and then i automatically cried

the decision to have children was an easy one for me, it was the actualization of that decision that brought my baggage to the surface. infertility was a difficult course for me. it brought to the surface many things that i didnt realize were hiding out in there. not just physical health, but emotional health as well. when i really think back about my life, it was probably always there, sometimes just more buried than others. depression has weaved its way in and out of my life always creeping up at the most inopportune times. you are a newlywed and just landed a new job in the internet world, yay, now lets see if you can get out of bed and pretend like you didnt cry yourself to sleep last night. you just had two babies at once, yay, now lets spiral into a deep dark hole. you just moved into a new house, your dream house, stop crying and get over it. its never a good time for it. and by now, you would think i would know a better way to deal with it. medicine, check. therapy, check. medicine and therapy, check, check. yet, it always finds its way back.

there are legacies, traits, memories, and keepsakes that i would like to pass along to my children. depression is not one of them. i would prefer to box it up, stash it way in the back of the attic and leave it to be uncovered by the archeologists of the centuries to come.

i worry about f. he has a hard time keeping his emotions in check. at 5, this is somewhat to be expected. he is very hard on himself and wants to be sucessful at every new endeavor right out of the gate. he doesnt understand that 5 year olds dont know how to ride bikes the first time they get on them or read a book the first time they crack the spine. he thinks he should be able to do it all perfectly on the first attempt. try as we might to tell him things take practice and mistakes are a good and necessary part of learning, he still breaks down when things dont go his way. these are not the temper tantrums of a child who didnt get his way, these are the body wracking cries of a boy who didnt succeed and is disappointed in himself. the ugly cry where you cant catch your breath and explaining why you are crying would actually require being able to get a breath to form a sentence or even a word. j. and i have been working with him to find ways to get through these times, which f. has started to refer to as "and then i automatically cried." we are teaching him deep breathing techniques and thinking of a time when you were happy until you can calm down enough to talk about what is going on. all the while reminding him that no one scored a goal their first time out, or knew how to swim without lessons or practice. i wish i knew where this pressure came from, i would flip that switch in a heartbeat. isnt that our role as parents, to protect, to save them from as much heart ache as possible? to give them a better life than we ourselves have.

last week on a perfectly normal and happy day after all the children were safely tucked in bed i heard the tell tale footsteps of an untucked child. f. appeared in the door way, tears streaming down his face and wanted to know if i could think of a time when he was happy. he was trying to talk himself down, trying to use the techniques we taught him, but he couldnt come up with something, anything(?!) how about the time you conducted the band? or the time you learned to swim? or reading the book to your brothers earlier today? these seemed to do the trick and eased his tears. nothing was wrong, it was just the automatic crying. i scooped him up, gave him a big hug, told him i loved him, walked him back upstairs and snuggled with him extra long that night. after he was settled i came back down stairs. and then i automatically cried.