New Year 2015/2016

That time again, new year! Usually I'm not bothered at all, new year is a change of date for me and I'm not too interested in celebrating it. This year however feels a bit different. This year I feel a bit bitter, a bit bah humbug about it all. 

Already I've read a tonne of Facebook status' saying happy new year, what peoples resolutions are and what a great year 2015 was. I'm left feeling a bit sad and a bit uncomfortable about the whole thing. 2015 should have been a great year...I've got my lovely husband, my wonderful daughter, a good job and we bought our first home! But it wasn't a good year. It's been the hardest of my life. 

2015 could be remembered as the year I lost myself (hopefully temporarily!) to post natal PTSD and depression. A year where everything felt difficult, overwhelming or even worse empty at times. A year of confusion, guilt and fear at times. 

2015 won't be remembered in that way though. Instead 2015 will be remembered as the year I was brave enough to be honest about how I feel and to ask for help. The year I decided that this is not what I want for myself or my family and I refuse to accept this as 'normal' anymore. The year I instigated change for the better. 

2016 for most people is about new things, new challenges and more positive habits. 2016 for me will be about recovering what was lost and forgotten and breathing new life into this. It will be a year without shame or fear for how I feel. It will be a year where I treat my health needs as a top priority instead of putting my head in the sand hoping it will all just be ok. 

I don't know when or if I'll ever feel fully 'recovered', this is a road I have never travelled and I don't know what's up ahead. I know what part of my recovery looks like though. Recovery is me looking in the mirror, 9 months pregnant confidently saying 'bring it on birth'.

And meaning it. 

Happy New Year everyone. 

Today's forecast: Foggy

I’m not sure where to start writing today, my thoughts feel like tiny flickers of light in a thick fog. 

How I feel shifts so regularly it feels hard to keep upright sometimes. I think at the moment there has just been too much and I've been left flat on my arse. I'm not sure if the way my thoughts and feelings shift is drastic compared with other people or maybe it is the same and it is the way I respond to it that is the problem. Sometimes I feel confident, I don't agonise over every decision, I feel bigger and stronger then all my fears, I don't feel weighed down my tonnes of guilt. It feels like that first breath after you've been swimming underwater for a really long time and you finally come up for air. Sometimes I feel so awful and anxious I want to take my skin off and escape from it, I don't want to be anywhere near myself and I feel afraid but I have no idea why. I cry (a lot) and I struggle to see how this is ever going to get better, I wonder if I am depressed and if I am what do I do about it? I feel so full of rage and I have no idea who or what is to blame. 

Depression is often described as someone’s ‘black dog’ which is a brilliant way to describe it. Sometimes I think you could visualise trauma in a similar way, a creature spoiling the good things in your life. The Black Dog of depression drains you slowly over time, it wears you down, it becomes and bigger and heavier and you become buried by it. Trauma however is small and vicious. It's there with you, constantly tugging at your clothes all day giving you the impression something awful is about to happen, jumping out at you, startling you before scurrying back into your mind leaving you to wonder what the hell is going on.

Sometimes for me trauma feels like sitting a cinema. You take your seat watching the movie that is your happy life then suddenly all the lights go out and the movie stops. You look around at everyone else; they are all still sitting there calmly, laughing and smiling. You look back at the screen, it’s still black, how are people enjoying this? What am I missing? The screen lights up again and the movie starts again but this time it’s different. It’s not your happy life it’s a nightmare. All these terrible things happen over and over on the screen. You close your eyes in the hope it will stop in a minute but it continues. The volume gets louder, the colours get brighter and you cannot ignore the screen. You can’t take it anymore and you scream, cry, shout, try to hide while everyone else watches their movie oblivious to what yours is showing.

Or perhaps trauma is like a giant bull in a ring. I see it and I run in circles dodging its horns for as long as I can even though I know eventually it is going to get me. 

I don’t think birth trauma is very well understood or is even heard of by most people. I had never heard of it until I experienced it and even then a professional had to point it out to me. Sometimes I feel like a liar talking/writing about it, it doesn't seem possible. I sometimes wonder what motherhood would be without these feelings and thoughts. 

