Motherexia

I don't deserve my child. I am a total, utter waste of space. My son's not eating or sleeping because I'm doing something wrong. He cries because I don't know how to comfort him. Everyone knows I'm a crap mum, they're just too afraid to tell me. Anyone could do a better job than I'm doing. My son would be better off without me. I'm not fit to be a mother. 

This delightful set of thoughts has popped in uninvited to see me more times than I care to remember over the past 18 months. If I'm feeling vulnerable, I let them sit down and make them a cup of tea, ask them to tell me more. If I'm feeling stronger, I'm able to make an excuse and scarper before they have a chance to put a foot in the door. You see, now that I'm getting a bit more sleep and the fog of hormones has cleared, I've recognised that I suffer from Motherexia - a syndrome which makes you view yourself and your mothering skills in an entirely unrealistic light. Like her evil cousin Anor, Mother Exia revels in distorting what we see when we look in the mirror. Mother Exia, though, enjoys not only messing with how we see ourselves physically, but also how we regard every aspect of our personalities. BUT.. Ahaaaaa,  Mrs Exia, the game is up! I have discovered your weak spot, the chink in your armour - the simple, powerful reality that thoughts are not facts.

Thinking something is true doesn't mean that it actually IS. If a friend you wave to across the street doesn't wave back, is this because they didn't see you or because they've decided they hate your guts? It's all a matter of interpretation. Just because we decide they've spontaneously deemed us unworthy of a wave doesn't mean that they aren't actually just absorbed in figuring out how to get Johnny Depp to fall in love with them (I WILL find a way). Just because we think we're a terrible mother doesn't mean we are one. I know this may all sound a bit obvious, but realising that your thoughts are not facts can be more than a bit handy for we insecure mums and those with PND.

Deep down, I know that no one can care for my son better than I can. I reckon Mother Exia's days are numbered around here. And now I'm off to gulp down a Mars Bar and a couple of cupcakes just to piss her cousin off as well.

UFO

I appear to have acquired a tiny, shouty, curly blond-haired shadow. Whether I'm on the phone or on the loo, there's this constant presence. I can't be sure, but I think it's trying to tell me something very important. Something about a car and what I think I've deciphered as being a pineapple ('pineapample'). 

It's an extremely determined shadow - if I attempt to sidle past or sometimes even lose my temper with it, it's still there, somewhere between my knees and my ankles, sometimes clinging on to both. Weirdly though, despite this feeling of never being alone, I sometimes still feel lonely. I think it's because there are still so many unanswered questions about my new addition and I often feel I have no idea what it's doing here or how I'm supposed to react to it. Is it actually an alien from another world? It appears to be changing daily, morphing into something more human and often I'm the only one who's there to witness these fascinating, incredible, scary and beguiling transformations. If I try to share these experiences, who would listen? Would they just think I was mad? 

The other day, when a friend of mine was chatting to me about her second child which is due next year, she said - 'I've got a plan this time. My mum and my mother-in-law will be here on and off for the first 6 months. I just don't want to be left so alone again.' I remember that feeling well - it's evolved now my son's older, but it's still there. That inability to leave the house, out of tiredness or the volume of crap you've got to organise into the smallest bags possible, or the difficulty of working out when's the 'right' time to venture out baby schedule-wise. All those emotions buzzing about that you're too afraid to share, questions without clear-cut answers. That feeling of losing yourself and your old life, being stranded in a desolate, foreign landscape. You're never alone, but often lonely. 

I know it did help to drag myself and my baby out of the house - to see that the world as I knew it still existed. I also know that NCT helped a lot. You may have to tolerate being taught to breastfeed via a knitted boob and a couple of teachers who insinuate drugs during childbirth are baaaaaaad, kidz (my GOD are they WRONG), but the other mums you meet through the groups are essential companions on your hike up the foggy mountain of motherhood. There are also some brilliant support groups out there. Have a look at  http://www.pni-uk.com/  - one of the best sites I've found. There's lots of info there on how to get professional help. I found mine through my GP who referred me to my local Perinatal Mental Health Services - they're groups of medical professionals who deal with motherhood associated issues.  I wasn't even aware of their existence. Some GPs are a bit crap at knowing how to help you, but some aren't. Do not be put off. Ask to see a different doctor until you find someone who will take you seriously. Giving you a pill and telling you to 'be on with you' may not be the help you need. Counselling and advice is often as or more important than an antidepressant. Your Health Visitor could also be a good resource - remember that they're on your side. Their job is to keep families together, not take your baby away.  You are not alone. 'Professional' or otherwise, help is out there.

