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Mammy Summer Camp – the dream!

It’s the time of year when brightly coloured flyers promising to make our children singing sensations, Oscar winning stars or Olympic athletes in one short week abound.  The (annual) age of the Summer Camp has dawned.  As I waded through the collection of leaflets, ads and notes about various camps on offer in the area, it got me thinking about how nice it would be to go to a summer camp myself.  A Mammy Camp.

I’ve put together a sample schedule and description, I don’t think I’d have any problem selling the spaces.  Who’s in?

Mammy Camp!

Introducing the first of its kind, a camp designed solely for mothers to cater to their every need.  We promise to help you make the most of your precious time with a focused and intensive programme guaranteed to assist you in being the best mother you can be.

The camp features several modules which women can attend, but there are also break-out areas dotted around the campus.  We have taken on board requests from interested parties and located the camp in a luxury spa to best meet the needs of our attendees.

Come join us, relax and feed those souls!  The relaxation modules include:

  • Sleep pods – you will notice the cocoon shaped sleep pods artfully arranged around the campus, each is fitted with a millon thread count Egyptian cotton bed-linen for your comfort.  The sleep pods feature integrated music and meditation sound-tracks and also have an in-built refreshment station to help prolong your stay.
  • Yoga, pilates, aqua-aerobics, milk-shake making and chocolate eating classes run throughout the course of the day.  All our instructors have been approved by the accredited model agency.
  • A fully-equipped library of every published book awaits to help ignite your imagination.  Escape to another world.
  • Your personal assistant is trained in all types of massage, therapy and the ability to change toilet rolls.  Just ask and you shall receive.

If you are feeling more energised there are many targeted sessions which may be of interest:

  • Obedient children – we have sourced several child-bots which are guaranteed to pay full attention to your requests and do as they are told; sit back and enjoy the experience.
  • DIY station – the DIY station is fully equipped with professional tradesmen; upon your arrival at the centre you will be assigned a camp husband.  This temporary partner will carry out all sorts of DIY tasks at your request, and demonstrate the best practice in common areas such as the putting up of a shelf.  Leaflets and manuals will be available to take home.
  • Culinary arts – lounge in the state of the culinary arts theatre and feast your senses on all manner of edible delights.  No request is too small.  Please be advised that due to atmospheric qualities in the spa, the calorie content of all food stuffs has been reduced by 75%.
  • Anger management – we appreciate that sometimes it can be hard to switch off from the frustrations and stresses of home life.  In order to best help you achieve the most from your time in the camp, there is an anger management station.  Just input the requested celebrity and their hologram will be projected on the punch bag.  Enjoy the opportunity to vent your irritation with the inflatable mallets.
  • A comedy club is at all times in operation, come and flex your funny bone.  There’s not much in life that isn’t improved with a good belly laugh!
  • The gin and tonic tent is a last minute feature added for your enjoyment.  Become a mixologist and create your own combination from the multitude of options available.
  • The best friends diary room enables you to teleport your friends from far flung places in order to savour their company in person.  Please note that this service carries with it some challenges and best practice has discovered that the consumption of tea and biscuits or wine and crisps (dependent on the users preference) will assist in the optimal service use.

We are open to feedback and requests from our campers, so please feel free to come over and rub the magic lamp!

We look forward to returning refreshed women to homes at the end of each day.

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Baby overdue? A survival guide

The last month of pregnancy is the slowest since time began, it is well documented that it has 74 days. If your baby is too comfortable in the fluid filled home you have created for them, this can stretch to an extra 14 days.  Nobody ever thinks this will happen to them. You focus on the due date as if it is a target you will be lucky to reach, never considering that you might still be lumbering around awkwardly for a further two weeks.

Neither of my babies got the hint that it was time to vacate the premises and both of them had to be evicted!

I was born prematurely myself so having some notion that my first baby would definitely arrive early, I finished up in work four weeks before my due date. And was still pregnant six weeks later. I was climbing the walls (if climbing the walls looks like sitting on a yoga ball, crying and eating crisps). On my second I was more appreciative of the time at home….

I read an inordinate amount of articles on-line about how to induce labour. I was doing all I could to help nature along, but I was suffering with SPD and on crutches so wasn’t too mobile. I had two scheduled inductions at almost two weeks overdue with both babies. Having labour induced is no walk in the park but having been through it twice I have some practical advice.

