Postpartum
Parenthood is a difficult job, even when wanted. When child rearing is a cultural expectation and not a choice things can go bad very quickly. Read an excerpt of this story below.
She should have terminated. Sarah knew that even before they put the squalling pink thing she was supposed to love - but didn't - into her exhausted arms. This whole thing was an accident. People (her mother) told her it wouldn't matter. That as soon as she held the child she'd forced out of her body, she would be glad it was there. Sarah wondered if this was her mother's revenge for being forced to carry her. Two days later she took Felicity Ann home, bringing with her multiple prescriptions meant to alleviate what the doctors were sure was post-partum depression. It was hell on earth almost immediately. The pills, when she could remember to take them, made her logey and miserable, but did nothing to her distaste for the child she was solely responsible for. Maybe she could still put it up for adoption. Was that an option, once you took it home? She would have to find out. It was hard to focus, though. Hard to remember what she meant to look up when she spent all night trying to calm down Felicity. It was astounding to her that something so new could already hate so many things. Sarah was positive the child had no reason to cry so much, but that didn't stop her. The hallucinations were the final straw, though. Sarah hadn't slept more than 8 hours over the course of three days. Her eyes were grainy and her mouth was dry, and the hallucinations weren’t making her feel better all. Sarah heard her door unlocking at all hours of the night, shaking her from the shallow, fitful sleep that she did manage to get. No one was ever there, though, no one but the baby, awake and miserable yet again.