When heavy feels light
Late the other night, after one of Felix’s numerous night feeds (he hasn’t gone back to good sleeping since his bronchiolitis), I sat in the dark kissing his chubby little cheeks, putting off when I would lay him back in his bassinet for just one more moment. I held his warm body to me, listened to his soft snores and thought about how, even though he is the biggest of my babies and by far the heaviest; this babyhood feels so much lighter.
I can’t remember taking those little night time moments with Ellie, Kahlei or Jasper. I hope I did. I do remember how desperately I wanted the feeds to go faster and to be fewer. I remember just how exhausted I was and how lonely it all seemed.
When I was pregnant with Felix, I was so worried about suffering Postnatal Depression again. I made sure I was aware of my triggers and the signs that I was struggling. I made sure James was on top of all that, too. To be honest, I thought it was practically a given that I would again suffer, having done so with every other baby – each time worse than the last.
I braced myself, tried to put processes in place that would work for us and not see me hospitilised, except the fog didn’t come.
Being finally able to enjoy one of my babies as a baby is a huge joy and is something I didn’t think would ever happen. Yes, I am exhausted and I would certainly like a bit more sleep and sometimes life is overwhelming but it’s on a completely different level.
And, my past struggles mean that even when I’m at the end of my rope I can still work from a place of gratitude that I have a beautiful baby boy and that I am able to experience this time as if I am a brand new mother. It is truly that different.
I know, when you’re in that dark place, feeling like you’re dragging your body through waist deep mud which drags you down and holds you back that you can’t see the way out. People say there is light at the end of the tunnel but when you look up there isn’t even that pin-hole of light that those words made you believe would be there.
Plodding through despair, surrounded by darkness and not knowing if there really is a brighter day on the horizon, I concentrated on moving through the muck and being the best for my family. On getting help and holding steadfast to hope. I had my eyes on my feet and didn’t realise when I turned that corner and the light started to touch the edges. I thought my eyes had just adjusted to the darkness.
Mumma, if you’re struggling, know you’re not alone. You’re doing your best. Your family love and appreciate that. Don’t be afraid to speak up and seek help.
And remember; there is hope.
Linking up with Jess for #ibot.