 This isn’t a list of spicy curries, labour inducing cupcakes or aromatherapy oils, but a more realistic survival guide.

  1. As you will more than likely have gone past your due date, you will be tormented by well-meaning nosey bodies texting and calling non-stop looking for baby news. Buy yourself a large toblerone and every time a text reading something like “any sign of that baby?” pings into your phone, eat a triangle. Sure, you will go through that bad boy in record time but it’s not like you have much else to do.
  2. It can be fun to respond to those “any sign of the baby” questions with “oh god, did we forgot to tell you! It was a …” or have some stock newborn photos to reply with.
  3. Forget the batch cooking enthusiasts who would have you cook and freeze enough meals to sit out a zombie apocalypse and instead find yourself a bubblegum TV series to distract you. Dance moms was my particular poison.
  4. If you are being induced, I would really, really recommend keeping the date from as many people as you can. Being in labour is rough enough without your auntie Jean seeking a dilation update.
  5. Don’t expect to have your baby the same day you are induced. My daughter was two days old when I bumped into another mother who was induced at the same time as me, her baby was only a couple of hours old.
  6. On a practical level, some info on being induced: In most cases, the first thing tried is a gel. Which is basically inserted like a tampon. This may or may not get things going, and may or may not need to be repeated.
  7. Another route is the drip with Syntocinon, I needed this second time round when the gel didn’t work the same magic as the first time. Some people might go straight to the drip, policies differ everywhere. I’m told the contractions from the Syntocinon are three times stronger than natural contractions. Be prepared.
  8. You may end up with a c-section, the chances are higher when induced than going yourself. Just something to have in the back of your mind.
  9. I liked the assurance of being induced, of being in hospital with professionals around me monitoring me at all stages. There was no second guessing of “is it time to go to the hospital yet?” or being sent home because you weren’t far enough along.

If you don’t fancy getting to the point where any of the above apply to you, the word on the street suggests dusting down your apron to bake some lemon drop labour cookies to scoff after a vindaloo dinner before a night of passion…

This post first appeared on the wonderful M Word

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Bed-sharing – by order of the tiny tyrant

There were three in the bed and the little one said “roll over, roll over” so they all rolled over and Daddy fell out, Mammy took an elbow to the face and gave a shout.  That’s how we roll in my bedroom these days.

I remember us on our honeymoon, putting down time in an airport while we waited for our next flight to some other new fun destination.  Airports weren’t places of torture like they are now, they could be enjoyed to some extent.  We could shop, eat, drink and just pleasantly pass time.  I bought us two of those neck support pillows, one pink and one red, in the hope they would help make long flights more comfortable.

Fast forward seven years and the same neck pillows have been dusted off and are back in use.  Except we are not going anywhere.  Picture the scene – it’s cold and both parents are wearing warm hoodies in bed.  There are no pillows to be seen but both heads rest awkwardly on those damn u-shaped neck support excuse for a pillow.  The duvet only covers both parents to their waist.  And in the middle of the bed, all stretched out and delighted with himself is the tiny tyrant.

Bed-sharing didn’t come easy to me, I was terrified of sleeping with a small baby.  My older daughter had no interest in it whatsoever and while she couldn’t ever have been described as a good sleeper (although her categorisation did go up a couple of notches after her insomniac brother showed us just how bad it could be) she did sleep in her moses basket and cot.  She loved that cot, wouldn’t sleep in our bed at all, even if she was sick and I would have preferred to keep her close.  She slept in that cot until she was 3.5 and had to be prised out of it.  In contrast her two year old brother slept in it for one full night, just the once.  I’m not exaggerating.  Once.  The cot is long gone.

In that scene above we had decided to give bed-sharing a proper chance, seeing as he ended up in the bed with us anyway.  We took all safety precautions we could think of – no pillows, blankets etc., bubs was all cosy in his grobag, we were cold but hey cold and asleep beats warm and awake in my middle-of-the-night parenting reasoning.

From the moment he was born my son knew what he wanted and most definitely knew when he wasn’t getting it.  And what he wanted was me.  Always and forever, me.  I wanted to keep him close too and didn’t have any expectations of putting him down – his sister didn’t have any time for mama’s arms substitutes either.  But I didn’t anticipate that even when he was already asleep he would know so clearly, and so quickly, each and every time he was moved to the crib.

