PND: How Can You Help?

This week I was asked to do a guest post for the Wriggly Rascals team! I was delighted they'd asked & so here it is:

When I unexpectedly fell pregnant with my second child a lot began to change for me. Not only did we have to find a new house, & did I have to give up the job I loved, but I faced a struggle worse than any I’d experienced throughout my life: depression.

For the most part I felt as though I couldn’t cope with everyday life; that I was worthless & pathetic for being unable to keep on top of simple day-to-day tasks; that my children would be better off without me & that I deserved none of the good in my life. 

Please read on over at Wriggly Rascals, who I've done this guest post for!


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About Wriggly Rascals
Wriggly Rascals was set up by Shona Motherwell, a frustrated mum of twins Mhairi and Archie to get mums together to share pregnancy, baby and toddler advice via quick surveys to get the facts about what other mums do. Our mums pass on loads of great tips to mums who have asked for help. If you would like some advice, get in touch at www.wrigglyrascals.com
They really are doing wonderful things, please take the time to see for yourself!

Plans

It was about 4am & halfway home that my previous good cheer began to wear out. We had been celebrating my 23rd birthday in York & I believe it was more than fair to say that a good night had been had by all. In the taxi that was hurtling along in the misty darkness was my other half who was by this point in a full blown drunken stupor, as well as his good friend & my oldest friend who were politely chatting away in a light fog of alcohol, with me interjecting from the front seat from time to time.

After a little while the conversation turned to work, education & travelling. I resolved to face forward & slowed my interjections. As I listened to tales on each subject I realised that I hadn't anything of value or relevance to contribute to this conversation whatsoever. Not a fucking sausage. As I racked my brain & listened on I wondered why I felt so sad about it all. I have a beautiful family, I'm not unintelligent, so why did I feel so put out?

When I left school at 16 my plan was to get 4 A levels & on to a decent university. Entirely achievable.

When I was 18 I dropped out of college, completing only 3 AS levels at C/D grades. Though not bad grades in the scheme of things, I knew damn well that I could have done far better & that is what clinched the decision to jump ship for me. It was in ill thought out & lazy choice I had made, but all the same not the end of the world. When I found out I was pregnant 6 months later, however, that really did change things. In short, life got serious & full on & since then there has not been much room for what I need or want. As I was finally getting somewhere with my life it was all pulled from beneath me again, the business I managed was being sold in desparation, but, again it wasn't the end of the world. There were other jobs. About a month after all this, a week before my 22nd birthday, I found out that I was pregnant again. Things got full on & serious once more. Now I have two beautiful girls, a comfortable house, a partner who keeps us all secure & a mental illness. I have never been happier, yet I have never been sadder.

To say that my life has not gone according to plan is an understatement, & that is what gets me. That was why, in that taxi I had tears in my eyes & self-loathing at my core.

I often feel as though people assume I'm not intelligent because of what my life entails. People never seem to take the time to find out, to delve a little deeper. Though this often contributes to a lot of my despair, I of course realise that it's not rational to live life worrying because of other people's shortsightedness. It just doesn't help, is all.

You may be thinking that I should be thankful for having what many others don't - a beautiful healthy family & security & yes, I certainly am more than thankful & never do I want to appear ungrateful for that but what causes all these problems I have is the knowledge that I could have so much more, if only I'd have done things in a more logical order. I was reckless & made some bad decisions, but don't for one second think that I regard a teenage & unplanned pregnancy as a bad decision - just as a tough one. The achievement of raising a family coming from nothing is not something that I wish to diminish. I am very proud of myself for what I have done for my girls, however it is simply an entirely different ball park to academic & professional achievement & the experience of taking in the world.

If I'd have done thing the 'right' way around I'd have certainly done better by my children, offered them much more security & a better example - if of course the 'right' way would have allowed for children & a family - but I suppose that my job now is to give them an example & hope that it's the second best one that I can offer. I find it hard not to dwell on the past, though of course I know it will only hinder me going forward if I do. I'm just not over it yet. I am however, making solid plans & semi-selfish decisions now, that will benefit me in the long run, but hopefully benefit my girls too. The thing is getting it right. I need to be sure that what I choose to do will absolutely be achievable & that I will see it through with conviction.