I am anxious to admit (although I try not to be) that I am seeking professional help for this trauma. That's right, the 'professional' needs professional help! It took a long time to swallow my pride and say 'yes this is such a problem that I need help' but it was the best step I have made on this journey. My life right now is the hardest it has been since Alice's birth but I know the process of therapy, recovery whatever you want to call it...the difference is this time it's me recovering instead of helping someone else. 

The colour of Trauma.

Green, almost electric,

Reminiscent of slime but with the skin of milk.

It flows, warm, sometimes hot,

The picture of a bath, almost inviting

But it could easily drown you.

Never aggressive nor violent,

It never shouts, only whispers.

It lives in the centre, secure, safe,

Untouchable.

It flows up, spills up and over,

It is not as sluggish as lava but to call it a

Wave would be untrue.

It wants to be my friend!

It’s genderless

But I think if it were to choose it would be female.

It is like a sea of voices,

But it is never still.

Sometimes it spits...

So I guess it can be aggressive after all. 

Let it be known that I am and never will be an artist!!

Reasons to be glad #4

Disney at twat o'clock

It is a very rare occasion that my small person sleeps through the night, in fact so rare I can count all the times on one hand. When she DOES sleep through it means she's wide awake at 5am. Often shes awake super early even if she doesn't sleep through. 

Sometimes I cannot bear another episode of the friggin' Zing Zillas or Postman Pats special delivery service (special because he's shit at his job and nothing gets there on time). Sometimes there just isn't any kids TV on at twat o'clock, so instead we watch Disney.

Yes Alice STILL has milk from a bottle and we cuddle and everything! 

I put the kettle on, get the milk and cuppa ready then we cuddle up for the film. The older Alice gets the more she wants to move and play as opposed to sit and cuddle. These morning bottle/tea/movie moments are a small window where she will just sit and be cuddled and its lovely. 

It is pure mummy daughter time and I try not to take it for granted because there will come a day when she isn't willing to do this anymore...or she wants to watch the same film a million times in a row. 

It's especially lovely at the minute too because I get to re-live all the awesome stuff from my childhood with Alice...or at least introduce her to it and hope she enjoys it too. If she doesn't? She can empty the dryer happily while I re-live those moments by myself.

Some moments are even better now. Whenever I watch The Little Mermaid I always smile at Ursula because let's face it, she's awesome and because she was inspired by the drag performer Divine! 

Just going to leave this here..

Reasons to be glad #3

Tea. It is wonderful stuff. Along with coffee it is the fuel of mums (and nurses for that matter). Tea starts conversations, it is comforting, it is rewarding and it turns me into a human in the morning. 

I love everything about tea and the whole ritual of making a cuppa. I enjoy choosing the type of tea, the cup, whether to have it sweet or not. 

The first tea of the day is the 'good God is it even daytime?!' tea. It is usually at 6am, strong and bloody sweet. It is essential to getting my brain to start functioning. 

The second cup is the nap time cup and it is bliss! Alice is down, it is 2 hours of the day where I can have free time, do some me stuff and ignore the dishes and hoovering that I really should be doing instead. This cup is like a reward and if there is a chocolate hobnob floating around the cupboard even better! This cup of tea is always drunk hot which is a luxury. I get to drink hot cups of tea at work but they come in polystyrene cups so its not the same. 

The third and final cup is usually after the nap is finished and before dinner is started. It's the 'come on you can do this shit!' cup to give me the energy to make dinner, put the small one to bed and get ready for the next day.

Since becoming a mum tea has become a symbol of adult/child free time for me. I love being a mum but its hard, its non stop and there aren't scheduled breaks...sometimes there are no breaks. Tea for me is a mum break in a mug, a little daily reason to be glad.

Mum moments

All parents have days where their small person or people seem to throw routine out the window and try something new. I don't know about other parents but I like to pretend I'm prepared for it, I can handle this, its to be expected with children but the truth is I can't. I feel like I forget everything and I spend most of the day flapping trying to keep up. There is a fine line between laughing about it or crying about it..or shouting...or all three sometimes. 

