Two Years

As I lie in bed trying to sleep, knowing I will be wakened in a few hours, I can't help my mind taking me back to another night two years ago today. I've kept busy all day but there's nothing between me and the memories now.

The hard mattress and yucky polyester sheets. The knowledge that I would be wakened in four hours, my lights turned on, my blood pressure, pulse, sats and temperature taken and my finger pricked. The terror of realising each and every time I regained consciousness that I was in this unknown place and I had to face the thing I was most scared of four times a day. Traumatic as the general hospital was, I had come to understand it and therefore feel some level of safety but now everything was new and overwhelming all over again. 

That morning as I stepped over the threshold with fear and hope, I had taken some of the most important steps towards my new life. Of course it's not actually clear cut like that, there is no line between old life and new life, I have not "arrived" anywhere and am very much just continuing to take steps every day, in varying directions.

But there are some things that were left at that door that I am endlessly grateful to be rid of. They had no place in my life and I never want them back. Others I have picked up to help me since, and many many more I still carry, for better or for worse.

It's always a difficult time of year for me: my brain works by making links and finding patterns, and so it is great at highlighting similarities and differences between experiences while it tries to organise and categorise everything in order to understand life and inform itself on what might happen next and how to deal with it.

And so it reminds me in my thoughts about events that happened on certain days (like today), and it reminds me in my body of experiences I sensed or emotions I felt (like the leaves turning orange and falling from the trees, or the cold morning air or a particular timbre of beeping). The two often become entangled or the one prompts the other as well. The trouble is, my poor old Brian can't decide whether to categorise these things as good or bad (they were of course a mixture) and how they should inform my future actions. I don't know what I feel about them and my brain is so intent on trying to make a logical map from them that they just keep swilling around because they can't be filed.

Life is very different now from how it was two years ago. I've been trying to write this post for two weeks - this is the end of about six weeks of annual date-specific memories - and could never find quite the right words. My life is better. I am more independent. I am happier. I have more freedom. I share more about my wellbeing with Mr Peggy. I have better support. I am much more able to ask for help when I need it. I have better coping strategies. I live a more authentic life. I have Baby Peggy. 

That time was probably the hardest in my life. I certainly had most of the most traumatic single moments of my life so far (and hopefully ever!) during that time. My stress levels were permanently so high that meltdowns were routine. But I also found hope. I met some of my closest friends. I reclaimed parts of my life I thought were lost. I found out a bit of who I am when I'm not trying to hide (because there was nowhere to hide). I let people in and I let people help. It hurt and it helped. And so I don't know how I feel about it and I don't know how to write about it. 

A therapist I saw recently helped me make a little sense when I explained that I wasn't even sure whether it was even trauma I was dealing with: because the events, experiences and feelings all happened in one time span and space that definitely had some traumatic events, it all gets lumped together by my brain, and so even parts that I wouldn't think should be traumatic still inspire some of those feelings. The emotional response is so complex because all of the different emotions are related to things that happened at that time, and so whenever I am reminded of any part of it, I just get a big ball of unidentified emotional mash. (She didn't quite phrase it like that!) I wonder if it can also work the other way - that because some wonderful things came from it I can feel mistakenly positive about the bad bits.

So I don't know how I feel about it. And still the memories swill. Hopefully one day they'll just trickle by harmlessly. 

Until then? Just keep swimming...

And be grateful for what I have right now, which is more than I would have dared to hope for through my tears on the hard mattress in the middle of the night.

How close to crazy?

Note to self: be less crazy.

I've developed a habit when distressed of repeating a short calming phrase to myself and Baby Peggy. It's quite effective but I think it makes me sound more crazy than I am. Or maybe I am just more crazy than I think I am.

Pacing around repeating "It's ok, we're gonna fix it, it's ok. It's ok, we're gonna fix it, it's ok" (or similar) is not normal behaviour. But it does help! The rhythm of the words, and the reassurance of telling myself that it will be OK even if it's not now can help to stop me escalating further. The sameness of the repetition can eventually smooth the seam of transition between distress actions and problem-solving, de-escalation or "moving-on" actions.

But it is disturbing for others to see (or rather, to hear), particularly if preceded or accompanied by an even more dysregulated presentation of crying, flapping, shaking, self harm, being a ball in a corner etc.