The more time I spend with my Unidentified Friendly Object, the more I think we understand each other. I'm slowly working out that he's been trying to tell me something about this loneliness thing - it's that no matter what, I am now loved in a way I've never been before. That the tricky times are worth it. That we’re in this together. Yes, my little alien appears to be from Planet Cheese of Galaxy Schmaltz. In fact, today, I received an unexpected, slobbery smacker right on the face whilst swearing at some velcro straps. It's taken what feels like light years to get here, but I reckon that's message received, loud and clear.

The Magic Pyjamas (aka Walk Away)

My son has magic pyjamas. If he wears a particular set of pyjamas, he sleeps past 5.30am.  I know what you’re thinking, but it’s TRUE. For the past 6 months, my son’s been waking up at 5.30am. I’ve tried a ridiculously large volume of methods to try to fix this - pick up/put down, a lighter room, a darker room, ‘wake to sleep’ (ugh), 2.5 tog sleeping bag, 1.5 tog sleeping bag, 1 tog sleeping bag, 0.27344553 tog sleeping bag, earlier bedtime, later bedtime, shorter nap, longer nap, more milk, less milk, more food, different food, no bloody food, controlled crying, gradual retreat, no retreat...must ...fight...must..win...never...give..up..control...ARRRRGH! BUT (shhhh) for the past two mornings, he’s woken up at SIX, ooopps, shhhhh...six. After much analysis, I’ve calculated that the crucial difference is some new pyjamas. Thus they’re clearly magic. If I control the pyjamas, I control the world. Taa daaaaa.

But today, my power was challenged once again. I've just spent the last half hour on my hands and knees cleaning up bits of regurgitated sausage. Before that, half an hour following my son around with bits of sausage on a fork. Before that, trying to shove bits of sausage into his mouth whilst he was trapped in his highchair. After he'd tipped his entire plate onto the table and then employed that super-fast 'wiping/whisking' movement with both his hands to whoosh it onto the floor, I found myself actually trying to force feed him. I'd reached my limit - I lost it. I bloody hated my opponent. 

Luckily, an aggression regulating chemical suddenly kicked in somewhere in my brain and I realised that I was about to clock my son over a sausage. A voice told me ‘just walk away’ and I did. During the past year and a half, this little phrase has been totally invaluable in preventing my bursting a blood vessel or getting into a bout of fisticuffs with an ‘innocent’ child. The nappy wrestling, the food-fights, the sleep struggles...sometimes being a mum feels like one long battle for control. We’re all desperate for a ‘method’ to help us win this war - we buy books promising solutions, wrack our brains for something we’re doing wrong, something we could be doing better. Have we ‘classified’ ourselves or our babies incorrectly? (I bloody hate this classification racket, sorry, but no child fits into a neat, little box of characteristics and nor does any mother.) Are we being too lenient, too aggressive?  

I found the fact that I couldn’t develop a ‘motherhood method’ particularly frustrating because I come from a scientific background - I studied biology and then went on to work in scientific journalism and documentary. Surely science would help me? In the end, after much research, I concluded that what the science shows is that, although babies go through very similar stages of development at similar times, there isn’t a fix-all formula. It’s worth trying different methods to help with sleeping, feeding etc., but sometimes your child will just not conform. The reality is that often how our child is acting is nothing to do with us. Sometimes we simply cannot control who they are and what they do. They are little human beings with unique personalities. So, even if you’re convinced you know best, or you’re trying to implement that formula of if I do ‘a’, they’ll do ‘b’, which should lead to ‘c’, sometimes the best thing to do is to relinquish control. Walk away.

I’ll be using the magic pyjamas again tonight....but eventually I’ll have to wash them (I’ll give it 3 weeks). And at that point, after panicking, shouting and crying, I’m going to have to accept that my son’s going to wake up when he wants to and that driving myself nuts by trying to control him is a lot more tiring than losing an half-hour of sleep.

