Where the Dark Takes Me.

This is where the dark takes me.

To places where I begin to question whether motherhood is really something I can do. Where I start to fantasise about pills and escaping and curling up in a corner and never coming out.

Where life gets too much and all I can see is the pain I'm causing everyone around me. The frustration in their eyes that I'm 'still not better'. The anger when they recount to me that they are doing more than they are capable of to help me, everything that they know of to fix me. But that I'm not stepping up. I'm not responding. What more do I need?

But I don't love her any less.
I don't love him any less.
I still feel a heart glow when she smiles, and when she laughs.
I still try to make a clean house because I know that makes him happy.
I read her stories because I know that makes her happy.
I do my best and sometimes I manage to even look happy.

Sometimes I can laugh. Those are good days. Day's when I manage to do things. When I can get out of bed without thinking about how I am drowning.

I remember before she came along. How excited I was. How happy I imagined life would be.

But I was wrong. Perhaps I am not supposed to be a mother.

But that doesn't mean I regret her for even one instant. Because she is perfect. She is my light. But she is also my darkness and in the darkness I believe she deserves better than I can provide.

That is where the dark takes me.

Falling For Aria - Artwork - 20.04.14

I have finally started to accept that I am in a psych ward, stopped feeling an overwhelming urge to escape, and have instead been making use of the art room in the evenings after Bean is asleep. It helps me feel better, especially when I am finger painting. This piece, started off as a piece of wood, which I covered in black paint and then placed two red footprints on it using a screwed up fist. Then I continued with the red to symbolise the blood and pain of the past seven months, before adding scratch marks and dragging my fingers down through the red to try and capture the slow, unwilling fall into this illness. The feet remain in a clear corner because I am trying to protect her from all that pain.

After that, I scanned it into my computer and adjusted some of the saturations, sharpness and added a 'cloud' filter on a low intensity to try and capture the ultimate fogginess of it all when I'm trying to remember how bad things have been. Finally, I added a 'charcoal' border to try and tidy it up a little bit. I am pleased with how it's turned out, particularly with how clear the scratch marks have ended up in the final result, as on the original wood painting, they aren't very obvious.

It was very cathartic, and I am now working on another piece. It's just a shame the art room has nothing to draw on, no paper, no scissors, no board or canvas. Someone needs to fund it, even the sewing machine is not working.

Day Leave

I have been granted an entire day at my own home! Not a big deal, many would say, but I am now so institutionalised, that I was awake from 4am because I was so excited.

I was nervous about how I might cope. I was worried I wouldn't know how to behave. I was excited to see my cat. I was dying to go outside and stand on the grass - despite the fact that it is a howling storm outside. I wanted to lie on my bed and grab some new undies, the four pairs I have in hospital are probably getting a bit over-washed by now. 

Walking into my house felt weird. On the drive home I'd suddenly realised just how long I've been unwell for, nearly six weeks now. I've been in hospital for two, it's been a month since I rang my mum to come down, and things started before that phone-call.

To be honest, it's all a little overwhelming.

I got home and played with the cat, and lay on the grass in the pouring rain and took a long bath without worrying about a nurse coming to check and even shaved my legs without asking for the razor!

I'm now only an hour or so away from going back to the hospital. I have made it through the day without taking any PRN (lorazepam if needed), but it hasn't been without it's hiccups.

I'm currently sitting in my bed, listening to Bean and Husband out in the kitchen making dinner, feeling to anxious to go back into the chaos, and aggravated by Bean's "I'm hungry" noises. I get up and try to feed her, but it doesn't help, I know that husband is frustrated that I'm not being helpful and he is doing tea and looking after her. So I try to help, I take her to her room to give her a bottle and hopefully she'll sleep. But she is refusing the bottle and STILL screaming in that overtired manner and suddenly I feel dangerous inside. I call out for my husband and push Bean into his arms as soon as he arrives.

I'm pleased I was able to call him. That I was able to recognise those feelings. But I did just break my no PRN record. Lorazepam was downed as soon as I got into the kitchen and 'took over' dinner, which was already finished.

I'm worried that I won't ever be able to cope with her crying. I worry that I won't ever be able to be a mum properly to her again. I'm worried about how I'm going to manage full stop. What if I can't and I never get better and never get out. Or worse, what if they give up on me and I do get out and then I can't cope.

And then I look back.

Two weeks ago I couldn't even handle feeding her without crying and feeling like I wanted to scream. My husband was having to take days off work because I couldn't face her without crying or becoming a quivering mess at the thought of yet another day being unable to manage her demands.

But this week has gone better. I haven't yet made it through an entire day without having a nurse have to take her for a while, but those times are getting shorter. 

I have taken control of my meds a bit, and feel more able to be in control of my own treatment and recovery. I've posted a job advert on my FB page asking for some in home help and a babysitter. We are looking into a couple of half days of Day Care and it looks like I will be eligible for a set number of respite hours during the year.

Surely things can't be too far away from getting back to normal?

My Baby Learnt To Crawl Inside An Insane Asylum

SENSATIONAL! WHAT A TITLE! I really should think about writing for a tabloid with skills like that. But hey, this is more fun, although the pay is far worse.

