Wordless Wednesday: Autumn

Two Visitors!

We had two visitors today; a lady from Home Start came to review our situation with D, and a nursery nurse came to chat about S’s sleeping and eating.

B is the Home Start co-ordinator for the area, and the person who “matched” D to us a couple of months ago. She came back to do a review, which they do periodically to check everything is ok, the volunteer is being useful/helpful and still needed, and that everything is ok. They do a lot of paperwork. S was busy playing with her toys when B got here, but soon decided she’d rather be part of the conversation so came and sat on my lap playing with a book while we chatted. B wanted to know how things were going with D, so I told her the truth: I look forward to her visits but worry that she must feel she’s wasting her morning, since all she does is drink coffee and play with S while I make a couple of phone calls and maybe do the washing up. B said no, that’s what a lot of her volunteers do and they come round to be company and reliable as much as to help with practical things. She had a good old chat with S, and held her while I filled out a questionnaire. It was one of those ones where there’s a statement and you ring a number from 1 to 5 for how positive you feel about it. I did one before D started coming, and despite the fact S has given up sleeping, the house is a mess and my bad hair day has lasted 2 months, my scores have improved. It reminded me of the depression questionnaire my GP makes me do every now and then: they ask you a bunch of questions, tot up your score and tell you how you’re doing at life. I suppose they have to do something to justify their work though, and show they’re being effective. She marked down on her paperwork that the “goals” we set when she first came (I don’t remember them, but hey ho) are “partially achieved” so that there is a reason for D to keep coming, which was nice because I enjoy her visits and think it’s good for S to have someone constant and reliable in her life. D turns up every Wednesday at 10:30, she’s always in the same chipper mood, she always smiles and plays with S, and gives me good advice for my myriad problems. Of course, we have other visitors and S sees other people, but I think D is the only one who has a set day and time that we stick to every week.

B saw my nice pile of fluffy clean nappies (I’d just done a load of washing and stacked them neatly in the corner) and commented that I’m her ideal mother. Then she asked if I was breastfeeding still, and we had a conversation about how more people should do it because it’s best for baby (in most cases) and easiest. She told me she complained to the Advertising Standards Agency about a Cow & Gate advert because she felt it was promoting the use of formula over breast milk. The ad is amazing, but she has a good point. It was refreshing to meet someone who seems to have the same views as me. B is a single mother herself, so she understands why it’s so important for us to have D visit once a week, even if she’s only there as someone to chat to. She doesn’t need to be told about how difficult it is to keep up with housework and everything else when you’re the only person there to look after a baby, and you’re hell bent on doing not just a good job but the best job possible. She got on really well with S and told me she thinks I’m a great mother – which is always good to hear! My feedback will be passed on to D as well, which is nice because when asked how things were going I looked at her and said “the woman is a legend, I really look forward to Wednesday mornings!”

Once B had gone, I just had time to put together a lamb casserole and stick it in the oven (from scratch, with no packet mix, get me!) when C, the nursery nurse, came to visit. She was sent to see us after I called the health visitor begging for some help with the sleep situation, and came last week to discuss weaning and sleep plans. This week she came back to see how we were getting on. The truth is that S is still not sleeping fantastically, but her naps have been improving, and it’s just the hours between 6 and 10pm that are a problem now. Also I think my attitude to the situation has improved as well, in that I’m less bothered by it and more inclined to just take the time to get her settled to sleep even if it takes two hours. Hopefully the fact she’s eating lots more will help her to sleep more too. S sat in her bouncy chair and had a nonsense conversation with C, which they both enjoyed. She also showed off her mad skillz at bouncing the chair with one leg whilst casually slouching in it like a teenager. I have absolutely no clue what I will do with her when she finally gets too big for that chair! We discussed the local children’s centre, and she left a leaflet with me, suggesting I go to their baby group and also that I could go to the breastfeeding group to be support for new mums. At first I laughed at the idea I could offer advice to anyone, since I still spend a lot of my time feeling completely out of my depth. But even I can see that I’ve come a really long way and since I feel so strongly about breastfeeding I’d like to be able to share that. I might even take S to the baby group to make some friends!

I chatted to C about being a single mother, and how in the evenings once S is asleep I will creep downstairs for my tea. I often sit on the sofa, shovelling food into my mouth as quickly as I can because if S wakes while I’m eating I can’t afford to just throw food away, but I also can’t leave her to cry, and it’s times like that I really don’t enjoy the fact I’m doing this on my own. She seemed to understand what I was talking about, but also pointed out that as it’s just the two of us, we can do as we please, go where we want, eat when we want, and don’t have to follow anyone else’s schedule.

So there we are: one day, two visitors, one inflated ego. Having had two professional people who know what they’re doing tell me they think I’m doing a good job, and that S is doing really well, has made me feel a lot better. On the nights where S is not at all interested in sleeping, and I’m knackered and desperate for the loo but she cries every time I leave the room, I tend to have an attack of “omg, I’m rubbish at this, he was right, I can’t do it on my own, S is going to grow up damaged because of meeeeeeee…” it’s nice to have someone who knows what they’re talking about, and sees this sort of situation all the time, tell me I’m doing ok.

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Diary Entries From Early Motherhood

Wednesday 4^th July (12 weeks, 2 days)

It seems like these days every time S wakes from a nap she has learned something new. She’s cooing and gurgling a lot more these days and reacts to my presence more, which makes life more rewarding for me. She was weighed the other day and is now on the 25^th centile line for a full-term baby. I know her father would get a massive kick out of knowing this; that sort of thing always interests him, but I daren’t contact him to tell him. S is awake more during the day now, which is fun but also difficult. We play together, but I find it mentally exhausting to not have so much time to myself.

Monday 9^th July (13 weeks)

Today S is 3 months old. I can’t believe how quickly time has gone by. I’ve been a mother for three whole months. On the whole, I do feel like I’ve come a long way since S’s father left, but I still feel like I’ve failed her somehow. This is not at all what I imagined when I was pregnant. I’m not sure how I ever thought things would work, but this situation never crossed my mind. I am tempted on a daily basis to ignore all advice and common sense and take S to see her father. I know that would be a bad move; I know the people who have advised me are right. I know it’s best to do this now, before S is even aware of what is going on, so that she never has to know what it is I need to keep her away from, before she can grow attached to someone who would no doubt be all sweetness and light and dote on his perfect little girl until the next one came along or his head was otherwise turned. I know I have to stay away and be strong, but it’s difficult. I know the things that are being said about me by certain factions who know only one side of the story, and it bothers me more than it should. I feel like I want to get up and shout at them, tell them my side of it, ask them what they would have me do to keep my daughter safe other than keep her away. Perhaps they have less regard for the way their own children are raised; I know from some of the things I have seen this may well be true, but I find it hard to believe they can condone his behaviour in any way. I don’t understand how anyone can.

