Happy pills. Mommy’s candy. What ever you want to call them, what they truly are, are antidepressants. And I’m on them.

I have a sneaking suspicion that more moms are taking these than we realize. And why the heck not?

I wake up every morning not to bird song or even a catchy iPhone alarm, but to the sweet serenade of the shrieking banshee in the next room that shares my genetic material. She demands to be changed, to be fed, and to be held. The older creature in my home has less demanding needs, but likes to bore…I mean entertain me with never ending stories of dinosaurs and imaginary creatures that never.end. I mean really, he’s probably still talking somewhere.

The hands on the clock move, but these demands stay the same. There are days that I realize all I’ve eaten are the crusts of my son’s Pb&Js because when I get ready to make food for myself the baby is screaming. By the time the kids are in bed and I collapse on the couch the idea of “me time” usually goes out the window with all the household chores that still need to be done.

I get it. I’m complaining about things that people would kill for. I’m sure that can rub people the wrong way. And I thank God every day for my children and the opportunity to be their mama. But that does not cancel out the difficulties. Especially since I’m captain of this solo parenting plane most days. I have days where I want to curl into a ball on the floor and tap out. I can’t do this anymore. I cannot possibly step on one more toy, or launder one more pair of tiny underpants, or argue about why one has to wear those underpants, or carry around 20 lbs all day on my hip. But guess what– no one cares. I am the grown-up in my home and I have to put my big girl pants on and care for my offspring. Because no one else is their mom.

They got me- for better or for worse. So I’m calling in the Zoloft troops.

 If I can take advantage of modern medicine to help me not lose it, why would I not? I’m not saying everyone should be on meds. But what I am saying is that if you need them, we should get rid of the stigma. If popping this tiny pill can help me be kinder, or help me get through this difficult time in my life, I will not feel guilty about it. And neither should you. 

*This piece was originally published on momunglued.com

Stephanie Orihood

Stephanie is the sleep deprived mind behind MomUnglued.com. She loves to write about the challenges and joys of parenting tiny humans. Stephanie hopes that the more honest we are about parenting the more we can support each other as moms and parents. She lives in Raleigh, NC with the love of her life and her two tiny monsters.