I had been dreading today a bit anyway because Alice was due her immunisations but in what now seems like a favour from the universe the nurse was sick so they have been postponed. 

Alice has developed a habit where most nights she is awake for 2 hours in the night for usually no apparent reason. Last night was no exception. We did the usual thing this morning, she plays with the loudest toy she can find while I get her milk and down some tea in an attempt to make myself feel a little human. A couple of hours of this is usually followed by a nap and time for me to get ready. Not today.

Today Alice decides nap time should be sooner then usual but wait mummy's in the shower, let me call to her continually. I ignore her, she'll settle soon I think. Big fat no. 

I give in eventually and bring her in the bedroom so I can put my make up on only due to decorating we don't have a bedroom door so I baracde the doorway with a bin and laundry bag. Initially she finds me swear muttering amusing until she discovers my bedside table is unmanned. She rummages through it and out come all manner of make up and toiletries. I leave it for as long as I can but have to stop her when she is about to empty the entire contents of a face wipe packet. This is met with a tantrum. 

We go downstairs for breakfast. The tantrum continues as she follows me round the kitchen like a puppy. She's hungry, clearly I didn't get the memo about the routine change and have failed to have nourishment ready. The winge tolerance meter is about to explode so in a desperate attempt to soothe the beast I give her some crisps. That's right, my small persons breakfast (or part of it) were some cheesy puffs. She loved it.

I continue breakfast making buying more time with more crisps then I hear a noise. I look down to see her emptying the recycling bin and at first she's taking it out to put it back, awww, I think. Another noise, again I turn, she is now trying to drink out of an empty milk carton! She's done this a few times now and I'm pretty convinced this is the way she's developed to tell me she wants a drink. 

Next is the porridge which goes down well but then dear lord the winging comes back! I can see the look on her face it screams 'where's my fucking cheese on toast!' Or it would if she knew the word fucking. 

Off I go again to make the cheese on toast, moving her away from bins and plug sockets as I do. We eat the cheese on toast (quite happily actually) and then she crawls into my lap and winges because again I missed the memo that NOW its nap time. 

Up to bed we go where finally she sleeps and I drink tea and eat cookies. 

Parenting is made up of lots of different moments. Some are full of worry like the moments when your child is ill, other moments are hilarious like when your child dances to Lady GaGa, some moments are stressful like when your child refuses to sleep...and other moments like today are a mixture of all 3. Although I wouldn't admit in the stressful moments I wouldn't have it any other way. 

The Poo Bus

This is not a review, I don't do reviews and most likely never will but THIS book! This book is weirdly epic. 

 Alice loves books and I love reading to her but I can't face reading the same damn books over and over and buying new books every week is expensive so once a week we make a library trip. If I'm being honest I enjoy it way more then her, she just looks bored while I'm rummaging through the little kids section excitedly trying to find books from my childhood and relive the greatness that is The Tiger That Came To Tea, The Greedy Zebra and Whatever Next. 

During our latest trip I found the little gem that is Here Comes The Poo bus. I was probably as excited as when you find a £5 note on the floor and you get to keep it.

I've read it to Alice a few times now and she seems to enjoy it nearly as much as me. What's not to love about a story about poo?! 

I do wonder though how anyone sat down and thought do you know what would make a great story? A bus made out of poo! With lots of of subtle references all the way through like 'steaming' and 'heavy load'.

I won't say too much in case anyone fancies a read but if you think a story about bugs, poop and an ugly toad sounds intriguing I highly recommend Here Comes The Poo Bus. 

Oh and I forgot to mention, it rhymes. 

Reasons to be glad #2

Friends.

A bit like my husband my friends have put up with the ups and downs, the good and the bad and all the crazy. They have been there planning my wedding in 3 months instead of a year because I got pregnant (opps!). They have been there through the repeated break ups and make ups with boyfriends, they have helped me move house a gazillion times and they have been supportive of whatever crazy creative craft endeavour I’ve suggested. They have even come over and helped me when I’m sat weeping into a pile of fabric and thread.

