I’m not the newly-wed who expected the path to motherhood to be simple.
I’m not the wife who thought that a take-home baby would make it all come right again.
I’m not free from those scars.
I’m not confident, even now, that my body would do it again if I wanted another.
I’m not sure if I’m brave enough to try.
I’m not a good driver.
I’m not sure what I’m doing today.
I’m not unhappy.
I’m not blissfully happy every minute either. I’m not depressed. I don’t think.
I’m definitely not going to cry in front of the health visitor this time.
I’m not very good at my job. I’m not missed by work at all.
I’m not sure that I miss work either.
I’m not a singer, or an astronaut, or a lawyer. And I’m not nineteen any more.
Oh fuck I’m not going to make it to sodding Sing and Sign again this week.
Oh fuck everything, I’m not going to leave the house ever again.
I’m sorry sweetie, I’m not going to be able to keep my eyes open this evening.
Oh. I’m not really in the mood.
I’m not always a good mum. I’m not the worst, but I’m not always what that little boy deserves. I’m not confident. I’m not sure.
I’m a new mum. I love him with my whole heart.
I’m not quite good enough yet.
About Helen Tourle
I live in Sheffield with my husband and a small menagerie, and we enjoy lots of outdoor adventures in the Peak District. I work for a wonderful charity very close to my heart called Cruse Bereavement Care. My rainbow baby son was born prematurely in August 2015.