I see you looking. I see you nudging your friend and directing her attention towards us too. I heard you mutter as you walked past. I saw you take a picture with your phone- I'm no stranger to a sly snap of an amusing situation. But what business is it of yours?
If my child may look too old to be in a pushchair- to you, anyway. If my child seems too old to have a dummy- to you. If my child is spoilt for having an iPad to play on whilst I nip around the shop- in your opinion. If he's being naughty and having a tantrum because he can't get his own way- that's what you see. You're laughing, staring, judging. You know what matters to me? What my children need.
If my child is in a pushchair it's because it's the safest option, because he runs. He doesn't know the dangers of the roads or strangers, he doesn't understand. He finds a dummy comforting in stressful situations and many, many situations are distressing for my son. He is learning a great deal from the iPad- it can teach him at his own pace in a way that he understands- did you know that he knows the alphabet? He recognises every letter and the phonetic sound it makes and can spell out simple words. He can count up to ten and back down again and his memory is phenomenal and a great deal of this he learnt from this tablet. It distracts him from the things that cause him anxiety when we need to leave the comfort of our home. If he's having a tantrum and being naughty you can bet that I will be putting a stop to it no matter who is looking. But if he is having a 'meltdown' he is not in control, he is not being naughty and he does not need to be punished. He needs to be helped, comforted, he needs to be removed from whatever is causing him to feel so distressed and you are amused by this.
Why? Because my son is different. He is not neurotypical. My child is not the same as your child. No two children are alike. No two parents are alike! I don't care how you raise your children so long as they're safe and loved. You want to feed them organic? Good for you. You want to feed them chicken nuggets every day? That's your call. You want to get your child out of a pushchair and throw away his dummies by the age of one? That's up to you. It's not my business and I am not judging you.
I am not defending my parenting. I don't owe anybody any sort of explanation. So why am I sharing this information? Because I am hoping to make you think. Next time you think something is funny and you're about to nudge your mate or snap a pic or roll your eyes and mutter... do you know all the facts? Do you think, just maybe, there is something more to what you see? How would you feel if someone were doing it to you and most importantly- what is it to you? Why is it any of your business? Maybe you could just avert your attention back to you and your own and put it to good use. I'm not judging you- I'm too busy doing the best for my family.
Saturday, 11 July 2015
Thursday, 4 June 2015
A whole new world
As I sit and write this blog, from the corner of my eye I can see Crazy. He is sitting on the other couch, with his best pal 'Froggy' (a cuddly night light type toy) pressed against one ear playing music, leaning on the tablet speaker which is currently blaring out merry 'Thomas and Friends' tunes at full volume, his little head sandwiched in the middle of this overwhelming cacophony. I have tried removing one or the other. I have tried turning down the tablet. I have tried physically comforting Crazy. All of these actions are met with screams akin to those of pain. I can do nothing but wait until he is ready to come back to me. He has retreated into his own world to calm himself and I can only assume the noise levels are to drown out everything else.
I can understand this. On a bad day I love nothing more than a drive in the car, my favourite tunes blaring, singing at the top of my voice. After a particularly tough week, you can guarantee if a gig with my band follows at the weekend my vocals will be at full effect. Singing, somehow, takes it all away and I throw myself into it to forget. Being in the moment, singing that song, blocks everything else out. Maybe that's just his way of doing the same.
What has caused our fun loving, happy boy to be in such distress? A bus. Well, actually, the bus was the final straw. A build up to the bus. Let me explain...
Since Crazy was tiny we have suspected that all is not entirely 'right' with our precious boy. He is a happy, healthy boy and for that I am truly grateful, but some of his behaviours are somewhat quirky. I love this about him, I love his uniqueness, but I worry. I worry that if he is too different, too quirky that he may be rejected. As Crazy has grown, some things have improved, but some are worse. His speech is delayed- but hey, loads of two year olds don't talk yet. There are other things, but you don't need a list. I mention his speech because recently he has suddenly started talking. He has decided it's time to fill the voids left in our conversation- maybe he is just sick of me babbling on at him. He fills these voids by repeating whatever he hears. Usually just the last syllable of words. For example "Shall we go in Mummy's car to Nanny's house?" will come back at me as "Me, car, Nee, housh". Other things he will mimic precisely. He rarely speaks spontaneously and if he does its for a need. A need for more juice usually. I have mentioned my concerns about Ollie's behaviours to others only to be met by assurances that he is fine, he is just taking his time, he is just energetic. He is all of those things, but all of those things and more. We finally mentioned our concerns to our GP only to be referred to a specialist in ASD for review.
His review was this week. I was filled with anxiety, as I'm sure was Mr T. Crazy took it all in his stride, coping amazingly with this new place and new people and seemingly quite happy to have some interesting new toys to play with. The doctor was so very patient with Crazy and with us and our questions. The end result of this review was a positive one. We are now quite sure Crazy is autistic, a plan being put in place to find out exactly where he may need extra help and to rule out any medical issues which could be affecting his behaviour. To hear a doctor say "I have little doubt that your son is autistic, a team of people will work with you for an exact diagnosis and put the correct help in place over the next 18 months" left me with mixed feelings. Relief to have my suspicions confirmed after all this time. Fear for Crazy's future. Frustration that I hadn't spoken up to the right people sooner. Anger at the injustice that this precious boy may have a tougher time in life than he deserves. Pride- just in Crazy himself, exactly as he is.
So what has changed? Nothing really. Except maybe the way I see things. Is he being difficult? Maybe, but maybe for reasons I don't yet understand. I can tell when my son is being naughty and there are appropriate consequences. I will not allow my son to coast on an excuse for life. In that aspect nothing will change. But I'm learning to be a little more considerate of how things may affect him. We already knew he needed a lot of preparation for any change to his usual routine, but now we acknowledge that more than ever and endeavour to take the time to really let him understand what we're saying to him, to make sure there aren't any surprises where possible.
So what happened today? Too much too soon. My error in judgement. I expected him to cope with a situation he just wasn't ready for. We began by dropping Pip to her Aunties house for a day of snuggles whilst I accompanied Crazy on his preschool trip scheduled for today. This is out of the norm and he became anxious instantly, calling "where are you?" and searching the car for her. We then took a different route to preschool which meant, although I told him where we were going, he didn't register it as the journey to school. He wasn't prepared. Then when we arrived at the school to find parents waiting around to wave off their children, fluorescent bibs on all the children (which Crazy was even more distressed about having to wear) and then walked to a huge bus to carry us all off to a day at the farm it all became to much for Crazy. My funny, lively, bright-eyed boy was reduced to a wailing wreck. His sweet nature contorted into a frenzy of panic and lashing out to protect himself the only way he knew how. All of that could be overwhelming for any two year old. but to think that he may be processing things in an entirely different way to any I understand makes me feel terrible for even trying. I sat beside my car on the floor, restraining this boy who's every instinct is telling him to run but there is nowhere safe. I hold him tight through the punches and kicks. He is saying "out" amongst his screams. He wants to be free that badly he has found the word- but I can't listen. I tell him over and over that it's ok, that's he's safe that he doesn't have to go anywhere. I hold him as tight as I can without hurting him, I hold his head tight against my chest and he stops. He calms, the screams stop. We sit for what feels like an eternity until I feel I can safely get him into the car. As soon as I release pressure he gets in a state again but I have to get him home, to safety, to a place he can calm himself down. I fight him into the car and a screams all the way home.
Why did I try? I don't want him to miss out. I won't let us be housebound and watch the world go by. We'll start smaller. Piece by piece we'll put together these two worlds for our dear boy. I will learn his world as he learns ours, much like any child.
