A History of Mental Illness

In light of recent events, both in my personal life and on an international level, I think it's time we thought about this issue again.

My problem is, the way people, and media, just throw around the term 'mental illness.

For instance,
"...a young women, who has a history of mental illness..."
"...the killer has a history of severe mental illness..."
"...today a man with a history of mental illness attacked...
"...the alleged killer has a history of mental illness..."
"...the accused has a history of mental illness..."

If you think that's ok, then just replace mental with the word 'physical' and you'll see how ridiculous it is.

The term 'mental illness' cannot continue to be used as a cover all for every single type of mental illness out there. And it certainly cannot be used to 'explain' away people's behaviour, so that everyone just nods their head and thinks 'oh, they have a mental illness, well that explains it then.'

Just like physical health includes everything from headaches, to cancer, to the flu and hepatitis or polio, malaria or a simple cold, the term mental health covers everything from mild depression and substance abuse, to aspergers syndrome, ADHD, dementia and schizophrenia, with just as many variables in between.


This brilliant image popped up on my facebook timeline today.

What I want to know, is when the media will start actually taking notice of this, and start differentiating between them. For instance, "..a man with a history of mental illness, has been accused of assaulting a care giver...' would seem a lot less insidious, if the public were aware that this man had a history of Dissociative Identity Disorder, and had stopped taking the medications which were helping him, because a close family member had criticised him for being on 'crazy pills'.

By the same reasoning, the headline '... a mother with a history of mental illness is in custody after being charged with neglecting her child...' would make the general public more aware of the seriousness of the situation, if they were allowed to know that she was in fact, suffering from suffer Post Partum Depression, yet had been too ashamed to ask for help for fear of being labeled 'crazy' by those around her. 

But I guess that neither of those truths makes for a very exciting news story.

I'm not saying that there aren't some very mentally disturbed people out there who are legitimately dangerous, there most definitely are. But by simplifying it as simply 'mental illness', the majority of us who suffer a mental illness which is doing no one any harm but us, continue to feel as though we must live in hiding, not reveal our full selves, not ask for help, not take the medication that could save us. 

By continuing to lump every mental illness under one umbrella, the media is simply exacerbating the stigma that all people who suffer ANY type of mental illness still have to deal with on a day to day basis. 

I take daily medication to keep my depression away and my anxiety at a manageable level. I am a pretty normal person. I love to sing, I am a school teacher, I hate early mornings, I have a family and  kid on the way. But I know that if I were to end up on the news for any reason, I too, would be labeled as having a history of mental illness.

But there is so much more to me than that.

“I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2014 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.”

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.

A Christmas Letter

Dear Little Bean,

This will be your first Christmas ever, and we are so excited. We haven't got you a present, as we don't think you'd really care, and we should probably save that money for a high chair as you are growing and learning SO fast, that we almost can't keep up!

This time last year you were a thought in my head, an idea that sparked such excitement in me that I was already starting to dream about you. I knew you were there before I even found out I was pregnant because I dreamt about you. I asked you what we should call my mum, and you said "Nana Ali." In my dream I said 'A-, That's a great name," and when I rang Nana Ali the next day to tell her, she said "that's funny, 'cos that's the exact name I came up with yesterday."

We've had a rough start you and I. I wish I could do the beginning of your life all over again and make it better for both of us. I would tell the delivery theatre doctors to leave you be, to not take you away from me the minute you were born. I would hold you and tell them to leave you alone. I would figure out a way to stay by your side in the NICU ward, and I wouldn't let them tell me to not stroke your tiny hand. but I can't. So instead I am focussing on making your future the best that I can.

I wish I could protect you from all that world is going to throw at you. I wish I could keep you hidden from it's horrors forever. I wish that I could guarantee that you will never have to feel the pain of a school yard fist, or the sting of a bullying remark, or the tears of a broken heart. I pray that you don't feel the same anxiety I did as a teenager and I hope that I can be the role model you need me to be in order to become strong enough to deal with life's struggles. But I can't promise any of that. All I can do is promise that I will be there with you for it all. I will catch you when you fall and I will always pick you back up. I only hope I can give you the life you deserve.

Little Bean, you have changed me in ways I can't even describe. I used to be anxious all the time about what people thought of me, about death and pain, about me failing. But that changed the moment you were born. I still worry about what people think of me, but I care less about it. I don't freak out about performing because I want to show you that I am not scared and neither should you be. I fear death only because I am worried about what will happen to you if I am not around, and rather than worried that I will fail and embarrass myself, I worry that I will fail you most of all.

