Twenty years ago, postpartum depression was this taboo unknown that nobody would acknowledge, and you were obviously instrumental in bringing it to people’s attention in a positive way. That was undoubtedly foolishly difficult to do and I’m sure you realize how important it was to get it out into the ether.
In reality, everyone gets it, or at least it would be surprising if they didn’t, and I’m assuming it lasts a minimum of 18 years. Everyone with a kid inevitably tells you how amazing it is, how it’s love at first and every sight, how etc., but these people all have crazy eyes and aren’t to be trusted. They need to shut their butts up and let each person figure out how to manage this insane life upheaval and get help if they’re having a hard time doing it.
Pre-kids, I would talk about my post-party depression, not even trying to be punny but thinking it was actually a thing, but the cure was usually a solid brunch with people I shared the previous night with. Now that I’m a father of two, I realize what a fool I was to even use that term with relatively flippant intentions. Children are a burden, to everyone with them, and still other parents and non-parents alike refuse to even consider this, since every baby is a miracle and will be the next president and you’ll be on the sidelines thinking that you did such a great job and the blah and the blah and the blah, but who wants their kid to be president anyway. How did that become the gold standard? Happiness and its attempts are neglected in lieu of success, financially and career-wise and relationally, but what about the happy, huh? What about the happy?
[Editor’s note: The author apparently honestly thought this was a legitimate ending, even as I attempted to point out the incoherence and the tangential nature of his final sentences and that original thought appearing sincere and then turning into a nothing that stopped too abruptly to make any sense of it, but still he used one of his six annual vetoes against me, and so I am prohibited from providing him with any advice or using any editing techniques or having any contribution whatsoever besides this single sentence which – considering the rules of the veto which I don’t even remember agreeing on but it’s right there in the contract, he showed me my signature and I could swear it’s forged but I have no real evidence to this – is the limit for my one note on the piece, although there was no character limit so that’s why it’s turned into a bit of a ramble on its own, oh no, am I turning into him, my god I can’t even use a question mark there, it’s probably best if I just stop now please forgive.]