Lost

Image

 

I am lost.

I am so totally, utterly and completely lost.

I don’t know which parenting book to read first, which website to visit, which therapist to call. I am struggling with the heavy weight of despair closing around me like a cage. It’s not so much my own depression that I am battling – though that war wages on (and on and on), it’s the added weight of feeling lost in my own family.

My beautiful baby girl – Beanie – I don’t think I could feel further away from her than I do right now. I think I have spent more time crying in the last few weeks than I have in the previous few years. I’m sure not having the buffer of the antidepressants makes things that much rawer but I also feel that it is the cumulative weight of my mothering grief that is really pouring out of me right now. Every day there is a new row, a new argument, a new drama to negotiate. Beanie is not yet 6 and she behaves like a hormonal teenager right down to the ‘”I’m not listening!” and the slamming of her bedroom door.

The hubble and I are struggling to understand what happened to our happy, funny little girl. When did this angry, sullen, overly sensitive teenager slip into our home and take her over? When did she decide that the only way to get our attention was to defy, challenge, ignore, scream, shout and push against us continually? Is this what being 5 is normally like? I keep hoping that it is a phase but I don’t think that it is. I had hoped that starting school would help her settle into a rhythm, help her to learn to listen and act as part of a little team. It has not. Her teacher, a lovely woman very experienced in teaching, has told us that Beanie is very ‘challenging’. Tell me about it. But where does that leave us? If a woman who has over 20 years of teaching calls our daughter challenging and finds her difficult to deal with, then what hope have we? We have a grand total of nearly 6 years experience of having children and most of those have been fraught. At least they have for me.

I can honestly say with my hand over my heart that I do not enjoy parenting. It’s not that I don’t love my children. Of course I do. With my whole conditional, demented heart but I do not enjoy the endlessness of this ‘difficult’ phase in my mothering journey. I have been on this road too long and no matter what help I seek, I am still here, still sitting in the shit and wishing it smelled differently. I cannot seem to move away from the sadness and the grief and the enormous guilt that I am forever saying and doing the wrong thing. I say things in anger that make my cheeks sting with shame afterwards. I try to reason with her like an adult, even though I know that she is still so very little. I lack the ability and the tools to know how to manage my angry child and not make it all worse. Not make my own anger and sadness worse. I’m sitting here, sobbing over my keyboard and trying to empty it all onto a page, so that i can at least find some space inside of me to figure out what to do next. Where to go now with my precious, rebellious, angry daughter.

Discipline doesn’t work, time-outs don’t work, consequences don’t work, taking things away from her doesn’t work. We have tried time-in’s but they are not working. I am desperately trying to master active listening, so that she feels heard – God knows with me for a mother and my own rage evident much of the time, she probably feels completely unheard – but I am trying so hard. I truly am.  Nothing changes her behaviour. She is rude and disobedient to us in particular, but it has started spreading to other adults too – her grandparents, her aunty, whom she absolutely adores, and to people she barely knows. I’m only surprised that it hasn’t been more evident at school. She isn’t rude there, just disobedient. And she doesn’t listen to anyone. Not ever. And then we will have a week where very little behaviour is evident, where we seem to have turned a corner and then BANG! for no apparent reason, she overflows with brattishness all over again and we are left standing in the debris wondering what the fuck happened. And I sit there feeling like it is ALL my fault. That my anger, my difficulties with mothering, my impossibly high standards for myself (and therefore probably others too), have just fucked up my bright beautiful little girl and I deserve everything I get. And I’m sure everyone feels like this from time to time but I know how bad it gets here when I am way out of control with frustration and resentment and every little thing sets me off. I am on simmer all the time with this PND and yes, I decided to come off the medication anyway. Mainly because it was simply detaching me even more than I do myself, every time things got tough – which is EVERY DAY. I don’t want to be emotionally disconnected from my children. I don’t want to not feel anything or feel through cotton wool. I thought that it would help, but it didn’t and the withdrawal from even the low dose of SSRI’s that I was on, was phenomenally bad. I will not ever take that kind of drug again. Not ever.

She is struggling and I don’t know how to help her because I am struggling too. I can work through some of my difficulties with my therapist, but what can she do? The only person she really has to talk to is me, or the hubble, and obviously we are the last people she wants to talk to right now. So we have made the decision to take her to see a child psychologist/family therapist. This is a major step for me because I feel so horribly responsible for the whole situation. I am terrified that when I explain honestly to the therapist what has been happening, that he will recommend that Lily be immediately taken away from me. Thus realising my absolute worst nightmare – that I am such a shitty excuse for a mother that I am not safe to be around my babies.

