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First of all, I’m so sorry I haven’t been updating regularly the last couple of weeks, it has been hectic with moving, trying to make a dent in the boxes, and decorating the little man’s room to get him in there! Well it looks a bit more lived in now rather than just a junk shop. 


Anyway, I had another counselling session last month. I had to do the depression questionnaire again and my results were a little better than they were at the previous one, so the tasks he gave me must have helped a little. He asked me how good a Mum I thought I was now, on a scale of 1-10, and I said 6, maybe 7, which was a lot better than the last time, so he was quite pleased with me! We talked a bit more about my anxiety and going out on my own with little man, to groups etc., and how I was still a bit nervous but I would try my hardest with it. Well I’ve still only ventured to baby clinic as I kind of ‘know’ the women who run it now, but I find the other women who go are a bit cliquey and tend to know each other already (though I do try and talk to them), so I don’t stay very long anyway. Just long enough for the little man to have a little giggle at the other babies which he loves.


So, we decided not to make another appointment just then, but he said I was free to make one if I ever thought I was slipping again. Which I have. About something I never spoke to him about as I thought he might think I was being stupid, like I thought with the other things we discussed! The stupid flaming breastfeeding guilt. Though I’m feeling a little better right now, I’ve been like this before and then got worse, so I may just have to bite the bullet and go back and talk about it. 


But last week I broke down to my health visitor about it, literally broke down into tears and was all snotty and everything! Though all throughout my crying and snuffling and sobbing, little man stayed asleep in my arms! The HV gave me a hug (and a tissue!), said he was doing brilliant, that I AM a good mum because I did the best for him, and he’s a happy little chappy and always smiling (unlike her other babies – her words!) so I must have done something right. And you know what, after getting him weighed last week, I’m starting to think I am and I did.

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Stacey

I’m Stacey, in my mid-late 30’s, from a tiny village (officially a hamlet) in Lincolnshire.

I’m a mum to two handsome boys. They’re both diagnosed autistic but that only makes them different, not less. Barney, a Frenchie x Beagle, is my furbaby. Owner of a husband too!

Blogging about lifestyle and books with a bit of everything else thrown in!

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