The midwives on the ward saw in him immediately what I would come to accept, and one built me a “fort” of pillows in an attempt to allow me get some sleep while he was in bed with me.  That terrified me altogether as even though they positioned the pillows in a way to make it as safe as possible, I remained unsure.  But he slept, I didn’t really and that was that.

Varying attempts at home to get him sleep in the moses basket failed.  Maybe he hated the moses basket and would like the space of a cot we thought!  But space wasn’t what he wanted, he was happiest when tucked into the crook of my arm.  We also took the side off the cot and positioned it at my side of the bed so he could technically be “in” the cot but still beside me.  That didn’t really work either.

He is two and a half now, and a few months ago we got him a toddler bed.  The very first night he slept through the night in it!  We didn’t sleep of course as couldn’t relax wondering what was going and where he was.  That was a initial anomaly in the sleep pattern though and hasn’t been repeated.

He goes asleep in his little bed after many stories.  When he first wakes he can be easily soothed back to sleep in his bed.  When he wakes a second time he could be helped back to sleep and sometimes is, but depending on the time it is usually just easier to pick him up (along with the three teddies that accompany him everywhere) and install him in the middle of our bed.  Most nights he cuddles up against me and goes back asleep.  Other nights, like last night, he has nightmares are screams out so I like being there instantly to calm him.  He still dislikes blankets and spends a disproportionate amount of time kicking them all off.

He will inevitably sit up and announce he wants to “lie on mammy” so I become his pillow.  Nearly every single morning I wake to a big smile from my little boy.  I may sleep on a 6 inch corner of the bed as he encroaches on my room, but I know it won’t last forever.  He won’t still be sleeping between my husband and I when he’s going his leaving cert.  If he is, we have bigger problems.

Bed-sharing isn’t for everyone and ideally I would prefer if we all slept happily and well in our own beds.  But when the option is sleep together rather than awake apart, it’s an easy one to make.

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My own glass ceiling

A promotion!!! I looked at the email more closely.  This was great news; long-awaited and hard earned news.  So why was my first feeling that of panic?

Child-care arrangements, that’s why.  A myriad of hypothetical situations raced through my mind, crashing into one another and causing a traffic jam of worry.

What was I thinking I berated myself? Weren’t things ticking along nicely as they were; our lives were plodding along predictably enough, did I really need to upend the apple cart just for a promotion?  If you’re a mother, chances are that last self probing question has you nodding your head in understanding.  If you are a father, you are more likely baffled at its existence.

I don’t think men and women are from different planets but I do think mothers take on a lot more of the invisible parenting burdens.  Mothers who work outside the home are more likely to work part-time, have job sharing arrangements, take parental leave and career breaks.  In other words, our working careers take a back seat to our parenting career.  Fathers appear to not be as affected career wise by the pitter patter of little feet at home.

I needed to talk myself into accepting an upward move in work – what father would look past the increased salary, extra annual leave etc. and only see the headache of sick children, parent teacher appointments and other such considerations?  I felt robbed of future opportunities to be more readily available to my children simply by being presented with a wonderful career opportunity.  I hadn’t even replied to the email at this point yet I was already worrying about making phone calls to new managers when a little person had been vomiting all night…

I have heard plenty about the Glass Ceiling that can halt female progress in the working world in some instances.  I can only speak for myself and while initially it felt that I was the one putting obstacles in my own path, in reality those obstacles just shouldn’t even exist in the first place.  Yes, I was worrying about getting to pick the kids up at the time that suits us all best and wondering how they would feel if they were in their daycare twenty minutes longer a day.  But why did I have to feel like that?

I needed to give myself a stern talking to in order to accept an upward move in work – what father would look past the increased salary, extra annual leave etc. and only see the headache of sick children, parent teacher appointments and other such considerations?  I felt robbed of future opportunities to be more readily available to my children simply by being presented with a wonderful career opportunity.  I hadn’t even replied to the email at this point yet I was already worrying about making phone calls to new managers when a little person had been vomiting all night…

Fate was clearly idle the weekend before I reported for duty on my first morning in my new role, as nothing but an evil sense of humour would have inflicted a vomiting bug on my little family.  The toddler went down first, and we were still hopeful it was a one off.  Optimism waned as my husband succumbed to the intruder and I was slain by Saturday night.  There’s nothing like a good old virus induced stomach purge to take your mind off the daunting idea of a new job…

My most pressing concern wasn’t that I would still be ill on Monday morning, but that my daughter was going to be sick too and not able for school.  And sure enough, she wasn’t well and alternative plans had to be put in place for two days.  She ended up having to go see our GP and it was the first time in her six years on the planet that I didn’t accompany her.  However, I have decided to bin the guilt (well it’s a work in progress).  She managed perfectly fine with my parents and husband tag-teaming but it still felt to me like they were picking up my slack.  I doubt my husband has ever felt that way when I’ve taken care of sick little ones when he’s been in work.

