I hate this time of year. The no-man's land between Christmas and New Year. It's not that I specifically hate the days. They are often lovely and full of fun and relaxation and a wonderful "nothing to do" vibe. But it also has that sense of approaching doom for me of another year beginning. Think the soundtrack of Jaws...
It has not always been this way. I am naturally a lover of all things fresh and new and full of possibility. I am a planner by nature and used to love to think about what I would be doing in the coming year. But over the last decade or so I have become jaded and frankly completely afraid of facing the new year as appears on the horizon.
You see, reflecting on the past year and planning for a new one is like cocaine for a perfectionist, planner with unrealistic expectations, such as myself. I guess for an alcoholic the New Years party creates its own share of temptation and risk. And for me, the list of resolutions has grown to become something I run from. This is where the alcoholic analogy falls over completely so please disregard any connection from here on.
Imagine loving to plan but becoming fearful that all a plan becomes is a trap to throw myself into and live in for the rest of the year. If I follow the plan I am "good", if I don't I am a failure. And the plan itself is only based on whatever felt important at the time I wrote it. Oh and it was written by a perfectionist with unrealistic expectations so it was also completely impossible and detailed and really was a set up for failure from the beginning. Add to this not just a plan, but specific goals that deal with specific things I want to do EVERY SINGLE DAY!
So in reaction to the obvious flaws in the above approach, I stopped goal setting, planning or really expecting anything. At least officially. I was and remain a very harsh critic and the expectations, whether written or not, still float around in my head as some kind of yard stick of "living well". Unfortunately this has led to me losing some of the joy I do find in looking forward to the future.
When I was a teenager and couldn't get to sleep I used to daydream until it turned into real dreams and I drifted off. My daydreams would be about actual things I was looking forward to or hopes and dreams I had about the future. I often thought about what my life would be like when I "grew up". This usually meant move out of home, go to Uni, get a job etc. This was the stuff which reminded me while I struggled through the angst of teenage-hood, that there was another age and stage around the corner where I would be able to make more choices, have more freedom and maybe the self confidence to be the someone I was sure I was, hidden under my insecurities and awkwardness.
And I have to say my 20s were a lot like that. My dreams didn't quite come true but I loved the decade as I grew into myself and made so many wonderful friends. I became more comfortable about who I was. But it still was never enough. Each New Year approached and I would try again. Often the same goals rewritten with a twist for 2002 or a focus on something which was becoming more important to me at the time. But every year I looked back and was disappointed in myself. After a while I stopped. Why do something which makes me feel so bad even if at its heart, I wanted to make my life better?
However, it seems this year that there is a change in the air. This week I have felt so exhausted as the weight of how hard the white knuckle ride of the last 6 months has been. I honestly feel that hibernating for 6 months is required for me to ever venture beyond my front door again. And so I find myself thinking that I better make a plan. This time the plan is not to improve myself, well not in the usual sense. I think this plan could be more about avoiding breakdown.
I think I need a plan to work within my capacity, to treat myself as fragile and to recognise that this body I am in and the person I am will actually fall apart both literally and figuratively if I keep living like I am. I am still allergic to the idea of goals and feel the tentacles of perfectionism beginning to tickle my ankles even as I stand paralysed this side of January 1st 2014. This plan will not be about being "better" or "improvement". It will be about weakness and vulnerablity, saying "No, I can't manage to do that". And being able to sit with my imperfection. I say I believe in a God who loves me as I am and has made me in his image. I say I believe that I am forgiven for anything and everything I could ever do or have done that would hurt myself or anyone else. I say I love others because I can see how fearfully and wonderfully we all are and how precious we are. But somehow I seem to think and behave as if none of the above applies to me. And this year I plan to give up. Give up on trying so hard to do things that don't matter and leave me in a pit of self loathing hiding under my duvet.
Hopefully the plan can remain a relief and not a noose around my neck. There is a glimmer of hope here but so many roads that still lead down the path of not-good-enough and unacceptable. I wonder if I can create a new path. I pray I can cause this one is a dead end. Pun intended.
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Sunday, 29 December 2013
Sunday, 17 March 2013
Be where you are
This year i have been enjoying being where i am. Or at least learning to. We moved to our own home in a new suburb about 18 months ago now. We are quite far from where i have lived most of my life. We love it. It feels like a small town.
This year i am aiming to live local. So we go to a local mainly music class, ella starts dance classes this week and we have started going to a local church which is walking distance from home. Each week we walk up to the village shops to go to the library and have a picnic in the park. It is really helping me to feel settled here.
Another way of "being where i am" is surrendering to the season of my life and the circumstances i am in and not fighting them. Life feels very busy and it seems there is no end to laundry and housework. I have been wrestling with this. But this week something clicked.
Suddenly i could feel myself surrendering to it and pressing into it. No Facebook has helped cause i am no longer distracted by what other people are doing. Also, because daycare is more expensive this year, i can't do extra days at work. This is hard to accept cause i love helping out when things are pressured (the extra time was voluntary), and need to fit work into the evenings after kids are in bed and housework done. I have also dropped all the groups i was involved with last year and before George was born. That has been hard and there has been some grieving, but life is more simple and i am enjoying more time at home. Now with two littlies, pottering at home is so lovely and as long as we get out once a day, i avoid cabin fever.
Since becoming a mum i have also struggled with how to do my Christian faith in a way which isn't just desperate prayers when i am losing it. I think i have read my bible a total of less than 10 times in the last 3 and a half years. It is pretty hard to stay in church for the sermon with managing kids who don't like going to Sunday school on their own. Oh that's if we ever get to church. I have felt guilty and lost. All the advice seemed to be "try harder" or set up a conflict between my kids and time for spirituality. But yesterday i suddenly realised that this is where god has put me right now. This is where i am. He knows my circumstances and it has to be possible to have an authentic and rich relationship with managing Jesus while being in this season and without escaping it. So listening to worship music in the car and at home, praying and praising while i hang out the washing and delighting in ella and George are how it is right now. And i am even managing to give up tv time at nights to spend some time reading the bible.
By being where i am and accepting both the limitations but also the joys i feel so much more at peace and can really get into the moment.
I don't know what the future holds for all the ideas and dreams i have but right now i am being right here and it is good.
This year i am aiming to live local. So we go to a local mainly music class, ella starts dance classes this week and we have started going to a local church which is walking distance from home. Each week we walk up to the village shops to go to the library and have a picnic in the park. It is really helping me to feel settled here.
Another way of "being where i am" is surrendering to the season of my life and the circumstances i am in and not fighting them. Life feels very busy and it seems there is no end to laundry and housework. I have been wrestling with this. But this week something clicked.
Suddenly i could feel myself surrendering to it and pressing into it. No Facebook has helped cause i am no longer distracted by what other people are doing. Also, because daycare is more expensive this year, i can't do extra days at work. This is hard to accept cause i love helping out when things are pressured (the extra time was voluntary), and need to fit work into the evenings after kids are in bed and housework done. I have also dropped all the groups i was involved with last year and before George was born. That has been hard and there has been some grieving, but life is more simple and i am enjoying more time at home. Now with two littlies, pottering at home is so lovely and as long as we get out once a day, i avoid cabin fever.
