"You cannot pour from an empty cup."
These are the words every NHS professional, post natal therapist wants to tell me.
"But I cannot envisage a life with a full cup."
I want to say back.
But shame and logic keep my lips tightly shut, and instead,
I smile and nod, and wait for the hour to pass
So I can go another week
with a glass half-empty.
Oops, I'm sorry,
I mean, half-full.
It is always half-full.
Not all the way there, but still better than empty.
I pour some water into my son's beaker.
He drinks it fervently.
Like my water is the best water he has ever had.
So I pour and I pour and I pour
because his smile is all I need to get through the day.
At night I lay my head down on my pillow
and a text from my therapist reads: