But, as I said, everything else is placed in perspective accordingly; Eric and I are no longer at each other's throats during every waking hour. Rita called and wanted to schedule a visit soon, and the idea actually appealed to me instead of making me want to hide under my bed. When Eric stays late at work, I'm not nearly as aggravated as I was; after all, the odds are very, very good that he will be coming home eventually.

My boy is three months old today. How much more precious is this moment for me than it otherwise might have been! He's three months old, and his little face lights up when one of us walks in the room. Our lives are much improved, in so many capacities, by his presence.

Eric and I shuddered a few nights ago, thinking that Sam's youth will likely be defined by the televised events that he watched on my lap. I sighed, thinking of a little toddler hand waving an American flag at more televised scenes of even more carnage, more fighting. Eric wondered whether Sam would see his civil liberties curtailed before he had even a chance to enjoy them. Mind you, neither of us are particularly pacifistic in nature; everything changes when it's not simply yourself, but your small child who might soon be living through war.

Sam, however, has his own priorities to fill his days. At three months, he's finally adjusted to spending time on his belly. In fact, after a few days of practice, he learned that only one arm was necessary to lift his chest, and that the other hand could be used to take swipes at a sleeping Daddy's arm. We went to Pittsburgh to meet my visiting little brother, and Sam used a swimming pool for the first time, to his great mystification and small enjoyment. He's just recovering from his first case of the sniffles, which he has weathered with much greater aplomb than his currently sick father. He's getting very close to rolling over on his own; yesterday at the library, he rolled off the edge of a table onto Eric's lap, terrifying them both.

And he's laughing. It's been such a long time since a sound has filled me with as much joy as Sam's laugh does now. Hearing my first musical works performed filled me with a trembling, aching ecstasy; Sam's laugh makes my soul bubble with that same happiness, but, tinged with none of the anxiety, I can't contain my own delight. His laugh makes me laugh, which makes him laugh.

Last night, on his changing table, he played a game with me. I asked him, "Who loves you? Does Daddy love you?" He would smile. "Yes, he does!" would then bring on a huge laugh. With each family member I named, the chuckles grew bigger and quicker. He was laughing himself silly by the time I got to his great-aunts and great-uncles.

In the midst of all of the sadness and despair, Sam's little world is a much nicer place than the larger world. Sometimes I wish I could live in his world instead of my own.

I've been quiet in the journal regarding our marital issues, but the notify list has been hearing some of the more recent details. Things were getting pretty bad, and I was beginning to get severely depressed. At the encouragement of many of you guys, I called my midwife and asked whether my near-constant tears and dark thoughts could be signs of post-partum depression. After discussing it with her, she decided that the best thing for me would be to first go with Eric to talk to our priest. After all, she said, if it was PPD, then it would be very difficult to treat it if things were shaky with my marriage. Additionally, none of my dark thoughts touched upon Sam or my ability to mother him - usual signs of PPD.

We went to the priest, and he listened to us talk. Two major issues came to the front: Eric felt that he had been pressured to become a father before he was ready, and he feels that I'm too careless with money, especially now that he's the sole provider for three.

The first issue got confused quickly as the priest tried to get Eric to elaborate. Hadn't he been trying as hard as me to conceive Sam? Yes. Did he enjoy Sam? Yes. Then where was the problem? Eric felt that doors had been closed and flexibility lost when Sam was born. The more he was pushed to describe exactly which doors had been closed, though, the more he found himself at a loss for words. Everything he could think to mention seemed to all of us, including himself, as easily dismissed by virtue of being either still possible or never really an option anyway. Since he'd only been thinking in generalities before then, he now had trouble speaking in more than those broad generalities. I'm not sure anything was resolved, but perhaps he won't be so sad from now on.

As for the money issue, it quickly became apparent that we're not communicating. Eric pays the bills, balances the checkbook, and otherwise cares for our money. I'm in charge of general shopping, and he gets upset when I spend more than I should. The main issue seems to be that, without a general knowledge of our monetary situation, I can't see the big picture the way he does, and I don't worry. Buying food at full price doesn't frighten me the way it does him. As the priest put it, "Carrie, Eric needs you to worry with him."

Communication. I guess I should have seen it coming.

I'm not certain that one small talk with the priest will get us back on track, but it could help. After all, the knowledge of how easy it is to lose a loved one in the blink of an eye makes us all the more eager to resolve issues that now seem petty and unimportant.

The priest encouraged Eric to take Sam out by himself for a while, even for just a walk around the neighborhood. He might get brave enough sometime later this week, perhaps.