Inspiration

One thing I keep on hearing over and over again since Robyn’s birth is how “inspirational” I am.

I feel like a fraud.

I certainly don’t feel inspirational, in fact I think I feel pretty much everything but that.

Today I felt jealous. The green eyed monster planted himself firmly on my shoulder in the early hours of the morning and has resided there for most of the day. I’m jealous that suddenly everyone seems to have a baby but me. I crave a little newborn to hold and cuddle, I long to feel movement in my belly again.

I wake at 3am most mornings and lay there staring at the ceiling willing myself to fall back to sleep. I’m shattered most of the day but can’t bring myself to nap. I shouldn’t be suffering from sleepless nights because of the thoughts that run through my head, I should be suffering from them because I’ve been awake all night with a baby attached to my breast. The spot in front of the window where the cradle was meant to be haunts me.

I have so much hidden bitterness to the world around me right now, that I’m trying so hard to contain, that I feel anything but inspirational.