This christmas you are nearly 4 months old.  You smile and coo, and are about to laugh any day now. You are just learning to roll over and to grasp at toys. You still wake 2-3 times a night and you don't like to sleep during the day. You love bath time and you love singing with me and Daddy. I don't know what the future holds for us, but I do know that I will love you for every single second of it. Probably you won't read this letter for many, many years, but when you do, believe me when I say that all this will still be true.

Love,
Mummy

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.

Morose Ghost

This, is a Morose Ghost:

This, is a Morose Me

My husband says we are currently very similar, Morose Ghost and I. 

Maybe that's because I no longer fit into my (once almost too big) favourite coat?

Or possibly my lack of shoe/sock putting on/off capability?

Or possibly the fact that I need this many pillows, arranged exactly like this in order to sleep even a little?

Or perhaps it's my cats frequent looks of disdain?

Either way, it's time for

MOROSE GHOST MOVER!

I'm off to look for them, I will let you know how I go!

29 weeks - antenatal

Ok, I think it's fair to say that this is getting pretty difficult now. Physically, and mentally it is taking quite a toll. At the start, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to handle it because of all my anxiety and panic attack issues, but I've surprised myself on that front. For the most part, any anxiety I have had has been pregnancy related, and fairly normal concern about effects on the baby. I haven't been in a constant state of unrestrained panic or fear, like I imagined I would be. I haven't been freaking out and feeling like there is an alien living inside me, that something abnormal is happening and I might die at any minute. I have made it through some pretty extreme panic situations without taking my normal calming miracle pills. I certainly haven't been wishing it would all go away constantly, and I definitely haven't gone crazy. Yet.

Perhaps that is all about to end, I don't know. All I do know, is that the last month has been hard. At first I wasn't sure if I was hormonal or actually getting legitimately depressed. I couldn't tell if I was just wanting to hide at home because I was actually tired, or if I was making excuses because I am becoming increasingly self conscious about my changing appearance. I decided to wait it out. Figuring that things would get better. But they didn't. They got worse.

Last week I had a complete break down. I got teary, irritable, exhausted, couldn't sleep, couldn't be bothered getting up, getting dressed, or even eating properly. I desperately, desperately wanted it to be over. I must have had a baby growth spurt, because suddenly I can't put on my shoes, I can't bend, or reach for things, and even my husband reckoned I'd grown one afternoon. Literally, bigger since that morning apparently.

I have been rude to friends, basically my inner monitor or think before texting/speaking seems to have vanished. I simply can't be bothered being tactful right now. I don't want to leave the house. I feel like everyone's eyes are constantly on me. I feel like the elephant in the room....which isn't far from the truth as far as I'm concerned. For someone who had pretty severe Social Anxiety right from 11 years old to mid twenties, these things are a big deal. I like to be invisible. I like to go about my day and not be noticed. I like to not be the topic of conversation. It is honestly, extremely disconcerting to suddenly find that I am public property.

Physically, things are tougher, walking is harder, and much slower than it should be. Sleeping with less than three pillows under my head makes the blood pound in my skull regardless of which way I am sleeping. Leg cramps can wake me biting back a scream, and the pain lingers for days afterwards. Sometimes baby kicks so hard, I actually worry that my skin can't possibly hold it in any longer.

I delayed getting pregnant for ages because I was terrified of the labour and morning sickness. Turns out, the things that are bothering me most, aren't even things I had considered. I never thought about actually BEING pregnant. I'd worried about physical things, but hadn't even contemplated the mental strain.

Fair to say that I do have antenatal depression. Something I'd (stupidly) never even considered. I'd heard about postnatal depression, and been quite worried about that, but this? Washing and folding the baby clothes helps a bit. It lets me be a bit excited about what this hard work is leading up to. Perhaps I will start sleeping in the nursery to lift my mood. Oh, and we start antenatal classes tomorrow. That will hopefully be fun. In the meantime, here's a sad kitten.

Midnight Panic

I don't know which blog to write this on, so I'm going to put it in both.

I am awake now. Completely awake.
At least, that's what I'm telling myself. Baby is kicking up a storm, and has been for the past few hours now. I was finally drifting off to sleep, when I started to feel a bit uncomfortable.
My heart was beating just a little too hard.
My gut was feeling just a little too twisty.
My shoulders were getting just a little too tense.
I couldn't breathe right.
I was too hot.

