Showing posts with label Depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Depression. Show all posts
The Gallery And Workshop: Emotions
@cosmicgirlie
A moment of peace.

I never felt it before. I didn't know what it was. Things have been silenced, and suddenly I hear everything.

The voice has stopped; other noises come through. Do I recognise these noises? Vaguely. I couldn't hear them so well before. I couldn't hear how much Noah's kisses meant, when he would stroke my arm and rest his head on my shoulder. I couldn't hear the volume in Isaac's cuddles and sighs on my lap, when he would snuggle against me and gaze into my eyes.

"It's ok Mummy. There's a lot of noise Mummy. Can you hear us Mummy? We're still here Mummy.

It's ok, Mummy."

I can hear them now, and I feel overpowering love for my boys.

A moment of peace.

Just a moment.

Like the sun, it can fill every void. Like the very sky above us, it feels like it could go on for ever. I couldn't look into it before. The shadows consumed me; my depression made it easy to turn my back on the bright blue sky, look away from the energy-giving sun.

I look to the sun now and bathe in it's brightness. I turn to the light and I smile. A true, rich smile. Things I have never been able to do before. I absorb the energy; I gain strength.

I am filled with hope. I am content.



-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

This post was written for Tara Cain's "The Gallery" and Josie George's "Writing Workshop"; please do go and visit to see more fabulous posts.
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An Explosive Silence
@cosmicgirlie
Something...REALLY amazing happened today.

Actually, SEVERAL amazing things happened today, and I'm hoping my instincts and all don't screw me over in the next 24 - 48 hours.

A few days ago, I felt like I had no choice but to post "Conversations". I hear a Voice, The Voice, in my head, pretty much all the time. 24/7/365. I've heard it since I can ever remember; I became aware of it around the age of 13 or 14, and it took on a whole new strength when I was around 19 when my depression hit level 10 on the Richter Scale.

For a long time I wondered if I was schizophrenic; I had no desire to think these things, so it couldn't possibly be my voice, right? Why would I do that to myself? I argue with it daily and I'm constantly worn down by it; I have no way of changing it, but only to make it a little quieter some days. Those are good days.

Anyway, this Voice has plagued me for years, has pushed me to overdose on medication, has encouraged me to repeatedly try to take my own life, has destroyed much of the awesomeness I felt I could have become. It was the voice that convinced me to put my cello down, to never pick it up, to sell everything on eBay, and to not consider anything else. It was the voice who drove me to be the opposite of what I wanted to be.

So when I wrote Conversations, I had pretty much had enough. I was tired, it had been a difficult day, and the Voice had been plaguing me hard all day. What I wrote, was only a tiny snippet, and I didn't have the courage or strength to write the full force of what it says, or had been saying that day. Or even in that hour after D went to work.

But I had to get some of it out; I felt like my head might actually explode and melt and die, all at the same time.

And then people commented.

And it was surprising, because whilst I guess I knew people would comment, I was still cynical about what they would say. And then people responded more. Not just on my post in the comments, but on twitter too.

And then came more.

Then came blog posts. And I was so moved, so touched, so flattered. But I still couldn't see what was so special.

And then today, something...I don't even know. It felt like the impossible happened.

I suddenly had a flurry of emails, telling me I'd had maybe 10 new comments on that post alone, in a very short space of time. "What is this? Is someone spamming me? Why would they do that?"

And then I started reading the comments. And I was lost for words. I couldn't work out where they were coming from, and strangely enough, my first instinct was to thank whoever was sending these people to my blog. I checked Analytics, I checked feedjit, I tried not to panic. How could so many people I don't even know be so amazing all at the same time? It just doesn't happen. Why would they care? About me? How could they care about me?

And then, a lovely stranger by the name of @DaydreamFreak on twitter sent this out:

@cosmicgirlie If you want to thank someone thank @ItStartsWithUs for sending the email with a link to your blog post to the Love Bomb group.
It was out of the blue, but it lead me to find Nate St. Pierre, someone who, quite frankly, I wish I had met and spoken to years ago. He leads a group called It Starts With.Us, and my post was "subjected" to a Love Bomb.

Which is something that I think should happen to way, WAY MORE people.

It was amazing.

I'm very rarely moved. I'm very rarely fueled by other people's emotions.

But that post, of all the posts I've written over the last three years? I've never been so glad I wrote it. Not because it meant I got (at last count) 76 comments. I was already thrilled with the response before the Love Bomb.

No.

It was because of two things, both of which I'm almost scared to say out loud because I don't want it to end.

The first: I've reached people. I've helped people. In writing Conversations, I've (unknowingly) put my neck out to help others, to show others they're not alone. People have reciprocated so much that they've let me know I am not alone too. I urge you to read the post, and if you can relate in the slightest way? Then please, please, read the comments. Because I know they will help you too. And if they don't? Please write to me. Tell me. I want to help you.

The second: for the first time, in as long as I can ever remember, in maybe 8 years of making noise inside my head, and longer with me not knowing what it was...

Today?

The Voice?

Has been silent.

Right now, I'm crying. With happiness.

