“Have you been depressed or thought of suicide?” The question rolled off the doctor’s tongue, and I smiled and shook my head on cue. I had heard it about seven times over six weeks after having my baby girl — from NICU nurses, our pediatrician, my lactation consultant, and now from my OB at my 6-week checkup. They all rattled the question off, and I always smiled and said no. Depression has never been much of a friend of mine, and after having my first child, I was on the other end of that spectrum. I was so happy I felt a constant sense of bliss and euphoria. Between the postpartum and breastfeeding hormones flooding my system with oxytocin and soaking in the concept that I did this—I had a baby, my life’s goal complete—there was no depression. None. But there was anxiety. No one ever asked me about that. I never even asked myself. It’s very difficult, for me at least, to reflect upon my emotional or mental state while I’m in the middle of experiencing it. I can...