I don't know where the balance lies between helping myself and not being a nuisance. Sometimes it feels as though I can do little about it even if I wanted to and that these are ways to stop anything worse from happening. I have had to accept that being inconspicuous as I would like to be is just not always realistic.

I don't know whether it was the repetitive phrases or the general presentation or the fact I had a baby with me but I obviously went one step too crazy this time. 

It had already been a difficult day on a backdrop of raised stress levels. Meltdown 1 had been surfaced from after two and a half hours of recovery, and Meltdown 2a had avoided escalation by furiously (manically? desperately? absently?) continuing with my previous plan of action. I should have known (and probably did know) that Meltdown 2b was pretty much inevitable if anything even slightly untoward were to greet me.

Which of course it did in the car park of Aldi, in the form of a lady unloading a trolley in the back of the space I was reversing into.

The car was half in and half out of the space, waiting didn't fix it and instead the lady started to gesture to me (I was too stressed out from earlier to process that her signals meant she needed me to move out of the way so she could get the trolley out of my way), the baby started to cry, and I was expecting an important phone call at any moment.

Executive function swanned off entirely so I just could not work out what to prioritise or in what order things needed to happen. Or even what things needed to happen! Luckily having a baby makes it simpler in some ways as they trump all else on a fundamental level that can usually penetrate even the depths of my problems. Start with the baby and hope the rest follows. 

Of course, starting with the baby meant getting out of the car, which meant the problem that involved another person put itself all over me while my brain was still offline and in basic "comfort the baby" mode. It could only do one job at that moment - language was pretty much absent other than repeating a comforting phrase. Responsive language, problem solving and social interaction were way down my brain's priority pathways and out of reach. So I was largely ignoring the other lady in order to do the thing I needed to do first.

I would have got through, and indeed did get through, all the other jobs eventually, it just took longer than for other people and I looked more unusual whilst doing it.

And so I worked through the backlog of tasks and got onto the supermarket shop about fifteen minutes later. (The lady solved the problem that involved both of us in the meantime, which took a job off my list!) Order restored after a really difficult afternoon.

And then the bit that made me realise once again that I'm actually a crazy person. A couple of police officers wandering up the aisle opposite. Not hugely unusual in the town where I live so I carried on as normal. But it turned out it was me they wanted. The lady had been worried enough that she had sent the police to check on me. 

They were very calm and as discreet as they could be and we just had a little chat and they left me to it (although they did wait outside the shop and check on me again when I got to my car!) but it was a new experience for me and not entirely comfortable. I know I can be unusual and do become distressed at times, but generally I find my way through things and don't tend to cause others a problem. When this happened I felt even more conspicuous. I felt embarrassed being talked to by officers in public. And I felt acutely aware that I needed to present myself in a very "normal" manner or it would be so easy to suddenly find myself on the wrong side of crazy, popped into a van and detained for assessment. It's the second time I've had a possible close shave with the mental health act and it makes you feel suddenly very vulnerable.

I suppose I am grateful that somebody cared enough to make sure I was OK (I had assured her that I was, but clearly hadn't convinced her), but the whole thing left me unsettled. I realised when I went out the next day that I was really quite anxious. Anxious I would have another meltdown - they are not fun and because of the high distress of that day as well as the pre-existing background stress factors I am now feeling much more like I did eighteen months ago than how I've been feeling recently - and additionally anxious that if I did, someone would report it and I'd end up on the wrong side of crazy, with people saying I can't look after my baby or sectioning me. Until yesterday I felt less anxious in public than before having a baby: I know how to act with a baby, I know the conversations off by heart, I know how to behave with a baby, I have a purpose so am not occupied by trying not to be weird etc.  But now I feel more anxious instead, because of other people's responses to me doing what I need to do. And I also start to question the confidence I had in being able to look after a baby. If I can get that distressed around him then am I really fit? I hope I am, but it has shaken me and knocked my confidence. It has made me a little paranoid in public and much more likely to mask, which is widely recognised as being detrimental to wellbeing (also borne out by my personal experience).

So I guess I have to once more examine the balance of how much "me" is acceptable, and how close to crazy is too close.