I'm fairly sure my (once) lovely nurse is now seriously regretting she ever opted to become my primary carer in here. I mean, things were going great until I swore at her for offering me Lorazepam after taking away my hot water bottle. Then came the day I packed up my entire room and asked repeatedly to be discharged. Or when she told me I couldn't feed Bean with an unsterilised bottle because it was against hospital policy, after which I didn't speak to her for an entire evening. Yesterday, I accidentally vanished without telling anyone and discovered that they had called my husband in a state of mild panic over my whereabouts. And now of course, I am now the patient who 'refused' to take her meds. (Am still rather proud about that one. And I feel vindicated, I fell asleep before midnight finally, I woke up feeling very clear in the head this morning, and haven't felt dizzy even once so far today.)

Also, I seemed to have pissed off the kitchen staff. This is a vegetable sandwich on someone else's tray.

This is a vegetable sandwich on my lunch tray.

Probably shouldn't have dissed their menu. I'm going to the cafe.

But, something far more serious has happened...

Today when I went to collect my morning tea from the nurses station, I spotted an address label with the words "Anxiety Girl Gets Pregnant" written on it, stuck under a computer.

I AM FREAKING OUT!

I have been trying to get a photo as proof all morning, but the damn nurses appear out of nowhere whenever I get close, and there is only so many times I can go back to check if I got the right morning tea.

I don't know how to find out if they've been reading this. 

If they know it's me. 

If they have clicked onto the fact that they hold a major

look into my psyche at their fingertips. 

If they know about all the illegal food and 

hot water bottles I'm hiding in my room. 

So, staff at Mothers And Babies Unit CHCH, come and see me and let me know if you are reading this. Or, just utter a safety word in passing if you are too scared to let me know. It's "peanuts", by the way.

And all the while, Bean gets closer and closer to crawling. When she got her she was just rolling around like Leo in his cerebral high on Wall St. But now she is pulling herself along the floor, in a way reminiscent of Leo under fire in an action film. It's really amazing how far she has come in just seven months. 

But I can't help being angry at myself for being so unwell that I feel like (once again) I'm being denied those awesome feelings of joy that everyone talks about in relation to having kids. I cried when she first sat up, because I wanted to feel excited for her. I felt intellectually proud of her, but emotionally I felt nothing. 

I am growing increasingly concerned that the longer I am in here, the less I'll be able to cope on the outside. This place isn't that far removed from a prison. My walks have been extended to up to two hours, which is kind of like having your parole extended. I worry that one wrong move and I'll be back to half an hour only. I think I am allowed home on leave for a day and perhaps a night even this weekend, but the truth is, I'm scared that perhaps I won't come back willingly. I have horrible visions of me being given intravenous doses of one of the 'pams'* and dragged back here in a comatose state. Sentence extended indefinitely.

My moods are so unstable, and so unpredictable, that even though I woke up feeling really clear and well this morning (and proud for not taking the respiridone), I have been on the verge of tears for most of the day. I don't want to interact with any of the other inmates here, and so I've locked myself in my room. Even worse, one of the youngsters on the ward has her entire family visiting, and they are everywhere and I can't stand it. I have had to change the route I walk around the ward, the places I eat, the places I sit and (once more) shut myself in my room. I am also pretty sure that one of the other patients across the other side of my ward was a student at my school, but I don't want to say anything, because if she isn't, that would be weird, but if she is, that would be weirder.

I don't know if I am becoming truly paranoid or if all this is true. I know that with each emotional fall I have, they are less and less likely to discharge me. 

Bean and I went to the chapel this morning. We sang old wartimey songs with the elderly folks from other wards in this non emergency hospital. Bean seemed to love it, and the old timers were pretty stoked. Someone even brought their dog. That was pretty sweet. While I was there, I wrote a prayer and tried very hard not to cry.

We went there yesterday actually, accidentally discovered where it was. It was so calm and peaceful, that once I was there, I didn't want to leave. I think we will make it a daily visit. I also think I might be about to find God. 

But more about that later, I have to think of a sensational title first.

*lorazepam, diazepam, clonazepam - you get the picture. They're all sedatives (for those not in the know).

Things People Say Before They Have Children

I'll be the first to admit, I did, in fact, say each and every one of these cringe worthy statements.

I wish I could go back in time and slap my arrogant pre-baby self in the face.

Common Pre-Baby Misconceptions

Oh the joy of a perfect, beautiful, happy family.
source:http://allhod.com/?attachment_id=1596

1. "I just don't get it, how do people with kids seem to have no time? Don't babies sleep for 16 hours a day?"


2. "There's just no reason not to be a yummy-mummy. I mean seriously, I've got people lined up to babysit, all it takes is an hour to see a hairdresser."


3. "I'm pretty sure I can do the baby bit, it's the labour I'm worried about. I mean, babies only need three things don't they? They're either tired, hungry or need a new nappy. So how hard can it be to figure out which one it is? I'll be fine."


4. "Well, this bouncinet bounces automatically and has a white noise player. So if baby isn't sleeping, I'll just put it in there and then it will be rocked to sleep no problem."


5. "Gosh baby clothes are cute. I just want to buy them ALL!"


6. "Look, plunket gave us a book which tells us how to do everything. I'm sure whatever goes wrong, the answer will be there."


7. "Oh, I'm not worried. I'm too excited to have a wee cute bubba running around the house."

Post Baby Realisations

Ummm, soooo, yeah. Meet my family. Wait, why is my daughters face missing from the picture? 

1. "I thought babies were supposed to sleep for 16 hours a day? I haven't slept for more than 3 hours at a time in the past two months."


2. "I'm sorry, do I look like I want to go to a hairdresser and stare in the mirror at their disgustingly beautiful make up and styled hair and frequently showered bodies. I'm just amazed I got dressed today!"


3. "Seriously, what else could it be? Because I'VE TRIED ALL OF THOSE THREE TIMES AND YOU ARE STILL SCREAMING AT ME!"


4. "What do you mean, baby doesn't like the bouncinet? It cost me $300! MAKE HER LIKE IT!"


5. "We have way too many baby clothes, and baby has already grown out of most of them and SHIT! We never managed to get a photo of her in Aunt Mertyls hand crocheted dress! Better squeeze her into now while we still have a chance."


6. "Where is that plunket book?! What is the number for plunketline again? WHY ISNT IT IN YOUR PHONE YET?! "


7. "Is it wrong that I want to console people who tell me they're pregnant, instead of offering my congratulations? Is it? Why is she still awake? Why won't she eat her food? Why is she spitting at me?"

A Prayer

Trigger Warning. Self Harm and Suicide


Thank God for a family, who are there when I fall,
who move heaven and earth at my un-cried out call.
Who will drive through the night, just to be by my side,
when the dark gets to great and I cant bear the ride.

Thank God for a Father who will let down his walls,
and send reinforcements, the moment they're called.
And a Mother who senses a fall from afar,
and will travel o'er mountains to be where you are.

Thank god for a Sister who laughs, jokes and smiles,
who has never once judged and will go extra miles,
who just lets me be, but wont let me fall deep,
deeper than from where I think I can creep.

Thank God for a Sister who prays far away,
who checks on me secretly to see I'm OK.
And the Brother who silently looks on and fears,
although he cant get here, I know that he cares.

Thank God for a Lover who knows it's not me,
when I'm screaming, and crying and not wanting to be.
When I'm scratching my skin, in a bid to ease pain,
and when blood flows I'm pleading 'God take my insane.'

Thank God for my Baby who as yet doesn't know,
that her Mummy is suffering from yet one more blow.
But no matter how hard, when I fall and I ache,
I know I wont leave her, I know I can't break.

When the pills start to beckon, and the thoughts get so black,
that I beg for oblivion and can't claw my way back.
When I plead with my Husband to commit me, admit me,
that's when I fear, of my Babe, I'm not worthy.

Please God, protect her, from that which I hide,
From her cherubic face and her innocent eyes.
Don't let her suffer the way that I have,
grant her peace from this darkness,
Let her live, love and thrive.

http://portaldivinaluz.blogspot.co.nz/2012_08_01_archive.html

Bringing down the Curtain

It finally happened.

A meltdown on par with the 'the great crash of 2007'.

With my own godsent mum here, I was able to hold it together for a week. I was able to sleep in the afternoons, and when I couldn't face another round of 'try to feed the baby' or 'baby seems tired, lets try to put her to bed", my mum was able to take over and happily at that.

I made it through for four whole days, and then, after I waved goodbye at the airport. Things fell apart at a great rate of knots.
By the time I got home, tears were prevalent. I had managed to stop myself from deliberately crashing the car in to the median barrier. I had managed to safely carry my daughter inside and gently put her on the mat rather than dashing her onto the ground in the driveway. I considered these a success.

Over the course of the next two hours I spiralled up and down so fast that I didn't know what had hit me. I decided to stay home and relax and stay calm, but Bean wasn't cooperating with that plan and so I put us in the car again and drove across town to our mothers matter support group. By the time I got there, tears were only one 'are you ok' away. There were a number of Phone-calls from a number of phones, to a number of different numbers in the C ward at Princess Margaret Hospital and half an hour later I was sitting in my counsellors office.

I was unsure how I'd managed to drive myself here and was trying to recall the last time I'd eaten. Bean was playing with some brightly coloured giant keys on the floor, and I was trying very hard to concentrate as Tracy (my counsellor/registrar) asked me what I needed right now. What did we need to make happen?

I looked up at her, dazed, a headache playing behind my eyes. "Sleep." Wasn't it obvious?
"If we can get you to sleep, will that be enough?"
I shook my head thinking over and over 'give me somewhere different to sleep, please put me in a hospital, I need time away from baby'. But I couldn't say it. The thought made me sick.

What kind of mother am I, who needs time away from her own child. What kind of mother begs to be put into a hospital so that they can sleep uninterrupted?

Suddenly there were two therapists in the room, they were talking about respite options, one involving in house help, the other involving inpatient stays with your baby, and respite houses without. The respite house sounded like heaven. But still, when they asked me which one did I think I needed, I couldn't bring myself to say it. I couldn't bring myself to admit that I, Mum, needed time away from my child. 

Finally, the therapists decided for me. I would go to respite for the night. Husband would have to come home early and take tomorrow off to look after the Bean. I was so relieved at the idea, and sickened by my own reaction at the same time.

Unfortunately, as luck would have it, there were no free beds in any respite houses or inpatient wards anywhere in christchurch. I would have to stay at home, or preferably, at a friends house. But I couldn't think of a single friend to ask. I have friends. But not a lot of friends with kids. Or friends with spare rooms. Or friends I wanted to ask.

