Thursday 28 February 2013

Motherhood, Day 1.

premature newborn with nasal feeding tube and cannula
My beautiful girl, less than 24 hours old.
This post follows on from my birth story, which can be found here and here...

I woke up on the ward in the morning with people bustling around me... my baby was still asleep. Someone brought me some toast for breakfast.  A lovely lady came to see me with an electric pump, and showed me how to use it. She said every time they fed my baby through the tube, I should use the pump. Even if nothing came out, it was important to do it every feed, to ensure my milk came in and had a good supply. She showed me an article in a magazine with different positions to hold a baby in for breastfeeding.

Someone came to feed S, but they didn't get on very well with the tube so a nurse from NICU came down. Someone told me I was lucky that NICU were allowing me to keep S on the ward with me. I didn't understand what they meant, but found out later that because S had been premature, and needed feeding via tube every 3 hours, she was under NICU's care rather than regular post-natal care. They could have had her on NICU from day one, if they had wanted to. I'm so glad they didn't, as I'm not sure I would have coped with that at all.

On that first day, a nurse called Kit came down from NICU to feed S. She told me I should take S's too-big clothes off her, and put her under my shirt against my naked chest. I was terrified; surely she would be too cold if I did that? Kit said, no, in NICU they had all mothers do this; it's called Kangaroo care, and it's encouraged for bonding. I took my bra off, and lay S on my chest. Suddenly I felt a lot more calm. I stayed sitting like this on my bed, until Kit came back 3 hours later for the next feed. We were going to try and have S against my breast while the formula was fed through the tube, to get her used to the idea of where a full tummy came from - but at that point the ex turned up with his 6 children. I could hear them coming down the ward, him hissing at them under his breath to behave themselves.  Kit said we could just tube feed her this time, and worry about the breastfeeding next time. She let the younger children help her, holding the tube and the syringe for the milk, and then she left.They had been shopping in TK Maxx and I was handed a huge bag of clothes: some oversized t shirts for me, and lots of baby clothes that were all way too big for my tiny little baby. His eldest son had carried my backpack in too - it contained my laptop and my OU coursebook. I cannot remember whether I asked for this, or if it was just decided unilaterally that I should study whilst in hospital so as not to fall behind. The children took turns in holding S and having their photo taken. One of them perched on the end of my bed, and accidentally rustled a plastic bag that was laying there. He was immediately told off, and made to move. He sat on the floor against the wall, his head in his hands, and cried. Once all the children had taken a turn holding S, and had their photo taken with me with S, the ex held her for a little while. And then they all left again, just as my mother turned up.

She sat next to my bed and I told her briefly about my labour. I said that I couldn't understand how anyone ever went through it without another birthing partner, as my sister in law had been an absolute godsend. Her response was, "I went through it on my own; your dad only came to one of my births!" She asked me if I thought I would have another baby, and I said I couldn't imagine doing that again. She told me it was easier with bigger babies. I don't remember what else she said; she didn't stay long.

S had done a poo in her nappy but I was scared to change it so I went and got the nice lady who had shown me how to use the pump. She came and helped me change the nappy, but just as we were finishing the ex's mother turned up, with her partner and mother. I'd never met the ex's grandmother before. I'd only met his mother and her partner a couple of times. But they wanted to inspect the latest addition to their family - and that's what it was really, an inspection. They gave me presents - more babygros that wouldn't fit. While they were there, my sister arrived with her boyfriend and my brother and sister in law. I was so glad to see them, and relieved I didn't have to survive the ex's family visiting on my own. Nobody had warned me they would be coming or asked if I minded. I guess they don't when you have a new baby; it's a free for all isn't it. We all sat in the visiting area and S was passed around while people oooh-ed and aaaaah-ed over her skin, her eyes, her hair. The ex's mother started talking about piercing her ears. She was less than 24 hours old and I wanted to scream at her she was not touching my baby's ears. They made a big deal of counting up how many great-grandchildren the older lady had now. Then they left, finally. That was the only time S's great-grandmother has set eyes on her, and the only time her grandmother held her. My family stayed a little longer and took turns holding S, which was nice. It was good to be around familiar people with whom I felt comfortable after such a hectic 24 hours full of strangers.

That first day, I was too scared and self-conscious to try and use the breast pump, so it just sat there in the corner beside my bed. The NICU nurses came down and fed S formula through her feeding tube every 3 hours. I was in a daze and felt very lonely. There were visiting hours twice a day, but partners were allowed on the ward all day until about 9pm. All the other mothers were on their beds with their partners, surrounded by flowers and balloons, but in our bay it was just me and S. I pulled the curtain around us and sat and watched my little girl. When I went to sleep, I moved right down the bed so that I was next to the crib and could see her.

The next part of the story is here.

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Wednesday 27 February 2013

Wordless Wednesday - Which one?

Today's Wordless Wednesday comes with a question: If you were getting a photograph framed, which of these would you choose?


baby with tongue poking out smiling mum

cheeky smiling baby and mum

cheeky baby stole mum's glasses


Please post your answer (1, 2 or 3) in the comments.

Tuesday 26 February 2013

My Birth Story, Part 2.

This post follows on from Part 1 here.

tiny premature newborn with vernix
S, shortly after her birth

I woke up at 1am; my contractions had started again. The midwife came in and made sure the monitors were in the right place to pick up the heartbeat and contractions, and told me to call if I needed anything. Between then and 7am, I dozed in between contractions. After three days without sleep, a chest infection, ridiculous amounts of stress and a dose of codein, I literally couldn't stay awake between contractions. I would wake with the pain, clench my fists and count to ten (or fifteen, or twenty, or more), and then go back to sleep. I was scared to call or text anyone to tell them what was happening, least of all the ex; I didn't want to wake him if he was sleeping. At 7am I could wait no longer and texted him, hoping he would come back. He did, but not until after 10am, by which point I had been moved to the labour room. He got there just as they gave me the gel to induce me because my contractions weren't moving quickly enough.

My sister in law had agreed to be my birthing partner, and I texted to tell her I was definitely having the baby today. She said to let her know when I was x amount of centimetres dilated and she would come. I hadn't realised how quickly the contractions would escalate once I had been induced, and suddenly it was very uncomfortable. I texted and asked her to come sooner, and my sister gave her a lift. I was so relieved when she arrived; I knew the ex would behave himself if there was someone else there, and that my sister in law would soon kick him into touch if he was horrible.

