35 posts from 2006

Wobble

Dec 31, 2006
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I have worked hard to restore my sense of equilibrium. To be back to functioning at full capacity, for my own sake as well as for the benefit of my boys and their Daddy.

There was one tough day that stands out in particular, when my Mum soothed me all day long; she lavished love and attention on the boy when all I saw was devastation when I looked at him, walked with me round the block for some fresh air when I could barely even breathe by myself, talked sense and hope when I felt like letting go of life itself, and generally helped me hold onto my sanity by the thinnest of threads, when I was stumbling through the darkest kind of horror. I'll never be able to convey how much her support in those moments means to me. My Dad too - I'm in awe of his capacity to conduct himself with nothing but grace and good humour when I imagine he must feel like kicking heads in and shouting home-truths. Early on in this debacle I begged them to make it easy for me and I have the deepest respect and appreciation for the fact that they did that so gracefully, for me. They've never had a bad word to say and even now, hard as I imagine it is to stand back and let me try to make something of this, they give me space whilst ensuring I know they'll be there in a heartbeat if I need them. They're waiting to catch me the moment I fall but, I sense, praying that they won't have to.

And my point is the trauma of those days back in the summer seem light years ago now. We really are going from strength to strength and I say that now with the careful measured tone of one who has thought that once before, celebrated it aloud and reassured others of its truth, only to be bitterly disappointed. So I don't say it lightly but I mean it; we're getting better, and I owe much of my fixed-ness to the brilliance of those who love us, especially our families.

But sometimes the scaffolds, which I've set about putting in place while I restore the walls of my life, come crashing down in an unexpected moment of anguish and it feels like all my work has been undone, like starting again from that awful day in July when the worst happened and my disbelieving eyes and ears burned with the absurdity of it all.

I might have known the phonecall would come again today. There's a regularity to them, always under the guise of a perfectly legitimate reason for calling, which might even be the absolute truth, but there's enough unsaid to imply that it's just a way of checking how the land lies, seeing if the answer is still No. An attempt at another poisonous bite of the cherry. All day long I've been writing a letter and contemplating the sweetness of the fact that come midnight tonight the events of recent months can officially be consigned to 'last year.' So I ought to have known that the significance of the moment wouldn't be lost on the other party either.

It's not appropriate to go into detail here beyond telling you that for reasons I will never understand, I was NICE when I had my chance to scream and say the things I've rehearsed for so many months, should we ever find ourselves in conversation. When I checked that the caller was who I thought, they answered Yes in the guiltiest of tones, as if their very identity was something of which to be ashamed.

One might say it is.

The fury erupted somewhere physical in my core. Not really justified beyond the fact of the call - I was calmed and held tight and reassured until the shaking stopped and I could breathe easily again.

I can't begin to process what about this unravels me. There is no cause for concern where once there was every reason for it. But what makes me angry is that if there were any doubts, if there was any faltering in our delicate steps then a well-time seasonal phonecall on the day associated with endings and beginning could be enough to sway things back to where we've spent months returning from. In those moments it all feels too raw and fragile for me to go on with any longer.

But half an hour later and I can laugh at how perfectly sweet and friendly I was. The irony. I kicked myself at the time but once again I'm proud that I let nothing show.

Unlike the other party, my dignity remains very much intact.

Vox Hunt: I'll Never Forget This

Dec 30, 2006
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Question of the Day: "Show us an unforgettable memory from 2006."

Born Again

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Me n the little one 5 hours after he was born, which was just 5 hours after contractions began (with a vengeance, NEVER again) and about 15 minutes after we arrived at the hospital. Without pain relief. We were home in time to put Big Brother to bed and have dinner. Wow. I wouldn't let just any old body see this picture you know. I don't exactly look my best. But it perfectly captures a truly unforgettable memory for a zillion different reasons. I'm so very glad he's here, and so cute.

Boys

Dec 30, 2006
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Guggle (aka Cuddle)

Broken: One Spirit

Dec 29, 2006
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The littlest one is sapping my joie de vivre. 13 hours after I got up with him this morning and nearly 4 hours after he woke up from his last nap and he is still relentlessly resisting the idea of bedtime. Believe me I know every trick in the book, having obsessively read all the books when the Boy was tiny but thus far nothing works. He sleeps through the night from whenever he eventually passes out in exhaustion, so I shouldn't really complain since I don't have to deal with night feedings or sleep deprivation but pleeeeeeeease child, can you just go to sleep before I do so that I can have a few measly hours to myself - is that too much to ask?

Sigh.

I am only by myself when I am asleep. I neeeeed to teach this child bedtime. I am so very tired of cluster feeding all evening and being used as a human dummy.

