How to Tell if You Need More Sleep...

Inspired by the rather exhausting time I've been having of late, here is a list of ways to tell if perhaps you need a little more sleep...

• You clean up the high chair from the latest meal, go to the kitchen and deposit a handful of soggy biscuits in the sink, a dirty dish and spoon in the laundry hamper, and a mucky flannel in the bin.
• You go upstairs to use the toilet, remember half way up that you need to pick something up from the bedroom. Go into the bedroom, forget what you went in for but see that the curtains are open when they should be closed. Close curtains. Remember you needed to take a clean babygro downstairs. Go into the baby's bedroom, grab a babygro and run downstairs with it, triumphant until you hit the bottom step and your bladder reminds you why you went up there in the first place. Back you go...
• You fill the sink to wash up, then remember there's an empty coffee cup on the side in the living room. Go to fetch it and see that the baby is doing something cute. Stop to join in the cuteness for a couple of minutes. See that the living room bin needs to be emptied so take it to the kitchen. Empty the bin, take the bin bag outside. Clean the bin, put a new liner in it, and remember you were washing up. Begin the washing up, remember there's an empty coffee cup on the side in the living room...
• It takes you four attempts to find the word you're looking for: "that's mummy's arm... face... foot.. HAND! That's mummy's hand"
• You arrange to meet a friend for coffee every week for 2 months, but never actually make it because you're sitting at home thinking, "I'm sure I'm supposed to do something today..."
• You sit down to write a blog post about being tired... and fall asleep.

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Wordless Wednesday: Attempts at a Self Portrait

MAD Blog Awards 2013

This post is a shameless request for a nomination at this year's MAD Blog Awards:

The MAD Blogs are the UK's biggest awards for parent bloggers - of which you may have noticed I am one.

I'm fairly new to this parent blogging malarkey but I'm enjoying it - and who wouldn't like an award for doing something they love!

There are various categories (such as Best Baby Blog, Best New Blog, Best Family Life Blog) this blog might fall into; each award is sponsored by a different company, and the awards themselves are sponsored by Parent Dish.

If you'd like to nominate me, here are some of the posts that have been most popular since I started:

• Things They Don't Tell You About Childbirth
• Things They Don't Tell You About Breastfeeding
• We Love Books!
• Apparently, I Live On A Rough Estate

Of course, there are many other blog posts you could choose from too!

That little badge up there ^ is a direct link to the site, where you can nominate me if you so wish.

I would love it if you nominated me, but only do it if you think this blog is worth an award. I'll keep doing it either way, because it's fun and gives me an excuse to let off steam in an opinionated fashion!

Things I Resolve To Do Differently

• I will not tell S to "say thank you!" Instead, I will lead by example and always say please and thank you to her. I would rather she learn how to be polite from having me ask her nicely to do things, and thanking her for helping me, than from me (or anyone else) standing over her demanding that she repeat what she's told to say.
• I will not label her as a "good girl" or "naughty girl." Instead, I will say "thank you for doing as I asked" or "please don't do that." I get really cross when I hear people tell their children they're good or bad. I believe that all they will learn from that is that they either have to live up to being "good" all the time, or that they are bad and can do no right. I would rather encourage S to behave well by leading by example, and encouraging her to do the right thing. 
• I will not shout "NO!" in a stern voice. Instead I will say things like "uh-uh, that's not for S." and "not that one, play with this one." I don't think anything is to be achieved by telling a child "no!" all the time and would rather save that for the times when she is playing with electrical switches or about to fall down the stairs than for times when she's dribbling on something I've left lying around or snotting on my trouser leg.
• I will tell her how generally awesome she is and that I am proud of her and I love her, rather than saying she is beautiful or quiet or "good" or something similar. I don't want her to grow up thinking looks or staying quiet are the most important things and the only way to gain attention or affection. I hate it when we're out and people say "ooh isn't she good!" because she's quiet; she's just quiet, and while I'm thankful for the lack of screaming ab dabs, I don't want her to think she will only gain approval by keeping her mouth shut. Similarly, whilst she is absolutely stunningly gorgeous (obviously, she takes after her mother), I don't want her to attach too much worth to looks; either her own or those of others. I want her confidence and self worth to come from somewhere a bit deeper than how cute her face is or how big her eyes are. Similarly, I don't want her to be told "ooh you're so clever!" all through her childhood, and feel that she has to somehow live up to that, get A grades and wow people with her intelligence. I want her self-worth to come from the fact she is perfect just as she is, whether she gets an A or an E; whether she is the prettiest girl in school or has spots all through secondary school; whether she is fat or thin; whether her hair is long or short; whether she is good at this or that or something else entirely. I want her to know I love her and am proud of her because of and in spite of any other aspect of her intelligence, looks or personality.
• I will never, ever say "because I said so!" Instead I will answer S's questions as honestly as I can - we have to do this because of this, we have to go here because of this, you can't have this because of this. I want S to grow up believing that her thoughts and opinions are valid and important, and I think the best way to have that happen is to treat her like they are. I would rather she question my every decision, than blindly accept what I or anyone else say as gospel without thinking for herself.

It is a daily battle not to say these things, and sometimes I do find myself saying "good girl, well done" when what I really want to say is "thank you for helping me with that." I am hoping that if I can stay mindful and remember what I want to say and why, it is something that will become habit more than "good girl" or "say thank you!"

Disclaimer: Yes, I am aware that most parents speak to their children in that way, and that yes, "I was raised like that and it did me no harm." I am not saying anything against you, the way you choose to parent or the way you were parented. I'm just saying that my choice is to (try to) do it differently.

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Our Week: 21st-26th January

Monday 21st January

As mentioned in this post, I've had a fairly rubbish week, brain wise. On Monday we did very little. I think taking the bin out was the highlight of my day. The council did come round and rip down some plasterboard from my bedroom ceiling though.

