The Time I can Never Get Back

We sold the crib, the travel cot, and the stroller today. It triggered something I thought I had addressed and accepted but clearly I still needed to grieve.

I have never been one to go goo-ey and coo-ey when a newborn is in the room.

There has only been one who, once I got over the fear that I might break her, I couldn’t get enough of holding, engaging with, smiling at, watching her during tummy time, or dozing away in her pack and play.  I cheered as I watched her hit her milestones and cried tears of joy the first time she waved to me. I still love to watch videos of her, whether it’s when she was so tiny she’s nothing more than a puffalump on her mother’s knee or when she’s singing her own version of a Christmas carol. This girl has made my heart light up since the very first time I laid eyes on her. Including those newborn days I was luckily enough to share with her.

This little girl is my beautiful, hilarious, spunky little niece. I love her to bits.

I did not get this with my daughter.

When the midwives caught my baby girl and handed her over, I was overcome with emotion and in awe of the miracle of life.  I loved her from the very beginning.

But I still felt nothing.

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“Make the most of every moment, cherish it, and enjoy it, as they’re only this age once and it will be done before you know it,” a stranger said as I was standing in the baby section of a department store, just barely holding myself together. I knew nothing about how to be a mom. I was convinced that I would kill my baby by shear incompetence if not from some subconscious action in an attempt to stop the dark thoughts from flooding through my head. I was hating motherhood, sure I had made a drastic mistake, and absolutely overwhelmed by the fact that I had no other greater responsibility than to make sure I didn’t fuck this baby up, and worried that I might have already done so.

I blinked back tears and focused on the various maternity tights I found myself in front of as the woman continued talking.

“The first two years are the most important….” I switched off.  It was all I could do not to just hand her my baby girl and walk away.  Surely she knew better than I did.  Based on the streams of “You’re so lucky”, “You must be in heaven”,  “Life must seem so wonderful with her around”, “You must be enjoying your time together” I’d been hearing, everyone seemed to know how to do this better than me.  I couldn’t understand if everyone else enjoyed it, why couldn’t I?  What was wrong with me that I couldn’t adjust to the new role like everyone around me had?

So I waited for it to get better. I played the “fake it till you make it” role to the extreme, parenting by the book, hoping that one day I’d get up and I’d do something just because it felt right.  I didn’t feel one iota of mother’s instinct.  If I hadn’t had the Baby Whisperer, I would have been in ruins.

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Those two years have been and gone.  I learned that I had an illness and it wasn’t down to bad mothering. I got help. I took medication. I attended appointments. I wrote. I got better. I continue to heal.  I enjoy my daughter’s company sometimes. (Do normal moms enjoy their kids’ company all the time?)

But the fact remains that my daughter isn’t a baby and never will be again.  I will never ever get that time back.  I hate that I will never hold my little baby girl in my arms and not want to put her down. I won’t know what it feels like to stare at her face for hours and enjoy every minute of it.  My chest never filled with pride the first time she rolled over or sat on her own. The only hope I have is that someday I will look at the millions of pictures we have of her baby days and I will cry the tears of joy I should have when those moments happened. 

I missed my baby. 

That will forever break my heart.

Unpredictability and the Anxiety Hurdle

My Kid is unpredictable. Parenting is hard. It doesn’t always go to plan.  

The best thing to do is to roll with it.

It probably goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, that this is much much easier said than done.  Especially since other people can be so judgy.

Add to that my own expectations, plus a huge helping of post partum anxiety, and well, I was a walking disaster.

In the beginning I just didn’t go out. Oh sure, I popped around to the corner store or down the street to pick up take out, but this was always without my daughter. The idea that I could be somewhere with her and things could take a direction I couldn’t predict was positively crippling.

But I couldn’t stay inside forever. It was good for my daughter to see the world around her and, according to the various health visitors, community nurses, and counsellors I had visiting me, it would be good for me as well.

So, with my chest feeling like it was in a vice, I left the house, with a list of questions running like a ticker tape through my mind.

What if I stay out too long and her nap is too short?

Or she sleeps longer so eats later?

Or she needs a change and I’m near a place with a changing area?

What if she cries and I have no idea what to do? 

You may think these thoughts are normal and you just adapt and do your best, and I did. But the dark thoughts would always begin.