I don't care if it's back tomorrow, that's ok. I know there's hope. I know it's out there, somewhere.

So, thank you, all of you, every one of you who has contacted me in any way, for helping me find a moment of true peace.
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Conversations.
@cosmicgirlie
Why do you bother? No one gives a shit, you know.

Shut up.

Oh come on, seriously. You parade around like you're some kind of big shot but no one cares. They all laugh at you, think you're just a joke.

Please shut up. Stop now.

So what's next? You put some Butterfly Catchers tunes on twitter just cos you played on the tracks, and suddenly you think everyone wants to hear?

But they said -

Who cares what they said? They're just being NICE. You are SHIT.

I just want to play.

Oh for real? Like you can even play? Did you listen to that recording? Did you hear how vile you sounded?

I thought it sounded ok.

Yeah you would, you're so full of yourself.

Why can't you leave me alone?

As if you could cope by yourself? How the hell would you survive? You're so pathetic.

No.

Yes you bloody are, you can't even stop a voice from talking to you in your head.

Yes I can.

No you bloody can't. I've been here for YEARS and still you listen to me, because you're useless. Plain fucking useless.

Leave me alone.

You already ARE alone. You're so alone it's untrue. All those people who you think are your friends? AREN'T. Fact.

Yes they are, they talk to me.

ANYONE can talk to you, you think that makes them your friend? You see how people shit on you and you call them friends? You see how people take advantage of you for years and you still want to call them friends? What kind of loser does that? YOU. Because you ARE a loser.

But they are my friends. They said -

People say all kinds of crap and you already know that. Can't you get over yourself?

I don't think I'm all that.

Yes you bloody do. You spend ages setting up your websites - you think anyone cares? You think anyone is really gonna give a shit what you have to offer?

But people asked me about -

People asked maybe TWICE about stuff. That does not give you the right to think you can impose your views on people.

They don't have to read.

But you want them to, don't you? Because you're such a loser.

No.

Yes you are. You think people would miss you if weren't here?

D would miss me.

No he wouldn't. He'd be so much better off without you. And Noah. And Isaac for that matter. They could all find someone else far better than you.

But I'm their mom. I matter.

No you bloody don't. Look at how you've crapped on D's day today. You managed to sort out 2 cards from the boys and do a cooked breakfast. Yeah, Happy Father's Day, applause to you.

But my back, the pain, it hurts so much and Isaac is poorly -

You have a lame excuse for everything don't you? God you're SO FULL OF IT.

But my back does hurt, it's not my fault Noah had that tantrum, I can't predict how a day will go, I didn't mean to ruin Father's Day.

Ruining things is your skill. You just had to step in and sort Noah out, because you resent him don't you? You can't deal with your frustrations like an adult so you take it out on him.

No I don't. I don't mean to. He's my son, of course I care -

Yeah because you have to. And now you're just crying because you can't face the truth can you? Hurts doesn't it? Truth hurts, doesn't it Jay? Fucking pathetic.

Please leave me alone. I'm just trying to do what's best for him. What's best for all of us. He was being naughty so he had to disciplined. We'd gotten lax with time-outs so we had to re-establish rules.

You know what? You're pretty defensive. Protesting a lot, aren't you? Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?

I'm not trying to convince anyone. Well maybe you...

Oh please. You don't know shit. You're just full of it.

No I know I was right to discipline, I'm sure I was, he was being naughty.

But you couldn't just leave it for tonight, could you? No. You had to put him in time-out leaving an awesomely bitter taste in everyone's mouths, including D. Can't say I blame the guy for going to work, get the hell away from you.

No he really does have work, he's busy.

Yeah. And like your mother spent so much time at church when you were a kid, wasn't to get away from you, she was "busy", right?

Yes, she had a lot of commitments, I mean yeah I missed her but she was busy.

You're so fucking gullible. So naive it's untrue. You should just go. Piss off, no one wants you here, no one cares. Piss off already. Stop thinking you're someone, admit you're no one, and just disappear.

I don't...I'm tired. Please leave me alone now.

You know why you're tired? Because you are WEAK. You can't fight me. You've never been able to fight me. You'll never get me out of your head. I'll be here. Forever. You can't get rid of me. You're so stupid and full of yourself you won't take drugs -

No, I just don't want to go through the hell I went through before -

Bullshit, you can't handle being seen as a failure -

Taking meds for depression isn't failure.

Yes it fucking is, you just can't bare to admit it. And anyway, if it isn't failure, what is it? It's because you're WEAK. And also? I know you're writing this post hoping that you'll get tons of sympathy. I can see through you, you're so fucking transparent.

I just want to get you out of my head. I just want you to leave me alone. I can't coop this up in my head.

Ok you know what? People will leave the sympathy. If you're lucky. And you know what? It will ALL be fake. They'll all be taking pity on you because you're such a fucking loser.

I'm not a loser. Please go away. I'm so tired.

You're tired because you're shit. Just go and quit now. AGAIN. Jesus you can't even fucking quit properly.

I want a break now.

Yeah you quit. Even though you're shit at it. And that's about the only thing you're good at. Failing at quitting. You are just a fucking joke. Fucking loser. Get over yourself.