My friends supported me through the ups and downs of pregnancy offering support and sympathy eating with me. They have listened to my birth story a million times, each time being supportive and non judgemental.

Sometimes it feels hard to be honest with friends because I don’t want to bore them with the same old crap and people have their own stuff they don’t need to hear mine over and over on top of that. Sometimes it feels unfair to talk about birth AGAIN because I don’t want to sound like motherhood is some awful thing that happened especially when talking to people who have just started this journey or are about to.  

I have been really surprised by the warm, supportive response this blog has received particularly by my friends. I’ve got to admit there was a part of me that sort of cringed when I knew people had read it, especially some of the more honest bits. No one had to read it, even the people that I cheekily asked to. No one had to like it or comment but people did/do and it has helped me feel a little more ‘normal’ and not feel so ashamed about how I am feeling. It has been a great relief to be 100% honest, to talk about my fears, my low points and my high points and have other people to share this with.

Thank you to my friends who continue on this journey with me. Thank you to the friends that have txt me at 3am when Alice won’t sleep, to the friends who have arranged a catch up and some grown up time, to the friends that have listened to my verbal diarrhoea over a cup of tea. Thank you to the friends who celebrated my birthday with cake at midnight on a night shift, to the friends who dress up as Batman villains and eat Subway with me, and to the friends who have discussed baby poop with me.

Thank you for making the bad days a little easier, the good days a little brighter and for helping me to see the funny side of life.

  

                                                                       

My harshest critic

Today started off brilliantly. I felt like I was winning at motherhood, ‘I’ve got this!’ I thought. Ha! One non sleeping, winging small person later and I am uptight, stressed, cursing myself because of something horrible I’ve said and the whole day feels ruined. Before pointing out this is catastrophic thinking I know it is and it’s frustrating that knowing this doesn’t make it easier to stop.

After this Alice fell off the bed which was mortifying. She was absolutely fine after a cuddle and being allowed to pull out the entire contents of a 150 nappy bag pack while I sobbed (and I did).

To top the afternoon off I clicked on this article on my Facebook and started ruminating about birth. AGAIN. I started thinking where was my reassurance? Where was my information? Hell where was my friggin’ care?! I started to feel really bitter and sore about the whole experience.

I found myself sitting in a bad mood puddle refusing to get out of it. I spoke to friends, I spoke to husband, I did things and had things that would have made me feel better but still I sit there insisting I’m drowning.

I am not saying that I have exaggerated everything that has happened or that I’m some kind of misery lover because honestly I can’t stand those people and the idea I might turn into one is terrifying. I’m saying that sometimes the only person holding me back is me. Sometimes the only person ruining my good day is me.

Somehow I need to remember to give myself permission to carry on being happy and being a good mum. I am not a bad mum just because I snapped or got it wrong. It is ok to forgive and carry on. I am not a bad or incapable mum because I found labour terrifying and bloody painful. I am not weak in some way because of my experience. I owe myself time to fully heal, I will get there. I am not a bad mum because I whisper ‘for fuck sake’ when Alice wakes me up at 3am just because she wants to play. I’m just totally crap with broken sleep, but that’s ok there’s other stuff I’m good at.

It is so easy to condemn yourself as not good enough because you are trying to live up to every standard of motherhood/parenthood out there but there is only one standard you should be living up to; your child’s.

I look at Alice and I know she loves me, she thinks I’ve got this, she has no idea I’m shitting myself thinking ‘god damn it where is the manual for this thing?!’ When her grandparents drop her off home and I open the door she gives me the biggest toothiest grin and says her version of ‘Hiya!’ it is freakin’ adorable. Sometimes she laughs so hard she can barely breathe, I make her do that. I always put her first, she is the queen of this castle and she has no idea. When I pick her up she cuddles me, sometimes she will stop playing and crawl over to me just to give me a hug. Sometimes she misses and hugs the carpet  but it’s the thought that counts. Everyone always says what a happy, contented child she is and she couldn’t be that way if she wasn’t happy and I wasn’t doing something right.