I'm going back to be a student. I want a degree. That decision is made, however I am yet to work out what I'll study. I'm on the right road, anyway. I think.

Groovy Mums & Cafe Bebe's Real Mummy Tummies

Kate's first challenge this week was this:

1. Body – do you love or loathe your body? Celebrate the fact you are a mum by posting here http://cafebebe.co.uk/2012/02/real-mummy-tummies/

Now, after two children it is definitely fair to say that my body is very different from before I sarted (though I didn't have much time to appreciate just how lovely my body back then was, as I 'fell' pregnant for the first time when I was the fair age of 18) but not in the way you might expect. Cafe Bebe is celebrating real mummies & their real tummies over on her blog & I totally get behind her on that. Mummies go through a hell of a lot, more than anyone could imagine & when celebrities flash their perfect post-baby bodies in our face it is, as she says, bloody infuriating. It isn't normal & it puts totally unrealistic pressure on top of all the other pressures that women all ready suffer in our vain society.

Having said that, here is me 6 weeks after giving birth to my second baby, about to go for my first run since I found out I was pregnant for the second time.

Now before you spit at the screen & slam your laptop shut, please read a little further as I explain...

When I found out I was pregnant I was a healthy 10st 8lb (which is the higher side of a decent BMI for 5ft 7in) & I enjoyed running & salads, as well as cake & takeaways! Now, 11 weeks after having the wee one, I am 9st. I don't have a nanny, personal trainer (though technically my OH is a qualified fitness person thing but I'll be damned if I can get him to give me any training for free) & I certainly don't have a chef - though I would not say no! - but what I did have after the birth of my wee girl was a lot of blood loss. Thankfully, the staff at the hospital knew that this could happen as, when I had my first baby, I bled so much after the cesarean that they offered me a blood transfusion (I said no & spent the first year of her life weighing between 7st & a half and 8 stone, due mostly to anaemia etc. but also to stress & anxiety & an unrealistic view of myself. This was not a good time in my life).

What I'm getting at is that, yes I was lucky enough to have a small bump in both pregnancies & to weigh less than when I fell pregnant in both pregnancies & I appreciate that I can fit back into my skinny jeans, however I am not healthy. I've been running twice since having the baby & I can tell you that I was dying. My baby is a very hungry one & I haven't been able to keep up with feeding her, whereas I think that if I had a little more on me & a bigger appetite myself (I sometimes struggle with eating properly as I have PND, but this is something I feel is getting better) then I would have been able to do more for her.

It's so important to be healthy, not just for ourselves, but for our babies too, & it's even more important to remember that healthy doesn't necessarily mean thin. Healthy is something that is on the inside & appearances can certainly be deceptive.

It's also worth mentioning, as this is about real Mummies' bodies, that in this picture I am wearing two bras. It's now a necessity if I go running & if I wasn't then you wouldn't be able to see half of my tummy. I would show you a picture, but I think there might be a law against this!

Day 6 of 366: One Small Step for Woman

Today is exactly 6 weeks since I gave birth to our little baby girl. Today is also the day I decided to start running again. Before my pregnancy I took up running mainly because I was getting a bit on the porky side & being single I had nothing better to do. To my utter surprise, it worked for me - at least in that it made me feel great & I soon got to the point where I loved to go & would do extra laps with ease. Then I got tonsilitis & was laid up in bed for a few days. During these few days I also decided to take a pregnancy test, which came out positive.

I was ill & pregnant & that was my fitness ruined. Apart from one experimental run whilst pregnant (it was horrible, all I could feel was the weight of the baby) I haven't done any exercise since & have been absolutely dying to get back to it, not particularly for my figure, but more for my mental health & my skin (as you'll see!)

Today I ran 1.6 miles in 22 minutes. The Man, (who is a Fitness Manager - whatever that means...he works in a gym!) says that is good considering, though I think he's just being nice, but whatever the case I feel like I need to collapse, but in a good way. Another step on the road to being a Groovy Mum!

Oh baby, I can groove..

It's Tuesday & this week I'm going to be much less tardy with my Grooving Mums post! Honest...

So, as you know I'm still joining in with Kate On Thin Ice's blog hop to get back my grooove...& though another bad week has occured I'm determined to focus on the positives.

