Nurturing my inner PollyAnna

I often Blog about the joys of motherhood and the beautiful moments we all want to last forever. There are so many of these, and I’ve always tried to cherish the ever fleeting moment – even when running on 3 hours sleep. Freddie is without a doubt the best thing to have happened to me; that goes without saying. This week, however, has been tough … it’s partly because it’s dark and dank and cold outside; partly because I’m exhausted, Fred’s been snotty and therefore slightly grouchy [okay, scratch that, he’s been a little bugger at 4,30am for the past three days] – payday has seemed a long way off, and quite frankly I’ve felt inadequate and a little lonely – not to mention hormonal. It’s bloody hard work on your own; and much more so when it’s not summertime when everything seems so much more do able and the days so much easier to plan; no coats and wellies to lug around; light evenings to burn energy at the park ….this afternoon we have watched a DVD [Fred’s current favourite thing in the world, especially if he can ram two in the DVD player at the same time], played cars, coloured, drawn pictures on the chalk board; cooked food in Fred’s kitchen … before tea and finally settling a very overtired little chap to sleep. It was a joyous feeling as I tiptoed out of his room [yes you read that correctly; my child is sleeping in HIS cot in HIS room this evening!], leaving the kitten to act as a purring teddy. I jumped in the shower with a sense of utter liberation. My lovely friend Mandy will be here in an hour with a curry – the wine is chilling in the fridge. Thursday is my Friday; so bring on some much needed relaxation and adult conversation [come on kiddo, you can do it … you can sleep for longer than 3 hours in a row!]

Of course, I love being a mum more than anything; but I don’t want this blog to only document the good times. I was so tired this afternoon I just wanted to curl up and sleep … and despite not wanting to shove Fred in front of a screen to occupy him – it was so easy to do so. I was reminded of a comment from a friend earlier in the week – that it’s okay to be just “good enough” some days … my child is warm and fed, he has a lot of toys to play with and activities to engage with … and yet now he’s asleep I’m feeling utterly guilty for not being quite good enough today; for lacking the energy to bounce around and do more. 4.30am seems a long time ago. Please go back to sleep, I whispered this morning – please go back to sleep …. momma’s eyes are not looking pretty, despite trying the piles cream trick.

I am sitting with a cup of tea nurturing my inner PollyAnna. It is 2 years ago this week since I got the keys to this flat and became the owner of a mortgage. I’m so glad that I chose this place to call home … so many memories in these walls already … so many happy photos line the walls.

Tomorrow is another day. I will try harder tomorrow.

Desperately at Midnight [computer says no]

Freddie giving a hospital teddy the nebuliser mask!

It has been one of those exhausting weeks when my poor Fred has been struck down yet again by the nasty wheezy bronchiolitis bugs. This must be his seventh or eighth bout in a year, so I’m getting quite good at recognising the warning signs. Thankfully he seems on the mend, after two GP appointments, a middle of the night trip to the hospital for a nebuliser, steroids, antibiotics, inhaler and lots of Momma cuddles. I think we averaged about 4 hours sleep in 3 days. Poor bugger. Poor Momma. In fact, Momma is sitting in bed at 19.08 on a Wednesday, with a glass of wine.

Anyhow, what I really wanted to blog about was 111, and the complexities of answering their questions at silly o clock when worried. I think the general filtering idea of 111 is a good one for the NHS, but I can understand how people end up with an ambulance for indigestion. Everything is subjective; one persons 1 on the pain scale will be anothers 10. Having got through the routine reassurances that we hadn’t been on holiday to an Ebola or Malaria infected area in the past week, I explained that we’d been to the GP earlier in the day and Fred’s wheezing had got worse despite the inhaler and he was drawing his tummy in as he breathed. The operator put me through to a nurse, who wanted to know if he was as bad as he was in November when he was admitted to hospital. November seems a long time ago … I couldn’t really compare, but he was bad enough for me to phone. Was he struggling desperately for each breath? Desperately is open to interpretation; he wasn’t comfortable, but I thought desperately was too strong a description. Was I analysing too much at midnight? Now, I live 5minutes away from our local “hospital” or treatment centre as it’s now called. They have an MIU and Out of Hours GP service. Our nearest A&E is half an our away in the car. Having listened to my responses the operator, or rather the computer, advised I take Fred to A&E. I questioned this, as an appointment at Out of Hours would be nearer, therefore quicker … and a whole lot easier than driving a poorly baby on my own for half an hour in the middle of the night. “I don’t want to put your child at risk” said the rather sour woman on the other end of the phone … “Neither do I, so hurry up and make me an appointment” I retorted, now rather cross at her tone … it turns out, computer said no because I’d said he had worsened in the past hour. If I said he’d stayed the same, I could have an Out of Hours appointment. He’d stayed the same. Duh. Duh.

