on 17 diapers…
i’ve been surviving postpartum depression and anxiety since 2022 now, and one trend that i really connected with was the 17 diapers trend. though the creator that started this trend was later scrutinized for questionable parenting practices, the premise that introduced me to her stuck in my brain.
she was checking her home for dirty diapers after solo parenting. by the end of the count, she’d found 17 dirty diapers that hadn’t made it to the trash. some people called her crazy, dirty, a bad mom. others understood exactly what was going on. i was one of them who understood the exhaustion.
tiktok creator (@nursehannahhh) in screenshots from Today article published on october 16, 2024.
many moms took to social media to post their version of 17 diapers. i’m not bold enough to drag you around my house and show you what all has been left out for way too long, but i’ll take you around my mind and show you my 17 diapers.
for better or worse this is my living room on a random day.
my 17 diapers is literally probably about 17 diapers wasting away on the dresser, forgotten under the bed, flattening into the to ground next to the trash can because of several missed three pointers. it’s laundry that is always going, but never finished. a living room that i’ve spent 45 minutes cleaning and looks worse than when i started.
my 17 diapers is randomly crying in the shower, or while im driving, or while watching dance videos, or while looking at my kids. i cannot tell you why, but it would mean the world if you’d ask.
it’s not doing my hair or brushing my teeth or sleeping or keeping up with myself for days at a time, and then hating myself and the place i’d brought myself to.
my 17 diapers is smacking the back of my head against the headboard because i couldn’t get my first baby to calm down during the night and i didn’t know how else to punish myself for being such a bad mom.
it’s not being able to handle a night out being canceled because it’s been so long since i felt human, let alone young and sexy and vibrant.
my 17 diapers is walking to where no one can see me and throwing something, anything just to calm the rage that i physically feel pushing outwards against my skin.
it’s feeling like i’m living outside of my body watching my own life pass me by.
it’s knowing other moms, but being afraid to talk to them about what i’m feeling because i think they’ll judge my parenting and my emotions.
it’s feeling like i’ll never be good enough to raise the perfection i birthed and praying i don’t ruin them when i know i’m giving my best.
but my 17 diapers is also something else.
it’s a random dinner out and getting dessert after bedtime because we all needed a break. it’s the messy house, but the park day that ended with new friends and a playdate. my 17 diapers is the recital that wrecked the week but filled me with pride about my daughter’s confidence.
my 17 diapers is a moment. some big and some small. but it is fleeting. and i have to be brave enough to float through it.