This week Kate has set us a few challenges, the first of which is to think of your own challenge. Never one to be very good at motivating myself I am very tempted to set myself something sneaky like 'Eat copious amounts of curried pineapple in order to induce labour' but alas I think this is more of an inevitability rather than something I can count as challenging.

Recently I have realised that though I set up this blog to talk about my expanding family & keep track of all the lovely things we do, the focus has shifted, rather selfishly onto me & my personal struggle with pregnancy & though I do not want to stop blogging about how I feel, I think my challenge must be to put in some more posts about just how wonderful my beautiful daughter is. She is, after all, the reason I keep going & is soon to have a sibling who I will fall equally as in love with. Having said that, she isn't here for the week - freedom hurrah! but why do I miss her so? - but I'm aiming to try & compile a post about the great things we've done over the past few weeks.

Kate's second challenge is to investigate poetry & give an example of a poem you love. Though I do love literature, I often find poetry hard work & shy away, or I find that I get over-involved in poetry, as I do with songs, & then end up having nervous breakdowns. I was going to choose 'The Owl & The Pussy Cat' by Edward Lear, as it's a lovely nonesense rhyme & also what I would love to call the coffee shop I dream of one day owning, but instead I'm cheating. I'd like some lyrics from a song that I related a lot to when I was single, but actually now I think part of me relates to them even more, it also makes me think about #groovingmums too, particularly the verse beginning 'In the hours before breakfast...'. The singer is an Alaskan woman called Molly Venter & the song 'Sleep at Night' goes like this:

She steps outside and takes a breath
Like it's the last breath before she goes among the circus of performers
With smiles on their faces and she says
"I don't belong here, I don't belong here.".
Well she's marking off her checklist and making conversation
And forcing her smile today.
She cannot find a reason for her to be unhappy,
But suddenly she's lost for words to say.

And everybody feels like he doesn't belong among all the happy faces sometimes,
And everybody feels like he's the only one who can't sleep at night.

He hands her a strong drink, leans in too close for comfort
Before she can say goodbye.
Do you want to know a secret?
Learn to say "I love you." without needing to hear a reply.
Cause I have lost many friends,
There is only so much I can write in a letter
And if I had to do over again there is only one person I would have called
And now, finish your drink dear and I will walk you home,
Finish your drink dear and I will walk you home.

In the hours before breakfast with the boys
She is losing her patience, she is losing her poise.
I am tired, she thinks, and I'm late.
I don't remember warm weather, thanksgiving's not forever.
I used to work pretty damn hard and now I don't know where I lost my ambition
But I just want to wake up one morning and not worry about my dress size or my GPA
Or just how long it's been,
Just how long it's been.

And everybody feels like he doesn't belong among all the happy faces sometimes,
And everybody feels like he's the only one who can't sleep at night.

It's not until she walks out far from any street light she notices her hands are tied,
It's not until the wind stops that she knows by her own breath
She needs to be alone to sigh
And it's strange how thick silence feels in the air,
Oh and it's strange how thick silence feels in the air.

And everybody feels like... everybody feels like....

And I, I'll let you walk alone he says,
But I'd rather take you home to bed
And she thinks well it'd be so nice to go home with somebody,
Yes it'd be so nice to go home with somebody, tonight.

You can download it on iTunes, it really is an eerily beautiful & moving song from a little known but hugely talented musician.

Challenge number three is to dance. Well, I can tell you that I am so totally on it I think I've surpassed an entire weeks worth of dancing in an evening. As you may know I went to see the sexy men that call themselves the Red Hot Chili Peppers yesterday evening in Manchester & being 39 weeks pregnant did not hold me back. I bloody love that band & the were on fire & though I'm feeling the effects right now of over-exertion I had such a blast that I don't care! They played songs I've always wanted to hear live, dirty-funky-sexy-goodness. & we were so close too. Oh, it was just heaven for me!

Number four is to take part in a listography blog-hop. I can tell you that I am just not that interesting so I hope you are all ready to be disappointed but I'll get on with it at some point this week!

All in all, another crappy week but with some good bits that made it bearable. This week I shall mainly just be waiting on baby, too so I'll keep you all informed!

Keep grooving!

Green Grocers Should Not Give Parental Advice.