But for the minute I'll just snuggle down with Baby Peggy, go for walks away from the people, and try to let my brain get back to "now" me instead of year-and-a-half-ago me.

Some "rest the brain" activities

The sensory delights and trials of parenting a newborn

There is a fundamental change when you first become a new parent. Your house becomes a different kind of house, and you become a different kind of person. I live in a House with Baby Toys, a House Where you Might Find a (clean) Nappy on the Living Room Floor. A House with Baby Clothes on the Line. I am a Person with a Car Seat in Their Car, a Person who uses the Lift Because of the Pram, A Person Who is Late Because the Baby Needed Feeding. 

I like being a Person With Baby Feet On Their Leg!

Of course not everything changes (See my previous post! Although things are very different now from when I wrote that), but the shift is pretty major and there is a lot of re-categorisation work for the brain to do as it tries to make sense of what life is now.

Along with this shift come many new or changed sensory experiences. These must be different for everybody and must affect everybody differently but I think I would have found it interesting to read some examples before I gave birth. In fact I'd still be interested to read others' experiences now! And different experiences of the sensory aspects of pregnancy for that matter.

A few of the notable sensory specialities of having a new baby for me:

Smell experiences. 

You'll be able to think of plenty of smells associated with babies, I'm sure. But I have a super strong awareness of some of the less obvious ones. I smell different. I don't know if it's the hormones or just from being so close to each other, but my body smell has changed. In the early days I definitely smelt like him; now it could be either or both. 

There is also a pervasive aroma of dried milk and our mixed sweats. Thankfully I actually like this smell, possibly because I'm all full of hormones, or possibly because as a bodily smell it is easier to process and therefore calming as an early developmental experience.

(Note, on checking and finishing this post six weeks after I started it, so just about three months into Baby Peggy, these experiences are much less intense. I guess he smells much less like a newborn, we are all a bit better at feeding so a bit less dried milk and skin to skin, and it isn't so hot so we aren't as sweaty!!)

Touch experiences.

One of the biggest difficulties I encountered and potential barriers to me breastfeeding was the wetness. I discovered I really hate being wet, and even worse, wet fabric. If makes me uncomfortable and miserable and irritable. There is a lot of wetness involved in feeding a baby. Leaking milk from the side you're not using, fountains when baby gets overwhelmed and comes off mid-let-down, dribbles when the latch isn't good, and of course spitting up after feeds. It might seem disproportionate but the constant getting wet really affected my mood, to the extent that even though feeding was going well I questioned whether I could continue. Thankfully I was able to problem-solve with a little help and with a never-ending supply of muslins, and milk collection shells and reusable breast pads I can stay happily dry when feeding and in between. What a relief!

Tummy to tummy 💗

Some of the most rewarding sensory aspects of having a baby are tactile for me. Having Baby Peggy's weight and warmth on me is super calming: worlds beyond a weighted blanket or even a squeeze vest I think. Having him in the sling when I do stressful things helps keep me calm. But the real trump card is the moments when I find us tummy to tummy. There is something primal, visceral, soul-filling, about that particular sensation that just transcends the words I have to describe it with! 

Those are the main ones which were huge for me but potential other considerations:

Sound experiences.

Babies cry. Some more than others, but all babies cry a certain amount. The sound is designed to be hard to tolerate. This can make it extra problematic for people who are particularly sensitive to certain sounds. Or perhaps some people with strong auditory sensitivities have found ways to cope (certain types of earplugs I have heard of, and I'm sure there may be other things that help) and so don't find it much worse than other sounds. Or perhaps the processing is different and so the emotion and the sound may be less strong (or indeed stronger) in some people.

Luckily we like his favourite
singing hedgehog too!

For me another one to note is changes to the soundscape of the house. Someone will undoubtedly give you noisy toys. We have a baby gym that makes noises but thankfully they are noises I don't mind hearing repeatedly (some I would struggle to cope with so we may be "losing" a lot of batteries if we acquire too many electronic toys in future!), but it can still be surprising if the baby is not on the mat and one of us sets hedgehog off unexpectedly!

