A thought has been swimming around in my mind for a while and it’s concerned with a certain type of grief that I’m sure many parents/anyone who cares for a child will relate to. That is, the grief of missing the person your child was at a certain age with the knowledge that that person is gone and can never be seen again.

Let me elaborate. Through rose tinted glasses, all 3 of my children were the cutest and most lovable babies and toddlers you have ever seen. Did they sleep? No of course not. But could they melt your sleep deprived heart with their gorgeousness? Most definitely.

C from about 18-24 months was my most favourite human on the planet. Not that I love and adore him any less now, or at any other stage, but I remember this stage of him being so inquisitive, hilarious and freaking cute. He was also an only child at this point so we got to enjoy him fully. We were living in Bristol and it was the first lockdown (so actually pretty lovely) and we were a little unit of 3 going on our daily walks, trying out fun crafts and enjoying the sunshine.  C’s “quirks” (which in hindsight were autistic traits) made him the most unique, lovable and enjoyable child.

C was our first baby so of course everything he did was the cutest thing ever, but I remember there being a lot of stress up until he was about a year as we, like all first time parents, had no idea what we were doing. Once that stress eased off slightly, apart from the whole not sleeping more than 2 hours at a time at night, C was a wonderful, happy, mostly chill toddler.

The first year of the twins’ life is basically a blur in my memory, as you can imagine life with 3 under 3 being! Sleep at night was very limited as they tag teamed being awake, and I felt like I was either feeding, changing nappies or trying to get them to nap in a loop for months on end. But I remember feeling at the time and especially now as I look at photos, they were stinking cute babies! I’ve always dreamed of having girls and being blessed with two at the same time was incredible.

There are benefits to them being older, don’t get me wrong. They can now verbalise what they need instead of just screaming (though sometimes they still opt for just screaming) and I can leave them to their own devices for longer than 30 seconds at a time. I do miss the naps, though have to remind myself they rarely napped at the same time or for the same amount of time!

And who’s to say whether I’ve seen my favourite stage yet?? What are the twins going to be like as 8 year olds? And where will C’s inquisitive mind take him as a teenager? What will the adults they become be like? And how much will I look back at the stage they are now with rose tinted glasses, forgetting how challenging I find it as we’re in it?

It is a bittersweet privilege to watch our children grow up, a privilege not granted to the parents of the children who were killed in Rafah, children as young as my babies pictured here. Whilst I miss them at these ages, I can see them right now and I will, God-willing, get to witness them travel through all the future stages life will take them to. I am grateful for that especially now.

May would be the month for me, I’d decided ahead of time.

Decluttering the whole house was the mountain I was going to climb.

Our surfaces are covered, cupboards, wardrobes and drawers are fit to burst.

I’m thankful for the storage that means I can close the door on what seems like the worst.

But do the kids really need a hundred cuddly toys and will those DVDs ever be played?

We’ve got dried up pens, filled in colouring books and crafts that will never be made.

But looking in the cutlery drawer, I’m nervous to give away forks and knives…

For what if we have a huge dinner party and the wooden disposable ones are the only ones we can find?

And look at all these mugs, you’re right, I’m sure we don’t need 23.

But what if all the class mums come round for a never before happened cup of tea?

How many tops do kids actually need, and do we count those that are in the wash?

And how long are we going to hold on to 30 lone odd socks?

We can’t give away those toys, just in case our son needs them again.

But we don’t really have enough room for all the track for Thomas and his Friends.

Once we’ve cleared everything out then what do we do with it all now??

Do we separate it out to different places to not overwhelm the only charity shop in town?

Do I have to clean those wellies, or should they just go in the bin?

Can I be bothered to put it on Vinted or are the rewards just too slim?

I know it will feel so good to just get it all out of the way.

Because we really don’t need that many possessions, if we’re honest, at the end of the day.

So I’m going to quash the “what ifs” and be brave, and give away that extra pan.

Then rest in my house, with all the extra space making it look spick and span.

It was Maternal Mental Health Week this past week and a number of women took to social media to share a photo of themselves with their child as a newborn and to write what they felt then, and what they would tell that version of themselves now. I thought I’d do my own version of that here.