Tuesday 22nd January

Another day of feeling miserable and wallowing... until I started griping on Facebook that I'd run out of milk, and then a very dear friend came round with milk and smiles and we had a good old chat and I felt a lot better. She helped me to put a few things in perspective, and to make a few decisions.

Wednesday 23rd January

D had called on Tuesday afternoon to say she couldn't make our usual Wednesday morning, so we were on our own. Remember my friend C? He proved himself even more legendary when he spent the morning texting me, telling me I really should just go out of the house. This, coupled with similar texts from my friend B, meant that we did finally go out. We had a quick walk to town, bought some essentials and came home. Afternoon spent not doing much.

Thursday 24th January

Another day spent sitting in the house. We were meant to go to see our photographer friend to have our photo taken, but since S was up all night, finally settling around 6am, and slept until 8, we cancelled. S had 2 long naps; I tried to do OU work. A came round after college to drop a couple of things off, because she is a legend. S didn't settle to sleep again, so had her downstairs in her bouncy chair for the evening.

Friday 25th January

Went to see the GP in the morning for a bit of reassurance that S just has a cold and not some terrible snot-producing disease. Came home, played a bit, had a visit in the afternoon from a friend and her two children, which was nice for all of us.

Saturday 26th January

Walked to out of town Tesco with A in the morning, then came home and had a quick wander round town. Afternoon spent with D, who was unable to visit on Wednesday. Brief and supremely irritating visit in the evening from a drunk and frankly stupid HYM. Not impressed. Evening spent struggling with OU work. 

Struggling with the Snow...

I'm not going to lie; I've struggled this week.

What started on Friday as not taking S out in the snow because she didn't have a waterproof snowsuit, and I didn't want to slip up, and it was cold... by Monday had become "hand me those flannel pyjamas; if you want me I'll be melting into the sofa." Lack of fresh air and human contact has quickly seen me regress a few years to the unsociable, miserable wretch I used to be, back when it was just me.

Of course, now it's not just me. I can't really sit and wallow much. I still have to get us up and dressed at a reasonable time; S still needs her breakfast around 8:30, her nap at 10, her lunch at 12 and so on. But the bits in between, where I usually do the washing up, take the bins out, generally clean and tdy, they sort of went out the window and I ended up doing the bare minimum to keep S from crawling around in filth. If she weren't here things would be a lot worse.

It's at times like this I tend to think it would be handy not to be a single mother. There's nobody here on a regular basis to notice that I've started to slip. There's nobody to care. There was a person who was supposed to be here, and to care... but he did neither.

So the only thing to do is say, Balls to this! If nobody's going to help me, and failure is not an option, I'd better sort myself out. And pretty damn quickly too.

And now, I'm off to clean the kitchen.

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Wordless Wednesday: My Monster Is Mobile!

An Example of Why I am Happy to be a Single Mum.

For those who don't know, S was born 5 weeks early, and we were in hospital for almost two weeks. When they finally let us out (I was begging for freedom by this point) it was under strict instructions not to let her go for more than three hours between feeds.

I was terrified of S having to go back to the hospital, because I knew if she did, I wouldn't be staying there with her. I took the doctor's words very seriously and set an alarm for every 3 hours, to ensure we never missed a feed.

On this particular day S's father came over and we went into town. We walked around the shops a bit, bought a few bits, showed off our gorgeous baby to a couple of people. And then it was time to feed S again. I had never fed her in public, and was a bit too self conscious to try now; plus the midwife was due to visit soon, so we just came home. I was increasingly anxious that time was marching on, and S was due a feed. Because she was still jaundiced, she wouldn't wake up and cry to let us know she was hungry so it was down to me to keep my eye on the clock. Now we were almost half an hour late, and I was worrying.

We got home, brought the pram into the living room, and I immediately picked S up, sat down on the sofa and began feeding her.

S's father came in, took his coat off, tutted at the state of the living room, and went into my kitchen to get something to eat. Ten minutes later, while I was still sitting on the sofa feeding S, he came back into the living room with a large plate full of cheese on toast. Mmm, cheese on toast, my favourite. The cheese was melted just so; it was runny but not burnt, the toast looked perfect. I was starving and couldn't wait to tuck in.

Without a word, he sat down opposite me and ate all four slices himself. Then he put the empty plate back in the kitchen, poured himself a drink, sat on the sofa and switched the TV on.

I finished feeding S, put her in her bouncy chair and went into the kitchen to find myself a drink and something to eat. There was no bread or cheese left.

At least when you're on your own, nobody eats cheese on toast in front of you when you're starving and pinned to the couch.

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My Favourite Photo of the Week

Now that S is more mobile, she loves to go and visit the baby in the mirror...

Our Week, 14-19 January

Monday 14 January
Up at usual time and off to Wetherspoons for breakfast with a friend. Lovely start to the day. S fell asleep on the way home and didn't even stir when I bumped the buggy up the stairs. She ended up having a 2-hour nap, which was handy as I was rather sick. Afternoon spent feeling rubbish and wishing I could just go to sleep. No such luck. Perked up a little in the evening. Fingers crossed sickiness appears to have been stress related rather than bug related or anything else related.

Tuesday 15 January
Stayed in all morning doing fun stuff like housework and general mucking about. Health visitor at lunch time with my sister A for company, then a little wander around town before coming home to muck about a bit more. Finally finished my OU module, just in time for the next one to start in a couple of weeks. Eep!

Wednesday 16 January
Visit from D in the morning, then off out to our new Wednesday class. Baby-robics was fun, but turns out S is rather heavy after four rounds of squats. Bloody cold so straight home afterwards to snuggle up and play in the living room. S went to bed on time, but woke pretty much hourly and generally made me feel a little like I may never sleep again.

Thursday 17 January
Visited two nurseries as part of my trying to figure out whether to go back to work. Both are local and lovely. Still hate the idea of leaving S for that amount of time, that often. Saw my sister A, who brought cornflake cakes she'd made with Z. Bought a leopard print fur coat for S in a charity shop. Day complete. S did not settle well, I had a cough which made it worse. Loooonnnnnng night.

