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As a friend of mine said, "I knew it would be hard, but I didn't know what 'hard' would feel like. I'm pretty sure it's like that for some people, but for many of us, it's not. For many of us, it's not good hard, as in a "good hard workout"; it's bad hard, as in, it sometimes feels like something bad is happening to you. But does anyone really remember this? I don't.


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I only know it's true because I remember saying it out loud, and because I wrote the previous paragraph almost three years ago, with Rosie sleeping at my side, in a typo-filled document titled "Before I Forget. Fatigue, hormones, nostalgia, and hindsight have reshaped those long months into a series of wordless film clips, set to the inspiring music of the love I now feel for my daughter, spliced together to tell the story of how it all worked out in the end.

On the whole, I'm grateful for this mechanism. Like the hormonal magic that dulls our memories of the pain of childbirth, the montage-ification of the first months of motherhood is therapeutic and practical. It allows us to smile fondly at a photo of the baby taken on her one-week birthday, the very day that we woke to her cries just an hour after the last feeding, put lanolin on our bleeding nipples and, sick with exhaustion, made a mental note to ask the man for whom we once wore expensive lingerie to run out for some adult diapers excellent for post-partum bleeding.

And it readies us to produce a sibling for the little tyrant who made us so genuinely miserable on that surprisingly photogenic morning. But this benign forgetting also has the unfortunate consequence of making us feel a little more alone in those challenging months, because no one we talk to—not our mothers, not our friends with toddlers, not our pediatricians or lactation consultants—is able to re-inhabit her own experience fully enough to really understand how we feel.

Sometimes this memory gap takes the form of remarks like the drugstore lady's question about "cloud nine"—the first installment of the phenomenon Glennon Melton describes in her much-forwarded "Don't Carpe Diem," about older women who see her wrangling her three children in the checkout line and tell her to "enjoy every moment" with them at once demonstrating their own amnesia about such moments and managing to make her feel guilty. But often the disconnect is subtler, occurring in conversations with people who really know us, people whose perspectives we value. I had a supportive team of experienced moms to whom I could turn for advice, and I can't imagine what that time would have been like without them.

But as they answered my many questions, I heard them struggle to create coherent, internally consistent narratives, to cross back into the unique universe of those months when their lives as mothers began. Here's an example of a sentiment that I know I experienced but can no longer access at all.

Slipknot - Before I Forget Lyrics

One night after a long, fussy evening with our generally unfussy newborn, I suddenly realized that some people's babies were always like that. A chill of horror went through me, something like what I normally feel when contemplating prisoners of war placed in stress positions. My voice hoarse, my guts in knots, I turned to my husband and said, "The thought of having a baby with colic terrifies me.

The thought of having a baby who cries a lot terrifies me? But at the time, it seemed like a nightmare that I simply could not have faced.


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  5. For one thing, it's hard to remember how distressing sleep-deprivation is when we're not actually experiencing it. Second, as many people have remarked, it's hard to explain how upsetting it is when your baby cries.

    My perspective on the horrors of colic was probably more accurate that night, with Rosie's cries fresh in my ears, than it is now. But something about new motherhood also darkened my worldview and made the thought of those cries more threatening. This is where you may be wondering if I'm just talking about post-partum depression, but the struggles I have in mind are unlikely to raise any significant red flags at the six-week check-up.

    And while, being raised in a family of psychologists, I certainly asked myself whether I might have PPD, I generally didn't find that line of questioning helpful. Don't get me wrong—it's an important question that we should keep asking ourselves and each other, and we should seek treatment unapologetically if the answer might be yes.

    But the problem with that question as our primary approach to the struggles of new motherhood is that it suggests that the post-partum experience itself is just fine, unless of course you have a legitimate clinical illness that distorts your perception of it. And the post-partum experience is not just fine.

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    It is immensely, bizarrely complicated. It is, at various times and for various people, grueling and joyful and frightening and beautiful and disorienting and moving and horrible. There's a lot going on there that will never make its way into the DSM V. Mood—in both its ordered and disordered forms—is influenced by both internal and external circumstances. When it comes to post-partum mood, the internal circumstances are all the more unpredictable.

    As I was wheeled down the hallway immediately after Rosie's birth, I felt a dark anxiety mushrooming inside me. The TV in my hospital room was playing a public service announcement about post-partum depression: Minor chords, a woman by a rain-soaked window staring mournfully over the head of a sleeping baby.

    A year later, I visited a friend who had just given birth and found her crying with joy about how much she loved her baby and her husband.

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    Before I Forget | Slipknot Wiki | FANDOM powered by Wikia

    As a mutual friend said, "It's like a roller coaster. We're all experiencing the same thing, but it makes some people laugh and whoop with joy, and it makes other people cry with fear or puke. How the external circumstances of new parenthood will affect your mood might be easier to predict. If you are good at just being in the moment and taking your life as it comes, there can be a Zen-like quality to your days with baby.

    But say you're someone like me—someone who likes the feeling of planning out your day, both what you're going to accomplish and when and how you're going to relax, and then executing that plan—then you will probably find that the long, aimless weeks of waiting on and reacting to your newborn are unsatisfying, frustrating, even depressing.

    It was the third single from their album Vol. The earliest version was in with Anders Colsefni on vocals. Lo and behold, it's one of our biggest songs and we won a Grammy for it. The last 18 seconds of the full-length song feature morse code in the left channel spelling "Slipknot", and Taylor muttering, "You're wasting it", reversed. It was the second track from the album to be nominated: " Vermilion " was nominated in for the same award.

    The video for "Before I Forget" shows Slipknot performing the song unmasked and in casual clothes all with black shirts , as opposed to their usual coveralls. The video makes use of strategic techniques in which the members' faces are never totally shown in some instances, however, some of the band members' eyes are shown up close , thus keeping with the band's running theme of anonymity at the time. Their masks are shown next to them as they perform.

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    At the end of the music video, the band immediately stops playing the song as it ends and they all walk away. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

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