All my pain was in the front of my belly, like period pains. Whenever I had a contraction the ex would rub my back furiously, like he was trying to rub a stain out of a carpet. I found it off-putting, and uncomfortable but it took me over an hour to pluck up the courage to ask him to please not do that. His response was "why am I not allowed to touch you?" and I had to let him rub my leg instead. The midwife, Joy, brought me a TENS machine and showed me how to use it to manage the pain. She told me to use it sparingly, and try to make it last as long as possible. I was still tied up to the monitors to keep an eye on the baby's heartbeat, but we found a way that I could sit on my knees on the floor, and lean my arms on one of those gym balls. I managed to eke the TENS machine out until 3pm, when Joy was due to come back from her break. I was counting the seconds until she came back, and had it turned up as high as it would go by that point. When I had a contraction I would lean my arms on the gym ball and the TENS machine made them wobble. My sister in law asked if I realised they were doing it and I said, yes, it's taking my mind off the pain to focus on my arms wobbling!

When Joy came back she checked and told me I was 10cm dilated, and could have gas and air if I wanted. I lay back on the bed and for a while I had the Entonox as well as the TENS. This turned out to be a bad idea, as for days afterwards every time I was on the edge of sleep I could feel the TENS machine buzzing on my back again.

At some point my friend S and her partner B turned up. They sat in the corner of the room and made conversation. My sister in law sat at the foot of the bed and held my feet so I could push against her when I had a contraction. The ex sat beside the bed. Having S and B there was a godsend; they all chatted amongst themselves and I quietly had my contractions and listened to what they were talking about. It was a good distraction, especially when, at the end of one contraction, S started to sing, Badger Badger Badger Badger...

At one point Joy had come in to check on me, and I had a really bad contraction; it just didn't seem to stop. I was almost crying from the pain, and had my eyes closed. I heard a lot of movement, and a voice I didn't recognise asked me to lay on my left side. Then they moved me to my right side. I opened my eyes and there were blue scrubs everywhere. I had the Entonox mouthpiece in my mouth, and as I looked up to the monitor I realised it was not registering a heartbeat. I saw my sister in law standing behind it, with an expression I had never seen before, and I began to cry. My sister in law does not shock easily; she told me later that she was almost in tears when that happened.

I was so scared, and it hurt so much. I have no idea what happened next, but eventually it stopped, and a doctor was sitting on the bed telling me that they were going to put a clip on the baby's head so that they could keep a better track of its heartbeat. I nodded that I understood, and she did it and left. Later, the ex told me that my body had squeezed my baby so hard, her heart had stopped beating and I had almost killed her. I didn't realise this was not true until months later, when my health visitor (already shown to be a legend here) told me that no, in all likelihood either the baby had moved away from the monitor, or the fact my uterus was contracting just meant the sensors couldn't sense anything through the muscle. Until that conversation with my health visitor, I believed I had almost killed my own child.

They were about to hook me back up to the monitors again, but I needed the toilet so the ex and the midwife helped me to the toilet. While I was in there, I was sick into a bowl Joy was holding. I was so embarrassed, and asked her, "is it maybe the gas and air making me sick?" She chuckled and said, "no, it's labour dear." Nobody had told me there would be vomit involved! I had two contractions in the bathroom, with no pain relief. It hurt. When they'd got me back onto the bed and hooked up to the monitors again, S and B came back into the room; they'd been sent out when the midwife called for help earlier. S was crying and for some reason she was holding my pants! I was mortified. They stayed a while longer, but the contractions were getting too painful and I didn't want them to see me in this much pain so I asked them to go and wait in the waiting room. 

I remember asking the midwife, there must be something else I can have for the pain, isn't there something else? My appointment to make my birthing plan with the midwife was the next week; I'd not been through any of this, hadn't been to any birthing classes and was totally unprepared. She offered me pethidine, but my sister in law had told me bad things about that. While I was trying to decide, I had another contraction, and the discussion was forgotten.

Joy told me that the baby was now trying to get "round the bend" in the birthing canal, and would be out soon. She put my right foot on her hip, and had the ex stand opposite her with my left foot on his hip. My sister in law stood beside me, holding my hand. Joy checked and said I still had a little lip of cervix in the way, and should lay on my left side and not push for a little while. I told her, "I don't know how to not push; I wasn't doing it deliberately to start with!" I remember the ex being on the phone to his babysitter, who was pregnant herself. I shouted at him to get off the phone to her because if she heard me shouting she would freak out. The ex's mother and my mother both kept calling our mobiles, and after a while when neither of us answered they both called the ward. The first time an assistant came into the room and said, "Vicky's mum called, she says hi." then they came back to say the ex's mother had called and could he call when he got a minute. I shouted, ,"what the F**K do they think we're doing in here?!" 

I lay on my side for a few contractions, thinking, any minute now someone will come in and tell me I can't possibly do this, they'll take me for a C Section and I won't have to do this. Later, the ex told me that the lip of cervix that had been left was because of my ridiculous insistence on always sleeping on my left side from very early in pregnancy. He'd always told me I was being deliberately difficult when I didn't want to sleep on my back or my right side, and he believed it was my stubbornness that had caused this problem during my labour. At the time, I remember thinking that my cervix clearly hadn't moved because one night last week, I had been so desperate for sleep I had rolled onto my right side and slept for twenty minutes in that position. Either way, it was my fault!

It must have been 8pm by this point, because the shift changed over. Joy left, and a lady called Sue came in. They moved me onto my back, and I began pushing again. 

I remember the radio was on, playing a local station who were doing "great Number 1s" for the Easter bank holiday. A Coldplay song came on, and I took the Entonox out of my mouth and declared, "no child of mine is being born to this!" The midwife laughed and looked to the ex, who told her "no, she's serious; she hates them." We all sat there in uncomfortable silence until the song finished; I didn't have any contractions until the song was over.

I remember squeezing my sister in law's hand every time I had a contraction, and feeling bad that I was probably hurting her. I felt like my body was being lifted off the bed with the pressure of each contraction, and I made some very odd noises. It stung a bit, but it was more pressure than pain really. My sister in law said to me, "the head's out, do you want to feel it?" and then I felt the baby's body come out. It was all a blur; the midwife lifted my baby up and lay it on my belly. I asked, "what is it?" and she held her up so I could see I had a little girl. I was so relieved.  It was 8:21pm and St Elmo's Fire was playing on the radio. Infinitely more agreeable than Coldplay. (St Elmo's Fire is now "our song" and whenever it comes on the radio we dance to it together)

I looked up and the ex was on the phone to his mother, telling her it was a girl, and that he'd been really scared. I thought, but you never showed me, you made me feel like I had to pretend not to be scared because it was nothing to make a fuss about. He told her he had to go because he had to cut the cord. I lay there with this tiny baby laying on me, with no idea what to do next. I don't remember whether he kissed me or told me "well done" or any of the things you would expect.