I was about to Panic.

Normally, I try and make these blogs somewhat humorous, but right now, I just can't think how.
I tried to calm myself down without getting out of bed. But it wasn't working, everything was geting worse. I was starting to feel on the verge of being very ill, that the next step was going to be huddled in the bathroom.

I don't know what it is. Or why it's happening again. Luckily I didn't fall asleep. Luckily I realised what was happening before it fully happened.

But now what. I'm up. I'm tired. I'm scared to go back to bed, because it's all lingering in the back of my mind.

My heart is still beating too hard.
My stomach still doesn't feel right.
Maybe I have food poisoning?

I don't even know what I'm most worried about, what has brought this on?

I can't go through with this pregnancy?
I am so embarrassed about how I look. I can't remember anything. Everyone is looking at me all the time. Everyone thinks I'm too big. Everyone is judging everything I eat. I can't relax. I can't believe there is a living thing inside me. I can't make it stop. I have absolutely no control over it. I have no say anymore. I am trapped. I want this to be over. I want the baby to be here. I don't want to be pregnant anymore. I want a drink to calm me down. I want my body back. I want to be me again.


Putting on this show?
I don't feel we're ready to go ahead with the show. Everything is taking too long. Surely we should have run it a few times by now. Maybe I shouldn't have brought so many people on board. It's all blowing out of control. Out of proportion. Much bigger than it needs to be. There's more to do than I had originally intended for. This wasn't what I had planned. I don't know my words. I can't act. It's going to look lame. It's going to be awful. I'll let everyone down. I've built it up too much. What if I freak out too much and can't do it after all. Why did I even do this to begin with? I have too much on. I have too much to think about. I want it all to stop.

I don't feel any better yet.
I'm scared this is going to keep getting worse. Maybe it won't even stop when baby gets here.
I want to get off this ride now.

No Going Back

Today, it hit me.
I can't stop this.

I literally, no matter what happens, can not, get off, this train.

With only 4 weeks to go of the second trimester, and things getting a bit uncomfortable, suddenly everything is too close. Too soon. Too major. Too scary. Just....TOO!

Needless to say, narrowly averted a panic attack in the staff room, as other mums laughed and jovially told me that there was no going back, and that's how it's going to be for the rest of my life.

Cue, loosen scarf, fan face, shake tingles out of hands.

It's ok little hamster baby. We will do this together!

Half way downsides, upsides, and insides

It's official, from now on, my little app counters 'weeks to go' will be less than the 'weeks completed'!!

I was told at the start that the second trimester would be the best, that I'd have amazing hair and lots of energy, that I'd be happy and excited and everything would pretty much be like dancing in a crystal lake with singing baby unicorns covered with rainbow swirls.

"NAWWWWWWWW!"


That was a lie.

I am told by the odd person that I am glowing. If that's true, then my body is doing some weird camouflage trick whereby it is hiding the inner ugliness extremely well. I'm not sure what the evolutionary point of this would be, however.


For the past couple of months I have been prone to getting very overwhelmed, crying at inappropriate times, and for what seems like very little reason. This isn't the case though - there is a lot on my mind! I am worried about labour, finances, work situation, my mental state before and after baby gets here. On top of that, there is work, reports, interviews, I am putting on a show, and a festival and something else probably that I don't even know about!!!! Sigh, at least it's keeping me distracted from the pregnancy a little bit.

Baby brain is reaching new, unexplored heights. I am actually a little concerned that I may not remember anything or anyone very soon.

For the past month, I have been loosing about 3 times more hair than normal every time I shower/brush/straighten, or indeed do anything to it in an attempt to feel pretty. This concerns me somewhat, as I was informed that women in fact lost LESS hair while pregnant....

In the past week I have been whacked in the face (or oesophagus) with the worst heartburn I've ever had! I am now having to sleep in a semi upright position, which is interesting. Apparently this is because baby is now making it's presence really known, and all my insides are getting squished up to make room. Yummy.

Yesterday I had my first experience of round ligament pain. That is, short, stabby pains in your lower abdomen. I'm not sure what the point of them is, but they can really make you catch your breath and freeze up. Worst thing is that they happen frequently, and quickly, and over and over again.