She’s not being unpredicatable, you’re just not a good enough mother to understand her.

A good mother can tell what her baby was trying to tell her

.

A good mother would be able to make her stop crying.

A good mother would have this situation under control.

I would do my best to talk myself out of it, remind myself that it was only me that was bothered.

Then, inevitably, I’d notice the looks or I’d overhear comments like “How can such a loud noise come from such a little thing,” and I’d realise that actually people did notice. The dark thoughts would then spin into over drive:

How dare you think you’re fit enough to take care of such a helpless being?

Don’t you realise that everyone around you is miserable because of your inadequacy?

They can tell you know……………That you shouldn’t be a mother.

If you don’t figure out how to make her happy soon, they will take her away.

Nine times out of ten, my daughter was crying because she was tired.  Once she was asleep, all would be fine. For her and for all those around.

But not for me.

The thoughts would keep coming.

You just got lucky.

Your night is going to be hell now.

What were you thinking?!?!

 You won’t get any sleep.

They might still take her away because they saw how clueless you are.

As my daughter grew, I got used to the vice grip on my chest.  I found a way to bottle up and block the thoughts away so I could make it through the day.  Then, at night, they flooded over me, recreating the scene and reminding me how badly I had handled it.

I can actually feel my chest tightening now as I write this, remembering with all too much clarity, many many times when it practically broke me.

As I get better, I realise that yes, I am kidding myself if I think other people don’t notice when little miss kicks off in public, especially now that she’s two.  Hell, even the doctor let her leave with a toy from his office the other day because of the tantrum she started throwing when I told her it was time to leave.

The difference is now I’m realising I actually know my little girl and I do everything I do for her out of love and that’s really all that matters.  I will make plenty of mistakes. She will throw plenty more curve balls in my direction. Neither of us is perfect and that’s okay. We’ll get through it.

Those judgy people can raise their kids how they want and vent to others about what they may have witnessed. I took my daughter out and split a flapjack recently, but the mom who commented about it doesn’t need to hear my justification for it and it doesn’t make me a bad mom because I didn’t give her a healthy snack instead.  I know that my girl calms down fastest when give her a bit of space and let her do it in her own time, but again, I didn’t need to explain this to the mom who tried to rationalise with her in the midst of her meltdown in the museum. That mom doesn’t need to explain to me why she thought her approach would work either.

I don’t think I will ever erase the demon thoughts that haunted me. However, I hope that the cringe-worthy moments that happen from now on will not bring me to my knees. Perhaps some will be worth retelling to other parents to remind them we’re not perfect and neither are these little humans we’re raising.  I think a lot of us worry about the judgy ones and sometimes they do get the best of us, especially when they turn out in numbers. However, I realise I am doing the best I can. My daughter loves me and I love her. We’ll get through the bumps because of it.

Does Anyone Really Have it All Together?

I wonder if yummy mummys cry when they’re alone at night. 

Horrible thought isn’t it? 

Do you know what’s even worse? 

I kind of hope they do. 

I hope that sometimes they feel weak and scared and overwhelmed by it all.  It shouldn’t matter and I actually think it’s pretty damn cruel to wish ill will on anyone, but for my own sanity, when I see these wonderfully put together moms, I begin to convince myself that at some point, when they’re sure no one is looking, they have themselves a little melt down.

I know that makes me a horrible person but my brain cannot comprehend how it is even possible to have everything in life fall together that well.

To have your hair and makeup done, nails flawlessly manicured, free from chips and stains from the latest craft activity or pasta dinner. Clothes spotless and creaseless, like the laundry is always done and they have plenty of items that haven’t been drooled, snotted, or spit-up on and a body that looks good in all of them. 

I’m not talking about the moms who look perfect but haven’t spent an ounce of quality time with their children. 

I’m talking about the ones who are happily pushing their toddlers on the swing as they chat away to all their other mummy friends about the latest amazing art project they created or the completely organic meal they plan on making from scratch later.  The ones who find the time to keep the house clean while giving their child every ounce of attention they deserve. These women seem so completely distant from my reality that I have only two theories to explain it: 

Option A: They’re super women

I know a few mothers who fall into this category.  They are amazing. They rarely have a bad day and when they do, they can easily find a silver lining.  Their children are thriving and they are too.  I will not fault them for one second but I do envy them. I do not like the word envy (it is one of the seven after all) but if I’m honest, I have to admit I wish I could live life like they do – happy and completely fulfilled.