Thursday 17^th July (14 weeks, 3 days)

We went to the health visitor again last week for S’s 3-month check up and it ended up being quite a boost to my confidence. She was impressed with how S can hold her head up, and how much eye contact she makes with me when she’s in the sling. S was in a good mood and smiled and cooed to the health visitor, which made me giddy with a pride I’ve never experienced before. I feel like I might actually be good at this motherhood lark, despite snide comments by my mother or unkind words from S’s father. He has been in contact again, and I sent him a picture of her. I have asked him to go to counselling, even gave him a website and a phone number. So far he has done nothing though, and I can’t put S at risk by letting him see her until he takes steps to sort himself out. She seems to be doing pretty well without his input though!

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Our Week: 20-27 October

Monday 22 Oct

Up early after a less than peaceful night’s sleep. Went for a walk to my old office to drop something off for a friend, and to pick up a toy from another friend. That was basically our day. Walked the long way home in vain attempt to get S to have her morning nap. Failed miserably so came home and dealt with a grumpy baby who didn’t want to eat her lunch. Afternoon nap did not go well either, so in the end I took her upstairs and had a nap with her.

Tuesday 23 Oct

Up early so went into town for supplies before a visit from a nursery nurse, who came to fix all of our sleeping problems. Back into town after S’s afternoon nap to pick up the things we forgot in the morning.

Wednesday 24 Oct

Up early and into town to pick up what we forgot to buy twice on Tuesday. Our Home Start lady came and played games with S while I made some phone calls and sorted paperwork. After lunch we went to see my brother and his wife, who gave S a big black bag full of toys, as well as one of those zebra thingies for when she is a little older. No danger of getting S to bed on time so put her in her bouncy chair in a sleeping bag… she slept like a log til I went to bed.

Thursday 25 Oct

Up and off to the out of town supermarket to exchange something I’d bought at the weekend. Really it was just an excuse to get out of the house. S fell asleep while we were walking, so I took a detour around the park on the way home to prolong the napping. Came home and spent the afternoon doing not a fat lot. Evening spent rocking her back and forth in the pushchair intermittently begging her to sleep. Didn’t work.

Friday 26 Oct

A nice little trip to town with the baby sling followed by a quiet afternoon and another evening like Thursday. This seems to be becoming the norm and I am not best pleased about it.

Saturday 27 Oct

Long walk with my sister, A. Workout in the park that hurt both of us, then a walk back again. Cooked stew and dumplings from scratch and was pleased with myself. S slept through Star Wars all afternoon. In hindsight I should not have allowed this to happen, as bedtime was a joke. She actually laughed at me. There has been a lot of crying and a lot of running up and down the stairs, after I decided nothing but bad habits could come of having her permanently spending the evenings in the living room with me.

Health & Fitness

A few weeks ago I posted on Facebook that I was having trouble deciding on subjects for blog posts. Someone suggested I write about health and fitness, and this is a post I’ve been working on, off and on, since that point…

A couple of years ago, I was a real gym bunny. I would regularly get up before 6 each morning and spend an hour in the gym before work. I would often go back for a class at lunch time, and on a weekend I would often spend three or four hours there. I saw a personal trainer regularly, who would inspire me to exercise and eat healthily, and really pushed me with my fitness. I would often be found in the weights bay at the gym, doing squats with a ridiculously heavy bar, or doing some weird exercise involving balancing on one leg whilst holding heavy dumbbells.

Then I had a nervous breakdown, and I never quite got back to the gym before I found myself pregnant and skint. I tried to stay active throughout my pregnancy, and would walk (or waddle) the two miles to and from work each day.

When S was born, and then her father left, I was very aware that I was at a high risk for postnatal depression – so was the health visitor, and she kept mentioning it. I was adamant I didn’t want the health visitor, doctors or anyone else to be at all concerned about me or my ability to look after my daughter. And I didn’t want to end up slipping into another pit I couldn’t drag myself out of. I knew from past experience that the best way of avoiding that was to ensure I exercised, and got out of the house every day – even on the days when I really didn’t feel like it. Especially on those days.

And so I went on Ebay and bought a cheaper, lighter pushchair so that I could lift it up and down the stairs on my own. And every morning, when S got me up at shit-o-clock, I would bundle her into the pushchair and go for a walk. We started off by going for a short walk, a couple of miles or so, and built up. On days we didn’t go for a walk, I would put S in the sling and walk around town while she napped.

Me walking with the pushchair

These days, I weight about a stone less than I did before I got pregnant. I started off going out for walks just for something to kill time, and to get us out of the house – but then I found I enjoyed feeling like I’d done some proper exercise, and would push myself to go further, faster than the previous day, incorporating hills, running between street lamps and taking the longer route wherever possible. There are several different routes I walk locally, and have even attempted to go “off road” and follow non-paths around a nature reserve a couple of times. There’s a notoriously punishing steep path called Stinky quite near to one of my usual routes, which I used to walk up every day last summer. I’m tempted to see if I can get the pushchair up there but I’ve not plucked up the courage yet.  Now I try to go for a long walk at least twice a week. Sometimes I will meet up with a friend, and on Saturday mornings my sister A will come along with us and we’ll do some extra cardio and conditioning work in the park too.

When I’d been doing my longer walks for a couple of weeks, I saw my old personal trainer in a park on the other side of town, busy putting someone through their paces. She stopped long enough to coo over S, and to tell me she ran a Buggy Fun class in the park on a Thursday morning. We went along that week, and had a great time. A, the trainer, now runs a local fitness company called Girls Love Fit with a friend, and is as crazy and motivating as ever. It was great to meet other mums and do something more energetic than the usual baby group stuff. We walked or ran up and down a hill in the park, did pilates-style conditioning moves, used park equipment to do push or pull-ups, talked about our weeks and felt good for working out while our babies played peekaboo with A or her 2-year-old daughter, who sometimes came along and made an excellent stand-in to play with the babies while we were laying on the floor doing crunches or leg lifts. Unfortunately the class I was going to merged recently with another one, and it is now run from somewhere different that I can’t go to, for reasons I won’t go into on here. It’s a crying shame, as I really enjoyed Buggy Fun and it gave me the confidence to push myself a lot more in my exercise. I would walk the long way out to the park for the class, and often on the way home I would push myself to run or to take a longer route. I’m hoping I can eventually go back to the class if my situation changes, and would definitely recommend it to anyone

I still have an umbilical hernia caused by my abs separating during pregnancy, which means I try to do a fair bit in the way of core work each week. If I fall behind on that, I really do notice it in a fairly painful way. That’s probably a good thing though, as it means I use my core muscles when I’m bumping the pushchair up and down the stairs, and am always pullign my belly in!

My diet is still less than fantastic, which is something I work on daily; especially since S started on solids. Most mornings I will have a fruit smoothie comprising of several of the following: raspberries and blueberries (frozen if fresh are not available); any other fruit I have hanging about the kitchen; fresh ginger; protein powder; spirulina powder; spinach (you can’t taste it); left over apple puree from S’s breakfast; yogurt; fruit juice. The drink tends to be purpley in colour, fills a pint glass, and usually keeps me happy until around lunch time. Lunch is usually a salad, either tuna, salmon or cottage cheese unless I’ve splashed out and bought something different or cooked some chicken. Evening meals are hit and miss: some days I’ll cook something “proper,” and other days I’ll have fish fingers and grill a red pepper at the same time to make it look a little healthier.