Friday 18 January
Wake up to find it has snowed. All plans scuppered. Day spent in living room doing naff all. Even taking the bins out was abandoned in favour of looking out the window and playing with shiny things. A came round for the afternoon and went to the shop for us because she is a legend (as you know). Had been planning to spend the evening with company, but company turned up drunk, so I spent the evening doing boring geeky things. Should have taken the opportunity for an early night, since S really did not sleep well.

Saturday 19 January
Woke to find the roof had leaked in a massive way. Swore a lot and spent half an hour carefully positioning trays and pans to catch drips. S had slept badly but made up for it with a fairly long morning nap. Did not venture out of the house due to a fear of falling over on the ice with my little pickle. Very bored and tired and the lack of air did nothing for my mood. Evening spent doing not a fat lot. Such is life these days.

Toys That Are Not Toys

This post is all about how children don't need fancy, plastic, singing and dancing toys from the shops. Some of S's favourite toys are things most of us would throw away...

Empty Boxes and Bags:

You know that old joke that you can buy a toy for a child, and they'll have more fun playing with the box it came in? That fun is not limited to the packaging for toys.

Drinks Bottles

In this post I wrote about two empty bottles I'd filled with various things. We started with a couple of bottles filled with coloured water; now we have bottles with shiny craft materials, bottles with jelly and glitter, bottles with cous cous. The cous cous is a big hit; every single day S will sit and shake it for a good ten minutes, transferring it from hand to hand, looking at me to see how impressed I am by the noise she's making.

Remote Controls

S loves buttons. And things she's not allowed. Imagine the excitement when she gets her hands on a remote control!! Suddenly the TV is turned up very loud, we're watching a channel I didn't know existed, and the stereo is playing BBC Asia! (if I'm feeling awake and with it, I'll take one of the batteries out of the remote and just let her play with it for a little while)

Kitchen Utensils

In the end, I admitted defeat, drew a smiley face on one of my wooden spoons and gave it to S. It doesn't even go near the kitchen any more. The same with the posh pastry brush with blue silicone fronds. There are also spoons lurking on the play mats somewhere. For while she had commandeered a fish slice, but I needed it for my dinner the other day so I stole it back.

Random Stuff

Anything that is not supposed to be a baby toy, is instantly interesting and fun to play with. Baby wipe packets are a big favourite, because of the noise they make. We also like plastic cups, because you can scrunch them. I have also finally found a use for the rock samples that came with my science OU module - S will sit and play with them!

And so, in conclusion, it is safe to say that my child is easily pleased, and I wasted money on Christmas this year!


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Wordless Wednesday: Lazy Morning

My sister A

The other day I made a post about never asking for help from anyone... and my younger sister A texted me, reminding me that she brings me coffee all the time. I felt bad because actually, over the past few months she is probably the only person I have asked for help on a regular basis. She is 17 and definitely has her own set of rather difficult problems, but she never refuses.

When S was first born, she was rather tiny and I think A was probably a little scared of her. She didn't really hold her when she came to visit, unless someone told her to. She had a fairly crappy time over the summer and so did I, so we agreed that we would go for a walk together on Saturday mornings. And so, every Saturday morning A would come to my house, and once S was fed and watered we'd go out for a reasonably long walk. When we got back A would often come up to the flat with us and spend a little time watching bad kids' shows and mucking about. Over time she grew more confident with S, and S grew to be more interesting and interactive.

One Saturday it was raining, so we didn't go out for a walk. While S took her nap in her bouncy chair, I popped to see a neighbour to drop something off. I told A if S woke up and cried to just shout out the front door and I would come back. I got chatting to my friend, and was gone half an hour or more. As I came back up the stairs I was worried I'd walk in to a crying baby and a cross sister at being left with her. Instead I found them practising S's standing up abilities on the play mats, and having a rather good time. Since then I have left S with her auntie A on several occasions, while I went out on hot dates, or popped to the shop to pick up some essentials.

During her Christmas holidays from college, A was here nearly every day. She ran errands to town for me, picked up Costa for me on her way over, looked after S while I did things. On Christmas Day she was nothing short of legendary, helping to prepare dinner, entertaining S while I cooked, helping to clear up after the meal. When she went back to college at the start of this term, I found that I really missed having her around.

These days when A comes through the door S's face lights up. Now that she's used to the hair changing colour, style and length from day to day, she's excited to play with her auntie and associates her with fun and lots of walking practise.

So although I may say I don't ask for help, or receive any, that's a big fat lie. My sister is probably the only person I will regularly ask for help. And she never gets my Costa order wrong. She also has a blog, here, about her exciting life as an international double agent disguised as a teenage A Level student lodging with a family not her own.

One last point I would like to make: I have another sister, Z, who is equally as awesome as A. I have no doubt at all that Z would be here and helpful just as often as A if she could, but she has two jobs and a boyfriend, and she lives three miles away. A lives three streets away so it's easier for her to be here. I know Z wishes she could spend more time with us, and she is just itching to babysit for S... I'm itching for her to do it too!

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A Day In The Life

I had this awesome idea that I would record what I do over the course of a day, so that I can show... well I'm not sure what I hoped to illustrate. I think I picked a bad day to do it on too, but here is what happened yesterday:

2:30am:  S wakes up to feed. I fall asleep feeding her, as is the norm.
5am: S wakes up to feed. I groan because I fell asleep in an awkward position last time and now my back feels like it may snap.
6 am: S wakes up to feed. Hold my breath and pray she goes back to sleep as 6am is too early to contemplate today.
7am: wake up, S still asleep
7:30: S wakes up later than usual but in a good mood. She's usually in a good mood in the mornings.
7:45 have a bath together. Put S on bed (mattress on floor) in towel while I dry myself. She happily plays with her toys. At the moment she has to have two lots of cream on her arms and legs each morning and night. Apply first lot and wait ten minutes, during which time I dress myself. Just as I'm putting on my bra she decides the digital clock is more interesting than her toys, and launches herself off the bed towards it. Ten minutes spent comforting a screaming baby with a digital clock imprinted on her cheek. Second lot of cream on, clean babygro on, finish dressing myself. Open curtains and check ceiling for leaks.

