Support

I'm not a fan of extravagant birthday parties for anyone under the age of 30, much less those in the single digits. But for my husband and me, birthdays for our twin daughters represent gratitute, and a celebration of how far we've come.

On their first birthday, we had a small gathering to celebrate the accomplishment of the first year with twins, and to thank those that helped us through the tumultuous time. The first year with new life in our home, with all the changes that come with that; the struggles and triumphs, the heartbreak and the miracles.

It was fitting that my daughters' fourth birthday snowballed from a simple get together into a full blown Princess Party BBQ, with 30 attendees.

There were a few moments during the day when I  was overwhelmed with the sight of our guests, each helping in their own way, comfortable in our house, some meeting each other for the first time, but all connected by our love for them, and vice versa.

Each person represents a different branch of the tree that is our support system. Their involvement in our lives helps me in ways they probably don't even realize. Unaware of their unique contribution, they never cease to amaze me.

I watched as my future brother-in-law carefully guided Tristyn on her new bicycle, running beside her up and down the sidewalk, his hands ready to protect her at a moments' notice. I spied my sister-in-law washing chocolate cake covered hands from one of our miniature guests. During the candle blowing, I looked up from my post behind the girls to see a dozen cameras catching the moment, cherishing these little girls that they love.

My greatest hope is that my daughters will thrive and frolic in the leaves from the tree, long after the presents and toys have been discarded. 

Riding bikes!

Passion

The further away my dark postpartum depression becomes in the rear view mirror, the more I can see how far I've come.

I feel that desire for life, the passion for things I enjoy so much more often than 4 years ago.

Life had become a Sisyphean list of chores that I didn't want to do; dishes, laundry, picking up after two babies, all while trying to squash the formidable urge to close my eyes and just sleep. Its difficult to unravel the depression from the exhaustion of twins, but it is becoming easier in retrospect.

Nowadays, I want to throw on my tennis shoes and jog through my neighborhood, feeling the fresh air on my face, my iPod blaring music in my ears. I carve out time to sit at my craft desk and create, instead of looking at the messy desk and feeling overwhelmed by it. I want to lounge in the comfort of my bed, not to sleep, but to get lost in the weaving story of a good book. I get inspired to experiment with a new recipe and "play" in my cozy kitchen.

I sing in the car.

I smile at random thoughts that occur to me.

I relish a sunset, or a patch of freshly sprouted flowers. I notice the small things that were blurred by the haze of depression.

And most important to me, I feel surges of love for those around me, whereas I took them for granted before... When the dam finally broke, when the realization took hold that I was depressed, I called my best friend and, through heaving sobs, I told her I was sorry for "faking it" for so long. For pretending that I was fine, and for not letting her (or anyone) in on my innermost mental state.

I don't have to pretend anymore, and that is more freeing than anything.

If only it were as simple as a bandaid...