A good mum does her best for her child.

A good mum plays with her child and does everything to make them laugh.

A good mum cuddles her child LOTS.

A good mum loves her child fiercely.

I am a good mum.

Reasons to be glad

Sometimes it’s hard to be an egg as opposed to a potato. Stress, busy lives not to mention sleep deprivation start to feel really heavy after a while.

Everyone has good days and bad days; the good days feel amazing and the bad days feel lonely and never ending. I find it really hard to feel even a shred of positivity when I’m having a bad day. I disappoint myself, I consider myself the worst mum in the world and sometimes even being in my own skin feels unbearable. It feels like things might never feel better again even though I know they will, sometimes it feels like I don’t deserve them to get better again. 

I find it strange how time feels different in good moments and bad ones. Time in the bad moments moves slower, it’s heavy and suffocating. Time in the good moments is fleeting, it’s uplifting and peaceful.

I want to make more of an effort to make the good moments last longer, so here we are, my weekly reasons to be glad.

#1 My husband

Someone once asked me what my relationship with my husband is like and I said ‘it’s all the things I never thought were real in a relationship, it’s like the whole prince charming thing’. He’s loving, he’s kind, he’s loyal, he compliments me, he makes me laugh more than anyone and we have so much fun. He listens, he offers support, and he respects me and my independence.

That beautiful moment just after the ceremony where
 he whispers something rude to his pregnant bride..and then
giggles about it.

If you had asked me 14 months ago if I knew how much he loved me I would have said ‘of course!’ but really I had no idea.

Becoming parents is a complete life changer anyway, it changes things forever and some of this change is bloody tough. This was our experience but on top of that I have struggled since Alice’s birth and with becoming a mum in general.  

It probably sounds dramatic but I assure it’s not when I say it must have been bloody tough at times living with me over the last year. The mood swings from anger to sadness to happiness and back again, the anxiety particularly at night, the insomnia and panic attacks (which still happen quite a lot this far on from the birth) not to mention all the other crap. There were times when not only was he looking after me, probably not sleeping and then working a full day he was also looking after a newborn. I don’t need to list all the times that were hard, the point is that he was there and he still is.

He was there patient, kind, loving and understanding through no matter what. He never once lost his temper with either me or Alice and never even seemed phased by whatever was going on. He has complete faith in me as his wife and as Alice's mum...and I think I need to listen to him more on this.

 The biggest thing is he makes me happy, we make each other happy. We have so many happy memories, our first holiday to Barcelona, our wedding day, that time we spent ages trying to get a humungous moth out of the house. After a long time of chasing this friggin’ moth we finally catch it and let it loose out the front door for it to fly straight back in! We caught it again and husband ends up running to the end of the drive, releasing it and running back in. What our new neighbours think I have no idea but we laughed so hard because of this moth and we STILL laugh about it now.

The responsible faces of parenting. That's right folks,
someone put US in charge of a small person. 

Achievement unlocked: Growing a bump

I was reading through some old stuff I wrote aggges ago and came across this. Enjoy, cringe it's up to you :)

The first trimester for me (and like most women probably) was mainly spent sleeping or trying not to throw up in front of people...especially at work, especially the patients. The first trimester for me felt very surreal as they were moments where I could forget I was pregnant or I had to consciously think about being pregnant because there wasn't anything to see.

The bloating was awful, by 13 weeks I couldn't fit into any trousers or jeans without a hideous tyre sitting on top. Husband and I were due to go into town to do some shopping one weekend and I could not find anything that that would fit my bottom half. I ended up having a strop and wearing a T-shirt and leggings. It was not glamorous at all and I felt ridiculous.

Maternity clothes are a little like Marmite I think; some women hate the idea of them and fight against them as long as they can and other women (myself included) embrace them as a badge that says ‘I’M GROWING A HUMAN!!!’ I adored my maternity clothes particularly the trousers, it was a sad day when I had to go back to zips and buttons.

