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03 April 2013

Trials and Tribulations: "Depression" is a Dirty Word

When Calla was born, Max was able to spend a good 2 weeks with us. He was on term break, if I recall correctly. My parents very kindly offered the help of their domestic helper, and she came over every other day to clean the house and fetch Poppy from the school bus if Max wasn't around. My wonderful neighbour prepared all my confinement food, which either Max or my parents' helper would collect daily. I was breastfeeding her fully and Calla slept and slept and slept almost all the time. Everything was perfect.

Then the second month rolled by and Max went back to work. Apart from the help we had from our weekly cleaner, I suddenly found myself all alone with a baby who was perpetually stuck to my boob with some kind of magnetic force. And when she was off my boob, she'd be crying to get back on it. Sleep? Sure she would. Only while being nursed, or in the baby carrier. And she would wake the moment she was put down.

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