In the time it has taken me to write this, Crazy has calmed somewhat. Froggy is now silent. The tablet is still loud but no longer pressed to his head. Best of all, he has come back to me, he is sitting beside me, almost close enough to touch- but that's not my call. It's his when he's ready for it. When he is ready I will be holding his hand and taking him out to face the world again. Its a whole new one for both of us. All of us, as a family.
Kindly published by 'Spectrum Kid', for more information about ASD and related conditions please visit: http://spectrumkid.com/
I can understand this. On a bad day I love nothing more than a drive in the car, my favourite tunes blaring, singing at the top of my voice. After a particularly tough week, you can guarantee if a gig with my band follows at the weekend my vocals will be at full effect. Singing, somehow, takes it all away and I throw myself into it to forget. Being in the moment, singing that song, blocks everything else out. Maybe that's just his way of doing the same.
What has caused our fun loving, happy boy to be in such distress? A bus. Well, actually, the bus was the final straw. A build up to the bus. Let me explain...
Since Crazy was tiny we have suspected that all is not entirely 'right' with our precious boy. He is a happy, healthy boy and for that I am truly grateful, but some of his behaviours are somewhat quirky. I love this about him, I love his uniqueness, but I worry. I worry that if he is too different, too quirky that he may be rejected. As Crazy has grown, some things have improved, but some are worse. His speech is delayed- but hey, loads of two year olds don't talk yet. There are other things, but you don't need a list. I mention his speech because recently he has suddenly started talking. He has decided it's time to fill the voids left in our conversation- maybe he is just sick of me babbling on at him. He fills these voids by repeating whatever he hears. Usually just the last syllable of words. For example "Shall we go in Mummy's car to Nanny's house?" will come back at me as "Me, car, Nee, housh". Other things he will mimic precisely. He rarely speaks spontaneously and if he does its for a need. A need for more juice usually. I have mentioned my concerns about Ollie's behaviours to others only to be met by assurances that he is fine, he is just taking his time, he is just energetic. He is all of those things, but all of those things and more. We finally mentioned our concerns to our GP only to be referred to a specialist in ASD for review.
His review was this week. I was filled with anxiety, as I'm sure was Mr T. Crazy took it all in his stride, coping amazingly with this new place and new people and seemingly quite happy to have some interesting new toys to play with. The doctor was so very patient with Crazy and with us and our questions. The end result of this review was a positive one. We are now quite sure Crazy is autistic, a plan being put in place to find out exactly where he may need extra help and to rule out any medical issues which could be affecting his behaviour. To hear a doctor say "I have little doubt that your son is autistic, a team of people will work with you for an exact diagnosis and put the correct help in place over the next 18 months" left me with mixed feelings. Relief to have my suspicions confirmed after all this time. Fear for Crazy's future. Frustration that I hadn't spoken up to the right people sooner. Anger at the injustice that this precious boy may have a tougher time in life than he deserves. Pride- just in Crazy himself, exactly as he is.
So what has changed? Nothing really. Except maybe the way I see things. Is he being difficult? Maybe, but maybe for reasons I don't yet understand. I can tell when my son is being naughty and there are appropriate consequences. I will not allow my son to coast on an excuse for life. In that aspect nothing will change. But I'm learning to be a little more considerate of how things may affect him. We already knew he needed a lot of preparation for any change to his usual routine, but now we acknowledge that more than ever and endeavour to take the time to really let him understand what we're saying to him, to make sure there aren't any surprises where possible.
So what happened today? Too much too soon. My error in judgement. I expected him to cope with a situation he just wasn't ready for. We began by dropping Pip to her Aunties house for a day of snuggles whilst I accompanied Crazy on his preschool trip scheduled for today. This is out of the norm and he became anxious instantly, calling "where are you?" and searching the car for her. We then took a different route to preschool which meant, although I told him where we were going, he didn't register it as the journey to school. He wasn't prepared. Then when we arrived at the school to find parents waiting around to wave off their children, fluorescent bibs on all the children (which Crazy was even more distressed about having to wear) and then walked to a huge bus to carry us all off to a day at the farm it all became to much for Crazy. My funny, lively, bright-eyed boy was reduced to a wailing wreck. His sweet nature contorted into a frenzy of panic and lashing out to protect himself the only way he knew how. All of that could be overwhelming for any two year old. but to think that he may be processing things in an entirely different way to any I understand makes me feel terrible for even trying. I sat beside my car on the floor, restraining this boy who's every instinct is telling him to run but there is nowhere safe. I hold him tight through the punches and kicks. He is saying "out" amongst his screams. He wants to be free that badly he has found the word- but I can't listen. I tell him over and over that it's ok, that's he's safe that he doesn't have to go anywhere. I hold him as tight as I can without hurting him, I hold his head tight against my chest and he stops. He calms, the screams stop. We sit for what feels like an eternity until I feel I can safely get him into the car. As soon as I release pressure he gets in a state again but I have to get him home, to safety, to a place he can calm himself down. I fight him into the car and a screams all the way home.
Why did I try? I don't want him to miss out. I won't let us be housebound and watch the world go by. We'll start smaller. Piece by piece we'll put together these two worlds for our dear boy. I will learn his world as he learns ours, much like any child.
In the time it has taken me to write this, Crazy has calmed somewhat. Froggy is now silent. The tablet is still loud but no longer pressed to his head. Best of all, he has come back to me, he is sitting beside me, almost close enough to touch- but that's not my call. It's his when he's ready for it. When he is ready I will be holding his hand and taking him out to face the world again. Its a whole new one for both of us. All of us, as a family.
Kindly published by 'Spectrum Kid', for more information about ASD and related conditions please visit: http://spectrumkid.com/
Monday, 25 May 2015
In sickness and in health
Pip is poorly. It is heart-breaking to see this tiny (if chunky) little lady so uncomfortable and being able to do little about it. She has had a cold for around a month now- more likely one virus after another- and seems unable to quite shake it off.
You're singing Taylor Swift in your head aren't you... well you probably are now.
The latest sniffles have turned into a cough, accompanied by a wheezy chest resulting in a very over tired baby. Come to think of it- a very over tired Family T! When the littles are poorly its all hands on deck. It just so happens to be a bank holiday and so Mr T is around. We actually had plans to escape to the Big Smoke together tomorrow (this never happens) to see a band with some friends. This band holds great meaning to me and brings many fond memories of the beginnings of our relationship- it's fair to say I'm a little bit gutted to be missing out. That said, even if I were to go, I would not enjoy the show and would be very much on edge until back by Pip's side. What's more important than the wellbeing of family?
There are times when illness strikes in the middle of the working week. The worst kind has to be the dreaded sickness bugs. Noro and Rota viruses are just plain evil! When such a... *ahem* storm goes down I am always more than a little resentful of Mr T as he leaves the house for work. I can't help but wallow in this self pity as I maintain my position on vomit-watch, bucket at the ready, wavering at my own peril. I think back to times before children, times of sleep, a busy social calendar and my own income to spend freely. Then I'm hit by a pang of guilt as Crazy nuzzles under my arm for comfort, or a sad cry emerges from Pip, unable to tell me the cause of her distress. Times have changed, I'm no longer just me, nor am I now just Mrs T- I am Mumma T. I am the glue that holds my family together and actually, I wouldn't change it for the world. So, I won't get to see a band play- there will be other times. I will get to see my children through their sadness and pain and back to good health and their cheeky antics once more and that means more than anything.