If I had the energy I would be obsessively asking myself WHY he doesn't do bedtime when he's perfectly capable of sleeping through the night and napping in the daytime without any bother.

Please don't suggest a bottle of formula or letting him cry it out. The first one is irrelevant because I know it's not a feeding issue; if it was anything to do with not having sufficient milk to fill him up in the evening then why is he able to settle when we go to bed, and sleep right through for 8 hours? And I will never be persuaded that 'crying it out' is anything other than heartlessly teaching a child that there's no point in crying anymore because nobody comes when you do. Since crying is their only way to communicate you might as well teach your kid not to bother communicating at all. Sure, maybe they go to sleep pretty quickly once they've learned that lesson but I'd rather have my own spirit broken in frustration at not getting any time to myself than to break a babe's in order to get it. Rant over. And yes I'm a little grumpy, wanna make something of it? Thought not.

It Can't Be A Coincidence...

Dec 29, 2006
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Mama: Do you know which letter is for XXXX (baby brother's name)?

Boy looks earnestly at all the letters floating in the bath tub and after 3 or 4 seconds resolutely picks up the yellow one (ALWAYS the yellow one) of the right letter, saying baby brother's name at the same time.

Mama is more than a little freaked out now.

Mama: Yes!! Ummm. And, er, do you know what letter is for your name?

Boy looks earnestly at all the letters floating in the bath tub and after 3 or 4 seconds resolutely picks up the red one (ALWAYS the red one) of the right letter, saying own name at the same time.

Mama is stunned into spooked silence.

It's official. He's either a genuis with an IQ of ten bazillion, or all that Bob the Builde has taken its toll and now he's autistic.

Just Killing Time While They Nap...

Dec 29, 2006
3 comments

I got a belated Christmas pressie in the post from my parents today which rocks - it's such fun to get presents when the moment has technically passed. I'm a sucker for suprises and pressies. They'd told me it was on the way but I still loved the momet. Anyway it's the BBC Radio 1 Live Lounge album - and I'm loving it. The premise is that the artist / musicians turn up on Jo Whiley's show and perform a live cover version of whatever song they choose, though she has no idea what they're going to do until the second they open their mouths. The best ones are when a band pick a song that in a million years you'd never expect to hear them sing - it's just so eclectic and original and as an album to listen to it's fab - enough variety to keep you toe-tapping and singing along for the duration of 2 discs. Thanks Ma and Pa!

Sooo what else? If I haven't mentioned it before our boys are wicked sleepers. Apart from the little one stirring for a quick feed somewhere between 7am and 8am, they're not ready to face the day until 9am and consequently we've all become pretty cool at lying in of a morning. But the little fella is making me pay for it by staying awake a-l-l evening until we go to bed and he eventually flakes out from exhuastion. And while it's been lovely to have him around of an evening so that we get some cuddle time with him once Big Bro is in bed, I'm starting to CRAVE some hours in the day without small people around. So this morning I dragged my butt out of bed after his 7.30am feed in a bid to start his day earlier and hopefully end it earlier too. We'll see if it works. Anyway it was just delicious to have some solitude while it was still dark outside. We cosied up on the sofa and cooed and grinned at each other and I nursed a hot cup of tea and managed a little soul-time. Can't say I've ever managed much of a spiritual habit but it's coming together just now. Funny how good things can come from bad. Anyhow currently both boys are napping the day away and have been for the best part of 2 hours so I should probably think about waking them soon.

The sky has been horribly grey for the past few days and there's a touch of the blues around our little family. The Boys are full of coughs and snuffles, Daddy's not exactly relishing the prospect of going back to work, and I swing between breaking through into an optimistic frenzy of hope and gratefulness, and slipping into the slough of despond and dwelling on the dark side and all the unknowns and reasons to be sad. But you know, I'm passing out of 2006 and walking into 2007 with a strong sense of having come through intact, of having survived against the odds, and sometimes of having gotten away with murder. I don't understand how life turned so suddenly down such a heart-breakingly sad road back in the summer, but I've learnt to accept not having all the answers and I'm trying to learn to stop asking so many questions. Sometimes you can break a fragile moment by turning it over in your hands too many times. There are times when it's best to hold your breath, not speak and practice patience. There are times when fear tightens like steel in my stomach and I worry that what I'm holding out and hoping for might not come to pass. But it doesn't pay to peer too far ahead into the future. And there are other moments when the sense of being relatively unscathed by such unspeakably hard days leaves me feeling like I could fly, if I wanted to. The baby's awake and squawking. And there's nothing like that for cutting short a navel gazing session and making you simply put one foot in front of the other in order to get on with the business of living.