The sounds of his shuffling and snuffling at night are also new, the washing machine is on more often, I tend to listen to music more because he likes it (and the types of music he likes, especially in the car!). When he was tiny he made a funny sound at the end of a yawn that inexplicably infuriated me for a moment every time, but then it also used to sound like we were on a pirate ship at night as he snored, which was actually quite soothing and very cute.

And of course his cooing and early vocalisation practice. Which melts my heart every time. And with that grin...

I've had to rethink my
whole laundry-hanging
system!

Visual experiences.

As I mentioned earlier, the house looks different. Baby toys, baby clothes, nappy buckets, baby bath, baby sleeping places (we even had to move our bed slightly to accommodate his bedside crib, which is not only a visual adjustment but can affect the proprioceptive and other senses as you navigate the room!). General baby paraphernalia all over the place! I know of one friend who very slowly made these adjustments throughout her pregnancy - perhaps a helpful tip.

But also, you get to look at a really cute baby.

Taste experiences.

I didn't think there was anything to write here, but as I come to check over and finish this post a few weeks on, I have had to trial a dairy free diet for his digestion, so am having to adjust to new tastes as well! Thankfully there is a lot available these days so it has been easier than I feared. NB cashew milk is the closest I've found to cow's so far, oat is nice too, coconut yoghurts are not nice but coconut ice cream is (well, Aldi's chocolate brownie ice cream, anyway...). I don't reckon vegan cheese would be worth trying...

Other senses.

Getting back on these
bad boys!

My proprioceptive and vestibular senses are a bit sad since having a baby as they become rather neglected when permanently glued to another being who can't control the movement of their body. I use these two senses to keep myself regulated and feeling well, so I really notice it when I haven't been able to stretch or move in ways that feel good for a while. When my body isn't happy, I'm less happy. So recently, now that I've become aware of this and now that Baby Peggy is sleeping and playing a little more independently at times, I try and prioritise moving my body even if just for a few minutes each time he is somewhere that's not me. It really helps. 

Sometimes you can
sneak a bit of vestibular
input even with a baby...

Interoception-wise, I have to try and be extra conscious because I am not super-sensitive in this area. I often realise fairly late on that I need the toilet, or am thirsty or too hot, so now I try and intentionally attend to all these needs before I sit down to feed - go to the toilet, make sure I have a drink nearby (although I think breastfeeding actually makes me more conscious of thirst) and am dressed right for the temperature. Thankfully on the evenings and weekends Mr Peggy is great at refilling my water whenever it is empty, bringing me the food I need, putting my fuzzy socks on for me etc!

So there are my thoughts on the sensory aspects of having a baby. Please let me know your experiences and thoughts - I'd be really interested!

Always Be Prepared

I never take my clothes off inside out, because that means I would have to turn them the right way again, either when putting in the wash, hanging up to dry, putting away or getting out to wear. That would be annoying. It's much easier to just take them off the right way.

My routines and preferences and "correct" ways of doing things generally have an important reason behind them, and I have usually formed them through experience in order to avoid anything from minor inconvenience to high distress. I prefer to wash up as I go along when cooking so there's not a big pile waiting later when we want to relax. I make sure I have everything I want to hand before I start feeding Baby Peggy. I write emails before appointments so we know what to talk about. I always put things in the same places so I don't have to look for them - I know where everything is. I always have my rucksack with me with a gazillion things I occasionally or frequently need (blanket, notebook, headphones, diary etc etc etc). 

I wasn't quite sure what to title this post or what my main point is, but I want to write something about being prepared, or being informed, or being in control.

I invest a lot of energy on being prepared in life and thinking ahead to anticipate problems and head them off before they happen. This often looks to others like being pessimistic, wasting time and energy (I don't always do things the quickest way; I do them the best way for me that makes them easier in the end) and being fussy, awkward, controlling, paranoid or pedantic.

One of my major concerns right from early pregnancy was how I would cope with being in the hospital due to the intense emotions I have surrounding the memories of my past experiences there.

I could have tried for a home birth but found the uncertainty around this difficult to manage. If staffing was short on the day or if I had complications I would have had to go in anyway, and then I would have had the additional stresses of it being a change to plan and of not having worked on accessing the hospital. And there was no way of avoiding a small number of visits antenatally - any visits to triage for concerns about movements had to be made there and although they were very accommodating about trying to get my scans at the local hospital one or two had to be in the hospital where I have the main issues. 