So I went home. I don't remember anything about that drive except that I was driving rather slowly, because I was scared of doing something stupid. When I got home to my Husband, I instantly burst into tears again and couldn't stop apologising for being such a pain to everyone. Other mums hold it together, so why am I not coping??

That night, Husband slept in Baby Beans room. I slept in our room with the door closed, ear plugs in, and a message to not get up for 24 hours or more. I took 1 tiny blue zopiclone pill, but one hour later I was still awake, so, as prescribed, I took a second. I was still awake 40 minutes later and too scared to take another one so I found a sleep hypnosis app, and after listening to it twice (yes twice), I finally fell asleep.

I slept till 4am, and had to repeat the whole process again in order to get back to sleep.

Today, I am drifting in and out of a sleep state. I do feel better, but I know also that if I were to get up and pretend everything was fine right now, I don't know if I would actually survive the next few days.

I'm sure things will get better soon. I'm sure that I will figure out what's really going on and be able to finally manage it properly. I want to show my baby how much I love her, but clearly, that is not an option right now, as what I need is just to sleep. sleep. sleep. sleep.

Behind the Happy Curtain

Dear MG,

We meet again. I admit, this time you've got me good. But don't feel too smug, I always come out on top.

You see, MG, I've called in reinforcements and my Mum is coming to stay. She's my secret weapon, and it took a lot for me to bring her into this fray. But you've really managed to get a handle on my thoughts this time round. I'm starting to doubt your existence. I'm starting to wonder if perhaps I am just an attention seeker who is selfishly making everyone else's lives miserable in trying to get it.

I ask for help like I think I'm supposed to, like I'm told to, but I do it reluctantly because I can't help thinking that I am some kind of failure. I can't help but believe that all I'm doing when I ask for back up, is making the receiving party's life infinitely harder, and that I'm being incredibly selfish and perhaps, just overreacting to your renewed attack.

Or worse, perhaps I'm using you as an excuse to be a bitch. Perhaps I'm using you as a reason to explain why I'm miserable, antisocial and lazy. I don't even want to post this letter, MG. Because I'm scared of how it will look. I'm anxious of what people will say. I'm anxious they will look at me differently.

But then I get confused, isn't that the point of this blog? Didn't I start this as a way of being more open about all this? So why is it so hard to be honest when it does get difficult?

Perhaps I really am just a pessimistic complainer, who only focuses on the bad stuff and doesn't try hard enough to be happy. A girl who can't handle ordinary life, goes down at the smallest punch and expects everything to be handed to her on a silver platter. I start to wonder what's wrong with me.

"Why can't you just get on with it?" 

"Buck up."

"Get over it already!"



"Pull your socks up!"




"What have you got to be sad about?"

Other mum's manage just fine, so what is wrong with me? I am avoiding socialising with some new mums because their apparent togetherness and blissful existence leaves me feeling incapable. You make me afraid that I somehow love my daughter less than they love theirs. You make me feel that they are looking at me with disappointment in their eyes, whispering behind my back in coffee groups about how horrible I am, how selfish, how negligent and how attention seeking. I have a child, she's perfect, she's healthy and she's happy, so why don't I just get on with it?

Why can't I just snap out of it?

But that's just it, isn't it Morosey, I know you're here for the long haul and that's my lot. There will be no 'snapping out of it'.

Morose, you make me so angry. How am I supposed to be a good mum when in my head I am begging her to stop crying at the same time I'm trying not to start? How am I supposed to get through the hours, days, weeks with your constant hypnotic suggestions of peace ringing in my brain? How am I supposed to enjoy this precious time with her when each smile is a struggle and my arms won't lift themselves let alone her?

Well you know what MG, I will keep doing just that. I'll smile for her, even if it's fake. I'll laugh for her, even if it's just for show. I'll do it because I love her. Because she deserves to think I am happy. She deserves to think I am fine. This fight has nothing to do with her, it's between you and me. So keep on bringing it, if you must.

Sincerely,
Me.

Fighting the Morose Ghost

It's been a week now since I had to accept yet again, that MG was back with a vengeance. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming, all the signs were there. I went through a crazy super productive couple of weeks, decided to put on another show, started a new book, updated a website, started a new website, relaunched my business, spent a lot of money, got a lot of refunds equally as fast, told mothers and babies that I wanted to be discharged, that I was fine and coping great, was so amped up that I stopped sleeping and then BAM, MG hit me with a sledge hammer and said 'hell no! This stops here, EVERYTHING stops here.'

I can't believe I didn't see it coming. But there you have it, I didn't see it coming. I may have had an inkling that all this productivity wasn't going to end well, but still, as usual I tricked myself into believing that this time was different, that this time I really did have it under control, that I had all the plans in place to deal with any relapses and in fact to prevent those relapses from occurring altogether. 

I was wrong.

I guess it's time to accept that old Morosey will probably be with me permanently, always trying to win his battle and convince me to be his besty. That we should just hang out all the time, and give up trying so hard to avoid each other. Well, at least, I try to avoid him, I think he has a crush on me.