What the fuck do I do? How do I turn this horrible heartbreaking situation around and make it into something good before she hits her teens and we find ourselves in every parent’s worst teen nightmare. I am scared for our family and I am scared for her. This much wilfulness needs to find an outlet that is positive and self nourishing or it will destroy her and everything around her. I know. I’m jumping ahead wildly, she is only 5, but I can see it coming the way a rabbit can see the headlights of an oncoming truck and can’t seem to move out of its way. I am a staring down a semi with ‘out of control Wild Child’ written on its grille. And it terrifies me.

Wildling in the Forest

Wildling in the Forest

If you could see her – you would immediately know how wonderful she is. She is so smart, and so capable and she has such perseverance – she will try something over and over again until she masters it. That’s not to say that she does it with any kind of patience – we have many, many tantrums over her inability to do something initially, but she keeps going back. I know that feeling. I am the same. I don’t want her to be like me. I don’t want her to carry my issues as her own. I want her Spirit to remain intact. I just also want her to understand that in finding some way to express herself that is not defiance or downright rudeness, she is giving herself tools to manage her own volatile emotions and that can only be a good thing.

Didgeridooing

Didgeridooing

But if you did meet her, you might be amazed at how often we have to ask her to do something before it gets done. Or you might notice how cheeky she can be, how inappropriately she often behaves – like flashing her bottom at people for no apparent reason, or at us because she knows it incenses us. Or you might notice that she has seemingly boundless energy, which she more often than not uses to get into mischief or to just push buttons until something snaps and we go spiralling into another argument, another weepy tantrum, another round of screaming and door slamming. Even my patient, kind, playful hubble is losing the plot.

Dancing Queen (from the 1980's!)

Dancing Queen (from the 1980’s!)

When she sleeps, I go and sit by her bed and tuck her into her blankets. I kiss her softly on the cheek and stroke her head or hand and I tell her how much I love her. I tell it to her as she sleeps because I keep praying that in that open unconscious state, she will hear me as she can’t seem to when she is awake. My heart is breaking for our relationship. I don’t know how to move forward with her. I don’t know how to mend all that is broken between us and it is torture and pain and so much sadness I can’t contain it all. I think that I have spent most of the time between school drop off and this entry, crying. I am not someone who cries much. But these last few weeks I have made up for that in spades. I have never felt so ineffectual and there is only so much gentle discipline I can try with my exasperating child before I revert back to the disciplinarian and get angry again.

Me & My Girl

Me & My Girl

I am crying for myself and for her – that she feels so wounded that all we have is this fractured connection. I am crying for my wee Bear who is already picking up on her behaviour and copying it – as he does everything else she does. I am crying for the strain it is putting on my relationship with my beautiful, compassionate husband – and though I know he loves me and trusts me and understands how hard I’m trying, I also know that in his heart, he blames me a little too. I am crying for the nurturing mamma in me who can’t seem to catch a break and who would tear herself in half if she thought it would make everyone happier. I am crying for her because I so want to step into the role of mother and I cannot.  I just don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to travel this path with any kind of grace or understanding. I feel as if I am just swinging wildly from one problem to another with no way of making the pendulum stop.

I keep asking the Great Mystery to reach out a hand to help me. I need some guidance to figure out how to do this right. I don’t expect a life filled with roses and sunsets on the beach but it would be nice to know that there is even a chance I can spend one whole day with my child where we love each other and enjoy each other’s company. One day in which there is no drama, no tears, no anger, no pulling away or withdrawing. One day in which I can hold her hand and see the child she is inside and make her laugh again.

For her and for myself I am asking The Powers That Be – please, please help me. Please show me a way to make this right before it gets stuck in wrong, forever.

Oooh Look! Something Shiny…

Pocket Detail

Pocket Detail

Well, if you are anything like me, those are the things that distract the most – shiny, pretty things that make your little heart go pitter pat. I’ve been getting mighty distracted recently, let me tell you. At least it’s creative distraction – or that’s what I tell myself anyway.