On the upside though, we went and bought baby some storage shelves for her room, and also some really bold coloured storage baskets to fit in the shelves. It looks fantastic, and it was so nice to put some of the things we have collected for her into them. Rather than leaving them in the cot.

And the even better news is? I can now sometimes feel the kicks with my hand! I started feeling the movements very very early, at about 15 weeks. But everyone told me it was very unlikely, and to be honest, made me feel pretty rubbish about it. But I know now that I WAS feeling kicks, because those little flutters have simply got stronger, and two days ago I put my hand on my bump and felt it move on the outside. It was the best thing ever!

Boy or Girl...

In exactly two hours, we will (hopefully) be told wether we are having a boy, or a girl.

I am currently riding a wee emotional rollercoaster, this morning I was super calm. I drove to the midwife, realised that I'd forgotten my folder, turned back for it, realised that that would make me 15 minutes late, so turned around again. Chatted happily with my midwife, did pee test for UTI's, glucose and protein, heard the heartbeat again - it was much louder and stronger this time, so my 'what if' attacks have no ground at this point, baby is definitely still there. I haven't harmed it with my flying panic attacks, or having too hot a bath, or lying on my back, side, front, or eating a tiny bit of blue cheese. I also got a medical certificate to verify that I am in fact pregnant, so that I can apply for maternity leave. I left feeling excited and energetic and impatient to get the big scan over with.

A mere hour later I am now on the verge of tears after reading some articles about people giving birth, living with babies, and being pregnant. Not scared tears though, just emotional ones. A lot of things are setting me off lately, it seems it doesn't take much at all, a picture of a cute baby hedghog. A beautiful song. Going to my first pregnancy yoga class and talking to other mums to be, realising that I am normal. I can hardly think straight, I keep forgetting things which shouldn't be so hard to remember.  All I can think about is, 'is it a girl or a boy'?

I'm so excited, I feel like, once we know what sex it is, we can start naming it, and planning properly and that everything will feel even more real than it already is. I don't know why though, as it's already pretty real, and it wouldn't make a difference what we were having, we would still plan the same. But there it is, I have set myself off again!

Attack of the 'What If's'!

Yesterday, I treated myself to a pregnancy magazine. Thinking (rather naively as it turns out), that it would make me feel better about all the weird pains, the bad skin, and the impending (and inevitable) labour process.

I was wrong.

All the pictures of happy, gorgeous pregnant women did nothing to raise my currently lowered self esteem, nor did the maternity fashion spread, in which the most 'affordable' item of clothing was a Tunic (spelt 'tunique') going for $77 AUD. Add to that the article about the 3 stages of labour in which I read this;

"It is absolutely paramount during labour that you feel 100% safe, as this sets up a colossal chain reaction mentally that can affect your labour physically. Feelings of fear or anger automatically activate our fight and flight hormones such as adrenaline, which quickens the heart rate, tenses muscles, intensifies pain, and during labour, inhibits the synthesis of oxytocin for productive labour contractions. Fear and anger in childbirth become like a strong head wind, hindering progress and lengthening the whole process."

Good. God.

A mild panic attack quickly followed, in which I tried to call my husband at work. No answer. I had a shower to calm down, but ended up crying instead. Quite simply, I have absolutely no faith in my ability to get through labour without a panic attack.

What if I cause baby distress?
What if I make it lose oxygen?
What if the midwife yells at me?
What if I pass out?
What if the doctors think I'm crazy?
What if it's my fault something goes wrong?
What if.......

Be strong little baby, we will make it through together. Somehow. 

What were we thinking???

A sharp, very confident rap on the door awoke us this morning at the ungodly pre-baby saturday morning time of 8am.

A courier. With a parcel!

From.....China??

Once I managed to break into the box, we were rather amazed to find a baby monitor (complete with night vision, LCD screen, wireless capabilities and two way intercom system), along with a baby doppler heart beat listener thingy.

But who on earth sent them? We certainly didn't know the chinese name listed on the customs ticket, nor had we ordered anything from anywhere at all. A little bit of sleuthing followed, mostly with the clues - who knows me by my married name, and who loves gadgets? In this wonderful day of the internet, the mysterious present givers were uncovered in a matter of minutes. Thank you, wonderful honorary grandparents, what a great start to the day!

Unfortunately, thats where it ended.