I couldn't wait for the day I would have a bump and I could show it off.

I got so frustrated that it took so long or felt like it took so long to grow a bump! I would look in the mirror and think well where the hell is it?! I got very fed up of people telling me I didn't have a ‘real’ bump. I look back now at photos of me cooing over my 16 week bump and think ha! You've got no idea what’s coming!! But then I guess that’s the beauty of hindsight.

Your bump is your ‘evidence’ that you’re pregnant; it’s the only evidence until the bladder boxing begins.

The downside to a bump is people seem to take it as a sign that they can now touch you and rub your belly as if you are Buddha. I had a colleague at work do this from 13 weeks to the point that I used to try and waddle at speed away from her whenever I saw her in the corridor. People also see your bump as an invitation to comment on your size. At no other time in a woman’s life would you do this, it’s almost like people expect you to enjoy this discussion. In my experience you cannot win when commenting on the size of a woman’s bump. If you say she doesn't have one she will probably be disappointed because as I said before a bump is a sign you are pregnant and are ‘upgrading’ to motherhood. If you say how massive her bump is and she’s only 20 weeks you are probably going to offend the shit out of her and that’s not good either. There isn't a right answer but there are plenty of wrong ones such as...

‘You look huge! You’ll never make your due date’.

‘You don’t look like you’ve got a bump, you just look like you’ve had a big meal’.

‘Are you sure it’s not twins?!’

And my personal favourite....drum roll please...

The person looks at you all smiley and says..

‘You can’t have much longer left, how many weeks are you?’ 

and you reply..

'30 weeks, I’ve got 10 weeks left’. 

Then they look at you a little bit horrified....like the bit in a horror film where the main protagonist realises who the killer has been all along.

I lost count of all the times this happened to me. 

Once I gained a bump of epic proportions I forgot a time when I didn't know what it was like to live without it. The first time I went to the toilet after coming home from hospital I went upstairst and it felt so good to walk up the stairs instead of dragging myself along the banister grunting and stopping at the top to catch my breath.

Having a bump was beautiful, kind of disturbing, irritating and amusing. Seeing my bump grow knowing my little one is growing and getting closer to being born is beautiful, incredible, exciting and fascinating. Seeing my baby make my stomach move from the outside however is definitely like something out of Alien, like any minute that little bugger is going to burst out screeching and zip into one of the kitchen cupboards. It is irritating because overtime I become the slow person everyone races to get to the escalator because no one wants to be stuck behind your slow ass. Last but not least it is amusing because sometimes your size creeps up on you. I remember laying flat in bed and then trying to sit up and having a brief panic when I realised I couldn't. I was only about 28 weeks at the time and it was quite scary. The amount of times I misjudged my size and ended up bumping into things was ridiculous. 

A bump of E.P.I.C proportions, 39 weeks!!

A lot of women say they miss being pregnant and miss their bump, I don't think I do. Sometimes I miss the fact that for 9 months it was just me and Alice, we had a relationship that no one else will ever understand or experience. Even if I get pregnant again it won't be the same as being pregnant with Alice because every baby and pregnancy is different; it truly was a once in a lifetime experience. 

Something that surprised me about having a bump is how it changed my attitude towards my body. I didn't realise how focused I was before on how this bit needs to be thinner, or that bit needs to be more toned. When I was about 33 weeks pregnant I looked back at photos of me at 11 weeks pregnant and I thought jeez I look slim! Even though at the time I remember feeling huge. I'm not worried any more about how my body looks, yes I want to be a healthy weight and I really should exercise more to try and be healthier but I like my shape now, wobbles and marks and all. 

38 weeks pregnant, just me and Alice

An unexpected bath

Every mum has one of these stories, more then one probably.

The poo story.

Before becoming a mum I read lots of things and was told several times that poop will become a normal topic of conversation. I thought that in itself was a load of poop. I was wrong.

Yesterday morning Alice had a poop of epic proportions and decides to stomp in it and rub it all over her legs! 