Option B: It’s an act

I know a few others like this too. Frankly, I fell into this category for a while there in the beginning when I was trying to convince myself everything was all fine and dandy. I was sure that as long as I ticked the ‘tidy house,’ ‘play with child,’ ‘prepare meals,’ ‘exercise,’ ‘teach child,’ boxes, that all would fall into place and I’d stop feeling so weird and detached about things. However, while I might have been pulling all of these things off on the outside, on the inside I was an absolute disaster, just ticking my way closer and closer to complete and utter destruction.

When I first admitted to my health visitor how I’d been feeling and postnatal depression was explained to me (the real symptoms, not the crazy extremes we see on TV) I felt nothing but relief. 

I finally started to give myself a break. 

So here I am, at the end of a weird day.  Not one of my worst but not one of my best either.  The beginning of the week threw some serious triggers my way and I just barely managed to hold it together. (Thanks once again to the amazing #ppdchat support!)  Today my daughter has been a little more high maintenance than usual.  I struggled to keep my cool at times and to not cry in front of her at others. When her bedtime came, I felt like a failure, still having no idea what is wrong with her. 

What if she is really ill and I’ve missed the signs? 

What if I didn’t give her enough attention today and she just needed a bit more love her way?

 I then took stock of a mental to do list and realised I had to clean the shower.  Yes really. 

On a Friday night.   

It needed it that badly.   

I have neglected it that long.

It’s clean now and my daughter is sleeping but I had myself a little cry and have cracked open a beer.

So that brings me back to my theory:

If I need that cry, and feel the need for a take out or a cheeky beverage after a day like today, those yummy mummys must feel the strain at some point too right?

Honestly I do hope those women fall in the supermom category as it’s nice to think that sometimes, if everything falls together right, life can be downright amazing. 

However, I do hope if they have taken option B, that they learn to cut themselves some slack. I hope these women can stop for a second, don sweats and grab a bowl of ice cream or go for a nice long run, whatever they want to do just for them, not for what they think the world wants to see.

I hate that sometimes I still feel the need to take Option B. I doubt anyone would mistake me for a yummy mummy but in everywhere but on Twitter and this blog, I try to keep moving like everything is just fine.

It isn’t.

I am a mom of a toddler and I have postnatal depression.  Those two stack up to some really shitty times. 

I had to let go of my perfectionist tendencies just so I’d stop feeling like a complete failure each and every minute of each and every day. 

I cry when I need it. 

I run when I want to not because I feel I need to.

I let the housekeeping slip.

I rely on my husband to pick up the slack.

I have learned that I shouldn’t feel guilty about this. (But sometimes I still do)  I have an illness and it takes a lot to get better.  Without the illness, it still takes a hell of a lot to be a parent.

If you know a supermom, be sure to tell her just how wonderful you think she is.  I bet she doesn’t hear it very often so even she may have doubts at times. 

For those of you who have taken Option B, be brave and tell someone when you are feeling overwhelmed. I bet you are surprised by the response you get. 

If, like me, you feel like you’re on the outside constantly looking in, you are not alone. We are not alone.  There are thousands of us fighting this fight and although it feels like everyone else has it all together, not all of us do.

I certainly don’t.

These things I've learned...

I turned another year older this week so couldn't help but sit back and think about how the last year went. Of course, the difference is, this time last year I was just barely beginning to come out of the deep dark fog of postnatal depression. I struggle to remember what I did last year for my birthday much less how I felt at the time.  The answer, most likely, is numb. That’s the odd part about all the days I have now where I’m sad and weepy or impatient and completely pissed off at the situation – that’s actually progress.  That numbness? That was the ppdemons winning. Emotions?  That’s me.  A sappy romantic whether I want to admit it or not. Lately I’ve had a few glimpses of my feisty old self and it’s nice to know she’s still in there and that she’s fighting her way back out again.  I’ve even had some good belly laughs with my little girl recently.  Ahhh, my humour. Now that is something I’ve missed.