They weighed her and checked her over, then gave her back to me. My sister in law told me S and B were still in the waiting room, and my sister Z was with them; could she go and get them? I panicked and said no; the room looked like a scene from a horror movie, and if my sister ever saw this she would never have children! I insisted we clean up before anyone came in. They sat me in a chair and changed the bed sheets, then put me back on the bed with my baby. I don't remember much else; I know people came and went, photos were taken, and the doctors put a cannula in her arm to give her antibiotics because she'd been inside of me for more than 24 hours after my waters went.

Everyone but the ex left, and the midwife said they would take me to the ward soon. The ex told me to have a shower, so I did. When I got out he said to try and see if she would breastfeed, but she didn't; she was asleep. I felt like a failure. I later realised that if you want to breastfeed, it's better not to have a shower straight after giving birth. The midwife came in and asked if I wanted a wheelchair to take me to the ward. I knew that would be classed as making a fuss, and I wasn't allowed to do that, so I said no thank you, and walked very slowly and unsteadily up to the ward behind the fish bowl carrying my baby, all wrapped in blankets because none of the clothes I'd packed in my hospital bag for her would fit her tiny body.

I remember the ex telling me, they'll probably keep you in for a few days now, because she was early. Until this point, I had always been of the opinion, "it's just birth, it's no big deal; I'll have the baby and be home by lunch time." (I think in hindsight, this was more his opinion than mine, but I was very gung-ho about it nonetheless) But I found that actually the thought of being kept in hospital for a couple of days was a huge relief. I was off the hook for unpacking my new flat for a few days; I didn't have to worry about finding my own meals for a while, and most importantly, I was off the hook for babysitting duty for the ex's kids - and it wasn't my fault. I couldn't be blamed for it... or so I thought. I found out later that the ex had told people I deliberately went into labour five weeks early, because I had a chest infection and wanted to be able to take medication for it that I couldn't take if I was pregnant. Quite why nobody punched him in the face when he told them this, I will never know. Who accuses a woman of that? Who believes something like that?!

As soon as we got to the ward the ex left. He literally walked into the ward, saw where my bed would be, and said "right, I'm off" and turned around. It was after midnight and dark on the ward. They put my baby next to my bed, and I sat on the end of it, unsure what I was supposed to do. I was a mother now; what do mothers do? A doctor came down and checked her over for reflexes; I remember him saying "you might not want to watch this, some parents find it disturbing." I didn't look away; I didn't really register what he was doing.

A nurse from NICU came down and asked if my baby had breastfed. I said no. She asked if she had tried and I said no, she was asleep. She asked me if my milk was in and I said I didn't think so. She put a tube up the baby's nose, and asked if I had a preference for formula. I said I'd no idea, so she said she would put her on Cow & Gate. Then she left and I was on my own again. Now my baby had a massive bandage on her arm, and a tube in her nose. I was even more scared to touch her. She began to cry, but I was scared to pick her up; I thought I might hurt her or dislodge the cannula or something. A maternity assistant came in and said, should I take her up to the nurses station for a cuddle, and you can have a sleep? I said ok, and she left with my baby. I lay down and fell asleep straight away.

When I woke up later, my baby was next to me again. I sat up to look at her, in a daze. Every single thing in my life had changed in 24 hours. I poked at my belly; it was no longer full and hard, but squidgy, like jelly in a deflated balloon. I kept thinking, that's my baby. My daughter. She's mine. I'm a mum. It didn't sink in. I don't think it really sank in for a good few months. I was well and truly shell-shocked, and things were going to get a lot more difficult before they showed any sign of getting easier.

I know I promised you all there was a happy ending... unfortunately for me and S, that ending didn't come for a while. But trust me when I tell you, we are making our own happy ending now, just the two of us!

The story continues here.
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Monday 25 February 2013

My Birth Story, Part 1

Mum with Premature Newborn


S was due on 13th May, 2012.

On Easter weekend then, at the beginning of April, I wasn't expecting much excitement past eating my body weight in chocolate. I'd had a bad cough, and not slept much. On the Saturday afternoon I sat on the bed with the ex to watch a TV show on iPlayer. I ended up falling asleep. The ex went to cook dinner, and brought me a plate of food. I felt like death though, and couldn't force down more than a couple of mouth-fulls before going back to sleep. This was the wrong thing to do, and sparked one of our many non-rows where I was told "you're being a dick again." I was playing control games by refusing to eat the food he'd cooked for me. He went and slept downstairs, leaving me in a blind panic. What if he kicked me out (again) in the morning? I had just moved into a flat where I didn't even have curtains yet. Or a cooker. I had only just unpacked enough of my stuff to allow me to spend a night there. What if he abandoned me again? I'd only just got him back after the last scare, where he'd gone and found a new girlfriend. I knew he'd got another girl pregnant too; what if he just ditched me and my baby, and replaced us with them? What would I do? How would I cope? I begged him to come to bed, but he refused to even look at me. I lay in bed panicking about what would happen next.

I woke up at 5am to go to the toilet. When I came back to bed, as I lay back I felt something leak out. "You stupid cow," I said to myself, "you've not been doing your pelvic floors, and now it's too late and you've peed yourself in someone else's bed!" I went back to the bathroom to make sure my bladder really was empty. When I came back though, the same thing happened. I went back and forth to the bathroom a few times before it dawned on me - this is not pee. Shit! I didn't know what to do, so I crept downstairs. "babe..."
"what?"
"I'm leaking, and it's not pee."
"go back to bed, there's nothing you can do."
I did as I was told; I didn't know what else to do.

