Leaving the house since then has been very tricky. When I'm not in the middle of a panic attack (for real--screaming, shaking, crying...it's delightful), I just can't leave to go anywhere because it's -30F degrees outside ('F' is not for Fahrenheit) and impossible to take an infant outside anyway.
So, on the random occasions that I have left the house, I've been pretty weird. If you complement the baby, I inevitably will say something VERY weird. Or like when someone asked me how many kids we have and I answered, "Two. Oh, wait. I forgot about her." You can't say stuff like that to a stranger. They expect you to be happy. Content. Glowing. Basking in the joy of the new life you're lugging around Walmart in a 20-pound car seat, desperately trying to find the bread. (Why can I never find the bread? It seems like they're always moving the bread.)
So...should I really be surprised at myself when I FLIPPED MY LID at the Post Office because the kiosk took my $6 and and gave me no postage? Nah. I started to cry and looked around for something to vandalize. I'm not kidding. If I had had matches, I would have started a fire. To make matters worse, I could hear employees behind the (closed) desk laughing and talking. Not one of them came out to offer me assistance. Yes, I know they were closed. But doesn't it seem like common courtesy to come and help a girl out when she's banging on the door crying, and shouting about postage?
Wise to avoid that girl, yes. Courteous? No.
So… If you see me out and about, give me some extra grace. I'm pretty weird these days. For that matter, if you see any mama with a tiny baby, maybe give her extra grace. Maybe don't talk to her. Let her get in line in front of you at the grocery store. She needs to get home.