I...

Yeah. Whatever, just shut the fuck up now.
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Getting There
@cosmicgirlie
I had to have a time-out. It was all too much. I don't cope like I used to.

Or, I cope differently now.

And it's ok.

D's family took us all to Centre Parcs in Longleat over the bank holiday. I went, I stepped outside, I took a deep breath, I listened, I stopped everything.


I'm not quite back up to par, but I'm getting there. I feel like I'm trying to start all over again. So just, you know, thanks for bearing with me. I'm still listening.

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Business as Usual
@cosmicgirlie
Here I am again. Staring down the barrel. Looking into the abyss. Reaching for my shroud.

I wish I were stronger. I wish people could look at me and say "Bloody hell yeah, that Jay? She's stronger than a strong thing which happens to be strong". I wish I had the strength to not even get into this situation, time and time again. I wish I had more strength to get myself out quicker.

I'm sat in my lounge, next to my patio doors into the garden, and the sun is streaming in. But it's behind me.



The sun is behind me and I can't look at it.

Or maybe I don't want to look at it. Maybe my black shroud is much more comfortable. At least then I don't have to deal with anything else. I don't have to deal with anyone else. I don't have to care.


I wish I had the strength to look at it.

I always thought it was easier to just keep my head down. Keep myself to myself. Let the world pass me by. I never wanted to be where I am, but I want everything I've got, and more.

But I can't even manage it.

I don't know what I want; maybe I'm too confused, maybe I'm too tired. Maybe I do want escape, maybe I want to run away. Maybe I want to forget all of this life, have nothing to do with it. Maybe I don't even want to pack a bag; maybe I just want to close my eyes and sleep. Maybe I don't want to wake up. Maybe I won't wake up.

If I could turn my face to the sun with the promise of something better, but stay asleep until someone could guarantee that for me...maybe that would be the ideal. Maybe I could bask in the warmth of the thought of better things. The blissful idea that there really is better out there.



It's easier for some. Some can shake themselves out. Some can make themselves feel better. Some have help. Many are strong. I don't feel strong. And that frustrates me. But I'm too proud to accept help. It's how I've always been, hasn't it? Too proud to accept help. What doesn't make sense is that it feels like I have nothing to be proud of.

And that just makes me feel even more weak.


I know I have to keep going. I know I have to open my eyes and look at what's going on around me. People will tell me not to be selfish, and to shake myself out of it. Think of my family, think of the kids. Do it for them. They're what matters. They ARE what matters. Does it matter how they see me?

Can they see beyond the fake smiles? Can they see me under my shroud? What if I don't want them to see me?

I guess that's what I do best. Fake smiles. Diversion and distraction. A bit of the colourful me. I'm just nervous that it gets harder and harder every time.


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Mechanics
@cosmicgirlie
We all have them. For different things.

Physically. Emotionally.

I'm trying hard to understand mine, especially when it comes to parenting.

I figure out how to deal with things by tapping in to my mechanics. I find there are automatic strategies that kick in when I'm running out of the ability to just cope.

But some strategies scare me, and it's usually when I'm not coping.

There's a chain of reactions, it seems. And I don't like any of them. And it's always related to Noah.

First, I fly off the handle. I come down on him. Hard. But then he starts whining, and I lose patience. I know I never, EVER want to see what comes after yelling at him, so my auto mechanism kicks in.

I shut down.

It's not even "just ignoring him", it's complete shut down. My brain turns off, my body goes on auto-pilot, my emotions die. I'm cold.

"Is this what he'll remember?" I ask myself. "Am I failing him in not being able to deal with him? Am I being lazy? Am I being irresponsible?" are the questions that go through my mind.

How long will this go on for? I don't like doing it, but I never seem to spot the "acceptable alternative". I struggle to bond with him as it is, and I always feel like the one who needs to keep him under control. Everyone says he's "Oh but he's so amazing! He's so lovely! He's so well behaved!!" And they're right. Of course he is.

But that's come from two years of mechanical maintenance. His maintenance.

But I hate mine. He's so lovely. I am not. My mechanics are ugly. Every time I feel them kick in, I hate who I become; I always hope the repercussions do not last long. But surely...they chip away? They break spirit? Mine and his?

My parenting mechanics feel set in stone. So how do I change them? Can I change them?

Do I need to break...to create a new mechanical structure?
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Solutions
@cosmicgirlie
Yeah, see I don't have any. No solutions at all. I hope to soon. I don't know how many times I can bounce back. I can't make "just bouncing back" a habit. I need to fix the problems. But I don't know what the problems are.

For the sake of my boys, my sanity, my life, for now, I'll just keep bouncing back, best as I can.

Maybe sometimes I'll just need a little help with the old springboard. Everything weighs a little more than before, you know.


ETA: Thank you to everyone who supports me when I'm being utterly crap. I don't always deserve your support when I'm being so difficult but you should know I always appreciate you being there. I really hope one day I can call on one of you when I really, really need you.
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Out.
@cosmicgirlie
It's another post about depression. Sorry. But that's how it is lately. That seems to be the theme of my life lately. I'm not even sure why.