Since becoming a mum i have also struggled with how to do my Christian faith in a way which isn't just desperate prayers when i am losing it. I think i have read my bible a total of less than 10 times in the last 3 and a half years. It is pretty hard to stay in church for the sermon with managing kids who don't like going to Sunday school on their own. Oh that's if we ever get to church. I have felt guilty and lost. All the advice seemed to be "try harder" or set up a conflict between my kids and time for spirituality. But yesterday i suddenly realised that this is where god has put me right now. This is where i am. He knows my circumstances and it has to be possible to have an authentic and rich relationship with managing Jesus while being in this season and without escaping it. So listening to worship music in the car and at home, praying and praising while i hang out the washing and delighting in ella and George are how it is right now. And i am even managing to give up tv time at nights to spend some time reading the bible.
By being where i am and accepting both the limitations but also the joys i feel so much more at peace and can really get into the moment.
I don't know what the future holds for all the ideas and dreams i have but right now i am being right here and it is good.
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
No more "please rescue me"
The reality of life with two kids has well and truly dawned on me. I am back at work two days a week and with a baby still waking and the other normal stuff like laundry, cooking, more laundry, keeping everyone happy and healthy etc. things are feeling pretty overwhelming. Today I remembered the overwhelming sense of responsibility for Ella that I felt when we first brought her home. And I realised that a lot of my depression at that time was due to feeling that I just couldn't do it. I couldn't be everything she needed and do everything that needed doing. And so I thought she would be better off without me.
And so now I find myself feeling the same at times. Not so much that they would be better off without me. but that there is only one Mum and its me and even when I would love someone to come and rescue me from the sense of responsibility and burden I feel at times, it ain't going to happen.
Now don't get me wrong. I love my kids. But being a Mum is tough. And I am not going to lie about that just because you somehow aren't supposed to say that it isn't much fun at times. But if I am honest, what makes it tough, apart from all the usual realities like lack of sleep, loss of time for me and hubby, kids being sick or issues with behaviour. Oh the list could go on and on...
is having unrealistic expectations of myself and my underlying fear that somehow I am going to hurt my kids in some awful way.
And so I keep thinking I need rescuing because the pressure I put on myself is so huge. And when I am able to step back and get some perspective, I realise I am doing a pretty good job. But it is so easy when I wake up feeling bleary and tired from an interrupted night, to feel incapable of looking after my kids. And not just surviving through the day, but giving them childhoods which build them up and prepare them for life.
I hope that this is just a part of growing up. You know, putting your money where your mouth is, as it were. I chose to have kids, I love them. Now this is the time where the rubber meets the road. I have to get on and do it. Not worry about doing it "wrong" or over analyse it all. Just do it.
I keep repeating to myself "I am the Mummy and I decide how we are doing it" when I have those times of doubt and confusion and just don't know what to do or keep second guessing myself. Often I am having to filter what I have read, or heard, or the way people I know approach a parenting issue. We are all bombarded with so much advice and research and dire warnings about what we should and shouldn't do as parents, and I think especially as mothers.
I have always been so influenced by others and struggle to accept that there is not one right way to live and do things. Blame my perfectionist tendencies and Christian upbringing maybe. Ironically there is actually very little in the Bible about the details of raising kids. That explains why "Christian" parenting reflects exactly the same continuum as we see generally in Western society.
Having two kids to juggle and their needs as well as my hubby's and my own, has really solidified the fact that I need to stop considering anyone else except those who live under our roof, and that compromise is a given. Things can't stay the way they were with once child and I can't do things the same way. I thought I had made all my parenting decisions up to the age of three. Turns out I haven't. George is so different from Ella, our lives are different and we are different. So I have to choose again. And no one is turning up at the door to tell me what to do and give me a gold star for doing it "right". So that is up to me, both the decisions and the gold star.
I know deep down that this is something I have needed to truly learn for years and this may be the way I learn it. But it is hard and painful and quite scary. And at about 3pm when I am hanging on for hubby to walk in the door and rescue me, I am learning that it doesn't actually work that way. I am still Mum and I am still in charge and if I don't cook dinner, or do the dishes or whatever really needs doing, then it probably won't happen. Until tomorrow, when I still have to do it. And if hubby and I don't decide to deal with Ella taking over an hour to get to sleep each night, then no-one else is going to.
So I am hardening up I guess, in a growing up kind of way. Hopefully love and grace can be the path I follow as I build up my Mum muscles.
And so now I find myself feeling the same at times. Not so much that they would be better off without me. but that there is only one Mum and its me and even when I would love someone to come and rescue me from the sense of responsibility and burden I feel at times, it ain't going to happen.
Now don't get me wrong. I love my kids. But being a Mum is tough. And I am not going to lie about that just because you somehow aren't supposed to say that it isn't much fun at times. But if I am honest, what makes it tough, apart from all the usual realities like lack of sleep, loss of time for me and hubby, kids being sick or issues with behaviour. Oh the list could go on and on...
is having unrealistic expectations of myself and my underlying fear that somehow I am going to hurt my kids in some awful way.
And so I keep thinking I need rescuing because the pressure I put on myself is so huge. And when I am able to step back and get some perspective, I realise I am doing a pretty good job. But it is so easy when I wake up feeling bleary and tired from an interrupted night, to feel incapable of looking after my kids. And not just surviving through the day, but giving them childhoods which build them up and prepare them for life.
I hope that this is just a part of growing up. You know, putting your money where your mouth is, as it were. I chose to have kids, I love them. Now this is the time where the rubber meets the road. I have to get on and do it. Not worry about doing it "wrong" or over analyse it all. Just do it.
I keep repeating to myself "I am the Mummy and I decide how we are doing it" when I have those times of doubt and confusion and just don't know what to do or keep second guessing myself. Often I am having to filter what I have read, or heard, or the way people I know approach a parenting issue. We are all bombarded with so much advice and research and dire warnings about what we should and shouldn't do as parents, and I think especially as mothers.
I have always been so influenced by others and struggle to accept that there is not one right way to live and do things. Blame my perfectionist tendencies and Christian upbringing maybe. Ironically there is actually very little in the Bible about the details of raising kids. That explains why "Christian" parenting reflects exactly the same continuum as we see generally in Western society.
Having two kids to juggle and their needs as well as my hubby's and my own, has really solidified the fact that I need to stop considering anyone else except those who live under our roof, and that compromise is a given. Things can't stay the way they were with once child and I can't do things the same way. I thought I had made all my parenting decisions up to the age of three. Turns out I haven't. George is so different from Ella, our lives are different and we are different. So I have to choose again. And no one is turning up at the door to tell me what to do and give me a gold star for doing it "right". So that is up to me, both the decisions and the gold star.
I know deep down that this is something I have needed to truly learn for years and this may be the way I learn it. But it is hard and painful and quite scary. And at about 3pm when I am hanging on for hubby to walk in the door and rescue me, I am learning that it doesn't actually work that way. I am still Mum and I am still in charge and if I don't cook dinner, or do the dishes or whatever really needs doing, then it probably won't happen. Until tomorrow, when I still have to do it. And if hubby and I don't decide to deal with Ella taking over an hour to get to sleep each night, then no-one else is going to.
So I am hardening up I guess, in a growing up kind of way. Hopefully love and grace can be the path I follow as I build up my Mum muscles.
Sunday, 10 March 2013
I lost George today
Now that title is attention grabbing! And before you panic, I found him a few seconds later.
