I’m going to be real. This pregnancy has taken me to the darkest place I’ve ever been in my life. It started straight away, creeping slowly, taking bits of light, giving it back, then taking a little more. Until suddenly it’s too dark to see your hand in front of your face. Bursts of sadness, terror, anxiety, panic, hopelessness. Regret. Guilt. So many others around me were so much more deserving. Wanting it so much more. I felt like a monster. Soon I couldn’t leave the house on my own. If I made it to work, let alone finished a shift without a panic attack, I was having a ‘good’ day. I would look at him on the ultrasound screen and wish he wasn’t there. I would find myself having thoughts of falling down stairs, or accidentally having a car accident so that it would be over. I gave up. But my husband and my daughter did not. I linked back up with my perinatal mental health team, my doctor, and psychologist. I changed and increased my medication. I stopped work. And the support from my family and friends is overwhelming. Even though I move with the mental and physical weight of a 1000 kilos, I’m still moving. I can finally see the end. I can now see the image of a warm squishy baby in my arms, and I can’t wait to cuddle him. 31 weeks down, 62 days to go.