I've had enough of everything, I've had enough of everyone. I've had enough of not wanting to sleep, and yet being so desperate to sleep. I've had enough of nightmares at night, waking up D, and being completely unaware of having nightmares and waking up D.

I've had enough of trying to figure out people, and who and what they are to me. I've had enough of being desperate for company and wanting to be left alone.

I can't deal with having lots of small successes and yet it's still never enough for me.

I've had enough of this. I've had enough of living my life, unintentionally, as 2 people. I'm tired of this feeling of schizophrenia.

I'm so tired. Tired of everything. I really want out. Call me a quitter? Go ahead, I don't even care. Small things are happening..that's great. Things are maybe looking up, I should be pleased.

I can't shake this slump though. I hate to say any of this to anyone, because I know it makes me look ungrateful for any of the things that are happening now. But I don't want to be me anymore. I don't like this person. I don't like who I am, I don't like who I'm "supposed" to be.

Even though it's all self inflicted.

Lately I hate being a mom. Yes, I said it. But not because I don't love my boys. But because I forever feel I can do nothing right, and quite frankly, the job sucks. I've stopped seeing rewards because I'm working so hard on trying to keep everything else ticking over. I'm not even doing nearly as much as some other parents, so why the hell can't I even cope with what's on my plate?

I can't shake this. I can't shake any of it. I'm not strong enough to deal with it, and I don't want to deal with it any more. I seem to spend the best part of my life dealing with it.

I want out. I really want out. I don't want to do this anymore. I've had enough. Someone else do it. I don't want hugs. I don't want sympathy. I don't want "It'll get better". I don't want anything any more.

I just want out.
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Have a Kit-Kat
@cosmicgirlie
Well, no, but saying "Have a break" was lame, so I stole the other part of that slogan.

Oh god, it's gonna be a weird one.

I dunno what's up with me. I think I'm spiralling towards another crisis. I don't think it's Slippery Slope...but it doesn't feel far off. There are just too many damn thoughts in my head, about everything, and oddly enough I'm preferring to keep them in than to let them out.

This, of course, is dangerous. I will totally fuck myself over if I don't get this shit out. Unfortunately, I seem to have become so self critical lately, I don't think I can even say what's on my mind "the right way".

I've become increasingly aware of people's perceptions on how we convey ourselves. We have to be grammatically correct, we must write beautifully, and we must interest others. As I've stated before, I do none of the above. I can't do any of the above, because it's not what I'm about. But I've realised lately, that suddenly I want to be heard. By anybody. Preferably by someone who's interested.

So in order to be heard, I wait.

I wait for the right time, to say the right thing, in order for the right person to hear me AND appreciate me.

Of course, this means I'll be waiting a very fucking long time.

Funnily enough, I partially blame twitter. There are an awful lot of people on there celebrating their achievements with others. I think this is fantastic. And also, there was once a time when I would have aspired to these people; to be like them, to be better than them; to achieve what they're doing and join the ranks of those who are succeeding.

Instead, I find myself shying away, taking annoying pity on myself (and trust me, it's fucking annoying) and wishing I could be as good as everyone else. Stupid thing is, I don't even know what it is I want to be good at any more.

Since the Classical Music rug was snatched from beneath my feet, and more and more "issues" come to light with my boys, I doubt myself and declare myself #FAIL in near enough everything I do. And it's driving me batshit.

"What about that photography malarky shit you had going on?" I hear you cry. Well, with every picture I take, I often think it's a load of shit. I don't take criticism well any more, so with every single piece of constructive criticism/feedback that came regarding my site, destroyed me a tiny little bit. Which is so fucking ridiculous, because people are trying to help me. And of course, I always appreciate help.

I just wish I knew how to accept it.

I'm thinking about taking a break. And by break, I mean no blogging, no twitter, no photography, nothing. Like, disappear off the planet for a while. I don't know how long a while is. Maybe a few days. Maybe a few weeks. No idea.

What's frustrating is I know that would be a really bad idea. If I lose contact with people right now, I'll start to dig deeper inside my head, and unearth the shit that I can't cope with right now (maybe not ever). Truth is, I need the help and support. I just don't know how to ask for it without being critical in return. It's all I've ever known, it's all I've ever done. Strive for the best, don't accept anything less. No one wants to know if you don't push hard 24/7. Only your best is good enough.

All that shit.

Which, unfortunately, stuck more than I'd have liked.

I wish I knew where I was going. I wish I knew what I could do. I wish I knew what or who to be.

I wish I was somebody.
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I'm not back on form, but...
@cosmicgirlie

Many, MANY thanks go to a number of different people who have helped and supported me with my incredibly mundane shit lately.
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Passing Time
@cosmicgirlie
I think I'm empty. I have nothing to say. There isn't anything I want to say. I feel a little bit dead. Which makes me feel a little bit better. Because it means I have less to deal with.

Right?

Maybe if I could just become completely empty, like, have nothing of me left, then I can stop worrying. I can stop caring, which means I can stop hurting.

I remember this feeling well. It's such an effort to speak. To communicate. It's such an effort to lift my hands to type. To breathe. To listen.

