Happily Ever After_ - Benison Anne O'Reilly [37]
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Did I have postnatal depression? I never sought a diagnosis but I think probably not. It might have been difficult to separate a genuine case of depression from the stress brought on by my marriage problems and sleep deprivation caused by having such a difficult baby. Whatever the case, going back to work turned out to be the best thing for me.
The funny thing was as soon as I made that decision things started improving with Isabel. It may have been because I weaned her and she was more content as a bottle fed baby, or because I started her on solid foods and she was less hungry, or maybe if we want to get a bit New Age here, her tension was feeding off my tension and once I relaxed she also calmed down too.
Anyway, whilst part of me found this all rather exasperating, I was ultimately glad as it meant I was leaving a much more content and easy to manage baby who would be less of a burden for Mum. In fact I got the impression Mum genuinely enjoyed looking after her granddaughter. Also, I’d managed to negotiate to return to a four-day week - which essentially meant I did five days’ work in four for less money - but I did get to spend Mondays with Isabel, a task I approached with much more enthusiasm knowing that I could retreat to the safer and charted waters of the office the next day. And as Isabel grew, and with her my feelings of competence as a mother, I came to love our Mondays together beyond measure. We maintained this happy arrangement until my resignation only a few weeks ago.
Once I went back to work - wearing my favourite suit with the skirt zip str-a-i-ning to contain my upsized version - it was almost as if I’d never been away. Except now I was a mum. I was part of the club I’d longed to join for so long.
Tony completed his training and returned from Hong Kong. He seemed in a better mood; maybe the change of airline did agree with him.
After a few weeks back at work I felt the clouds lifting and my sense of equilibrium returning.
Not long after this, one Sunday night as I lay reading in bed and Isabel slept peacefully in the next room, my husband reached over, removed the book from my hands and started kissing me. How my parched and neglected lips drank in those kisses. Then he lifted my pyjama top over my head and caressing those breasts he’d long adored, loomed over me, all muscles and golden hairs on golden skin, and made love to me for the first time in almost a year and a half. I ached to find how much I had missed the feeling of him inside me, a connection that arguments and crying babies and long absences could not completely extinguish.
These were the thoughts I was having when, still holding me, he said, ‘I have something I need to tell you.’
‘Hmmm,’ I said lazily, still exulting in the afterglow.
‘While I was in Hong Kong I had a relationship with another woman.’
7
Punch drunk
Quite a few years ago, when Tony and I had been together a year or thereabouts, a group of us went to the races. I think it was Sydney Cup Day at Randwick, part of the Autumn Racing Carnival, but don’t quote me on that. It was unseasonably warm for April so people were drinking a lot and unfortunately it was not just water - way too much alcohol was consumed. Late in the day, as we were standing just in front of the stands, a fight broke out between two young guys down by the barrier, several metres away.
One of these guys was significantly smaller than the other and ended up taking a hammering. The very first punch he received was a doozy and knocked him to the ground. I thought he was out for the count but he staggered to his feet and, spurred on by too much booze and testosterone, laid into his opponent with all his strength. Still, the other guy kept landing the better punches - several of them - until he got a clear knockout shot. This time our little pugilist really was out for the count.
When I think back on this time of my life, I am always reminded of this fight. I was the