It is 7.43pm & I am sat in bed by way of protest. I am typing each letter with defiance. My laptop is asking me to stop being quite so brutal. No, I tell it:

I am in protest.

What are you in protest of?

I am in protest - I say proudly - of...well...of everything. Downstairs is a mess. I know I have to tidy it before the Man's brother-in-law comes with our new sofa tomorrow - I say petulantly - but right now I am in protest & so I shall not be tidying it until later. & yes, I know that I have to fill in that form that I promised the Man I'd fill in (the one I have been avoiding for no reason) but he is not home until midnight & I shall not be filling it in until later & besides which I do not have an envelope big enough to post it anyway so I will have to wait until tomorrow to get one. So there.

Oh. What's that you're eating?

I am eating brioche, in protest - I say.

In protest of what?

I am eating brioche by way of protest against the horrific heartburn I currently have. It has become so bad that I cannot drink anything warmer than luke-warm & each gulp of food feels like a fiery golf ball when it reaches the part between my boobs but I am eating this brioche because it is tasty & I want to.

Yes, I think I have gone mad.

It all started with a bath, in which I was given time to think about things. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. I am irritable & I thought that a bath & time to churn over & settle a few thoughts in my mind would help - alas, it has not. It has, for some inexplicable reason, turned me into my petulant 3 year old Daughter.

There were two things that I realised, that are now bugging me. Buzz, buzz, buzz. The first comes from reading those little online baby things that tell you where you are at with your pregnancy each week - how big your baby is by measurement of fruit or veg for some inexplicable reason (does a green-grocer write these?), what you should be doing to make it a super-genius & what ailments should currently be plaguing you at this moment in time.

A few weeks back the Man was reading one of these aloud, as he likes to, & it mentioned something in the 'Ideas for Dad' section (normally full of mundane advice such as 'take out life insurance' or 'give her a foot-rub') that has stuck in my brain ever since. It said something along the lines of this:

Dad, have you tried the 'Guess the body part' game yet? - as though it's a frigging well known game? Pish - Baby is moving a lot now & though Mum now can determine an elbow from a knee why not have fun by feeling Mum's tum & trying to guess for yourself!

Well, I can tell you it didn't stick in my mind just because it sounded like a total hoot (ahem), no it stuck because I actually had no idea as to which body-parts bulged out of my stomach. & it's not like they don't bulge, I mean they really do. It's like it's trying to break out, Alien styley, & sometimes it hurts!  Ever since I have found myself frustratedly trying to decipher which bit of my bump is a head or a leg or a bum (all this made ten times worse by the fact that Daughter was breech so I am completely obsessed with whether this one is going to turn the right way or whether they might have to cut me open again) & I can't tell. So, in my mind, this makes me one or both of two things:

a) Stupid
or
b) A useless mother to my unborn child

&, if I'm honest, I'm not sure which is worse!

Okay, so I know, I know I am being over-sensitive about this & that there are obviously deeper issues here, but it really makes me think that the green-grocers who write this baby-twaddle & Crap Ideas for Dad should just stick to the 'be nice, avoid her wrath & make sure the money is coming in, two pound for that bunch of bananas' tack. Don't invent tedious games that insult half of the mothers who are paranoid about which way around there baby is laying. Don't torment me, follow your own mundane advice - avoid my wrath, make my partner give me back-rubs (he's not going near my feet) & tell him to leave all his money to me, should I kill him in frustration!

Seriously, pregnant women are sensitive & will be driven to bed & brioche in protest [of nothing] in a second, so be careful what you say!

Oh, & the second thing I realised when I was in the bath was that the bath edges needed re-sealing. I got out swiftly after this second realisation.

Grooving Mums

So, I have a had a very up & down week this week. As I've mentioned, it really scares me just how up & down I can be. Some mornings I can wake up numb & end up having a wonderful day, other days I could wake up with a positive outlook only to bomb out spectacularly in a wave of tears or anxiety.

I need to get this under control.

I've never really been a stable person anyway, but I have always managed to muddle by one way or another.

Today & yesterday have been unexpectedly good days. I feel cured. I can barely remember why on earth I have felt so miserable recently & find myself wondering what all the fuss was about. There is nothing wrong with me. Unfortunately, I know that this isn't true & I know from recent experience that this feeling probably won't last forever (but I would not complain if it should) & so I have to make the most of this mindset while it lasts.

