An honest account of postnatal depression.
There is so much out there for mummas-in-waiting that it can be overwhelming to say the least.
You cannot help but fantasy role-play. Imagining what it will be like to be a mother for the first time. You envision that you will be this domestic goddess with a tidy house, clean washing folded neatly away, home cooked meals for hubby every night and Michael Bublé softly warbling in the background as you gently rock your baby to sleep as your freshly blow dried hair sweetly scents the air.
I suppose it is like that for some and I dare say, I thought that I would be a superstar parent, as well because seriously, how hard can it be? I am a 30-year old competent human being with a successful career, loving husband and a good head on my shoulders.
But unfortunately I was dead wrong.
The real deal:
My six-week-old baby girl is screaming in her bassinet. She has been there for 10 minutes and she is getting more upset with every passing minute but yet I cannot move. I am sitting on the laundry floor sobbing into a handful of dirty clothes. It's 2pm in the afternoon, I am still in my pajamas and I haven’t washed my hair since, you know what, I cannot even remember nor do I give a shit. My baby needs me and I cannot go to her. I am afraid of what will happen if I do.
I am not sure how it happened or where it came from, but things seemed to go very fuzzy the moment my daughter was born.
People asked me while we were still in the hospital, ‘Are you just overwhelmed with love for her?’ and I didn’t know how to answer. I was unsure of the answer. Yes I felt a strange connection to her even protectiveness, but love?
We took our bundle home and my husband was more of a mother than me. He got up with her in the middle of the night. He soothed her when she cried. He played with her for hours at a time and I would watch on like a tourist staring into an enclosure at the zoo as a lioness lovingly tends to her cub.