George has started commando crawling like a pro. He inch worms around the place and has discovered the house is bigger than his small, regular spot on the lounge floor. I was doing idshes in the kitchen and things had gone a bit quiet. That is never a good sign. I walked back into the lounge and George had disappeared. I called him and went into a total state of panic. How can an 8 month old just up and vanish? Calling to him was pretty silly since he doesn't talk. I started looking under furniture and then went into the bathroom. There he was on the floor beside the bath looking so proud and happy.
The bathroom is his favourite place in the house. Bath time is his favourite time of day and he goes almost apoplectic when he hears the shower or bath start running. He cried at the bathroom door yesterday while I was in the shower because I had the nerve to enjoy a shower without him.
It is amazing to me to realise he is already 8 months old and he is off and away. He is growing up so fast. His clothes don't fit almost as soon as he is in them and we have had to move up to 'toddler' sized nappies. This weekend we are doing a major baby proofing effort around the house.
There is sadness for me as I say goodbye to his baby baby stage. There will be no more babies in our house, at least not mine! And it is sad to say goodbye to that season in a way. But at the same time I am so excited to see George grow and change, and to be honest, life is hard yacka with an under one year old so I am looking forward to the less intense times to come.
George has started commando crawling like a pro. He inch worms around the place and has discovered the house is bigger than his small, regular spot on the lounge floor. I was doing idshes in the kitchen and things had gone a bit quiet. That is never a good sign. I walked back into the lounge and George had disappeared. I called him and went into a total state of panic. How can an 8 month old just up and vanish? Calling to him was pretty silly since he doesn't talk. I started looking under furniture and then went into the bathroom. There he was on the floor beside the bath looking so proud and happy.
The bathroom is his favourite place in the house. Bath time is his favourite time of day and he goes almost apoplectic when he hears the shower or bath start running. He cried at the bathroom door yesterday while I was in the shower because I had the nerve to enjoy a shower without him.
It is amazing to me to realise he is already 8 months old and he is off and away. He is growing up so fast. His clothes don't fit almost as soon as he is in them and we have had to move up to 'toddler' sized nappies. This weekend we are doing a major baby proofing effort around the house.
There is sadness for me as I say goodbye to his baby baby stage. There will be no more babies in our house, at least not mine! And it is sad to say goodbye to that season in a way. But at the same time I am so excited to see George grow and change, and to be honest, life is hard yacka with an under one year old so I am looking forward to the less intense times to come.
Wednesday, 6 March 2013
You have got to be kidding
A quick note to say that after 10 days of suffering and isolation with viral tonsilitis, I now have a gastro bug. I have no words...
Monday, 25 February 2013
The grass is always greener. Always...
So we are at the end of "the weekend of tonsillitis". It was a weekend of paracetamol, throat lozenges, tissues and tag team parenting. George and Ella had a cold at the beginning of last week. Ella shook it but George's developed into tonsillitis with a dose of ear infection thrown in. Poor baby. Blocked and running nose, watering eyes, sore throat and fever. I succumbed on Friday and on Saturday I had a headache that threatened to push my brain out my cranial orifices ( hyperbole is totally allowed when ill). Hubby succumbed on Saturday and was in the thick of it by Sunday. Thankfully it was the weekend, and our suffering was staggered so that one of us could be horizontal while the other maintained feeding and watering children, laundry, dishes and comforting of very unhappy wee man.
It is at times like this weekend that I think "Why on earth did we have children?!"
I mean, when you feel sick it is not unreasonable to feel a little regret that the days of feeling sick and being able to stay in bed and get better are over, at least for the forseeable future. My perspective fails to acknowledge there is a horizon or that kids grow up when I am feeling this way. By Sunday I was feeling more chipper and while hanging out the 5th load of laundry for the day, I realised that wishing I was at another stage of my life really has nothing to do with the specific situation I faced this weekend, it is more of a habit and fact of how I think.
I always think the grass is greener in someone else's life. Our neighbours are an excellent example or this and a constant reminder of how it could be or will be. We love our neighbours on both sides. On one side we have a couple in their 40s with late teen kids. They are doing some home improvements at the moment. New kitchen and solar hot water heating. When I hear the Mum yelling at her kids it is usually about midday and she wants the lawns mowed. She has trouble waking her kids. I have trouble getting mine to sleep.
On the other side are a younger married couple who bought the house soon after we bought ours. They both have good jobs and have a couple of flat mates to help pay the mortgage. They all are a busy, going to the beach, going camping, going mountain biking, to music festivals and having parties. They leave the house when they want, sleep in at the weekends and generally burn the candle at both ends. We often share meals with them and I don't think we give the best impression of life with preschoolers. One commented on the amount of laundry on our line, another on the fact she got home late from a party and heard hubby asking Ella rather the forcefully to please "Do a wee, just do a wee" at about two in the morning. They told a story about going to a one year old's party for a friend's child who has had the first baby in their social circle. "There were babies every where! They were all over the place!" Oh the shock, oh the horror. But as I heard them heading off to Laneway the other weekend, I admit, I was jealous.
But my lovely neighbours haven't caused these moments (or days) of wistfulness about the past or the future. I have become a professional admirer of other people's life stages and situations. Before we had kids I was just desperate to become a Mum and have our own. It got to the stage where I was certifiably obsessed. I mean, it was understandable. We had talked about kids and having a family for years before we got married and then finances dictated waiting a while longer so that my biological clock had moved from clanging to some kind of earthquake. That kind of wanting and waiting is really not healthy. And for those people who have to continue to wait and want, I have absolute admiration that they can keep on or the ability to have some balance and joy in life. I definitely was quite unbalanced. The lost and grief of losing our baby was piled on top of that.
Now I find myself with everything I ever hoped and dreamed of. A genuinely fantastic hubby who I joke about cloning and selling online because he is such a great model. I could make a fortune. A lovely home which we hope will be our forever home and a wonderful suburb which gives us a quality of life we can't really believe. And to complete the perfect picture, two beautiful kids who are a delight to watch grow and get to know.
But despite this it is still possible to look at the people around me and wish my life were different. While Ella and I were shopping yesterday I saw a dreadlocked guy sitting in STA travel. I imagined he was booking some exciting trip to an exotic destination and continuing his journey to see more amazing places and to discover more about himself. I started quickly calculating the cost of four round the world tickets and talking to Ella about visiting her godfather Paul, in Spain. But of course we couldn't do that. Young kids, mortgage, no money yada yada yada. Later on we saw the same guy. Except this time he was accompanied by his wife and toddler. Mmmmm maybe if you want to do something you should just do it Marion instead of assuming your life is so different from the guy with dreadlocks.
And I think that is what it comes down to. Whether by choice or chance, I am where I am. And I do love my life. There are always tough things about life. Some times are tougher than others. But at the moment anything I have to complain about is small and fleeting and kind of symptomatic of my age and stage. Nothing is massive or disastrous. Admittedly, some things are painful, especially the growing up and facing facts kinds of things. But I think most of us have those experiences.
Before I go and knock on every wooden surface in my home (paranoia anyone?), I am trying to focus being content and to appreciate my life as it is right now. It is hard when I am tired and sick and George is waking hourly at night cause he is still sick. But wishing I were 24 again or wanting to fast-forward to world trip in our twilight years has some pretty obvious draw backs. So focusing on my own green grass and being grateful. Cause I love my life and if I keep looking over the fence I might miss it.
It is at times like this weekend that I think "Why on earth did we have children?!"