So I decided early on that I needed to tackle the issue rather than trying to avoid it and we embarked on a Grand Preparation Scheme.

In the end I was advised to give birth in hospital for medical reasons and had to be induced a week early, so I was glad of this decision.

Good old Stan

There were visits to the maternity unit, starting out very small with just what I could manage, with my familiar midwife. She used different routes to avoid the worst places and this was accommodated even when we had to make unplanned visits without anyone who knew me (after some very clumsy explaining by me, translated by good old Mr Peggy!). I had a summary of my needs and difficulties and how best to support me on the front of my notes, and worked on communication cards with my OT. We planned what distress tolerance techniques I could use and I practised them on visits (fidget toys, my weighted sloth Stanley, acknowledging my thoughts and feelings in speech or writing or just internally, acting opposite to the unhelpful urges that arise when trying to cope, distraction activities such as reading and puzzle books). I wrote down all the questions and worries I had (not all at once but as they came to me!) and took them to whomever could help so I knew exactly what to expect. People knew to ask me what I had written down for them, or to discuss whatever I had said in my pre-appointment email. I watched every episode of One Born Every Minute to give me an idea of scenarios that might come up or things that might trigger me in the delivery room. I carefully didn't make any rigid birth plans in case of need to change them and instead researched all options and practised telling myself that whatever I need is OK. I prepared myself to pay conscious attention to what I need and make it non-negotiable to communicate this to those around me. I thought about whether I needed to take my own soap that smells OK, prepared myself for the food situation in hospital and packed familiar snacks, and packed other familiar calming items such as my bedside sensory light.

Very brief explanation of
a safety behaviour

To some people all this extensive preparation might seem over the top or like a safety behaviour. Perhaps it is. But do you know what? For me it worked. I didn't need everything I had prepared but I had prepared everything I needed. Nothing took me by surprise, I had all the coping strategies I required, and I was able to communicate my needs. Neurotic safety behaviour that perpetuates anxiety or sensible anticipation and solving of problems? Perhaps a bit of both.

Either way, compared to my first hospital stay where I had no idea what was happening, felt very overwhelmed and ended up with a lot of unprocessed experiences that still trouble me now, this time was a world apart. I used past experience to inform me about what would be difficult and what would help, and it was worth every minute. My birth was a positive one and I have none of the overwhelming and complicated emotions attached to my memories this time. I am very grateful to everybody who supported me throughout the preparation process.

Continuity of Care: Inclusive Midwifery

I'd like to rave for a few minutes and sing the praises of my midwifery service. 

By a fortunate set of circumstances I ended up under a different service from the one that I should be under geographically. Because I am still registered with a GP in the city rather than the town near where I live (easier for me to access from work), I was assigned a midwife from the new pilot continuity of care team in our city. 

It has only been running a year and the hope is to expand this model of care across the city in future, returning to a more "Call the Midwife" type of scenario where the same small team of people look after women and their babies from the early days of pregnancy through the birth and the early days of baby's life. Each mother has a named midwife but there are opportunities to meet the other members of the team so that even if your midwife isn't in on the day you give birth you are likely to have somebody familiar come to the hospital or your home to support you. They have a weekly online Coffee and Chat where they cover all kinds of antenatal, birth and postnatal topics, signpost resources and facilitate getting to know other Mums and members of the team.

To begin with I was happy with the care and support I was receiving but I didn't completely realise how grateful I was until later in my pregnancy when I had appointments with people from outside the team (eg. my consultant) whom I had not got to know. 