This all makes it sound like I have a super healthy diet and should be stick thin so let me just add that between meals, especially in the afternoons and evenings, I probably consume as many calories as contained in my regular meals in the form of cakes, biscuits, crisps and chocolate. This is the part I need to work on, along with all the Coke I drink. I did go through a (very yawny) couple of months where I went completely cold turkey on the Coke, what with the breastfeeding and all. Then Costa lured me back in again, and once I’d started on the caffeine it was easy to slip back into the Coke habit. I don’t drink anywhere near as much as I used to, but there are still a lot of empty calories (and chemicals, and caffeine) in there. I have switched to decaf Costa visits though, something that makes me cringe with each visit, as my order is now about 8 words long.

Today I am wearing jeans I stopped wearing months before I got pregnant, because they were a little too tight. These days they are too big, and I have to wear a belt. I have to admit I think I owe a lot of my post-pregnancy weight/inch loss to the fact I did a set of power plate sessions within a month of coming home from the hospital. I would go for a walk to ensure S was asleep in the pushchair, and then go and spend anything from 10 to 40 minutes doing various exercises on a power plate in the back of a local sunbed place. The advertisement posters they had up on the walls said that it helped to get rid of cellulite and “reset” your body, which I thought was a load of rubbish but to be honest, with very little effort I lost a fair bit of weight, and managed to tone up some quite saggy bits as well. Now I just have to make sure I don’t undo that with too many biscuits!

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Wordless Wednesday

This is the first time I've attempted a Wordless Wednesday post. I have to say, since I'm not wanting to post photos of S on here it's been fairly tricky to put together! I've done my best though...

This photo just about sums up my life before S: coffee and Kindle.

The view from S's bedroom window, on a particularly clear day.

This picture breaks my heart. It's a picture my ex's 4-year-old daughter drew of me when I was pregnant with S. I think the character on the right is her father.

Groovy leg warmers!

This is what it looks like when you decide to make green biscuits for a little boy's birthday, and mix the green dough by hand.

These keys are legendary. S loves them and they have allowed me to bath and wash my hair in relative relaxation many times. They live in the bedroom and I dread the day she is no longer enthralled by them.

Sleepy feeding baby love

Am I Setting a Good Example?

After yesterday’s post on bodyimage, I’ve been thinking about what I can do to ensure S grows up with a healthy attitude towards her body, food and exercise.

On the one hand, it’s tough because there is only me to guide her on this – and I know I have my own issues that I would do anything to avoid passing onto her. As her only (main) role model, I need to make sure that I’m always a good role model, and that I lead by example. There’s no point in my encouraging her to eat vegetables and balanced meals, if I’m sitting there munching on a packet of crisps and my fourth chocolate bar of the day.

On the other hand (there’s a glove), if it’s only me then I have 100% control over the parental influence on S’s life. This is good not only because I don’t want her father’s suspect ideas on nutrition to be passed down to her (his 11 year old son is encouraged to drink protein shakes, and fresh vegetables are a once-a-week affair), but also because I’m not necessarily sure there are many other adults out there whose ideas I would like passed onto my daughter. At least with only one adult to look up to, S only stands to inherit one dodgy set of ideals.

I’ve got the exercise covered; I go for a walk at every available opportunity, and can’t wait until S is interested in the ducks and horses we see while we’re out. We rarely catch the bus or go in a car. I would rather she see this than have a mum who does exercise dvds at home intermittently (who really keeps those things up on a long term basis?) or goes to a gym, leaving her elsewhere. Eventually, I will pluck up the courage to take us both swimming as well.

Since S started on solids, I’ve been more mindful of what I’m eating. People say, Oh you can just give them what you’re having. For breakfast I had a fruit smoothie, which would be fine except for the added protein powder which I’m sure is not meant for infants. For lunch I had chicken salad; fine in principal, not so much in practise for a 6 month old with no teeth. Have you ever tried to liquidise iceberg lettuce? Dinner hasn’t happened yet, but it’s likely to be yet more salad because that’s all there is in the fridge at the moment. My eating habits are probably quite strange to the outsider. I know from experience that I function better (and maintain a steady weight) if I eat more protein, and don’t eat much in the way of carbs. I don’t have potatoes in the house at all, and I rarely cook rice or pasta to go with my meal. I do eat sweet potatoes on occasion, but quite often I just plain can’t be bothered to cook them as an accompaniment so I go without. I stopped eating bread a long time ago, after finally accepting that it makes me bloated and gassy and uncomfortable and unhappy. If I do go through a stage of eating lots of rice or pasta, I feel tired and sluggish because of it.

So where does this leave S’s diet? Do I start buying bread again, just so that she can have beans on toast and boiled egg with soldiers? Do I make her have mashed potato with every meal when I don’t? I’d rather we didn’t have separate meals or separate foods; in fact I’m actively trying to avoid that, because I believe that way lies ruin: “my mummy eats special food” is not something I ever want to hear S say. It’s a bad idea to cut any food group out of a diet, especially for a child who is just learning about food. I want her to learn that all food is good in moderation; for all I know bread, pasta and rice will have no ill effects on her, so why should I keep them from her?

And then there’s the old issue of body image. I try to avoid scrutinising my body in the mirror these days (as if I even have time for such things!) but I still have fairly bad acne scarring on my face which does bother me. S watches me get up every morning, get in and out of the bath, and get dressed. When I remember, I still rub cream into my belly in a vague attempt to get rid of the stretch marks – but since I also moisturise the rest of my body, that’s not a standalone issue. I do still have a tendency to examine my appearance once dressed to check that my belly doesn’t look too huge; that’s a habit I’ve had for years so it’s a hard one to break. I’m working on it though.

Ponderings on Body Image

Look! It's Lizzie!

Some of my earliest memories are of my mother being on a diet. We would have our dinner; she would sit at the end of the table with a bland-looking baked potato with cottage cheese. It wasn’t just her; one day when I was no more than about 5, I walked into our living room to find her and two of her friends sitting on the floor, trying to walk on their bottoms like they’d seen on some exercise show. I remember them being very impressed that I could do it. It was the 80s, the era when Lizzie Webb encouraged us to exercise each morning on Good Morning Britain with that maniacal Jokeresque grin. The era when the workout video really began. The entire nation was on a diet.

When I was in first school, our PE classes were mainly playing with hula hoops in the playground, or kicking a ball back and forth. When I moved up to middle school, all of a sudden they wanted us to do cross country running through the woods. And so began my hatred of all things exercise. I spent secondary school coming up with elaborate excuses to get out of PE class, and was relieved when I went to college and found nobody cared whether I could play netball or not. I spent the next few years studiously avoiding all exercise. When I got a bit too chubby and needed to lose weight, I would go on a diet, as per years of examples in my life and the media. I never liked the way my body looked, and would usually just wear baggy clothes to cover my belly. At best, the shape of my body was something I tolerated.

