I remember crying, big wracking sobs, because all I wanted was a bath. Eilish was seven weeks old, I was seven weeks postpartum unsure as to whether or not she would wake up. A ten minute soak in some warm water was all I wanted. Just five minutes, even, would do. It was a small lifeline to before, the smallest indulgence that had become an impossible task. I didn’t have one…Read More
There was a song. It was a nice song discovered at 38 weeks pregnant, hurriedly added to a birth playlist in a fit of mild panic and forgotten about. It was a song listened to in labour that took on new meaning, it would swell and swoop and with it my excitement would soar. I would grip onto the fireplace through contractions, knuckles white, and cry at the pain and the beauty of each…Read More
I don't have many regrets as a mother, barely a handful. But if I had to choose one it would absolutely be the perceptions I placed upon myself of who I would be as a mother. So much aggravation would have been saved, of that I am positive, had I just shunned the pre-judgements and preconceptions, took them off, sealed them up and shoved them under the bed like last summer's clothes. I would not have been so unbelievably tired. It is hard trying to recover from birth, sleep with healing stiches, breastfeed on demand, keep yourself fed and watered, all while holding yourself to some unattainable standard you yourself created when brewing a small human.Read More
It’s World Mental Health Day today, something that before having a baby would have been but the minutest blip on my radar.
Sometimes I feel like I have made my anxiety up. That I am undeserving of it being acknowledged at all. I brush it off as an “off day”, and push on until sometimes I break and sometimes I don’t. And then it perpetuates.
I was, and can still be, a person of laissez-faire attitude. Life goes on and I tended to be of the ‘it will all turn out alright in the end camp’, because usually it did. But then I gave birth, and it was pretty bad.Read More