An Unwelcome Visitor

Just to clarify - this did happen, but a few months ago. It's taken me until now to be able to write about it.

Saturday night. I'm exhausted and go to bed at 9:30pm, falling into a deep sleep almost immediately. S is asleep in her cot next to me; I go to bed praying she won't wake up for at least a few hours.

11:30pm. I am woken by the sound of knocking. I don't know where it is coming from... if I ignore it, it'll go away.

It's not stopped.

It seems to be my front door.

First the brass knocker goes a few times. Then a hand knocks the door. Then the letter box goes a few times. Then the brass knocker again.

In my drowsy state, I lay in bed for a while and think maybe they'll give up and go away.

They don't give up. I begin to worry the noise will wake S. I don't want her to wake up. I begin to get angry with whoever is idiot enough to be knocking my door in the middle of the night. My first guess is the bloke I was seeing at Christmas, on his way home drunk. Or another bloke who's been sniffing around lately. I figure it's one of those two, thinking it's ok to knock on my door in the middle of the night.

I begin to get angry. After fifteen minutes of trying to ignore it, hoping they'll go away, I storm out of bed and down the stairs. I pull back the door curtain. Through the glass I can see red flashing lights. My first thought is that it's the police or someone. I unlock the door and open it, keeping the chain on. Ready to hurl abuse at whoever dares risk waking my sleeping child. 

It's not the police or anyone official.

It's not the boy I was seeing at Christmas.

It's not the other bloke.

It's someone I always knew might come knocking, but didn't actually expect to see; certainly not close to midnight on a Saturday night.

It's S's father.

He is clearly drunk. The flashing lights are coming from his bike, which he has brought up the stairs to my door with him. He is leaning against the edge of the balcony. He sees me and says, "howdy." 

Without a word, without even thinking, I close the door. I lock it and draw the curtain. I calmly go into the living room and collect the cordless phone and sneak upstairs to check S is still ok. Check that he hasn't somehow gotten in here and taken her. She is sleeping soundly. I check she is breathing, as I do every time I check on her when she's sleeping.

Every sound I hear is him trying to get in. I am sure I closed all the windows properly, and even if I didn't, I had the council fit safety catches on them so they don't open more than an inch. But he might find a way around them. He might find a way to get through the door, even though it's locked and the chain is on. The last time we were half-talking via email, he told people, "she's tired, the baby is teething. Teething is hard, she won't be able to cope. She'll give in eventually and let me look after the baby while she sleeps, and then I'll take her." This is what is now sending chills down my spine. I cannot let that man take my baby girl. I cannot let him anywhere near her. I need to protect her.

I go back downstairs and shut myself in the living room and dial 101. 

The dispatcher comes on the line and I tell her, "My ex is outside my front door and I don't know what to do..." Then I begin to cry. 

She puts me through to someone in my local police station who takes my address. At this point something flashes up on his screen about it being a domestic abuse situation. He sends two officers out immediately, and in the meantime talks to me. We go through a series of questions I've now been through numerous times. But never while I was shaking, crying and petrified. Do I feel threatened? Has he ever threatened me? Do I think he will hurt me or someone else? 

While we are still talking on the phone, the door knocks and I jump out of my skin. The man tells me to stay on the phone to him while I check who it is. It's the police. I let them in and put the phone down.

The police tell me they have checked thoroughly outside. There is no sign of anyone lurking. I ask if they checked under the stairs; they tell me they checked the whole block. By the bins? Yes. On the street outside? Yes, that's where their car is parked. In the car park out back? Yes, they've checked and there is nobody there. He is not outside any more. 

They talk to me until I've calmed down a bit. Then we go through some safety precautions. They tell me if he comes back, they will come back. They tell me that keeping the chain on the door is all well and good, but once I've unlocked it, that chain is only good for the first couple of kicks.

They tell me that in a domestic disturbance where children are involved, they need to check on the child. One of them comes upstairs with me and I show them my beautiful S, still sleeping soundly and oblivious. I check and she is definitely breathing.

They leave around 1:30am. I lock the door behind them and put the chain on. Then I check the door is locked. Twice. I pull the curtain closed. I want to get a drink, but I don't want to go into the kitchen; the window is right next to the front door.

I go upstairs to bed, and lay there for over an hour before I go back to sleep. 

I don't eat for two days. S gets sick and we both have to have  a couple of days off nursery and work.

