You tentatively get out of bed and as you take each ritual step into the nursery you realise that your steps are a little lighter and the quick sand you feel yourself walking through most days is now more like a muddy puddle. Your head feels, dare you say it "clearer" and the morning routine not as daunting.
Being home with my son was a battle. A battle against the wolf. That wolf lurked and lingered. It undermined me and my choices. I watched it circle the house as it watched me feed the baby. "You don't know what you're doing". "You call yourself a mother." The taunts were piercing. I was shattering a little more each time.
As a society, we probably do not understand the extent to which perinatal mental health problems can impact adversely on families and in particular children. There is a paradox of society's expectation of the happy mother, perfect parents with a much loved baby. This is in contrast compared to the hidden realities of becoming and being parents.