Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Is the good stuff coming?

Tommorow we will have had our tiny human for 6 months. SIX months. I don't know where any of those six months have gone. Actually, that's not true. The first three and a half vanished into the thick black smog of depression and anxiety, the following two were spent on a psych ward getting sane, and the past couple of weeks we've spent recovering and getting used to "normal" life again.

I'd like to say (and believe) that this is a fresh start, that all the good stuff begins here, that this is where BabyF and I will build our relationship from, but I'm not sure that's how this works. I'm the only mum she's had, surely the times when I haven't wanted her, haven't wanted to be alive, haven't taken care of her physically or emotionally will have had some effect. The times I've cried, retreated, hidden, had meltdowns, will have left a residue in her rapidly growing brain and heart. 

I've always been kind to her and gentle, even when I've least felt like it, so I hope that's done something to negate the negatives. I've explained to her that I'm sad but not because of her - I'd like her to know that it's ok to be sad. She's never been left to cry, never gone to sleep without one or both of us helping her, never been hungry for longer that it takes to whip out a boob or make up a bottle, never been cold or dirty or lonely or without comfort when she's needed it.

Hopefully these things will patch over the times I was emotionally absent, and those when Husband and Nana had to take over her care for a bit.

Hopefully she won't be affected by the months we spent in hospital, or by the difficult birth, or by our breastfeeding struggle.

Hopefully she'll remember seeing and being with her mum and dad together every day, no matter where we were sleeping.

Hopefully she feels loved and safe and secure in our little triangle.

Hopefully the trouble she has getting to sleep (which is getting worse again) isn't due to her not feeling safe and secure.

Settling her has always been difficult, especially for me - it has the ability to throw me into a spin and land in a puddle of failure. Since my medications have leveled me out and I've learned different ways to settle BabyF, I've been much better at settling and getting her to sleep. It hasn't thrown me for a while, I haven't had any meltdowns related to her not settling since being out of hospital, but now it's getting harder and harder to settle her, it's getting harder and harder to avoid the spin. She screams as soon as we go into her bedroom. Screams when we lie her in her cot. Screams until we pick her up, and then stops. This goes on and on and on and it's difficult and exhausting. This week we've spent nights in a chair by her bed resettling her every half hour. I'm not sleeping very well despite the medication I'm on which is supposed to help me sleep (as well as "help" me gain weight - I'll discuss this shit in another post). 

Friday night was anxiety night - surprisingly unrelated to BabyF or Husband. I took the last of my discharge meds on Thursday night but had been to the GP and pharmacy to get continuation meds. When I went to take my 6pm quetiapine pill, it looked different to the ones I'd been taking previously so I checked the packet really carefully and realised I'd been given immediate release instead of extended release. The IR would have knocked me out for a while but Saturday I would have been manic. The XR keeps me level the next day and I've been told under no circumstances to miss a dose. So I called the psych outpatients at the hospital up the road (they've taken over my care) in a bit of a tizz and they told me to come up and they would have some prescribed for me that night. So I walked there (nervous energy) and waited a bit for the on call Dr to prescribe and the onsite pharmacy to dispense. They gave me enough for the weekend and told me to come back Monday morning for a full script. 

The old me wouldn't have batted an eyelid. The new, recovering me got into a bit of a state. Husband didn't really realise or perhaps he just didn't care - would have been nice if he had recognised that I wasn't OK and tried to help. I even told him I wasn't OK, but I guess it's hard to understand from the outside.

Anyway, onwards and upwards, 6 month vaccinations tomorrow, then Good Friday, weekend, Easter Monday. We'll have Husband home for 4 days in a row which will be nice (even though it fucks our practically non existant routine in the arse). Hopefully we'll make it to the beach a couple of times. A one year old's birthday party on Saturday (we met on the unit) with a swimming pool and hopefully sunshine. 

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