So it was with a slightly green complexion, an absent appetite and phone tightly watched for updates that I ventured into my new work place last week.  Everyone is now well and I am hopeful that my second week will be less eventful!

 

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Calling Bullshit on: Must-have baby equipment

My first baby’s anticipated arrival activated a flurry of shopping.  “How were there so many pieces of baby equipment that I never knew I needed” I would wonder to myself as I lumbered around Mothercare?  Surely if someone went to the effort to create this magical feat of engineering, that meant mothers everywhere were screaming for it?  What sort of a parent would I be if I didn’t try to make sure I had what we would need?  Credit cards were duly swiped, loyalty schemes signed up for and large cardboard boxes lugged home.

Now I look back now on the lunacy of it all, but it was part of my journey into parenthood, buying shit made me feel more prepared.  Armed.  Equipped for the rapidly approaching uncertainty.  A bit of reassurance in a box.

When I think of all the crap my first born was bought it’s laughable.  She was equipped with enough paraphernalia to open a small shop.  So many unused items littered the tops of wardrobes, languished in boxes under beds and squatted in grandparents attics.  We lived in an apartment at the time and couldn’t offer all the useless pieces of plastic the storage they required.

Then my second baby was born!  All manner of equipment was dusted off and examined to see if it something I had ever used, or would use again.  Needless to say we made do with a lot less of baby number two, and not because it wasn’t to hand but because it was a waste of time.  I did some brisk business on sites like adverts and donedeal passing on items to (I presume) first hand parents desperately searching for their own suit of armour.  At least they were sensible enough to buy second hand.

So I have compiled a list of the items I procured in my quest to help my baby be the happiest baby they could be but turned out to be nothing more than yet another yoke taking up precious room in an ever-shrinking space.

I will add that of course what is one parent’s waste of time is someone else’s life-saver so I am not going to start campaigning for their mass destruction.

  1. Baby-swings.  Off we set to the shops with great enthusiasm when we thought the little velcro baby might enjoy the rocking motion of a swing!  Upon building the swing we quickly realised the model we had chosen took up more space than our kitchen so it was returned for a more stream-lined and modest version.  Baby 1 did tolerate it at times but Baby 2 held no truck with any sort of replacement for Mama’s arms.
  2. Slumber Bear.  The public health nurse suggested this one, so with an official stamp of approval off we set once again.  Slumber Bear is a bear with an audio device inside that can play sounds similar to those the baby heard in the womb.  It looked cute, that’s all I’ll say.  A white noise app would serve the same function these days.  Of course we didn’t really learn our lesson as in a fit of sleep deprivation and desperation with Baby 2 I signed up for one of those crowd funding schemes for a Lulla Doll in the hopes that time will have seen great advancements.  He did like it, it sounds like Darth Vader breathing and has an audible heart-beat.  But I keep forgetting to change the batteries so the effectiveness has worn off.
  3. Nappy bin.  We decided that given our residency in a first floor apartment and no access immediately to an outdoor bin that this was a fantastic idea!  We could hygienically shrink wrap the stinky nappies and they would be stored en-masse until such time as the bin was full and needed to be emptied.  This just created a stinky bin that would have us gagging as it was emptied.
  4. Doppler.  I know this pre-dates the actual arrival of Baby 1, but it was bought when I felt I could do with the reassurance of being able to listen in to baby’s heartbeat whenever I felt like it.  It was sweet but often caused moments of panic when I couldn’t locate the thundering hooves of her little heart immediately.  I don’t think I even tried it out once with Baby 2.
  5. Tens machine.  I bought my own… enough said.  I will say that I don’t know if things would have been worse if I wasn’t using it, and no way was I taking it off to test that out!  Fun for those who enjoy the sensation of being electrocuted.
  6. Cot bumpers.  They looked cute but basically had to come off as soon as the baby was big enough to sleep in the cot anyway.
  7. Electric breast pump.  I had a manual pump for Baby 1 and decided that an electric must surely be better so invested in one before Baby 2 arrived.  It seems to be a very personal issue and there’s no real way of knowing in advance which would suit you best.  But I will say I maybe used the electric one 2 or 3 times (I had the Medela Swing) and we were not well paired.  I turned back to my trusty manual pump for a quicker and more productive result.
  8. The Gummee Glove.  This was purchased for Baby 2 as I thought it sounded ingenious!  And in fact it does, if your baby will use it.  Mine was most dismissive.  So now it’s just yet another baby item that belongs to my daughter’s dolls.  Same goes for Sophie the Giraffe.  In my house anything intended for teething babies are of no interest to them.

