Postpartum Haze

Postpartum haze.

Crazed.

Three years out.

Fear still flushes over me

When they say it doesn't get easier.

It's probably true.

But I live in this deep denial

That mothers carve out of their flesh

Their sweat

The deep ache in their bones

From never throwing in the towel

But always wanting to.

Don't tell me that I'll feel better

Because I really might not.

The sheer will it takes to try to be myself

Amidst the muffled din of constant mothering

Is astonishing.

I could have never believed I could do it

If you told me what I'd become.

A force of will

Not necessarily for my child

But for the sake of my own fragile sanity.