A few years ago I joined a gym, and got really into it. I saw a personal trainer a couple of times a month, went to tons of classes, and at one point was in the gym every morning at 6:30am. I loved it. Then I had a breakdown, and it all stopped. Ironically, I also stopped eating for a time, and so finally my stomach was flat. I had something of an epiphany in a La Senza changing room where I realised my belly was flat, and yet I was completely miserable. I’d always thought if I could just take another couple of inches off my waist, I’d be happy.

Oddly, I think becoming pregnant and having a baby has done a lot for my body image. As soon as I had a bit of a bump, and I was supposed to be fat, I wore tight, figure-hugging clothes to show it off. Because I exercised throughout my pregnancy, and had some rather ridiculous amounts of stress to deal with, the weight I put on stayed on the bump. Once S was born, I was lucky in that the excess weight seemed to shift fairly quickly, and of its own accord. Because I was keen to ensure I stayed mentally fit, I went for lots of walks with S, which helped.

S's growth chart. Go us!

When S was born, she weighed 5 pounds. Relatively large for a baby born 5 weeks early, but still tiny. She was very skinny; I have photos of her sleeping where you can clearly see her ribs, and her legs were so small I couldn’t see how they would ever support her weight. As she’s grown, I’ve enjoyed the way she’s become podgy, like a baby is supposed to be. She has the most adorable little rolls of chub on her thighs and when she puts her head down she has a double chin. It feels strange to be celebrating fatness, when my whole life I’ve strived for exactly the opposite. She weighs 16 pounds now, and a friend commented to me that she looks really good for a premature baby who’s been fed only breast milk up until fairly recently. If I’m honest, the fact she is now on the 50^th centile on the growth chart in her little red book is probably the biggest achievement of my life to date.

Having a child, and thinking about the hang-ups I still have about my body, I am very mindful that I don’t want to pass that attitude onto my daughter. I remember a friend commenting a while back that her 5-year-old daughter had come home from school one day worried because someone had called her fat. I am very aware of the fact that although S is only 6 months old and cannot speak, she is very alert and takes everything in. She sees me inspecting myself in the mirror, changing my top if the one I first put on doesn’t look right. She sees what I eat, sees the crisps I grab when I can’t be bothered to put a proper meal together. Nothing motivates you to make an effort with your self image like knowing you could cause the same issues in your child. I love S with all my heart; she is the most perfect thing I have ever seen. To think that she could ever look in the mirror and not think the same would break my heart.

These days there is such an emphasis on image, and children seem to be sexualised earlier and earlier. Not so long ago a 4-year-old girl told me she had a new boyfriend at school. Makeup and bikinis are marketed to increasingly younger age groups, and the majority of toys for girls these days are based around appearance. It terrifies me to think my daughter will be growing up in this environment, where everyone looks up to Kim Kardashian as a role model because she… has flawless makeup? How do you make sure your child is happy in her own skin when society increasingly dictates what the dimensions of that skin must be in order to be accepted?

Thirty years on, the media is even more saturated with diets and exercise dvds. Magazines aimed at women are filled with photos of celebrities looking too fat or too thin or telling the secret of how they shed their excess pounds. In a recent issue of Closer Magazine there were 13 articles about celebrities’ weight or appearance; this made up 38% of all of the articles in the magazine. We are bombarded with it, and we are bombarding our children with it. How do I teach my daughter that the media and most of the women and girls she knows are wrong?

This post was inspired by this post on Hybrid Rasta Mama.
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Diary Entries From Early Motherhood

12^th June (9 weeks, 1 day)

Today S had her first set of jabs. The nurse who did them has worked at the surgery for years and knows most of my brothers and sisters; she told me S looked exactly like my younger sister Z at this age. S cried a little with the jabs, but not too much. Once I’d got her back in the sling she seemed to forget there was ever a problem! These days, every time she wakes up from a nap it’s like she’s learned a new sound or expression. It’s amazing fun to discover her latest thing. Lately our favourite way to spend time is for her to stand on my lap while we take turns in kissing each other’s noses. Well, I say kiss – she generally just opens her mouth and slobbers on me, but I’ll take that!

23^rd June (10 weeks, 5 days)

S is not really sleeping much at the moment. It’s pretty difficult because if she doesn’t sleep then neither do I. I don’t mind though; I just have a little nap in the afternoons if I get too tired. She’s started making little noises, using her voice rather than grunting. It’s so sweet to listen to! Argh she is crying again… evenings are not much fun at the moment!

24^th June (10 weeks, 6 days)

S seems to be suddenly growing and changing really quickly, we saw a friend today who said that S had definitely grown since she saw us a week ago. She interacts more now too, which makes time spent with her a lot more rewarding. I’m feeling a bit more positive about things, but it’s still difficult a lot of the time. I worry about taking her out around town in case we bump into her father; I don’t want to deal with the confrontation, the accusations. Tomorrow we are going to visit a friend to have some photos taken, and he lives really close to S’s father. I know I can’t let something like that stop me from going out and doing things, but it’s tough right now.

25th June (11 weeks)

We went to see a friend today to have photos taken. S cried throughout, so it was largely a wasted journey. We saw one of the ex's friends on the bus up there, which was a bit nerve-wracking as I'm sure she will have texted to tell him we were headed in his direction. I walked home because I was nervous standing at the bus stop waiting for the bus. That wasn't much fun either, but once we'd got off the estate it felt a lot better. Good to get some exercise. I need to sort my diet out too, I've been eating crap and it's not doing either of us any good. I need to get more organised with the house work, it's like a bomb site round here lately and it's starting to do my head in.

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Our Week, 15 -20 Oct

Monday 15 Oct

Up reasonably early and off to visit a friend who lives on the outskirts of town, up a big hill. Perfect workout for the legs and the lungs, only slightly marred by being rained on. Had a lovely visit with said friend, though she did give me the whole “look how far you’ve come” speech and make me a bit emotional. Afternoon spent playing, evening spent trying desperately to get S to sleep before giving up and having her sit in her bouncy chair until I capitulated and took us both to bed at 9pm.

Tuesday 16 Oct

Tiring day. S slept badly, which meant so did I. Got up late, breakfasted late. S had the world’s shortest nap and woke up grumpy, so I took her out in the pushchair thinking she’d go back to sleep. She didn’t, but I did bump into my auntie, which brightened my day. Came home, spent the afternoon trying to placate her after another pointlessly short nap. Put her to bed and prayed. Had about an hour of quiet before S woke up. Went to bed early and had a couple of hours’ sleep before she woke up, and stayed awake and grumpy until 9am. Far from ideal.

Wednesday 17 Oct

Day started about 5 hours before I would have liked. D, my Home Start volunteer, brought cakes, biscuits and a gossip magazine. Spent most of the day trying to get S to nap, or playing with her. She’s not big into doing anything on her own at the moment. No housework was done, and I really could not be bothered to leave the house. The only way is up… right?