It turns out I had struck gold with my midwife and her team. From the very first contact she listened to me and my needs, accommodating in every way possible and checking in regularly whether they were getting things right for me. She never failed to check whether I had any questions or worries written down and always asked verbally before we finished appointments too. She kept me on the caseload though I'm out of area because she recognised how important the continuity of care could be for me. Once she knew me a little she showed insight into what I might need and what might be difficult, taking care to communicate in ways that work for me.  She proactively liaised with my mental health team, making sure nothing fell through the cracks. She made sure I had regular in-person appointments at a slightly higher frequency than standard. She repeatedly reiterated to get in touch with any questions or concerns or to ask for help - so much so that I actually could do that if and when I needed to (something I tend to find difficult). She took me on visits to the hospital step by step and completely at my pace so that I could desensitise myself a bit to going there and so I could know what to expect. When I was in labour she stayed to personally take us from the induction room to labour ward and gave a really good handover to the midwife looking after us for the night, who after that also took great care and attention to meet my communication and physical needs. She continued this support after birth, taking nothing for granted, being clear with me and I with her, checking things out and making sure things were right for me. She always let me know who was on shift when, and introduced me personally to as many of the people I might come across as possible.

This approach made me feel safe and functional. It gave me confidence to voice my needs and worries and have these addressed. I never felt as though I were too much work, or awkward, or needy, or an inconvenience, and neither did I feel belittled or patronised despite the extra support I received; rather I felt respected and enabled in my journey towards parenthood. My pregnancy passed with as little drama as possible and with me feeling as stress-free as possible. My birth was a positive experience, despite being in the hospital. I carry no unprocessed difficulty from any of it - an increase in confidence and calmness if anything - and Baby Peggy and I are both as well or better physically and emotionally as we can expect to be.

The times I went in to see the consultant and the registrar without anybody I knew, I didn't really feel able to ask questions, I felt as though I might be judged and I did not feel safe or confident. This is nothing to do with the skill or manner of these professionals; simply that for me, the relationship built over time where I feel assured that I won't be misunderstood, is paramount to my effective engagement and therefore the outcomes of my care.

So thank you, continuity of care team and especially my wonderful named midwife, for your stellar example of best practice in patient-centred care. I hope to see continuity of care teams spread across the city and round the country.

I Need my People in the Right Place: Self Advocacy

Throughout my pregnancy I had fantastic support to navigate the changes and challenges I came across and to prepare me for the experience of giving birth in a hospital. We did a little work on what would happen post-birth, but not huge amounts because all I knew is that everything would be different, and you can't really prepare for something so unknown other than to be prepared for anything! 

Then just a couple of weeks before baby was due, I was told in passing that I would be having six weekly home visits once baby arrived. This is standard procedure to make sure that any support needed is given, and to monitor for signs of postpartum mental illness as the likelihood is much higher if you already have significant mental health issues.

This patch of trees is a
favourite place to regulate
 after stressful appointments

The trouble is, my care co-ordinator does not belong in my house. When I first had to access my support remotely it caused a lot of problems. I managed some of these by taking my calls on walks outside so I could have a transition between "home" and "with professionals." If I didn't do this it took me a long time to come down and regulate myself after appointments and any distress that I had experienced during the call remained with me in the house. For me, the act of leaving my house, going to the place where the professional belongs, doing the talking and then leaving that place, regulating (if stressed I will regulate by sitting or walking outside before I even get in the car) and then returning home in a "home" (relaxed/alone) state, is important. I need that transition to make distance and protect my own space so it can remain a place of low arousal.

Having people in my house who don't belong there is also just wrong. Wrong in an autistic way, which I can't explain to non-autistic people but seems to be understood when I talk about it with autistic people. Autistic "wrongness" is when something cannot be so. It is the same for things that are untrue: they become intolerable and I must do something to correct or acknowledge the wrongness and negate it. It's like it makes my brain explode, like when you come across a paradox. It is just not OK. I cannot tolerate its being.

These two factors (needing the transition and the wrong person in the wrong place) meant that I did NOT want my care co-ordinator coming to my house. My OT had to come for a home visit once, and it was wrong. I got through it but was very dysregulated afterwards, pacing up and down the house until I went for a walk to "reset." I did not want to experience this with a new baby, sleep deprivation, hormones etc to deal with on top. 

When my care co-ordinator first said what would be happening, not even considering that there might be an issue, I expressed my discomfort at the idea. I don't think I was very clear about just how much of a problem it would be and we had the conversation several more times, with me becoming more emphatic or clearer about my feelings each time. I was warned that if I refused there was the possibility that social services would get involved. When Baby Peggy had arrived, my care co asked to come round. I finally managed to say no. I wrote a message explaining why, and that I could cope with the OT coming instead - at least she has been in my house before. Thankfully, because of this and because I had been visited my the midwives and health visitor (they do belong in my house now - I found it difficult when they first came but we had practised it several times by that point) and I video call with one member of my team from my house, that was sufficient for me to be allowed to go to the CMHT building for the weekly appointments until the OT is back from annual leave to do the home visits. 