I am in deep with Pinterest. Seriously. If they were loan sharks, I’d be quadruply  screwed and about to wear some seriously heavy (and unattractive) boots underwater. I cannot seem to drag myself away from all the shiny pretty things that other people pin and that make me go ‘Ooooh! Must. Make. (Be. Do. Bake). That! Worse is that I have friends on Pinterest who have wonderful taste and every time they pin something, well, I simply must repin it. I LOVE Pinterest with the giddy passion of someone who goes all limp and drools with ecstasy at the mere sight of a free tutorial. I have THOUSANDS of pins. As my hubble likes to continually point out. His favourite question is, “When are you actually going to get around to using these pins?” And that’s a fair point. But the truth is that I DO use them. All the time. I cook from them, bake from them, make pretty clothese from them. And to prove that I am not simply just a slack-jawed mouth breather who does no more than grin inanely at the screen pressing, ‘Pin It’ at regular intervals – I created a board especially for things I have actually made from my pins. That should shut the hubble up nicely, especially as some of those pins are food related. Nobody can rag on you with their mouth full.

So – do check out what I have been doing and what I think of the things that I have tried. It’s really pin-teresting… har de har har. Here’s the wee linky:

I won’t reveal exactly how long it took me to get back to this page after I left to get the above link. It’s too embarrassing. Instead I will give you a link to the tutorial I used to make the above skirt. Go here if you like it enough to make one for your own wee girlie. The pocket was from the Market Skirt tutorial at MADE. I recommend her site too. She’s a genius!

Apart from that, I’ve been doing a fair bit of repurposing. I finally got around to cutting up and making something funky with my favourite (accidentally felted) striped wool jumper. The wee Bear now has funky new trews to dance in.

Stripey Bum

Stripey Bum

Funky Front

Funky Front

I swear, he’s not possessed. Just camera flare. Honest.

The jumper also made a couple of cosy winter hats for the kidlets and I even managed to create a little flower out of the leftovers to decorate Beanies hat. I’ll try and get photo’s of them wearing their hats soon. It’s certainly getting towards that kind of cold up here. I’ve extended the legs of a favourite pair of Beanie’s dungarees, so she can wear them without discomfort and I’ve added an extra couple of inches to one of her denim skirts, so that she can wear it a bit longer. Now that I know how to do this kind of stuff, I can see myself never having to throw things away again. That could get messy.

Beanie, Bear and I also spent some time dipping the beautiful autumn leaves in beeswax (to preserve their colour) and hanging them up in our dining room. They make quite the pretty garland and I can chalk up another thing from my pins to my ‘done it’ board. Good Kitty.

Knitting wise I’m busy working Beanie’s Nova dress. I would have been close to doing the sleeves by now but unfortunately, I made a mistake and had to unpick several inches of knitting, a now familiar pastime for this rookie knitter. I will eventually re-pick up my tea leaves cardigan and figure out what the hell I did wrong – or, you know, frog it completely and start again. There’s always that option. I’m also about to start on the Hudson Hat from Ravelry. It’s too cute (and too cold) for my boy to go about hatless and I have just the loveliest wool, so there will no doubt be pictures ad nauseum about that when its complete.

So I’ll leave you with these shiny pretties and be on my way. I’ve been up since around 4.30am doing the resettling sleep thing with Bear. He seems to think that 4.30am is a perfectly good time to get up and want breakfast. I disagree.

Until next time.

{This Moment}

A Friday Ritual inspired by Soulemama

A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week.
 A simple, special, extraordinary moment. 
A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Please feel free to add your moment.

*Still unable to upload photos from my computer to Blogger and still not really getting any help. Not sure when this is going to be resolved, so I’ve had to use an image from a while ago. Better something than nothing, right?

If anyone has had similar issues with Blogger and has had them resolved, please share. I’ve tried everything and it looks like this particular problem is not going away any time soon. Bah!

Nourish Me:: Week Ten:: Putting Myself First

I found this beautiful artwork here

I’ve been thinking about this post for a while now. I had lots of different nourishing things I wanted to talk about and to share with you. I have been busy doing all sorts of things and thought I could write about some of those but then I realised that I had been putting this subject off. *Sigh*

It’s really hard for me to write about attachment parenting without coming up against all of my wants and needs and hopes and dreams for my children. It’s hard for me to contemplate letting some of my hopes go but it’s harder still to be here struggling, as I so often do, to do the right thing, but ever at my own expense. Does that sound selfish? Then I’ll explain.

Right now, I am sitting in my bed at home choking my way through my fifth bout of bronchitis since last Winter. I have asthma so bad that I can’t take an in or an out breath without rattling which leads to more coughing, coughing so hard it makes me gag. Coughing so hard I can’t sleep. And so finally, at my husband’s insistence, I started taking the cortisone that I have resisted taking in all the other episodes I’ve enjoyed. I started taking the damn cortisone because antibiotics were having no effect. I started taking them even though it meant abruptly interrupting my breastfeeding relationship with my wee Bear. It was not an easy decision to make but I hope that it was the right one.

