I’ve been feeling pretty low for the past couple of weeks, weighed down by a big ball of sadness and tension and depression and anxiety.  I’m bored and restless and I’ve been sleeping a LOT (even for me, which is a feat, let me tell you).  There have been moments–last night while doing something as mundane as washing potatoes to boil, for instance–when I feel like I can barely hold it together and I start thinking I should just pack it all in.

After finally noticing (and admitting to myself) a few days ago that this is more than just a bad mood or a reaction to the gloomy weather we’ve had, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out just what the hell is going on.  Not only has life been going along more or less the same as always here on the homefront, but we’ve also got some particularly good things coming up in the form of my mom’s annual month-long visit and Olof’s summer vacation.  In addition, I exercise regularly, I take what has always been a good and effective daily dose of Zoloft, and I never forget my assorted vitamins and whatnot.  So what gives, man?

I was going over all this in my head earlier this evening as I made a couple of post-nap bean-and-cheese burritos (remind me to give you my recipe for refried beans), when suddenly it struck me.  Three-and-a-half weeks ago, I stopped nursing Brynja, pretty much cold turkey. When I got through the first week without painfully engorged boobs or worse, mastitis, I figured I was home free.  I think I figured wrong, though, and a little poking around here on the internet has confirmed my suspicions.  Apparently it’s not at all uncommon for a woman to have a “hormone crash” and resultant depression after weaning a baby.

So that’s that problem diagnosed, and having figured it out I feel better already (so much better, in fact, that when my browser crashed just now and took my nearly-completed entry with it, I had it in me to start over instead of calling it a loss).  I’ll keep an eye on things, even so, and if this doesn’t pass in relatively short order I’ll get myself in to see my doctor.  Until then, I’ll just keep thanking my lucky stars that I’m married to a basically unflappable guy who doesn’t seem to mind my mood swings or my nap addiction.