I understand that there is a duty of care to me and my child to make sure we are safe and well and that on a home visit it is much easier to assess how someone is coping at home. But I also strongly believe that I was right to advocate for myself and express that I was just not comfortable with this particular person visiting me at home. There is also a responsibility to adapt my care to my autistic needs and not act against my wellbeing. I am enormously glad of all the work done over the past couple of years on expressing my needs and asking for them to be met. I do not have to just go along with what someone else thinks is best. There is a way around it if I actually tell people.

A Perfectly Square Start to Parenting

When I was pregnant, I made sure to clear my diary for the first couple of weeks after baby was due. I was very aware that the first few weeks pass in a haze of feeding baby, changing baby and trying to catch a few minutes' sleep wherever possible. The general message from pretty much all directions was "You'll be so busy with baby and so exhausted, it will consume everything. After a couple to a few weeks you might feel up to starting to do a few things again."

This is not how it panned out for me. The reality was that my baby slept most of the time for the first week, and when he wasn't sleeping he was eating. After the initial couple of days of feeling more sore and more weak and wobbly and more exhausted than I could have imagined from the actual birth itself, and after the first relentless night which had to be survived in that state, the quiet of the following week quickly got to me. Once I'd recovered from the worst of the birth process itself and the sleep deprivation hadn't built up again, I didn't always feel like napping in the day even though I was exhausted at night. In the early days there were long spells where my baby was sleeping and I suddenly found myself at a loss. 

Because my body was still recovering I wasn't up to doing much physically but my brain wanted to be engaged and doing things. The trouble was, I hadn't been expecting that and somehow couldn't work out how to entertain myself. It was confusing!

Of course, once I realised what the problem was it made complete sense. I know that I thrive on routine and that although I need lots of down time, I start to struggle pretty quickly if I don't have one thing in my day to "do." It's usually best if that thing involves leaving the house. When I don't have a change of scenery or a focus to my day everything becomes a time-passing exercise and my mood and thoughts soon begin to deteriorate. I've done so much work on occupational balance over the past couple of years that I'm really not sure why it was a surprise that the same needs applied from one week to the next even with a baby in tow!

I suppose because having a baby is such a fundamental change to life. My life will literally never be the same as it was before (Neither in a positive or negative way, it is simply a fact that it is intrinsically different now. Although I have to say I think it's the best thing that could possibly have happened to me, but more on that another time!), and I fell into the natural assumption that because the change was so all-encompassing that meant that nothing would be the same. I prepared myself to have no expectations for how things would be, to know there would be challenges and to just take each day as it would come, and learn to build a new normal with my family. 

In truth, this is a helpful approach and many things do change, but what I had perhaps overlooked (despite one or two insightful people suggesting it to me!) is that I am still the same person underneath it all. I still need a variety of occupations throughout the day. I still need familiar routines. I still carry many of the same anxieties, thoughts, memories and emotions. This is all OK. It doesn't mean I'm some kind of substandard mother because I'm not completely enclosed in a baby haze. It means I am authentically myself as a parent, which is absolutely the best way I can be for my own wellbeing, for my child to learn how to be and accept himself and therefore promote his wellbeing, and for Mr Peggy to have a less stressed wife and open communication and a good gauge of how I am doing and what I need as well as my being able to meet his needs better because I am doing well.

I know I'm an OK Mum. I know the feeling of contentment and completeness when I cuddle my baby or when he stops crying at the sound of my voice, and I know the rush of love and awe when I catch sight of him after an hour of not seeing him. I am hugely thankful for this, being at an increased risk of perinatal mental health problems due to my history. For a few days I questioned myself because I differed from my expectations and my perception of how parenthood "should" begin, but not all brains are the same, and so I once again adjust my prejudices to accept who and how I am, knowing that listening to myself and honouring what's right for me, as long as it isn't at odds with what's right for my family, is the very best way I can parent.