I came up with a plan (again). I have created this awesome chart in an effort to keep playing hard-to-get. The idea behind it is that when MG gets too close, I start to pike on people, I avoid going out, and lose the motivation to do anything other than sit at home wishing that Bean would just go to sleep so I could sit and be sad in peace. The lack of external motivation present when you are a SAHM (stay at home mum) is killer. It is far too easy to just give up.

So, I have split every week day into mornings and afternoons. There are some things that happen regularly (and free) around town for mums and babies, so I've listed them on there, but everything else is free space. Times of nothing. Times where you have to be motivated enough to actually plan something then put it into action. Because believe me, there is NO JUST POPPING OUT with a baby. 

I went on the interweb and looked at all the free and under $10 things you can do in chch with a baby. Then I divided them into four categories.  Picnic, Nature/Animals, Learning, Water

So, with any luck, all I have to do on one of those long empty days is decide which of those four things I most feel like doing and then pull out a random card.

 I stuck velcro on the back of them because I was just that motivated that afternoon.

And stick the activity on the chart. 

VOILA! Activities planned. Now we have something to do. 

At least that's the plan. Little Bean has yet to establish a solid day time nap routine, so more often than not, things go a little awry. But at least I feel like I have an external motivator now, and that is really something!

Morose Ghost Round Two

So, Morose Ghost. I see you aren't done with me yet. I'd like to say it's good to see you, but it's really not. I don't like the way you trick me into thinking everything is great and that I'm doing awesome and no longer need the Morose-Ghost-Movers. I think it's mean that you wait until I've told them goodbye before you creep up and haunt me once more. 

MG it's an unfair advantage you have in this fight. The way you can sap my energy and make exhausted days last forever, yet steal my sleep at night.

Morose Ghost, I don't think it's fair that you can get into my head and make me think things that frighten me. That thought yesterday, you know the one, where you told me that if I vanished now my daughter wouldn't know any different and she'd never have to feel pain about it, that was cruel MG. That was unkind.

You are a tricky ghost, Morose. Each time you leave I truly believe that I've beaten you, that finally I've found your kriptonite, but then you sneak back up on me, just when things seem to be finally moving onwards and upwards. Just when I'm feeling like I can do this life thing, you tap me on the shoulder and whisper 'remember me?' But you needn't ask, Morose Ghost, I remember you far too well.

So you want to have this out with me yet again, do you MG? Well bring it on if you must. I'm battle worn and hardened by now. You may manage to wear me down some more this time round, perhaps I'll temporarily lose a little more spark and maybe you'll succeed in holding me hostage in my head and away from life outside for a time. But you wont won't be abke to keep me there for long, Morose Ghost. You will not beat me. 

A selfish and Ungrateful Day

Today began as one of those days, where I desperately, desperately did not want to get out of bed. I was even secretly hoping that today might be given to me as a day where Baby Bean slept for its entirety without anything being wrong. Today, I wanted, nay needed

A DAY OFF.

Today I wished (not for the first time) that I was my Husband. That I could get up in the morning, say goodbye to sleepy bean and exit the door in clothes guaranteed to remain clean until I returned home nine hours later. That I could safely predict by my watch, what time I would eat morning tea and lunch. That I could sit down and complete my reports and paperwork in uninterrupted half hour stretches and then, after a stressful day working in adult-land, I could drive home, looking forward to seeing my baby in whatever state she was in.

Unfortunately, today, like every other day, my wish remained ungranted.

Instead, I was forced out of bed to calm a crying baby. Changed her, fed her, changed her again after getting pumpkin all through her hair. Realised I needed to get dressed but delayed that out of a necessity to clean the filthy kitchen. At some point I managed to eat breakfast while Bean lay frustrated at her inability to roll back the other way. Today I was too tired to play but not too tired to feel bad about it.

I knew that I should leave the house. I knew that a walk would do us both good. But the mere thought of getting everything required to leave for said walk was simply an insurmountable task.

Today there were tears, and 'please don't take too long to get home' phone calls. There was the 'I don't understand why' and 'you don't understand what' conversation and at some point, a block of chocolate vanished and a bottle of cider was emptied in record time.

Today was a Keep-It-Together day. And somehow I made it through - just.

Now I am locked in my room. With a guarantee of not being interrupted for anything baby related until this time tomorrow morning. Bliss. This is the upside of bottle feeding.

But today, I still want my old life back.

http://dubaiunveiled.files.wordpress.com

The Breastfeeding Post

It begins in the hospital. The minute you are in recovery after giving birth, they try to latch baby on, if this doesn't work right away, they start prodding you, squeezing you and syringing colostrum out of you. Every three hours a midwife comes and repeats the process, but you are so tired and exhausted, you don't care about how weird or humiliating or degrading it is to have someone do this to you.

If this doesn't work and your milk doesn't come in soon enough, they hook you up to giant pumps which make such a racket you really will imagine you are in a milking shed. When that fails to have the desired impact, you start to ask about formula.

Every 6 or 7 hours the midwives change shifts, and you get a new one, sometimes they are friendly, sometimes they look stressed. You must explain your story to them every single time. I haven't got my milk yet. Baby won't latch. I have inverted nipples. There is nothing to latch on to. They've tried that, and that, and that, and now we are using a shield. Please could I give her some formula, because she won't stop crying.

At first they ignore you, pretend they haven't heard you, but if you persist long enough, or raise your voice loud enough, because you think it's only fair that your baby should be fed somehow, then they will lecture you about how great breast milk is and that you must keep trying.

