Ten weeks...

I was asked this week what I had to look forward to.
And I'm ashamed to say the only thing I could think of was returning to work.
As I sit here now, with both children sleeping soundly upstairs, of course I can see that there are plenty of positives around, from nights out with friends to fun times with both of them and spring just around the corner.
But at the time, as I thought of the future, I could only see days and days of darkness.
It was - and still is - a terrifying prospect, particularly as my mind is still battling to bury some of the old thoughts that have resurfaced.
I'm not alone in that quest, and this week's therapy appointment equipped me with some new tools to tackle them.
It also gave me a renewed sense of hope, although that's easy to achieve in a week when Mark's on earlies so my solo shift ends at 3pm and I'm not alone for the dreaded dinner-bath-bed battles.
That optimism was fuelled by the publication of the story of my first battle with PND in a health magazine, with a link to this blog.
It prompted a flurry of much-welcome support from people who had been previously unaware of my history, although I'm still deafened by the silence from some quarters.
The timing was nice as it was written before the onset of this episode and it served as a reminder that I have recovered before and I will do so again.
But there are many bridges to cross before then, and some of them feel particularly unstable, with the swirling water too close for comfort.
I'm still unsettled by the urge to return to the bad old self-harming days - it's something I thought I'd left behind years ago and it has no part in the life I have now, along with many of the issues that led to it back then.
But after a bad day, when I have not been able to deal with situations in the way I want to, it surfaces along with a little voice that tells me I deserve to be punished for being so utterly useless.
"You disgust me," it says. "Good mums don't lose control. Good mums don't fail."
I am seeing increasing evidence that actually, I'm doing okay - Miss T is always at preschool on time, even when I'm on solo school run duty, and we're all washed, fed and dressed before setting off; both kids are bathed most nights; we're working on her food issues and other attention-seeking behaviours.
But that can all be wiped out by throwaway comments like: "Having two children is easy when one is four and the other is a baby...", which I heard recently.
However. I can honestly say that I am doing the best I can, every second of every day.
And with the right support, and a sprinkling of sunshine, I will get there in the end. Starting with surviving next week's combination of half term and a late shift.

Spoke too soon?

Oh dear. It was all going so well, but today that run of positivity spectactularly ended.
I turned into one of those people I totally despise and lost my temper with my beautiful, clever, funny little girl.
It wasn't even her fault - she was ridiculously tired after a late night yesterday and has conjunctivitis so is feeling a bit miserable and as a result spent most of the afternoon moaning.
Couple that with the headache from hell for me, no paracetemol in the house and a bout of intense nausea and you have a recipe for disaster.
I knew what was coming, and did attempt to avoid the situation by arranging for backup but Mark was at work and couldn't get away and my parents were shopping. Which is fair enough, on both counts.
It was the first time in months and months that I've felt that I shouldn't be alone with her, and I wish now that I'd tried harder to find an alternative by contacting friends or just getting out of the house.
But there's no point looking at the ifs and shoulds. It won't change anything. I just have to try to learn from the experience and move on.
Reading that back, it all sounds terribly dramatic and actually I'm sure it's something that happens in a lot of houses every day. I didn't batter her over the head with the book I'd just had to read for the 15th time, I didn't strangle her with the cat's tail she'd just been pulling. I just shouted at her.
But I really shouted at her. Proper, grown-up out of control shouting. Not a sustained bout of abuse, just a sentence. But that doesn't excuse it or justify it. There is no justification, in my eyes, for what I did.
I'm not sure I, or she, will ever forget it and the look on her face will certainly stay with me for a while. It's definitely not something I want to repeat. But of course that's obvious.
I'm desperately trying to be a positive, loving, patient parent and of course I shout at her sometimes if she misbehaves (although to be honest, mostly I just use strict voice coupled with a warning about a consequence). But routine discipline, and behaviour shaping, is a world apart from losing control and bellowing at her to be quiet. And she knows that as well as I do.
The whole situation has brought back so many uncomfortable feelings for me that I wonder if actually I was doing as well as I thought.
Maybe I am just not cut out for this at all. There was a moment, after I'd apologised to her, explained I felt poorly and had a headache, and was tired and therefore got grumpy, just like she does, and she refused to give me a hug, that I just felt she would be better off without me.
It sounds ridiculous now but I was close to calling Mark and telling him to come home because I had to leave because I couldn't be near her.
I realise that is a huge overreaction but it feels like such a setback for me that I can't help it.
And of course now many other incidents from the last week or so are coming back with a fresh context, including a conversaton I had with someone who asked me how I was finding motherhood.
When I said it was okay, he was clearly shocked and I knew I had given the wrong answer. The correct one would have been a gushing monologue about feeling fulfilled and enjoying every second.
But I don't think that will ever be true for me, and now I'm wondering if my best, and the compromise we have reached, is actually good enough for anyone.
I'm hoping things look better in the morning.