Monday, 15 March 2010

Dear Chest Infection

Hey! Hi! Sup?
Do you think that maybe perhaps we could have a discussion vis a vis your apparent desire to make your previously temporary residence permanent? Only, and I mean no offence, but you're not really my favourite tenant. I mean, ok, you're not quite as bad as A.B was. There was no way SHE was getting her tenancy deposit back, it's just that well, we never really agreed on you moving in, did we? You kind of took it upon yourself and I didn't really put up a fight like maybe I should have, but I was tired and everyone said it would only be a temporary arrangement. So I thought 'Hey man, I can be cool, I can be hip, I can be down with it' and I thought I'd let it slide. But now I'm getting a little ticked off. It was one thing to break all the pipes in my sinus', one thing to clog up my lungs like Chewbacca taking a nap in the shower, one thing to do that weird trick where everytime I stood up the room tipped upside down (how did you manage that, by the way? I must know. Excellent dinner party trick.) I could be a good sport. I could grin and bear it for a week or two. I could keep refilling the mug with honey and lemon tea and pretending I didn't notice you keeping me up all night and coughing in my baby's face.
But really, it's just gone too far now.
Five and a half weeks!
Five and a half weeks is not 'crashing just a couple of nights til I get my own place sorted'. Five and a half weeks is not 'I know a guy with a spare room, I just need to save some money for a deposit'. Five and a half weeks is almost squatters right and you know what? I am just NOT cool with this anymore.
Look. I still want to be friends, but I feel you're taking advantage of my generosity here. I know I should have called it quits when you took 4% of my body weight. I probably should have spoken up when my voice went, voice was gone. And yeah, you could say it was my fault for not saying anything when I spent the entire night coughing/retching in the bathroom so that I wouldn't wake Mr A and A.B up, but I was trying to be nice. I was trying to be a good fucking Samaritan, ok? OK??

I'm sorry it's come to this, but I'm afraid I'm asking you to leave. Now. Or I really am going to call the police.
Or, at least, get Mr A to do it, since I seem to have lost my voice again....

Sunday, 14 March 2010

Happy Mothers Day to me!

It's my first Mother's Day today and I am very pleased with it. It's a nice day outside but I am INSIDE, in my pajamas. I had honey and lemon tea brought to me in bed and I got to read a chapter of Wuthering Heights in peace while Mr A dealt with the first nappy of the day (and the two after that!). I didn't get any cards or presents or flowers, but last Sunday was our wedding Anniversary and I still have the massive bunch of flowers he bought me then, and he's giving me a huge doll house as a birthday present in June, and so last week I got a lovely box delivered with a bit of furniture and some cats and a conservatory. Yes, I really am one of those crazy doll house people. I know its lame. Really, I do. But I can't help it. I've loved doll houses since I was a little girl. I built them for a while myself. In one house we lived in I had a walk in wardrobe and I turned it into a doll house. I didn't have money to buy the lovely 'proper' doll house stuff so I made do, building furniture out of toy construction kits, making food and dolls out of plasticine, using anything and everything I could find that I could turn into something for it. I only really stopped playing with it altogether when I was 15 and ran out of space in the tiny house we'd moved into. We're currently negotiating exactly what house to get, but he's given me an unreasonably large amount of money to spend on it. Sickeningly large. I think he's just very pleased that he never has to think too hard about what to get me for my birthday/christmas ever again!

Anyway, I'm going to totter off and carry on enjoying my mothers day. It's the biggest scam mothers ever invented. It's basically an excuse to lie in bed and have other people do the chores you don't want to. Brilliant! Whoever invented it is a genius.

Saturday, 13 March 2010

Today I am mostly...

Today I am mostly watching Death Note and then hopefully going to sign for my car, and then hopefully going to go look at pushchairs. Mine needs to be replaced, and I've spent the last couple of weeks trawling through websites trying to find the Perfect Pushchair that does everything I want it to. We thought we might go for the Bugaboo Bee but it's far too small, and the basket was impossible to get to easily. For shame! Now we're probably going for the Mama's and Papa's Sola.