My point is my daughter and I, well, we’ve come a long way baby.  In light of the old me coming out to join the new me and in celebration of the beginning of my new year, I’ve decided to compile a list of the things I’ve learned since my daughter was born. It’s by no means complete, but it’s a start. (Note: She’s 20 months, not a year, but bear with me, it’s all a bit of a blur)

I’ve learned that…

…. if you let a newborn sleep as long as they’d like in the day, their empty tummies and brand new lungs will make you pay for it at night.

…. meconium is one of the stickiest, hard to clean substances known to man. 

…. baby poo is actually relatively inoffensive until you start them on solids

…. one does actually get used to being vomited on regularly.  There were times I not only continued to wear a shirt that had been spit up on but that I put it on again the following day. (It was only milk after all…)

…. a baby really does have different cries for tiredness, hunger, fear, frustration, and wind.

…. you can never have too many muslins/burp cloths.

…. cloth diapers come in handy as towels, change mat covers, and burp cloths too.

…. stain remover for cloth diapers is an excellent way to get out stains, especially that crazy yellow newborn poo.

.

I've learned that...

…. it is actually possible to take thousands of photos in just a few short months.

.... a baby can start teething long before one actually manages to cut through. 

…. having a spotless house isn’t always a first priority. In fact, it’s actually lowest on the list right now and the house is still generally tidy and organized.

…. there are few things better than having a baby that can soothe herself to sleep. 

…. a lot of good can come from baby books. I’m not sure how I would have managed without consulting “The Baby Whisperer” on a regular basis.

…. it’s handy to have a stroller and a baby carrier or sling of some sort.  They both have their advantages and disadvantages.

…. it is a lovely feeling to have a little one snuggled in close and dozing on me while I walk around town.

I've learned...

…. that despite my deepest love for my baby girl, it was still possible to feel nothing for her.

…. that no matter what I do, I cannot get back those days I lost when I was suffering from a most evil and heartless illness.

…. that I must learn to forgive myself for those darkest of days. That it wasn’t my fault.

…. That it is possible to smile, to laugh, to interact even when I am feeling nothing.

…. that my little girl is funny and happy despite that fact that her mother has been battling for all 20 months of her tiny little life.

I've learned that...

…. my little girl is so decidedly textbook that those “what to expect from your baby this week” blurbs are almost always right on.

….”Dada” will almost always be said before “mama.”

…. babies’ first rickety, jittery, teeter, tottery steps are at once hilarious and exciting.

I've learned that...

.... even when you know you need it, asking for help is one of the hardest things to do in the world.

…. even once you get the help you need, there is no quick fix, and certainly no easy options, when it comes to battling postnatal depression.

…. try as I might to be strong, this illness has had a profound effect on my husband, my family, and my close friends.

and

I've learned that...

.... my husband, my family, and my close friends are some of the most amazing and supportive people anyone could hope for.  I love you all. You have been my saviours. xx

Patience and Boxing

“Keep it up and I’ll box your ears.”

I can’t remember a time when my mom actually followed through on this threat, yet I can almost feel the thwack, the blood rushing to my head as the air pressure inside my ears increases ten fold, the involuntary shudder and urge to punch back that comes with it.  Gahhhh!

Aside from perhaps stepping on a plug, there are very few other things that can simultaneously deliver such a combination of pain and humiliation.  So yeah, the memory of the feeling is as clear as day despite no recollection of ever actually having my ears boxed.

That is until recently.

When my daughter started doing it.

Holy lord, it’s infuriating. Perhaps it was passed down somehow, along with eye color and being able to raise one eyebrow. I’ve certainly never even thought of using it as a threat much less acting on it. Yet, this little menace, when things aren’t going quite the way she wants, will square her shoulders, look me in the eye, cock back both arms and let fly, wacking both my ears.  Quite often my glasses end up wonky, adding yet more insult to injury. After the impact, I stand there as calmly as possible, sometimes shaking my head, sometimes counting to ten, sometimes shouting that she needs to cut it out, asking why on earth she thought that was the right thing to do. (Yes, I hate it and always feel immediately guilty when that happens but somedays….oh somedays….)

