First, there was the fact that everything I had planned since pregnancy seemed to go out the window once Francesca was born. I wanted to breastfeed but my body had other ideas; after two months of frustration, countless visits to lactation consultants, all kinds of supplements and home remedies I finally had to give up and switch the baby to formula while feeling totally guilty about it. And in the middle of all that, there was the postpartum depression. Ah, depression. It felt as if I was in the middle of a crazy blizzard with no way to see what was in front of me. I got overwhelmed by the simplest tasks, and had an panic attack every other day. Sometimes it got so bad I daydreamed about running away in the middle of the night, figuring Mark and the baby would be better off without having to deal with me.