Whilst I may still accidentally elbow a snoring Mr T in the face as I get up to see to poorly Pip for the tenth time that night, I will only do it gently because actually, when daylight breaks and I can't take much more, there he is. He's putting the kitchen back together after I have ransacked the cupboards for the elusive bottle of calpol in my sleep deprived state at 2am. He's handing me a toasted sandwich when I realise that noise I've just noticed is my rumbling tum, too distracted by the littles to realise I haven't eated yet. He's lining up the sterilised bottles ready to go as I realise I've just used the last one and hadn't had enough sleep to allow for any forethought. He's amusing Crazy whilst I tend to poorly Pip. Even on work days, as he walks through the door he's running the bath for the stinkiest child, bringing home dinner, hiding the toys behind the curtain- or tidying up, whatever- so I don't have to do it. He's there too, we're a team.
I didn't realise when I said my vows that in sickness and in health applied to so many people. Ourselves, each other, family, friends. What I also hadn't realised is that it comes back to you from those very same people. I'm not alone. It sometimes feels like it at 2am when the baby is screaming, the calpol is hiding and the whole world is sleeping except me- but I am not alone.
Pip is better than yesterday and I am hopeful that tomorrow she will be better still. Crazy is... well the clue's in the name. He's bounding about, putting to use his newly found language skills. His very loud story has something to do with trains and ducks. I think. When Mr T heads out tomorrow night I won't be feeling envious, he needs a break too. I'll be looking forward to a soak in the bath (Pip allowing) and an early night (yes, I'm joking, there's no such thing!) and being happy in the knowledge that I will be turfing Mr T out of bed for the early shift the following morning because- hey, you can't have it all. You already agreed to it Mr T, there are witnesses to be called upon!
You're singing Taylor Swift in your head aren't you... well you probably are now.
The latest sniffles have turned into a cough, accompanied by a wheezy chest resulting in a very over tired baby. Come to think of it- a very over tired Family T! When the littles are poorly its all hands on deck. It just so happens to be a bank holiday and so Mr T is around. We actually had plans to escape to the Big Smoke together tomorrow (this never happens) to see a band with some friends. This band holds great meaning to me and brings many fond memories of the beginnings of our relationship- it's fair to say I'm a little bit gutted to be missing out. That said, even if I were to go, I would not enjoy the show and would be very much on edge until back by Pip's side. What's more important than the wellbeing of family?
There are times when illness strikes in the middle of the working week. The worst kind has to be the dreaded sickness bugs. Noro and Rota viruses are just plain evil! When such a... *ahem* storm goes down I am always more than a little resentful of Mr T as he leaves the house for work. I can't help but wallow in this self pity as I maintain my position on vomit-watch, bucket at the ready, wavering at my own peril. I think back to times before children, times of sleep, a busy social calendar and my own income to spend freely. Then I'm hit by a pang of guilt as Crazy nuzzles under my arm for comfort, or a sad cry emerges from Pip, unable to tell me the cause of her distress. Times have changed, I'm no longer just me, nor am I now just Mrs T- I am Mumma T. I am the glue that holds my family together and actually, I wouldn't change it for the world. So, I won't get to see a band play- there will be other times. I will get to see my children through their sadness and pain and back to good health and their cheeky antics once more and that means more than anything.
Whilst I may still accidentally elbow a snoring Mr T in the face as I get up to see to poorly Pip for the tenth time that night, I will only do it gently because actually, when daylight breaks and I can't take much more, there he is. He's putting the kitchen back together after I have ransacked the cupboards for the elusive bottle of calpol in my sleep deprived state at 2am. He's handing me a toasted sandwich when I realise that noise I've just noticed is my rumbling tum, too distracted by the littles to realise I haven't eated yet. He's lining up the sterilised bottles ready to go as I realise I've just used the last one and hadn't had enough sleep to allow for any forethought. He's amusing Crazy whilst I tend to poorly Pip. Even on work days, as he walks through the door he's running the bath for the stinkiest child, bringing home dinner, hiding the toys behind the curtain- or tidying up, whatever- so I don't have to do it. He's there too, we're a team.
I didn't realise when I said my vows that in sickness and in health applied to so many people. Ourselves, each other, family, friends. What I also hadn't realised is that it comes back to you from those very same people. I'm not alone. It sometimes feels like it at 2am when the baby is screaming, the calpol is hiding and the whole world is sleeping except me- but I am not alone.
Pip is better than yesterday and I am hopeful that tomorrow she will be better still. Crazy is... well the clue's in the name. He's bounding about, putting to use his newly found language skills. His very loud story has something to do with trains and ducks. I think. When Mr T heads out tomorrow night I won't be feeling envious, he needs a break too. I'll be looking forward to a soak in the bath (Pip allowing) and an early night (yes, I'm joking, there's no such thing!) and being happy in the knowledge that I will be turfing Mr T out of bed for the early shift the following morning because- hey, you can't have it all. You already agreed to it Mr T, there are witnesses to be called upon!
Tuesday, 28 April 2015
Wanna play?
"Can I play?" *shrug* "Yeah!"
BFFs, done. When you're small it's easy to make friends. Share your toys. Show an interest in somebody else's toys. Smile at somebody, give them a little wave. Chase somebody. "You're it!" and run away- sorted!
Try those things as an adult- I dare you!
Making friends gets a bit harder as you get older. I have some lovely ones. Ones from way back and some new ones too- I still get lonely. I love my time with Crazy and Pip but I'll be honest, I find the conversation somewhat lacking. By the time Mr T makes it home at the end of a long working day we catch up on the children's antics, his day, discuss what's for dinner (we never know and if I don't prepare something by the time we're ready for bed it will be a microwave meal for poor neglected Mr T and a packet of crisps for me. I'm not even sorry- judge away!) there's precious little time or energy for anything more. Sometimes Mr T will try. He will ask what I think of whatever has been in the news that day, or my opinion on an article he has sent me, or what would I like to do at the weekend but I'll be honest- unless you're asking me to name an engine from 'Thomas and Friends' the answer is usually 'I don't know'. That's my specialist subject for Mastermind alright, I could give Crazy a run for his money and that boy knows his trains! So inevitably we drag ourselves upstairs to bed, ready to begin another day before the lack of sleep drives us out of our tiny minds. Some of my friends are at home like me, with young children. Some for other reasons. Some are working, with or without children. Rarely do our schedules match up that we find ourselves bored and/or lonely at the same time. When that happens to me, I usually head out to the park. Crazy is happy to oblige and occasionally even Pip will happily go along with this plan and have a well timed snooze.
So there we are at the park, Crazy completing his twentieth circuit- climb, slide, run, repeat. Pip happily tucked up asleep in her buggy. Other children playing happily in little groups, parents gathered in cliques, watching over their charges- or not, which really riles me but I digress. I spot another Mum. Her son looks about the same age as Crazy and I can hear a crying baby. The baby sounds very young, the sound is very similar to Pip's cry and I feel the tension as she tries to divide her time and attention between the two. I want to call out, "I know! I know how hard it is! You're doing so well! Don't feel bad, babies cry!" but of course I don't. That would be weird. As I follow Crazy around the park, wishing I'd made a bit more of an effort, chosen a nicer top, at least washed my hair, we find ourselves side by side next to the climbing frame. Our boys are jostling for first turn on the slide as we both chastise them and tell them to wait their turn. We share a moment- we have similar parenting styles! Hoorah- what a relief. Maybe we could be friends. I'm feeling brave, I strike up a conversation...
"How old are your two?"
*facepalm* I've just asked the equivalent of the dating line 'Do you come here often?', now I seem needy. However, she politely replies and confirms my suspicion that our children are of similar ages.
"Do you come here often?"