When we go back to nursery, I have a long meeting with the manager and the safety coordinator. I give them a photograph of S's father and tell them if they ever see him hanging around outside of the nursery, they are to call me. Under no circumstances must he be allowed anywhere  near my child. They reassure me of their safety procedures. When I leave, they take the photograph and show it to all of their staff. S's key worker tells me later that they've all seen it and been told not to let him into the nursery, and to call the police if he doesn't leave.

After a few days, we are back to "normal" - except now, the door is always locked when S is in the house. When I take the rubbish out I have no choice but to lock S inside of the house while I go down to the bins as quickly as I can. I don't open the kitchen windows unless I am in the kitchen. If I step out, even for a moment, they are closed and locked. When I leave S at nursery, my phone is in my hand. I never switch it to silent or off. I never go further than home or the shops while S is not with me, in case I need to get back to her.

Looking back, I am pleased with my reaction. I didn't speak to him. I didn't react. I just closed the door and walked away from him. That was the first time I have ever even vaguely stood up to him.

I am not the person he controlled through eight months of pregnancy.

I may be physically petrified, but not mentally. Not any more. I will protect my child until the end of my days. He will not take her.

This was the last time we saw or heard from S's father.

People say to me, oh, it's been a few months now; that's a good sign. It's not a good sign. He plays the long game. But so do I. I have far too much to lose, not to.

Have You Been Good?

Following on from yesterday's post about reward charts at Christmas, I thought I'd write another in a similar vein.

S having fun making a mess. She's not being "good;" she's not being "bad;" she's just having fun.

I hate it when parents tell their children, "you can have that if you're good." or "we'll go to the park if you can behave."

What does that even mean? The idea of being "good" or "behaving" is so subjective and dependent on circumstance, isn't it?

Today it's "naughty" to run across the road, but yesterday it was fine to run around the park.

Today I'm not allowed to get excited and giggle and jump, but yesterday Mummy was tickling me and giggling with me.

Today I'm not supposed to shout, but yesterday Daddy was shouting at me.

We all seem to forget that children are born without any sense of social norms. They don't know what "being good" is, and since the definition can change daily, isn't it a bit unfair to hold them to ransom by it?

This reminds me so much of the baby "experts" trying to tell mothers that their tiny babies are somehow trying to manipulate them. Babies aren't born with any concept of control, manipulation, good or bad. They're just born.

I remember when I was a child, one of my mum's friends came over for lunch. We all loved her and were really looking forward to seeing her. We had a great time with her. After she'd left, my mum told us off, saying it had been "like a monkey's tea party." I had no clue what she was talking about; we'd just had fun with Jennie, same as we always had. If she'd said to us "please don't jump on Jennie while she is trying to eat her sandwich" or something, we might have stood a chance.

Having spent time with children whose boundaries were never set in stone, and often changed by the hour, I know that this sort of thing does not make for contented, secure childhood. 

It's ok to do this now, because my parent is too tired to pay attention, but yesterday I was told not to do it, and tomorrow I'll be hit for doing it... but I'm doing exactly the same thing.

I avoid saying "good girl" to S at all. I know other people say it, and they say it at nursery, but I never say it. I say "wow you did really well at that!" or if she comes to me to put her coat on I say "thank you!" If she eats all her tea I say "wow you must have been hungry today!" I say "thank you" in place of "good girl" in most instances - which may be why she says "da-doo" so much now.

I don't want her to think her being "good" is dependent on some random, changeable set of unspecified rules. She's "good" if she gives me a kiss, "good" if she puts her shoes on, "good" if she gets into her pyjamas without a fight?

So instead of saying "we'll go to the park if you're good" or "if you can behave, you can have a sweet" how about "if we can get all the way around town without you running away from me, we will go to the park" or "if you sit still on the bus home we will have sweets?"

And yes, I'm fully aware that this is all largely academic to me now, while I'm blessed with an angel of a 19 month old who can't answer back yet; but I'm determined that my attitude will remain the same, even on the most testing of walks to nursery.

Why You Shouldn't Ask Me For Advice

When I first had S, I thought I was in the worst situation possible. A single mother, alone with a tiny, jaundiced, premature baby. Sounds pretty bleak, doesn't it.

In the nineteen months since, I've realised that actually I am very lucky. As my friends (and my sister!) have had their own babies around me, I've realised just how lucky I am, and have always been, with my little bundle. You should probably never ask me for advice, because the only advice I can give is based on experience - and is therefore not likely to be helpful! Here's why:

• If your baby is constipated, my advice is likely to be "meh, just leave it; it'll be fine in the end." S has never been a prolific poo-er. She was exclusively breastfed until almost 6 months, and during that time she usually only did a poo once a week. She once went 18 days without a poo. I kept checking with health visitors and GPs (and Facebook, of course) as to whether my child was normal, and the resounding response was - if she's not in discomfort with it, it's fine. 

