Smuggy McSmugface

Ooooh look what greeted me at breakfast this morning! I’m not smug though, not really. To me those roses are a symbol of something else.


No, no, not that my husband still loves me…(although he bloody better after clearing up his offspring’s vomit at 2am on Monday morning). Instead, those roses represent a two-fingered au revoir to some really tough times since the kids came along.

Post natal depression is like an earthquake going off in your life. When it hits, the aftershocks reverberate, distorting everything that is good and familiar. On the flip-side, I can’t imagine how difficult it is to watch your wife struggling. To feel so helpless and apprehensive. Deserted on the frontline of new baby mania by a condition that’s invisible to the world but so frighteningly self-evident to all those living with it.

I sometimes talk too flippantly about Matt, categorising him unfairly to raise a smile. So this is my Valentines to him today. An apology dressed up as a blog. My public tribute to an incredibly patient, kind and generous man, who took a fractured woman and somehow glued us all back together again. And he’s still doing it.

Thank you.

I love you.




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