Oh no. Oh I said it. I must absolutely reek of desperation. But wait- I'm saved! Her son approaches a very angry cat which makes a grab for his sleeve and she rushes to the rescue! I've never been so pleased to see an animal attack- apart from my obvious concern for the small boy, I'm not a monster! I watch helplessly as she chases the boy, who chases the cat, who chases a duck. Her baby cries. In her haste to rescue her son she left her baby right beside me- her tiny, round face turning scarlet as she searches for her escapee dummy. Do I plug her back in? Do I try and soothe the baby and risk being looked at as a child snatcher? Do I ignore the screaming baby? I think about what I would want. My precious first born- don't you dare, nobody touches my child! My second? Please- please make it stop. Cuddle her, feed her, bounce her just please make the crying stop for a minute, my son needs me and I can't stand the guilt of either of them being upset! I go for it- I plug her dummy back in, sing her a merry little tune and bounce the buggy along with Pip's while watching Crazy revelling in the glee to have sole custody of the slide.
She returns, enthusiastically reminding her son just how fun the slide is compared to a silly old, grumpy cat. She looks over panicked, remembering the baby (I've forgotten too in the past- just for a moment, when she's quiet- it's so rare an occurrence) and she smiles, a smile of relief if ever I've seen one. The baby is snoozing, just like Pip. She returns for her buggy and thanks me- good call. We did it! We helped, we reached out and helped.
Our sons part ways, we both glance in each other's directions. It's clear we both want to talk more but our fast moving males have other ideas. Pip stirs, it's time for us to leave. As we're leaving the park I take one last glance over my shoulder, toward the other Mum. She is waving, I feel happy.
Maybe next time I'll ask for a phone number- I'd better think up some better pick up lines first though. That or start travelling with a very angry cat in case the need for future distraction arises.
BFFs, done. When you're small it's easy to make friends. Share your toys. Show an interest in somebody else's toys. Smile at somebody, give them a little wave. Chase somebody. "You're it!" and run away- sorted!
Try those things as an adult- I dare you!
Making friends gets a bit harder as you get older. I have some lovely ones. Ones from way back and some new ones too- I still get lonely. I love my time with Crazy and Pip but I'll be honest, I find the conversation somewhat lacking. By the time Mr T makes it home at the end of a long working day we catch up on the children's antics, his day, discuss what's for dinner (we never know and if I don't prepare something by the time we're ready for bed it will be a microwave meal for poor neglected Mr T and a packet of crisps for me. I'm not even sorry- judge away!) there's precious little time or energy for anything more. Sometimes Mr T will try. He will ask what I think of whatever has been in the news that day, or my opinion on an article he has sent me, or what would I like to do at the weekend but I'll be honest- unless you're asking me to name an engine from 'Thomas and Friends' the answer is usually 'I don't know'. That's my specialist subject for Mastermind alright, I could give Crazy a run for his money and that boy knows his trains! So inevitably we drag ourselves upstairs to bed, ready to begin another day before the lack of sleep drives us out of our tiny minds. Some of my friends are at home like me, with young children. Some for other reasons. Some are working, with or without children. Rarely do our schedules match up that we find ourselves bored and/or lonely at the same time. When that happens to me, I usually head out to the park. Crazy is happy to oblige and occasionally even Pip will happily go along with this plan and have a well timed snooze.
So there we are at the park, Crazy completing his twentieth circuit- climb, slide, run, repeat. Pip happily tucked up asleep in her buggy. Other children playing happily in little groups, parents gathered in cliques, watching over their charges- or not, which really riles me but I digress. I spot another Mum. Her son looks about the same age as Crazy and I can hear a crying baby. The baby sounds very young, the sound is very similar to Pip's cry and I feel the tension as she tries to divide her time and attention between the two. I want to call out, "I know! I know how hard it is! You're doing so well! Don't feel bad, babies cry!" but of course I don't. That would be weird. As I follow Crazy around the park, wishing I'd made a bit more of an effort, chosen a nicer top, at least washed my hair, we find ourselves side by side next to the climbing frame. Our boys are jostling for first turn on the slide as we both chastise them and tell them to wait their turn. We share a moment- we have similar parenting styles! Hoorah- what a relief. Maybe we could be friends. I'm feeling brave, I strike up a conversation...
"How old are your two?"
*facepalm* I've just asked the equivalent of the dating line 'Do you come here often?', now I seem needy. However, she politely replies and confirms my suspicion that our children are of similar ages.
"Do you come here often?"
Oh no. Oh I said it. I must absolutely reek of desperation. But wait- I'm saved! Her son approaches a very angry cat which makes a grab for his sleeve and she rushes to the rescue! I've never been so pleased to see an animal attack- apart from my obvious concern for the small boy, I'm not a monster! I watch helplessly as she chases the boy, who chases the cat, who chases a duck. Her baby cries. In her haste to rescue her son she left her baby right beside me- her tiny, round face turning scarlet as she searches for her escapee dummy. Do I plug her back in? Do I try and soothe the baby and risk being looked at as a child snatcher? Do I ignore the screaming baby? I think about what I would want. My precious first born- don't you dare, nobody touches my child! My second? Please- please make it stop. Cuddle her, feed her, bounce her just please make the crying stop for a minute, my son needs me and I can't stand the guilt of either of them being upset! I go for it- I plug her dummy back in, sing her a merry little tune and bounce the buggy along with Pip's while watching Crazy revelling in the glee to have sole custody of the slide.
She returns, enthusiastically reminding her son just how fun the slide is compared to a silly old, grumpy cat. She looks over panicked, remembering the baby (I've forgotten too in the past- just for a moment, when she's quiet- it's so rare an occurrence) and she smiles, a smile of relief if ever I've seen one. The baby is snoozing, just like Pip. She returns for her buggy and thanks me- good call. We did it! We helped, we reached out and helped.
Our sons part ways, we both glance in each other's directions. It's clear we both want to talk more but our fast moving males have other ideas. Pip stirs, it's time for us to leave. As we're leaving the park I take one last glance over my shoulder, toward the other Mum. She is waving, I feel happy.
Maybe next time I'll ask for a phone number- I'd better think up some better pick up lines first though. That or start travelling with a very angry cat in case the need for future distraction arises.
Tuesday, 21 April 2015
Behind closed doors
I always try to find the humour in situations, particularly when writing my blog. I'll warn you now that I'm struggling to see the funny side of this one- feel free to just resume the fun next time if this makes for uncomfortable reading- I promise not to be offended!
Today, an app showed me some pictures of a time long ago. A night out with friends- my best friend's hen do, in fact. I was surprised to find that the feelings associated with these pictures were very much bittersweet. There I was having a great night out, with the very best company for an unbelievably joyous occasion- but there it is, the fear in my eyes. Despite some serious levels of inebriation I can remember those photos being taken. I can remember because I knew the problems they would cause when I returned to reality. I knew what would follow when I left the safety of my friends and returned 'home'.
I know now that 'home' is sanctuary. Home is my absolutely favourite place to be- with Mr T and the small people, its where I belong. The time we're discussing here is before the time of Mr T. It feels very much as though I'm looking in on someone else's life. I was trapped in a very unhealthy relationship, I just couldn't see it.
I can remember the day I received the phone call from my bestie. "I'm getting marriiiiiiiiiiiiieeeed!!" followed by much squealing and excitement.
"Will you be my bridesmaid?" "Of course!!! EEEEEEeeeeeekkk!", grins all round. Then I hung up and turned around to an icy stare. My (then) boyfriend (and I hate that term but he was very much just a boy and in no way my 'partner' so its all I've got to work with!) was not so elated. The conversation went something along the lines of
"So are you even going to ask me if it's ok? You're going to stand up in a room and be leered at in a tight dress and I'm supposed to be alright with that?"