If you are still kicking up a fuss after all this, despite how tired, how sore and how emotional you are  (because just hours ago you gave birth to a baby after 25 hours of labour, and you haven't slept in close to 40 hours and you have no idea who this infant is in your arms and you really thought you'd love it instantly), but you still can't feed the baby, then they will bring you pamphlets on the ill effects of formula, and then a form for you to sign off your consent for every single formula feed.

Then they will bring you a tiny cup, and put a little bit of formula into it. And you will ask, as a new midwife you haven't yet been introduced you attacks your breasts with cold hands and a syringe, "why can't I feed her with a bottle?" They will respond without smiles, "we don't want her to get used to feeding from a bottle."

So eventually you are allowed to go home. You still haven't figured this breastfeeding thing out, and you know if your heart that baby will never latch without the shield. But you keep trying.

For two months you live a daily ritual of pumping, bottle feeding, attempted breast feeding. For two months, every single formula top up you give her will make you feel incredibly guilty. Every midwife visit, every plunket visit,  and every doctor visit you must explain why you are bottle feeding, explain why you use a shield, explain why you are using formula, explain why you are in this situation. And every single time you will feel like a failure as they look at you and ask the exact same questions you have now been asked a hundred times over. "Have you seen a lactation consultant?" "Can I have a look?" "Are you pumping to feed her expressed milk?""Have you tried x, y, z?"

Then miraculously, at 3 months you succeed! For a full 3 weeks you manage to feed her a diet of nothing but breastmilk. You are beside yourself with excitement and feel like a good mother for the first time since she was born.

Then at four months, everything changes. Baby starts refusing the breast, you have a graze on your breast where the shield rubs every time she feeds and you are in pain. You start turning to pumping, and bottles, and formula again, and everyone asks why, why, why? As if somehow it's their business.

A plunket nurse comes to visit, and you try to explain what's been going on, but all they say is, 'when she's hungry enough she'll feed, don't give in and give her a bottle, or that's all she'll want." So you feel rubbish again, and cry again, and wonder where you went so wrong.

Then finally, out of nowhere, a nurse asks if she has a tongue tie. You respond that someone mentioned she did in the hospital, but that it was unlikely to be a problem. But this nurse insists that you get a second opinion. So, at your wits end, you do. You find out that she does have a tongue tie, that it is definitely a problem, and then you get it cut and everything changes.

But by now, your milk is all but gone. You are feeding her formula for almost every feed.
And you really have given all you can give.

But you go to a breastfeeding support group, and get one last burst of motivation. You find a recipe for lactation cookies to try and relactate. You start pumping every two hours again to boost your supply. You take fenugreek tablets to help the milk come back. But this is has to be the last attempt.

If this doesn't work, this really has to be the end.

And so, for a week you flip-flop hourly between definitely stopping, and then trying to relactate again. You can't figure out why you feel so miserable and guilty and sad about it all, when you actually desperately want to stop and feel good about it. You imagine that everyone is thinking badly of you, and you tell yourself you have to keep trying.

And all this, because of the start in the hospital. Because the midwives and medias breastfeeding propaganda has well and truly worked on you. Because even though you are in an impossible situation, you still wont give yourself a break.

So you give it one, last, go. If it doesn't work by this Friday, you are going to go and buy a new non-maternity bra. And you are going to leave the breast feeding journey behind you.

Learning

Recently a blog has been circulating my Facebook circle, regarding what are good presents for childless people to buy for their friends kids, and what are not. As I read it, I found myself nodding my head at every single item...both because I had received these items and understood why not to give them, and also (strangely) because only months ago, I myself had gifted these exact items to friends with all the best of intentions.

CRAZY!

As we are now in the final two weeks of the year 2013, I find myself reflecting back on what an intense year it has been for our little family, and at the same time, suddenly realising just how much I have changed and learnt during the course of it.

So, in typical me fashion, I figured I'd blog about it!

The 2013 List of Things I Learnt About...

...BABY CLOTHES
The cuter the outfit, the less likely it is to be worn.

This goes for both baby and mum. Cute cotton baby dresses with frilly bits and gorgeous buttons that go UP THE BACK??? May look to-die-for on the rack, and believe me, you would rather die than attempt to put that on a baby and then have them wear it for a day. They end up under their armpits for the most part, nappies on display all day, buttons up the back are a nightmare to do on a baby that can't even sit up yet, let alone undoing them for the numerous changes you WILL have to endure because of spit up, leaking nappies, or just general wetness. Give me a onesie that has domes ONLY on the crotch, and is made of jersey fabric any day over a dress. Shove some cute pants over it, put on some socks and tuck those pants into the socks and you're set!

...PREGNANCY

It Sucks.

Even now, I am often confronted by Mums' who say things like 'don't you wish you could be pregnant again, just so you can have a break?'

Honestly? No. No, I do not. Pregnancy was painful, gross, tiring and just awful in every way. There was literally nothing I enjoyed about being pregnant. But there is plenty I like about being a Mum.

...CHILDBIRTH

Was a breeze compared to what came after.

