Newborn baby! So exciting. You saw the pic your buddy posted in Facebook, with the kid's stats -- weight, height, gender, name. You want to visit that tiny creature and get a first hand look. But when? And how?

I hated everything about how my birth experiences unfolded, hated every bottle, every moment of guilt and panic and all the ways I was lacking. But here we are, six years later, my girls and me.

We make what is a temporary and treatable illness that is quite common among pregnant and new mothers even worse, and put the future of those moms and their children in jeopardy.

When I was diagnosed and first trying to make sense of it, what I wanted most was to talk with another woman who had been through it and come out the other side, someone who could reassure me with full confidence that it wouldn't be a permanent condition.

When my daughter locked me out of our apartment so she could eat dog food, I wrote about it and got advice on how to start "time-outs." When I didn't have time to shave and my daughter started petting my legs and saying "Good Puppy," I wrote a funny blog post about it.

You are a big part of the story -- your story, your children's story, your family story -- and this moment will never come again.

The images conjured up by the mention of PPD are generally of mothers struggling to bond with their newborns and experiencing feelings of extreme sadness. Using my focus group of one, that's exactly what I thought of when someone brought up PPD. That is, until I went through it myself.

Wow, you've decided to pump? (I just told you NOT to talk about your boobs). Okay, but please try and work around the conference schedule even if you feel like you are going to burst. Never mind that the AC is blasting so cold barely any milk is going to come out anyway.

"Is it amazing?" my younger sister asked. I wasn't sure how to answer. This was a wanted baby. We had her on purpose. But I was in the thick of things. Struggling. Overwhelmed. "It's tough," I answered. "Toughest job you'll ever love?" I changed the subject.

hen I had my first baby and it was just me in my body again, I began to feel anxious about my new identity as a woman. I switched gears from being okay with losing myself to grasping tightly to the idea that all would be lost if I let the old me, the presumed "real" me, go.

Congratulations, Tracy, here's your fifteen minutes of fame.

I had my daughter a little over three months ago and weird stuff's still going on. Stuff all those people telling me, "Think you're tired now? Wait 'til the baby gets here!" forgot to fill me in on.

I've noticed more moms making appointments with me because they feel their lives are out of control -- they feel burned out. If you don't take care of yourself, it's even more of a challenge to take care of anyone else.