This morning The Slayer woke up super early, we laid together on the lounge. He was on my chest, snuggling into my neck and whispering "I love you Mummy" in between bouts of dozing.
I thought about his little life so far, for The Slayer it's been a big four years and if I'm honest there are moments of darkness even now where I feel tremendous guilt when it comes to my middle child.
There are nine years and one week between babies 1 & 2, falling pregnant isn't something that comes easy for me. When I finally did conceive I should have been thrilled, it should've been a pregnancy of celebration but instead it was when two truly nasty issues came to light. The first was the realisation that my husband was controlling, he was jealous of that little baby growing inside me - it was taking the focus away from him. During my pregnancy it was the first time he threatened to kill himself taking a sharp knife from the kitchen and first holding it against his wrist and then his throat.
The second was even more horrendous, it was when the father of The Superhero decided he wanted to take him away from me.
When my beautiful baby boy arrived I had no feeling for him... No that's not true, I had resentment. If he wasn't born then I could fight easily for my eldest child and my husband wouldn't be so evil. The Slayer was born with colic and silent reflux, that poor lil guy was in tremendous pain and yet it still didn't move me. The only contact I had with him was when I breastfed him. His crying didn't penetrate my own thoughts. I would break down into tears at random and couldn't stop, I was terrified of going out in public - I just didn't want to deal with people and at the same time I was required to visit the lawyer I had who was pretending to help me but in hindsight did nothing at all. My doctor diagnosed severe postnatal depression and a long journey followed trying to find the right medication. The magistrate did not care, she informed me that women have babies everyday and I was required to appear in court just five weeks after I'd given birth. The details here are painful and one day I just might write about it all but I did lose my son, not for any other reason than I was mentally incapable to stand in a court room. My heart truly felt like it was physically being ripped apart and the resentment toward my baby didn't change. My psychiatrist told me that of all the mental illnesses he deals with PND frightens him the most.
I remember the day that I finally realised that I loved my baby boy. He was playing with his toys in my lap and giggling, a little doggy squeaked and his smile filled his whole face and the squeals he let out of excitement were overwhelming. I love him, I love him, I really really love him (I know now I always did).
When The Slayers father stepped up his aggression and became physically violent he did so with zero consideration for his son. He'd tuck that little boy under one arm and attack me with the other. He'd slam on the brakes in the car so that I would hurt myself but The Slayer would have his seat belt pull tight against him. And at the very end of the relationship that filth kidnapped my baby. Left him in the car with an unchanged nappy whilst he got better acquainted with the woman he was having an affair with.
By this point I was pregnant with his sister and I was able to flee with the help of hospital workers and all kinds of support workers. We lived in a women's refuge for a few months, The Slayer and I. We were now tightly bonded, without his brother he became my world. The reason I found the strength to leave an abusive marriage, the reason I endured being homeless in a women's refuge.
Mostly he is this beautiful, funny, cheeky little guy but sometimes there is something that is not quite right. His brother is back in his life and he has a sister, both siblings The Slayer adores but there's just something. Our caseworker sees it, the early childhood facilitator sees it, his daycare educator sees it and so last week we visited a pediatrician. His little obsessions, his temper tantrums, his quirks, his extreme emotions it all comes down to autism... Autism and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It seems that even though he has not seen his father since he was 16 months old there is still something embedded in his brain that recalls something bad that happened to his Mummy. He's my protector, at times my siamese twin.
We now have this really big bumpy road ahead of us. Specialists, psychologists, therapists. It's overwhelming and my brain is trying hard to logically process it but still I wonder, is this my fault? Is it because his first months of life were so harsh and loveless? Is it karma because I blamed him for everything that was happening? Is it because I didn't have the courage to leave his father much sooner? Is he going to be alright?
These annoying little tears leaked out and I held him a bit tighter and whispered, "I love you too, so very very much. I love you."
I thought about his little life so far, for The Slayer it's been a big four years and if I'm honest there are moments of darkness even now where I feel tremendous guilt when it comes to my middle child.
There are nine years and one week between babies 1 & 2, falling pregnant isn't something that comes easy for me. When I finally did conceive I should have been thrilled, it should've been a pregnancy of celebration but instead it was when two truly nasty issues came to light. The first was the realisation that my husband was controlling, he was jealous of that little baby growing inside me - it was taking the focus away from him. During my pregnancy it was the first time he threatened to kill himself taking a sharp knife from the kitchen and first holding it against his wrist and then his throat.
The second was even more horrendous, it was when the father of The Superhero decided he wanted to take him away from me.
When my beautiful baby boy arrived I had no feeling for him... No that's not true, I had resentment. If he wasn't born then I could fight easily for my eldest child and my husband wouldn't be so evil. The Slayer was born with colic and silent reflux, that poor lil guy was in tremendous pain and yet it still didn't move me. The only contact I had with him was when I breastfed him. His crying didn't penetrate my own thoughts. I would break down into tears at random and couldn't stop, I was terrified of going out in public - I just didn't want to deal with people and at the same time I was required to visit the lawyer I had who was pretending to help me but in hindsight did nothing at all. My doctor diagnosed severe postnatal depression and a long journey followed trying to find the right medication. The magistrate did not care, she informed me that women have babies everyday and I was required to appear in court just five weeks after I'd given birth. The details here are painful and one day I just might write about it all but I did lose my son, not for any other reason than I was mentally incapable to stand in a court room. My heart truly felt like it was physically being ripped apart and the resentment toward my baby didn't change. My psychiatrist told me that of all the mental illnesses he deals with PND frightens him the most.
I remember the day that I finally realised that I loved my baby boy. He was playing with his toys in my lap and giggling, a little doggy squeaked and his smile filled his whole face and the squeals he let out of excitement were overwhelming. I love him, I love him, I really really love him (I know now I always did).
When The Slayers father stepped up his aggression and became physically violent he did so with zero consideration for his son. He'd tuck that little boy under one arm and attack me with the other. He'd slam on the brakes in the car so that I would hurt myself but The Slayer would have his seat belt pull tight against him. And at the very end of the relationship that filth kidnapped my baby. Left him in the car with an unchanged nappy whilst he got better acquainted with the woman he was having an affair with.
By this point I was pregnant with his sister and I was able to flee with the help of hospital workers and all kinds of support workers. We lived in a women's refuge for a few months, The Slayer and I. We were now tightly bonded, without his brother he became my world. The reason I found the strength to leave an abusive marriage, the reason I endured being homeless in a women's refuge.
Mostly he is this beautiful, funny, cheeky little guy but sometimes there is something that is not quite right. His brother is back in his life and he has a sister, both siblings The Slayer adores but there's just something. Our caseworker sees it, the early childhood facilitator sees it, his daycare educator sees it and so last week we visited a pediatrician. His little obsessions, his temper tantrums, his quirks, his extreme emotions it all comes down to autism... Autism and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It seems that even though he has not seen his father since he was 16 months old there is still something embedded in his brain that recalls something bad that happened to his Mummy. He's my protector, at times my siamese twin.
We now have this really big bumpy road ahead of us. Specialists, psychologists, therapists. It's overwhelming and my brain is trying hard to logically process it but still I wonder, is this my fault? Is it because his first months of life were so harsh and loveless? Is it karma because I blamed him for everything that was happening? Is it because I didn't have the courage to leave his father much sooner? Is he going to be alright?
These annoying little tears leaked out and I held him a bit tighter and whispered, "I love you too, so very very much. I love you."