I feel sick a lot. I suppose that's a good thing some would say. I don't know why. It hurts to breathe. I wish it wouldn't. I wish I could just not have to breathe. I remember that feeling. I remember feeling like I could just lie there and stop breathing. It was easy. I'd just stop. But then something in me (reflex? Maybe? I don't know) would force me to take another breath. And another.

I remember hating myself for that. Hating myself for not being able to make my body do what I wanted it to.

It hurts to breathe right now.
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Fake Smiles and Black Shrouds
@cosmicgirlie
It's happening. I'm scared because I think it's happening. I don't know how to stop it. I've debated about this post all day because I'm starting to feel like The Girl Who Cried Depression, but I swear I know this all too well.

I feel sick. So sick. I don't know what to do. In my mind, the voice begs me not to go back on drugs. It tells me the counseling is useless. I agree. I say I want hypnotherapy. It says I'm too far gone for that. Like I'm supposedly in a place where no one can help me now.

Why is this happening again? Why am I slumping back into those periods of being out of it? Where I sit here with the boys around me, and drift off into some sort of weird trance where I have no clue what's going on? Will someone track me down and take away the boys if they read this blog? If they know where I am? Will they have them taken away from me?

I don't want to do this. At the same time, I don't want help. I want everyone to just leave me alone, so I can sleep. So I can sleep for a really long time and then maybe I won't have to talk to people. I can stop the fake smiles and give myself a break. I can just be nothing, nobody will ask any questions, no one will care where I am.

The fake smiles hurt now. I tweet; I text; I google wave; I google chat; it's all fake. With every single stupid smiley emoticon, I feel like some kind of fraud. Like I shouldn't even be allowed to converse with these people because why should they have to take on my crap?

My crap. There has been so much lately, it's been too much. It's now got to the point where the smallest most ridiculous things push me over the edge. There's too much going on and I can't cope. I want, I don't know. I want out. I want escape. I want a break. BUt I know I'll never get the kind of break I want. I don't know what kind of break I want.

I'm struggling with so many people at the moment. I hurt so much because of these people, and none of them get it. I've spent so much time holding my tongue, saying it's ok, that we all live and learn and if they ever bother me again I'll just use my ammunition but I never do. And now, with every day, with every thought, with every breath, I feel more destroyed. It's not like I blame everyone else for the things that are wrong with me; not at all. But I've been hurt. Yeah I said it. People have hurt me. So horribly. And lately I've started to retaliate. There are people who I hate with a seething passion, because of how they've hurt me. How they've helped me get into this incredibly fucked up state, and now I can't seem to get out, and they've fucked off completely, blissfully unaware of what they've done. I wonder whether they care. I don't think they care. How could they care?

That's my problem. I care. I wish I didn't care. Or at least, care so much. I wish I could take a step back and just not give a shit and let everyone deal with their own crap. I wish I could say, "yeah you think you've got it bad? You should hear MY crap! It's far more important."

But I'll never do that. I spend so much time listening to everyone else. That's not a bad thing, I think. But I suppose the problem now is that I'm not so great at seeing when someone else is actually GENUINELY interested in what I have to say. I sit there feeling like shit, with that plastic smiley emoticon on my face, pretending everything is ok, and inside I'm willing them, so desperately willing them to ask me the right questions and get this crap out of me. To ask me things like...like...fuck I don't even know.

I don't want to hear "do you want to talk about it?" because more often than not, I'm too exhausted to talk. I wouldn't know WHERE to start. Do I want to talk about it? Talk about WHAT? Which bit? And do you have all day? People ask if I'm ok. Of course I'm going to say "yes". I'm not going to say, "No mate, I feel like utter fucking shit, I blank out sometimes, have no idea what I'm doing, would like to sleep for a fucking long time. And by fucking long time, I'm talking MONTHS, if not years. So, how are you?"

For as long as I can remember, I've been an agony aunt. I don't mind that so much, but it goes both ways. And I can't deal if it just goes one way. And that's why I want to hide. Everyone is keen to tell me their story. Everyone is keen to talk over my story, which inevitably reverts back to their story.

I don't even know what my point is now. I have no point. There IS no point to this. To any of it. It's all a load of bollocks. My life is a load of bollocks, and there's been no point to any of it. I don't know anything. I don't know how to deal with this, I don't even know what the fuck there is to deal with, I don't even know what the fuck I'm going on about. I don't know what my problem is, I don't know how to ask others to help me, and when I do ask for help, I have no idea what the fuck they are supposed to do.

At the start of the year, everyone was saying what they were doing 10 years ago. I didn't. I purposely didn't. Because 10 years ago, everyone was wondering if I would live to see my 21st birthday. I'd attempted suicide several times already. I didn't want to draw attention, it wasn't a cry for help. I wanted to escape. And now, 10 years on, I find myself sitting here, older, slightly wiser maybe, thinking the same thing; I want to escape. I don't want to die; I couldn't do that to my family. I couldn't burden them with that. That very idea is just so wrong. Who would look after the kids? How could D work if there's no one to look after them?

