It hasn't been a picnic; the side-effects of anti-depressants aren't amazing. Nausea pretty much all day long, upset stomach, dry mouth, the shakes and dizziness. But for the first time, these have started to subside and there's just a very subtle change that appears to be happening.
When I think about things, things that would usually overwhelm me, or cause me anxiety (ie: everything), the world just seems a tiny bit softer and lighter. Things that I'd ordinarily react badly to, I'm far more chilled out about. I haven't woken up and suddenly everything is bright and sunshiny and beautiful (far from it - suddenly it's autumn here), but there is a definite shift, and I am starting to feel a lot more myself again.
'Myself' being someone who has the ability to laugh at shit, and be less uptight about everything.
This award-winning book-writing blogger (hey, that was me once!), sums PND up excellently. I love her.
Florence is also 10 weeks. She is starting to settle easier, is chubbing out (so I get to squeeze her little legs and kiss those soft, fat cheeks), and doesn't mind lying down somewhere for 2 minutes (that's her record) that isn't my arms. I am fully aware that this is the last time I'll be doing this.
The Ugly Volvo (another amazing book-writing blogger whom I love) sums this up very well too. So I am now starting to really embrace the fact that my little baby is going to be the last little baby I have. I nestle in her hair, I allow her to lie on my chest for longer than necessary, I am trying to live for every moment with her where possible.
I've joined a baby class. It's the same sensory class I did with Sebastian, and it's bought back lots of memories. I am sad that he is no longer a baby I can do this with - go figure. I hope to meet some mums there, although my self-esteem isn't helluva great right now. I don't like the look of myself in a mirror, and I am not sure what to say to these mothers who are shiny, and spritely and skinny and local.
I'll get there. I'm not as anxious or worried about it as I was last week.
I'm an outgoing introvert, so this will take time.
One thing I am fucking terrified about: the Brit is going to Singapore tomorrow for a week for work. A week. I don't know how I'll logistically manage drop offs and pick-ups to Sebby's nursery, and not sure how I'll manage doing everything for that long before dying from exhaustion.
Maybe I'll surprise myself.
I'm trying to think of it like an athlete thinks about their next triathlon. Preparation is key; do your best.
It was my birthday last week. I am now officially on the wrong side of 35. (Although I insist 40 is going to be great. My kids will be old and sufficient enough to dress themselves, and I foresee a lot more freedom and sleep in my future.)
The Brit was wonderful, and treated me to spa treatments for an afternoon, lunch away, a gourmet feast which he made at home, and a beautiful necklace. It certainly helped, as one doesn't exactly feel 'birthdayee' when they're tending to children and babies all day, and one day rolls into the next.)