"Wait, what? I'll be wearing a nice bridesmaids dress and it will be a room full of family and friends that I've known forever, not a nightclub!"
"Oh, so you're laughing at me now? You know how I get, I can't believe you'd do this to me, its like you don't even care. I feel sick at the thought of you all done up like that being looked at and what about me? Where will I be, just sitting there by myself? Cheers! I can see how much I mean to you..."
And that was just the start. That was before things got really bad. When I think of an abusive relationship I think of bruises and broken bones. Let me tell you- this relationship caused me so much harm, but very little of it could be seen on the surface. I always used to think 'how and why do these people stay in such an awful relationship? Why don't they just walk away?', but now I know. In the beginning it was little things, a snappy comment about something I was wearing or assuming I was flirting with other men but swiftly followed by an apology and then an explanation as to how past girlfriends had always let him down and nobody had ever been faithful or stuck by him. I wanted to be different, I wanted to heal those wounds and be the one that he could trust- so I tried harder. I made an effort not to talk to other men alone and to dress a bit more conservatively so I didn't cause him undue worry. He was everyone's friend, a real nice guy so nobody ever suspected a thing. The thing with closed doors is, you never really know what's happening behind them. By the time things got serious it felt too late. I couldn't leave him after saying I loved him and be like all the others, he needed me. He didn't mean the things he was saying, he was just afraid of losing me. When friends and family tried to raise their concerns I grew defensive- he had told me they wouldn't understand and would try to tell me to leave him and he was right, nobody understood.
Whilst he never openly hit me, I felt tortured nevertheless. Little digs about my weight and how my clothes were all too tight. Knock after knock to my already fragile self confidence. He would keep me awake night after night with endless questions about whether or not I was going to let him down like the others, questioning me over and over about my day and conversations I'd had and people I'd seen, trying to catch me out and if I dared try to sleep anyway I was most definitely hiding something and lying and he would speak of harming himself. So I stayed awake and reassured him, hour after hour, day after day. I became run down and very ill but that just served to keep me indoors and away from everybody else and his hold over me grew more and more intense. There are so many things I could tell you but I still don't believe you would understand unless you too have experienced an unhealthy relationship. I truly believe that you cannot help or persuade someone to leave a relationship like this until they are ready, until they can see it for what it is. But you can be there, waiting for when that time comes.
What made me get out? I'm sad to say I actually decided to move in with this man, further isolated and away from the safety of my family. When things finally got physical and I came to harm, however minor- I could see where it was headed. I could see what lay ahead and I knew I couldn't be that person. At its very worst, I sat alone in a kitchen after the worst 'outburst' yet, believing I'd had a very narrow escape. I contemplated hurting myself to make it all stop and what a wake up call. I thought about my family, my parents- what would they think and feel if they could see me at this minute? I'd long since cut all ties with my friends and wasn't even 'allowed' to use the internet or my own mobile, but my parents would be ashamed of who I had become and that hurt more than any pain he could ever inflict. That was my turning point, that was the moment he lost power and I could see what was really going on. I stopped cowering from threats and even provoked an outburst at inopportune moments, where he couldn't manipulate me the way he had. I could finally see the emotional blackmail for what it was and the change was dramatic. I'll admit I was scared to tell him it was over- but he knew. He knew he had lost control of me and didn't even put up a fight.
It was at this point I sent out an apology to all of my friends for being so rubbish and hoped that some would come back. I soon found that the real ones, they hadn't actually gone anywhere- they were just waiting, where they had always been, with open arms. This is the point where Mr T entered my life as so much more than just a friend and helped me rebuild myself- but with a difference. He helped me be who I was supposed to be, who I am, not who he wanted me to be- but that's a whole blog in its own right!
My dearest friends, my L's, welcomed me back into the circle without a second thought. The good times really were good again and we managed to make up for a lot of lost time. They never judged me or punished me for being so crap, they just picked me up. I'm sad to say I let my dearest friend down on her wedding day all those years ago and I wasn't a bridesmaid and I'm so very sorry. I was there, in the room, wishing them all the happiness in the world but I will always be sorry that I didn't figure things out sooner and be there for the people who deserved me. I hope this goes some way to explaining all those times when I let people down without much explanation- but I'm here now and I can promise that I always will be, all the more stronger- whenever you need me.
Today, an app showed me some pictures of a time long ago. A night out with friends- my best friend's hen do, in fact. I was surprised to find that the feelings associated with these pictures were very much bittersweet. There I was having a great night out, with the very best company for an unbelievably joyous occasion- but there it is, the fear in my eyes. Despite some serious levels of inebriation I can remember those photos being taken. I can remember because I knew the problems they would cause when I returned to reality. I knew what would follow when I left the safety of my friends and returned 'home'.
I know now that 'home' is sanctuary. Home is my absolutely favourite place to be- with Mr T and the small people, its where I belong. The time we're discussing here is before the time of Mr T. It feels very much as though I'm looking in on someone else's life. I was trapped in a very unhealthy relationship, I just couldn't see it.
I can remember the day I received the phone call from my bestie. "I'm getting marriiiiiiiiiiiiieeeed!!" followed by much squealing and excitement.
"Will you be my bridesmaid?" "Of course!!! EEEEEEeeeeeekkk!", grins all round. Then I hung up and turned around to an icy stare. My (then) boyfriend (and I hate that term but he was very much just a boy and in no way my 'partner' so its all I've got to work with!) was not so elated. The conversation went something along the lines of
"So are you even going to ask me if it's ok? You're going to stand up in a room and be leered at in a tight dress and I'm supposed to be alright with that?"
"Wait, what? I'll be wearing a nice bridesmaids dress and it will be a room full of family and friends that I've known forever, not a nightclub!"
"Oh, so you're laughing at me now? You know how I get, I can't believe you'd do this to me, its like you don't even care. I feel sick at the thought of you all done up like that being looked at and what about me? Where will I be, just sitting there by myself? Cheers! I can see how much I mean to you..."
And that was just the start. That was before things got really bad. When I think of an abusive relationship I think of bruises and broken bones. Let me tell you- this relationship caused me so much harm, but very little of it could be seen on the surface. I always used to think 'how and why do these people stay in such an awful relationship? Why don't they just walk away?', but now I know. In the beginning it was little things, a snappy comment about something I was wearing or assuming I was flirting with other men but swiftly followed by an apology and then an explanation as to how past girlfriends had always let him down and nobody had ever been faithful or stuck by him. I wanted to be different, I wanted to heal those wounds and be the one that he could trust- so I tried harder. I made an effort not to talk to other men alone and to dress a bit more conservatively so I didn't cause him undue worry. He was everyone's friend, a real nice guy so nobody ever suspected a thing. The thing with closed doors is, you never really know what's happening behind them. By the time things got serious it felt too late. I couldn't leave him after saying I loved him and be like all the others, he needed me. He didn't mean the things he was saying, he was just afraid of losing me. When friends and family tried to raise their concerns I grew defensive- he had told me they wouldn't understand and would try to tell me to leave him and he was right, nobody understood.