8:40: downstairs for breakfast. Good morning baby-in-the-mirror, good morning stairs, good morning front door, good morning kitchen, good morning living room, good morning CBeebies... CBeebies?  Virgin Media box not working again, so put a dvd on to keep S entertained. Make porridge with fruit puree for S and a coffee for me. Also 5ml of Calpol for teething/cold, and 0.6ml of vitamin supplement she's been on since leaving hospital. Skip the iron supplement she's meant to have, because she had it yesterday and I don't like to do it every day. Come back to living room to find S has managed to get herself almost completely underneath the unit the TV sits on. Again. Extract her and put her in her high chair. These days she won't go into the chair without something on the tray to play with, so she has a rusk. The rusk never goes anywhere near her mouth. During this meal it is thrown onto the floor only four times. S eats breakfast, refuses to even entertain the idea of the rusk (probably for the best) so I eat it. Back to the play mat to play with her toys, as I make a stab at the housework.

9:10: Thoroughly clean high chair as it's not been done properly in a while. Put a load of washing on. Vacuum downstairs, including underneath the rug. S is rather disgruntled at being left on the play mats, and I have to clean them any way, so I pop her in the ball pit. She watches with an unimpressed look as I move all her toys off the mats to vacuum up the crumbs, then move the ball pit with her in it to vacuum under that. She falls over and gets cross. Stop what I'm doing to play with her for a bit. Apparently the Dr Seuss dvd is just not doing it for her, so we swap it for a Tweenies one so that I can go and do the washing up.

10am: take S upstairs for her nap. Lay down on the bed with her and read a book as I feed her to sleep. Radio on fairly loud to block out the banging from next door. Everything crossed it will work.

10:10am: S asleep, I come downstairs to finish the cleaning. It's a race against the clock. Finish washing up. Clear and clean kitchen sides. Empty bins and take them out with recycling. Clean the kitchen bin. Fill a bucket, on hands and knees and clean kitchen floor, living room floor and hall. Have to scrub at dried-on baby food I've somehow missed when it was dropped. Empty bucket down toilet, fling some bleach in afterwards and make a mental note to do more than just fling bleach down it at some point today. Or tomorrow. Or definitely before next weekend.

10:45: put everything back in its place, sit down, put my feet up to have a little drink and a rest. Find cold coffee and chuck it. Hear S wake up. Short nap today then, possibly caused by next door being extra loud this morning. Go upstairs to fetch her. Thankfully, she's woken in a good mood. Back downstairs, Tweenies dvd back on as TV still not working. Luckily S is happy to sit and play with toys in front of me while I sit on the sofa and sort through the pile of paperwork that's built up on the sofa cushions next to me over the course of the week. As long as I look at her every few seconds and pull a face or chat to her, she seems content to shout at her toys and look up at the Tweenies any time they sing or dance.

11am: start to curse myself for not buying any sensible breakfast or snacky foods in this week's shopping. Feeling a bit squiffy but there's nothing quick to grab to eat. Settle for a can of Coke. Healthy lifestyle at its best. Back to the living room to sort the never-ending pile of washing. Fight hard not to just sit on the floor and cry from the stress of certain personal issues going on right now. Disturbed from my self-pity by a bad smell, and stop to change a nappy. S cries when I cough, and we spend 20 minutes playing and practising walking until she is happy again. She sits and plays with a toy hammer precisely long enough for me to sit back down on the floor with the washing, then starts crying again. Eventually manage to get washing half-sorted, when phone rings. Spend 20 minutes on the phone to my mum, explaining the latest drama with my older sister. Get off the phone, and it's time for lunch.

Midday: lunch time. Sit S in the high chair and distract her with some wotsit-type crisps while I shovel proper food into her mouth. she spreads food and crisps all over newly-cleaned highchair. Half an hour later, I clean her up and make a half-hearted attempt at the highchair. She spends ten minutes on the rug practising crawling and screeching and then we go to the kitchen to make brownies. S sits on the floor while I mix brownies. She gets a chocolatey spoon to play with, and I am glad the floor was at least clean before we started. Brownies made, she pulls at my jeans while I wash up. Then we go back to the living room, where she sits in her ball pit, trying to chew on the inflated sides. It doesn't work so well and she gets quite fed up. Quick trip upstairs to put some washing away, but give up when she is not happy up there either. Come back downstairs and watch some awful CBeebies show with her sitting next to me on the sofa playing with remote controls. This lasts five minutes, before she makes it perfectly clear she wants me to feed her. These days feeding is only done at nap time so usually when she tries to grab my boobs it's because she's tired.

1:50pm take S upstairs for her nap early. Lay down and read a book while I feed her to sleep. Once she is asleep, I go to her bedroom to put away some of her clean washing, and to sort through her next lot of clothes. She's just growing into 9-12 months stuff, so I need to make sure I have enough. These days every time we change her clothes at least one item of clothing has to go into the "outgrown" pile. Bring 9-12 months clothes downstairs to check what we have and put it through the wash. Answer is: not a lot. Better do some shopping. Take more clean washing upstairs and sort it out. Come downstairs and have a brief scroll through Ebay to find some bargains for S. Greeted by a Facebook comment from my older sister informing me my dead father was disappointed in me and my two brothers. Decide S is better off not knowing the bitterness on that side of the family and try my best to remember my father loved me.

2:40: S wakes up, crying. Go upstairs to fetch her but make matters worse when she sees what Mummy looks like when she's been crying. We come downstairs and watch some CBeebies whilst tearing an old Radio Times apart. Then when that gets boring we take a little tour of the house, then sit and play with some other toys.