I mean, when you feel sick it is not unreasonable to feel a little regret that the days of feeling sick and being able to stay in bed and get better are over, at least for the forseeable future. My perspective fails to acknowledge there is a horizon or that kids grow up when I am feeling this way. By Sunday I was feeling more chipper and while hanging out the 5th load of laundry for the day, I realised that wishing I was at another stage of my life really has nothing to do with the specific situation I faced this weekend, it is more of a habit and fact of how I think.
I always think the grass is greener in someone else's life. Our neighbours are an excellent example or this and a constant reminder of how it could be or will be. We love our neighbours on both sides. On one side we have a couple in their 40s with late teen kids. They are doing some home improvements at the moment. New kitchen and solar hot water heating. When I hear the Mum yelling at her kids it is usually about midday and she wants the lawns mowed. She has trouble waking her kids. I have trouble getting mine to sleep.
On the other side are a younger married couple who bought the house soon after we bought ours. They both have good jobs and have a couple of flat mates to help pay the mortgage. They all are a busy, going to the beach, going camping, going mountain biking, to music festivals and having parties. They leave the house when they want, sleep in at the weekends and generally burn the candle at both ends. We often share meals with them and I don't think we give the best impression of life with preschoolers. One commented on the amount of laundry on our line, another on the fact she got home late from a party and heard hubby asking Ella rather the forcefully to please "Do a wee, just do a wee" at about two in the morning. They told a story about going to a one year old's party for a friend's child who has had the first baby in their social circle. "There were babies every where! They were all over the place!" Oh the shock, oh the horror. But as I heard them heading off to Laneway the other weekend, I admit, I was jealous.
But my lovely neighbours haven't caused these moments (or days) of wistfulness about the past or the future. I have become a professional admirer of other people's life stages and situations. Before we had kids I was just desperate to become a Mum and have our own. It got to the stage where I was certifiably obsessed. I mean, it was understandable. We had talked about kids and having a family for years before we got married and then finances dictated waiting a while longer so that my biological clock had moved from clanging to some kind of earthquake. That kind of wanting and waiting is really not healthy. And for those people who have to continue to wait and want, I have absolute admiration that they can keep on or the ability to have some balance and joy in life. I definitely was quite unbalanced. The lost and grief of losing our baby was piled on top of that.
Now I find myself with everything I ever hoped and dreamed of. A genuinely fantastic hubby who I joke about cloning and selling online because he is such a great model. I could make a fortune. A lovely home which we hope will be our forever home and a wonderful suburb which gives us a quality of life we can't really believe. And to complete the perfect picture, two beautiful kids who are a delight to watch grow and get to know.
But despite this it is still possible to look at the people around me and wish my life were different. While Ella and I were shopping yesterday I saw a dreadlocked guy sitting in STA travel. I imagined he was booking some exciting trip to an exotic destination and continuing his journey to see more amazing places and to discover more about himself. I started quickly calculating the cost of four round the world tickets and talking to Ella about visiting her godfather Paul, in Spain. But of course we couldn't do that. Young kids, mortgage, no money yada yada yada. Later on we saw the same guy. Except this time he was accompanied by his wife and toddler. Mmmmm maybe if you want to do something you should just do it Marion instead of assuming your life is so different from the guy with dreadlocks.
And I think that is what it comes down to. Whether by choice or chance, I am where I am. And I do love my life. There are always tough things about life. Some times are tougher than others. But at the moment anything I have to complain about is small and fleeting and kind of symptomatic of my age and stage. Nothing is massive or disastrous. Admittedly, some things are painful, especially the growing up and facing facts kinds of things. But I think most of us have those experiences.
Before I go and knock on every wooden surface in my home (paranoia anyone?), I am trying to focus being content and to appreciate my life as it is right now. It is hard when I am tired and sick and George is waking hourly at night cause he is still sick. But wishing I were 24 again or wanting to fast-forward to world trip in our twilight years has some pretty obvious draw backs. So focusing on my own green grass and being grateful. Cause I love my life and if I keep looking over the fence I might miss it.
Thursday, 21 February 2013
A crying shame
Today I got a call from George's daycare to say he had a temperature and could I pick him up. I headed across the road and picked both George and Ella up. A lovely friend looked after Ella while I took George to the doctor. He has had a cold for a few days plus is teething and with a stuffy nose, he has had trouble feeding. While we waited he felt hot and between grinning at everyone in the waiting room, he grizzled and his face had the look of a kid whose head is stuffy, with big bags under his eyes.
The doctor has a look at him as I explained his symptoms. He had a few spots on his hands and dermatitis from the constant chewing on his fingers to relieve his sore gums. I said that we had been in earlier in the week to get them checked as some kids at his daycare have been sent home with chicken pox and scabies. I hadn't wanted to send him along with spots without knowing he was fine. The doctor said hand foot and mouth virus had been going through the local daycare.
He proceded to check George's temperature, his ears, throat and his chest. He diagnosed viral tonsilitis with a possible ear infection and said that it was possible it could turn into bronchiolitis. I nodded.
"Do you know what that is?"
"Yes, I've seen it at work."
"Where do you work?"
"A teen parent unit in Otara".
The doctor gave me a wry smile and nodded.
Thankfully the appointment was free, since George is an infant. I headed to the pharmacy to pick up some more paracetamol. While I waited I also got some baby balsam to help ease his congestion and a "snot sucker" to help clear his nose so he can have his bottle. When I went to pay it came to $37. The paracetamol free because of the government subsidy but the rest was pretty pricey.
When I got home it really started to hit me. George goes to the same daycare. He is exposed to the same germs as all the other babies, many of whom are the babies of the mothers I teach. They love their kids just like I do. Today, when we had the doctor at school, we had four Mums who wanted the doctor to see their baby. Most of them had already seen a doctor in the last few days about the same issue they were concerned about. They really care about the well being of their kids. Some are formula fed and some are breastfed. It doesn't seem to make much difference to how often their kids are sick. It hasn't made any difference so far to George. This this first time he has been sick since he was born and he is formula fed.
What seems to make the difference is money. George lives in a dry house with only three other people. It is a cold house in winter but we can afford to have a fire and a heater in every room that needs to be warm. It is expensive to keep the house warm but we can afford it (just).
Another thing that makes a difference is control. There are only 4 people in our house and hubby and I call the shots. We don't smoke and we don't have to deal with anyone who might want to smoke inside our house. The women I teach are often living in houses with their parents, aunties and uncles, older siblings, and or older adults, who may smoke and have more control of what happens in the house. It is pretty hard to stop bugs spreading when there are four people to a room, no heating and the house has no insulation. Expecially if the heating is an LPG gas heater which fills the room with condensation, and in many situations, carbon monoxide.
Oh and getting their own place is not an option. A Mum on her own on the DPB will get a maximum of about $380 per week, including the accommodation supplement, which is a maximum of $165/week. With rent for a damp and cold 2 bedroom unit in a dodgy area starting at about $280/week, you can see that it would be financially impossible to live independently with your child. If you have a partner you get a benefit based on being in that relationship but you then have two adults to feed, clothe and transport and it will be less than the DPB plus his benefit. If your partner works you probably won't qualify for anything. Hmm, benefit fraud doesn't seem so shocking anymore and more like the action of a mother who can do maths.