Having got paid this week, I was super excited to go shoe shopping for my rapidly growing feet, as well as potentially decking out the baby room. Yep, in my head, it was going to be that fast, and that simple. I should have learnt that lesson by now, shopping has never been, and never will, be something I am good at.

I got the shoes (and this GREAT pair of slippers which will no doubt ensure I am taken seriously at all times) with little problem, 

and then proceeded to the giant Babycity store.

OH, GOOD, LORD!

Where on earth, do you start. Cots are not just cots. They have levels, colours, ratings, different features, brands, some have mobiles attached, some convert into toddler beds, some have extensions, others have 'sleigh' ends. Car seats....don't even get me started. I stood staring at the wall in a somewhat disorientated daze. Do we need a capsule, a convertible car seat, a seat with a three point harness, one that reclines? Do we need to be able to clip it into a travel thing, or are we after something we can remove from the car? Bottles, breast pumps, breast pads, diaper disposals and cute little brightly coloured feeding utensils swarmed before me in a kaleidoscopic fury. Whilst push chairs, strollers, mountain buggys and convertible strollers with cup holders and ipod chargers (I may have imagined that one) were all jostling for my attention.

Buy me! You NEED me! Look here! Look there! You will NOT SURVIVE without us!

You have NO idea what you are doing!!

Before I walked in, my head was full of cot buying excitement. Tiny bottles were swirling around my brain, and I could barely contain my excitement at the thought of the cute peter rabbit branded blankets we could come out with. But now I was suddenly overwhelmed, intimidated even. I had no idea what I needed, or why I had even thought I could possibly walk into a baby shop at all. Should we be buying anything? How do we know what (if anything) we might be getting as gifts? Suddenly I realised I was hungry. I had to pee (again). Where was my husband?!

On the way home, I had a wee tantrum in the car, while stopped at the lights, with the window down. Something along the lines of "Why didn't I listen to myself when we were thinking of having kids. You knew nothing! At least I knew what we were going to be up against. This is awful! I'm so hungry! I already look five months pregnant! I'm going to BE A WHALE!"

The somewhat older than us couple in the next car thought it was hilarious, which then made me laugh, which quickly turned into the first (of three) set of tears on the way home. 

We stopped at mcdonalds. Baby wanted a cheese burger apparently. I bought a big mac combo and a cheeseburger, and practically inhaled the cheeseburger. NEVER has a cheeseburger tasted so good. Husband laughed at me and offered to drive. But dammit - we were in MY car. 

Well, finally we got home, and I am wearing my slippers (oh happy days). Although it is warm. We have decided to have a good look on online auctions - we think we have found a real possible winner of a cot (with all the bedding) which closes in ....42 minutes! I should probably get back to being a ninja bidder then!

Here is our happy announcement photo we used to make this ordeal 'facebook public' :) enjoy!

Day before The Scan

One day until the big scan.
So many questions and worries running round my head.
Will they say, "There's nothing there, you're imagining it, you're just fat."
Or worse, "I'm sorry to tell you, but your baby is dead."

But it's true that I'm fat, at 12 weeks apparently I already look pregnant.
At least, enough so that students feel ok to ask me outright,
"Miss, are you pregnant?"
And friends are telling me that people are asking them if I am,
because I look like I'm showing.

When that happened before I would cry, be offended.
It doesn't matter that that wasn't what they intended,
at least most of the time.

So, what if I'm told, "It's twins, no wait triplets...."
How could I possibly cope with more than one!

My skin is 14 years old again,
and wouldn't you know it, I can't use pro-active.
Who knew that skin care products could harm your baby.
Just one more list to add to the already massive list of things to avoid.

Soft eggs, raw eggs, soft cheese, processed meats, alcohol, cold chicken, hot baths, saunas, hummus, pate, soft serve ice cream, mayonaise, food from cabinets, reheated foods, buffet foods, unpasturised foods, salads, cold pasta...........!!!

When I add the list of things that now make we want to vomit
(fried foods, stir frys, noodles, whole steaks(cut up ones are fine??)
What, realistically, is left.

I am living in an anxiety ridden bubble.
Floating between excitement for the end product,
and terror of everything that could go wrong,
panic at every new sensation - and there are many,
concern that I've harmed bub already,
worry that I'm going to get inundated with visitors in september
fear that I won't get visited by anyone
anxiety that I will have to fly up with baby to meet the family
stress that I wont be able to do it
worry that I will not be able to stay sane enough to be a good mum.