3:30pm visit from my sister Z and her boyfriend L. A welcome relief; I think S and I are both growing sick of each other's company. Z and L take it in turns to play with S, making her giggle and letting her walk them around the living room.

4pm: tea time. S is tired and less interested in food than I would hope. Manage to sneak in two-thirds of her dinner and a fromage frais. Back to playing with Z and L while I bid for some clothes for her on Ebay.

5:15pm: Z and L leave. Take S for another little wander around the house, pick up PJs and a clean nappy. Wrestle her out of her clothes, and fight to get her cream applied to the relevant areas. Doctor told me to apply a thin layer of first lot, wait ten minutes, apply second lot. It needs to go behind her arm pits and behind her knees. Not the easiest of places on a squirmy, grumpy baby but we do our best. Second lot of cream is not what the doctor prescribed, as that was a steroid. Use coconut oil instead, which is nicer but she doesn't like the smell. Finally manage to get her into vest and babygro ready for bed. More crying. Take her to the kitchen to fetch a Baby Bel, and we sit on the sofa to eat it. She plays with each remote in turn, then throws them on the floor. Ditto for my phone, my iPod, a pair of slippers and a box of tissues. She cries when I put my hands near her face, so we go back to the kitchen to wash the coconut oil off and try again. Marginally more successful; I think she ate about a quarter of the cheese. Everything from the sofa thrown or hidden, including my phone. S still in a grump and clearly showing me she's tired and wants to feed so take her to bed ten minutes early. Good night living room, good night kitchen, good night front door, good night stairs, good night baby-in-the-mirror, good night Mummy.

5:50pm Lay on my bed and read a book as I feed S to sleep. Fast asleep within 15 minutes but I worry how long it will last. Mad dash downstairs to tidy up toys in the living room and get various other bits done, in case she wakes up and I don't have time.

6:40pm: S wakes up, screaming incosolably. No chance of getting her back to sleep, so bring her downstairs and rock her back and forth for twenty minutes, until she does a massive poo and it becomes evident why she was crying. Change nappy and have a stab at getting her back to sleep. Fail miserably. She is clearly picking up on my less than perfect mood. Bring her downstairs and put her in the bouncy chair in the hope she will be tired enough to just fall asleep. May as well hope to win the lottery. Short, uncomfortable visit from HYM with worst possible timing known to man. Entirely not his fault my daughter is upset and irritable and my family has imploded.

Evening spent with S in the bouncy chair, periodically trying to find a toy that will keep her entertained. She shows no signs of tiredness, until she begins crying at 9pm. Suspecting another poonami, I decide to admit defeat and just go to bed. In the time it takes to lock the front door, carry her up the stairs and change her nappy she has become wide awake again. She spends an hour or so playing on a rug on the bedroom floor while I potter about.

10:30: feed S to sleep and fall asleep myself.
1:30am: S wakes up to feed. I have to use every ounce of self control not to cough, because I know this will cause tears and proper wakefulness from both of us. Have a small drink of water, feed S and go back to sleep.
3:30am: awake again. Feed her to sleep and pray this time it lasts longer. Try not to cough.
6am: awake again, but I refuse to accept 6am as a time to be properly awake. Feed her back to sleep, only to find that I can't sleep. Lay in bed and try my hardest, until 6:30 when I get up and play with my mobile instead.
6:45am Mad rush from bedroom, downstairs, into living room, door shut, and finally have a big cough into a cushion so as not to wake S.
7am: S wakes up, and we start it all over again.

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You might find it interesting to read this post I wrote when I returned to work.

Our Week, 7-12 January

Monday 7 January

Up early to drag ourselves to the hospital for physio. Considered rearranging the appointment, since I felt rough, but decided to just suck it up and go. Got there and found my physio was off sick any way. Walked back to town, bought some vegetables, bumped into several friends, including my niece who is awfully grown up and mature these days. Had an impromptu coffee with a friend, which was nice. Afternoon spent attempting OU coursework, and feeling sick. Evening spent doing much the same.

Tuesday 8 January

Didn't leave the house all day; not fantastic for my already low mood. Health Visitor came in the morning for a brief chat, and afternoon was spent begging S to please take her nap or at least stop crying and clinging to me. Neither was achieved. Bed time was not amusing, and neither was the night.

Wednesday 9 January
D visited in the morning, played with S while I made a call and did my washing up for me. The woman is a legend. Quick lunch followed by a power walk to the other side of town for a "Mum & Me" fitness class which was actually quite relaxing since it focused on stretching out all the muscles that usually ache. Extended walk home to accommodate nap time. Afternoon spent playing. Split up with HYM. Nothing more shall be said on the topic.

Thursday 10 January

Didn't do much of anything. A bad night's sleep, but at least I was woken at 6am by a happy baby chattering to her hands. Popped to the shops, bought some food, came home. Entire day spent playing with toys and trying to avoid whining and crying. Didn't always manage that. Awesome sister A came to visit briefly though, which was nice.

Friday 11 January
S slept awesomely; I woke at 3am and couldn't get back to sleep. Cancelled BuggyFun because I felt like death. Visit from my brother L and his wife L which was nice but embarrassing because the house is a tip at the moment. Went to doctor about suspected eczema on S's leg, came home. Exciting day, I think you'll agree.

Saturday 12 January
Feeling less than fantastic. Morning spent doing housework... ok, well I did some washing up. Sister A came round and played with S for half an hour while I went to town for supplies. Entire trip spent feeling like I'd left the buggy in a shop. Afternoon spent playing. Evening spent watching truly awful Saturday night TV. Seriously, whatever happened to Saturday night telly?