I am addicted to pushchair shopping. I think it's because I never really got to do it when I was pregnant. We were flat broke and couldn't afford to shop for what we wanted, we just had to get what was in our price range (or rather, what we felt comfortable asking my parents-in-law for, which wasn't much) and we ended up with something I really disliked almost immediately. So getting another crack at the whole thing is very exciting. I'm like a kid in a candy store! The only regret I have is not being able to do this earlier, when I would have gotten more use out of whatever it is we end up getting. Once she's about 12-18 months old well probably get this for nipping around in. I'm a sucker for the vintagey, uber-girliness of it. The part of me that has been very very poor for the majority of the last 3 years and who never had much money as a teen is screaming "Buy something cheap! You can get a perfectly good stroller for £50!" but where's the fun in that? The part of me that owns 50 pairs of shoes and three ball gowns and 6 cocktail dresses despite never having gone to a ball or a prom or a cocktail party is going "OHMYGOD SHINY". I think we both know which part will win.

If I had it all to do again, with unlimited funds, I'd probably go for the Bugaboo Bee Plus (the Bee's younger sister, which has solved the Bee's main problem of being impossibly small, but with a whacking great price hike) which is super cute and pretty much everything I need in a pushchair, except that it costs about half the husbbot's monthly wage. So perhaps not for us, then.

Thus concludes possibly the most boring blog post ever written. Thank you and good night.

Friday, 12 March 2010

I'm awesome, but...

So, I'm awesome, but I'm not a fucking miracle worker, ok? Do you know what I CAN'T do? Fly. See through solid objects. Laser people with my eyes. Survive on 2-3 hours sleep a night, every fucking night. Except that A.B seems to think I can. And I mean, part of me is ok with that. Every mom wants her kid to think she's superwoman, right? Except that the power to fly and the impression that I have eyes in the back of my head are not superpowers that are likely to make me want to throw myself out a window.

It IS partly my fault, and I feel I should own that. My insomnia is exacerbating both our sleep issues (for me, the cause/result is obvious; for her, if I'm not in bed she doesn't sleep as well) so ok, hands in the air, I am kind of 'causing' this whole problem.

But do you know what ELSE I can't do? Control the way my brain works, and how much melatonin it chooses to produce and when. And yeah I could probably not taunt my insomnia by drinking caffeinated drinks, but the choice is drink a few cans of coke and survive the day, or don't, and risk falling asleep while holding the baby, or cooking, or in the bath. And when I stopped drinking coke I wasn't actually getting to sleep any earlier (ok, maybe an hour) but I WAS exhausted and drained and zombie-like throughout the day. At least now I'm exhausted but awake, right?

A.B is shouting at the TV in a really determined but very weird and creepy way. She sounds like a gremlin transforming. Ever since she got her tooth she seems to think she's really a particularly aggressive guard dog, barking and growling and shouting at everything. But mostly at me. Sigh.

In other news:
Dear Vanessa Hudgens,
Do you know what's CRAZY? Some of us have bigger stresses in our lives than spots. Isn't that like, insane? Insane. Unless Neutrogena has valium in it, I really don't think it's going to solve my stress.

Dear Elliot Minor
Owl City wrote an amazingly pretty, happy song, and you have to GET ON THAT and reproduce it almost note for note and release it? That sucks, and so do you. Go swivel. NO HUGS FROM THIS LIGHTNING BUG.

Wednesday, 10 March 2010


Oh, snap, look at that. I'm back. Like a sack. Like a sack of CRACK. ("Say crack again." "Crack." 100 internet points to whoever gets it first)

So I have 90210 paused and loaded and waiting for me to click play and instead I am what? Here? Updating? Like an updating type of person? Crazy business.

