*This was requested on my tumblr account, but posting here for those who don't have one**
Warnings: Mentions of postpartum depression (a lot of women suffer from this and suffer in silence), anxiety, the rest is Joe fluff with a hint of lust near the end. If there are any additional warnings you feel are not listed, please let me know.
The dryer buzzed, alerting you to the laundry that was finished drying. It was a mundane activity, but you didn't mind it. The television was playing in the background, providing white noise. The house was quiet otherwise. Your fiancé was out of town, so this helped keep your mind off missing him.
You began to fold the laundry to prevent it from getting wrinkled. Suddenly, your cell phone rang. This automatically caused you to halt what you were doing.
"Hello?", you answered.
"Hey, love. How are you?"
It was Joseph. He was out of town doing another convention, this time in Canada at FanExpo.
"Fine, babe. Just folding laundry. You know how much I usually have to do.", you smirked.
He chuckled on the other end of the line. "I do. Especially with Rowan."
Rowan was your all's six-month-old son. He looked so much like Joseph, it wasn't funny. He was down for a nap at the time being, you desperately trying to keep a sense of normalcy while Joe was gone. Your son may only be six months old, but he knew when Joseph wasn't home or when he was getting ready to leave, often becoming fussy and inconsolable. You hoped he would grow out of it.
"What's he doing?"
"Sleeping. He was becoming a total tyrant.", you joked, causing Joseph to laugh on the other end.
"Not my son.", you heard the smirk with sarcasm in his voice.
Part of you missed when Rowan didn't crawl or try to reach for everything in sight. You missed when he would sleep for hours after passing out from being milk drunk, allowing you to get some much-needed naps in. Joe had been a huge help the whole time, but it was hard when he went out of town. His mom and dad weren't super far away and offered to come anytime you needed them, but you hated to ask. It made you feel guilty.
You had really struggled with postpartum depression, feeling so alone even though Joseph was a very supportive partner and father. He began noticing the signs before you did, asking you to get help. There were subtle signs at first—insomnia, depression. You cried over silly, little things. You cried when Rowan cried, telling Joseph how you felt like such a shit mother.
He reassured you that you weren't a shit mother. Then the other signs popped up—snapping at Joe occasionally and then crying because you did. Making dinner and not eating but a bite or two, which Joe noticed and questioned you, however, you simply stated you didn't feel hungry and you were worried about the baby eating more than you. Joseph was quick to remind you that you were breastfeeding and Rowan needed you to eat.
That didn't help you though. Joe let it go on for a week before he finally asked you before bed one night.
"Love what's going on?", Joseph asked as he sat down on the bed beside you.
"What do you mean?", you asked easily.
He sighed, preparing himself to have this difficult conversation. He was afraid he would offend you.
"I've just been noticing a few things."
You eyed him cautiously. "Like?"
"You seem depressed. You hardly go out anymore since Rowan was born. I know your friends have called and asked you to go out and eat or shop."