At around 9am he came up the stairs and told me, "if you're that worried about it, call the midwife." By this point I was getting pains in my stomach. I didn't know what contractions felt like, but this felt like period pains, every few minutes. I called the midwife, expecting her to tell me it was perfectly normal, and not to worry. The midwife told me to call the hospital. I called the ward, expecting them to tell me it was nothing to worry about. I wanted to be told there was nothing to worry about. But they told me I should come to the hospital, and I began to cry. I was told off for crying. I told him we needed to go to the hospital. He told me to have a bath first. I didn't want a bath, I wanted to go to the hospital. I was in labour, five weeks early with my first child. I had no idea what was going on, and I was petrified. But I did as I was told, and took a bath. He came into the bathroom with me, sat with his back against the door and watched me. He told me I should take my time, stay in there at least an hour. I usually had to spend at least an hour in the bath. He usually washed my back and stomach for me; I had a rash from pregnancy that he believed was caused by my not washing properly so he scrubbed me with antibacterial washing up liquid to get me clean. Today I was spared that though. I washed and got out as quickly as possible, and went downstairs.

He still made no effort to find someone to look after his six children, despite my pleading with him. I sat at the kitchen table, ordered to eat some breakfast. I tried to force down a pear while chaos raged around me. It was Easter day and he was sending his children off around the estate to deliver eggs to family and friends, organising who was to have which egg. In the end I told him not to worry; I would call my sister and ask her to take me to the hospital. This got his attention: my sister wasn't to take me; his sister was going to take both of us. I asked him to please call her then, but he didn't. It was gone midday before we left for the hospital.

In the hospital they took blood from my wrist and put a cannula in. It hurt, and I had to take off the watch my dad gave me for my 21st birthday. The ex put it in his pocket and I was petrified he wouldn't let me have it back. They gave me some codeine; I'm not sure whether that was to stop the contractions or help with my coughing, but it did both. They put monitors on my belly to track the baby's heart beat and my contractions. Both kept moving though, so they weren't really very useful. A male doctor came to examine me, and as he bent down I had a coughing fit and lots of water gushed everywhere. I was mortified; something I got over fairly quickly over the next 36 hours.

My contractions had stopped, and the midwife wasn't sure what they were going to do with me, they were waiting for a doctor to come round. The ex was annoyed; he'd got a babysitter, and he wanted this baby out. He actually said it in that way too. To him this trip to the hospital had been like a trip to the supermarket to pick up a tin of beans.

He asked the midwife if we could go for a little walk and they said that was fine. I put my coat on, and off we went. My local hospital is on a hill, and the grounds are... hilly. I was exhausted from not sleeping, petrified I was going to lose my baby, and suffering with a fairly bad chest infection, coughing and spluttering all over the place. He decided we should walk around the grounds, quickly, to get the contractions going again. So off we went, him always 2 paces ahead of me and impatient with my stopping and begging for rest. I stopped and sat on a wall for a few minutes, coughing up all sorts into the gutter. He stopped a few feet up the road and turned around, exacerbated. Eventually, we went to the hospital cafe and he bought me a sandwich and some pear drops. I felt too sick to eat but knew I couldn't waste the food he'd bought so I forced the sandwich down and walked carefully back to the ward. 

On shows like One Born Every Minute you see the woman laying in a bed while the man sits on a chair next to her, holding her hand and telling her everything will be fine. That didn't happen. He paced around the room, sometimes stopping to lean against the far wall and stare at me as if he hoped to re-start my contractions by staring alone. He left soon after we got back to the ward, telling me he couldn't leave the children with the babysitter any longer. The next day was Monday, and he was scheduled to work. He told me he would go to work in the morning, and if I was still here when he finished at 2:30, he'd come to see me afterwards. I said ok, because I knew I had to be ok with it, but I cried when he had gone. I'd never spent a night in hospital before; I was scared and I didn't know what was going to happen. I texted a friend to let her know I was in the hospital. She asked who was with me and I said nobody. She told me she would come and spend the night with me until the ex came back; I shouldn't go through this alone. I balked at this; if he came back and found her here, he would be angry at me for showing him up, making him look like a bad boyfriend. I told her not to worry, I was fine on my own and the contractions had stopped; I would just go to sleep. 

The doctor came in at 10pm and told me that because my waters had gone there was too much risk of infection to let me go home, so if my contractions didn't start again overnight they would induce me in the morning. I was relieved; I was too scared to go home now my waters had gone. I was scared to stay and have the baby too though. They gave me more codeine, and I fell asleep.

The story continues here...

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Thursday 21 February 2013

In Praise of my Health Visitor.

naked newborn peeping out from under pink blanket


I first met my health visitor when S was about 3 weeks old. J seemed ok. Nice, even. By that point I had been in hospital for 2 weeks, and had midwives poking and prodding at me all day every day. When we came home my only thought was to get the community midwife off my back. She had been with me throughout my pregnancy, and had me crying on her shoulder more times than I care to remember. She spoke to me on the phone for hours at a time about my relationship with S's father, and tried to help me to see sense. She knew him, had dealt with him before, and had nothing good to say about him. He knew her too, though, and told me she was a man-hating bitch who had it in for him. I was in a difficult position having her around. He was present every time she visited, and it was not wise for me to get on with her, agree with anything she said, or even make conversation. I was relieved when she discharged us, even though I knew I owed her a lot.

So I was glad when J turned up. She'd never met me before, she'd never met the ex before. Because it was difficult for me to get out of the house with S at the time, and because she knew I was still feeling a bit delicate, she agreed to come out to the house to weigh S every few days. The first couple of times, the ex was here. He stood in the corner of the room, watching the conversation and butting in whenever he knew better than what I or the health visitor was saying. She politely allowed him to say what he was saying, and then carried on talking to me. The second time she came, she asked how I was and I burst into tears. Proper, uncontrollable, shoulder-heaving sobs. I was exhausted from having looked after the ex's 6 children the previous night, paranoid about missing one of S's 3-hourly feeds, and constantly on edge that I may say or do the wrong thing where the ex was concerned. As J tried to calm me down and explained I needed to look after myself a bit better, the ex stood on the other side of the room with a blank expression, watching me cry. I knew I was in trouble for crying. To him, crying was a way of manipulating people, gaining sympathy and making him look bad. As J left that day, I heard her saying to the ex, "she's doing a great job, you need to tell her that more often, and support her." he vaguely agreed with her and closed the door. When he came back into the room he didn't mention my crying, my fears or my insecurities. He didn't tell me I was doing a job, and I knew that was because he didn't think I was.