I am currently on the brink of changing things. After seeing my GP a few weeks ago I have had an initial appointment with a member of my local Community MH Team. I had very mixed feelings about the appointment. She asked me lots of standard questions as we went through a questionnaire & while I initially felt it was comprehensive & positive I soon began to stumble over my replies & didn't feel that I adequately expressed myself to her & by the end of the session I felt as though I had not given her a realistic view of myself. I write it better than I say it. Always have, probably always will. In the hours & days that followed I kept remembering things I had missed out or realising I had said things that could easily have been misconstrued.

She had said that she would go away & write up a report which she would share with some sort of team (by this time I wasn't really taking much in - my concentration is shot at the best of times) but she did say that she would arrange for me to see a consultant as she felt that I wasn't entirely convinced on her initial verdict of low moods caused by anxiety. She was right, I feel that the anxiety is only present occassionally due to my actions or inactions brought on by low mood. I feel crap first & then I do nothing & worry about having done nothing.

Anyway, the point of me telling you all this is my discovery of a blog-hop called Grooving Mums via the wonderful platform that is Twitter (I am now addicted & spend far too much time tweeting crap).

Basically, this is a group of blogging mums who feel they would like to change something about themselves, big or small & their accounts of how they are doing this. Kate [on Thin Ice] explains it all here.

So, over the next few days I am going to think of five attainable goals for myself (I have accepted - sort of - that I am not, nor am I ever going to be a Super-Mum) & try to keep weekly updates for you all to read how I am doing.

I'm terrified of bombing out on this - I have a history of being useless - but I have all ready heard from some lovely, lovely Grooving Mums which has been inspiring & heartwarming.

Here's to getting my groove back.

On Mammaries & Memories of Who I Am

I’m sat in the middle of the floor of my baby’s nursery as I write this. Behind me is the bed of the crib that was once mine, then my daughter’s & is now theirs. To my left are the legs of the crib, half painted & still wet. In front  of me is a brand new wooden high chair which currently seats Daughter’s dolly (adorned in oversized swimsuit, previously belonging to Daughter herself), some Johnson’s Baby Lotion which I shall never use as I prefer organic & ethical products & a hand-me-down plastic baby toy in suitably garish colours. Also in the room is a large cot, again, once belonging to Daughter; a beautiful new moses basket (my proudest & most unnecessary purchase); a new chest of drawers, too small to actually hold all the clothes & bibs we seem to have acquired; an electric breast pump; various baby bottles; a steam steriliser & all that other paraphernalia associated with a new baby.

I often come in & sit in this space, to try & familiarise myself with the room or just basically in an attempt to come to terms with the fact that I’m going to be a mother - again.

There will be a new baby in here in less than five weeks.

I can say this over & over but still it has not sunk in.

Earlier I took my shiny electric breast pump out of its box, read the instructions, dismantled & reconstructed it & stared at it for a while. Last time I had a manual one which was such a pain in the arse that I promised myself an electric one this time around – a lady of leisure with all my fancy baby gadgets & all that jazz. As I dismantled the pump again I felt a pang of excitement which was immediately followed by a wave puzzlement. 

When on earth did I go from being a [not so] cool, wild party girl who got rared up by a free shot of Sambuca from the handsome gentleman at the cheap bar, followed by a dance with the cheap gentleman from the handsome bar – or was it the other way around? That Sambuca had gone to my head – to being thrilled at the prospect of not having to manually extract the milk from my mammaries? Thrilled is perhaps too strong a word, but you see my point nevertheless?

If you have read any of my previous posts you will realise that I haven’t been coping with this pregnancy well & that I am finding it hard to be thrilled by anything at the moment, but I do feel happy that I am not completely detached & I am beginning to realise that maybe doing what makes it easier for me & by buying all this fancy but slightly unnecessary stuff will actually help me to cope better when the baby is here. I also think that it is going to be about finding a balance between the partying & the pumping.

I don’t want to lose sight of who I am, or who I can be. 