What's new? We saw the paediatrician and I met the two craziest people in Sidcup, on the bus. This made me really really really want my car, NOW. The first was seriously mentally ill, obviously, so I feel bad talking shit about her, but seriously, she had a hair stuck in the scum in her teeth, and she clearly hadn't seen the inside of a bathtub in at least a month and she sat RIGHT NEXT TO ME (I like my space. I like it ALOT) and talked at me the entire journey, despite the fact that I was quite obviously reading a book and drinking a coke (common bus curtesy says if someone is reading, you leave them the shit alone) but luckily she didn't try to touch A.B, otherwise I could possibly have hit her. A woman in the pharmacy today touched A.B and I had to restrain myself from physically assaulting her. Do.Not.Touch.Other.Peoples.Babies. I know I sound crazy here, but seriously. You don't know me, you don't know my baby. Please do not come up to us and ignore me and while I am holding her TOUCH HER.
Anyway, second person was a 14 yr old boy who took it upon himself to beat the shit out of a 11 yr old boy in front of a bus full of witnesses. It happened so fast that no one could stop him, but we all offered the younger kid tissues and water and sympathy and I gave him my number and I'll be acting as a witness for the police. I nearly offered to walk home with him but he was with a group of friends and I think I would have just embarrassed him. It made me feel so old, mothering a boy in secondary school. I'm not old enough to be this mumsy!
Anyway, the paediatrician gave us an order to give to our GP to write a prescription for the meds she needs. That was last Tuesday, and through a series of cock-ups by my husband and then the GP, we only got the meds this morning (thursday, 9 days later). We can't really expect miracles just yet but we're hopeful that in time, they'll help.

Men baffle me. The other night I was ironing Mr Arienette's shirts and suddenly a black cloud descended on me. I could tell I was in a bad mood all of a sudden and that we'd end up having a fight, so I suggested he go to bed (I wasn't sending him off, he'd been saying for about an hour that he was tired and going to bed 'in a minute') so that we didn't get all ugly with each other. And what does he do? CONTINUES to sit on the sofa gormlessly playing with some Blu-Tack! I repeat a few more times that he should go to bed, or ask when he's going to bed, stating I really don't want to fight with him but I'm in a bad mood, and since I cannot remove myself from the situation, it's better if he removes HIMSELF. He continues to NOT leave the room.
I don't get it. I really don't. You don't want me to be bitchy and whiney and start a fight with you over 'nothing', yet when I inform you that a fight is likely brewing and give you an opportunity to avoid it, you choose to ignore me? WHAT? WHAT??
I could understand if he wasn't ready for bed, but he was, he was just too damn lazy to get up. From now on, I shan't bother. If I get into another bad mood I'm not even going to try to diffuse the situation. Why should I, when he's not only going to not help, but actually going to make things worse by rejecting my attempts to be nice?

A.B's carseat arrived, as did huge order of dairy-free yum. The only problem is I have no self control and therefore have eaten over 15oz's of dried papaya cubes today, and about 4 DF chocolate rice crispie bars. I'm terrible!

I also bought a dress for Mr A's Friends & Family work do, which I will go into later.

For now though, the glossy hairstyles and over the top story-lines of 90210 are calling my name.

Monday, 8 March 2010

Fevers and mirrors

I haven't updated in like.....a long time. I've been really sick and my husband took off thursday and friday so I could stay in bed for four days straight, and it really did the trick. It does however mean I'm behind on EVERYTHING.
I'm about to rush off to the doctor's to pick up A.B's prescription and then I'm out all day (chilling at a SuperMall with another Allergy Mom) but I will be back later and I will be blogging the shit out of the last week or so.


Monday, 1 March 2010

Let's talk about Post Natal Depression

(from Wikipedia)
Postpartum depression (PPD), also called postnatal depression, is a form of clinical depression which can affect women, and less frequently men, after childbirth. Postpartum depression occurs in women after they have carried a child, usually in the first few months. Symptoms include sadness, fatigue, insomnia, appetite changes, reduced libido, crying episodes, anxiety, and irritability. Current data suggests that 5 to 9 percent of women will develop postpartum depression, but less than one in five of these women will seek professional help.