If you are under 19 you get less and if you are under 16 you get nothing and have to depend on your parents to either pass on a portion of the benefit they get for you to pay for nappies etc. or to support you and baby with no extra assistance). So overcrowding is really pretty predictable and as well as being the only option when living with multiple generations is the cultural norm, it is also an unavoidable reality of affording a roof over your head. Things are pretty tight when the offer of a corrugated iron garage with a cold concrete floor seems like a blessing.
It is also pretty hard to afford to buy healthy, fresh food when you are living on so little money. It is even harder to prepare that food when every adult in the house is working shift work and no-one knows when anyone else will be home. You may also live in a house where only Grandma knows how to cook. But she has had a stroke and so can't cook. And Mum can't work cause she's looking after Grandma cause they don't believe in rest homes and couldn't afford it even if they wanted to ship her out for a stranger to shower her and change her and feed her.
So things are a bit different for the Mums I work with and their babies. I drove George straight to the doctor cause I have a car. To have a car you have be able to afford to buy it, put petrol in it, register it. Insurance is a bit of a bonus. If you don't have a car you have to take your sick kid on the bus or walk to the doctor. And you probably can't afford a pram that lies flat for a really young baby. So you have to carry them. Oh and if your baby gets really sick and you have to go to hospital you could call an ambulance. But when you get discharged with a still-sick-but-not-in-danger baby, you still won't have a car and will have to catch the bus (if you have any money left after having to buy your meals cause no-one brings you food when no-one else has a car or money) or walk.
If you check out the Ministry of the Health website, scabies, bronchiolitis and other illnesses are common when you combine the trifecta of overcrowding, poor housing and poor diet. Add smoking and you have an almost certain recipe for preventable, communicable illness.
So this is the crying shame, that my beautiful boy who I love, just by the accident of being born as my son, is probably going to be fine. But another child, just as loved and beautiful and with just as much miraculous potential, won't. Because the love of a mother, her whanau, her community, just isn't enough. Because poverty does exist in New Zealand.
People look at me funny some times when I say my kids go to daycare in Otara. They also say my job must be pretty hard working with teenage Mums. But you know what makes it hard? Not the mums, not their babies. Instead it is the injustice that tonight while my son sleeps fitfully and needs cuddles and more cuddles, another Mum is worrying about her baby as he gets sicker. And there is nothing she can do about it.
It's a crying shame...
The doctor has a look at him as I explained his symptoms. He had a few spots on his hands and dermatitis from the constant chewing on his fingers to relieve his sore gums. I said that we had been in earlier in the week to get them checked as some kids at his daycare have been sent home with chicken pox and scabies. I hadn't wanted to send him along with spots without knowing he was fine. The doctor said hand foot and mouth virus had been going through the local daycare.
He proceded to check George's temperature, his ears, throat and his chest. He diagnosed viral tonsilitis with a possible ear infection and said that it was possible it could turn into bronchiolitis. I nodded.
"Do you know what that is?"
"Yes, I've seen it at work."
"Where do you work?"
"A teen parent unit in Otara".
The doctor gave me a wry smile and nodded.
Thankfully the appointment was free, since George is an infant. I headed to the pharmacy to pick up some more paracetamol. While I waited I also got some baby balsam to help ease his congestion and a "snot sucker" to help clear his nose so he can have his bottle. When I went to pay it came to $37. The paracetamol free because of the government subsidy but the rest was pretty pricey.
When I got home it really started to hit me. George goes to the same daycare. He is exposed to the same germs as all the other babies, many of whom are the babies of the mothers I teach. They love their kids just like I do. Today, when we had the doctor at school, we had four Mums who wanted the doctor to see their baby. Most of them had already seen a doctor in the last few days about the same issue they were concerned about. They really care about the well being of their kids. Some are formula fed and some are breastfed. It doesn't seem to make much difference to how often their kids are sick. It hasn't made any difference so far to George. This this first time he has been sick since he was born and he is formula fed.
What seems to make the difference is money. George lives in a dry house with only three other people. It is a cold house in winter but we can afford to have a fire and a heater in every room that needs to be warm. It is expensive to keep the house warm but we can afford it (just).
Another thing that makes a difference is control. There are only 4 people in our house and hubby and I call the shots. We don't smoke and we don't have to deal with anyone who might want to smoke inside our house. The women I teach are often living in houses with their parents, aunties and uncles, older siblings, and or older adults, who may smoke and have more control of what happens in the house. It is pretty hard to stop bugs spreading when there are four people to a room, no heating and the house has no insulation. Expecially if the heating is an LPG gas heater which fills the room with condensation, and in many situations, carbon monoxide.
Oh and getting their own place is not an option. A Mum on her own on the DPB will get a maximum of about $380 per week, including the accommodation supplement, which is a maximum of $165/week. With rent for a damp and cold 2 bedroom unit in a dodgy area starting at about $280/week, you can see that it would be financially impossible to live independently with your child. If you have a partner you get a benefit based on being in that relationship but you then have two adults to feed, clothe and transport and it will be less than the DPB plus his benefit. If your partner works you probably won't qualify for anything. Hmm, benefit fraud doesn't seem so shocking anymore and more like the action of a mother who can do maths.
If you are under 19 you get less and if you are under 16 you get nothing and have to depend on your parents to either pass on a portion of the benefit they get for you to pay for nappies etc. or to support you and baby with no extra assistance). So overcrowding is really pretty predictable and as well as being the only option when living with multiple generations is the cultural norm, it is also an unavoidable reality of affording a roof over your head. Things are pretty tight when the offer of a corrugated iron garage with a cold concrete floor seems like a blessing.
It is also pretty hard to afford to buy healthy, fresh food when you are living on so little money. It is even harder to prepare that food when every adult in the house is working shift work and no-one knows when anyone else will be home. You may also live in a house where only Grandma knows how to cook. But she has had a stroke and so can't cook. And Mum can't work cause she's looking after Grandma cause they don't believe in rest homes and couldn't afford it even if they wanted to ship her out for a stranger to shower her and change her and feed her.
So things are a bit different for the Mums I work with and their babies. I drove George straight to the doctor cause I have a car. To have a car you have be able to afford to buy it, put petrol in it, register it. Insurance is a bit of a bonus. If you don't have a car you have to take your sick kid on the bus or walk to the doctor. And you probably can't afford a pram that lies flat for a really young baby. So you have to carry them. Oh and if your baby gets really sick and you have to go to hospital you could call an ambulance. But when you get discharged with a still-sick-but-not-in-danger baby, you still won't have a car and will have to catch the bus (if you have any money left after having to buy your meals cause no-one brings you food when no-one else has a car or money) or walk.
If you check out the Ministry of the Health website, scabies, bronchiolitis and other illnesses are common when you combine the trifecta of overcrowding, poor housing and poor diet. Add smoking and you have an almost certain recipe for preventable, communicable illness.
So this is the crying shame, that my beautiful boy who I love, just by the accident of being born as my son, is probably going to be fine. But another child, just as loved and beautiful and with just as much miraculous potential, won't. Because the love of a mother, her whanau, her community, just isn't enough. Because poverty does exist in New Zealand.
People look at me funny some times when I say my kids go to daycare in Otara. They also say my job must be pretty hard working with teenage Mums. But you know what makes it hard? Not the mums, not their babies. Instead it is the injustice that tonight while my son sleeps fitfully and needs cuddles and more cuddles, another Mum is worrying about her baby as he gets sicker. And there is nothing she can do about it.