At the moment I am far too round to dance for more than 10 minutes without having to stagger to the nearest seating area & have a bit of a rest but that’s just pregnancy & I must accept this. It’s not going to last forever. In fact it’s going to last for five more weeks, maximum. I am 22. I am not past it by any means, I started young & therefore I have a head start in that I have the whole of my life to achieve the things I didn’t achieve when I was 18 & pregnant. I may spend my nights wakeful or sobbing & I may feel as though I have failed because I didn’t live my life in the order that my friends & peers lived theirs but I still have time. Sometimes I find it very difficult to remember this. Sometimes my insecurities bog me down & I do stupid things & think stupid thoughts & become so absorbed in myself or in my own sadness that I forget.

Pregnancy is not forever & hopefully shall be without stretch marks.

My life after pregnancy will be just as it was before – juggling motherhood, my mammaries & responsibilities with a career (we hope), sexy shoes & a lot of dancing (though possibly not with strange men).

I could do it before, even when I was a single mum, so surely even though I have an extra sprog the presence of a man evens that out?

It’ll all be okay – I just have to remind myself of that sometimes.

Why can't I?

Here I go...

This morning I decorated gingerbread men with Daughter.

Monumental achievement? It felt like it.

My moods have been erratic lately. 

After last week being busy & my mind being fairly distracted, I shuddered to a halt on Saturday evening.

Saturday had been spent visiting my mum. We had plans to go out but comfortably abandoned such plans while feeling cosy at home. I was content to sit & let Daughter play while everyone else looked out for her. I was utterly relaxed on the large leather sofa, with the log fire roaring.

When I returned home I felt fine. A little more nonplussed than earlier. Was it the beginning of numbness? I wasn’t sure.

I crashed out on the sofa, I was tired, & sure enough the numbness crept over me like a familiar old blanket. Oh no. I was quiet & subdued all evening until it came to bedtime. Bedtime is usually the clincher. I sat on the edge of the bed & as my lovely, unsuspecting man brushed his teeth I started to cry & sob. I didn’t want to feel like this. It seemed as though this was happening more unpredictably than before & I couldn’t cope with it. I didn’t want to feel like this, I didn’t want it carry on & at the same time I didn’t feel as though I could carry on. It was too much.

Why does this keep happening? How can I feel so okay one moment then completely encased by sadness the next? 

Sunday was numb. Today is numb. I’m not good & I’m not bad. I’m just thinking. I’m certainly not doing. I never do anything when I feel this way & that’s part of the problem. I feel sad; I have no motivation; I do nothing; I feel worthless; I feel sadder. Then I cause problems for myself – not paying bills, not completing projects – & that adds anxiety to the mix.

Yes, the answer is glaringly obvious. Do something you lazy twat. It’s more than that. I’m not sure how to explain further, except that it’s like a constant block: a constant voice in the back of my mind that reminds me of just how much of a failure I am – just how worthless I am. I can tell myself I’m not, others can tell me the same, I believe them sometimes, it sounds rational but it doesn’t make it go away.

I need help. I’ve asked for it, though I haven’t been entirely honest  about how I feel with anyone I’ve encountered – not professionals nor with my loved ones. I know that I must but I don’t want to make a fuss – I’m not worth a fuss. I am pathetic & I should be able to deal with this myself. Everyone else does. Everyone else copes with life. Why can’t I?

Nothing profound

I sat down in the room with the kindly-looking stranger who was my new midwife.

"Have you got your notes with you?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh..." I stumbled, remembering that I'd forgotten, "...no, I totally forgot them, I'm terrible for that at the moment!" I said truthfully with a casual ai & my slightly nervous laugh.

"Oh, right..." she said in a serious tone that I didn't expect her to use from her initial warm demeanour "They must be in your handbag at all times, otherwise we would no nothing about you if something were to happen."

I instantly felt foolish. I'm forgetful at the best of times, never mind when I've a baby-brain. I wanted to cry.

"How have you been feeling?" she asked in a warmer tone.

I told her nervously that I had been okay, that this week had been a better week, but I was hesitantly honest with her. I felt a little foolish again as I told her that I just wasn't coping so well, but that I had spoken to the Doctor about it & arrangements were in place for me to see a member of the mental health team. I wondered how she would react, whether she would tell me it was probably my low iron levels as the last midwife suspected or whether she would take me more seriously. I told her, as I had told the Doctor the previous week, that I had always felt like this but now it was different, because it was ruling my life & the bad & sad feelings outweighed the good & stable feelings.

