I was at the doctors for my sick baby with my toddler in tow, her hand in a cast. She had undergone surgery on her finger the day before, going under general anaesthetic. It had been an exhausting 48 hours for all of us and the baby was totally congested with conjunctivitis. I had barely slept, likely hadn’t had a shower or any breakfast. I had scored an appointment with 10 minutes notice so had to wake the sleeping children and get them dressed in record time and bundle them into the car. We made it. A few minutes late but we made it. The baby was checked and then I had a question for the nurse about Jessica’s cast. I was on auto pilot so it was a bit surreal as I uttered the following words: who is best for me to talk to about post natal depression?
“What do you want?” This is something I’ve found myself uttering to my baby at all times of the day and night. It comes off a bit harsh, so I try again: “I don’t know what you want” or “Mummy doesn’t know what you want”. Because I don’t. I have no confidence and find myself feeding him every 2 hours during the day because I have nothing else in my toolkit. Sometimes I correctly guess that he’s tired. And so to give him the relief of sleep, I need to feed him and rock him to sleep. Oh and he needs to be on me and have his dummy. Often though he’s overtired. Poor little guy. Sometimes it’s fine. I have nowhere to be and nothing I (really) need to do. But now at 12 weeks, the ideas of things I could be doing are piling up in the ‘yeah but you can’t’ pile.