So do you have any to add to the list?  Are you screaming at the screen in frustration that your baby is most content while chewing on their gummee glove and swinging in the swing with their slumber bear?  The triumph of optimism over experience has led me to make each purchase and I am no doubt will see me buy more.

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The parenting Jinx.

This morning the parenting jinx feels very real and very cruel. I look like an extra from The Walking Dead, I feel like crap and the atmosphere at home this morning was less than joyous. I was hit smack in the face with the worst type of the parenting jinx – the sleep one.

If you have a child who has not yet fully been convinced that sleep is something to welcome and enjoy, you know what I mean. You try anything and everything in the pursuit of a couple of hours of shut eye, and when miraculously your little darling does indeed bless you by sleeping a teeny bit better, you know to keep your mouth shut. The moment you deviate from this rule, you break the magic. Your little darling’s ears perk up, even when they are far, far away. They heard you, and they don’t like it. You dare to be PLEASED that you were denied a bit more of their wonderful awake presence?? Well little darling will correct that and things are right back to where they began. And the next time that friend asks you if whatever you did is still working, you are too tired to fully shake your head and hope the desperation in your eyes will answer for you.

My two-year old has been described by a lot of different words, among those of us who take care of him the following are very common – strong-willed, not-easy, determined, stubborn, strong, angry….. (and we’re being nice there). For the sake of balance I will of course say he is wonderfully cuddly, bright, engaging, loving and funny. When he’s in a good mood that is, and that isn’t always the case.

He doesn’t put his best side forward that often, and two years in we’re falling apart with the sleep deprivation. We have long since abandoned any hope of getting him to sleep in his own room and our bed is just his bed. In fact there isn’t even a cot or bed in his room anymore. We have given in and gone with what works (a little better) in the hopes that it will appease the toddler Gods. I listen to all suggestions of what I can try and recently embarked on a homeopathic remedy adventure with him.

Bazinga! It was working! It seemed like on the 1st January he just woke up happier in himself, he was more settled and content. He was just easier to mind, and he was sleeping better! No more waking every half hour in the evening, and the screaming fits that were a nightly occurrence vanished. We didn’t know ourselves! Not only were we getting more sleep but we were dealing with a more pleasant version on him too!

And then came the big mistake.

I told other people about it.

Big mistake.

Huge.

So now we are right back at 2016 levels of rage and sleep. Too much of one and not enough of the other. The parenting jinx doesn’t like smug parents being over excited about getting 4 hours of sleep in a row (in a row people!!! it was amazing) and it opened its jaws wide and bit me on the ass. The bite feels like something Jaws would have inflicted.

So read my tale of woe and consider yourself fore-warned. If it’s working, keep on doing it, but for the love of God don’t tell anyone else!

(Unless it really is working, then tell me because I could do with trying it……)

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Post-natal depression and me.

So I’ve really gone and given away the ending in the headline, this won’t be about how I’m not sure if I had PND or if it was just the baby blues that dragged on a bit.  It’s my story, and everyone’s story is unique to themselves.  I’m telling it here as I know I read all accounts of individual’s experiences of PND to try and decide if I was doctor-worthy or just needed to cop on and cheer up.  So if reading this can help someone, it’s worth telling.

Picture the scene – The end of my second pregnancy was tough going and I was signed off work early.  Our apartment was sale agreed but the sale wasn’t proceeding due to reasons out of our control.  My next door neighbour was raided by the Guards for suspected drug possession, and we were stuck living there.  There was a large family drama raging which I was being pulled into.  Basically, life was stressful. My beautiful baby was born in the midst of all of this and then when he was just 5 days old, I was re-admitted to hospital with a nasty infection and we were both kept in for 3 nights.