Thursday 18 Oct

Desperate to get S to have some proper sleep, I took her for a long walk. It worked; she had a 2 hour morning nap. But no afternoon nap, and no proper sleep in the evening. Called the health visitor and a nursery nurse is coming out next week.

Friday 19 Oct

Another day, another walk to try and get S to sleep. Sort of worked but not much. Very short nap, followed by lunch and another very short nap, and then a visit from my aunt and cousin. Still going through the motions of the bedtime routine and putting S to bed at 6, but it’s largely pointless; she’s back in the living room by 7pm and we don’t go to sleep til midnight.

Saturday 20 Oct

Another restless night followed by an early morning. Up and out for a walk with little sis, then back home for visits from other little sis and her bloke, a friend delivering clothes for S, and another friend showing off a shocking new hair colour. Three messy meals necessitated Bath Night, followed by lots of frustration at trying to fall asleep. S had three naps today, all relatively short; am not sure whether this bodes well or not for tonight’s sleep. Cross your fingers please!

Anna Larke and Justin Lee Collins

When you see Justin Lee Collins on TV, you think of him as a harmless, cheeky chappie with a Bristolian accent, perhaps a bit stupid but really funny and the kind of bloke you’d like to go to the pub with. His recent  sentencing of 140 hours of community service for harassing his ex came as a shock to most people. The case wasn’t reported much in the media, something I’m sure Collins is grateful for, but the fact it even made it to the papers is a good sign. When you read about the things he did, it’s difficult to reconcile those actions against “cheeky Bristolian from TV comedy.” This is exactly how abusive people get away with it. If his ex hadn’t been to court, and instead went to the Sun and sold her story, how many people would just have dismissed her as having made up ridiculous and outlandish claims to get her face in the paper?

Collins made his then-partner, Anna Larke, sleep facing him. She had to throw out dvds of movies starring actors she found attractive. He dictated what she could wear, who she could see or speak to. She wasn’t even allowed to look at other people when they walked down the street together. He made a detailed record of every man she had ever been intimate with, and would routinely ask her questions about them, checking her answers against his notes and pointing out any discrepancy.

Collins did eventually begin to physically abuse Larke, but often the mental and emotional torment can be a lot harder to deal with. Collins did his best to keep Larke exhausted at all times, so that she wasn’t sure what was going on. When you’re tired and stressed, you never know whether your reaction is justified, whether your recollection of events is correct, whether perhaps you’re just being a bit over-sensitive. An abuser will do their best to get you into a state of mind where you question your every thought and feeling and often begin to believe they are correct in their accusations of you. Mental abuse can be just as painful as physical abuse.

In court, Collins’ defence was that Larke was a compulsive liar. I wonder how many people believed him, at least at first. When a person is that accomplished in their manipulation and control, they can make people believe their version of events. They become the world’s best actor, telling people how upset they are by the situation, how their accuser has abused and controlled them for months/years, how they’re exhausted from all the troubles in the relationship. People believe them because they are so incredibly skilled at making them do just that. Meanwhile, their victim can often be dismissed as an attention-seeker, a harridan, a malicious liar.

Larke commented that she felt she had been “brainwashed” by Collins; that she believed the things he told her, and was so petrified he would leave she daren’t disobey. He made her stay up until 4am with him by telling her that if she went to sleep before him, he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t spend the time texting other women. Abusers have a way of hypnotising their victims, so that instead of saying “that’s preposterous, get lost,” they think, “oh no, he might leave me, what would I ever do without him…” Often it’s not until the physical abuse starts that they realise they’re in an abusive relationship – and in many cases by that point the victim’s self esteem and general wellbeing are in such a poor state they’re not able to break free from the situation.

Collins has been convicted of harassment, not of domestic abuse. Mental and emotional bullying is illegal, but most people don’t realise this. His trial has highlighted what is largely “invisible” abuse, which nobody sees, and is difficult to prove – because by their nature abusers are very good at hiding in plain sight, and shaking off accusations of abuse. At the moment a charge of harassment, originally introduced to deal with stalkers, is the only charge that can be brought in cases of domestic abuse where there has been no physical violence. As mentioned in an earlier post though, the government has recently announced they are widening the legal definition of domestic abuse to include “coercive control.” This may help victims of abuse to come forward and press charges against controlling partners.

It must have been very hard for Anna Larke to stand up and divulge the details of her relationship with Collins, and explain that she stayed with him, enduring this behaviour. When you come out of an abusive relationship like this, it’s like waking up from a bad dream; you look back and think, how the hell did this person convince me of this? How did I not see? Why did I put up with it for so long? It can be embarrassing to admit that a person had that much control over what you wore, who you saw, where you went, without holding a gun to your head, and in many cases without ever using physical violence against you. Ms Larke has done a great service to women everywhere by prosecuting Collins for his actions, and for making public the details that must have been very difficult for her to discuss. Perhaps now more women will walk away from abusive relationships – and also consider pressing charges against their abuser, so that they will find it harder to do the same thing to another unsuspecting partner.

If you are experiencing domestic abuse, you can contact the following services:

English National Domestic Violence helpline: 0808 2000 247

Northern Ireland Women's Aid 24 Hour Domestic Violence Helpline: 028 9033 1818

Scottish Domestic Abuse Helpline: 0800 027 1234

Wales Domestic Abuse Helpline: 0808 80 10 800

If you are a man experiencing domestic violence or you want to call on behalf of a male friend or relative, you can contact the Male Advice & Enquiry Line: 0845 064 6800 or ManKind

Perpetrators of domestic violence who want help can contact Respect, the UK association for domestic violence perpetrator programmes: 0845 122 8609

Counting my Blessings

As my recent blog posts may have hinted, I’m having a pretty rough time at the moment. Whenever I am awake in the wee small hours, I often find myself getting pretty angry that I’m doing this on my own. This is not what I signed up for. When I got pregnant I was in a relationship. When I gave birth I was in a relationship. I assumed that when my baby was 6 months old and having trouble sleeping, I would still be in that relationship, and would therefore have a bit of help and support in dealing with extreme stress and sleep deprivation. I also assumed that my family would be there to rally round, that I would have a whole hoard of people I could call upon to come and lighten the load, either by helping with housework, or looking after S while I had a break. The reality is that I assumed wrong. And when I’m so tired and so  fed up I can barely see, and I’m walking into door frames and pleading my child to please just go to sleep, I find myself pretty cross about that. Where are all these people who are supposed to rally around a new mum? Aren’t they supposed to be helping me? I’m not meant to feel this alone and isolated.

It’s times like this that I think I just need to take a step backwards and look at the facts, reminding myself why I prefer my current position to any possible alternatives. Count my blessings, as it were.