Whilst he never openly hit me, I felt tortured nevertheless. Little digs about my weight and how my clothes were all too tight. Knock after knock to my already fragile self confidence. He would keep me awake night after night with endless questions about whether or not I was going to let him down like the others, questioning me over and over about my day and conversations I'd had and people I'd seen, trying to catch me out and if I dared try to sleep anyway I was most definitely hiding something and lying and he would speak of harming himself. So I stayed awake and reassured him, hour after hour, day after day. I became run down and very ill but that just served to keep me indoors and away from everybody else and his hold over me grew more and more intense. There are so many things I could tell you but I still don't believe you would understand unless you too have experienced an unhealthy relationship. I truly believe that you cannot help or persuade someone to leave a relationship like this until they are ready, until they can see it for what it is. But you can be there, waiting for when that time comes.
What made me get out? I'm sad to say I actually decided to move in with this man, further isolated and away from the safety of my family. When things finally got physical and I came to harm, however minor- I could see where it was headed. I could see what lay ahead and I knew I couldn't be that person. At its very worst, I sat alone in a kitchen after the worst 'outburst' yet, believing I'd had a very narrow escape. I contemplated hurting myself to make it all stop and what a wake up call. I thought about my family, my parents- what would they think and feel if they could see me at this minute? I'd long since cut all ties with my friends and wasn't even 'allowed' to use the internet or my own mobile, but my parents would be ashamed of who I had become and that hurt more than any pain he could ever inflict. That was my turning point, that was the moment he lost power and I could see what was really going on. I stopped cowering from threats and even provoked an outburst at inopportune moments, where he couldn't manipulate me the way he had. I could finally see the emotional blackmail for what it was and the change was dramatic. I'll admit I was scared to tell him it was over- but he knew. He knew he had lost control of me and didn't even put up a fight.
It was at this point I sent out an apology to all of my friends for being so rubbish and hoped that some would come back. I soon found that the real ones, they hadn't actually gone anywhere- they were just waiting, where they had always been, with open arms. This is the point where Mr T entered my life as so much more than just a friend and helped me rebuild myself- but with a difference. He helped me be who I was supposed to be, who I am, not who he wanted me to be- but that's a whole blog in its own right!
My dearest friends, my L's, welcomed me back into the circle without a second thought. The good times really were good again and we managed to make up for a lot of lost time. They never judged me or punished me for being so crap, they just picked me up. I'm sad to say I let my dearest friend down on her wedding day all those years ago and I wasn't a bridesmaid and I'm so very sorry. I was there, in the room, wishing them all the happiness in the world but I will always be sorry that I didn't figure things out sooner and be there for the people who deserved me. I hope this goes some way to explaining all those times when I let people down without much explanation- but I'm here now and I can promise that I always will be, all the more stronger- whenever you need me.
Sunday, 15 March 2015
Mum's the word
What makes a person a 'Mum'? For me, it's about selflessly putting another person's needs before your own. It's about loving someone with your whole heart and doing anything possible to make them safe and happy. It's about listening more than talking, guiding rather than pushing, providing and not wanting. It's eating chocolate in secret because you don't want to share it... come on now, we all do it!
My Mum has always put us first. I'm the middle of three girls (poor Dad!). That's a lot of hormonal tantrums in one house, right there. We have never gone without. My parents have always worked hard for us- far too many hours than they should ever have had to and often more than one job at a time. Despite all the pressures of life, my Mum has remained a role model to us. She is a strong, capable lady. She always has time for someone in need and will always go out of her way to help a friend. She is smart and funny and brave. When I was young, I knew I wanted to grow up to be like my Mummy. The funny thing is, now I have children of my own I have become my mother at times. I can't help it- her voice just falls out of my mouth unannounced- "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all!" woah... when did that happen? To be honest, it started about when the goblins came into my life courtesy of Mr T. The words and phrases were just in there, rattling around my noggin awaiting a small person in need of guidance. I'd say, Mum, that's a job well done. The lessons in life you have taught me remain ingrained. Your shared wisdom, just like your love, is etched into us forever. You did great Mum, we will never be able to thank you enough.
I'm now in my thirties- a 'proper' grown up. I have children of my own. When my son, Crazy, was born I realised a capacity for love that I hadn't thought possible. Little over two years on and my daughter, Pip-squeak, is proving that love is limitless. Whilst I may have to share my time and attention there is more than enough love to go around. It's the sort of love that enables you to wipe stinky little bottoms, pick gross boogers obstructing tiny nostrils and catch sick in your bare hands- that, ladies and gents, is parenthood. It's wanting the last piece of cake but giving it to your toddler and watching him decide he doesn't like it after all and mushing it into the carpet. It's cooking three different dinners for three different tastes because it's worth it for full tummies. It's needing desperately to sleep but watching her for just a minute longer because- well, look at her... she's incredible. It's just wanting half an hours peace to watch a programme and zone out without being pestered, but instead listening to a teenager waffling on because hey- he has ventured from the darkness of his room to make human contact, so whilst it sounds like pointless drivel there is something important hidden in there, something that he's sharing with me. It's so many things that I thought I was too selfish to ever do until my children came along and changed me for the better. It's more rewarding than you can imagine or I can describe. Its a tiny hand holding yours. It's your child becoming a person in their own right and making decisions with confidence. It's a card with just a few words from a sullen teen that speak volumes. It's a happy heart and a happy home.
I will always be grateful to Mr T, the wonderful man that has given me wonderful, beautiful children. I will always be grateful to my parents for showing me what it means to be a good parent. To my friends and family for their ongoing support during the tough times. I'm also lucky enough to have married into an amazing, caring family and my support team just keeps growing. I hope to make you all proud.
Happy Mother's Day to all- if you're lucky enough to be able, give your Mum a big squeeze and tell her how much you love her. If today is a difficult day and you can't be with yours, think of the good times and know- even from my limited experience as a mother- that she would want you to be happy and she will be proud of the person you are if you are just being true to yourself.
Mum- I love you, I will always need you and when things get tough I ask myself what you would do. Thank you for everything you have sacrificed for me (I'm guessing sleep more that anything, right?). Each passing day, now that I too am a mother, shows me just how much you love me. I hope you can be as proud of me as I am of you xx
My Mum has always put us first. I'm the middle of three girls (poor Dad!). That's a lot of hormonal tantrums in one house, right there. We have never gone without. My parents have always worked hard for us- far too many hours than they should ever have had to and often more than one job at a time. Despite all the pressures of life, my Mum has remained a role model to us. She is a strong, capable lady. She always has time for someone in need and will always go out of her way to help a friend. She is smart and funny and brave. When I was young, I knew I wanted to grow up to be like my Mummy. The funny thing is, now I have children of my own I have become my mother at times. I can't help it- her voice just falls out of my mouth unannounced- "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all!" woah... when did that happen? To be honest, it started about when the goblins came into my life courtesy of Mr T. The words and phrases were just in there, rattling around my noggin awaiting a small person in need of guidance. I'd say, Mum, that's a job well done. The lessons in life you have taught me remain ingrained. Your shared wisdom, just like your love, is etched into us forever. You did great Mum, we will never be able to thank you enough.
I'm now in my thirties- a 'proper' grown up. I have children of my own. When my son, Crazy, was born I realised a capacity for love that I hadn't thought possible. Little over two years on and my daughter, Pip-squeak, is proving that love is limitless. Whilst I may have to share my time and attention there is more than enough love to go around. It's the sort of love that enables you to wipe stinky little bottoms, pick gross boogers obstructing tiny nostrils and catch sick in your bare hands- that, ladies and gents, is parenthood. It's wanting the last piece of cake but giving it to your toddler and watching him decide he doesn't like it after all and mushing it into the carpet. It's cooking three different dinners for three different tastes because it's worth it for full tummies. It's needing desperately to sleep but watching her for just a minute longer because- well, look at her... she's incredible. It's just wanting half an hours peace to watch a programme and zone out without being pestered, but instead listening to a teenager waffling on because hey- he has ventured from the darkness of his room to make human contact, so whilst it sounds like pointless drivel there is something important hidden in there, something that he's sharing with me. It's so many things that I thought I was too selfish to ever do until my children came along and changed me for the better. It's more rewarding than you can imagine or I can describe. Its a tiny hand holding yours. It's your child becoming a person in their own right and making decisions with confidence. It's a card with just a few words from a sullen teen that speak volumes. It's a happy heart and a happy home.
