I’ve been blogging somewhat sporadically the last few weeks. Gone is my focus, my routine and my schedule. It’s less to do with the fact that we have a five week old baby and more to do with that fact that a little over two weeks ago I accepted the fact that I was suffering from either anxiety or Postnatal Depression. D was only two weeks old and it had hit me hard. In the beginning I questioned whether it was the baby blues as the pregnancy hormones began to leave my body and sent me into a spiral. But now that I am five weeks postpartum and I’m still experiencing the painful pang of what feels like depression mixed with anxiety and confusion, I realise that I need help. I was nervous about publishing this post because it’s incredibly personal, probably the most personal I’ve written on the blog as it leaves me somewhat vulnerable, but if even one person relates to this post and realises that they too are suffering which then leads them to get help, then this post has been worth publishing.
You may remember that during my pregnancy, I struggled with pains, hormones and fears. For the second time in my life, I was hating the experience and willing it to be over. Throughout the nine months, I failed to bond with the bump. I rarely thought about what Little Bean would be like and how well she would fit into our small family. I couldn’t or rather didn’t imagine what she would look like, smell like, feel like. I didn’t have the time to focus on the fact that I was growing a human being. I had a three year old running around me and she kept me well occupied. Things changed in the first hour that Little Bean was born.
Today is our 11th Wedding Anniversary. This day eleven years ago, I married my best friend and the only man I have ever been in love with. I know for a fact, that I will always love him more than I love our children. Some may find this remark scathing, unloving and possibly cruel to say. But think about it – can you honestly say that you love your children the same or more than your partner? I’ve always known that my love for B is stronger, closer and more powerful than my love as a mother to our children. And I’m not ashamed or shy to admit it.
I’ve always thought that naming your baby was one of the biggest privileges of having a child. Lets face it, you mess that up and your journey into parenthood hasn’t exactly gotten off to a good start! I’ve researched my fair share of baby names simply because I love finding out the meaning of a name. I remember the day, way, way back in 2001, B and I had first started dating and I discovered that my name means “spear ruler” and B’s name means “spear”. I literally rule over him… hah. Clearly we were meant to be together. When it came to us choosing our baby girls names, we stepped outside the box a little. I realise I don’t use their names on the blog and I’ve never explained why.
The nine months, the incessant worrying after a four week heavy bleed and clot, the intense morning sickness, the incredible pains, the lack of sleep – was all worth it. I’ve fallen in love for the third time in my life. The first time was with B, the second with A and now with Little Bean who will now be referred to as D. Hello Little Bean, welcome to the world and to our family. We love you so much already.
Finally, I can almost say that I’m ready to bring Little Bean into the world. I have finished up some DIY that needed doing in the house, thanks to my awesome Dad. Ok, so the DIY didn’t necessarily need doing, but my head and shoulders are a lot more relaxed knowing they are done. I have my hospital bag packed!! I did it, finally, with just two weeks to go. For some reason I kept putting this one off, probably because the reality of the looming and large bump only hit last week. I have Little Bean’s clothes all washed, iron and sorted in little Ikea drawer sorter thingys and I feel so accomplished knowing where all the nappies, wipes and scented bags are. I have five sets of clothes ready for A, for when I’m in the hospital so B doesn’t have to stress about what to throw on the cute three-year old. I have action plans in place if I go into labour, and plans are in motion if all goes to schedule and I get to walk into hospital for the elective C-section. You may have gathered that I’m a planner, an organiser, I like and need to keep control of my personal situations and that of my family. The same goes for the weeks after me and Little Bean get home. For myself, for B and A and of course our new Little Bean, to settle into our new lives together I have rules and plans.
Today marks a very unusual day for our family. A bitter sweet day at the end of an era. Today, is my last working day and technically the start of my year long maternity leave. The start of my year as a Stay-At-Home-Mum. As well as being the beginning of a journey I’m looking forward to and equally terrified of, it’s the end of a time in our lives that admittedly seemed never ending. Three years ago, plus one month, I went back to work after a very, very short maternity leave. I took the standard six months which in reality meant A was a tiny five months old when I wandered back into my office in April 2014. That beautiful, small baby was handed over every day B and I went to work to an incredible woman, B’s Aunty P.
I’ve heard them say that going from zero babies to one baby is harder than going from one to two. I can understand why. Having at least one child has given you a massive amount of experience into this world of parenting. Whether you think you’re a good parent or not, whether you struggle every day with the long and arduous routine or have everything neatly organised and arranged for the week ahead, parenting is all still a mystery with learning curves every day. But adding a second child to the mix, apparently isn’t as hard as learning everything from scratch first time round. So why do I feel so damn nervous about becoming a Mum of two?
When I found out that I would be scheduled for a C Section for Little Bean’s special delivery, I was quite happy. The controversary and debates regarding Cesarean Sections are pointless to me, and I will gladly say that I am chuffed to already be scheduled on the theatre list for May. It’s not a personal choice. I’m not too posh to push. There have been complications to both my pregnancy and I will not take the risk with my life or my daughter’s life for the sake of ‘experiencing’ a natural birth. So, back in December I decided that this time around, I would be mentally prepared for this C Section. Well, can you guess just how prepared I actually am?
I haven’t been a very good blogger lately for a number of reasons which I suppose I can, hopefully, be forgiven for. Firstly at 33 weeks pregnant… or is it 34? I’ve lost count!.. I’m exhausted and am finding it very difficult to stay up past 10pm most nights. Hell, 10pm! I’m doing quite well there. Secondly, I’m tired of complaining, so I imagine you’re tired of listening to me complain. Considering all I could think to write about was once again my hatred of pregnancy, I’ve refrained from writing a blog post until now. Thirdly, I was on doctors orders to relax more and give the blog a back seat, so blogging once a week has pretty much been my limit. I had intended on taking a break from writing completely this week and leave you all wondering where I was until B sent me an email that triggered a ton of emotions.