• I may be the only person having to deal with S’s grumpy moods, but I’m also the only one who gets her regular cuddles, smiles and giggles. All her love is just for me and I don’t have to share.
• As pointed out by numerous friends on numerous occasions, I’m actually doing pretty bloody well on my own. The whole “look how far you’ve come” argument really is valid, as evidenced by the “diary entries from early motherhood” posts I’ve put up lately.
• I know from bitter experience that sadly we really are better off without S’s father – and that even when he was here, he didn’t help out with anything I would find useful at 3am. He bought us a cooker and then he buggered off, and it was the best thing for all concerned.
• Most of my family might not be banging down the door to offer their help, but lots of other people are. My Home Start lady is truly amazing, and I have some of the best friends a girl could wish for, who I know will help if I ask.
• Despite the current blip, and even for fleeting moments during the blip, S is a happy, healthy baby. I’d rather have this situation than one where she is less happy, less healthy, or perhaps in an unsafe situation.
• I might be tired, but other mothers are dealing with much worse, more worrying and stressful situations than just a baby who is not sleeping well.
• From what I’ve been told/reading lately, all babies go through an unsettled stage at 6 months. And at the moment a lot of babies are not sleeping well. There are a lot of sleep-deprived mamas on my Facebook; I’m not alone in this!
• Despite having a hard time, I have not compromised my beliefs with regard to how I want to care for S. I have resisted the urge to dump her in the cot and run away! She has a slightly more frazzled, grumpy mummy, but she still has a mummy who gives her lots of cuddles and kisses.
• As per yesterday’s post, this is a lesson in patience and acceptance. I’m doing my best to learn to just sit with it, take a deep breath and do what needs to be done – a life lesson that will no doubt come in very useful a few more times before S is old enough to fend for herself!
• I’m knackered and fed up, but at least I’m not sleep deprived and having to get up and go to work in the mornings! If S keeps me up all night, I can always share her nap later in the day, or go to bed earlier the next night.
• Because I’m alone in this, I don’t have to make an effort to maintain other relationships while I’m this tired and fed up. I would imagine couples going through this end up having an awful lot of arguments about nothing even vaguely important, because their fuse is too short to do otherwise! If I feel crappy I can cancel my plans with friends or family, and therefore avoid sniping at them over nothing.
• There is nothing in this world more awesome right now, than the look on S’s face when she’s pulled a blanket over her face to play Peekaboo with me. And it’s just for me.

There are a million other blessings I could, and probably should, count, but I’m too tired to think of them. It helps to think of the positives though, and remind myself that right now I’m in exactly the right place, doing the right thing, with the right people around me. Everything happens for a reason, and I’m learning a lot from this experience. You learn a lot more, a lot more quickly, from uncomfortable situations.

I’m trying to keep telling myself this.

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Buddhism for Mothers?

You know when you have an argument with someone, or they’ve irritated you in some way, and you just don’t feel like talking to them? So you don’t. Because you don’t have to.

Having a baby is a whole different kettle of fish. The other night, S was clearly knackered, but would (could) not sleep. I was also knackered so in the end, tired of the draft coming from her flapping her gro-bagged feet in her bouncy chair, I took us both to bed. I would have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow… but S had other ideas. I tried begging, I tried pleading, I tried rocking her, cuddling her, feeding her. I even tried putting her in the cot I’ve finally installed at the end of my bed (whatever made me think that might work, I cannot tell you – sleep deprivation causing dereliction of mental capacity probably). This sort of situation tends to make me panic. Not in the way you might think, though. My panic has more to do with the fact I have no control over this situation. Usually, if I do not like the situation I am in, I can get up and walk away – and I normally do. When I can’t just remove myself from something that I don’t like, it makes me quite agitated. When you are a single parent, you are often stuck in situations you have no control over, and no immediate way to resolve. There’s nobody to take over the rocking and cooing so that you can go to sleep; you just have to suck it up, pretend you’re not mortally tired, and get on with the rocking.

This is yet another of those things nobody warns you about. I don’t mean the tiredness (though really, no amount of explaining can prepare you for that); I mean the whole idea that you are no longer your own person, you can’t just go to sleep when you want to, or go for a walk when you feel like it, spend all day in bed, whatever. Obviously, single parent or not, your life changes dramatically when you have a child. But when it’s just you looking after them, the change is that much more noticeable. If the baby is crying but you need the toilet, you have to make a decision: do I comfort the baby, and hope she calms down before I get to the dangerous stage of needing the toilet, or do I leave the baby to cry and hope she doesn’t get to the house-screaming-down stage of crying before I flush, wash and return? S spends a lot of time sitting in her Bumbo seat in the bathroom doorway.

As I’ve jokingly lamented in a previous post, you can’t reason with a baby. You can tell them, “I’m just going to get a drink, and then I will feed you” but they won’t understand; all they see is that you are walking away, while they are very hungry. Similarly, the other night when S was clearly very tired but not sleeping, it was very frustrating for me not to be able to explain to her that if she just went to sleep we would both feel a lot better. I couldn’t say to her, “fine; you stay awake and play with your toys, but I’m going to sleep.” I also couldn’t say “for the love of God would you just close your damn eyes, I’m dying here!!” – tempted as I was. Also the next day, when my eyelids felt like sandpaper and I was far from on top form, there was little point in my saying to S, "sorry mummy is not moving quickly enough for you; perhaps if you had let mummy sleep last night..."

Every evening, I put S to bed upstairs and then creep quietly back down. Lately she has taken to waking again within an hour, and I have to go back up to her. Sometimes she takes 10 minutes to settle back down; other times it can be an hour, or she doesn’t settle at all, and bang goes my evening. It’s hard to do, but I find that if I just go back up and lay there with her, and don’t look at the clock or think about the dinner I could be eating or the TV show I could be watching, or the mountain of washing up that’s waiting, or the clothes I need to put away or the million other things I could be doing – it doesn’t feel so bad to be stuck there. I sometimes even enjoy laying there quietly for half an hour in silence, with no distractions. It’s an exercise in just accepting things as they are, without fighting against something I am powerless to change.

When I first had S, I downloaded a lot of parenting books onto my Kindle. One of them was called “Buddhism forMothers.” I think perhaps I should read that one.

Hooray for Home Start!

Tomorrow is Wednesday, which means my Home Start lady is coming round. As I sit here on a Tuesday evening, I’m surprised to find that I’m really looking forward to her visit.

You know when you have a week off work, and you get to Thursday and suddenly think, oh bugger, I have fewer days off in front of me than behind, my week off is almost over, I’d better Do Something? I’ve had that feeling periodically since having S: the feeling that I’m wasting my spare time, and it will be at an end soon and I should be doing more, appreciating it more. Of course, I know that eventually I will go back to work, S will go back to school, we will have less time together, and this time will seem like a far-off utopia of days gone by – but I tend to get a more urgent feeling, akin to the sort you’d get if you were going back to work after the weekend. Just lately, it has occurred to me that this is it: this is how my life just is now, and it’s not going to change any time soon. We have very little to fill our days with, and often spend large chunks of time wandering aimlessly around Sainsbury’s. I’m not going back to real life on Monday; this is real life.