Genius

Dec 27, 2006
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The Boy has a tub of foam letters that he plays with in the bath. They stick to the side of the bath and the wall and we have lots of fun spelling out words. A few weeks ago the Boy picked out the letter that his baby brother's name begins with, and thrust it into his hand, saying his name. We laughed at the coincidence and joked that he'd be spelling out messages for us before the week was out. Tonight he did it again and we exchanged furtive looks as we wondered whether it was another coincidence or a Sign of his Greatness. We mixed the letters up several times and asked him which letter was for his brother, and 4, 5, 6 times he scoured all the letters in the bath until each time he found the right one. When we put the wrong letter in his brother's hand he got most annoyed and replaced it with the right one. 'Which letter does your name begin with?' I asked, expecting to break the magic and laugh at our pure but misguided belief in his brilliance. But. He picked out the right letter. I knew it. He is a genius.

Daddy Cool

Dec 27, 2006
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Number One Son only has eyes for his Daddy. We went to Wagamama's for lunch today and he and Baby Brother fell asleep in the car, so I kept guard on them while Daddy zoomed round Sainsbury's, except he woke up 5 minutes after Daddy left and spent the next 35 minutes asking where Daddy had gone every 0.3 seconds and moaning that he wanted him back.

Later in the car he was moaning so I turned around to assist with whatever was bothering him, and he said 'No! Dada!' and shot me his new look which involves shutting his eyes tight to indicate that he doesn't want you to look at him. 3 seconds later Daddy turned to look at him and was treated to the biggest and most adoring smile.

This afternoon the two of them cosied up on the sofa to watch Bob the Builder, and on the two ocassions that I dared to join them in the living room, the boy pointed to his bedroom where I had been tidying his clothes, and told me basically to get back to work and stop interrupting them.

It's kinda cool. I feel a little rejected of course but I imagine it's nice for Daddy to feel so adored, and suddenly I'm free to pee without permission and engage in all sorts of other activities without a little shadow. I think it also bodes well for the swanky new career that I find myself planning in my head these days. The BBC are recruiting again for the job that I narrowly missed just over 2 years ago by 'fessing up to being pregnant at the interview. BBC Scotland have vacancies too. We're toying with the idea of me going back to work and trying out Daddy Daycare and if he's as much of a hit 5 days a week as he has been thus far into the Christmas holidays I think it would work a treat.

I'm fantasising about daily vanilla lattes and good shoes, and endless email and internet access. Oh and doing some work too, obviously. Speaking of which I got some of the most ace Christmas pressies ever. CD's I'd mentioned wanting though I hadn't thought anyone was really listening to me. A tank top and scarf which I LOVE, and since the boys got tank tops too we've had a lot of silly fun dressing in matching outfits. Perfume I really wanted but had forgotten about. A top from my favourite shop, and another funky T which I mostly love because it's a 'small' and it fits. And a voucher for shoes. Heaven. I'm spending way too much time on the relevant shoe store's website planning my purchase!!

Anyway. I'm having a rare moment of peace because Daddy has taken the Boy to the shop in a bid to get him some fresh air in order to bring his temperature down - he's been pushing 39 degrees for the past 24 hours but apart from being the best hot water bottle in the world he's pretty happy. I imagine he'll be even happier when he realises he's going to the shop for an ice lolly. So I should go and use the moment to do something more indulgent than blogging. Ciao.

And so that was Christmas...

Dec 25, 2006
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The nearly-2-year-old was suitably enthralled. Cries of 'Wow!' echoed round the flat all the day long and we have enough new toys to open a toy shop. There's a definite Bob the Builder theme. Much organising and tidying up is required. Perhaps finally all the random bits of lego and jigsaws with missing pieces can be consigned to the rubbish now that there's so much new good stuff to play with.

I soldiered bravely through several trying moments in the process of cooking my first ever Christmas dinner. Cooking for 6 didn't seem like that much of an undertaking when I suggested it but it was only by the skin of my teeth and thanks to my man's late intervention that everything came together nicely. In keeping with a long established family tradition I returned to the kitchen after dinner to discover that I had entirely forgotten to serve the posh mash I had resolutely slaved over. Bummer. But at least the boy likes mash and I reckon it'll freeze well and go down a storm when it comes to weaning the littlest one.

Our wee break was good. I saw a herbalist last week about this darned gallbladder problem and she seems to think I have a major hormonal imbalance as a result of pregnancy and breastfeeding, so maybe that's to blame, but Christmas is bringing out the melancholy side of me. I was doing so well with moving on and celebrating the coming of a new year etc etc but the past few days have been tricky. Much inner wrangling and sadness and wondering what is to become of us. But I think maybe I'm just a little worn out and in need of some peace and rest in order to get my spirit back. Things could be so, so, so much worse and it's oh so important to hold tightly to the good stuff, cherish the sweetness in life, and be deeply thankful for small mercies and many blessings. Come on 2007, come quickly and knock us off our feet with wondrous happenings of unimaginable joy. Or just be a whole lot better than 2006, even. That'll do me.