Another Low Patch

I'm finding this single parent malarkey a bit tough at the moment. I think I got through Christmas by telling myself  "it will all be over soon and then you can have a rest" - which was great, and it worked, but now Christmas is over with and I can't have a rest because I am still a single mother, and if anything S is becoming more demanding. She's going through a very clingy stage so that I find I'm carrying her from room to room with me when I go to load the washing machine, or to sort clean clothes, or to the toilet. And she's no longer content to just sit and play with her toys; she wants to stand up and practise walking, for which she needs a willing pair of hands, and someone with knees of steel to walk back and forth across the rug with all day.

By now, I consider myself to be an old hand at the physical exhaustion. She's had a cold and has been generally unsettled, so her sleeping at night hasn't been fantastic; after the first couple of hellish, tearful days, you adjust and it becomes normal again. It's the mental exhaustion that's getting to me, and the realisation that  apart from her sporadic naps, I've had no time alone for a very long time.

Don't get me wrong; I love S with all my heart, and on the rare occasion I do leave her with someone, I miss her like mad and call a thousand times to check she is ok. But right now I would give my right arm for a bit of peace and quiet and a couple of hours to just chill out without having to worry about S waking up. I know my mood is affecting her at the moment, and probably then contributing to her not settling down or being able to sit and play on her own for more than a couple of minutes. She's also experiencing fairly bad separation anxiety, so that even if she is playing with someone else on the floor, she still needs to be able to see me at all times. It's quite tiring.

A while back, a friend told me that I could get Tax Credits to contribute towards child care for one day a week, even if I had not yet gone back to work. At the time I didn't think much of it, but lately I've been thinking about it. And thinking about actually going back to work. This week I've actually spoken to a few nurseries, and made appointments to look around. I'm thinking I might put S into nursery one morning a week in order to give myself a bit of space to do fun stuff like OU coursework and housework. The idea is that if I then decide I am going back to work, I can gradually increase the hours at nursery so that it's not a massive culture shock for S.

Part of me feels like I'm failing at motherhood by considering using a nursery when I'm not even working. And I feel so horribly guilty for wanting to be away from her for a little while. But I've had a really stressful time lately, and I've not had a huge amount of help or support. People have said they will help, and then just didn't; which is actually worse than nobody offering in the first place. Once someone has said to you "I'll do this for/with you" you relax a little and concentrate on that light in the distance. When the help doesn't materialise you feel worse than you did before, when you knew you just had to get on and do it on your own. So if I am doing it on my own, I know I need to get some proper rest and some proper time on my own, before I go mad. My temper and tolerance are getting shorter and shorter lately, and I find that if S doesn't look like she's settling down to sleep in the evenings I get really uptight and fed up - which probably just makes her less likely to settle. 

So here I am, admitting defeat. I wish I could say it feels good, but it doesn't.

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Why I Don't Ask For Help

So many people say to me, "if you need anything, just ask" but I very rarely do.

People offer to look after S while I sleep, to help clean the house, to do my washing up, to go to the shop for me. I know I have certain neighbours upon whom I could call at practically any time, and ask to borrow anything from a cup of sugar to an electrical appliance, and if they had it, I could borrow it. But I don't ask, and I probably never will. We have our Home Start volunteer who comes every week and is an absolute godsend, but I feel very uncomfortable that she comes at all. I don't like to ask for help, and often if it is offered, I will refuse. And these are the reasons why:

People let you down 

Being let down when you thought you had help on the way is worse than just having to do it on your own. If I know I have to go here, do this, make this appointment, call that person, go shopping, wash up, get the washing done, cook dinner, visit that person, buy this, make sure that is done - I just take a deep breath, put my head down and get on with it. If someone offers to help me, I tend to see that as a light at the end of the tunnel: "oh, I don't need to worry about that because this person is coming to help me with it/do it for me." If they then forget, or just don't bother, my workload suddenly seems a lot worse than it did before, when I was prepared for doing it all on my own. I also tend to react fairly badly to that, and get upset with the person in question - which can make for difficult friendships.

I don't like to put people out

The other day when D came round, she did my washing up. I cannot tell you how guilty I still feel about that. It's difficult enough for me to accept that she comes round and plays with S for a couple of hours for me so that I can make phone calls and things, but to have her cleaning up after me, I feel awful. I hate to bother people for things. If I've run out of coffee I know full well I could go and knock on my friend's door and she'd happily give me some coffee - but I'd rather just go without coffee until I can get to the shop. I know that I could call any number of people and ask them to go and buy coffee for me and bring it round, but I'd rather just put a coat on myself and S, and wander off to the shop myself. I have no idea why I am like this; I'm perfectly happy to do things for other people, and don't consider myself to be put out at all, but when they offer to do the same for me, I invariably say no. I also offer that people may not really mean it: they offer because they figure I'll say no. Like when you're a kid and you offer to help your mum do the housework because you know she'll say no because you're crap at it.

I need to know I can do it on my own, without help

I spent most of my pregnancy, and the first months of S's life feeling that I wasn't really capable of doing anything without a certain person assisting me. When that person kept removing himself from my life, I was thrown into a state of panic: how could I ever do this on my own? What had I done? What would become of me now? Now that I have been on my own for a while, it's incredibly important to me that I not rely on anyone else too much. I need to know that if everyone buggered off tomorrow, S and I could still function on our own. I need to prove that to myself on a daily basis. Even with big things like putting up curtains or decorating rooms, I'd rather not have to rely on anyone else to do it for me. I like to know that I can do this on my own.

This is a bit of an odd post, brought on  by the fact I've been wondering why I find it so hard to accept help when it's offered.

And now, off I go to pig-headedly struggle through my life without asking for any help.

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Wordless Wednesday: My Pumpkin is 9 Months Old!

4 days old

3 months old

6 Months

9 Months

Nine Months of Joy

Tomorrow, S will be 9 months old. Nine whole months. To celebrate this milestone, Wordless Wednesday will be dedicated to her.

One of S's first babygros... and one of her new ones.

