I am sitting here, bouncing on my exercise ball with bra off, hair up and belly out. This morning I had a stretch and sweep and have been advised to stay as upright as possible for the next 48hrs to help Bubs ‘press down’. Oh boy, she is pressing down.
Anyhoo, I am bored as batshit. Usually when this happens is when I start thinking…
Lately (understandably) my thoughts have been pretty consumed with the thought of birth and labour, but leading on from that I have been thinking a lot about what now…? What will life be like with two children. Will we be OK? Will THEY be OK? I know that every person has their strengths and weaknesses, as well as baggage and history that they carry into parenthood with them.
I worry about mine.
Sometimes I worry that I am too broken to be able to adequately ensure my children do not become the same. That too much has happened to me personally, for me to be able to give my children the room to grow and the freedom they need to be able to fully develop in to their own people.
I worry about people hurting them. Even family members. My head becomes almost frantic with strategies and rules to implement that will prevent this. While I have been moulded by my own life experiences to believe that nobody can truly ever be trusted, I do not want my children to feel this way. I identify that it is not healthy and that while people will undoubtedly come in to their lives and cause pain, you need to be open to the good as well. I just don’t know how to tell them that when I feel so differently.
I worry about the day they will question the scars and cuts on my thigh. I have discussed this with Ben and he tells me to think of it as a strength instead of a weakness. A dark journey that I have taken and am therefore better prepared to hold my children’s hands through the same if need be. What if my children do end up facing something similar? Will that be due to some type of fault that I have passed on through my genetic make-up or simply due to me being their mother and being in their lives?
I worry about my depression and my ability to recognise when what I am truly feeling and thinking as opposed to what the darkness wants me to think and feel. My heart breaks knowing that they will see me at my absolute lowest at times. That I cry and yell and cannot for the LIFE of me, calm down or see reason. I worry that I will have passed this predisposition to my beautiful, innocent babies.
Mostly, I am happy to say, I am able to keep these thoughts fairly under thumb and can rationalise myself through them by acknowledging that all I can do is my best. Maybe that won’t be good enough. I hope it is good enough. That is all I can do. Take every day at a time, every hurt, risk, pain, challenge and journey one step at a time. My children will always know I love them, they will always know that I would tear ANYONE apart to protect them, lie in court for them, kill for them and that there is nothing that they could every do to change any of that. I will always believe my children and they will always have my faith and trust, unwaveringly.