Lets see what tomorrow's scan will tell us.

To Show, or Not to Show?

One week away from our first proper scan, and people are already asking whether I'm 'keeping a secret from them', giving me eating advice, and suggesting what type of shirts I should wear.

This does not bode well.

To be honest, this has been a terribly kept secret from the start, but is it possible to be showing at just 11 weeks? I googled it, webmd' it, and searched the huggies forums, but no one had an answer.  I don't think I am showing, I'm pretty sure I've just got fat.

To make it worse, I am craving pies....and WINE!! - seriously, how is that fair? Obviously I am not drinking the wine, but the pie craving is slightly overwhelming.  I clearly don't stand a chance of coming out of this pregnancy with any semblance of my former self. But is that the point?

Before I got pregnant, one of my main reasons for not getting pregnant was a paralysing fear of labour.
Now, I'm excited about it because it will mean that this whole pregnancy business is OVER!

Once the scan (fingers crossed) tells me that there is definitely a baby in there, then I will put up some pics for you so you can compare and judge for yourself. Then I just have to tell my boss, and my students, and the facebook universe......oh the many things to think about!

Relapse.

Three weeks ago, I found out that I was pregnant.

Now, this is a great thing, don't get me wrong. 

But that doesn't change the fact, that I am simply terrified!

The day before I found out, I was discharged by my anxiety counsellor as I had reached a good place and had plans in place to manage further anxiety and depression, then WHAMMO! Here is something new and scary for you to deal with. Needless to say, my doctor instantly referred me back to them - "the quickest relapse in history" I joked on the phone to her.

I am dealing with many weird feelings that I can't control. On the one hand, I am extremely excited to be a mum. On the other hand, I am pretty convinced that I am going to be in a state of panic for most of the pregnancy, and won't be able to cope. I am afraid of what my medications will do to the baby, I am afraid that I can't cope with morning sickness, that I will be anxious non stop for nine months, that I wil be the one woman in the history of the planet who cannot physically manage being pregnant, let alone the labour at the end.

In short, I want to be knocked out now, and woken up when it's over.

But what am I even worried about? Pregnancy is a joyous time, with glowing skin and happy anticipation, everyone congratulates you and comments on how happy you must be. I smile and agree, but on the inside I am crumbling in the knowledge that I have lost control of my body for the meantime, that waves of nausea will hit me without notice, that I am sore, and tired and hungry and generally just constantly afraid, but I don't mention this. Because then I sound like a bad mum-to-be.

I was originally blogging about my journey towards producing an album and my experiences with going public about my depression and anxiety. But for now, I think this is bigger. I have searched for blogs or information about being pregnant and having an anxiety disorder and how to cope, they are few and far between. So for the meantime, I will vent on here, and hopefully someone else who understands will comment and make me feel better, or even better - someone else in my situation will gain a little bit of encouragement that they are not alone.

The bun in the oven

The day I found out I was pregnant, the house caught fire.

I had been toasting some super healthy sugar free muesli in the oven, went and peed on a stick while I waited, counted to 120 and then saw the second line.

Next thing I know, the fire alarm is beeping and my husband is yelling 'you've caught the oven on fire'.
I walked into a cloud of smoke beneath the incessant beeping from the alarm, and said dazedly 'I'm pregnant', to which he replied 'that's great but the house is on fire!'

I saw flames leaping out of the oven, and thrusting the stick of terror into my husbands hand, I grabbed the fire extinguisher and proceeded to douse my muesli, and the oven in one go.

Flames out. Crisis averted.

But I am still pregnant.

My husband didn't know what two lines meant. I explained that that meant I was pregnant, and I'd never had two lines show up before. He immediately insisted I take another test to make sure.
That one also showed up positive.
So did the next two.

All up, I took a total of 4 tests that night, each one positive. Weirdly enough, the number of positives wasn't helping me accept the fact any more.
We had been trying. We wanted a kid. We were totally ready - but I wasn't feeling the anticipated excitement. I was simply feeling downright terrified.

"I can't do it!" I declared later that evening. "There's simply no way I'm going to cope!"
Thoughts of vomit, and pain and public humiliation crowded my head. Ongoing discomfort and horrendous labour where all I could think about.
"You'll be fine, remember we wanted a baby" counselled my husband.
"I want the baby." I clarified, "But can we get someone else to do the pregnant bit?"

to be continued....