We had talked about postpartum depression before the birth because we wanted to be ready for the good and the bad. We had made plans, lists, and backup plans for the backup plans.
We spoke of therapy if needed, check-ins every night, and no pretending.
At least, that was what I thought we would do.
Our son, Noah, was three weeks old when I first noticed Ethan missing from bed in the middle of the night.
At first, I assumed it was normal. He was in the bathroom, or getting water, or trying not to wake me because Noah had finally gone down after two hours of cluster feeding.
Once I found him in the kitchen eating cereal at 1:30 a.m., staring into the fridge as if it had personally betrayed him.
But then it kept happening.
I would surface from sleep in that terrible, panicked way new mothers do, instantly alert for any sound from the bassinet, and Ethan would be gone.
Not once or twice. Almost every night.
During the day, he seemed the same. Tired, yes, and quieter than usual, maybe. But everyone with a newborn is tired. Everyone with a newborn is quieter because speaking takes energy, and that is something you need when running on a few hours of sleep.