Why didn't you hold her legs?! I hear you ask.

I did.

She's stomping and kicking whilst I'm half saying half shouting in my best mummy voice 'stop stop stop!' 

Did she stop? Not a chance. Instead she laughs. LAUGHS! It was a full on belly giggle at my poo pain.

Mid clean up (which wasn't successful at all if in being honest) the kicking begins again but this time poop is all over the changer, on the vest, on her belly (how is this possible?!) and all over my arms. 

'That's it! Bath time!!' 

And of course Alice was the most patient she's ever been waiting for a bath. No kicking or poop flinging. Typical.

There were a few moments where I was fuming and felt instantly guilty. But that laugh...it was brilliant. How could anyone be angry looking at that cheeky face?

Good job she's cute! 

Who stole my umbrella?!

Lately I've been feeling pretty damn awful. Lonely, angry, sad. 

I've felt and thought things that have made me feel ashamed and sometimes scared. 

I don't know if I'm happy.

I know I should be, I have everything I've ever wanted but I don't feel the way I think I should or that I would like to. 

I feel completely alienated from everyone, I even feel like an alien in my own body. I feel so so lonely, I am alone in this experience. I'm sure there are lots of women who feel like this around the world but our experiences will all vary. I don't feel I have met one person who can say 'I know what you're going through and it will get better'. 

Other mums tell me it's hard, they feel the same, everyone goes through this etc and I think 'are you serious?!' How the hell do you manage this shit on a daily basis and then decide to do it again with another kid?! 

I look at Alice and I love her to pieces, I know I do...but when she cries or is upset instead of wanting to go to her all I think is 'please god no I can't do this'. 

I cannot shake this feeling that this shouldn't have happened to me. I don't mean that in a 'wish I could have old before baby life back' but in a 'someone made a terrible mistake making me a mum' way.

I cannot shake the feeling that there is something not quite right inside me that means I shouldn't be a mum, some piece is missing or doesn't fit right. This doesn't feel like normal mummy guilt, I've had that. This is an overwhelming, suffocating feeling. It's not about my ability to do mum things because I think I can do them, it's more about something inherent inside me.

I want to be happy and I do try, I try really freakin' hard but no matter how I do it it doesn't seem right. I'm not expecting to be super mum, I'd be quite happy with average.

I feel smothered by memories. I feel full of uncontrollable sadness and anger. 

I know this will pass, I know things will get better but there are moments where it is just me and my darkness and it is terrifying. I feel like I'm surrounded by darkness with a candle but no way to light it. 

On top of this I am becoming bitter. I don't usually question suffering and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I see it as a part of life and you do what you need to to transmute it into something positive that helps you grow.

This time I am struggling, this time I am questioning. I think why me? Why am I the one who is drowning in motherhood? And I hate that, it feels pathetic, like I'm giving up.

I wonder is this me? Is this because of everything that's happened? How do I find my resilience again? 

I wanted this (to be a mum) so bad. It seemed it wasn't going to happen, Alice was never going to be a viable pregnancy, I believed she died during labour and yet, she's here! 

And that makes the guilt and sadness worse. I feel like I am not appreciating the gift that I've been given as much as I should. 

I want so much to get through this, I know I can do this but sometimes it feels like I'm trying to fight off a bear with a spoon.

I think it's important for me to remember that I don't feel this way all the time, sometimes I truly am happy. I do love Alice, I am trying and I want to try.

I will get through this because the alternative to give up is inconceivable. 

So I will find a way to light that candle.

I will fight off that bear with my trusty spoon. 

I will be an egg not a potato.

It's not the circumstances, its what you're made of.

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The £9,000 girl

Everything I write (and think) lately seems to be negative, unhappy, sad or hopeless. I’m finding it really tough at the minute, I do have good days but then when I have bad days or even bad times they are awful.

Husband says that this isn’t me and that it is just how I’m feeling and that it will pass. I want to believe him but sometimes I’m not sure he’s right, sometimes, most of the time in fact I am sure that the this is me. My soul feels like it is being strangled by weeds, anything beautiful is slowly being covered to the point of I’m not sure what’s under there anymore. I have a lot of gardening to do, metaphorically speaking and literally (we’ve not long moved house and there is so much still to do).  