But I still wonder to myself, it must be easier to cope without having my miserable state around, right? When shit happens, I bury it. People think I just want to deal with it on my own. So many people just assume I just get get on with it. That's what I try to do. That's what I must do, because no one can help me with this crap, for some reason. I want to ask for help. I DO ask for help. I WANT someone to help me, so badly. Sure I can talk about it. That's easy. I can talk it, I can blog it, hell I'll put it out here for all to see. I don't care. If anyone's truly interested, they'll read, or listen, tell me it's going to be ok. But no one can help me fix it. And I'm in too deep. And now I'm stuck behind this fucking fake smile.
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The Case of the Stolen Identity
@cosmicgirlie
Every day I have a new idea. Every day I think to myself, "I wanna be like them. I wanna do what he does. I wanna be as good as her." All too often, I doubt myself, and what I can do.

And then comes the question that I dread so much; "Well what can I do?" I have no confidence in myself. The classical music industry has been such a blow to my system, with many of the people in it pretty much destroying any last shreds of confidence I had. I spend way too much time kidding myself, pretending to be something I'm not.

It's made even harder when you've spent your life, your soul, every inch and ounce of your fibre making something of yourself, only to have someone turn around and say "actually, you're pretty crap and you'd be much better doing something else". I wonder if it hurt more because I didn't want to do anything else; music was what I wanted to do. I wanted to (and very often, did) work harder than everyone else, to prove myself, to show that I could be as good as them.

At this moment in time, it feels like the most amazing waste of 24 years of my life.

I set standards high. Sky high. Often, so high, it's near impossible for me to reach them myself. This is just because of sheer determination, to show that I could be as good as the next person. But it's been wasted. And still here I am, setting high standards I can never reach.

I want to do so much. I want to show people who I am and what I can do. I want to be as amazing as the next person. I want to have a gift, a talent, and shine like no one else. Or at least, be recognised for what I'm doing. That doesn't happen in music anymore. That's been destroyed.

Maybe it's photography? I don't know. I love a lot of the pictures I take, but there's always someone who wants to come along and crap on the parade. That frustrates me so much. I'm trying so damn hard and trying to learn so much. I've had help from a few select people in terms of photography, and I'm loathe to bother people too much because I know they have their own lives to lead, without having to take my crap on too.

I'm slowly (so slowly) building my website and getting lots of help with it, and to those that have helped me, I can't thank you enough. You've been amazing. But I would hate to think it had all been in vain. I wonder where this photography thing is going to go. If anywhere at all. People keep saying "Come and do my pictures! I'd love you to do some pics for me!" which is really flattering. But that annoying voice...that voice that's plagued me for so many years since I was ill the first time, always destroys me.

I think I'm getting too big for my boots. I'm convinced there are a billion people out there who, in the words of a Fugee's song, "smile in my face then they talk behind my back". I hate this paranoia, it's destroying me, and it's all too reminiscent of being ill before.

I want my identity back. A lot of people have been posting about this lately, and sadly, it feels like everyone can even say what I want to say, better than I can.

So why do I have this horrible need to constantly compare myself with everyone else? Why do I not appreciate any of the things I can do? Why do I not know who I am? Why can I not be who I want to be? Why can't I just get on and do what I want to do?

And my only answer is a really sad one, but the only one that makes sense: it's because I became a mom. Mom's are always comparing themselves. My kid did this, did your kid do that, I do this with mine, I'd never do that with mine...

The things I loved to do don't happen any more. I haven't picked up my cello since last November. I may possibly have another concert this year, if they ask me to play, and if I'm in a position to do so. I haven't picked up any other instruments LONG before that. I love to take pictures, but whilst I think some are great (especially the unedited ones), inside I'm destroying myself about how crap they really are. Same old trite, someone else already did it.

I don't know who I am because I've never been a mom before, and I don't know who I am as a mom; after 2 years I'm still struggling to embrace it, and often make myself sick with sadness with the fact that I can't accept Noah and Isaac belong to me. I can't be who I want to be because even if I did know, I suspect it would be impossible right now. Or maybe ever. Because it's probably another goal that I've set too high.

I'm so lost and I don't know how to find myself. And I'm too scared to find myself because I'm terrified it's all going to crumble like my music did. I can't ever go through that again. I really can't. I can't trust the support of anyone because I'm convinced it's all lies. I don't know how to get help and support; I don't know how to fix any of this.

I'd just like a piece of me back. But I'm not sure if she's all gone forever.
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Taking Charge
@cosmicgirlie
Yesterday was the Nanny's last day until the new year, and when she comes back she's only doing 2 days a week until Noah starts pre-school. I have them on my own today.

For some reason, I'm terrified. It's times like this when I wonder if I shouldn't have had the Nanny to help me out in the first place. Like somehow, I should have taken care of my own shit. For all the shit that was hitting the fan, for some reason it feels like I was making excuses. Like I have to defend myself. But I don't know to who.

Somehow, I need to learn to take charge of my shit. Right now, I'm just too scared to leave the damn house.
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Bullshit.
@cosmicgirlie
Right now I should be writing the happiest post ever. Instead I'm sat here at my computer, once again feeling utterly horribly low.