The house is empty. As in, without the balls of funny, furiously active and beloved energy that are my babes. It is empty because I am worn out, completely run down (despite vitamin supplements and immunity tonics up the yin yang) and struggling to look after my babes with no voice (literally – I have laryngitis too), no energy and no patience . So my ever practical husband called in the reinforcements and his parents stepped up (as they always do – I am amazingly lucky to have the second family that I do) and the wee ones were whisked away to stay with his mum and dad for three, yes THREE, days. So that I can sleep, rest, get well, stop spreading these godawful germs around and find health, if it indeed still resides in this house of lurgy.

My little Finnamon Bun

The children and I have been consistently sick for a year now – since Finn was 2 weeks old and he got his first cold, followed swiftly by his first chest infection and his first dose of antibiotics. As each cold/infection/chesty episode went, within a week a new one was arriving. The children and I have spent more time at the doctors this year than I have at any other time in my life. I even joked to my GP that I should just camp out in his waiting room. Har bloody har.

So the house is empty and it feels… well barren actually. Devoid of life and energy. I can feel how alone I am in this big house that is normally so warm and full of them. I miss them terribly, particularly my wee bear because I keep feeling like he is so small and must not understand what is going on. Part of it is, of course, my ever present anxiety/PND/neuroses, but the other part is the loss of my connection to my babies. No little greedy face smiling up at me between drinks from his beloved boobie. No needs having to be met. No-one trotting in in the night for ‘a quick snuggle’ before being tucked back into her own bed. No sleepy, pink-cheeked, grumpy little face surrounded by fluffy bedhair, crying softly with eyes still closed, for cuddles, comfort and a return to sleep. Nothing. Just me and my man (even though that is always comforting) and the quiet of an empty house. And in the night I dreamt that I could hear Beanie calling out for me. “Mamma, mamma, no – I want mamma.” I woke thinking that she was in the next room and was then stricken because I realised she was far away and I could not comfort her. Could not fold my tousled, long limbed, thumb-sucking, still so young, Beanie, into my arms and give her a mamma’s sleepy late night kisses that let her know all is well. All is well.

Yes, she is asleep.

This is why I struggle. I struggle with the need to sometimes put myself and my needs first without feeling horrible guilt. I struggle with being with my kids and being without them. I struggle with wanting needing space and time and rest, and feeling resentful when I don’t get it, the need to be there for my children when they need me to. Something has to give, doesn’t it? And I’ve come to the, somewhat obvious, conclusion that it just doesn’t always work out the way you want it to. Someone occasionally has to lose, if only for a little while, and up until now that has been me. I have consistently put myself second and have dragged myself through the days bone weary and tired beyond belief. I have done it when I have wanted to and when I would have given anything to be in a galaxy far, far away. And it has taken it’s toll on me mentally and physically.

And this is where I find attachment parenting a little unyielding (and I am prepared to admit that the unyielding part may be just my interpretation of its ethos. I do set my own parenting bar very high). The co-sleeping I love right up until the part where I can’t turn over because I have about a square inch of bed to myself and nowhere to put my arms, or I’m getting kicked in the back or boobs, or hit in the face by small arms and legs. Or, God forbid, there is a delicious warm sensation underneath me which suddenly and inexplicably goes cold and wet. The breastfeeding I love except where I get bitten and pinched and where I worry that I am going to affect Bear’s health long term by giving him boobie milk tainted, no matter how minimally, with anti-depressants or the fact that he needs to stay attached to the boobie long, long, long after he has fallen asleep and immediately wakes up if I try to disconnect him. The carrying I love (and do a lot of ) right up to the part where my scoliosis plays up and the hip displacement joins in, just for funsies. The gentle discipline I love right up until the part where I want to tear my hair out and scream because trying to get my girl to do ANYTHING without a major meltdown is seemingly impossible, to the point where even my hubble is losing his cool and this man is second only to the Dalai Lama in terms of being peace. I love it all right up until the part where I am worn out, run down and in need of sleep and rest and peace.