She reacted sympathetically & gently asked me questions about it. I didn't feel so foolish.

She then took my blood pressure, measured my bump & listened to the baby's heartbeat. Everything was completely fine - my bump measured about what it should at 33 weeks she informed me, even though I am nearly 35 weeks.

"...but that's okay because you're allowed about 2 weeks either way." she said with a smile & the initial kindliness I had experienced as I'd entered the room. "It probably means that the baby will be about 6lb or so."

PHEW. I was was relieved that she hadn't said it was too small, as they had said with Daughter & but even more so that she had said it would be a healthy but small baby. I felt much more relaxed now, after spilling the nervous crazy to her & knowing that the baby was happy in there but not about to cause me an awful lot of pain on its way into the world - hopefully anyway!

That was my morning. Everything is okay - & everything is going to be okay. Nothing profound to see here but certainly no bad news, unless you count my total memory loss.

Putting notes in handbag now.

Contentment

I sit on my bed & I smell of coffee grinds. I ache, particularly my feet, though not in a painful way & I feel fulfilled yet tired. 

I finish writing Saturday’s blog & I do as I wrote I would & move from my bed into the bathroom to have a bath. I turn on the hot & the cold taps – the former is on slightly faster than the latter. I need to wash my clothes for tomorrow because pregnancy doesn’t allow a huge wardrobe, particularly not in regards to work uniform, & my laziness combined with the chaos of my house has prevented me from doing much washing lately. As I leave the bath running in a satisfactory manner I go to the washing machine & stick some white tops in the drum. I undress down to my knickers &, crouching beneath the window so as not to startle any unwitting passers-by, I put in the rest of my clothes. It's less than half a load – I select a rapid wash & dry. I know I should do a proper load, but not tonight.

I return to the bathroom. I am looking forward to my bath & I urge the water to fill the deep tub quicker. As I do so I pour shower gel carefully into the flow of the hot tap so as to give bubbles & aroma though I know that bubbles will soon disappear.

I close the door. Usually I would not do so when showering, I’d keep it open in case Daughter needed the loo & to allow the steam to escape through a larger space than the constantly open window. Today I close the door. I am alone in the flat so it does not keep anybody out & there is no need for it to be open nor for it to be shut but today I need it closed. 

I take off my knickers & I get into the bath before it is full. I can’t wait. It isn’t warm enough so I spin the hot tap to full & reduce the flow of the cold tap. I swish the water with my hands & feet so the temperature is even. I try to lean back against the plastic but it is cold. Usually I would just force myself onto it until my body warmed it but today I soak the sponge with the warm water & then squeeze it out over the surface until it too is warm.

I relax & lay back. My glasses still on my face & my hair still tied up from work. I sit a while &, occasionally adjusting the taps with my toes, wait for the water to reach an adequate level. After a little while it does.

I sit, contemplatively. Though what I am contemplating is not yet clear. I know that I will not feel fully at ease until the hot water has saturated every part of my body. I take off my glasses & take the bobble from my hair. I soak myself with the sponge, ensuring every tress of hair is reached by the water & I wipe my face hard. I do feel satisfied now. 

I sit back again. 

I look down & I become suddenly aware of my body. I realise that this is the first time I have had a bath since my bump started to show. I remember how, during my last pregnancy, we didn’t have a shower so I always had to take baths. I remember how the bath in that dingy bathroom was metal & harsh, somehow grating to touch. I remember that I did not take baths as often as I should, but I remember so very clearly how much more familiar I was with my body in my previous pregnancy. How, when my bump was big, I would stare down at it but I would not think very much. I remember how my then partner would sit with me in the bathroom & mainly watch me, occasionally chatting. I remember how I never much liked being watched. I prefer it now, being completely alone. With the heavy door shut.

I look at my body again & think how beautiful my bump looks. I do not have my glasses on & the assorted bottles which gather around the bathtub edge are out of focus but I can see my body clearly. My stomach is perfectly round, like a smooth planet surface with a crater exactly in the middle. The crater fills with water from the bath. This pleases me.