We went to Out of Hours and were seen within 10minutes; Fred was assessed, given a nebuliser, which really improved his airways – [before we’d have even arrived in Worcester] – and we were monitored for a couple of hours before we could go home to bed, and see our GP in the morning.

I am a huge supporter of the NHS, we are so lucky, and I will never complain about the service we have … but surely some common sense and logic could come into the 111 computer checklist? It really did seem a case of “computer says no” …

Somebody’s not in bed … and it’s not Iggle Piggle

I remember having a conversation about sleepless nights when I was pregnant. “Oh, I won’t mind the early starts” I said enthusiastically to a colleague with two small children [sorry Julia, mea maxima culpa] – “I’m used to getting up early“. Graciously she smiled; the smile I now smile when anyone complains of being tired. This, ladies and gentleman, is a Blog about sleep deprivation … and it won’t be long because I have a sleeping baby beside me, and I fully intend to join him once I’ve aired my yawns …

I’ll start off by saying that today hasn’t been the best. Never mind what seems like ISIS waging a brutal attack in my uterus [come on hormones, get over it], or the motherfuckingmolars which are giving Fred grief [why can’t babies be born with a full set of cut gnashers? Why? Why?] – last night was the worst in a long time. Freddie has never been a good sleeper. I think the most he has ever slept in a row is 5hours, and that was a long time ago. We co sleep because it is easier to whack a boob out in a haze of tiredness, than it is to get out of bed and walk to another room. I am so tired by 7pm that I have no energy to fight the “sleeping in the cot” battle. In many ways I love co sleeping; I think it’s a very natural way to nurture a child – and it’s not like I’ve got anyone else sharing my bed at the moment. The usual routine is, after In the Night Garden, we go to bed, and F is always asleep by 7.30pm. If I can manage it, I set 9pm as my bedtime … domestic chores and energy willing. Rock n Roll eh. For the past week, the first wake up has been around 11pm. I dread looking at the clock in the early hours – yet nearly always do – I mentally count how many hours until my alarm, and dread how many more disruptions there will be. The real killer is the long 1am wake up, when I often actually wake up and find I need the loo or a glass of milk/piece of toast, by which time I’m wide awake and counting sheep – or mulling over pointless dilemmas which always seem so much worse at that hour. Sometimes I find myself pleading with F to go to sleep … please darling, please go back to sleep … please …. Sometimes I swear.

My darling little boy doesn’t seem to need much sleep. He chuckles and thrashes around at 3am; frustrated with a boring momma who is intent on making him return to the land of nod … by 5.30am I have usually given up and am awaiting the beginning of CBeebies with a cup of decaf coffee and wondering how I will make it through the day. The joke this morning was my facebook status [remember, it’s April 1st] proclaiming that Fredders had slept from 7pm until 8am. Some otherwise intelligent souls actually believed it!

The irony is, I’ve never needed huge amounts of sleep – and I’ve never lay in beyond 8am. All I ask is a few hours unbroken kip … please little boy, please …. this persistent lack of sleep is slowly killing me, never mind the huge circles under my eyes. Torture indeed. I can do so much on just 4hours unbroken sleep …. I can be a positive person … I can be productive and hold coherent conversations.

Is there a paron saint of sleep? Anyone?

And please … if your fucking child slept 12 hours straight from 2 weeks old, have the decency and common sense NOT to tell me!

 

The evening worries of a mother

19.19 – Fulfilling my desire to Blog before [hopefully] some much needed sleep. I haven’t left the flat today; Freddie went on the Santa Express with his Daddy this morning, and I blitzed the housework – two loads of laundry; kitchen, hall and bathroom floors cleaned, shower screen scrubbed, vaccumed everywhere, windowlened the windows, polished everything wooden, rearranged the kitchen, had yet another sort out of Fred’s clothes, and changed bed linen. Oh, and finished wrapping Christmas presents. This literally took me over 3.5 hours, and by the time I sat down to some lunch – it was nearly time for Fred to return. Skirting boards still need attention. Fredders had a lovely time, and arrived home clutching a polar bear toy which he has chuckled at all afternoon. He’s going through a phase of crying when I leave him or he leaves me, which I find really difficult. When his daddy picked him up this morning, he cried with his arms outstretched, and I could hear him crying all the way down the stairs. I could quite easily cry with him when he does this, but I know he stops after a few minutes. The slightly neurotic/sleep deprived part of me worries he’ll be scarred for life by these little upsets, but in my more rational moments I know that it’s just a normal part of growing up. I miss him when he’s not here. I really, really miss him. We had a lovely day yesterday seeing Santa at a local garden centre. The boy smiled and smiled, and enjoyed lunch in the pub afterwards …

