It has been a while since my last post, and the only excuse I can give for this is that the side-effects of coming off the medication have been giving me a pretty serious kicking. One of the few things I have done in the last couple of weeks which has made me feel remotely competent has been rescuing a cache of music from my old, otherwise defunct iPod. Most of this was mid-90s Indie stuff, which should explain the title of the post, certainly to any other readers of a similar vintage to me.
I do try not to be self-indulgent here, but the last couple of weeks have been pretty tough. Even though you know the aforementioned side-effects are coming, it doesn’t make them any the less horrid, or any easier to deal with. We’ve had the fun period of feeling utterly, stupidly tired for no reason whatsoever. The “cotton-wool head”, as I call it, which is a bit like being very drunk and very hungover at the same time, but without the fun part of actually getting drunk. The brain shivers, which were a new one on me, but were pretty alarming when they happened. The euphemistically-named low mood. It has all been rather entertaining.
I had a couple of bad days which coincided with Eoin being particularly tantrummy, and with my husband working very long hours. On learning a friend was expecting a baby, I remember thinking, “Right: that’s it. She’s having one: I have to do it too. I’m off the medication now, so if I want to have another child, it’s time to start the whole sorry business over again. If I wait, it’s only going to mean it takes longer to get my sanity back”. These are, as far as I can accurately remember, were the very words I used (“the whole sorry business” sticks pretty clearly in my mind), and I think from this you can tell I wasn’t in a good way.
Things are getting better now: I’ve had lots of visits from lovely people who have taken me out to go to the beach, to buy yarn, and to eat cheesy buns at St Fagans in truly obscene quantities. I have had a long conversation with my very sensible husband, who has pointed out that SSRI cessation will inevitably have an effect, but that it is important to remember that this is temporary. In fact, to continue the lyric from my title in an appropriately studenty manner, “this is a low, but it won’t hurt you”. Things seem to be stabilising a bit, but I’m still having difficulty wrapping my head around the idea of potential conception number two. I look at Eoin today, though, and I have to say he is marvellous. He spent they day tickling my friends unexpectedly behind their knees, pointing out chaffinches and Toyotas with equal enthusiasm, eating chorizo and red peppers but not lentils for tea (“I don’t like lentils very much, Mammy”), singing “Happy Birthday” to himself at bedtime (it’s not his birthday), reading Neil Gaiman and Maurice Sendak picture books even though they were scaring the adults, cuddling me while listening to music, counting really quickly and inaccurately (“one-two-three-four-five-six-NINE!”), and generally charging around like a tiny human dynamo, occasionally bouncing off things. He really is worth all the bad stuff. And, while I’m scared at the prospect of what might happen (more gestational diabetes, another difficult delivery, more PND, two tiny humans to look after when one is hard enough), I have to believe that another baby will be the same. There will be bad times, but the good times will make them worthwhile. The low won’t last forever.
I promise that more cheerful content will be coming soon: I have an addictive snack recipe and a lot of quilty goodness to share with you. There’s always yarn. For the moment, though, if I’m not talking much on here, you know why. Thank you to everyone who has been so kind and patient with me over the last while: I appreciate it more than I can say.
Oh, and I’d like to extend a particularly big thank you to Siân for not actually stealing the cashmere quilt, even though I know she wanted to.