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…
