Me in the last 3 years: broke my leg a week before I got married, spent wedding day in a wheelchair. Honeymoon cancelled, got pregnant instead. Had baby, little girl, AMAZING! Her, two days old, diagnosed with heart defect, active monitoring advised. Settle into parenthood, usual ftm struggles. Baby turns 1, I get pregnant, we rejoice. Shortly after a routine check finds early stages of heart failure in baby-now-toddler. Heart surgery carried out, very successful, but I miscarry that same week. We switch between mourning our lost baby and celebrating the survival of our big baby. Months pass, I get pregnant again, hesitant and subdued celebrations. During early pregnancy I'm under a heavy weight of anxiety and expecting the worst to happen. Barely function somedays. Thankfully all stays well and I give birth to a little guy, my heart heals a little. Him, 6 days old, he falls, totally my fault, wasn't holding him tightly enough. Two skull fractures and two bleeds, A&E paeds tell us it could be fatal, I spend 6 hours holding him, wondering if it'll be the last until Neurology assess him and reassure us he will probably be fine. He is, and he's amazing. Life goes on, 2017 starts, and we all ask the universe for a break please and thank you. Three weeks ago I find a lump in my neck, currently being investigated for thyroid cancer.

I am fucking done. Done. I'm so close to breaking rn, I don't enjoy being a mum anymore, I don't feel very good at it, I'm and I'm so sick of worrying being my default state of mind. I'm pretty sure I'm going to start failing at being a human being soon.

Sorry, I just had to say this somewhere.