Chapter 7
Kiki
Sleep had been elusive since Noah had left.
I had a night nanny who got up with the baby, Bri and other friends came by every day or two, and all the bills were paid, but I was a wreck. I wasn’t sleeping, didn’t feel like eating, and spent my days staring at the TV, the ceiling, or Beth’s sweet little face. Holding my daughter was the only time I felt calm, so I did it as much as possible, but I knew something was wrong.
Bri had suggested postpartum depression but that seemed far-fetched. I’d never suffered from any kind of mental health issues, and I didn’t like the idea of not being able to handle things after having a baby.
I wasn’t stupid, though, and finally got online to research it.
The symptoms were in line with what I was feeling.
Withdrawing from friends and family.
Ya think?
Depressed moods or mood swings.
Oh, yeah.
Loss of appetite.
Definitely.
Losing interest in things I normally enjoyed.
I’d lost interest in almost everything.
There was more, enough to make me realize there might be something to this. I didn’t want to hurt myself or my baby, so at least there was that, but I didn’t know what to do next. The thought of finding a doctor, taking medication, and all the things associated with treating postpartum depression was daunting.
I’d done some reading and it said that rest, a healthy diet, and exercise could help. There was something about fish oil too, but I hadn’t gotten that far in my research. The idea of exercise made me want to crawl back under the covers, and I couldn’t think of anything that sounded like fun right now.
The knock on the door roused me from my reverie and I peered out the peephole.
Bri was back? She’d just been here yesterday, and she had classes in L.A. today. Or at least, that’s what she’d told me. She was in culinary school there and had already taken off so much time in traveling back and forth to Vegas to visit the baby and me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked as I opened the door. “I thought you had class today?”
“Canceled, so I turned around and headed here.” She grinned, holding up two shopping bags. “Then I went shopping and decided we needed a girls’ night in.”
I smiled, even though my heart wasn’t in it; there was a reason she was my bestie.
“I’m not great company,” I whispered as she brushed past me.
“That’s why I’m here. To cheer you up. And spend time with my niece.”
I padded after her, sinking onto the couch. “She’s asleep, but you’re welcome to hang with her when she wakes up.”
Bri turned, green eyes just like Noah’s focused on me. “I know it goes against everything you are to admit you need help,” she said. “So, I’m here to give it to you whether you like it or not.” She started unpacking one of the bags, and the first thing she pulled out was a bottle of my favorite champagne.
I chuckled. “I don’t know what I am, but you’re welcome to try to figure it out while we drink that.”
“Yup. Then you need to talk to your doctor.”
“I was thinking about some natural remedies, like exercise and taking long, relaxing baths.”
She rolled her eyes, pulling out two beautiful crystal champagne flutes that appeared to be hand-painted with the word “Besties” on one and “Forever” on the other. “Look, I’m all for that kind of stuff, but postpartum depression can be dangerous. Both to you and to the baby. You need a professional opinion, and possibly pharmacy-grade medication.”
“I’m not a fan of antidepressants,” I said slowly.
“Are you a fan of being a depressed, miserable, non-functioning member of society who might not be able to care for her child because of an untreated issue?” she countered, pulling a pair of pink, fuzzy socks out of the bag and tossing them at me. “That’s one of many things that can happen. I’m already seeing signs of the depression. Not to mention you pushing away the people closest to you.” She gave me a pointed look that told me she’d talked to Noah.
I’d explained to her that I wasn’t happy he’d gone back on tour so soon, and that we’d argued, but I hadn’t mentioned the part about us taking time to think about our future. The look on her face told me she knew.
Crap.
I’d assumed she would be too busy to get involved, plus we’d made a deal early on that we would keep our friendship separate from her relationship with her brother. I’d obviously miscalculated this time.
“These are so soft,” I whispered, rubbing the socks against my face. “Thank you.”
“Think about what I’ve said while I open this in the kitchen.” She left the room, carrying the champagne, and I stared after her.
I hated the idea of needing to be medicated, but I also wasn’t fond of the idea of falling into a depression that might impact my ability to care for my daughter. And obviously whatever was going on had put a strain on my relationship with Noah.
I didn’t want to lose him, no matter how bleak everything seemed right now.
“Good thing I was in the kitchen,” she said as she came back on, the champagne bottle wrapped in a dish towel. “That was quite the explosion.”
I watched her pour us a glass each and slowly reached for one. “I’m scared,” I whispered. “I’ve never felt anything like this. I waffle between not wanting to get out of bed and wanting to explode at the slightest little thing.”
“Hormones can be a bitch even without postpartum depression. If you do have it—and I see a lot of signs, girlfriend—just say the word and we’ll do whatever we need to help you feel better.”
“Does it go away?” I asked finally, fighting back the panic threatening to overwhelm me.
“I think so, yes. From what I’ve read, it’s treatable and usually goes away in six months or so. Especially if it’s treated immediately.”
I took a sip of champagne, wondering if alcohol might make things worse, but it seemed silly to deprive myself of one thing that gave me genuine pleasure. I’d keep the drinking to a minimum, though. “Mm. Yummy. Thanks for doing this. And for being here for me.”
“Always.” She met my gaze over the rim of her glass. “Noah would be here for you too, if you let him. Even if he’s not physically here, you know he wants to be.”
I groaned. “I’ve been awful to him.”
“You have.”
“I need to get this sorted out first. Then I need to see him. I owe him the kind of apology that shouldn’t be done on the phone.”
Bri grinned. “We can make that happen.”