Mama."

If I start to make my own deodorant, you have my permission to punch me in the face.