Good Day. An actual good day.

Ok - a good day in PPD land is not the same as a good day nationwide, but still, for me, this is big. Buddy shat on me today. Why and/or how that fixed something in me that was broken I cannot explain.

He was fussy all morning. Seriously fussy and not sleeping. Adam and I thought it was gas so we burped him... incessantly. We jiggled, we walked, we did tummy time, we did back patting, we stood on our heads and drank from water glasses while singing the National Anthem. In Latin.

Then we decided to check his temperature. (Do you see where I'm going with this?) We got him on the changing table and I put the vaseline on the thermometer. Adam and I both apologized as I inserted it and then…

BOOOOOOOM!

There was explosive poop EVERYWHERE and a fart so massive it had to have come from a full grown man after a night of chili dogs and beer. The thermometer flew out. My hand was covered with disgusting yellow baby poop and Adam dissolved into childlike giggles and then, miraculously, so did I. I laughed. I laughed so hard that my incision started to hurt. I laughed so hard that I started to cry. I begged him to hand me a wet wipe and then I burst out laughing again.

Everything is not fixed. I'm still held hostage in this house by anxiety. I still can't handle any stress without crying. I still feel like my life is spinning completely out of control.

But I held my baby today - and today I did it because I wanted to. Somehow he cleared out something that was blocking me with that explosion. It was ridiculous and it completely worked. All of a sudden I felt like a mom again.

Today was a good day.