My gorgeous girl,
This time three years ago I was pregnant, so very, very pregnant, and convinced you would never arrive. D was early, so by the time your due date approached, in my head I was already two weeks over and so impatient to meet you! I didn't know whether you were a boy or a girl and the suspense was killing me. When you finally made your entrance, just 2 days early, you scared the life out of me and your Dad. You were in such a hurry we barely made it to the hospital. Dad later told me he was sure he'd be delivering you on the side of the N59 - he'd even brought a knife to cut the cord, bless his cottons. Thankfully, that wasn't necessary. I remember your birth so vividly, and the moment the nurse told me you were a girl I just collapsed in tears, I was so happy. I couldn't wait to hold you. I was ecstatic that labour was over, and then there you were. I was beyond smitten, from the very first second I laid eyes on you.
It was so different from when D was born. I wasn't scared, or anxious, or lost like I had been with him. I had all the confidence of having done this before, I knew we'd be fine. OK, we got off to a bit of a rocky start. You were only 4 days old when I developed mastitis, and then the antibiotic caused us to bounce another infection back and forth between us for weeks. But we got through it, and I was hopelessly in love with you.
But then. There had to be a but. PND reared it's head again. It snuck up on us, really gradually. The first inkling was when my beloved sister was over for a visit from Denmark. We had such a short time with her, and then she was gone again. I had intended to head into town to see her off, but just as we were about to leave you did a spectacular projectile vomit and that was that. She had a train to catch, you needed to be fed and changed and there just wasn't enough time. She left with D and Dad, we stayed. I was heartbroken.
A second sign - just before Dad headed back to work, the 4 of us were in the playground. I was really struggling - I was getting lost in the bubble, and I remember just sitting there, not being able to engage, and feeling so desperately, horribly alone. The tears came, and there was no stopping them. The difference was this time round, we knew what it was. We caught it early. As soon as we got home I contacted Therapist, and so we kept going.
M your first year was so hard, in so many ways. I wasn't well. You weren't well - it was only a matter of weeks before reflux reared it's head, and you found it so tough. You hated to lie down, day or night, and spent most of your waking hours either in my arms or up in the sling. We had to elevate your cot so you could try and get some comfort at night, but it did little to help you, and we all lost a lot of sleep. But still we kept going. We found a way through it.
Since those first few weeks, we've had more than our fair share of pain and crises in this house. But do you know what? I look at you now, and I see what a gorgeous girl you are. Your laugh is so incredibly infectious - you laugh right from the bottom of your belly and it never fails to bring a smile to my face. You come out with the craziest things. Your sense of style is totally and completely your own - flowery wellies with leopard print leggings and a polka dot top? Perfect! You give the absolute best hugs. You have a temper on you as well, there's no denying it. You're your mammy's girl. But you're learning to control it, and it's wonderful to see. The way you love your big brother so totally and completely melts my heart. So yes, we've had pain, and tears, and horrible times that we'd all rather forget. But we've also laughed a lot, and grown so close as a family.
You're almost 3. It's been epic. Thank you, my beautiful, crazy girl x
Labels: child birth, family, post natal depression, reflux, therapist