Photo by eikei

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t intend to give any of these things up entirely. I love carrying the wee man for the most part. I love having him in bed with me and have done up until recently when I realised how much I missed being able to stretch out and not worry about accidentally walloping the wee man in the head. I sleep so lightly that its become almost impossible to have the bubs in the bed for any length of time. And you know, I want to be able to put him down in his cot and have fall into a much needed sleep, without me having to stand over him for 45 minutes. And I’ve noticed something interesting about this. Sometimes he’ll be in my bed and restless, grizzling and turning over and over, so I scoop him up, pop him down in his cot and he goes straight to sleep. Perhaps even he needs a little space to himself now.

I guess what I’m trying to say, and what it has taken me over 4.5 years to learn, is that I have to take what works for me and leave the rest. Even if that does make me feel like a ‘fake’ attachment parent (and honestly, what parent isn’t attached to their child?). I have to accept that in order to give them the best of me, I need to put myself and my needs first when I can. Mamma needs her body, her mind, her sleep, to herself sometimes. I need to trust that I am enough even in those areas I fail seemingly every day. Who gets it totally right? Even attachment parents who do everything by the book get things wrong. We are fallible human beings and it has taken me a lot of time and sadness to realise this. I won’t be the ‘perfect’ mamma no matter how hard I try. I can only be me – a woman who stumbles and falls all the time, but still gets back up and tries again, tries harder. I have spent a lot of time wanting to be other people. It’s probably why I studied acting. Yet, comparing myself to others never made me feel any better about being myself. It just gave me a whole other box of reasons to dislike myself and to question hate myself as a parent. I do want to get my issues under control. Of course i do. But I want to do without beating myself up all the time. I DO hold myself accountable. I DO take responsibility for myself and my actions but I don’t need to exacerbate the problem with unkindness and a lack of compassion for myself. In some ways, I am still a child too. I need to put aside the fear based thoughts of what will become of my children in the future because what I have ‘done to them’ in the past, and trust, really trust, that their innate goodness, their own unique light, will shine no matter what. And that loving them, as deeply and as overwhelmingly as I do, will be enough. That I will be enough.

So my nest is empty and I am trying to drop into this new space and take care of myself without my thoughts consistently swinging towards my Beanie and Bear, wondering how they are, if they want to come home, if they are needing me… and concentrate on getting well. I’m not used to it. Normally I relish my time alone simply because it is so fleeting. Now I have three days of it and I don’t know what to do with myself. My hubble insists that I sleep. He has told me, in no uncertain terms, that ‘resting is not the same as sleeping’. I guess he doesn’t get how restful crafting is for me but he’s also got a point. Sleep is the one thing that has been consistently missing from my life for 4.5 years. Nourishing, deep, deep, restorative, dreamless sleep. Is that possible for me I wonder? I am so attuned to my babies sleep rhythms that I suspect that this kind of sleep may still elude me.

In my immediate future I forsee lots of expressing (not quite ready to give up feeding the wee boy yet, just while I am on nasty cortisone), knitting, sewing, napping, eating maltesers, reading, napping, watching movies, napping and then some of the aforementioned sleep.

I will leave with my sweet nourishy bites because everyone needs something cheerful at the end of a long rant.

:: watching :: Game of Thrones. If you haven’t, you must. MUST.

:: loving :: crafts, crafts, crafts. Oh I have discovered dry needle felting and I cannot be stopped! Show and tell next post.

:: longing for:: this illness to be gone and to feel truly well again. Punching the air and leaping into the air kind of well.

:: looking forward to :: being rid of the old man 60-a-day phlegmy smokers cough, to finishing Finn’s sheepy pants and starting on my ‘Tea Leaves’ cardigans for me and the Beanster (thanks DocWitchy!). Oh and starting on a little project for my lovely lady Sol-Y-Luna – she of the big heart and healing hands. She gave me a massage and now I am giving her something soft and warm and knitted, just for her own self.
:: heading towards :: adventure. Maine being the focus of that adventure. We are seriously looking into moving to Maine for a few years, just so that I can enjoy some snow and some time in the Northern Hemisphere, where everything makes sense to this northern girl again.

:: enjoying :: the cold, the mist, the bare trees, the occasional hail, the spare simplicity of Winter in the southern hemisphere. Audio books – fiction mainly because I have overdosed on non-fiction in recent years. It feels good to just sit back and enjoy a different kind of yarn (often with my yarn!). My creativity being stimulated by the lovely Goddess Leonie‘s e-courses and Goddess circle group. Don’t be put off by the hippy look of the site, the woman is sharp as a tack and gives an amazing package for those creative ladies who want to delve further into their creativity or start up a new business. There is even a Goddess Circle which gives you access to support from other women and a chance to make connections. It’s awesomeness. Chai, mocca lattes, Kate Bush and her wonderful album The Hounds of Love. Now that’s winter in an album. The link takes you to my absolute favourite track from the album. Listen to it and you’ll understand why I love it so much.