On our next visit, the ex wasn't there. By this point he wasn't really bothering to visit us much. I told J that he expected me to be spending 3 or more days a week at his house, looking after him and his children as well as my newborn baby, and that I didn't feel I could do it. He wanted me to paint his kitchen while the kids were at school and he was at work. I told her I'd had the children overnight and it had nearly driven me mad; I didn't want to do it again but was scared to tell him. She told me to ask him for a couple of weeks' grace to get used to my new responsibilities. She said if he didn't like it, to tell him she had told me not to go to his house for a while, and to give him her number; she would speak to him if he had a problem. 

A couple of days later, the ex stormed out in a fit of childish self-obsession, and I was left on my own. I knew this time he would probably not come back, and I was petrified. I told him what J had said, about not going to his house for a couple of weeks. He refused to call and speak to her, as I had clearly already told her a bunch of lies about him and made him look bad. As if she knew it had happened, J called to see how we were. I bawled down the phone to her for half an hour about how I didn't know what to do. She agreed to come out and see us. At first, I was technically still with the ex. He let me stew over a long weekend, refusing to take my calls and sending strange messages about how I was pushing him away. J told me if I wanted, I could invite him to come to her next visit, and she would try and help us work through our problems. I relayed this to the ex and he refused point blank; I had already turned her against him with my poisonous lies; why would he come and listen to more of it.

For the next couple of weeks, either J or her nursery nurse came out to see S and I every other day. I was in a mess, convinced I couldn't do any of this on my own, until J said to me, "But you already are.Who changes her nappies? Who has always fed her? Who has always dressed her? Who has always laid her down for her naps?" I was still not convinced, but I realised that I had done 99% of it on my own up to this point any way, so why worry about the 1%.

Over a short period of time, J's attitude went from "don't worry, you can do this on your own" to "you do not have to have any contact with this man; you do not have to let him into your house; you do not have to speak when you see him in the street," to "if you take your child into that house, knowing what you have told me about it, I will call Social Services because I have a responsibility to keep your child safe." That was more than enough persuasion for me; I've never even been near the house since.

By this time I was going to appointments at J's weekly clinic, and left one week with a list in the front of S's red book: 1. call police and make formal statement. 2. call childrens' centre and ask about Freedom Programme. 3. Change phone number. I was reluctant to do any of those three things; I felt if I spoke to the police he would find out and it would make things worse. I didn't think I fit the criteria for the Freedom Programme; I hadn't been beaten up, just treated a bit badly by a man who clearly had issues of his own that weren't his fault. I didn't want to change my number because it would make him angry if he couldn't contact me. But she had written these things down. I knew she would check with me next time, whether I had done them. So I did all three. And I'm fairly sure they saved my sanity, if not my life.

Suddenly, no more calls or texts telling me I was a bad mother, or that I had to allow him to bring his children to my house to visit S. No texts to say I was evil for keeping S away from her family. I made a statement to the police, shaking the whole way through. I waited for him to somehow magically find out, and come and break in and punish me for it, but he didn't. I went to the Freedom Programme, feeling like a fraud, guilty that I was making a big fuss over nothing... and found that actually, I did belong there and they could help me. Every week I sneaked into the meeting, and sneaked home afterwards, petrified he would find out I was going there and... well I didn't know what he would do but I knew it wouldn't be good. I shook throughout every session, petrified of opening my mouth about what I had experienced, but finding that I needed to tell someone, needed to get it out. He never found out; he never came to exact his revenge on me.

Every time I saw J, she asked how we were, whether we'd had any contact with him. When I wavered and said I could perhaps let him see S at his work, or in a public place, or perhaps have him in the house from time to time, she kept me strong, asking me - can you guarantee he won't hurt you or your child? Can you guarantee he won't just pick her up and walk away? You've told me you were scared he would do this before, has anything changed? She reminded me why I was staying away, and kept me strong. She told me I was doing well, that S was developing fabulously, especially since she was premature. She told me not to listen to this or that person who had put doubts in my head. She told me not to worry about the ex's threats to take me to court; she would happily stand up in court and explain why she had advised me to keep my child away from him.

When S's father left, he had already mentally beaten me into submission. He had spent my entire pregnancy ensuring I would do as I was told when she was born, and he had done a good job. I was broken, petrified of being alone with a child I didn't think I deserved or could cope with. He had told me repeatedly I was not emotionally or financially stable enough to look after a child, and I had believed him. He told me I had Asperger's, that I would raise my child to be picky and difficult and scared of everything and weak and sickly and unable to make friends. I believed all of it. If J had not been there to pick me up, dust me off, and remind me I had to keep my child safe from what I knew was a dangerous situation, I don't know what would have happened, and I don't much like to think about it. 

When I tell people that my health visitor saved my life, I don't mean it in an over the top, exaggerated, "OMG!!!!" sort of way. I really mean it. Literally.

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If you enjoyed this post you may also enjoy reading my Birth Story.

Monday 18 February 2013

Geeky Things You May Not Know About Babies and Children

For today's blog post, I am going to write about some of the parts of my coursework I've found interesting so far. This is partly so that I can ensure I've actually learned the topic, since there's an exam at the end of the module.


  • You know the game where you hide a coin in one of your hands, and have a child guess which hand it's in? You can play that with a child... but until the age of around 5 a child cannot play it with you. Until this point in their development, they think everyone knows the same things, so they don't understand that you don't just know where the coin is.
  • If you show a five-year-old two identical balls of plasticine, you can agree they have the same amount of plasticine in both... but if you roll one out into a sausage shape, your five-year-old will most likely think the sausage has more plasticine than the ball. By the time they reach six or seven, children are able to see that there is the same amount of plasticine in each ball, even if one is moulded into a different shape.
  • Similarly, if you show your five-year-old two beakers containing the same amounts of water, and agree they contain the same amount of water... if the contents of one is poured into a wider beaker the five-year-old will tell you one of the beakers now contains more water than the other.
  • BUT if you have your two matching beakers, and say "oh dear, this one has a chip in it, we'd better swap it for that one" before you pour the water into a different-shaped container, your five-year-old can usually follow this and will agree both beakers still contain the same amount of water. The first one was an abstract concept and a bit pointless, but the second one contextualises the change of beaker; there's a reason for it so the child understands it better.
  • Babies are born with arguably better hearing than adults. They are able to distinguish between sounds that adults hear as the same. You know how Japanese speakers sound funny speaking English, saying "velly" rather than "very?" It's because in Japanese they don't have a distinction between those sounds. Japanese babies are born perfectly capable of hearing the difference between the two sounds, but as they grow up and learn their native language, they lose the ability to hear differences they don't need to hear on a regular basis. This is why you can hear a friend speaking Spanish on holiday, and they sound fluent to you - you can hear no difference between what they're saying and the Spanish person they're speaking to replies - but the Spanish person can hear a bad English accent in the Spanish that sounds so... Spanish to you!
  • Although their ears are in full working order when they are born, babies eyes are far from 100% at this stage. Or rather, their eyes themselves are fully developed but the part that picks up the image and then relays it to the brain is not so fantastic. Because of this babies can't see a lot - and we don't know how much, because a 2-day-old infant isn't fantastic at saying "yeah I can see it but it's a bit blurry..." We do know that they can't see fine details, and that they prefer to look at human faces. They are also able to distinguish between their parents' faces and those of strangers, from very early on.
  • Babies also prefer to look at simple, symmetrical patterns with curved lines. Remember in this post where I said I'd made some simple pictures on postcards and stuck them on the wall for S? Turns out science agrees with me. That doesn't happen very often.
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Friday 15 February 2013

