More than Baby Blues

It’s 8 a.m., the baby cries
And all I want is to join her
I wage war to leave these tangle of sheets
EVERY DAY
But I know I have to.
I manage to drag myself and my emotional storm up,
Flooding throughout the house as I walk.

The kids must know something’s wrong,
The tides of anguish permeate through walls.
My four year old huddles with his little sister
Whispering a ringing truth,
”Mommy just doesn’t feel like herself today”.
No finger paints this day, no playing outside-
No stories, no games.

This swirling gray of despair sucking me in,
The ache pains me so much.
How can I be depressed?
Yet here I am, feeling like I’m drowning,
Wishing nothing more than to disappear
Pouring bowls of cereal while pouring tears of angst

This debilitating fog, this cold emptiness,
So hard to explain to anyone, including me-
But how do I explain to them?
My biggest reasons to smile stand before me,
Sweet, lively, exuberant and giggly;
Why oh why can’t I join them?

Why must we play only on days I feel good?
Why must I feel bad at all?
Childhoods stained with streams of listlessness,
From a distraught mother who,
Only after battle with herself,
Can force the sunshine to break through,
At least once in awhile.

But I could never push these two away,
They, the living secrets inside my soul,
And though I struggle, morning to night,
To fight this emotional strife,
I admire these children I call my own,
And know that, somehow,
I’ll make it through another day.

If not for me,
At least,
For them.