I will always be grateful to Mr T, the wonderful man that has given me wonderful, beautiful children. I will always be grateful to my parents for showing me what it means to be a good parent. To my friends and family for their ongoing support during the tough times. I'm also lucky enough to have married into an amazing, caring family and my support team just keeps growing. I hope to make you all proud.
Happy Mother's Day to all- if you're lucky enough to be able, give your Mum a big squeeze and tell her how much you love her. If today is a difficult day and you can't be with yours, think of the good times and know- even from my limited experience as a mother- that she would want you to be happy and she will be proud of the person you are if you are just being true to yourself.
Mum- I love you, I will always need you and when things get tough I ask myself what you would do. Thank you for everything you have sacrificed for me (I'm guessing sleep more that anything, right?). Each passing day, now that I too am a mother, shows me just how much you love me. I hope you can be as proud of me as I am of you xx
Tuesday, 10 March 2015
Then there were 4
My good intentions of regular blogging throughout pregnancy fell by the wayside when the demands of Crazy and lack of sleep took their toll- sorry about that. But here we are, Baby Pipsqueak is 17 days old already, time flies when *you're having fun!
*every day morphs into the next and there is no such thing as sleep
So let me begin by telling you that I absolutely love my daughter. She is a real beauty (if I do say so myself) and I feel truly blessed to have Pip and Crazy in my life. Mr T gave me these beautiful creatures and has been my hero during paternity leave helping with such a huge adjustment. Super-Daddy to the rescue. When we brought Pip home from the hospital that same day she was born, Crazy was in bed so they met the following morning. He greeted her with a 10 second tantrum, took himself away to his room to have a good old chat to his pal 'Froggy', returned downstairs to give Pip a sloppy kiss and to bestow upon her his favourite 'Thomas and Friends' book (bestowed it right into her eye socket, bless him). Cute. That was it then, job done. There's another person in the family, there she is- right there. This is us then, a new family unit. Crazy had taken it in his stride, on with the game of trains at hand. What about me? Why am I struggling and why can't I say so?
Pip was overdue. 8 long days. There are more hours in an overdue day than an average one- ask any post due date fed up Mumma. I was induced on the Saturday, by Sunday morning we were rushing back to the hospital to have a baby. It all happened pretty quickly. So quickly, in fact, that there wasn't time for the epidural I so desperately needed. Crazy arrived early, but the labour was slow and steady and I felt calm and in control. Pip was arriving, ready or not- I was very much not ready, despite the extra days cooking her. Whilst I don't want to scare off any potential baby-makers or even more so, those already cooking a fresh one- I need to be honest, so now might be a good time to skip the rest of this paragraph. I have never known pain like it. I did not feel in control and I did not feel like the professionals delivering my baby were in control. There was an air of panic as Pip's heart rate couldn't be traced and they tried and failed to fit a trace to her fragile little head. The anaesthetist had left in tears because she couldn't help me and I was in distress. Poor Mr T was helpless and his face told me so. Nobody would talk to me or answer my questions and I was angry. Boy was I angry. I had requested an epidural in plenty of time, yet here we were. I know hospitals are very busy places and needs must be prioritised- but there and then I felt cheated. At it's worst, I begged Mr T to tell Crazy every day how much I loved him as the panic and pain made me feel like I might not make it through. I begged the midwives to put me under and cut her out- right now, I can't take another minute- please, somebody help me. My pleas were ignored and the panic rose. Somehow, thankfully, we made it through and baby Pip was born healthy- if very grey- and a decent 8lb 9oz. I waited for the exhilaration I felt with Crazy. It didn't happen. I felt relief. Relief that she was ok. Relief that Mr T could relax. Relief that I wouldn't have to do that ever again. I did feel love for little Pip as she snuggled in, wondering what on earth had happened and where she was. But I felt angry. I felt empty. But I said and did all the right things- the first feed, skin to skin, told everybody how wonderfully ecstatic I am. Hey- I did it with gas and air! Way to go me! I could just stare at her forever! That's how I wanted to feel and should have felt.
Now don't get me wrong- I'm so thankful for my children. I have a son and a daughter, they are both perfect and I am beyond lucky. I had read about how a second baby is different to the first. I always like to read up and be prepared- but I wasn't prepared. I was underwhelmed. I felt unimportant. Like the trauma I had been through didn't really happen or at least didn't really matter. I didn't feel that urgent sense of 'I must hold my baby and never put her down' and when other people held her I didn't think 'I need her back!'. Instead I thought- she's happier there. You're doing a better job than me, you keep her. I was happy to pass her around because it was better for her.
I breastfed for the first four days. This kid was insatiable. I didn't sleep for more than an hour at a time, day or night and as much as Mr T was around to help- and help he did- he couldn't do the feeds for me. Crazy still demanded from his Mumma- and I was grateful for that. I could make him happy at least. Except I didn't have the time because I couldn't put Pip down. She was always hungry and her shrill scream cut through my soul. Urgent neediness, not soon, now- you're failing me. I wasn't enjoying feeds like I did with Crazy, when I had all the time in the world to gaze at him and imagine our future together as a family. Now there was no time- no time for Crazy's bedtime story, bathtime, snuggles- all my favourite things. No time for Pip, to bond, to learn her noises, her smell. No time for Mr T, despite all his efforts I just didn't have the time or patience to even thank him properly. What I did have was guilt and lots of it. Guilt for all those things, all those feelings- or lack of. In desperation we tried Pip with a bottle of formula and she slept for three long hours. The decision was made, she was happier and I was happier. She finally had a full tummy and was content. We could put her down and she didn't scream. I felt relieved that the pain would stop and I could rest. Which brought more guilt.
These days things are getting better, but there are still moments. I find myself in tears, both children demanding at the same time. This morning I opened up to a friend. A friendship that is based on absolute honesty, no matter how brutal. I said "I don't feel like I should". Her reply- "I didn't either". I felt better. Just like that, I felt hopeful. We chatted, she identified with a lot of what I had to say and I wasn't alone. Why wasn't this stuff in the books? The real grit? Not the glossy stuff. Already when she won't settle I can now think- it's not my fault. My children are different people, already they need different things from me. My relationship will be different with both of them and that's ok. It's ok that I didn't enjoy breastfeeding this time- I'm also raising another little person at the same time. It's ok that I didn't feel overwhelmed with joy and high on adrenalin when she arrived- I had been through an immeasurable amount of pain and I had already experienced birth before, of course it was never going to be the same. That doesn't mean I'm not attached to my daughter as I should be. It doesn't mean I'm doing it wrong- its just different. When I see her snuggling her Daddy, content and quiet, or snoozing in her Aunty's arms without a whimper I don't need to feel like I'm failing. I need to feel happy that she is happy. I need to use that time to steal back the moments I miss with Crazy. There are times when she is content in my arms but I'm so wracked with guilt that I don't recognise them. All I'm guilty of is guilt itself and I'm going to make a conscious effort to stop.
I hope my honesty can help somebody that might find themselves in my position, Or maybe somebody who once was but is still harbouring that guilt. To see it from another perspective is so easy- to say 'but you're doing great!' doesn't always help if you really don't feel like you're doing great. Sometimes you need to hear- I struggled too and that's ok.