Ways to Make Mummy Really Happy

cheeky baby argues with a slipper

  • When she gives you peanut butter on toast, wipe the peanut butter off with your hands, and hide it in your hair. And up your nose. She'll never find it there... until it's too late.
  • Mummy loves a great big cuddle. They're even better if you leave a bit of snot or food on her clothes as a lasting memory of your love. If she has clean clothes on, even better. Don't ever let her go out the door without a cuddle! Especially if it's to somewhere important.
  • Even better than a normal cuddle - a cuddle around the knees! You can stealthily leave some snot and/or food on her legs, and she might never find it!
  • The best way to wake a mummy in the morning is by scratching her eyelid and cheek. Her first words every morning should be "bloody hell, we need to cut those nails today!"
  • Mummies love to practise nappy changing. Wait for her to give you a lovely clean nappy before doing your biggest, smelliest poo in it. What a treat to be able to change your nappy twice in five minutes!
  • Always wait until Mummy goes out of the room to fling yourself head first at something not designed for babies. There's no fun in doing it if she might see what you're up to and stop you.
  • Make like you're going to cuddle her... but headbut her in the nose instead. When her eyes water and she looks like she's in a bit of pain, laugh. She'll love that.
  • Mummies love to be interrupted when they're on the phone. Especially if they've been on hold for an age, and finally got through to a real person. Now is the time to: fall over and start wailing; throw your toys at her (aim for the head); crawl over to her and start wiping your snotty nose on her knees; try and grab the phone off her so you can press the buttons on it.
  • Never, ever let your mummy wipe your nose with a tissue. She pretends she wants to, but really what she wants is for you to sneak up when she least expects it and leave a big bogie on her clothes somewhere. Extra points if she doesn't see it, and someone else has to point it out to her.
  • The best time to blow a raspberry is when Mummy has just put a spoonful of food into your mouth. mummies love it when their outfit is redesigned with little orange specks. Especially if it makes it onto their face and neck as well. Mummies love finding food in their eyebrows two hours after feeding time... especially if they've just spent 20 minutes having a grown-up conversation with someone they wanted to impress.
The best part about this post is that all of these things really do make me happy. Even when I'm covered in baby food.

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If you enjoyed this post, you may also like:
Sling Talk
How to Tell if You Need More Sleep
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Wednesday 13 February 2013

Wordless Wednesday - My Beautiful Girl

cheeky baby poking her tongue out

I've had a rough few days, and it doesn't look like it'll improve any time soon... but this face always makes me smile. I know the hard work is worth it.

Tuesday 12 February 2013

Bad Day.

Today, I don't want to be a single mother any more. Today, I'm stamping my feet and having a tantrum. I've had enough.

cartoon child having a tantrum

Today, I just want a husband/boyfriend/partner to turn around and go "aw babe, you're knackered, go and take a nap and I'll look after S." Past experience tells me how completely unlikely this is to ever happen though; I had a boyfriend at Christmas and not once did he say this. Even S's father never said it when he was here, and she's his child. 
Today I want to tell everyone who complains they're tired to just STFU because they really have no idea.
Today, I want to turn round to all my non-single mother friends and say to them, every single time your partner has held the baby, fed the baby, changed the baby's nappy, taken the baby out, made you a drink, given you a kiss and a hug... Imagine how you would have coped if they had not done that.

Logically, I know that most of my friends are alone with their child for large chunks of time, as their partner works during the day, so they do the bulk of the childcare any way.
Logically, I know that I am just over-tired and will feel better once I get some rest.
Logically, I know that being on our own is the best thing for S and I right now because I could never trust an outsider to come in here and take care of her, and I don't have the time to maintain a relationship.

But I'm just so tired. I can't think straight, I have a permanent headache. There is no proper food in the house because I can't make my brain function for long enough to walk around the supermarket and pick up anything of any use. I don't have the energy to get something for myself once I've fed S. I want to ask for help but realistically, who can I ask? There are very few people I trust with S and even if I did, what I really need is for someone to be here all night looking after a teething baby while I sleep. If there's no chance of her own father ever offering to do such a thing, why would anyone else do it?

Yes, I'm feeling very negative and fed up today. But I feel that I'm entitled to a bit of self pity, under the current circumstances.

Sunday 10 February 2013

Sunday Morning Smiles

happy baby cuddles with mummy

We've had a fairly difficult couple of days. S is teething, and she's none too pleased about it. The past two nights have largely involved tears and pleading as both of us tried desperately to get to sleep. We are both knackered and fed up with it now.

BUT S is a baby, and a happy one at that. Which means if you put a little toy mirror or some stacking beakers in front of her, she will soon forget she was ever fed up with anything. I think I could probably take a fairly large leaf from her book when it comes to this. Although she is horribly tired today, we had a fun morning. 

She is 10 whole months old now, and I can't believe how time has flown. Despite my recent griping and lack of sleep, she is a happy baby. She smiles and giggles all the time. This photo was taken while she was standing between my legs, torn between watching the end credits of some awful TV show (she usually only watches the musical parts) and playing with my hair. Out of around 20 photos we took this morning, this is one of about 3 that show both of our faces, and neither of us pulling too much of a ridiculous face. I like it because it looks like she's about to kiss me back - though the closest I ever get is a bit of dribble on my chin. Shortly afterwards she grabbed my fingers - the universal symbol for "come on, you're helping me with my walking practise."