When I am having a good day I try and relish every moment of it because I don’t know how long it will last. I take more photos now of these moments the idea being I can look back on them as evidence that sometimes I do feel good and that the horrible feelings will pass.

The simplest moments are the ones that make me the happiest. Sometimes me and Alice will both have a second breakfast of cheese on toast and watch Disney or Harry Potter. We sit next to each other, she’s in her high chair, and I’m on a crappy conservatory chair because well half our house isn’t unpacked yet. I cut some bits off for her and put them on the tray and watch her eat them one by one and she giggles at Draco (she’s a total Malfoy fan girl it’s embarrassing). There is something so wonderful about watching her eat cheese on toast, I have no idea what it is but I can’t get enough of it. When she’s finished she will lean over and look at my plate to see if there’s any left and just stare at me as I finish eating my toast.

Look how little she is here!!

I love bath time with Alice especially now she’s getting older and seems to find it more fun. There’s a mermaid bath toy I’ve had my eye on since she was born but I’ve always put off buying it as she was too small but I gave in and bought it her for her birthday and she loves it. I love the way that when we pour the water to wash her hair she tries to hold the stream as if it’s ribbon and then get’s more frantic and excited because her fingers keep going through the water instead of grabbing it. We recently bought a clear non-slip bath mat for the bath and it has little blue and pink fishes on the bottom. Alice will spend lots of time trying to grab the fish from the bottom which always makes me laugh; the determination in her face is brilliant.

We live right next to a beautiful park and I try and take Alice as much as I can but I often let silly things like chores or decorating take priority. I especially enjoy the park now it’s a little colder and we both have to wrap up in coats to stay warm. Alice got 5 coats for her birthday, this girl is better dressed then I ever was its crazy! She’s even got wellies, she can’t even walk yet! There’s a beautiful sensory garden in the park and I love taking her round that, she’s not normally too bothered to be honest. Sometimes we will just sit on a bench and stare at the trees and the other people walking by, it is so peaceful. It feels so good to be out in the light just me and Alice; it’s nice to get away from any reminder of all the other crap I have to do.

In the sensory garden

We went for a walk yesterday and it rained towards the end which I loved. I love the sound of rain in the trees or the sound it makes on the conservatory roof. I am excited for the day me and Alice can go jumping in puddles. We walked round the whole of the park looking at all the trees changing colour and dropping their leaves, Alice isn’t that bothered obviously unless there’s something close enough to grab. There’s a playground in the park too and me and Alice sat on a swing together for a while. She even got to have a go on her own in one of the baby swings. As we walked round the park to head home I thought about how lucky I am. I work part time (25 hours a week over 2 long days) and even though it’s tiring once it’s done I get those 5 days with my daughter, sometimes I get her to myself!

I feel very lucky to have been able to go part time. In order to do this I have essentially taken a £9,000 a year pay cut and do you know what? She is totally worth it. All those little moments that are what keep me going through the day, the cheese on toast, the baths and the walks in the park are 100% worth that £9,000.

Smiling for the camera!

It is very easy to stay nestled in negativity. It coils around you as if it’s protecting you but really it is shutting you off from the positive things in your life and the more you struggle the tighter it becomes.  It’s like a tumour that starts of tiny and you may not even notice it but before you know it it’s tripled its size and by then it’s too late it’s already impacting on your health. It casts your reflection like that of a funhouse mirror, everything looks distorted.

I think I need to make more of an effort to be positive, to be happy. Negativity has been my ‘friend’ for a year and I think I am slowly forgetting what it’s like to live without it. One day this experience will be a memory and I will look back at the things I have learned and thank the universe for the opportunity to grow. When life throws us something negative, difficult or horrible we can respond in 3 ways; we can throw it back at someone else so they feel just as bad, we can let it destroy us or we can change it into something positive that helps us grow.

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