Apologies for the heavy stuff- on a brighter note, Crazy has just gone for a nap and Pip is currently snoozing in her hammock so I shall take this opportunity to close my eyes. I won't say nap, because Pip has a sixth sense for my napping and knows it's time to 'Squeak' once again to keep me busy. She so hates to see me bored, this one... Maybe if I learn to sleep with one eye open I can fool her! Or maybe I shall just resume with the chores. The bottles won't sterilise themselves and I kid myself that the steam is good for my skin whilst I hastily make up bottles so hot to handle that I probably have no fingerprints left whilst simultaneously load the washing machine with one foot, precariously balanced on the other in haze of sleep deprivation. Multitasking- I've got that shizzle down.
*every day morphs into the next and there is no such thing as sleep
So let me begin by telling you that I absolutely love my daughter. She is a real beauty (if I do say so myself) and I feel truly blessed to have Pip and Crazy in my life. Mr T gave me these beautiful creatures and has been my hero during paternity leave helping with such a huge adjustment. Super-Daddy to the rescue. When we brought Pip home from the hospital that same day she was born, Crazy was in bed so they met the following morning. He greeted her with a 10 second tantrum, took himself away to his room to have a good old chat to his pal 'Froggy', returned downstairs to give Pip a sloppy kiss and to bestow upon her his favourite 'Thomas and Friends' book (bestowed it right into her eye socket, bless him). Cute. That was it then, job done. There's another person in the family, there she is- right there. This is us then, a new family unit. Crazy had taken it in his stride, on with the game of trains at hand. What about me? Why am I struggling and why can't I say so?
Pip was overdue. 8 long days. There are more hours in an overdue day than an average one- ask any post due date fed up Mumma. I was induced on the Saturday, by Sunday morning we were rushing back to the hospital to have a baby. It all happened pretty quickly. So quickly, in fact, that there wasn't time for the epidural I so desperately needed. Crazy arrived early, but the labour was slow and steady and I felt calm and in control. Pip was arriving, ready or not- I was very much not ready, despite the extra days cooking her. Whilst I don't want to scare off any potential baby-makers or even more so, those already cooking a fresh one- I need to be honest, so now might be a good time to skip the rest of this paragraph. I have never known pain like it. I did not feel in control and I did not feel like the professionals delivering my baby were in control. There was an air of panic as Pip's heart rate couldn't be traced and they tried and failed to fit a trace to her fragile little head. The anaesthetist had left in tears because she couldn't help me and I was in distress. Poor Mr T was helpless and his face told me so. Nobody would talk to me or answer my questions and I was angry. Boy was I angry. I had requested an epidural in plenty of time, yet here we were. I know hospitals are very busy places and needs must be prioritised- but there and then I felt cheated. At it's worst, I begged Mr T to tell Crazy every day how much I loved him as the panic and pain made me feel like I might not make it through. I begged the midwives to put me under and cut her out- right now, I can't take another minute- please, somebody help me. My pleas were ignored and the panic rose. Somehow, thankfully, we made it through and baby Pip was born healthy- if very grey- and a decent 8lb 9oz. I waited for the exhilaration I felt with Crazy. It didn't happen. I felt relief. Relief that she was ok. Relief that Mr T could relax. Relief that I wouldn't have to do that ever again. I did feel love for little Pip as she snuggled in, wondering what on earth had happened and where she was. But I felt angry. I felt empty. But I said and did all the right things- the first feed, skin to skin, told everybody how wonderfully ecstatic I am. Hey- I did it with gas and air! Way to go me! I could just stare at her forever! That's how I wanted to feel and should have felt.
Now don't get me wrong- I'm so thankful for my children. I have a son and a daughter, they are both perfect and I am beyond lucky. I had read about how a second baby is different to the first. I always like to read up and be prepared- but I wasn't prepared. I was underwhelmed. I felt unimportant. Like the trauma I had been through didn't really happen or at least didn't really matter. I didn't feel that urgent sense of 'I must hold my baby and never put her down' and when other people held her I didn't think 'I need her back!'. Instead I thought- she's happier there. You're doing a better job than me, you keep her. I was happy to pass her around because it was better for her.
I breastfed for the first four days. This kid was insatiable. I didn't sleep for more than an hour at a time, day or night and as much as Mr T was around to help- and help he did- he couldn't do the feeds for me. Crazy still demanded from his Mumma- and I was grateful for that. I could make him happy at least. Except I didn't have the time because I couldn't put Pip down. She was always hungry and her shrill scream cut through my soul. Urgent neediness, not soon, now- you're failing me. I wasn't enjoying feeds like I did with Crazy, when I had all the time in the world to gaze at him and imagine our future together as a family. Now there was no time- no time for Crazy's bedtime story, bathtime, snuggles- all my favourite things. No time for Pip, to bond, to learn her noises, her smell. No time for Mr T, despite all his efforts I just didn't have the time or patience to even thank him properly. What I did have was guilt and lots of it. Guilt for all those things, all those feelings- or lack of. In desperation we tried Pip with a bottle of formula and she slept for three long hours. The decision was made, she was happier and I was happier. She finally had a full tummy and was content. We could put her down and she didn't scream. I felt relieved that the pain would stop and I could rest. Which brought more guilt.
These days things are getting better, but there are still moments. I find myself in tears, both children demanding at the same time. This morning I opened up to a friend. A friendship that is based on absolute honesty, no matter how brutal. I said "I don't feel like I should". Her reply- "I didn't either". I felt better. Just like that, I felt hopeful. We chatted, she identified with a lot of what I had to say and I wasn't alone. Why wasn't this stuff in the books? The real grit? Not the glossy stuff. Already when she won't settle I can now think- it's not my fault. My children are different people, already they need different things from me. My relationship will be different with both of them and that's ok. It's ok that I didn't enjoy breastfeeding this time- I'm also raising another little person at the same time. It's ok that I didn't feel overwhelmed with joy and high on adrenalin when she arrived- I had been through an immeasurable amount of pain and I had already experienced birth before, of course it was never going to be the same. That doesn't mean I'm not attached to my daughter as I should be. It doesn't mean I'm doing it wrong- its just different. When I see her snuggling her Daddy, content and quiet, or snoozing in her Aunty's arms without a whimper I don't need to feel like I'm failing. I need to feel happy that she is happy. I need to use that time to steal back the moments I miss with Crazy. There are times when she is content in my arms but I'm so wracked with guilt that I don't recognise them. All I'm guilty of is guilt itself and I'm going to make a conscious effort to stop.
I hope my honesty can help somebody that might find themselves in my position, Or maybe somebody who once was but is still harbouring that guilt. To see it from another perspective is so easy- to say 'but you're doing great!' doesn't always help if you really don't feel like you're doing great. Sometimes you need to hear- I struggled too and that's ok.
Apologies for the heavy stuff- on a brighter note, Crazy has just gone for a nap and Pip is currently snoozing in her hammock so I shall take this opportunity to close my eyes. I won't say nap, because Pip has a sixth sense for my napping and knows it's time to 'Squeak' once again to keep me busy. She so hates to see me bored, this one... Maybe if I learn to sleep with one eye open I can fool her! Or maybe I shall just resume with the chores. The bottles won't sterilise themselves and I kid myself that the steam is good for my skin whilst I hastily make up bottles so hot to handle that I probably have no fingerprints left whilst simultaneously load the washing machine with one foot, precariously balanced on the other in haze of sleep deprivation. Multitasking- I've got that shizzle down.
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