Motherhood and apple pie

After Jacob died I often wondered what having a baby would actually be like, you know as opposed to having a dead baby. Having lost my first child I think was a particularly fucked up introduction to motherhood. I spent a lot of time after Jacob imagining all the things I was missing. The walks in the park, the family outings, the giggling baby. All the 'Hollywood' images of parenthood were there taunting me following his death. In many ways (despite the obvious being dead bit), Jacob was the perfect baby, and there lies the recipe for disaster.

 No one prepares you for motherhood. I was 16 when my youngest brother was born and he was a nightmare with colic. I was aware of how difficult babies can be, but still the imagining and the reality are two different things. I should say now Emily is an amazing baby. She's so happy and bright and has an amazing personality. She is also a pretty standard baby. I know some of you are lucky enough to have a sleep through at 3 months type baby, but Emily has never fitted that bill. She is still completely random. We have nights when she sleeps through. Nights when she wakes once and goes back off. Nights when she wakes up multiple times and nights, like last night, where nothing will placate her. The only way any of us get rest on nights like that is if S or me take her into bed, booting the other half out into the spare room for the rest of the night. This morning I finally crumbled and ordered a king size bed to be delivered next week. Our double is way too small to comfortably house the three of us on those kinds of nights.

I think the biggest thing for me is that no one prepares you for the realization of forever. I know I knew that being a parent is for ever, but not until a few months have passed and the babymooning period is over did I really realize that. I mean deep down to the bone realize it. The worry, the responsibility the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy that being a mother brings. The empathy I have for her scares me. At times it breaks my heart. She goes to nursery two mornings a week now to get her used to it before I go back to work, and to give me a couple of mornings to myself. Taking her to nursery breaks my heart every time. I hate that someone else is looking after her. I hate that I don't get to see little things she does. I hate the fact that when I go back to work these days will increase and I will miss so much. I don't really have the option not to work, we have looked at it and it's just not possible. So I have to steal my heart against this and enjoy the time I do have with her.

I hope that you don't think I'm complaining about motherhood, I'm not. It's just an observation. I don't think anything has ever challenged me so much. I know that's the way it's supposed to be, but at times it's so massive and frightening and I feel so small in comparison.

Hell and back again...

Somewhere out there I know some people have noticed my blog went private. I know some people may think they were deliberately not invited to read it. That really wasn't the case. No one was invited to read it. It went off line for a while because I didn't know what the hell to do with it or what the hell to write here.

I have been in a horrible place the last 3 months, a place I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I used to say that the hardest time in my life was when Jacob died. That was fucking hard, but the last 3 months have probably been the hardest yet.

When Emily reached 5 months I had pushed myself to my absolute limits with breastfeeding a baby that continued to wake at times every hour at night. I have little family help to speak off. I am not the kind of person that's very good at asking for help. I'm fiercely independent, to such an extent that I was unable to recognize what was happening to me. When Emily hit 5 months I stopped sleeping. I stopped being able to take a nap during the day. In essence I stopped being able to stop. The only sleep I was getting came after 2-3 days of little if any sleep when I would basically crash from exhaustion. Wake and begin the whole cycle again. Add in a massive dose of anxiety about, well about absolutely fucking everything to do with Emily and you have my life for the past months.

Over the past 3 months I have been prescribed more drugs than I have EVER taken in my life. I have been labelled as being postnatally depressed. I have had to stop breastfeeding - a blessing in many ways, and I have had to stop and take a very long hard look at myself. I'm not sure I particularly liked what I saw.

I was going to go into all of this. All of the drugs and the phases and the hell that has been the last 3 months, but I don't have the energy right now for that. Maybe I will write about it soon.

The long and short of it is last week I finally got to see a consultant who after taking my entire 3 month drug history. What worked and what didn't work. Finally was able to help me. He thinks the depression I was suffering was in actuality a symptom of lack of sleep and anxiety. I basically got myself in such a state that I was amped on adrenaline. Pushing myself to keep going. Pushing myself to be the best Mum I could be for Emily. Fearing that everything I was doing was wrong and worrying myself sick that something was going to happen to Em. That I was going to have her taken from me. That in many respects she wasn't mine to keep.

This consultant has finally got to the root of my problems and has changed my medication and is providing counselling and support. I now sleep. I now know what my limits are. I now know how to relax. I'm now clawing my way back to regaining some of that lost time before I return to work.

The reason I have decided to write about this here is that if any one who has lost their first child reads this then I just want to say please be kind to yourself. Please rest as much as you can. Please ask for help. Please don't think you are superwoman, and above all please be prepared for how fucking hard being a mother is. Do not get yourself in the state I am/was in. Please.

Hopefully you're all wiser than me and have more support than I did. Hopefully you won't end up in the mess I did. I hope not.

The unbearable lightness of being

I've not stopped blogging because my life is so perfect and I am cured. Far from it. I'm just permanently exhausted and often wordless.
I read all my googlereader posts every day. I think I probably always will. It's my habit - breakfast, tea and reader. I want to comment often I just don't have time or sometimes the energy. I'm here though reading.

Nearly 5 months old now. We have hit a rough patch sleepwise. She's trying to sit and to roll. The world is constantly bombarding her senses, she struggles to block it all out. Her sleep is suffering as a result, and therefore so is mine. She has her first sniffley cold curtesy of her Granddad who gave his cold to me.

She is so ready to be in her own room - I'm not.
She is on the verge of being ready for food - I'm not.
I'm following the rules. All the rules. The reduced risk of SIDS rules. The WHO recommendations on weaning rules. Because if I follow the rules everything will be OK right? Right? The rules obviously saved us last time ... Ha!

Why do I still follow them? Because if anything were to happen that would be one less stick to beat myself with.

Yup, still suffering mentally with the whole dead baby thing.

CLCs recent post is so much what I feel. Last night I sat in the bath trying to remember the details of Jacob and his birth. Those memories are fading. I don't visit them enough. I can't visit them. I can't - they crush me.

She's sleeping in my arms right now. Snuffling in her sleep. I'm sure I spoil her on one hand, and on the other I think I'm too tough on her. Expecting too much of one so little.

Sometimes I think I'm so irreversibly broken. Other times I manage not to think.

Parenting my dead son is so hard. As is parenting my live daughter. I just never realized how hard the latter combined with the former would be.

One Year

It's maybe TMI, but a year ago today I came home from a very boozy business trip to the big smoke. I was armed with a positive OPK.

Upon arriving home at 7pm after a much delayed train journey I dragged S upstairs and told him I was hungover and exhausted, but that we had to ... you know. I then promptly fell asleep till the next day. I know I'm such a classy lady.

One year ago today Emily was conceived.

Two days later we flew to Rome. I can not believe it's been a year. One of the longest, but also with hindsight one of the shortest years of my life.

Happy Conception Day Em x x x