I am suddenly thankful that, unlike before, baths are a luxury. I prefer showers but when I do bathe it’s usually by way of loosening tension from my muscles or allowing the notions in my brain to find their place – not through necessity to wash.

I stare at length at my body. My breasts are full, though from them you can tell that this is not my first pregnancy. They part quite widely so that I can see between them almost the full curve of my tummy. My left hand is in its natural resting place: flat; just underneath my bump; only just visible. Beyond this my legs stretch long & slender, one knee raised slightly & resting comfortably on the other. Past my knees I see my toes, playfully & happily poking upwards, slightly turned in, paying their attention to the overflow plug.

I feel proud at just how much of myself I notice & how much I enjoy seeing what I see. Usually my body is a source of anguish & insecurity for me but not today. I turn my gaze back to my bump & a wisp of thought wondering ‘what will be?’ enters, then swiftly leaves my consciousness. I see my tummy rise & fall slowly, keeping a reassuringly even pace as I breathe, interrupted only by small, sporadic twitches & intermittent sweeps caused by my baby kicking & moving. It’s truly incomparable to anything & I could not feel more at one with my unborn.

I decide I shall write about this. I decide I must take a photograph of myself as I see me right now & I must capture this on canvas. I must not forget this moment.

I try to think & to absorb as much as possible but Bob Dylan is singing his song too loudly from the tinny confines of my iPhone. I turn Bob Down & feel better.

I feel the cool air from the window on the parts of my body that are not submerged – my breasts, my stomach & my thighs. It feels wonderful. I am not too cold nor am I too hot, as is often the way when I have previously tried to enjoy a bath. I squeeze the sponge over my bump & watch the water gather, forming a deeper pool over the crater. I squeeze the water over my breasts & smile as the water runs off my body as a stream would rapidly course down a hillside.

I lay & think of nothing much except how still & calm I feel until I know that I am done. I haven’t taken too long. Just long enough. 

I decide that I need to be clean so I scrub myself all over with a stiff brush. I could leave the bath now & feel satisfied but I know that I must shampoo my hair so I do so to the soulful tones of James Brown singing 'This is a Man's World'. But it would be nothing - not one little thing - without a woman or a girl. I smile.

Now that I am clean my thoughts are aligned; my muscles do not ache – though I had not noticed any particular point they had stopped aching –; I am complete. I get out of the bath; I struggle to find a towel, until eventually, after leaving a dripping trail around the house I find one in the hallway. I dry myself off in the perfect space of the bathroom – the rest of the house is too cold – & put on a clean t-shirt & clean pyjama bottoms. I cross the hallway to my bedroom & pull back the duvet. I sit on my bed, pull my laptop onto my knee & I write. It’s been too long since I last did so.

Monday, Tuesday & the Mean Reds

Today I feel as though someone has their giant hands on either side of my head & is pressing as hard as they can.

Daytime yesterday involved trapesing around, looking at potential future homes, only to reach the conclusion that we are more uncertain & actually still have no conclusion - just more wondering about what this week will hold.

Yesterday evening began with me setting the cooker alight whilst cooking Yorkshire Puds.

This was followed with a takeaway & an early night.

Early night was cut short when floods of anxious, hormone-induced tears broke forth for no one reason in particular.

Long-awaited sleep was then interrupted by Daughter crying for no reason, other than much-sought after attention. Again, & again & again...

I greeted the morning with puffy eyes & sluggishness.

Today, the day is rescued by Daughter & her charm:

Daughter's dog (in reality a stuffed crocodile) is called Hiffy & apparently likes to smell Mummy's feet. Hiffy's friend - a police dog (in reality a stuffed hippo) - is called Jemmy, though Daughter declares that she "calls him Jemmald all the time". Neither Hiffy nor Jemmald are very good at putting their chins up when they are required to do so. They are also both "rum-sticks". Hiffy & Jemmald are both twice the size of daughter & this makes for great comedy stylings when she attempts to pick them both up.

Yesterday, I should add, was saved by the loving embrace of my man.

Bring on normality. Preganacy & vagrancy are tiring.

What else is hidden inside our pea green pod?

Couldn't be happier!

What's inside our Pea Green Pod?

It's all about this one...so far.