This last couple of weeks has been really tough. I’ve realised just how much I need S to sleep well, even if that’s just so that I can have an hour watching TV or doing housework without having to try and simultaneously entertain her. It’s physically and mentally exhausting for her to be awake constantly, especially when her lack of sleep means she is usually grumpy as well. I’ve been doing this on my own for six months now, without a day off or more than an hour to myself here and there. On the one hand, there have been several times lately when I’ve been desperate for someone – anyone – to take S off my hands for a couple of hours so that I could have a break. On the other hand, the minute she is away from me, I miss her terribly, and feel horribly guilty for being apart from her.

There’s an episode of How I Met Your Mother where a little girl brings Lilly a picture of a rainbow several times, and each time she says “oh wow, what a beautiful rainbow!” and then, the last time she brings one up Lilly loses her cool and says “seriously, are you kidding me? Another rainbow? Aren’t you sick of them?” This is what I feel like sometimes. S cries or gets grouchy over something, and most of the time I’ll go to her and calm her and chat baby talk at her and play with her toys or cuddle her or do whatever it takes, for however long it takes, until she’s ok… and then there’ll be an evening where I’ve been up and down the stairs to her five times, and I’m starving and about to bite into what is now a barely lukewarm dinner, and she cries… and the words I utter as I trudge up the stairs are a little more along the lines of “Another rainbow?”

I was talking to a friend yesterday about having a night out. The difference between us is that she is married, so if she goes out her kids are with their dad: they love him, they feel safe with him. She knows they will be looked after and she has nothing to worry about, and that they probably won’t notice much of difference than if she were there. For me, if I wanted a night out I would have to consider leaving S with someone largely unfamiliar. She has aunties and uncles, and I have several amazing friends, all of whom I know would do a good job of looking after her, but she only knows any of them as someone who’s danced around the living room with her for a couple of hours here and there. There’s nobody completely constant in her life with whom I could leave her and know she wouldn’t be upset by the disruption. And, of course, there is still the massive guilt at leaving here anywhere, with anyone – as if I don’t want her around.

I was toying with the idea of going to the health visitor to see if she would look into getting me some funding for a nursery place a couple of mornings a week, just to allow me a bit of a break and some breathing space from time to time. But this is largely unrealistic, since S is still mostly breastfed and won’t take a bottle (even if I could work the ridiculous pump I have enough to get a bottle full of milk for her). And I know that I would probably spend the entire time she was in a nursery, sitting at home pining for her and feeling guilty that I’d left her.

Wednesdays are my salvation at the moment. D only spends a couple of hours here, but during that time she will largely take over looking after S. She bounces her on her knee, plays on her play mat with her, pulls faces, sings songs and sometimes spends half an hour rocking her back and forth until she falls asleep. I do things like catch up on phone calls to the electricity company or sorting through paperwork. We have a cup of coffee together and I tell her about my week, and we chat about whatever comes up. She’s like a therapist and a babysitter in one! Plus, she always brings milk for coffee, and usually cake or biscuits too.

Mood Swings

The more astute among you may have gleaned from previous posts that I have a long-standing, ongoing battle with depression and general mental demons that just won’t leave me be.

Since getting pregnant I’ve not taken any medication for my mental health issues, and instead I take supplements, most notably fish oils, which I take three times a day, without fail. They tend to work quite well at balancing out my moods and helping me to not jump face-first into the pit of eternal despair. I have, however, noticed a pattern emerging. This in itself is a good thing, as I’m usually so completely un-self-aware that I don’t notice things like this. I’m the girl who spends a week convinced everyone really is out to get her… and then realises when her “monthly visitor” arrives that it was just PMT.

I tend to coast along nicely, not quite 100% together, but nowhere near as depressed and miserable as I have been known to be. An even keel, you might say. After a little while my moods will start to deteriorate, and with them the housework and general organisation of my life. This generally culminates in one evening spent wailing, convinced I can’t possibly continue with anything. S will pick up on my mood and become suitably grizzly, thus increasing the despair. And then we go to bed, and in the morning wake up and look around a little like the Very Hungry Caterpillar coming out of his cocoon. The world hasn’t ended overnight, you say? Everything is just fine, you say? This day is invariably a day where I will go a bit manic and catch up on everything I’ve let slip for the last week or so. I will wash up, clean the kitchen, do as many loads of washing as I can get through the machine in a day, vacuum, prepare baby foods, cook proper meals for myself and stock the fridge and freezer. I’ll be like this for a good few days, merrily going along getting everything done as quickly as possible and generally being rather awesome.

This has happened over the last couple of days: S was not sleeping, either for naps or at night. I was getting nothing done, not eating properly, getting stressed at her lack of sleep. Whenever I did manage to get her to drop off she would usually be woken up by someone knocking the door, or the phone ringing, or me being clumsy and dropping something because I was so tired. I was completely exhausted, and it’s entirely possible that if Jack the Ripper had knocked the door and offered to babysit, I would have let him in. Luckily for us, Jack the Ripper doesn’t come round much these days. Over the weekend I finally cracked and spent an evening pushing S back and forth in the pushchair in the living room, trying desperately to get her to sleep. I was distraught, convinced there was no way I could do this on my own any more but with clue as to how I could remedy that situation. I felt lost and miserable and fed up. So I went to bed at 8:30pm and decided to deal with it in the morning. And what do you know, S actually slept quite a bit, which meant I managed to get some sleep too, and we both woke up the next day feeling a lot better.

So there we have my pattern – Extreme low is always followed by extreme high, and then it evens itself out again for a few weeks. This is possibly something I should write on a Post-It and stick to my fridge, so that next time I’m burrowing about in the depths of despair, I can at least tell myself the words I have tattooed on my wrist: this too shall pass.

"Autobiographical Extract" from 2003

While I was tidying earlier I came across this, which I wrote in 2003 for an English course I was doing...

I was born in 1981. The year Bobby Sands died, and Ronald Reagan became President of the USA. Adam and the Ants' Stand and Deliver was Number One and Gregory's Girl was in the cinemas.

My earliest memories are like flim clips. I don't know exactly when they happened, or what came before or afterwards. I remember sitting on a seat on top of a big old-fashioned blue pram. My brother was in the pram. I don't recall where my sister was. We were coming out of the newsagents across the road from where we lived and my mum was crying. Our cat, Mr Sandy, had just been run over in the street. My mum still has a photo of Mr Sandy on the wall at home. She reminisces about him as if he were an old relative instead of a ginger tomcat.

I remember our house, in a small row of terraces down a lane in a small town where everyone knew everyone else. All I remember of the house is that it had a staircase that went round a corner - tricky for young legs - and a kitchen table with a plastic yellow top. My mum tells me that when I was very small, I would stand at the foot of those stairs, with my favourite cuddly rabbit under my arm (he was taller than me and had to be carried like this) and a furry blanket in my hand. I would stand there, usually in the middle of the day, and tell her: "I want to go to bed!"