This morning my little sister gave birth to her first. She did brilliantly well, having laboured through a failed epidural, and pretty much in labour for I think, 24 hours. She asked me to be there, to help coach her a little bit, get through the contractions and support her as best as possible.

And I so wanted to be there for her. But for some reason, the whole event started to make me realise how fucking spineless I am. I don't know why, but for some reason, her partner seems to take great pleasure in making me a scapegoat; it's a big joke, and for all my ailments and physical problems, I become a great source of humour and entertainment for them. And I say them because once my mother joins in, it's like a free-for-all.

So why am I bothered? I can laugh at myself, right? Hell isn't that what this blog has become? A place where I list all the impressively stupid things I've done so we can all have a laugh at my expense? Well last night it hurt. A lot. And I felt annoyingly stupid for it too. Why can't I just get a fucking spine already? Why can't I just deal with this shit?

Maybe he didn't understand or appreciate that I had my own shit to deal with too. I had left the boys with the Nanny at 10am yesterday morning, and hadn't seen them since. Of course, Noah chose to eat an entire pot of Baked Beans for the Nanny. He and Isaac were great all day for the Nanny. And once again I felt like a failed mother. I felt two of my old friends, guilt and depression.

Maybe he didn't understand that everyone else had had sleep at some point; I couldn't because there was nowhere for me to sit and rest without being in agony with my goddamn hips and pelvis (falling down the stairs a few days earlier does nothing to help this problem by the way). He probably also didn't realise that I hadn't boobed in something like 15 hours and was in no mood to take shit from anyone, apart from the one person who was in a stupid amount of pain (her epidural failed - it fell out. Wtf???)

I understand he had other concerns, but why am I such a fucking laughing stock? I was there to SUPPORT them, not be his comic relief. But like the story of my life, I didn't say anything to him or my mother. How could I? I wasn't gonna shit on his day and she can barely take much these days herself. So who do I vent at in the situation? Well I don't. Suck it up, take it outside, cry a bit, then go back in and hit head on. Story of my fucking life.

There are lots of issues bothering me right now, and none so much as the gaping issue of me staring into that old Slippery Slope. I've felt it creeping up on me for ages, months now, but have that distinct feeling no one would understand or perhaps, believe me when I say I think there's something wrong. This isn't just tiredness, but something is wrong. I've become so good at shoving it aside that it doesn't get dealt with anymore, and so it just sits in the corner quietly festering away

And I can't deal with it. Everytime I suggest that I might be sinking, someone responds in such a way that makes me think or feel like I'm just being weak. We're allowed to be weak aren't we? Everyone has moments of weakness, right? Is it so wrong that sometimes I just want to give in to my weakness, let it wash over me, take me back to that place of nothingness where I don't physically or mentally deal with anything?

Sometimes I long for that place. I didn't care about anything. Anything. I would wake up, not even move, because I couldn't, I wouldn't, barely inhaling into the black shroud over my head. It was an oddly comfortable shroud because it felt like it shielded me. It hid me. It protected me from everything and protected everything from me and I didn't care. I haven't worn that shroud for a long time, and sometimes I think I miss it, but I'm not sure. It was easier letting someone else sort everything out; I didn't have to deal with anything. It didn't feel like I had to deal with anything.

Is that wrong? Is that selfish? That wanting to go to sleep, to hide myself away and not have to be visible to anyone? I think my problem is I just don't know how to look after my shit. And so it's easier to hide.

Which is sad, because in all honesty? Sleeping tablets shouldn't look this appealing from my point of view. But that's the easiest way, isn't it? Drift off into a long black sleep, right? Then I can wake up later, maybe, and someone else has sorted out all the shit. Or maybe I don't wake up, and don't have to think about this shit.

Maybe it's Christmas. Maybe I have spent so many years running around trying to make sure everyone's playing Happy Families, and busted my own ass so many times in the process that I can't physically do anymore. I know I can't do anymore. I feel like I'm constantly putting myself out there for others to keep them happy, but no one helps me take care of my shit. And then when I DO try to take care of my shit, I feel guilty and selfish for abandoning everyone else.

Why do I do this to myself? Who did this to me? Why the fuck does it happen? Did my parents do this? Is it because of them why I'm this way? Is it just me? Am I just fucked up, broken, damaged goods? Have I served my time and now that's it for me, finite? I need that light under the shroud. I need cushions at the bottom of the slope. I don't see them yet. I don't know who could pt those things there for me. Hell I'd just like to know how to put them there myself.
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Let's Be Honest Here.
@cosmicgirlie
I am just not cut out for this. I was never made to be a mother, I am not mother material, I can barely cope with one kid, I do NOT see how the hell I an cope with two. I have all the help I can possibly get and yet O still feel like a fucking failure. Noah has ben fine with his grandparents all day, he comes home and is fine, and the second I sit him down to eat, he screams and throws things at me. Can someone please tell me what I did to deserve that?