• If your problem is that your changing bag is just too big and heavy and it's such a mission to go out anywhere... my advice is likely to be "ahh, just leave everything home and take yourself and baby out for a bit!" Because S was breastfed and didn't poo much, and I live very close to the city centre, I've never had to worry about taking masses of supplies out with me. If I needed anything from town, I always just shoved her in the sling and made a quick dash for the shops. Also, the fact she wore cloth nappies meant that any poorly-timed poos were well contained; her first proper poonami was a couple of months ago. My sister has not been so lucky with her son; when she comes out of the house she has to bring at least two changes of clothes. He poos after (usually during, actually) every feed, and it usually wrecks every piece of clothing he's wearing.

• If your baby is crying, my advice will probably be "just give him a cuddle." S has never been a great wailer. She cried when she was hungry and that was about it. Yep, she never even cried when her nappy was wet. Still doesn't. She's just getting to the stage where she'll pretend to cry if she thinks it'll get her something she wants, but on the whole, she doesn't scream unless there's a big problem. On those rare nights where she's not settled, I've always just put her in a sling and rocked her to sleep. When she was very small and I couldn't get her to settle after a night feed, I'd just lay her on my chest and we'd sleep like that.

• If your baby doesn't settle to sleep at night, I'm a great advocate of feeding to sleep, and co-sleeping. From a very young age, I fed S to sleep and she shared my bed. Once she started nursery, the only time she was breastfeeding was at nap time or bed time. I was still feeding her to sleep when she was 17 months old. Everyone told me I was mad to be relying on feeding to get her to sleep, and that I should move her out of my bed soon or I'd never have it to myself again. Well, balls to you all. She stopped breastfeeding one week when she had a bad cold and couldn't breathe through her nose, and has never asked for it since (much to my dismay). She started sleeping in the cot one night when I was too tired to stay awake and watch her, and now she sleeps there every night. She started sleeping through the night at 13 months, though I was still waking every few hours to check she was breathing. No fights. No controlled crying. No begging. No pleading. No pain. No fuss. 

• If you can't get your toddler to let you clean her teeth, I'm likely to just say "well, leave it a few days and try again." I had terrible trouble trying to get S to clean her teeth. Proper screaming with the mouth clamped shut business. Eventually I just gave up trying. One evening I couldn't be doing with the fight before bed time, so I just gave her a cuddle instead. The next couple of nights I forgot... and then one evening she was in the shower and made a grab for her tooth brush on the side. I figured it was worth a shot, so I put some toothpaste on the brush, and we went for it. And so began our evening ritual of cleaning S's teeth with absolutely no fuss or bother. At all. Nothing.

• If your toddler has trouble settling at night, I'm likely to suggest you just stick a dvd on and leave em to it. We get by on a combination of Despicable Me and Peppa Pig. I am fairly sure this makes me the worst mother in the world. At the very least, it rules me well and truly out of the running for mum of the year. But we're happy; it works for us. I put a dvd on; S lays down in her cot with her books and her Tigger, and she goes to sleep. For anyone who wants to tell me "oooh, you want to get her out of that habit before it's too late..." - see my point above about the cosleeping and breastfeeding. And then knob off. 

I'd like to take credit for these lazy parenting tips, and to say that S is such a dream because of my amazing parenting skills - but I'd be lying through my teeth. I'm just a bit lazy and cut as many corners as I can legitimately get away with. I have been blessed with possibly the easiest child in the world. She's so easy, she makes me look like I have a clue what I'm doing.

So yeah, don't ask me for advice; I don't have much experience of challenging parenting!

What do I Look Like?

I was thinking the other day about image. 

I rarely look like this. Ever.

Now that I'm self employed, I don't have an employer with a dress code looking over my shoulder every morning (not that my old boss ever did that; he was probably the most laid-back person I've ever worked for). Instead, I have this constant fear that I don't look "professional."

The fact is that my work involves spending large amounts of time on my laptop - either on Facebook or Twitter, or writing. I can do that in a pair of grubby tracksuit bottoms if I want, but since I have to go out of the house every day to take S to nursery (and to do shopping etc) I tend to dress with a style I think of as "passable." You know, the mum look: no visible snot; not too creased; it'll do.

I have a client who insists that I should wear bright lipstick when working on her premises, which makes me feel like a clown. I tried it for a while; it got on my teeth and into my hair, and I felt horribly self conscious. I have never been the sort of woman who wore lipstick; even for a fancy night out, I rarely bother with such things.

