(this too)

first of all, hello to any readers dropping by after Josie’s kind words here… welcome, and I hope it’s not too doom and gloom round here for your liking.

things have become a little easier since I admitted they were hard, that I was struggling and that I needed things to change.

I did three things that really helped. I left Pip behind for 5 days whilst I went to Morocco with my sister. I stopped breastfeeding. I chose to come home. (Not that I actually considered any other option, but it felt helpful somehow to me to acknowledge that there was another option and I didn’t take it).

I’m not a huge fan of labels. If I was into labeling though, I might describe some of the end of last year as an episode of postnatal depression. If it helps others, I will call it that. To me though, I’ve had periods of depression during my adult life and this was no different. Funnily enough, they have all started, I think, in October. So maybe it’s not anything to do with babies, but is in some way related to a post halloween slump. Or S.A.D. Anyway.

I felt low. Sad. Tearful. Angry. Unable to cope. Label it what you like; it doesn’t change the fact it made it very hard to function as a mother.

So, Marto took the baby and I took a flight to Morocco. By the time I went to sleep on the first night I was shaking with anxiety. Physical. Mental. In the morning, my sister had me write a worry list; it was extensive. It helped. A bit. I shut the book and went to the spa. That helped too. I could feel some of the tension disappearing with the dead skin being sloughed off.

I woke the first morning to the sound of the call to prayer at about 5am. Then again naturally at about 8.30 am. My first thought on waking was that it was the first time in 8 months that no-one had needed me in the night. It felt wonderful.

I took the breast pump with me, expecting to express when I felt uncomfortable. I never did feel uncomfortable, breast wise, so I didn’t pump. On the Sunday I had an email from Marto telling me Pip had cut her first tooth, aged one week shy of 8 months. Somehow, the timing had worked perfectly.

And then, on the Tuesday, I flew into Gatwick, caught the train back into London and went back to my family. of course, being so close to Christmas, we were almost straight away into Christmas holidays and lots of people being around. the real test has been this week, starting term again and Marto returning to work. it was my birthday at the weekend so it ended the sort of three week holiday on a high note, but by yesterday evening I felt tearful and anxious again. this morning though, I got a period, so I’m putting it down to pmt not a relapse. we will see.

I’m also determined to make some lifestyle changes to try and help. decluttering. more me time. earlier bed. more sex. I’m hoping this will continue to make a difference.