Don't ask Alice

Hey, so guess what? I am officially weaning off my postpartum meds. I know, you probably want to mail me a card and take me to lunch. There is kind of a long waiting list right now so please be patient.

I went to visit my physician last week to discuss reducing the frequency of Prozac and then stopping the meds entirely. In my head I imagined an elaborate withdrawal scene: J applying a moist towel to my feverish forehead and my mother pacing the floor while a group of pain management specialists strummed harps near my bedside.

I was sorely disappointed. My physician reminded me that I was on the lowest dose possible. Which meant that he normally weaned patients down to my dosage and then they stopped taking the pills altogether.

Whaaaat? No soap opera-style melodrama?  No scenes of writhing and shrieking as my body adjusted to life without a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor? What the hell was this whole odyssey for?

Oh. The weight loss. Riiiiight.

I contemplated huddling in the bathroom and faking a night of withdrawal just so J could put all three kids to bed, but I had a moment of conscience.

Goddamn.