Let It Snow

Dec 21, 2006
2 comments

Technically Christmas couldn't be any less stressful this year, but today there's definite tension in the air in the streets and it's hard to resist the freaking-out-frenzy that seems to be gripping the world. We're not having to travel anywhere, we don't have to worry about grounded flights, long delays at airports, or even schlepping all our kit on public transport. We even started the festivities today with a little Christmas bash with the boy's 2 best friends, and tomorrow we head out of town for our 24-hour holiday, but still I can feel the stress trying to get to me.

The Christmas bash was much fun but I had a definite sense that us Mums should have called time much sooner than we did, only we were having too much fun. We had the kids icing gingerbread men and though they humoured us with a mild interest, it was really us that enjoyed it the most. There should be a a form of therapy involving icing pens and getting to eat your work of art afterwards. We drank mulled wine and the boy did a sterling impression of a nearly 2 year old, complete with terrorising of the other kids, floppy-body tantrum throwing and endless moans of 'I waaaaaaant it,' while the littlest one played his fussy I'm-not-really-hungry-but-I'll-use-you-as-a-dummy trick so well that at several points I found myself singing to preserve my sanity or literally pulling at my hair and threatening to ice and eat small children if they didn't stop squabbling and start sharing. Being able to go slightly stir crazy in the presence of such good friends is a life saver. If I were able to talk about it I'd tell you how totally sad and sorry I am that THIS fine Texan woman won't be a neighbour and weekly playdate comrade much longer, since she's leaving the Big Smoke for a whole new life by the sea. Except I can't tell you about it because I'm actually seriously too sad and sorry about it to be able to even ponder it. I'm just in denial and pretending it's not happening.

But seriously I hanker for an altogether more serene pre-Christmas period. I long to sit outside on our patio beneath the wintry stars, warmed by the glow of a glass of something hot and festive and an outdoor fire, and gaze at our outdoor Christmas tree and think about Advent and what it means that God chose a baby of all things to speak to a world gone mad. I want a moment to myself to breath in life and peace and the light that this season is all about, instead of the frazzled sense of things undone and not enough hours in the day. I want to talk to my boy about presents and trees and stars and attempt at least in some small way to explain that it all means something magical and awesome, and isn't just about toys and too much junk food and maxing out on confused over-excitement. Heck, I wouldn't even mind if I'd managed to let him clock eyes on Father Christmas or read a book about the Christmas story but somehow all these things are passing us by and we're a slightly frazzled hurried heap of busy-ness.

I think I'm calling time on this.

It's somehow harder to catch that magical Christmas spirit when you're an at-home mum. All the usual markers are missing; the annual addiction to Starbucks' mince pies and festively-flavoured coffee concoctions, the endless lunch-time treats with colleagues 'because it's Christmas after all,' not to mention the hard-to-beat holiday feeling that the last day of work brings. I miss all that. But last week I stole out of the house alone one evening (with permission, I hasten to add) and that's how I found myself listening to Stevie Wonder's Silver Bells whilst nursing a gingerbread latte, feeling a sudden hint of sparkle in my heart and a touch of magic in the air.

I *heart* Christmas.

I know it's not really about any of those things and I love it all the more for the 'real' meaning and the opportunity it affords me to turn my attention to the state of my soul and all things eternal.

But I'm also an absolute sucker for meaning.

So I intend to put some sparkle in my Christmas one way or another from this point on, and I hope to carry even just a little bit of Christmas peace and joy into 2007. The horrors of the second half of 2006 keep fading a little every day but there are still enough reminders to make some moments hard. A phonecall from The One Whose Head I Should Have Kicked In this week made me feel genuinely sorry for her rather than undone or unravelled as it would have done a few weeks ago. Arecent conversation proved that words like 'I don't know what to say or where to start' still have the power to make my blood run cold and my heart pound until I honestly wonder if it might explode. A cheesy film with a few artfully placed lines about love lost and found can resonate in my soul so sharply that holding it together takes a force of will, and my sense of feist and fight rises up so passionately that I feel able to conquer the world, if need be. My festive tune of choice is Let it Snow, except I sing to myself like a mantra whenever necessary; Let It Go, Let It Go, Let It Go. And actually, it works. I'm a million percent stronger and less breakable than I was, and I'm proud of myself for having pushed through the pain barrier in order to put myself back together slowly and carefully, instead of papering over the cracks or letting them leave gaping holes in my soul.

So anyway, incase I don't get to say much more before next year, Merry Christmas one and all, and Happy, HAPPY NEW YEAR.