Member-only story
I Had a Postpartum Rage Blackout in the Post Office
Now there are two places I can never go to again
My daughter was crying—screaming—all morning.
Sweaty, unshowered, I threw my hair up in the messiest of buns and plunked her into her car seat. The only way to save my sanity as a stay-at-home mom was to get her—us—out of the house. A change of scenery.
A moment of distraction to stop the hyena from screeching.
I had a few errands to run before we tried our very first Mommy and Me music class. A quick stop at the post office would be fine, right? It was right next door to the class, anyway. It had been a tough morning, but surely we could drop off a package quickly.
Surely, the demon that had possessed my child would exit and my angel would return while in the presence of a line of stressed-out adults who have been waiting for 30 minutes to send a single package.
I found a parking spot right outside the building, in between the post office and music class. I briefly thought my luck was turning around, gathering my suspiciously quiet baby from her seat and strapping her to my chest.
Upon entering the post office, though, I realized my luck hadn’t changed at all. There was a line at least 10 people long, each one looking more frustrated and impatient than the next. My daughter started to fuss.
Keep it together.
The fussing became wailing. I wiped my clammy palms on the back of the baby carrier.
I bounced.
No, I didn’t leave—I literally bounced. You know, the subconscious bob that all moms do, long after our kids aren’t strapped to our chests anymore, anytime we hear a baby cry? I bounced and swayed like my life depended on it. I tapped my baby’s bum with one hand, and whispered calming words into her ear while the alarm in my brain blared at full volume.
Abort! Abort mission!
But there was no giving up. I’d come this far.
We inched our way through the line, moving one millimeter at a time while the man behind me breathed hot lava down my neck. His loud sigh every time my daughter cried felt like a thousand tiny knives to my back.