Once, coming home from nursery school, it began to rain. When we got home my mum sat me on our yellow kitchen table and blew my nose before making me scrambled egg sandwiches for lunch. I was wearing a pink jumper my nan had knitted for me; it had a brown elephant on it and was my favourite.

When I was still very young we moved to a house in Quidhampton with a big garden. I remember going to see the house and being very excited because there was a swing in the garden. I don't remember the garden at our old house, but I don't think it had a swing. We moved into the house and I shared a room with my older sister. We had a purple carpet and a set of two red telephones which magically worked with one of us upstairs and one downstairs. We loved them but for reasons I don't remember we were not allowed to play with them often.

I'm told we didn't live in Quidhampton for long - perhaps 18 months, but I have several memories of this time. I remember my dad painting the hall way green, dripping paint onto the radio and cursing loudly... I remember the coat hooks we had at the foot of our stairs, each with a different coloured plastic ball on the end... I remember getting two new kittens and our whole extended family sitting in the dining room one day, deliberating over names (they finally decided on Bubble and Squeak)... I remember our fish pond, outside the dining room window. It had several layers of netting over it but my mum was still forever rushing outside to rescue my brother from it - he was always "going fishing" in it... There was a seemingly huge step down from our back door onto the concrete, and one day we woke up and the snow was so deep it came upto the door. When my sister and I went out to play the snow was up to our waists and we thought it was great.

I also remember our living room, which had a big window which opened, oddly, at the bottom. We would often climb up over the back of the sofa and out of the window, into the forbidden front garden, which had a beautiful blossom tree in the centre. Our front door was painted green with two large pieces of frosted glass. One day my cousins took me to the beach on the bus and on the way back we clambered through several fields, stopping at a park on the way before knocking on this front door. My mum answered the door, and my sister poked her head round excitedly and told us Granddad had gone to Heaven.

I don't remember much about my Granddad. He lived with my Nan in the terraced house in Wilton my mum had spent her teenage years in, and always had a big jar of mint toffees next to his chair. He had something wrong with his leg, caused by a motorcycle accident long before I was born. My Nan always told me he was riding along with his legs out and a double decker bus came past and knocked one of his legs off. I never questioned this story until I was much older, despite the fact he always seemed to have two legs - one of them was fake, but I didn't know that until long after he'd died.

My baby brother was born when I was four. I remember going to stay at an aunt's house and being woken up in the middle of the night to go to the toilet and being told my mum had had "a tiddler." When he was born he was jaundiced, so my Uncle Steptoe, of whom we were all very scared, christened him Fish Finger - a fitting title, since his name was Ross. He and my mum seemed to be in hospital forever, and the three of us had to survive on our dad's cooking. While they were in hospital it was Easter, and my mum won what she still claims is the only prize she's ever won. it was the biggest chocolate egg I'd ever seen in my life, in a basket, possibly even with smaller eggs around the side. Needless to say, by the time my mum arrived home there was little left of it for her to enjoy - something I feel guilty about to this day. After all, it was the only thing she'd ever won!

The day we went to collect our mum and new baby brother from the hospital my dad had bought a box of Black Magic chocolates for the nurses and made my sister and I go to a nurse and tell her "thank you for looking after our mum." We were not amused by this. The nurse, however, was.

My dad was a long-distance lorry driver and was for the most part absent from my childhood, appearing only at weekends to walk us around the market and eat a Sunday roast. If he was home in the week, he arrived when we were all long since tucked up in bed, and left for work hours before any of us woke up.

For a while my mum worked at a cafe called the Copper Kettle on a Sunday, and then my dad looked after us while we watched Sunday afternoon TV and played in the garden. At teatime we would all pile into the car to pick my mum up from work,and then have roast lamb for dinner, with lemon meringue pie for tea. One thing that definitely sticks in my memory is my mother's home-made pies and cakes, which were second to none.

My last memory of living in Quidhampton is of Ross's first birthday. As far as I know, we moved to the house I spent the rest of my childhood in shortly after this. We had gotten Ross a fine present - a Fisher Price dog on a lead, who went along on bright orange wheels which were on a bend axis, causing the dog to bounce up and down as he went along - and somehow to make a noise that sounded like a yapping puppy. We all thought it was great, but Ross had just been woken up (by us, excited at the thought of a birthday in the house), and was hungry and grumpy. I remember showing him how it made this great noise, while he stuck his lip out and looked miserable.

Our Week, 8-13 October

Monday 08 Oct

After a rather unsettled (and somewhat screamy) night’s sleep, we got up and walked across town to pick up some baby clothes. We were also supposed to walk to an out of town superstore in another direction to pick up an order, but I couldn’t be bothered. We came home instead, and spent a fair amount of time playing. And then a nap, and then more playing. Bed time appears to have become a two-stage thing, where S falls asleep and I sneak out, only to find her awake and crying 15 minutes later. This happened again, but fingers crossed it’s not a permanent change!

Tuesday 09 Oct

Walked in the pouring rain to the big out of town Next to pick up an order. Turned up at 9:45 to find they didn’t open til 10. Got drenched. Came home, got changed, and went to see the health visitor. My one has been off sick for months so I saw yet another lady I’d not seen before. It’s a different one every time these days, and far from an ideal situation.

Wednesday 10 Oct

Our Home Start lady came and brought cakes for me and two teething toys for S. In the afternoon my sister Z came round with some rice krispie cakes she’d made and I ate until I felt sick. We didn’t leave the house all day.

Thursday 11 Oct

Up and out early to run some errands around town. Home by 11am to attempt housework, but S had other ideas. Her poor sleeping pattern over the last few days has been getting gradually worse, and today she had no naps at all, and then couldn’t sleep at bed time. Ended up bringing her downstairs and pushing her back and forth in the pushchair until she fell asleep, then camping on the sofa.

Friday 12 Oct

Another day where we didn’t leave the house. Had plans to go out for a walk with a friend but after another poor night’s sleep I cancelled in favour of trying to get some rest. S actually managed a morning nap, and was in a fairly agreeable mood, meaning I managed to get a fair few things done. Unfortunately her afternoon nap, during which I was planning to sleep, was interrupted by a loud knock on the door, and so I spent the afternoon trying to distract S from grizzling; no mean feat. Despite this, I still managed to do some decorating, cleaning and washing – so not a complete loss.

Saturday 13 Oct

A slightly better night followed by a lazy morning. When it became clear S did not intend on having a morning nap, I took her out in the sling instead. She finally fell asleep after half an hour of wandering around the shops, so I stayed out for as long as I could in order to keep her asleep. Certainly feeling her weight gain in my back these days! When we came home she was in an agreeable mood, and even had a long afternoon nap, so I managed to get a lot done – baking, stewing and pureeing foods, cleaning the kitchen, washing up, more decorating, posting a gazillion items on Ebay. She is now in bed, but I’ve been up to her twice already. Fingers crossed she stays asleep now, and I get to have a lazy Saturday evening after a somewhat stressful week!