I was trying to figure out why S being 9 months old was such a big deal in my head. The only reason I can think of is this: when she was born, a lot of the clothes designed for "tiny baby" were still too big. Newborn clothes were a joke. She was three months old before she could wear her 0-3 months clothes. She didn't move into 3-6 months clothes until she was about 5 months, and she only moved into the 6-9 months clothes at 7 months because her cloth nappies made her bum too big for the smaller trousers.

Goodbye rain mac...

Tomorrow she will be 9 months old... and I've already got a stash of 9-12 months clothes out and ready for her to try on. We've had to abandon several onesies because they're not big enough to be comfortable any more.

Last week we finally had to admit defeat with her lovely yellow rain mac, which was actually 3-6 months, but  lasted her for months and months.

So 9 months is such a big deal because it's the first time she's been big enough to wear the "right" size clothes!

(and yes, I know this is a very short post - the things at the forefront of my mind at the moment are not things I can post about on a public blog)

Things They Don't Tell You About Babies

• You can get your baby into a routine; baby will sleep and feed on a set schedule… just long enough for you to rest on your laurels. Then baby will laugh at you, and piss all over your schedule. Often literally. Repeat ad infinitum. S is 9 months old and still playing this game!

• Remember that hilarious meme about preparing for parenthood? Funny, wasn’t it? A lot of it is true. As S gets older, dressing her takes longer, and often needs to be repeated throughout the day, as she manages to pry her socks loose and remove trousers during nappy changes.

• When they are first born, babies are very cute and cuddly and lovely and all of that – but they are also a bit boring. All they do is feed, sleep, poo and cry; they don’t interact much until they are a little older. At that point, parenting becomes a bit more rewarding.

• Sometimes, babies just cry, and you can’t always figure out the reason. You check their nappy, you offer them milk, you rock them, you cuddle and coo, and still they cry. It might not seem like it, but it’s still worth you sticking around to cuddle them a bit more. I am very lucky that S doesn’t cry much at all; but she does still have days where she’s just a bit sensitive, and the slightest thing will set her off.

• You don’t need money or fancy toys to entertain and engage your baby. I keep S’s clean nappies in a wicker basket, and she will sit and stare at it for ages. At the moment her favourite toy is an empty bottle with some cous cous in it.

• One of the best ways to avoid nappy rash is to just not put a nappy on the baby. I try to have at least half an hour each day where S just lays on her play mat with no nappy on. This also allows her much easier access to her feet, and she finds it easier to move around, roll over etc. She lays on a blanket, so that any little accidents are soaked up and don’t make too much mess.

• In their first few weeks of life, babies usually get acne. They’ve spent 9 months in your uterus in a sterile environment, and now all of a sudden their skin is exposed to the open air and all these germs and things… and they get spots. They don’t look too fantastic, but you can’t (and shouldn’t) do anything about them. Just leave them to clear up on their own, and punch people who make oh-so-hilarious comments about starting puberty early.

• When they are born, babies’ gag reflex is right at the front of their mouths – a clever way Mother Nature devised to ensure newborns don’t swallow anything but milk. As they get older, their gag reflex moves back to allow for foods to be eaten.

• As baby becomes more mobile, there will be at least one face-plant off the bed/sofa/chair. Baby will cry and have a big bruise, and you will feel like the world’s worst parent – but don’t worry, every child does it. Apparently it’s how they learn not to go head first off shit.

• It doesn't matter how often you cut your baby's nails; they will still be razor sharp, baby will still scratch her own face and leave nasty scars, your face/chest/arms will still be shredded by them on a regular basis. And, as an added bonus, often when you attempt to trim said nails, baby will wriggle at the last moment and you will nick their skin, causing a minor cut with a lot of blood and probably tears from both of you.

• Weirdly, though, their toenails hardly ever need cutting.

• When babies are sick on you, it doesn't smell so bad - it's just milk... until they start on solids. Then their sick smells like proper sick. And if you drew the short straw and got a sicky baby, you will smell like sick too.

• They outgrow their clothes like ninjas. There is no warning: one day their clothes fit, the next day you have a fairly urgent shopping trip on your hands. 

• You might think your baby is not able to roll/crawl/walk yet - but never assume anything is safely out of their reach unless it is on a very high shelf. I'm fairly sure ninjas learn their skills from babies: they pretend they can't move, and once your back is turned they're off running around, grabbing at everything they can get until you return. Like that sketch from Little Britain.

• Babies can't see terribly well. Their eyes don't work together very well so they tend to see double, or just blurry lines. That's why we naturally accentuate our expressions when speaking to them, and why they like to look at simple, monochromatic patterns. And faces. They're programmed to like faces.

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Our Week, 31 Dec - 5 January

Monday 31 December
Last day of the year. Celebrated by doing housework. A visit from a dear friend and her three children, and a brief, damp visit to town, and then more housework. Rock and roll.

Tuesday 01 January
Finally, a break in the weather! Celebrated by bundling S into the pushchair and going for a wander around town. Good to get some fresh air and do some thinking. Afternoon spent catching up with an old friend, who enjoyed playing musical instruments with S while we chatted. Brief visit from mother and a family friend, then bed time. Happy New Year.

Wednesday 02 January
Up early to go to a poorly-timed doctor appointment. HYM was supposed to come with me to entertain S while I saw the doctor, but he didn't manage it. Instead, I tried to bounce her on my lap and keep her away from the blood pressure monitor and various other things on the doctor's desk while we discussed various things. Home by 10:30, visit from D, afternoon spent preparing food and playing with noisy toys. There is a lot to be said for noisy toys when you have things in your head you need to be distracted from.

Thursday 03 January
OU tutorial in the morning, where it was confirmed I really need to get my arse in gear and, you know, actually study if I want to complete the module that finishes in two weeks. Then a quick trip to town to pick up bits and bobs, home for some lunch and a visit from a wonderful friend who always brightens our day.