Deja Knew..P.S.

Just to prove I fully appreciate that all of this 'advice' stuff is easier said than done...Last night, after finishing my post about sensible sleeping, I became entirely absorbed in weeping at X-Factor (don't judge me) and stayed up way too late. My son then woke up at 4am and refused to do anything but shout 'cuddddle mummmmy' (how do they manage to learn the emotionally manipulative words first?) until I gave in at 5.30am and got him up. He finally had a half hour nap later on during the day - I spent this time panicking that I wasn't sleeping, then tried reading, then threw the book across the room...promptly waking my son up. For the rest of the day, I've been a total cow to him and he's been a little turd to me. When the delirium and hysteria set in, I called a friend, who came and rescued me. I can't express how grateful I felt. When she arrived, I expressed it by over-emotionally blubbing at her. Lack of sleep seriously messes with your head...and somehow seems to lead to even less sleep. I was going to write 'fact' after that, but then felt too much of a wanker. So, yes, easier said than done, that sleep thing. Still worth a try, though, innit.

Oh, and I just remembered why I'd switched my computer on in the first place last night. It was to order a new kitchen bin. I remember that I was actually quite excited about ordering a new kitchen bin. And then I forgot how excited I was. Now, despite being stupidly tired, I'm excited all over again. This blog is definitely the place to come for glamour, thrills and celebrity gossip.

Deja Knew

I find myself sitting at the computer having opened it up with a very clear mission in mind, only to find that by the time I’ve turned it on I have absolutely no idea whatsoever of what I was going to do with it. So, here I am, deciding to write this post, hoping that half way through I might remember what the hell I’m doing here. Ever since having my son, this ‘losing my mind’ feeling seems to have become a daily, sometimes hourly experience. I know the well-known science says it’s all hormonal blah blah, but it does seem to correlate with lack of sleep, for me, anyway. The less well-known science called Chronobiology, or the study of biological clocks, seems to back this up. Thanks to a combination of our genes and our environments, each of our clocks is set so that we all need a specific amount of sleep. If we get less, our clocks go nuts, our bodies freak out and our brains can’t operate. 

During my dark moments, I often feel guilty about how much sleep I need - other people operate on less, why can’t I? But that’s just it, I NEED a certain amount of sleep. My lucky husband (-to-be..eventually) seems to be a born clubber - he can get 4 hours sleep and still grin manically all day. If I get 4 hours sleep, I need to be locked up away from any living being. It’s bloody annoying. We’ve had many a ‘conversation’ about this and for some reason, he still finds it hard to relate to my sleep issue, but I’m sticking to my tired guns here. PND makes you feel like it’s all your fault, that you’re just being weak, but that’s PND, not reality. Sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture, for God's sake.I felt less teeth-gnashingly frustrated when I accepted I needed a certain amount of zzzz and did whatever I could do to get near to it. This meant ignoring the fact my house was a mess and I was working the 4 Days Unwashed look and forcing myself into bed whenever my son slept. I know this sounds really obvious, but it’s very easy to prioritise other things, especially when you’re feeling shit about yourself. If you look around a dirty, crazy room, sometimes it can make you feel like this is a reflection of your inner state and sometimes that evidence is hard to bear. But, sleep is more important. Sod the house. And if you find that you’re lying there thinking ‘This is my chance, I need to sleep, but I can’t sleep. Oh God, I need to sleep...but I can’t sleep’ - an exceedingly dull script I’m very bored of by now, sometimes reading a very easy, mindless book helps. I know it feels like the last thing you want to do when you're totally exhausted, but through reading you escape your frazzled mind and do something you did before you had your baby...and often you'll find yourself escaping into zzz land.

I still have absolutely no idea why I switched my computer on. I also have no idea why I’ve developed a knack for leaving the house with my flies undone or finding bizarre objects in bizarre places they really have no right to be (e.g. salad cream in my bathroom cabinet). I do however know that my fish fingers are now ready and I’m going to scoff them before going straight to bed at 8.30pm. Rock ‘n’ roll. Nightie night.