I’m tired today. Work was tough last week; we had a couple of really bad nights [lesson learnt; don’t change a nappy at 3am in the dark with no glasses on, as this will lead to a badly put on nappy, which explodes at 4am all over the bed.] – I had some kind of tummy bug one day, and I think having to be out of the flat by 8am four days in a row has made the tiredness even worse. Oh yes, and the whole Christmas thing, trying to remember everyone’s presents and cards and generally make it a beautiful celebration. It’s wonderful, but exhausting. Things seem so much more do-able in the summer with all that vitamin D and light nights.

I think it must go with the territory of being a Mum, that we doubt everything we do, and worry we’re messing it all up. There are so many ideals associated with motherhood [especially around Christmas] – all I want is for my baby to be happy. The only thing important to me from now until eternity, is that I can be the mother my son needs – that he always knows he’s loved and listened to. I want him to have a fun childhood with lots of laughter. Of course, we laugh a lot together already – and the past 9 months have been filled with every possible baby group. In the quiet moments, when Fred’s asleep; I do worry … worry that he will miss out, that I should’ve tried harder with his Dad so to have given him a “conventional” family set up. I worry that I’ll never ever sleep for longer than 4 hours in a row and that this might genuinely send me batty or age me beyond recognition. I worry about being able to provide for him, being able to create those memories I so desperately want to create.

Then I think back to Calcutta and the years volunteering there; to the hundreds of people who queued up on Christmas morning at Shishu Bhavan waiting to be fed. I think of the families at Sealdah station and how they live literally hand to mouth, hour to hour. I realise the two contexts aren’t comparable, but as I have lived in both – I know first hand the temporality. I know that Freddie already has so much more than so many. He is a lucky and loved little boy.

Some days I watch my ever growing boy, and am taken aback at the enormity of the responsibility before me. It is both exciting, and terrifying. I’ve never wanted to get something right more. They say motherhood changes you, but I never quite envisaged how much ….

And now, I REALLY need to sleep …..

 

Just another cliche

Momma’s big boy

Whenever I sit to Blog, I am overwhelmed by how fast the time is going. Cliched, perhaps, but this year has been the most incredible, and fastest – yet. This Blog is now over a year old, and yet it seems ten minutes ago since I was sitting in my houseshare, nursing a small Freddie bump; wondering how things would work out [note to younger self; things worked out just better than fine]. Timehop frequently reminds me of that growing bump this time last year. And now .. well, look! So grown up that he can sit in his own seat in the supermarket trolley! Proud Momma moment! There is a certain beauty in the naive months of your first pregnancy, when the “idea” of a baby is often so far from the reality!

Once upon a time I studied archaeology; and it strikes me that my life can now be split into BF [Before Freddie] and AF [After Freddie] eras. People tell you that Motherhood will change you beyond imagination, yet you don’t really appreciate this until you’ve pushed one out and lived it. Cliched, again. I used to take sleep forgranted, and now 4hours in a row is a luxury; I spend my money on nappies and baby clothes; applying nail varnish once Freddie’s asleep is now considered a little treat. It’s amazing how the surge of maternal love brings with it the selflessness, the overwhelming desire to put everything into your little bundle of baby. I love it, and I love him, more than I ever thought possible. He is by far my best achievement, and I still look at him in absolute awe that he grew in my tummy. He’s sleeping beside me now, so cosy and content. My little boy. Always my little boy.

Freddie has a[nother] chest infection this week, which does worry me. This is his third in 6 and a half months. He is such a little trooper and has been taking his antibiotics so well. He has needed lots of momma cuddles, and is hopefully on the mend. Because of this we haven’t had such a busy week as usual. Today we walked to the park and Freddie played on the swings, then on to town where I needed to pick up a few things. Sometimes as I’m walking along, pushing the pram, talking to my boy – in the everyday, in the mundane, I still pinch myself … I’m a Mummy.

Of course, there are also the moments when you’re so tired you’re not sure what you’re name is; when you long for a soak in the bath or some adult company, BUT I wouldn’t swap my life for anything in the world. I’m so proud of this little boy, of his cheeky personality and cheerful disposition. I love the life we’ve created …

I’ll be returning to work at the beginning of December, 16 hours a week; 4 hours over 4 days. In many ways I dread it, but in others – it will be good for both me and Freddie; and 4 hours is do-able. I’ll miss him so much at first, because the longest I’ve been parted from him is an hour and a half. We’re so bonded, me and this beautiful boy … but the loveliness of maternity leave can’t last forever, and momma need to earn some pennies so we can have nice holidays and days out ….