I’ve always wanted to be a mum. My career aspirations changed frequently but wanting to have children has always been a constant. So when I fell pregnant after years of trying, my husband and I were thrilled and so excited to welcome our first child into the world. I had a fairly straightforward pregnancy until the last week or so when I came out in an itchy rash all over my body. It was unbearable and it made it impossible to sleep (which was tricky anyway because I was huuuuge). After going to the antenatal clinic, the doctors told me that the rash would only go away once I’d given birth as it was some sort of allergic reaction to my son’s male hormones (polymorphic eruption of pregnancy if you fancy a Google). I was already a bit overdue so an induction was booked in.

My labour with our first born (C) was gruelling. Labour took a long time to get started and then we were in a frustrating waiting period where there was no room in the labour ward so the induction was kind of paused until room opened up, making it even longer than it was meant to be. Finally, after a 40+ hour labour, C was pulled unceremoniously into the world. He was placed into my exhausted arms and I was in love.

He was born at midnight and we spent a night on the postnatal ward where I didn’t sleep at all because, whilst C slept soundly the entire night, other babies on the ward did not. Therefore, the next day, I was desperate to get home so we were discharged only 18 hours after he was born.

We were home that evening and that night C slept like a baby (ie not very well), so there was another night of very limited sleep. At this point I was close to delirium I was so tired. The lack of sleep would continue until C turned about 2 years old when he finally started to sleep for longer than 2 hour stretches at a time.

Feeding was another challenge. Because we left the hospital so quickly, I didn’t get much of a chance for support with breastfeeding. I remember being on the ward and asking someone to come and show me what to do and someone (I can’t remember if it was a midwife or health care assistant) came and sat with me and gave me a very brief overview. So when we got home and I couldn’t figure it out, it was very stressful. When C was only 2 days old we went to a breastfeeding clinic to get some advice.

With the advice gleaned from the clinic and the incredible support from BABIES, a breastfeeding support charity at the time in Winchester, I finally felt that I got the hang of breastfeeding when C was about 10 weeks old. Without their support I would have given up out of pain and frustration. With it, I fed him until he was 2 years old.

In C’s first few weeks I also experienced some really unsettling intrusive thoughts. I wanted to take him “back”, then got really upset when I realised there was no where to take him, I was stuck with him. I was convinced I would never be able to do it again, which was heartbreaking because I longed for a big family. I didn’t feel this overwhelming love I thought I would feel, in fact I wasn’t sure if I even wanted him, and I was convinced there was something wrong with me. I’m so glad I reached out to friends who reassured me that my thoughts were normal and would pass, as I was terrified I just wasn’t cut out for this thing I had been longing for all my life.

The first few weeks of C’s life were incredibly dark for me and it wasn’t until he was about 6-8 weeks old that I started to feel I was bonding with him, that I loved him and that I could actually do it. Since, I have learned that all those feelings were totally normal, but at the time I had no idea.

What I would tell that version of myself now

I feel nothing but total awe and deep compassion for that version of myself. I’d love to take her by the hands and say that it’s little wonder she struggled so much in the first few weeks after such sleep deprivation and stressful experiences. That in the years after, C would receive an Autism diagnosis which would shed light on, if not explain, his early issues with feeding and sleeping. I had no idea what I was up against.

I would love to tell myself that I was doing an amazing job, that I was doing all the right things in reaching out for support, even if it made me feel crazy or like a failure.

I would encourage myself that we did go on to have more children, twins in fact, and that watching them all play together brings the warmth and joy to my heart that I was longing for.

I would tell myself that after having the twins, I didn’t sink to the depths again, partly because I knew I needed to take care of myself and to get all the support I could.

I was given a beautiful baby with additional needs that weren’t uncovered until much later, who was trying to figure out the new, confusing landscape of life Earthside just as much as I was.

Those first dark weeks were my first lesson in the importance of looking after myself in motherhood. It is a lesson I finding myself having to learn time and time again, especially in light of the extra challenges we have with the twins and parenting a child with additional needs. Nowadays, I look after my mental health by prioritising rest, by going for walks, by getting lots of sleep and by taking an antidepressant every day. I spend time with God in prayer and worship and I reach out to friends, family and professionals when I need help. The old adages of “you can’t pour from an empty cup” and “you need to put your oxygen mask on first” are true, as trite as they sound. I know and I have seen that looking after my mental health makes me a better mum. I hope this serves as an encouragement for you to do the same.

Sending love x