Lost in Planet Parent. I miss the old me.

I had the best weekend recently. I got the luxury of a date night with my main man, we (I, it’s always I) purchased tickets to a club to stomp along to a favourite DJ of ours, dropping some banging tunes – we still say stomp, drop and banging right? Months ago I bought the tickets and dreamed of our date night. Devil child was adopted for the night by her best friend auntie (She’s MY best friend) and ‘best snuggle giver’ uncle, while mum and dad shoveled drink down their throat, just to get over pre-night out jitters – it’s been a while, I tend to get a little antsy before going out these days. I’m out of practice.

Pumped full of Sailor Jerrys off we went into the night. Until, wait for it…..4am! Say what?! Parents out till 4am, what stop outs…what fools. But don’t worry, the babysitters assured me a late child pick up the following day was acceptable. In fact it was pretty much welcomed, best friend auntie and uncle had the ‘whole day planned’ Elf style. Baking, crafts, playing, cooking, the whole lot, in one day, with a toddler – who’s the fool now?

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Can a person say they don’t like motherhood?

I knew very quickly when I had Jess I wasn’t’ like the other mums. They all loved their baby, keen to play, hold and cuddle their squishy ball of human. At one baby class I watched as a mother stared into her babies eyes, smiling and cooing, loving every second of their play. It appeared genuine, it was genuine.  I smiled and cooed with Jess, but I wasn’t enjoying it. I put on a show, pretending to be a ‘mother’.

More than once I was asked by excited, gleeful, wide eyed mums if I was ‘enjoying motherhood?’. My response was always a lie, my honest response would have been akin to telling an exited child that no, you’re not going to Disneyland, you’re going to the waltzers down the road.

I caught the ‘mums’ – but there’s a social media cure for that.

My body.

It’s an amazing thing. It grew and housed another human. It provided food for that tiny human. It expanded, it shrunk, it contracted. It really is a source of amazement – I’m pretty amazed at just how much weight I managed to gain and carry when I was pregnant. I took the guidelines of ‘expected’ weight gains and ate them along side my two lunches before my 3 course dinner. Being pregnant really was a great time (*rain check, other than eating like a hungry horse, no it wasn’t).

I want to believe

I want to believe I am the best thing since sliced bread.

I want to believe every heart felt word or encouragement from my partner’s mouth.

I want to believe I am the best mum for my daughter.

I want to believe what my daughter so freely shows, that I am her idol.

I want to believe I am the mum that she sees.

But I don’t believe it. I know me better than that and I believe I am toxic to my child.

Isn’t that fucked up?

Depression – soon you might be an old friend.

Guess who’s back, back again, Kirsty’s back, tell a friend.

This is quite a bizarre feeling, I didn’t even realise it until a few weeks ago, but I feel ‘fine’. Not sure if ‘fine’ cuts it, I feel ‘great’ – Tony the tiger great.

For someone diagnosed with depression, who monitored her every feeling for fear falling back into the ‘darkness’ I sure did miss the turning point in my mental health, much like failing to see the dark path into depression. But I think, think, there’s light ahead, I’m pretty sure I see a flicker of hope and normality, in the not too far future.