::making:: more wool roving summer fairies but this time with embellishments (piccies to come), sewing little birds for summer swaps, winter things for winter swaps and the beginnings of a daily rhythm chart for Lily, so she has some idea of what is happening next. It makes our days more peaceful if we have our path illuminated somewhat.

:: surprising myself ::  not at all.

:: feeling :: weak and tired but at least I’m resting.

:: hoping for :: good health, energy and some time with good friends.

:: grateful for :: my supportive hubble and his amazing family.

And I’ve added a new nourishy bite – 

:: just for funsies :: Funniest video on YouTube – I’m afraid that this is why people of the pagan persuasion are not often taken seriously. And where are they running to?

The Perfect Kiss

I LOVE this picture

 Not long ago, I joined a writing e-course called ‘Writing Our Way Home’. It was a lovely course designed to stimulate a little writerly creativity and the support of the other group members was really lovely.


It’s been over for a few months, well, two to be exact and in that time I have written zippety doo dah. In the course we were encouraged to observe something for five minutes, anything, the view outside your window, the children in the street, the changing season – whatever captures your attention and your imagination. Really looking takes practice. It’s not the same as observing – that’s more detached. This is about dropping into the moment and breathing it into and through you. It’s about being fully present. Then you write a ‘Small Stone’ which is to say, a miniature poem or piece of prose like this one:


The rain a tin fingered metronome on my roof
my heart and unquiet mind is lulled
by the beat
of natures steely tears


Or this one:
His milky sleep
soft weighted in my arms
sweetly snoring


The idea is to write one small stone a day and to share it, if you want to, on the site. I have found that I very much enjoy writing these little ‘proems’ (a word I made up – see what I did? I joined poem with prose…clever, eh?) and will endeavour to write one a day. It’s much like the oft mentioned fridge poetry, (using those magnetic word kits that stick to your fridge door), in that it stimulates your creativity and lets you play around with words for fun or for catharsis. I like both personally. Maybe we can call it ‘funarsis.

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…”

 Anyhoo, the people who run the courses (Kaspa and Fiona) have just gotten married and they requested that everyone who cared to, submit a small tone for their wedding, so that they could collate them into a big wedding book to commemorate the day. I thought this was a lovely idea and so here’s what came to me:

Every moment
is a gift
Every breath
a wish
Every glance
a promise
Every touch
a union
May you always
Open into these moments
Like you do
Into a perfect kiss

See – big knickers can be sexy. It’s what I keep telling my husband.

I like it. I especially like it when things come to me without any effort or time spent actually thinking about it. I simply thought of them and wrote. Stream of consciousness baby!


Anyway, I’ll keep it brief for today. Suffice to say it’s difficult to write a post on nourishment when one is up to ones dandruff in phlegm, with a hacking cough that could cut through wood. Oh and asthma – did I mention the asthma? That I haven’t had since I was fifteen? That made its unwelcome appearance in the first of these FIVE (yes, that’s what I said, FIVE) bronchial visits? That now requires a permanent use of puffers (oh, the memories of freezing school hockey pitches in England) and oh, an assortment of tonics, vitamins and, in this last bout, the abrupt breech of my breastfeeding relationship with my wee Bear while I take a three day course of fekkin’ cortico-steroids, and the whisking away of aforementioned wee Bear and my Beanie-girl, while I attempt to recover. Well apparently, the one steroid makes me sleepy and, in my doctor’s words, “If the baby wakes, you won’t hear him.” I am also not allowed to drive on them. What the? They have suggested this course of action the other four times but the fifth is the charm I suppose. I am SO over it and it’s happening so often. But I really hate that I have to do it. Hate. It.


Frustrated much?


So, I’ll keep my hands busy, try not to feel bereft of my babes (I do need the rest, I admit that) and attempt to free myself from the dastardly lurgy once and for all. 


Oh and I completely lost my voice at the weekend. And we had visitors. And my husband had to work from home because I had to talk in a whisper. And it didn’t come back. Until now. And I still sounds like a phone sex line.


“Hi, my name is Candy. What would you like me to do for you tonight…”


End scene.

Beanie & Bear