It's a crying shame...
Monday, 18 February 2013
The joy of 'selling out'
I have been mulling over this post for months. It seems that the dust is settling since George's arrival and life is seeming 'normal' as a family of four. Something I have given a lot of thought to is how the ideals I may have had before Ella arrived and again before George arrived have had to be dropped or let go of over the last few months. And 'selling out' on some of my ideals has been fantastic!
With Ella a big ideal I had was not too much or no t.v. That quickly went out the window and we joke that t.v is one of our most useful parenting tools. Being too sick to move during most of my pregnancy with George made me a great fan of Kidzone. That experience really taught me that it is not all or nothing. Sometimes t.v helps us get through the day. Ella rarely is left in front of the t.v alone and we had lots of lovely naps and cuddles on the couch as my tummy got bigger. Since George was born Ella often watches t.v while I am getting George to sleep. He finds his big sister way too entertaining to be able to sleep with her around. Since he has arrived I have tried to reduce how much we watch but some days it is on more than others.
I also told myself I wouldn't use food rewards. Well when it came to toilet training and specifically Ella and number twos, icecreams were magical. And at the moment they are also helping us get Ella used to going to sleep without her Daddy or me lying beside her. Maybe she will reward herself with food when she's older, but hopefully not.
Feeding George has been the biggest challenge to my ideals. Letting go of breastfeeding and then slowly realising that it wasn't the end of the world, has been an eye opening journey. It has forced me to question a lot of the rhetoric used to 'encourage' (guilt trip) mothers about breast feeding. I am still a hand on heart breast feeding advocate, but not because of the evils of formula. (If you want to read more about this check out The Fearless Formula link in sites I like). Accepting formula and bottles helped me to stop stressing and focus on bonding with George and having time for Ella again after being so absent while I was sick and pregnant. It has been really tricky to navigate the new world of formula types, bottle feeding and all the pro breastfeeding but actually anti formula stuff I have had in my head which I have needed to work through. But it has also been so freeing to realise that so little about being a Mum and the relationship I have with George is about boobs or no boobs. Feeding him is just as special as it was with Ella. I had also these ideas about how not breastfeeding would change how I parented. But it hasn't. I find myself still cosleeping and feeding him to sleep. I have dabbled in changing that due to burps waking him but have come back round to the fact that he likes to go to sleep that way.
Doing things differently this time has freed me up to let go of some other ideals - like cloth nappies. Mine are currently listed on trade me. It is tough enough to get the washing done and hung out. So I am letting that one go. George loves his food. Ella wouldn't let a spoon near her mouth so she never had baby food. But with George I just couldn't face the pureeing so he is on commercial baby food and finger food from our meals. And it is great. I think I felt bad about it for a day. Then I just decided it worked best for us and moved on.
I think changing ideals is a normal part of parenting and so many things I thought I would 'never' do or 'should' do, I have either changed my mind about, couldn't actually manage or have decided were basically stupid. And instead I have tried to focus on being the parent I want to be rather than 'doing the right things". My kids want me, not a mother who does the 'right' things. Enjoying our life together is more important than meeting some expectations I used to have or thought meant I was a good Mum.
I guess I have said goodbye to ideals and got back to my values. What is really important to me and to our family? I guess some 'doing' things do matter - like eating food we have grown, spending time together, keeping things simple. But there is no prescription for how that looks in practise and no rules about how family should be. Kids want their parents to be present, to be loved, warm and fed. That's it. That is why kids who grow up in all sorts of families all turn out ok. And kids who don't know they are loved, all suffer for it. So it isn't about how you do being a parent. I'ts that you love your kids and they know it.
Letting go of ideals is another step in my quest to banish perfectionism from my life and on the other side of idealism there is a much more peaceful and joyful reality. As I drove along the motorway today I thought "I am truly happy and relaxed" and George has a cold, and I am tired and I have work tomorrow. So I think that is worth celebrating. No more ideals. A bit more real.
With Ella a big ideal I had was not too much or no t.v. That quickly went out the window and we joke that t.v is one of our most useful parenting tools. Being too sick to move during most of my pregnancy with George made me a great fan of Kidzone. That experience really taught me that it is not all or nothing. Sometimes t.v helps us get through the day. Ella rarely is left in front of the t.v alone and we had lots of lovely naps and cuddles on the couch as my tummy got bigger. Since George was born Ella often watches t.v while I am getting George to sleep. He finds his big sister way too entertaining to be able to sleep with her around. Since he has arrived I have tried to reduce how much we watch but some days it is on more than others.
I also told myself I wouldn't use food rewards. Well when it came to toilet training and specifically Ella and number twos, icecreams were magical. And at the moment they are also helping us get Ella used to going to sleep without her Daddy or me lying beside her. Maybe she will reward herself with food when she's older, but hopefully not.
Feeding George has been the biggest challenge to my ideals. Letting go of breastfeeding and then slowly realising that it wasn't the end of the world, has been an eye opening journey. It has forced me to question a lot of the rhetoric used to 'encourage' (guilt trip) mothers about breast feeding. I am still a hand on heart breast feeding advocate, but not because of the evils of formula. (If you want to read more about this check out The Fearless Formula link in sites I like). Accepting formula and bottles helped me to stop stressing and focus on bonding with George and having time for Ella again after being so absent while I was sick and pregnant. It has been really tricky to navigate the new world of formula types, bottle feeding and all the pro breastfeeding but actually anti formula stuff I have had in my head which I have needed to work through. But it has also been so freeing to realise that so little about being a Mum and the relationship I have with George is about boobs or no boobs. Feeding him is just as special as it was with Ella. I had also these ideas about how not breastfeeding would change how I parented. But it hasn't. I find myself still cosleeping and feeding him to sleep. I have dabbled in changing that due to burps waking him but have come back round to the fact that he likes to go to sleep that way.
Doing things differently this time has freed me up to let go of some other ideals - like cloth nappies. Mine are currently listed on trade me. It is tough enough to get the washing done and hung out. So I am letting that one go. George loves his food. Ella wouldn't let a spoon near her mouth so she never had baby food. But with George I just couldn't face the pureeing so he is on commercial baby food and finger food from our meals. And it is great. I think I felt bad about it for a day. Then I just decided it worked best for us and moved on.
I think changing ideals is a normal part of parenting and so many things I thought I would 'never' do or 'should' do, I have either changed my mind about, couldn't actually manage or have decided were basically stupid. And instead I have tried to focus on being the parent I want to be rather than 'doing the right things". My kids want me, not a mother who does the 'right' things. Enjoying our life together is more important than meeting some expectations I used to have or thought meant I was a good Mum.
I guess I have said goodbye to ideals and got back to my values. What is really important to me and to our family? I guess some 'doing' things do matter - like eating food we have grown, spending time together, keeping things simple. But there is no prescription for how that looks in practise and no rules about how family should be. Kids want their parents to be present, to be loved, warm and fed. That's it. That is why kids who grow up in all sorts of families all turn out ok. And kids who don't know they are loved, all suffer for it. So it isn't about how you do being a parent. I'ts that you love your kids and they know it.
Letting go of ideals is another step in my quest to banish perfectionism from my life and on the other side of idealism there is a much more peaceful and joyful reality. As I drove along the motorway today I thought "I am truly happy and relaxed" and George has a cold, and I am tired and I have work tomorrow. So I think that is worth celebrating. No more ideals. A bit more real.
