Page 71 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)

Whitney

I stare down at the bottle of pills clutched in my hand, and when I let my gaze flicker to the picture of Brinley on the dash, my eyes begin to burn for what must be the fourth or fifth time today.

It’s a picture of her the day after she turned six months old.

It was the first time she sat up on her own, and she was wearing the best kind of gummy smile on her face.

My heart clenches at the sight, remembering how excited I was to catch the moment on camera.

How is time such a thief? How did she get so big, so fast?

It’s like you blink, and all time does is slip through your fingers like water.

I would have done anything to get through those first few newborn nights, but God, it hurts to know she’s growing up.

It hurts to know that I wasn’t all there the first few months–that I missed out on some of the best days of my life.

That I let myself become a shell of who I used to be.

That, in some ways, I still am a shell of the woman I was.

It’s the very reason I went to the doctor today.

Postpartum hit me harder than I could have ever imagined.

It’s impossible to prepare for the things that people tell you to prepare yourself for, because you can’t prepare for something you’ve never experienced before.

There were days when I couldn’t even pull myself out of bed.

Days I’d cry and beg for her to calm down.

When I’d get frustrated and scream, and then wallow in guilt and shame over the tears I had caused.

When I’d look in the mirror and not recognize the woman staring back at me.

Messy hair, puke-covered T-shirt, and eye bags so dark they seemed never-ending.

I was in denial for months, because I grew up in a family that taught me mental health wasn't something you ran to pills for. But Brinley deserves a mom who’s present.

Who wants to wake up energized and ready to play with her.

Who’s excited to start the day–not one who breaks down at the slightest inconvenience.

She doesn’t deserve a mom like the one I had.