What Has Changed?

So I’ve been asked how things have changed since Cameron was born. That’s a pretty complex question. But in short – what has changed? EVERYTHING!

My Marriage:

Mine and Michael’s relationship has only got stronger and more lovely. I mean that in the most real way I can portray. Our marriage is more beautiful than ever. We still do and say stupid things and have fun. We’re still learning how to juggle it all. We still have arguments.

But now there are more texts that say “how are my two favourite people”, more phone calls with “guess what he did”‘s, more “far out I missed you”‘s and more photo messages featuring a grinning bubba.

My Sense of Self:

Before Cameron I didn’t really know who I was. I felt disjointed and like I needed to explain myself and behave a certain way. Even in the early weeks of his life this continued but now I have a clarity that he has taught me.

More recently I feel that I know who I am in a work-in-progress kind of way and I like who I am. I like my quirks and even my flaws and I think it comes from realising what I am capable of through my journey to becoming a Mumma.

I’m still learning what that means and where I am heading but for now I have a simplistic contentment and feel like I fit in my skin well and that I am someone who can be proud of who/what/where I am today.

My Body:

I like to call it Rachel 2.0… It is a medly of large thick red/purple stretch marks and extra flab. But it is also a creator of life, maker of milk and provider of comfort.

My Home:

My house now feels like a home. I really love this house. I’ve began to appreciate the notion of Organised Chaos… Like messily folded clothing (but folded none-the-less) and neatly organised boxes that are filled with unorganised bits and pieces.

We now have a perfectly functional bed frame stored in our spare room because I prefer the mattress on the floor with Cameron sharing the bed with us (if he rolls out… there isn’t so far to fall – oh that sounds awful!)

My Day-to-Day Life:

My life is now filled with nappy changes, drool, puke, much more washing, stress, concern, crying (his and mine), tiredness, and generally more chaos and questions.

Before he blessed my life I feel like I didn’t have a purpose. I love that my life is also filled with kosses, giggles, smiles, singing silly songs, splishy splashy bath times, bubba massage, boobah, cuddles, book time, new friends, swimming lessons, dancing, and watching him blossom into the beautiful boy that he is.

Postnatal Depression

Postnatal depression (PND)… no one likes to talk about it. No one likes to admit that they have it. There’s a severe stigma attached to it. Even though I suffer from it I still find myself conjuring up certain images, ideologies and expectations when I hear the words uttered.

There is such an awful stigma attached to mental illness in general but in particular postpartum mood disorders.

Many people (and I’m talking intelligent, grounded, everyday people) do not view depression or anxiety as illnesses. They instead label people. As a worrier, as negative, lazy, self-involved, dramatic, over-emotional, loner, etc etc etc.

It is a temporary disease. One that is strong. One that you cannot fathom unless you have been there.

I hate being someone who ‘gets it’… but I do. So I simply cannot ignore it and pretend it isn’t happening.

The mornings are the hardest. It is physical. I wake up feeling hopeless and aimless… even though I know that I have so much to enjoy, cherish, love and be grateful for. I wish people could get that. When you suffer from PND you do not control those thoughts like you do others. You know it’s not logical… but it affects you. It’s as much physical as it is mental (especially anxiety, lordy!)

Some mornings, for whatever reason, I can fight through the funk with relative ease. I stretch and sit up and smile at my boy. I kiss him and sing to him as I change him and I get up and make myself tea and porridge while I talk away to Cameron and make a mental to-do list.

Other days, however, I struggle. I fall in and out of negative dreams and foggy wakefulness where I just want to sleep. It’s like my body is saying “it’ll get better… if you do nothing” even though I know it isn’t true. I’ll smile at Cam, feed him and change him then lay back down submissively to the overwhelming desire to not care… although I do. I really really do.

PND changes your reality. It starves you of positivity. It drags you down and makes you feel tired, worthless, hopeless… sad. It takes and takes and takes.

But worst of all, I believe, it tries to cloud my perspective. The beauty. The magic. My happiness.

Most days I start to feel better as I do more… but there is the matter of fighting it with motivation (which is harder than it sounds).

It can be so easy to get sucked into the cycle. Depression feeds off negativity and loves to hear you think or say “I give up”. So you can give in… I can quite easily start to believe that I’m a bad Mum, who is not deserving of happiness, who is lazy and worthless.

But I’m getting stronger and stronger each day. Finding new, creative, beautiful ways to construct a different perspective and breathe loveliness into my life. Not that I don’t have all that I want right in front of me… but being proactive helps. And it shows that anxiety and sadness are just parts of what makes me me.

More on this soon.

Dreaded Car Drives

I have always feared driving. The idea that I’m in control of something large and potentially lethal doesn’t appeal to me. I’m uncoordinated at the best of times.

I only got my provisional licence when I was 37.5 weeks pregnant. Yes, you read correctly. I waddled up to the instructor in 33 degree heat early December and crossed my fingers.

I knew I had to do it for Cammy. I knew I wouldn’t be able to not have the option of leaving the house. I knew I needed the independence. I had a perfectly good Toyota Sportivo sitting in the garage each day.

When I was 39 weeks pregnant I drove alone in the rain for the first time. I was driving to the shops around our suburb when I went too fast around the roundabout. I lost control of the car and spun around to be facing the wrong way on the round about, in traffic, in the pouring rain.

Thank God for lovely people, that’s all I can say. A man stopped his ute so no one could run into me. A woman yelled instructions to me but I was in shock and shaking. I tentatively yelled “help”.

The lovely woman came to my window and said “Oh, you’re pregnant! Are you ok honey?” I rambled about not being a confident driver and not knowing what to do. She parked her car on the side of the road and helped me, still shaking, safely to the side of the road and moved my car for me. She didn’t leave me until I had gathered myself and drove slowly… so slowly to my Dads.

Fast forward to now and I have a baby who also HATES the car. He doesn’t just cry… he outright SCREAMS. Like sweaty-holding-my-breath-someone-cut-off-one-of-my-limbs screams.

Thankfully, he’s got a heap better lately and only rarely cries (not screams) if he’s hungry or over tired. But for a while there I got anxious leaving the house.

Trips had to be close to home and well timed… and even then it was far from a guarantee and there was always the trip home…

Car trips involved him outright screaming while I sung stupid songs to him at the top of my lungs or turned up the radio or cried. I tried toys, mirrors, blankets/no blankets, adjusting the straps, different clothes, variations of air con and a hell of a lot of ”it’s OK baby” and shhh shhh shhhing.

I still park in ‘easy parks’, can’t drive with shoes on, reverse ridiculously slow, and have a lead foot but I’m getting there. I’m still not the most confident driver but at least I have mostly peaceful trips now.