Friday, 11 January 2013
Are pink princesses the new devil?
I have been aware of the concern expressed by parenting experts, psychologists, friends and in the media, that the princess fetish that products for girls seem to promote are terrible for little girls growing up. And I can see their point. I certainly don't want my daughter thinking her life consists of pretty dresses and waiting for a prince to rescue her. And the rainbow consists of more colours than pink.
But I am also aware that becoming comfortable with myself as a woman involved getting in touch with a bit more princessness. I grew up in a family sans Barbie and princesses. Anne of Green Gables was more my style and I used to pretend I was a farmer milking my cows in the backyard. By the time I was a teenager I also felt quite uncomfortable in my own body and puberty was not kind. I was a geeky girl who was a curvy girl and to be honest, I just didn't know what to do with them. They didn't seem to reflect who I was because the picture I had of my identity was not at all about the feminine. And coming from a Christian background, I wanted to be modest and felt like my body was betraying that. (Yes, that is a whole other issue).
When I hit my 20s and University I was blessed to become friends with some women who helped me to feel more comfortable in the body I have been given by just spending time with them. I could see that enjoying femininity and looking good doesn't undermine my strength and belief in all the other parts of me.
So back to princesses. Ella told me yesterday that she wants to be Sleeping Beauty. "Shock, horror" I thought. I don't want my strong and sparky girl to have that as her ultimate goal. But then I remembered that she says "Mummy, do you know what I want to be?" almost every day. And each time it is different. The list has included doctor, nurse, teacher, mummy, fire'man', farmer, vet and the list continues to grow. And I like that. At the tender age of 3 she feels she can dream of being anything she likes, including, God forbid, a princess.
I never thought I was pretty enough or that it was okay to dream of even being pretty, and forget any delusions of being a princess. I now think a healthy sense of the feminine is part of developing a total sense of self. Feminine doesn't mean skinny or blonde or any of the other stereotypes society and the media provide. Hopefully Ella grows up feeling great about all the parts of herself and no one model or ideal will be the example she follows cause she will be her unique self and no part of her will seem out of place. Maybe I am extremely naive but since she gets a big variety of toys, activities and is surrounded by awesome women, I think she has a good chance of not being swamped by being over sexualised.
And to be honest if I am a role model then is absolutely no chance that she will think she has to primp and preen to be acceptable. Heck, I don't even brush my hair most days!
But I am also aware that becoming comfortable with myself as a woman involved getting in touch with a bit more princessness. I grew up in a family sans Barbie and princesses. Anne of Green Gables was more my style and I used to pretend I was a farmer milking my cows in the backyard. By the time I was a teenager I also felt quite uncomfortable in my own body and puberty was not kind. I was a geeky girl who was a curvy girl and to be honest, I just didn't know what to do with them. They didn't seem to reflect who I was because the picture I had of my identity was not at all about the feminine. And coming from a Christian background, I wanted to be modest and felt like my body was betraying that. (Yes, that is a whole other issue).
When I hit my 20s and University I was blessed to become friends with some women who helped me to feel more comfortable in the body I have been given by just spending time with them. I could see that enjoying femininity and looking good doesn't undermine my strength and belief in all the other parts of me.
So back to princesses. Ella told me yesterday that she wants to be Sleeping Beauty. "Shock, horror" I thought. I don't want my strong and sparky girl to have that as her ultimate goal. But then I remembered that she says "Mummy, do you know what I want to be?" almost every day. And each time it is different. The list has included doctor, nurse, teacher, mummy, fire'man', farmer, vet and the list continues to grow. And I like that. At the tender age of 3 she feels she can dream of being anything she likes, including, God forbid, a princess.
I never thought I was pretty enough or that it was okay to dream of even being pretty, and forget any delusions of being a princess. I now think a healthy sense of the feminine is part of developing a total sense of self. Feminine doesn't mean skinny or blonde or any of the other stereotypes society and the media provide. Hopefully Ella grows up feeling great about all the parts of herself and no one model or ideal will be the example she follows cause she will be her unique self and no part of her will seem out of place. Maybe I am extremely naive but since she gets a big variety of toys, activities and is surrounded by awesome women, I think she has a good chance of not being swamped by being over sexualised.
And to be honest if I am a role model then is absolutely no chance that she will think she has to primp and preen to be acceptable. Heck, I don't even brush my hair most days!
Monday, 7 January 2013
Got the Bad Mummy Blues
I think all parents would agree that we want the best for our kids. We want them to be healthy and happy. When they are sick or sad we want to relieve their pain, to provide them with comfort and security, and if at all possible, fix it.
Today I had one of those days when I stood back and felt like I had done a crap job. And I am singing the bad mummy blues.
Ella has eczema. She has had it for a long time. It has never been terrible but it bothers her at times. The chronic patch behind her knee gets pretty raw and has spread. I have not been good at managing it and she is scared to have cream put on it cause it stings. It got infected over Christmas and it has been a struggle to get her to take the antibiotics and I keep forgetting. She has also had chronic constipation and has been having treatment for this but it seems to be getting worse again.
George has been really unsettled and has developed eczema all over his wee body. He hasn't been feeding well, and he never really has. He is always windy and is waking lots in the night. This coincided with starting solids and me using bought stuff. He is also really constipated and just not his usual settled self. Went to the doctor today and she suspects the problem is a dairy intolerance or allergy. It does run in the family. So now we are trying soy formula for a week to see if it makes a difference. I am lathering him with cream and it is improving.
So that's the outside stuff. What is happening inside my head goes something like this:
Have I been ignoring a possible dairy intolerance in Ella? Am I letting her eczema get out of control and now she is waking in the night? Is her constipation related? Did I ignore this because I just couldn't deal with it? What on earth will she eat since she lives on milk, weetbix and yoghurt and not much else. Is it my fault she does eat well?
If George is dairy intolerant maybe he would have been fine if I had kept pumping breastmilk? If I had introduced one food at a time and used home made maybe I would know what caused the eczema? Now he is on Soy Milk which I really don't feel comfortable with but am I prepared to not use it even if it means he is not in pain and eating properly?
And is it totally selfish to make this all about me and how I feel as a Mum?
And this is really stressful and I can feel my anxiety coming back and I don't want to get depressed again but does that make me a useless Mum if I can't just focus on my kids and what they need without losing the plot?
Don't you love those bad mummy blues.
BUT...
I know these thoughts are just thoughts. They take me no where. And they are my feelings rather than reality. They are the harsh and critical voice of self blame that tries to gain control by accepting blame about something which has no culprit or "baddy". Shit happens and life is what it is. What matters now is how I respond to both the practical situation and to the feelings I have.
So though I may have sung a few verses of the bad mummy blues today it is just cause I love my kids and sometimes I wish I had super powers so that I wouldn't make the very human mistakes I do and that life was simpler and easier than it is.
So tomorrow when I have to try to get Ella to take her medicine and watch hopefully as George changes to soy, I will remember that I love my kids, I do my best and they do feel loved and safe. And I might need some cuddles myself as I navigate another bump in the road.
Today I had one of those days when I stood back and felt like I had done a crap job. And I am singing the bad mummy blues.
