I’m grateful for the time I got to spend at home with Finn on maternity leave. I remember so many days of sitting and staring at my new little man, thinking, “these are the days of miracle and wonder”, and rocking him and loving him and trying to live each moment fully.

I am also grateful for the amazing doctor I had during that time. I had post-partum depression for three months, and he helped me through it gently and with tough love and with humor. I remember sitting in his office once and telling him that I wasn’t doing enough, that I was nothing, and I was boring this poor baby.

“Yes,” he replied, gesturing to my sleeping child. “You’ve bored him straight to sleep. He’s six weeks old, Desh. Give yourself a f***ing break.”

I am also grateful for another doctor along the way who helped me get control of some of my anxieties and brought me back to myself. We were talking one day about all of the things there were to be anxious about in this world, and he said told me that, honestly, my life would be easier had I just been born at another time. “If the Cossacks were invading,” he explained, “you wouldn’t have time to worry about any of this bullshit.”

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