A letter to my daughter on the morning I wished you’d slept in.

My darling girl, I was awake before you this morning, which isn’t something I do very often, it’s normally you who comes into our room and climbs into bed for a cuddle. 
Almost every morning I wake up to the sound of your half asleep legs stumbling into our room, I hear you tell the dog to move, and tuck your teddy in  before placing your arm around my neck and telling me “it’s time to get up Mummy.”

We cuddle, and I smooth your messy hair out of your face and look at the perfect little blue eyes starting back at me and it always makes me smile, it fills my heart with love and a warm feeling that helps kick start my day.
This morning was not like those mornings.
See, I was awake late last night, I had some issues that had stired emotions in me that needn’t have. I spent the majority of the evening in the clutches of anxiety. You woke at one point, which was very difficult, you told me your tummy hurt which made me feel that overwhelming fear that I experience in those situations and I knew at that moment that sleep would escape me. You settled, after a drink and a cuddle, a change of night light and some extra kisses, but when I climbed into bed, it wasn’t that simple.
Daddy kissed me and cuddled me too, he did his very best to clam me like he had calmed you, and I relaxed a little, but my tummy churned and felt knotted with fear and anxiety. I curved myself into a ball, or as close enough to one as possible, closed my eyes and waited for sleep.

It took a while, but I did sleep.
When daddy’s alarm went off at 4:30, like it does every morning, I found myself instantly awake. My tummy still churned and my anxiety still plagued me, it made me feel poorly and I had to get up for some medicine.
Just as daddy left for work at just gone five, I climbed into bed and tried to sleep some more.
I tossed and turned waiting for the Medicine to kick in but my mind was racing and my body hurt, I couldn’t relax or find any quiet in my brain enough to nod off.

I just hoped I’d sleep, then my own alarm went off and I know it would be the worst idea if I continued to try to sleep.
I got up and came downstairs and the emotions took over me. I cried, I wished I was asleep but worst of all, I wished you’d stay asleep.
I’m selfish like that, a trait I hope you don’t inherit, I selfishly wished you’d stay asleep in bed because I wanted to avoid all responsibilities to you and instead curl up in a ball on the sofa feeling sorry for myself.
But, just like I knew you would, you woke up.
I’d been sat on the sofa dreading the very moment you would wake up and my position as your mother began. Funnily, I didn’t hear you come out of your room or walk down the stairs, the first i knew you were awake you just stumbled into the living room holding your teddy, your hair all messy and your sleepy little legs stumbling just like any other morning.

I smiled and said good morning, you smiled and said good morning and just as soon as the words escaped your lips, my eyes filled with tears again.
Your existence is so bitter sweet sometimes, the baby I was told I’d never have, and yet you stand there, before me proving everyone wrong. And I feel overcome with emotion because I selfishly wished you’d stay asleep because I needed some alone time, because i am too tired and feel too poorly to make your tea. To open the biscuit box and have to inhale the scent of sickly sweet biscuits is something that sends my mind into overdrive and I don’t want to do, but I have to, and for that reason I wish you’d stay asleep so I can pretend for a little longer that my universe starts and ends with me.
I did what my duty requires me to do, I made your tea and fetched you biscuits and brought them to you like I do every morning.

You stated to talk to me, your cheeky, funny little comments usually make me smile, they usually make me feel all warm inside.
Today they made me feel guilty, guilty for wishing you’d sleep in. I should be excited to see you wake, but today I dreaded that moment and as I write this, I am still wracked with guilt.
My eyes are tear stained. I hope with all hope that you don’t notice. I hope you don’t pick up on my anxieties, I hope you don’t know how I feel inside. I hope that you feel like nothing is different and the current front, the mask that I’m wearing, is convincing enough to make you believe that everything is fine, that I am fine, and that all is okay in our world.
Things are fine, you’re safe and I am here for you. Internally though, I am in pain and my anxiety is holding all of my happy emotions hostage at the moment.
I’m so sorry that I am this way. I’m so sorry that I wished you’d stay asleep so I could be alone. I’m so sorry that my eyes are tired and red and that my first emotion when you woke was sadness.
I hope that as I progress with therapy, these days will come fewer and farther between so eventually when you wake, every morning will be good, and happy, and not tainted by my mental health.
I really am sorry my darling.
I love you very much.
Mummy xxx


3 thoughts on “A letter to my daughter on the morning I wished you’d slept in.

  1. Incognita says:

    Your post some to me in so many levels. I, too, can be selfish… Wanting to sleep… Wanting to eat in peace. I am experiencing postpartum depression and I try so hard not to have my 6 month old notice for she may feel what I’m truly feeling. God bless you, mama.

    • KaboodleMum says:

      Thank you for reading and taking the time to comment! I suffered with PPD too and it’s something I know all to well. Motherhood is very difficult, especially if you have mental health issues, I know your struggles and hope that they ease soon. Always here if you ever need a chat Mama! Take care xx

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