This post is one person's experience and should not be considered medical advice.
I think I’m traumatised by having two children under the age of two. There wasn’t one specific traumatic event that occurred. I would describe it as a slow burn. About seven years of constantly running on high revs until it felt like my engine would explode. Teetering on the brink of holding my sh*t together and falling in an utter heap.
One of the most overwhelming thoughts during that time was ‘this can’t be it. This can’t actually be how things are supposed to be, how motherhood is supposed to be’.
I felt overwhelmed, exhausted, guilty, unhappy, depressed, discontent, agitated, jealous and miserable. My first child was a terrible sleeper despite my thorough attempts to maintain a sleep routine, which sent me completely mad.
Watch: Lies every mum has told. Post continues below.
I’ve recently reached a milestone: nine years of parenthood. My first child is an avid early riser so in those nine years I've not slept past 6-6.30am more than 10 times.
I feel 100 years old. My husband and I don't dare go to bed past 9.30pm. We were the butt of many ‘early bed time’ jokes among childless family and friends who, let’s be honest, just didn’t get it and who we silently laughed at once they welcomed babies and left every function early.
I never worked. I haven’t been back to employment since having my first baby. My husband went off to work every day, and I had the kids. We are like a stereotypical 1950s household.
I now understand why all the housewives of the 1950s spent most of their time drunk on Shandi or high on valium.
When the second baby arrived 23 months after the first, I had expected it would double my workload. I was wrong.