I was just getting to the end of the fourth trimester when this image was taken.
I have always been passionately, deeply in love with my son. I adored him from the moment he floated up to me in his exquisite water birth - unlike my daughter, whom (initially at least) I looked at and felt equally overwhelmed, in love and terrified.
This image was taken whilst my husband and I were on holiday with my sister and her boyfriend and my parents. The night before they’d all had a lovely meal - I’d convinced myself that if I stayed with my son in our bedroom he’d go to sleep quicker (though in hindsight he still hadn’t learnt the difference between day and night, and I’d have been better keeping him in his Babybjörn Bouncer and enjoying some food).
As I sat there in the dark, getting ever more sweaty and feeling like the life was being sucked from me via my mammaries, I remember feeling so frustrated, so cross, this crazy Mum rage that Anya from @mothers.wellness.toolkit (on Instagram) describes so beautifully in The Supermum Myth.
I was up all night with him, and just remember thinking “SOMEONE TAKE HIM? Just for an hour!!”
So I had a bath. For half an hour. And then I missed him. So he came in with me. And it was that laser-sharp, boiling, burning, punch of love all over again.
It’s a crazy, all-consuming time. I’m so delighted that the amazing doula, Sarah Tessier and I are launching a #mothermoon and #hypnobirthing essentials workshop in April (more to follow soon!) In the meantime, remember that it's ok to feel ALL THE THINGS, and that this too shall pass...