in the garden these days

A few short days ago, the air outside was so unseasonally warm it felt more like summer than almost-spring. The peach blossoms were celebrating and inviting the bees to take all the nectar they could carry. Freya just wanted to sit with her feet in the dirt and take it all in. There was a hazy, lazy feel about everything, and it was bliss.

Today it's colder than the proverbial witch's tit, too cold even for the rain to fall so it just hangs out in big grey clouds, being ominous. And spring plays its wicked little games: now you see me, now you don't. But that's okay. I can wait. I've felt your warm breath on the back of my neck, and I know you're just around the corner.

the grasping

I was asked by two different people yesterday how old my children are, to which I gave a kind of automatic, matter-of-fact reply. When I thought about it later, I realised that those two numbers mean I have been a mother for six years and a mother of two for three-and-a-half years. And I thought to myself: That seems like a hell of a long time to be doing a job and still not think you really have a handle on it. But then I read this and realised that of course you never get a handle on it, and even if you think you do, the handle will soon change or disappear from view for a minute, enough to keep you grasping and thinking. All I know is I love being their mother, relaxing into it more every day and letting them run wild and happy then having them come back to me. It's not an easy job, but I'm beginning to believe it does get easier.

on a lighter note

Okay, so it's all materialistic of me and they cost a small fortune, but how gorgeous are these little girls' dresses? I could spend hours, if I had that kind of time, looking at the sweet pretty things that clever people make for little ones to wear. Many are in small magazine, an online treasure trove of inspiring craft, fashion and design. The blue pintuck number above is by Baby Bean and the Liberty print tunic below is by Flora & Henri, available through Tiny McSmall.

Makes me want to get my sorely neglected sewing machine down from the attic. If only I could get past threading the bobbin.

not drowning, wavering

I should clarify that when I say I have made a decision, it generally doesn't mean that will be the last decision on the given subject. My decision is not final. Correspondence between me and myself will frequently be entered into. So for all those who haven't long since given up caring, here is my position as of now. I can do this. I CAN DO THIS.

here you come again

It comes down to this: my children deserve to have a happy mother. They deserve to see me smiling more times than not, they deserve to hear me laughing and know that all is right with the world (at least the world that exists within these four walls). I have no right to deprive them of that. So while the past weeks have not been in vain, and I have learnt a lot and am still learning how to deal with my depression, I have made a decision. Mr Zoloft, just when I'm about to make it work without you, I want you to hold my hand again.

Because today, and several times in the past couple of months, it's just too bloody hard. Right or wrong, I'm tired of having to use every fibre of my being just to be able to get out of bed. To fight for nothing more than a feeling of not being depressed for a day or two. That's the reward. Not sheer unadulterated joy or heartfelt happiness or anything remotely resembling those things. Just head-above-water. I feel like I'm trying to run a marathon but to get to the starting line I have to climb out of a forty-foot hole. Even if I get to the top, my race is already run.

So there it is. All my reasoning, and I've needed quite a bit. But ultimately I think I deserve to be happy, and that right there is a major step forward from where I was six months ago. I think I deserve it. I know my children do. And even if that's all my knowledge, it has to be enough.