Even before BabyBoy and BabyGirl were born, I was teetering on the edge of depression. The thought of having twins terrified me, because that wasn’t in the plan. When they arrived, healthy and perfect, I tumbled headlong down the rabbit hole of postnatal depression into denial, doubt, panic, resentment at not being ‘normal’ and wondering whether escape was an option.
Recently I’ve been putting together a photobook for the children of their early photographs. And as I’ve been sorting through the photos it has hit me, my children were adorable as newborns. They had gorgeous little faces, they were tiny little things, and as they began to lift their heads up, smile and move their arms they were wonderfully cute.
Did I see that through the dense haze that enveloped me back then? I’ve snapped hundreds of photos, so I must have seen something. But did I truly appreciate how blessed I was to have them?
The answer, I suspect, is no. And so I’ve discovered another reason why PND sucks. For even when you’ve recovered, it finds a way to creep up on you from behind…