I think I hit rock bottom this month.
It all started when Flynn was due to start his Baby Sensory classes. I had all sorts of plans when I was pregnant. I wanted to do lots of activities with the baby - signing, swimming, sensory - anything that was going. I felt having spent his first 6 weeks mainly at home that I had let him down somehow as I simply wasn't able to get out and about. I'd managed the odd walk up and down the road and to the Post Office but physically things were hard.
So here I was with my 6 week old son ready to throw myself into giving Flynn as many exciting experiences as possible. But first, I had a doctors appointment. Another one in the long list of GP appointments and hospital visits. I arrived at the doctors surgery having arranged to meet Mr T back at home afterwards and then go to Baby Sensory together as I still couldn't drive. My GP was running behind. I started to watch the clock and as the minutes ticked by the panic set in. Would I make it to the class in time? It wasn't looking hopeful.
I eventually was called in, examined and told I had yet another infection. On top of this, the doctor thought I might need more surgery as I wasn't healing in the right way. She would refer me back to the hospital. I hadn't expected that. At the most I thought I would get another prescription and be on my way. More surgery? Would I have to start from scratch again? What would I do with Flynn?
I left the doctors and that's when it happened. Rock bottom. Baby Sensory started in 10 minutes. I looked to get a cab but it would be at least a 10 minute wait. I rang Mr T. "Everything is awful. I'm not going to make it to the class. I'm just going to go home. I hate this. I hate everything. I might need more surgery. I'll never be better!" This was amongst floods of tears. And this was a voicemail. One that Mr T probably wasn't expecting and certainly won't forget in a hurry. I think he still has it but I never want to listen to it. He rang me back - the voice of reason - "it doesn't matter if you're late. Just get a taxi and I'll meet you here shortly". I wiped away my tears booked a taxi and waited. The ten minutes gave me time to pull myself together.
I arrived at the Baby Sensory session and sat at the back. Mr T called me over to take over on the mat with Flynn. As I gingerly sat down all I could think looking around was how "together" all the other Mums were. Were they judging me because I was late? Did I look like I'd been crying? Could they sense I was falling apart? I held myself together for the session and a few Mums spoke to me afterwards. They were surprised I was there with such a young baby. They wouldn't have been out when their little ones were so young. Really?!!! I'd actually achieved something by doing a class with a 6 week old? Even now the lady who runs the sessions often comments on how small Flynn was when he started but how he's gotten something out of it from the very first session when he watched everything happening around him.
I'm so glad Stephen made me go to that class. And I'm so proud that I got out there and did that. Looking back on it now and talking to other Mums I realise that most Mums aren't jollying around in the first few weeks after having a baby so I really hadn't let Flynn down.