Most of our photos look like this; we don't pose well for shots, and it's difficult to hold a baby in the right position when you've got one arm extended holding a camera! I like them like this though. We always look like we're having fun - which we are. My hope is that when S is older she will look back over these photos and think, "wow, we were always mucking about weren't we!"

This post is Single Mother Ahoy's entry into the Printerpix Photo competition.

Saturday 9 February 2013

Work and Benefits for a Single Mum

twenty pound note £20


Last week, I was offered a job.

That makes it sound a bit like I was headhunted doesn't it. A friend knows some people who are re-opening a local pub, and he gave them my name for a job. I went in to speak to them about it the other day, and did a trial shift on Saturday afternoon for a couple of hours.

Of course, I have just put in a claim for Income Support, and really don't want to be in trouble for benefit fraud. So I called up and spoke to them. They were as helpful as any government department when you're trying to get a definitive answer on a specific point. The first five minutes was spent with "well you've not done any work yet so it's not a problem..." and "yes but I want to know where I stand before I do the work and potentially commit benefit fraud!" followed by "but you're not committing fraud because you've not done any work yet" and "*headdesk*"

The situation seems to be that while I am claiming Income Support, I can only earn £20 a week. I will need to submit "a few" payslips to show this. Anything I earn over that £20 mark will be deducted from my benefit so that I've effectively not earned it.

I have no idea what sort of job one could get where £20 would be regular weekly earnings. I'm guessing there aren't many around.

Whilst I understand that it would make a mockery of the system for me to be claiming benefit whilst simultaneously working and earning a small fortune, I don't think £20 is a realistic limit in this day and age. Minimum wage is £6.19 per hour I believe - which means I can only work 3 hours a week. Since I can't claim help with childcare until I'm doing 16 hours a week, this means I need to rope in a friend or family member on a regular basis to baby sit so that I can work... but will be unable to pay them to do this, what with my only earning £20 a week.

This also means that if I decide to stay on benefits, and not go back to work in May when my maternity leave finishes, I will potentially have 5 years with no work experience at all. Nothing to help me "keep my hand in" with the working world, nothing recent to put on my CV, no experience or familiarity with working life when S turns 5 and I am suddenly expected to go out and get a job. This can't be a good thing, surely? After five years of CBeebies and Jeremy Kyle, would anyone have the confidence and skills to go out and find a good job? Surely we should be encouraging people on Income Support to try and maintain a small part time job in order to keep them ticking over?

As it is, the people who offered me the job are fairly accommodating, and only really need someone to cover the odd busy period - so they are fine with me only working 3 hours a week. I sincerely doubt I would find the same situation if I applied for a job in Tesco or Sainsburys though.

The way I see it, there should be some sort of middle ground, where people like me can work maybe one or two shifts a week at a small job, earn a little extra money to pay for bits and bobs, and be more likely to then go on to find a "proper" job when the time comes.

The alternative, as far as I can see it, is for hoardes of parents to just be moved over from Income Support to Job Seekers Allowance when their youngest child turns 5.

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Thursday 7 February 2013

Shiny New Deodorant

new Vaseline compressed deodorant

I am a member of BzzAgent, and last week they sent me some of the new Vaseline compressed deodorant to test out for them.

What is a compressed deodorant? ... I hear you ask.
Well basically, a normal full-size deodorant can is 150ml (double the size) but that's largely gas and a bit of deodorant. What Vaseline have cleverly done is compress the deodorant and the gas into a smaller can. It's something to do with the design of the nozzle, so now it sprays out less gas each time. Here are some pictures, in case you find this concept difficult to grasp:

new compressed deodorant illustration of sizenew compressed deodorant illustration of gas












The idea is that it's the same as buying a big can of deodorant, and will last just as long, but it's not so big, there's less packaging and therefore less waste - and it fits in your handbag!

I like the design of the new can; it's dinky. It fits in my handbag (or baby changing bag) and isn't as bulky and clangy as the old cans (you know how the bigger cans are a bit noisy, jangling about in the bottom of a bag).

The deodorant itself works just as well as the old-style cans. Possibly even better, since for the past few nights I've been able to smell it on myself as I got undressed for bed. It even withstood the ultimate test - taking S out for a walk in the sling for an hour, coming home with heavy shopping!

According to the paper gumpf they sent out with the samples, if a million people switched to compressed deodorant we could save 720 tonnes of CO2 and enough aluminium to make over 20,000 bikes. So it's environmentally friendly as well as being handy to put in your handbag!

In fact, the only gripe I have with this product is that it has a lid - and in my life all lids disappear soon after purchase. I'd like to see them make a deodorant like this with some clever locking device on the nozzle so that it doesn't need a lid.

They've also compressed Sure and Dove, and all three are available in the shops this week so go and have a look.

Monday 4 February 2013

Shock Confession of a Stay At Home Mum

a selection of baby food packets: Plum Baby, Ella's Kitchen, Boots Baby Organic


Readers, I have a terrible, shocking confession to make.

I have all but given up on making meals for S, and a lot of her meals come from packets.

There, I've said it. I can hear the gasping from here.

Every time I go to the till in Boots with my basket full of Plum Baby (other brands are available, but S seems to prefer Plum meals mostly) I feel like the World's Worst Mum, like everyone is looking in my basket and going, "huh, lazy cow can't even be bothered to make her child some dinner!" I tend to only buy a few at a time so that I don't look like S has them for every meal, and will always opt for the self-service checkouts at Tesco so that nobody sees what I'm buying. For me, it feels more shameful than buying a copy of the Daily Mail.

Here are my reasons for going down the packet food option:

