Friday, October 14, 2016

Dear Small Boy #2

Dear Small Boy is a series of letters about perinatal depression. To read part one, click here

Dear Small Boy,

When you go to therapy you get treats. This is your mother talking.

Kids and adults both need treats sometimes, especially when we do something hard. Therapy is hard because it makes me feel really, really, really bad for a while and then better later. It's not your fault, it just is.

I still don't know what to say to you, but last night I played you some songs. Up until now, our musical diet has been a mainstay of gangster rap and the cast recording of Hamilton. Hamilton is still rap but decidedly less gangster. Last night, though, I held my phone near you and played "The Book of Love" by Peter Gabriel and "Don't Think Twice It's All Right" by Bob Dylan. They are songs that make me feel big things by men that feel big things and I hope you will be a boy and a man who feels big. I don't know if feelings are teachable, but if they are, I think Bob Dylan is a good start.


Your Mother

Friday, October 7, 2016

Dear Small Boy #1

Dear Small Boy is a series of letters about perinatal depression. 

Dear Small Boy,

I am lying here alone after work, trying to finish my book, but you are kicking and kicking.

The light is streaming in from the kitchen window on to my book, it is quiet. The book is Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri. I like to read.

You kick and you kick, Small Boy. You are twenty-one weeks inside me, kicking, and I have not spoken to you yet because I don't know what to say.

Your father knows what to say. He has plans and ideas and words of love. He has songs and stories and nicknames and last week, when he was talking to you, you kicked so hard he felt it and he cried tears of joy. Already you know each other.

Do you know me? I am your home. I am who you are kicking. I am your mother.