I know, I know. It’s a phase. Not every kid goes through it, but most have some sort of behaviour that we have to tolerate while trying to teach them that hitting, pinching, biting, etc. are wrong.  This has not made it any easier. Okay, admittedly there is a bit of difference in knowing this is part of her development as a person and not that, despite my best efforts, she’s turned into some sort of demon child.  While I wrack my brain, trying to think of ways to quell her frustration, explain situations, give her alternatives, she seems remarkably calm about the whole thing. So far she seems relatively unphased by my explanations that  “hand are not for hitting” and the jury is still out whether time outs are even sinking in as a consequence for her actions yet.  My only consolation is that she seems to somewhat grasp that hitting is wrong and reserves it for me and, on rare occasions, her Dad.  Supposedly this is some show of trust but sometimes I swear I see a glint in her eye and think she’s taking advantage of an easy target, paying me back for not cuddling her enough as a newborn. 

Seriously though, I’ll take this over her terrorizing other children or her key workers at nursery.  So far so good.

So let’s say, by some magic of patience and perseverance, I find a way to teach her right from wrong. How long do I have before I can tell her to put her toys away without getting wacked up the side of my head?  How long until my little girl stops throwing her food across the room to signal the end of dinner DESPITE being able to say all done for several months now?  I’ve actually stopped believing most of the theories but some books and friends have been just helpful enough that I continue to hold out hope for the best. 

Every day is a struggle but someone always has a prediction I cling to.

        When she was born they told me six weeks, then it’s okay.

        Then it was “it’s more like 8 weeks”

        Then 12.

        Then 6 months.  “Oh, they are just lovely at 6 months,” I heard.

       “Wait till they’re walking”

       “Wait till they’re talking”

        Now it’s “you think this is bad, wait till she’s 2.”

       “No way, that’s nothing. Three is way worse than two.”

I saw a tweet where someone had said once you make it through three, four is a dream.  This is what I’m holding on to.  Four years old.  That’s just around the corner. 

Until then, I think I might have to start wearing a helmet.

Her Bag of Tricks

I’ve just returned from a long awaited and much anticipated family vacation that included flying with my little girl for the first time.  As I do with most things, I asked friends and checked online for tips and advice.  Some of that came from comments on Ghostwriter Mummy’s post about essential travel items.  I also kept my eye out for play areas in the airports which I never would have known about if it hadn’t been for Travels with Baby.

Here’s what worked for us, just in case they come in handy for you:

1)      Put additional outfits and nappy in individual ziplock bags: This was brilliant for changing on the plane.  All I needed was my handy ziplock, changing pad, and wipes making moving around and changing her in the small space completely manageable.

2)      Packed a carry-on just for her: As I expected, it made it easy to access on the plane.  However, a pleasant surprise was the sense of ownership she got from having her own bag.  Enough so she actually enjoyed carrying it.

3)      Brought my carrier: I use one regularly so I knew it would come on the trip with me but I was glad to have it for walking through the airport, collecting bags, and convincing her to nap.

4)      In her Carry-on: “new to her toys” – My husband and I had a lot of fun in the weeks running up to the trip coming up with ideas of things to put in there.  We had a various assortment of colouring, reading, playing activities and pulled a new thing out every hour or so.  An eight hour flight and no boredom = Amazing!
Biggest hits: reusable stickers, cars, miniature bead maze
One we never used but is excellent enough to mention: make a puppet out of the sick bag

5)      Kept some things back for the return home: I had also re-packed some of the favourites from the outgoing flight.  Sure enough, they were not nearly as interesting as the new things in the bag.

6)      Also in her carry-on: a familiar blanket - I had doubts about this since she has no ‘special blanket’ and they provide ones on the plane.  However, when she was dead tired but was too wired to sleep, putting her blanket on settled her almost instantly.

7)      Sat in the bulkhead row: It had enough extra leg room so she could play on the floor and, to switch things up, I sat on the floor while she played in the seat.

8)      Took this amazing piece of advice from a friend: "Remember that the flight is just part of the journey so it’s likely to be hard work. You wouldn’t expect a car journey with kids to be relaxing. Expect the worst and you’ll be pleasantly surprised."

We're now home after a wonerful trip and adjusting back to reality.

How about you?  What’s the best piece of advice you received for travelling with toddlers?