I wasn’t in a great place.  I had my lovely new son, my 4 year old was besotted with him after all my worries that she would feel left out.  I just couldn’t shake a feeling that I was holding my breath.  Waiting for the real enjoyment to kick in.  I wonder if I in fact had ante-natal depression/anxiety too but just put it all down to the stress I was under.  I remember locking myself in the bathroom and bawling my heart out while heavily pregnant.  Like I said, there was a lot going on so I’ll never know if the camel’s back was broken earlier.

When my son was one month old, on my birthday, I had promised my daughter I would collect her from her daycare with him so she could show him off to her friends.  She was so excited.  As I walked down to the daycare centre, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.  I cried the entire way down behind my sunglasses.  I also cried the entire way back up, while now having to also corral an excited 4 year old.  I snapped way too much at a great kid during this non-fun period of my life.  I still feel so guilty.

All I wanted to do was stay home.  I could breathe at home.  I didn’t want to go out.  I didn’t want to speak to anyone.  I was beginning to think maybe this all wasn’t just baby blues and dealing with all the factors warring in my life.

Perhaps I might have admitted the black dog lurking in the room at that point but instead I woke up one day with a face that was only half working.  My son was 4 months old when I got Bell’s Palsy.  I was pretty much confined to home, which tied in nicely with the PND and not wanting to venture outside.  I wrote about that experience in a previous blog post called Why I embrace fine lines and wrinkles.  All attention was focused on trying to make my face work again.    I had been going for regular walks during the day (as the baby only slept when pushed around) but that was all stopped as I couldn’t risk damaging my eye.  Of course, this dragged me further and deeper down into the PND.

I had an amazing physiotherapist who used acupuncture to kick start my facial nerves again, progress was being made!  I have a distinct memory of the last acupuncture session, things were looking up Bells Palsy wise, I could move my eyelid again – this should have been great!  But I sobbed as I lay on the table for the 30 minutes I was left to let the needles do their work.  One problem being dealt with, another festering.

Life was getting back to normal, family drama was resolved, my face was nearly back to normal, I could go out and about again.  Yet all I did was cry.  I would promise my husband and mother that tomorrow I would ring the public health nurse or the doctor.  And then tomorrow would come and I’d busy myself with something and try to convince them, and myself, I was fine.  Nobody was fooled.

I had also become obsessed with breast-feeding, which wasn’t an easy journey for me at all.  I wasn’t comfortable feeding him away from home, so it was another way to keep me where I felt safe.  Looking back I can admit that I believed that if it was the only thing I could do for him that someone else couldn’t, and if I wasn’t feeding him myself then what was my point in his life?  As if that’s all I had to give him.

The moment when I realised I needed help coincided with me trying to fit my body under his cot to hide and cry.  I would regularly lie down on the floor behind a bed and sob, but I felt like I needed even more sanctuary.  And I finally realised that trying to squeeze under a baby’s cot to sob my heart out for no real apparent reason was not normal.

I rang the GP’s office and kept chickening out and hanging up.  Then I did ring, and the receptionist answered.  I burst into tears and told her I thought I had post-natal depression and it had taken me five months to make the call.  She said they would get me in to see the doctor that day, that I couldn’t be left waiting any longer.  I’m actually crying here as I type this, remembering the relief that washed over me.

I met with my wonderfully supportive doctor and we spoke about all the worries and feelings I had.  She prescribed a low dose of anti-depressants and said they could take a few weeks to work and we made an appointment for me to come back.  Within a week I felt better, I know medication doesn’t work so quickly for everyone but it just resonated with me.  I started to feel like me again, a me I thought was just long gone.

The day I went back for the follow-up I told the doctor I felt so strongly about anti-depressants that I could be the poster-girl for a campaign in their favour.  Those little tablets had turned the light at the end of the tunnel back on.

My son is two now and in the last few months I was weaned off the tablets entirely.  I will be forever grateful for their existence.  I am still my normal self, albeit run ragged but such is life with children, but I am able to see the joy and positives in life.

Please, if you read this and any of it sounds uncomfortably familiar, don’t let it slide.  Life is to be enjoyed, not just tolerated.  Life will small children is hard and stressful, but you need to be able to see the moments of joy shine through the clouds.  If you see nothing but storms, that’s not ok.  Make a call for help.