You recall how I spent all that time freaking out about labour during the year? Well, mummies, I have learnt my lesson. Labour was awful, excruciating and terrifying, but at least it was definitely going to end, and with the epidural, I even managed to escape it for a while. The weeks immediately after giving birth are far, far worse. Physically, mentally, and emotionally extreme. In fact, I would do labour all over again if it meant I was spared those first few weeks....well the lack of sleep bits anyway. Which incidentally, is the majority of it.

...THE MUMMY CLUB CONSPIRACY

Those happy mums and gorgeous photos of happy families on facebook - It's only a glimpse of reality.

Sure, that status may say they are 'so in love', and that picture of the smiling baby is 'so adorable'. But that's only half the truth. Yes, they love the baby, but that doesn't mean they always like the baby. You try 'liking' a crying baby at 3am when you have literally done everything you can think of to calm them, and you haven't slept in 20 hours. Most parents only post the good times. Which in turn adds to the general opinion of childless people that babies are always awesome, and being a parent is easy.

...SLEEP

I can survive on much less than I ever thought possible.

I remember the days where I got 8 hours.....IN A ROW!! 

*Cue manic laughter*

I have nothing more to say on that topic.


...MY BABY
Is the most awesome thing that has ever happened to me. EVER.
Sure, I don't get much sleep, and I usually am only guessing at what she is wanting. But recently she has started having these awesome baby conversations with me, and smiling these amazing smiles. I think she really likes me! Which makes my heart glow brighter. I never get tired of her smiles, and I am so excited to know what her laugh sounds like, wether she's left or right handed, what her favourite food is, what song does she like the most, what does she sound like when she talks.....The future is a veritable feast of new discoveries and I can't wait.

It Takes a Village

Firstly, I am not writing this post to garner sympathy from my friends and family. I have not decided to write this to look strong, or weak, or to impress on anyone that I need praise or encouragement.  I am not writing this as a way of asking for help without actually asking. When I need help, I do ask. I am simply writing this because that's what I need to do. I am writing this because I know that I am not the only mother out there feeling like this, and putting my thoughts and feelings into words is how I process things. It makes the world clearer for me and it makes me calm.

Secondly, this post is likely to be a little Too-Much-Info for some readers, particularly if you know me, are male, or are made uncomfortable by people being too open about physical things.

So, probably that is all of you. 

Finally, this post is long. But I make no apologies. 

If you are still reading, then consider yourself warned. I'm no longer embarrassed about this stuff, so if you are, and you meet me, then you will feel awkward, but I won't care less.

It Takes a Village

When you have a baby, you very quickly get over being embarrassed or conservative about many things. The words breasts, nipples and poo suddenly become as frequently used as the words coffee, chocolate and sleep. As a breastfeeding mum, you have to get over the weirdness of pulling your boobs out anywhere and everywhere because if you didn't, you would never leave your bedroom, and neither would your baby. As a mum with a new baby, you find yourself being asked by perfect strangers about breastfeeding. Are you breastfeeding? How's it going? Why are you doing/not doing A/B/C? As though it is somehow their business, and it isn't weird to be discussing your nipples with your hairdresser. And if, like me, anything is out of the normal, then be prepared to explain it to everyone.

I am having to use nipple shields to feed my baby. Now to me, the fact that I am breastfeeding her at all is a miracle. I have inverted nipples - the worst my lactation consultant has ever seen apparently - and this means that there is nothing for baby to latch onto. The shields give her the ability to latch, and therefore the ability to feed. Getting this going was a mission and I almost gave up completely at week 2, 3 and 6.  In fact, a number of midwives, psychologists and even my lactation consultant actually suggested that perhaps I should consider switching to formula to avoid becoming incredibly overwhelmed and depressed. However, I am notoriously stubborn. If my mum could do it, so could I. By week 7, I went for 24 hours without using a bottle of formula, expressed milk or pumping and I was absolutely elated! 

Since then I've been relatively successful, only feeding her formula a handful of times when she was out with her Dad, or on the one night that I went out with my friends. Success! I am incredibly proud of this achievement, as I was convinced it was going to be impossible for me to breastfeed at all, yet here I am. Of course, whenever I pull out the shields, everyone wants to know why. So the secret shame I harboured for most of my life, is now known to all and sundry. 

Which is why, as I am now forced to consider mixed feeding in order to regain my sanity, I am feeling incredibly, overwhelmingly conflicted.

Last night I lost it.
I had a complete meltdown. I felt so angry and so frustrated and at my wits end in every sense of the word. I couldn't think straight, I could barely see straight. After 11 weeks of being woken every 1-3 hours for feeding, I'm finally wondering if all those people weren't right from the start. Clearly I am not able to hack the sleep deprivation that goes hand in hand with exclusively breastfeeding. I am angry with my husband for being able to go to work, for going for an hour run once a week, for not being able to find the debit card which was in my bag, for letting her fall asleep on him every night, even though I do that during the day, for not being home with me during the day to help me. I can see how people get the point of wanting to shake their babies, as though that is somehow going to snap them into consciousness and make them realise that if they just went to sleep, everything would be easier.

Which of course, is ridiculous.
She's just 11 weeks old. She is only crying because she is so overtired she can't fall asleep anymore. And he needs to go to work, otherwise we wouldn't be able to afford to live, eat or do anything remotely fun. His runs aren't a way for him to make me feel more isolated, they are helping keep him sane. Which is a good thing. At least one of us needs to be.