  • Before S even started solids, I was chatting to a friend who said she'd been reading an Annabel Karmel book about weaning, and looking at all these recipes - but she was going back to work, and would quite like the time she spent at home to be spent with her son, not in the kitchen boiling carrots. I'm not back at work... but I am a single mother with a distinct shortage of people volunteering to clean my house for me. And I'm trying to study two OU modules concurrently. So my time is either spent playing with S, cleaning up after S, or doing OU work (or doing this, which almost counts as OU work, since it's clear avoidance of said work)
  • I am picky about which packets I buy. I don't touch Cow & Gate, and very rarely have Hipp. I tend to stick to Plum, Ella's Kitchen and Boots Organic - because the list of ingredients is very short, and I can pronounce everything on it. I guarantee you the ingredients in those pouches are of a higher quality than anything I make myself. Can you even buy organic kidney beans in Tesco? I doubt it.
  • S is a fan of a particular "4 bean stew" pouch. Seeing that the list of ingredients on the back was fairly straightforward, I purchased said ingredients and made some myself. Genius. Or so I thought. S took one look at the bowl of steaming mush and turned her nose up: "you can't seriously think I'm going to eat that can you?!" The girl does not like my cooking. And I, for one, cannot blame her. She does, on the other hand, love a particular stage 2 pouch of minted peas and lamb, and is guaranteed to eat the whole pouch every time it's served up. I know there will be no waste, unlike with the ill-advised 4-bean stew experiment.
  • When she can't tolerate any lumps - a state she reverts back to whenever she is poorly - it's just easier (and there's less risk of undetected-lump-induced-gagging) than farting about with a hand blender. As she becomes more able to chew what I feed her, I'm giving her more varied bits - steamed carrot sticks, biscuits, bread sticks, bits of cheese etc - to play with and munch on between spoonfulls of the packet food.
Eventually I'm sure S will have proper food and put it in her mouth herself and chew it and everything. In the meantime, I'm choosing the easy option. So shoot me.
Now, if you'll excuse me I'm off to make a guilty trip to Tesco to buy some pouches of minted peas & lamb for tomorrow's dinner.

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Saturday 2 February 2013

Our Week: 28th January - 3rd February

baby in spotty onesie tries to steal mummy's glasses



Monday 28th January
Having been to the doctor for her nasty, snotty cold, S developed a rash over the weekend. So back to the doctor this morning. This necessitated cancelling both the morning appointment with a lady from Home Start, and an afternoon appointment for physio because of the time of the only available appointment. Home to find scaffolders encasing the entire building in poles and planks. Delayed visit from Home Start co-ordinator for a chat about life, death and the cosmos.

Tuesday 29th January
More scaffolders, more noise, less light coming through the windows. S super grumpy from poorliness. Stayed in the house all day. Brief afternoon visit from A with Costa and tissues. Did I mention she's a bloody legend?

Wednesday 30th January
Up early and off to visit the council and hand in various documents to show I have no money. The important document, the one they need in order to pay my housing benefit, has not arrived from the other benefit office yet, so I can't submit it. Brief trawl around town, then home to spend a day making mess and giggles with S. Managed to dye my hair and cook curry as well. House looks like a bomb has hit it. Who cares!

Thursday 31st January
Boring morning spent doing not a lot. Sister A came round at lunch time and looked after S for an hour while I popped out. Visit from F when I came home, afternoon spent playing with an S who refused to nap. There were a distinct lack of zeds throughout the day, evening or night.

Friday 1st February
Celebrated the first of the month with an early morning jaunt to the Job Centre in the rain. First time I've set foot in the place and I have to say it stinks of despair and despondency. Even the security guard looked dishevelled. Home for a brief visit from sister Z. Grumpy S meant an afternoon Baby Jake marathon. Heaven help us all.

Saturday 2nd February
Morning spent cleaning and tidying. Afternoon spent working (!) in a local pub while my sisters A and Z split S-sitting duties. S had a fabulous time, and so did I. To be explained in a proper post soon, most probably. S in bed late in a Tigger onesie.

Friday 1 February 2013

Adventures in Benefits

As of this week, my Statutory Maternity Pay entitlement has finished, and although I am still employed, I'm not receiving income. As such, I am entitled to claim Income Support.

income support booklet


To claim Income Support, you call a free number and answer questions such as
has your child ever been on  the Local Authority register of blind persons?
and
are you needed in court?
...for half an hour. Then they print out your answers  and send them to you, second class with a list of documentation they need for proof of what you've told them. Then you can either post them your passport and payslips and hope they remember to return them, or you wander on down to the Job Centre and have them make a certified copy for you. You sign the forms, fill in a bit about equal opportunities, and post it back. And then you wait for them to process the paperwork and pay you £71 a week.

Meanwhile, you have to tell Tax Credits that you are no longer receiving income. This is different to no longer being employed. If I had quit my job, my Working Tax Credits would run on at the same amount for another four weeks. But I have not quit my job, I'm just not receiving any income. So I do not get the 4 extra weeks of Working Tax Credit. I do not understand the logic behind this.

The next thing you need to sort out is the Housing/Council Tax Benefit. This is organised by the local council, rather than a government agency. So earlier this week I schlepped on down to the local council office to submit my last payslip, and the letter from my work stating the date my pay finished.

A little background on the Housing Benefit saga is required here: Statutory Maternity Pay is paid weekly on a Saturday, and because some months have more Saturdays than others, for the last few months my payslips have been different each time. So each month I take my payslip to the council and they decide how much Housing Benefit I should have received for the last month. If I should have had more than I did, they put a lump sum into my rent account, and the money I paid last month could have been spent on nappies or shopping. If I should have had less than I did, they send me a coded message disguised as a statement of account, saying they've overpaid X amount, and will recoup this by deducting X amount from my new weekly entitlement. This usually comes through mid-month, by which point the payments they are making are most probably already incorrect. The consequence of this is that I never know how much rent I need to pay from my wages each month. If I gamble, and my Housing Benefit is cut and doesn't make up the shortfall in what I've paid, I get snotty letters threatening eviction. If I pay too much, when the letter comes stating my new entitlement I kick myself.

So here I am now, having submitted my last payslip. Technically, from this week onwards I am entitled to full Housing Benefit and am not liable to pay any more rent. So I need to know what my Housing Benefit entitlement was for last month, to make sure I pay the exact right amount to cover the difference between the rent and the benefit. I sincerely doubt the local council do refunds, if I pay too much. But I've only just submitted my payslip so it will be a couple of weeks before they sort out the figures, and then I need to get hold of the housing officer, who is never available anywhere, and get her to email me a screen print of my account, and figure it all out.

Meanwhile, I can't get full Housing Benefit, even though they have a piece of paper in front of them from my employer telling them when my pay finished. Oh, no. They need a letter from Income Support confirming I am indeed receiving the benefit. And I won't get that until I've sent back the forms and waited for them to process all of that. Cue snotty letters threatening me and my daughter with eviction.

Incidentally, I'd just like to point out here that while Income Support is £71 a week, Jobseekers is £91 and I believe Incapacity Benefit is about the same. If anyone is able to explain to me why JSA should be more than Income Support, when people on JSA are supposed to be looking for a job and getting off benefit, and people on Income Support are entitled to be at home, not looking for a job, raising their child until it is 5 - please do!

Read this post to see how long it took for my Income Support to actually be paid.

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