I met a potential client the other day, who didn't recognise me at first because I don't look like the photo I use for my Facebook promotion etc (above). That hadn't occurred to me; in reality though, that photo was taken when I was all dressed up for a party; not on a wet Friday morning in Costa. So the poor bloke didn't really stand a chance on that front!

I'm torn on the issue of "image" really. On the one hand, I sit at a desk (or on the sofa) in my living room and work my magic from behind a screen. In much the same way as my previous jobs in pensions were done from a closed office without actually seeing any clients/customers, I really don't see the point in having to dress smartly. I'm not someone who does that sort of thing easily; I feel uncomfortable in suits; I have the sort of boobs that make most shirts gape in a very unprofessional fashion. I can't walk more than 5 feet in heels. I forget my eye make-up and rub my eyes. One or both of my ear rings usually falls out before lunch; necklaces get caught in my piercings. I never succeed in looking polished and professional, so I rarely bother.

On the other hand though, I'm self employed now, and need to go out there into the big bad world and find myself work. I need to look presentable in order to do that. People need to look at me and think I have my shit together. Even if I don't have a meeting with a client, I want to look reasonably well put together, "just in case." I've managed (just about) to train myself not to rub my mascara all over my face. I sometimes manage to brush my hair. But the clothes and shoes are still a complete mystery to me. As I sit here typing this, I have white marks all over my faded black leggings - because I keep fiddling with my hair, which I couldn't be bothered to wash so it's full of dry shampoo.

The other day a friend who doesn't live locally was passing through town on the way to somewhere else. He said if he had time, he'd pop in on his way home. I immediately panicked; not only was the house a complete tip, but I was not wearing any make up. None. Despite the fact I would have liked to see this friend, I have to say I was relieved when he couldn't make it.

The problem is, I know I look crappy most of the time. I mostly feel inferior next to these women who can walk in heels, whose outfits look all stylish and pristine, whose nail varnish isn't chipped, whose hair is perfectly styled. They look very much the part, whatever that part might be. 

But after 32 years of trying, I think I just admit defeat and know I'll never compete with it.

I suppose I'll just have to wow people with my immense knowledge of crap you don't really need to know. And the boobs, obviously.

Victim Blaming (today's NaBloPoMo)

I don't know why you stay with him...

I wouldn't stand for that...

If I was treated in that way, I would leave, no matter what.

How many times have you heard those words?

How many times have you said them yourself?

I have been guilty of saying it myself, more than once. In fact, as recently as in the past week I have said something along those lines.

I was in a horribly abusive relationship. It was nasty and poisonous and dangerous and painful. I think the one major regret of my life will always be that I did not just get up and run as soon as I knew I was pregnant. I firmly believe that my child would not have been born prematurely if I had not had such a stressful and traumatic time throughout my pregnancy. I knew then, and I still know now, that I should have left and never looked back.

I blame myself. For all of it.

And because I still blame myself, I have a tendency to blame other victims too. I have a tendency towards thinking, you should have left. You should leave. You shouldn't put up with it. Especially where there are children involved, there's a voice in my head screaming, can't you see how bad this is for your children? It's fine to have no respect for yourself, but your children should come first!

That's really hard for me to admit, because I know that I should have more compassion.

Having lived through the part where your abuser is so in control of you, he dictates how you wash, what you eat, who you speak to, when you sleep - I should know that the people who "choose" to stay in that situation aren't really making much of a choice. They don't believe there is a choice to be made. I certainly didn't.

When I was pregnant, someone in the healthcare profession told me a story about a family. She told me she had only ever tried once to have a baby taken into care. She said the mother was so cowed and controlled by her partner, that if he told her to take the baby outside and lay it in the snow, she would. At the time I thought she was exaggerating in order to make a point to me, but now... now I think I know she was telling the truth. And it sends a shiver through me. There but for the grace of God...

I want to go, but there's nowhere to run to.

If I tell, nobody will believe me.

I'm not good enough to look after these children without his help.

I am worthless; I need her to survive.

If I say anything, the abuse will just get worse.

I deserve this; I'm a bad person.

I know it's hard to look at a person, male or female, in an abusive relationship and not blame them for staying in it. 

I know that when you see someone with a hand mark on their face, it's not easy to see why they'd stay around for the next blow.

Until you've been in that situation - even when you have been in that situation - it's often very hard to understand the vice-like grip an abuser can have on their victim.

