A year ago today I felt a bit funny, so I peed on a stick which I then left on the side of the sink while I showered. When I got out, the digital display read ‘pregnant, 1-2’. It was the earliest of early days but, from that moment on (plus the two weeks before), I’ve been your mum.
Over the last year we’ve passed milestone after milestone together. The heartbreaking point at five and a half weeks where I’d lost the pregnancy before. Our 12 week scan, attended by myself while your dad sat nervously outside. I’d been convinced you were a figment of my imagination, and when I emerged clutching our first photo of you, I walked on air.
17 weeks: the private scan where we found out you were our little girl and your dad and I happily cried together over the images of your teeny, tiny feet. 20 weeks: the halfway point. 24 weeks: the magical viability. My first Christmas in years without wine, all worth it for you. 37 weeks: full term and ready to pop.
Your birth still makes me flinch to think about. The suddenness of my admission, the fear when professional tones switched from excited to serious. The 14 hours we were apart after you were born when I was convinced I’d lost you.
But you were brought back to me, wriggling and demanding food, and that night we clung to each other and started to figure things out together.
You’ve taught me more about self care in the past year than anything else in my life. When I was so sick all the way through pregnancy I realised it was okay to nap every afternoon (and every morning if I needed to), to say no to things that would drain me of energy, and to slow down for once. And now you’re here I know that my priority is you, us, I know that things can be rearranged, chores can be left undone, it really doesn’t matter. What matters is what you need in that moment, and what’s good for me is also good for you. We work together.
I still live with the nagging fear that this is too good to be true, that I don’t get to keep you, but I’m slowly learning that it’s okay to let that fear just sit there. Loving someone this much means being afraid, that’s part of it all, and my goodness are you worth it. So I promise I’ll try to just be here, right now, and not look too far ahead.
You’re not even 4 months old and the lessons you’ve taught me are countless. To quote my favourite Friends scene: you make me happier than I ever thought I could be, and if you let me I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way.
My baby, you are so good for my mental health, and I will be forever grateful.
Love, Mum x
One thought on “Being A Mum and Me and BPD”
Aww Sarah, that’s such a lovely post.
I don’t have a maternal bone in my body (which suits me!) But this brought a tear to my eye.