Ella has eczema. She has had it for a long time. It has never been terrible but it bothers her at times. The chronic patch behind her knee gets pretty raw and has spread. I have not been good at managing it and she is scared to have cream put on it cause it stings. It got infected over Christmas and it has been a struggle to get her to take the antibiotics and I keep forgetting. She has also had chronic constipation and has been having treatment for this but it seems to be getting worse again.
George has been really unsettled and has developed eczema all over his wee body. He hasn't been feeding well, and he never really has. He is always windy and is waking lots in the night. This coincided with starting solids and me using bought stuff. He is also really constipated and just not his usual settled self. Went to the doctor today and she suspects the problem is a dairy intolerance or allergy. It does run in the family. So now we are trying soy formula for a week to see if it makes a difference. I am lathering him with cream and it is improving.
So that's the outside stuff. What is happening inside my head goes something like this:
Have I been ignoring a possible dairy intolerance in Ella? Am I letting her eczema get out of control and now she is waking in the night? Is her constipation related? Did I ignore this because I just couldn't deal with it? What on earth will she eat since she lives on milk, weetbix and yoghurt and not much else. Is it my fault she does eat well?
If George is dairy intolerant maybe he would have been fine if I had kept pumping breastmilk? If I had introduced one food at a time and used home made maybe I would know what caused the eczema? Now he is on Soy Milk which I really don't feel comfortable with but am I prepared to not use it even if it means he is not in pain and eating properly?
And is it totally selfish to make this all about me and how I feel as a Mum?
And this is really stressful and I can feel my anxiety coming back and I don't want to get depressed again but does that make me a useless Mum if I can't just focus on my kids and what they need without losing the plot?
Don't you love those bad mummy blues.
BUT...
I know these thoughts are just thoughts. They take me no where. And they are my feelings rather than reality. They are the harsh and critical voice of self blame that tries to gain control by accepting blame about something which has no culprit or "baddy". Shit happens and life is what it is. What matters now is how I respond to both the practical situation and to the feelings I have.
So though I may have sung a few verses of the bad mummy blues today it is just cause I love my kids and sometimes I wish I had super powers so that I wouldn't make the very human mistakes I do and that life was simpler and easier than it is.
So tomorrow when I have to try to get Ella to take her medicine and watch hopefully as George changes to soy, I will remember that I love my kids, I do my best and they do feel loved and safe. And I might need some cuddles myself as I navigate another bump in the road.
Monday, 3 December 2012
Loving laundry
I have always been the laundry go to person between hubby and me. He has put washing on a few times in the last 8 years, and has hung out plenty of loads. But I am the one with the strategic planning in my mind of how many loads on which days and whether they will be delicate, regular, sheets and towels, etc. I am also the folder. There are three loads waiting to be folded in the lounge while I write this.
And I actually love laundry. I used to love the folding and putting it away. Creating order, a fresh start, a job done. Now I like putting the loads on. Watching the huge piles diminish and the machine humming away. While I was pregnant I had to buy Persil again cause I couldn't cope with the "natural" smells of eco friendly laundry liquid. So I love walking past the cupboard the machine lives in and smelling the smell of "clean". But recently my absolute favourite bit is hanging the washing out.
Hanging it out takes a long time. And it involves lots of bending up and down. But I am alone - at least with a bit of personal space. I get to move and stretch. I can smell the air and the day. I have to squint into the sun and get up on my tippy toes to reach the line. It is a rotary clothesline which is stuck a bit too high for me. There is still the satisfaction of organisation (I am definitely not a fan of the random washing arrangements hubby seems to go for). I have rules I follow to try to fit as much on the line as possible and for it to dry as fast as possible. I get to look around the garden and see the bees flying in and out of the hives, the chickens scratching around and the veges growing. At the moment the "cherry on top" is looking to see if there are any ripe raspberries or strawberries. It sounds blissful, and it really is. I look around and see how over the last few years our dreams have unfolded from our minds and into our reality.
Ella loves to play in her ride on car and make up all sorts of games while I am pegging busily away. At the moment there is lots of talking to herself and her imaginary friends. I hear her talking like she is the mummy. Sometimes what she says is a little too close for comfort "Stop that Mafi!" (her imaginary friend). "You are not using your listening ears and I am getting cross". Mmm wonder who says that?
If George is awake, he doesn't quite have the stamina for a whole load of laundry. He sits in his bouncinet squinting a little at the outside, outside world. Funny how babies are born from inside tummies, to inside rooms, and then finally out into the outside world, especially July babies in New Zealand.
Hanging out the laundry reminds me of me. That I love being outside and being at home and growing things and all this life that is around me and that I am living is what I have wanted. And sometimes I forget that. Sometimes it all gets really overwhelming and I think "Is this really me? Am I in someone else's life? Has there been some terrible mistake and I am supposed to be somewhere else?"
But with pegs in hand, creating a little order in the chaos, I remember that I love it all - the everydayness and the ordinary of it. And that we are really living it. Living our dream. I might have a lot more scars - real and invisible - than I expected, but I am still essentially me. I can trust that, even when it feels like the ground is in constant motion and I am lost.
Laundry as meditation.
And I actually love laundry. I used to love the folding and putting it away. Creating order, a fresh start, a job done. Now I like putting the loads on. Watching the huge piles diminish and the machine humming away. While I was pregnant I had to buy Persil again cause I couldn't cope with the "natural" smells of eco friendly laundry liquid. So I love walking past the cupboard the machine lives in and smelling the smell of "clean". But recently my absolute favourite bit is hanging the washing out.
Hanging it out takes a long time. And it involves lots of bending up and down. But I am alone - at least with a bit of personal space. I get to move and stretch. I can smell the air and the day. I have to squint into the sun and get up on my tippy toes to reach the line. It is a rotary clothesline which is stuck a bit too high for me. There is still the satisfaction of organisation (I am definitely not a fan of the random washing arrangements hubby seems to go for). I have rules I follow to try to fit as much on the line as possible and for it to dry as fast as possible. I get to look around the garden and see the bees flying in and out of the hives, the chickens scratching around and the veges growing. At the moment the "cherry on top" is looking to see if there are any ripe raspberries or strawberries. It sounds blissful, and it really is. I look around and see how over the last few years our dreams have unfolded from our minds and into our reality.
Ella loves to play in her ride on car and make up all sorts of games while I am pegging busily away. At the moment there is lots of talking to herself and her imaginary friends. I hear her talking like she is the mummy. Sometimes what she says is a little too close for comfort "Stop that Mafi!" (her imaginary friend). "You are not using your listening ears and I am getting cross". Mmm wonder who says that?
If George is awake, he doesn't quite have the stamina for a whole load of laundry. He sits in his bouncinet squinting a little at the outside, outside world. Funny how babies are born from inside tummies, to inside rooms, and then finally out into the outside world, especially July babies in New Zealand.
Hanging out the laundry reminds me of me. That I love being outside and being at home and growing things and all this life that is around me and that I am living is what I have wanted. And sometimes I forget that. Sometimes it all gets really overwhelming and I think "Is this really me? Am I in someone else's life? Has there been some terrible mistake and I am supposed to be somewhere else?"
But with pegs in hand, creating a little order in the chaos, I remember that I love it all - the everydayness and the ordinary of it. And that we are really living it. Living our dream. I might have a lot more scars - real and invisible - than I expected, but I am still essentially me. I can trust that, even when it feels like the ground is in constant motion and I am lost.
Laundry as meditation.
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