Ahhh, Friday...

One might think I look forward to the weekends on account of the extravagant good time I plan to have. While I do plan to have some grown up time this Saturday night, that is not the chief reason for my Friday merriment. Real reason I get stoked on Fridays: privacy.

Much of the EY business happens in our home. What once occupied a considerable warehouse now resides in three rooms of my house and the garage. Monday through Friday this is a comedy-rich working environment for some of the nicest gals I could hope to share my toilet seats with.

As I gradually come out of the fog that is new motherhood, I am realizing that there isn't much about me left to the girls' imaginations. They've seen my worst pajamas, bed head, breastfeeding, and "Oops, I didn't know you were here already!"

So, on the weekends I can let it all hang out without the pressure of an audience.


Truth be told *pause to look over both shoulders* I credit the presence of these sweet, considerate, unobtrusive people to some degree for the conspicuous absence of any post partum depression on my part. There is much to be said for getting up in the morning, brushing the fur off your teeth, and making even a feeble attempt to look human because you know people are going to SEE YOU. It goes a long way toward actually being human. Yes, especially when you don't feel human. And before you go all pious because you are above caring what other people think of you, I'm really talking more about dignity than vanity.

The other credit for me not having baby blues must go to (no, yoga is not on the list):

1) my Scottish-Irish resiliency: we're simply too stubborn to know when we ought to feel sorry for ourselves; thank you Mom & Dad

2) my loving husband for being the kind of Baby Daddy who knows when to call the massage therapist. Let this one example suffice as the abstract for what is a very long list of his anti-depressive behaviors and actions for me during and after my pregnancy; Thanks, Babeee.