That was how far I got writing this entry before I snapped the laptop lid down, grabbed a book and my pone and went to run a bath. Then I went downstairs and grabbed a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. Then I started re-hanging all the clothes my husband hung out to dry early tonight. Then I tidied an already tidy area of the living room. Then I went upstairs again and got into the now very full, very hot bath. And that's where I stayed for an our and a half until the water was cold and A.B started crying for a feed. I fed her, then checked my e-mail. Then my Twitter. Then the forum I belong to. Then I browsed a couple more blogs. Then I checked my e-mail again. Finally, I opened this window back up. And now I want to do nothing more than to close it again.

I'm not exactly a novice when it comes to depression. I've had it for at least 8 years. In the last three years I've had two nervous breakdowns. I've been suicidal, I've self harmed, I've tried to starve myself into non-existence, I've used drugs and alcohol to alternatively attempt to numb the pain, and when that didn't work, to obliterate any trace of the memory of the pain. But none of this really prepared me for PND. PND was another animal altogether.

Thoughout pregnancy I was told to expect it, with 'my history'. So I was very pleased with myself when my baby came along and I took to motherhood very well. I instinctively seemed to know what I was doing and everything came so easily to me. To myself and everyone around me, I was doing really really well. But then when A.B. was about 4 months old, I woke up one morning and realised that I could see in colour again. I had no idea when I had stopped seeing in colour, just that now I could. I realised that for most of the last 4 months I had been on auto-pilot. I hadn't really gotten out of bed. There was always a very good excuse, of course...I was sick, I was tired, giving up dairy made me weak...there was always a very very good reason why it was ok for me to not get up for weeks at a time. And after all, Bug was fine! She was happy and thriving and advanced for her age. I couldn't possibly be doing anything wrong.. There couldn't be anything wrong.

But there was.

There really, really was.

The thing about PND is it makes you feel like a terrible person. No matter what the literature and your friends say, the voice in your head says 'How the fuck can you be unhappy when you have a beautiful baby? Do you know how many people would kill to be in your shoes?' and you feel guilty. You've spent your whole life conditioned to believe this is the Happiest Moment Of Your Life and then it comes and you feel nothing. You feel empty. I love my daughter, she's my everything and I would die for her, but that love doesn't change the fact that there is a serious hormone imbalance in my brain that saps away my ability to fully engage in life.

After I woke up that day I vowed never to spend a day in bed again. I thought I was out of it. I though I was All Better Now. But I wasn't. Apart from the odd very very very rare day (like today when I have flu and my husband has ordered me to rest) I get up every day and I go downstairs. But really, it's just a change of scenery. For a few months I did nothing more downstairs than I was doing upstairs, I was just doing it on the sofa instead of in bed. This year I've been trying to leave the house more often, something I haven't done alone since A.B was born. In the last couple of weeks I've been trying to get back on top of the housework that's been piling up for months, but every now and again the PND-wave will swamp me again and I'll retreat back to where it's safe, I'll go into survival mode and anything more than that can fuck off.

Looking back, I recognise that I started showing signs of PND pretty early on. I remember her being about 5 days old and I already looked like I'd never been pregnant at all. I looked around at my in-laws fussing over my baby and I felt no connection. Or rather, I felt like I had no right to feel a connection. I felt like a nanny. This feeling intensified over the weeks, not helped by comments that people made about the fact that I didn't look like I'd just given birth, and I wasn't behaving like most new-mums*. All this made me feel so disconnected. My own body showed almost no sign of having recently given birth, apart from the bleeding, which seemed to go on forever. I lay in bed sometimes expecting a knock on the door from A.B's real parents, asking for her back.

Right now, I just live my life day to day. I make plans when I feel up to it so that I have motivation to keep moving forward, and when there's a break in the clouds, I enjoy the sun and make the most of it. I don't know when this will lift, I only hope for the day that it does. And I only hope that that day comes before A.B is old enough to see in my eyes that mommy isn't always 'here'.

*They meant it as a compliment, really, but in the fog, it just made me feel more and more like an experienced childminder than a new mother.