I know that all I need to do is say the word, and I too could go have some time to myself. Only, at the moment I feel that this is impossible because I am exclusively breastfeeding. I can't leave her in case she gets hungry, I can't have a few hours in the afternoon or evening where I go out because if she has a bottle of formula, it will mess up my supply.

And so here I am, considering mixed feeding and feeling guilty about it because 'breast is best', and 'formula isn't natural' and 'why aren't you breast feeding your baby?'
But what about 'happy wife, happy life', and 'baby needs a coherent mum' and 'don't be a mombie' and 'sleep deprivation is your biggest trigger for depression'?

It takes a village to raise a child. Baby A deserves to have a mum who isn't crying constantly, or wanting to hit her father, or feeling hard done by and exhausted. She deserves to feel loved, to be happy and see happy. I can't do that alone. If giving her a bottle of formula once or twice a day and sharing the feeds so that I can get an hour more sleep is what it takes to remain sane, how is that any worse than her Dad spending 2 hours less time with her so that he can go for a run maintain his sanity?

It takes a village to keep the parents sane. To give them time to find themselves again, to spend time together, and to exit the baby haze once in a while. It takes a village to look out for them and make sure they are ok. Last night J rang me at 10pm after I text her saying I wanted to walk out. It took 20 minutes, but she managed to calm me down enough to want to apologise to my husband. This morning, A has come round after reading the text I sent her last night, to help me get some rest and to vent a bit. She is currently in the nursery trying to settle Baby A for the third time. In the weekend my whole family arrived out of nowhere, and suddenly my house was clean, and I was able to go get my hair done and have some down time. My parents even left dinner in the fridge so we didn't have to cook that night. I only wish we lived closer to some family so that we could remain saner for longer.
I guess I have to work at building my own village family in order to make up for the fact that we live so far from our real ones. And this pressure on mums about breast feeding needs to end. Yes, it's wonderful and it is the best food for baby, but the mum's need looking after too. It takes a village to remind a Mum to do that. And all too often, in this age of being constantly connected, we are left alone.

Coming, Ready Or Not

Last weekend, just 3 hours before my pregnancy app alerted me to the fact that I had made it to 37 weeks, my waters broke.

Little baby A was born 25 hours later at 4.44am after a prolonged labour, the details of which I wont go in to on here. I have written it down though. If you want to read that, let me know and I will send you a link. Rest assured, I have a new found love of epidurals, and managed to avoid a C section by one contraction. It was the single most overwhelming experience of my life so far.

She was taken to NICU just a few hours after being born, which was super hard, nothing really prepares you for the sight of your baby in an incubator all connected to tubes, drips and breathing apparatus. My heart broke, and that was the first meltdown.

She was in there for two days, having antibiotics to help sort her breathing out. Once she was finally out, I was told we could go home tomorrow, this was after night three where I had a complete meltdown at eleven at night, basically begging the midwives to let me go home right then and there. They tried valiantly to convince me that leaving right then was not a good idea. It was too dark, it wouldn't be good for the baby, my husband was at home asleep. But nothing would help me. I was sharing a room, which I hate, the curtained off section I was in had no sunlight or view of any kind, the other lady's baby wouldn't settle, so regardless of how well baby A was sleeping, I was not. The midwives told me that there was no reason we couldn't go home tomorrow. Baby was doing much better, all her bloods looked good, and the talk was that I would be going home tomorrow. With this stuck firmly in my mind, I nodded acquiescence to have them take Baby away for a few hours so I could attempt to sleep (not that she was the one keeping me up).

At five in the morning, I was woken gently by another midwife, "Jess," she asked, "Did Baby have a bump behind her ear earlier? Where the forcep mark is?"
I felt my anxiety rising instantly as I shook my head, "No, it wasn't swollen, it was fine."
"Ok," She sat down next to me.
"It looks like the forcep graze may have become infected and the baby doctors want to put her on a three day course of antibiotics." She was watching me very intently.
I felt like I was being sucked into a black hole. "So I can't go home?"
she shook her head. "No, she will need to be monitored here."

I was silent, but my breathing was erratic as I tried to fight back the next onslaught of tears and anxiety.
"What can we do to make it easier for you to be here?" She asked quietly.
I shook my head, I couldn't think beyond having to stay here, I couldn't see anything that would make it better.
"What if we were to find you your own room?"
I looked at her, "Is that possible?" It seemed impossible.
"We've been talking about it, and we are going to see what we can make happen."

This past week has been a blur of nights becoming days becoming nights again. I did get my own room in the hospital finally, and as soon as I did, my panic attacks diminished, my milk started to come in, and my overwhelming need to keep some form of control in a 2x3 meter space disappeared.

We are finally home now. It is making a huge difference. Slowly things are starting to become a bit of a routine, but the lack of sleep, and getting breastfeeding going is an endless, ongoing exercise in endurance.
Lets see what next week brings, although I don't know when that will be. I have no idea what day it is anymore. I'm not sure why I care about that. As though it somehow makes a difference.

In the meantime, Baby and I will continue to get to know eachother. I love it when she makes eye contact and holds your gaze. I love that she settles on me so easily and that I can calm her when others cannot. I've always been slightly afraid of babies, and now suddenly here is one that actually calms down on me, rather than crying even louder.