But for now, as usual at the end of a Blog … this momma is going to join her little prince fast asleep …

20 weeks of Freddie in the world

As you, dear readers, will know – there is nothing I love more than being Freddie’s mummy. It is 20 weeks today since this little chap burst from my vagina. However, I should like to utter eight words:

BEING A SINGLE MUMMY IS BLOODY HARD WORK

This week we have both had colds, mine a rather niggly not terrible but bothersome summer snotty affair. Freddie’s is more the teething variety; red cheeks, dribble, and chomping on everything in sight. I even lost my voice. I’ve had poo, wee, sick and breastmilk on bedsheets, exploding nappies, neglected housework, and wake ups every two hours in the night. Yes, you read that correctly. Sleep, how I remember you … how I miss you. 4 hours straight would be considered a total luxury.

In fact, I ought not moan this evening … as after a day spent doing very little [aside from successfully keeping baby happy and alive], I tentatively tried once again to get Fredders into his cot instead of my bed. I usually feed him to sleep and then try to place him gently in the cot beside my bed. Normally upon touching the mattress he goes bright red and screams … but tonight, he remained asleep, and has been asleep for half an hour! It’s 8.03pm and I’m trying to hold out until 8.30pm before joining him. I love having him close in the night, but it has been hard to sleep as he has got more active, rolling around and generally pushing me out of bed. Bless him.

Motherhood, I have decided, is the best job in the world, yet also the hardest. I worry about this little fellow so much, I love him so much; even at 2.43am when he’s deep in conversation with me! He’s quite simply the best. Little did I know, 20 weeks ago as I gazed into his crib beside me in the post natal ward … how amazing and how tiring it would be.

Gosh, I have 20minutes before my self imposed bedtime, I could jolly well shave my legs! It has been a LONG time!

Happy Pregnancy Anniversary to my Uterus

My boy 27.06.15

It is 8pm on a sunny Saturday. I’ve been up since 4.54am when a wide eyed smiley baby sqwaked in my ear and poked me in the eye. I’m now propped up in bed [finally, my bed, my bed!] beside a sleeping Fred, looking forward to joining him once I’ve fulfilled my blogging duties. I wanted to blog today because I realised it is exactly one year since I found out I was pregnant … a whole year since I spent a day sat at my desk with a strange metallic taste in my mouth, a strange desire to drive to the Co-op after work for a pregnancy test because a banana tasted funny at lunchtime, and upon googling – discovered the word pregnancy featured heavily. The story goes that when I got back to my house share [it was a hot day too] we had someone coming to view a room. I raced upstairs, peed on the pregnancy test, which turned positive immediately – and within minutes there was our potential roomie knocking on the door. Awkward. Needless to say he didn’t take the room. I think I took about 6 pregnancy tests over the coming days …. all confirming that there was a teeny Freddie-seed in my tummy. Despite accusations to the contrary, this was a huge shock … but from the very first glance at the “pregnant” symbol on the test, I knew that I wanted this baby more than anything – that somehow, I would make it work.

There has been a lot of “growing up” in the past year. At the grand age of 32, it really was time to settle down. I’d lived a fairly hedonistic lifestyle, and from the moment I held that positive pregnancy test in my hands I knew things had to change. I never imagined being a single mum; but I stand by the fact that it’s better to be on your own than in a wrong relationship with the wrong person, for the wrong reasons. I do miss being in a relationship – I think I will always feel a bit guilty that Freddie doesn’t have a mummy and daddy living together – but he is unconditionally loved and always will be. I’ve learnt a huge amount in the 12 months between last year and this … I’ve grown stronger; I think this is the key quality a single mum needs; the ability to get on with it without the emotional support of a partner; without someone who is unconditionally there for you; someone who has your back. I am much more resilient now than I was, and besides – I have become tiger mother – fiercely protective of her little boy …

I’m sitting here looking down at my sleeping bundle; his little hands clasped together – so pure, so innocent. It’s incredible to think that I didn’t know him this time last year, when now I can’t imagine life without him. Never has the miracle of life been so apparent. And neither has the beauty of sleep. I have moved Fred’s cot into my room, but he’s still in bed with me – these are precious months which will soon pass into years … and I intend to savour every moment with my growing, happy baby boy. He is undoubtedly my greatest achievement in life, and I never imagined just how much I would love him. My little boy.