Can a grandmother have postpartum depression?
Or at least, postpartum unsettledness?
I think I do.
Last night I could feel a switch turn in me, just like the old days when I had hormonal switches, those fast, lightening-like jolts from one stage of my cycle to the next, leaving me panting and breathless and angry and sorrowful and wondering what in hell I was doing here on earth.
But I can't blame hormones now and I am not sure what's going on but it'll pass and knowing that is at least one good thing about aging which honestly, doesn't have a hell of a lot to offer as far as I'm concerned. Sure, you know a lot of shit but no one cares to hear about it and everyone on this earth has to learn the hard way- by experience- so what the hell good is it?
I and everyone else I know keep making the same mistakes over and over and over again and today that seems ragingly obvious to me and it also seems outrageously obvious that I will never be the person I wish I was and never get accomplished the things I would wish I had and yes, yes, okay, yes, that's all okay and fine and so what? but hey- feelings are feelings and these are mine today.
Maybe it's all just knowing that I have done my job, DNA and RNA-wise, done it and done it and yea, even unto the next generation and now I just feel like a vestigial tail or, as they say, tits on a boarhog.
Everything is pissing me off and mostly myself.
But, as I said, this will pass and maybe it's natural. I've come to discover that there isn't a whole lot of groundbreaking information on being a grandparent although now that Anne Lamott has written a book about her first grandchild and the whole experience, I am sure that the subject will be busted wide open and it'll be the new cool thing and I should read that book but I'm too bitter right this second and too pissed off and if anyone in this world would be able to admit that, it would be Anne Lamott and she can do it a whole lot better than I can so there you go.
Go read the book. I'm sure it's fantastic. It's called Some Assembly Required: A Journal Of My Son's First Son.
Then get back to me and tell me if there is such a thing as grandmotherly postpartum depression, okay?
Happy Friday, y'all.