Friday 04 January
Up early for a visit from a truly awesome friend that we really don't see often enough. Especially since he turned up with Costa and croissants, and had driven all the way from Oxford just to say hi for an hour. Friends like this make me wonder why I've ever bothered with all the losers I've put up with in my life! Afternoon visit from two sisters and some nieces, evening spent with youngest sis A and a Chinese.

Saturday 05 January
S up in the night poorly, but slept in late. This is good in that I got some sleep, but bad in that it put her whole schedule out. We do like our schedule. Morning spent cleaning and tidying. Afternoon spent with more of the same; evening spent with HYM.

Am I Really Brilliant?

I had a visit this week from a friend I don't see often. He lives about 70 miles away but drove down stupidly early this morning to have a coffee and a catch-up for an hour or so, before turning around and going back to start work. He even provided the coffee.

This is me on top of a mountain.

When I got sick and went a bit mad, C came to see me a few times. I also went and stayed with him a few times, and he made me climb a mountain with him. Well, we'd agreed to do it before but damn him, he held me to that agreement and although he didn't physically carry me to the top, he definitely carried me mentally. That day was the turning point for me; when I realised I was capable of climbing a mountain I realised perhaps I was capable of life after all, and perhaps things weren't so bad. Since that summer I've not seen him a great deal; we live too far apart, I don't drive, he has a busy life.

When S was born he came down to visit one day. I barely remember him being here, except that S was very small and slept through the entire visit, and I felt bad he'd come to see a baby who wasn't even aware he had been. That was the last time I saw him, until this morning, when he rocked up with coffee and croissants and the kind of bear hug that makes you wonder if perhaps he's trying to kill you. But in a good way. Everyone needs to be squeezed to within an inch of their lives every now and then!

Any way, the point of this post is something C said after he'd left. Because he's one of the few people who saw me at rock bottom, and saw how bad I was before the medication kicked in, he's always taken an interest in how my mental health is, especially now that I'm off the medication (14 months and counting!!). Every time I see him, he asks if I'm still off the meds, and how I'm doing, and tells me he's proud of me for doing such a great job. Sometimes it feels strange to be reminded I was ever on medication, to be reminded of the things he can remember about me - because it all just feels like it must have happened to someone else. Today he texted me saying that S and I both look happy and well, which means I'm doing a brilliant job. I told him that having a baby was the best thing that could have happened for my mental health, because I simply don't have time to sit and be depressed any more. His response was:

I can't believe it took a baby for you to realise how brilliant you are and that you can manage without drugs...

Just lately, there have been a few instances where I've done things I didn't think I could. I cooked Christmas dinner without killing anyone, and people seemed to enjoy it. Visitors over the festive period have commented on the good job I am apparently doing with S, which is always a good thing to hear. I never thought I was capable of keeping a house clean and tidy, or of cooking a proper meal, but I've been doing both of those for a while now. HYM helped a lot in this; the fact someone else ate my food and thought it was ok was a novelty to me, since nobody else had really sampled my cooking before. Also the way he behaved as if he was lucky to be with me was a major confidence boost at a time when I felt like I would probably just go ahead and stay single forever. This blog is a major confidence boost as well - the fact people actually read the bilge I come out with, and then comment on it as if my opinion is of any consequence, really makes me feel pretty good about myself - even when they disagree!

So perhaps I am brilliant. Perhaps I always was, like C said, and I just never knew it until S came along and showed me.

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Tidy House, Tidy Mind.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I'm not the tidiest of people. When I had my last house, I brought a man back one night and he actually gasped; he thought someone had broken in. My general rule was that the washing up didn't need to be done until I'd run out of plates... and paper napkins. Tidying was what you did the day before your landlord came round for a house inspection.

Fast forward a couple of years, and I'm a mother to an almost-mobile baby who is also very inquisitive and a bit of a sneaky ninja... and all of a sudden, I'm cleaning everything, all the time. Ok, so that's a bit of an exaggeration, but I've suddenly become a bit thingie about things being clean and tidy.

When I was cooking Christmas dinner, I actually felt a little uptight about the fact the gravy had splattered over the stove, and had to get a cloth and wipe up around the pan. As soon as we'd finished eating, I was in the kitchen wanting to clear everything up and get the washing up done. Within an hour, the kitchen was clean, and the hob was sparkling. I have no idea what has happened to me.

I get a weird sense of satisfaction from having S's toys all put back in place on her play mats once she's gone to bed, from folding the high chair away and sweeping up the crumbs from beneath it, from having a shiny white hob and clear kitchen sides.  Since my living room floor was laid, I've been very particular about making sure the living room is clean and tidy, and the rest of the house looks good. 

I've always seen clutter-clearing and general cleaning as linked to what is going on in my head. I tend to clean and tidy when I'm re-ordering my thoughts, and throw things out when I'm mentally discarding things I want to let go of. I'm a great believer that a person's living space reflects their mental state: at the old house, when it was so messy and untidy you could barely see the floor in my living room, that was right before I had a nervous breakdown and nearly killed myself.

Since moving in here, the place has been fairly messy for large chunks of time, and I wasn't always particularly bothered by it. I guess you could say I had bigger fish to fry, finding my feet as a single mother. For the last couple of months though, and more noticeably since I met HYM, I'm quite particular about the place being clean and tidy. I'm not some sort of weirdo who has to put everything away just-so with no trace of life in the house, but I like for everything to have its place. I'm slowly making my way around the house, moving furniture, putting pictures up, throwing out things I don't use, making the place easier to keep clean. I think at the same time, I'm letting go of a lot of the junk I've been storing in my head, and moving on with my life. Slowly but surely, both my house and my mind are starting to become more organised and less cluttered with junk and rubbish. Everything has its place and can be put back where it belongs when it's finished with. And everything can be clean, and look clean and tidy when I'm finished.

Perhaps, at the ripe old age of thirty-one, I'm finally dealing with my issues too. Slowly, but surely.

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Wordless Wednesday: Festive Shenanigans