As the toddler sleeps solidly in the next room, I remember that this time two years ago, I wasn’t sure I would ever become a proper Mum, one with a baby heavy in her arms instead of just her heart. But I made it to 38weeks and Alba arrived safely after years of grief and loss.
We made it through a pandemic somehow and then I found myself researching perinatal mental health, birth trauma, miscarriage, birth defect, post natal depression and anxiety whilst pregnant with what was to become my second living baby.
Knowing a new baby was on the way, I could feel the time bomb, a pressure growing, not just the one that had me wetting myself when I shouted the dog or coughed too hard, but a real pressure that we would have to leave the flat, leave London and find a new life. My partner was somewhat reluctant and so, after asking his boss for a pay rise, which his boss agreed to consider in six months time… I applied for better paid jobs outside of London. One dropped and it sounded too good to be true. He would be helping run a small but pricey landscaping business in the expensive south Manchester, East Cheshire suburbs. It was all going great but suddenly, the baby arrived and 5 weeks later, his new boss informed him that his work wasn’t to continue. It was a huge shock and a disappointment. We had spent thousands moving our lives for a role which transpired to be not only just mostly online, but also, very short lived. I found myself untethered, comforted by few constants – my family and the dream that it would be great if we could have a house this size in Hackney. A dream that has both comforted and tortured me for over a decade.
Woke on No sleep 