Post natal depression can bite me.

And, in fact, it usually does.

Since Porridge finished nursery for the summer Shreddies has missed his usual Mummy Time during Biscuit’s morning nap. As a result he’s become extremely clingy. Biscuit in turn is going through that 6 month separation anxiety thing where even crossing the room without her elicits screams.

Add in Porridge being a typical high spirited, somewhat self-centred 5 year old and by last Friday I had had enough of this little army I had created myself. In fact I was probably done by Thursday but pushed through anyway because that’s what mum’s do. 

So on Saturday morning, completely spent and struggling to cope with any human interaction let alone tiny hands touching me, you would think I’d just send Mr. DB out with the kids and get down me time.
Nooo, stupid brain decided that doing so would mark me as a terrible parent. That my failure to cope was a mark of how bad a mother I am. Essentially my Post Natal Depression (PND) kicked in and made me feel terrible. And there is nothing like really needing a break from a situation and also feeling guilty about needing the break. 

PND sucks on so many levels and in so many ways but the worst is when it hits you at your lowest making you believe that you are only that low because you’re a bad parent. Like there aren’t any other factors. Even if you are rocking motherhood in every other way it can make one slip-up feel like it’s time to pack your kids off because anyone would be better at looking after them than you. And that is not true. Not ever. Sometimes, I wish I remembered that. 

Take care


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