On the edge of a cliff....

If you were standing on a cliff, and knew there were paramedics and rescue crews at the bottom, would you jump?
That's kind of how I feel at the moment. Except I'm in freefall and now I feel like I want to change my mind.
Shall I start at the beginning? You've certainly missed quite a lot, dear readers (if I have any left), in the months since I last updated this blog. But I have a feeling updates will be coming more often for the next few months...
So, I've jumped off the cliff. Metaphorically, of course. I hinted at it in my last post, and the one before that, if you can think (or scroll) back that far. After much discussion and soul-searching, lovely Mark and I decided to try for another baby. Or rather, to stop not trying. So it shouldn't have been a surprise when the inevitable happened, but somehow it was.
After an initial freak-out, I thought I was doing okay with things. I saw my lovely therapist a few times, we discussed strategies and options and I felt in control of things.
But now, with less than three months to go until my life - and Miss T's life - changes completely, I'm less sure.
Of course, things may be different, but in reality it's highly likely that this awful blackness will descend again, only this time Miss T could end up swept up in it too.
Of course, I already know my lovely therapist and I don't have to fight to get treatment - in fact, it's written in red pen all over my notes - but I'll still have to hit the bottom of the cliff before I can start to put myself back together. And that's a terrifying prospect.
If I'm totally honest, (which surely I have to be on here, or what's the point of having this outlet?) I can already recognise some of those old feelings creeping back in. Wanting to avoid the world and hide away, to be anywhere but here, to let someone else deal with everything.
I know lots of people feel like this, but it's so familiar to me that I can't believe it's just a bad week.
I am due another paid-for therapy session, and I know that will help, but I also know that the overwhelming urge I've had to get these words out here is not a good sign. Hence my fear that I'm in freefall, and the prospect of hitting the bottom is not an enticing one.
I wanted things to be so different this time. In fact, (total honesty again) my first thought on seeing the positive pregnancy test result was that I could get things right this time. Of course, I recognise that's not a healthy reaction and a session with the lovely therapist soon sorted that out. But I still wanted it to be different.
It is, in some ways. Last time, I can now see that I was in a sort of denial for a long time before Miss T was born, and I hated any mention of the pregnancy or my life as a mum.
This time, I'm not in denial at all. But I'm terrified. Because I know how bad it can be, and I know how hard it is to make it better.
I'm terrified of what the costs of that decision Mark and I made back at the start of the year will be. Will it be our relationship? My relationship with Miss T? Or - that dreaded honesty again - my job? After all, according to the books I've read, mothers with two children often end up going mad and having to give up work. I'm halfway there already!
I know I can survive - I've done it once before. But at the moment, I do wish I hadn't jumped off without wrapping myself in the softest cotton wool first. Or looking for another way down.