But if we don't all (me included, definitely me included) make a concerted effort to understand and help victims of abuse - all victims of abuse, even those where the lines are a little blurred, and "she gives as good as she gets when she's drunk" and "he provokes her by causing an argument" then what chance will anyone have?

There but for the grace of God.

You might think you'd be straight out of the door if it happened to you, but how do you know until it does?

NaBloPoMo: Am I Easily Tricked?

You can read about NaBlopoMo here.

We'd all like to be able to answer a resounding NO! to this question, wouldn't we.

Nobody wants to admit they are gullible, easily taken in, the sort who always falls for things.

But actually, yes, I have to admit it. I am rubbish at seeing when someone is deceiving me, especially when it comes to men. I wrote a humorous post about all the frogs I've kissed a while back; while the stories are funny, they do show something of a pattern.

I tend to be gullible; I tend to be sucked in by sob stories and promises and tall tales. I tend to judge people's motives by my own standards: "I'd never tell a lie just to get sex, so he must be telling the truth... I'd never go to such great lengths to get laid; this must be legitimate..." Nine times out of ten, with the men I've fallen for, it wasn't legitimate. He was lying.

And then, of course, there was the grand master of lies. From the things I've found out (and figured out for myself) since we split up, I've realised that every single thing the ex said to me was a lie. Even small things, stupid things, things you or I would see no reason to lie about.

And now? Now I am endlessly suspicious.

Why would you say that?What is your motive?Could that be a lie?

When you've spent time with someone who will lie about absolutely everything, the normal rules don't apply. There is no reliable point of reference, logic has no place. Instead of thinking, "there is no reason to lie about that," I find myself thinking, "I've been lied to about smaller, less significant things..."

So yes, I am easily tricked - but I'm aware of that now!

Which is Better to Jump in: a Leaf Pile or a Puddle?

This post is part of NaBloPoMo.

I'm going to go with puddles!

Around here, there are a lot of dogs whose owners don't clean up after them. So you never know what you're going to find in a pile of leaves!

My Favourite Autumnal Flavour

Today on NaBloPoMo we are looking at autumnal flavours.

For me, the best autumnal flavour is stewed apple. 

I buy cooking apples by the absolute bucket load, and stew them in a massive pot on the stove. The best thing about stewed apple is that it's easy to do, and difficult to get wrong. 

Chop apple, put in pot, put on low heat, wander off, come back in about half an hour and stir. 

Just lately, I've been making "Christmas" apples - this is basically stewed apple with mixed spice, cinnamon and nutmeg mixed in - in whatever quantities I feel like when I'm doing it!

Once my apples are stewed, I leave them to cool and then spoon into old weaning pots, before labelling them and putting them in the freezer. On weekends and days off, we have one of them in our porridge, or I put them in pancakes - or heated on ice cream or in custard... Yep, I love stewed apple.

Welcome to NaBloPoMo.

What is NaBloPoMo?
It's National Blog Posting Month.

Remember how I did Blog Every Day in August back in... well, August? Well this is the same sort of thing.

The list of prompts is here on Nowt Special, and as you can see, today's topic is "Something you may not already know about me."

To be honest, I'm a bit of a blabber mouth on here so you probably already know most things...

And anyone who has known me in person for a while will know this, but I'm afraid I'm fresh out of ideas, and not much of an enigma.

I have had over 30 piercings.

I know, shocking, isn't it. I look so normal!

Here is what I used to look like, about 6 years ago:

I had fake hair for a few years, but this is my favourite one. I did it for my brother's wedding.

Any way, enough reminiscing about the hair. Back to the piercings... In this photo you can see: 3 normal ear piercings, a tunnel, a transverse (the little white bit sticking through the bottom of my ear), 2 cartilage piercings (top of ear), a scaffold (the big bar across the top of my ear) and 2 nape piercings (the two metal balls on the back of my neck. I've had a third one done since this photo. So that's 11.

This photo is from my birthday in 2007.
You can see a madison piercing (between my collar bones, it was done twice), labret stud (middle of lip; I had a second one briefly, until a Spanish customs lady told me it looked like a beard in my passport photo), a septum piercing (bit in the middle of my nose), eyebrow (this was done three times).
In my right ear there were two conch piercings, a tunnel and a normal ear piercing. I think that makes a running total of... 23?

Then there were ...
two in my right wrist - 25
I had pieces of metal implanted in each arm using a cannula (don't ask me why) - 27
I have a piercing under my tongue - 28
My belly button - 29
My nose - 30

I think that's all of them.
I won't post photos of the wrist etc because some people find them a bit squeamy.