Tonight is the night I had dreams about. Tonight I hold my son, safe and sweet in my arms, feeding him. It is from a bottle and not breast, but his head is still nestled into the crook of my arm and his eyes drift slowly closed as he eats. His is a world of peace. So is mine.

There was a time I feared those moments would never come, when I feared that I would simply disappear because it was all too much to bear. And even that thought wasn’t the lowest; it lowered further to the thought of ‘what kind of mother am I who thinks like this?’ And the answer is a good mother, a good woman, a good human being, who is struggling with an illness beyond control.

Perinatal mood disorders took motherhood from me. But only for a time. I fought hard to get my motherhood back, and now I have it. Now I have those moments I dreamed of while I placed my hands on my still small tummy more than a year ago. The sweet face of my child, pressed against my breast, and those eyelashes that go on for days. Beautiful, perfect, peace-filled moments.

When it begins.

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