“So just be aware that around three days after giving birth, you might feel a bit emotional.”
It was spoken like an after thought. At least that’s how it felt.
I jotted it down alongside the rest of the antenatal notes I’d made, not really giving it second thought, after all I had a birth plans to think about and hospital bags to pack.
Day one after giving birth: I felt a ‘bit’ emotional. Mr T was able to stay at the hospital and we’d chatted about him going home that night so he could get a better nights sleep, out of the squeaky plastic chair.
I was absolutely ok with this. Until it got to later that afternoon and I asked him to stay. Which of course he did.
Day two after giving birth: I felt a ‘bit’ emotional.
“You can leave when you’re ready” said the nice midwife after she’d given us paperwork and medication to take home.
I wasn’t ready and yet at the same time I wanted to get out of there, to be in my own bed at home, drinking tea from a nice big mug.
Day three after giving birth: I felt ‘a bit hugely, overwhelmingly, ridiculously’ emotional.
Not constantly, but I would find myself with water falling out of eyes with no warning.
Like when Mr T and I were about to watch an episode of criminal minds. On reflection, perhaps not the most wholesome of things to choose so instead we opted for The Polar Express but I cried at that too. (side note, it took us three days to watch it as we stopped it lots of time as we were exhausted and recognised the need to sleep!)
I didn’t just cry about our choice of television. I cried about how painful breast-feeding was. How tiring everything had become. How impossible the rest of our lives were going to be.
We were really fortunate that the midwife who visited us that day was an old friend so I felt I could tell her how I was feeling and she reassured me it was normal and to keep talking about it.
I should also give a big shout out to my sister and friends who sent messages around this time telling me it was all going to be ok.
But it still felt impossible.
I wanted to stop crying at animated films.
I was waiting for the moment of euphoria about the miraculous life that had arrived.
I was waiting to feel excited about being a mother.
Eventually, I stopped crying at cartoons.
The dark cloud lifted.
I put on mascara and felt like I had achieved something.
And here we are, three months later.
We’re all still alive and the tears have dried up.