Verity Westgate

@ resreindeer

It is November 2020, early one Monday morning. I am brushing my 19 month old daughter’s hair into bunches for nursery and suddenly I am hit by a wave of sadness that I won’t see her again until 5pm.

Together with my husband, we have just had a wonderful weekend: walks to look at buses and lorries, some painting and crafts, we watched the Teletubbies, we played with trains, we did yoga, we enjoyed each other’s company and being a family.

Despite knowing that I have to work today, I want her round cheeks and lovely smile at home with me rather than being left with an empty hole as I wave her off.

It hasn’t always been this way.

My daughter was a much longed-for baby, but throughout my pregnancy I suffered with antenatal depression and high levels of anxiety.

Although things felt better immediately after her birth, by the time that she was six months I was so unwell with postnatal depression that I was admitted to a mother and baby unit (MBU).

I tried so hard to get better from this but found myself in hospital again, this time on an acute ward, four months later. This was followed by the COVID-19 lockdown where nursery care was limited and every day was filled with dread at the thought of the effort of looking after her when I was still unwell.