Back during the darkest days of my journey through postpartum depression (I hesitate to say "through" just when I think I'm out of the woods, I find I am wrong) my mom, not knowing I had PPD (I, too, was unknowing at the time) looked at my son and said: "How could anyone hurt a child?"
I must admit that my first reaction was, "Easy!" Despite suffering in silence for fear of admitting I was a "failure" and a "bad" mom, I never laid a hand on Baba, as much as I wanted to at times.
Thankfully those thoughts have passed. I had enough sense left in my unbalanced brain to always set him down in his crib and walk away until I could get myself under control. Having a baby is the hardest thing I have ever done. I will readily admit (now) that I did not know what I was getting into. There are times when I wished he would just go away ("Go away where?" my therapist asked. I couldn't admit to her and I can't admit now where I wanted him to go, but I know in my heart the answer and it eats me up). There are still times when I want 15 minutes (or more) but tonight when Zippy and I laid on the floor and Baba was blowing raspberries against our stomachs and we were laughing so hard we couldn't talk or breath I was happy. I felt joy. Feelings I haven't felt enough of lately.
Hearing "Momma" makes it worth it. Juicy kisses makes it worth it. Hugs. Being loved above all else, even food, makes it worth it. Seeing him do something I taught him, makes it worth it.