He's barely eaten all day, he's had practically no dinner (apart from a handful of crisps - oh what a great mother am I) and if he plays up at diner and doesn't eat, he gets no dessert. Which obviously makes me look like the evil mom (I just can't afford to have him grow up on crap alone)

And now I'm fucking crying, for fucks sake. Can someone please tell me how the hell I'm supposed to turn myself around and suddenly just "adapt" to this whole thing that I blatantly cannot do? I can't deal with this. I think about going to sleep and not waking up for months, and just letting everyone else deal with all the shit instead of me. I sometimes think it would just do everyone a too; no one would have to listen to me whine, Noah wouldn't hate me, everyone could just get on and life would be so much easier for all without me and my over-complicated, over-anal, overly-thought-out ways of dealing with everything.

As I sat there with Noah screaming directly into my face, having just hurled yet another plate/bowl/spoon at me, I wondered how much does he hate me. And it sucks to sit there wondering if your kid who is no where NEAR being a teenager absolutely hates favour you, and how the hell did things just escalate so badly anyway?

I hate feeling like a failure, and it terrifies me so much that I'm going to have to feel all of this again with another kid. Why would I put anyone through this? Why should I make another kid suffer already? I always wondered about moms who gave up their kids, and it pains me to say it but sometimes I can see why. I feel like I'm raising some kind of monster who just finds it easier not to be around his neurotic mother.

Lately all I seem to do is shout at him, Noah no touch, Noah no throw, Noah come away, Noah dangerous - no wonder the kid hates me. He probably thinks all fun and games must stop every time he sees me.

It's great that we have Nanny to help us out, but I'm now terrified that it's going to get to the point where he'd rather spend all his time with her. I'm also betting that most of you already saw this coming. I can see it now; D brings Noah downstairs, sees me and Nanny, screams at me and then clings to her. She's so great with him; she gets to do all the things I so desperately want to do, without the added hassle of having to be the ultimate disciplinarian and being the one that always come down on him like a ton of bricks if he's naughty.

And what the hell happens when T.O.O. comes along in 5 weeks time? When Noah spends more time with Nanny, and he realises that actually, life is great when his mum isn't around and he can just do whatever?

I wonder if this is post natal depression. I wonder if this is pregnancy hormones. I also wonder if this is exhaustion in its finest form. I think potentially all of the above, which then leads me to wonder how the hell am I supposed to be a good mother? I have only had Noah for 2 hours today, and already I'm not sure I want to be around him any more today. I can't cope with him. I can't deal with him. I admit defeat - he's too much for me. I'm too weak to deal with him, that's all there is to it.

The honest truth. I'm so not made to be a mom. And that pisses me off severely, because being a failure really stinks.
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Maybe I Should Do Something Now?
@cosmicgirlie
Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 25+6 days
Month: 7 (what happened to months 1-6?)
Trimester: 2
Fetus Age: 24 weeks
Heartbeat: A number.
Time to Go: 98. Oh. My. Freaking. God. That's gotta be so very wrong.
Size: A cheetah? No, wait, a LION.
Time til 4D Scan: 20 days

Noah is still coughing. He's doing that excess F.O.F. thing again, he's currently in bed and has been coughing for the last...2 hours-ish, on and off. He's had medicine, I've dusted his room, D hoovered it, he has a vapour thingie going, Vicks on his chest and he's still coughing. I feel bad now for not doing something sooner.

I have some options. Call NHS direct (who are utterly UTTELY shit) and ask for their advice. I don't favour this option. I could create a huge fuss and take him to hospital right now. I don't like this option either but it's the most appealing, oddly enough. Or I could be sensible option: keep an eye on him and book him a doc's appointment in the morning. I don't like this one either, but I know it's probably going to be the smartest thing to do.

The por kid is now hoarse with all the coughing, and I know I won't sleep tonight for listening to him hoping to god that he's ok. I feel a bit (like, SERIOUSLY) shit for not doing something weeks ago, when all this illness started, but I guess I hoped he would have been over it by now. And I keep saying the same thing, day after day.

He was really shit today, denying most food, not drinking/guzzling water like he usually does, and doing that "I just wanna cuddle on your lap in front of the tv" thing because he's too exhausted and crappy to play. I feel even MORE shit because I'm so tired and have lost my rag so many times today. D is ill too (though I'm not sure with what...maybe some kind of stomach bug, from eating out of date yoghurt. I'm a miserable bitch, I have little/no sympathy) so I'm even more crotchety.

I would just like to point out that my reasons for being so crotchety with people who are ill at the moment is because I FEEL LIKE SHIT TOO DAMMIT but ya know, I try to keep plugging on. And I'd like my medal now please.

Which leads me on to wondering if there's something else I should finally sort out. I have to confess I have seriously contemplated going back on anti-depressants once T.O.O. is born. I'm hoping to god this madness with me is just the insane run of ridiculous preggo hormones. And that within minutes of T.O.O. being born, I'll be the happiest, most relatively normal person alive. (There really is nothing wrong with wishful thinking. I do, however, appreciate that sometimes there's a line of "realism" to be drawn. Doesn't mean I'll adhere to it.)

Flipping from "Sweetness & Light" to "Crazed Out Psycho Bitch Hormone Queen" gets to be pretty dull after a while. I can see how some lovely ladies thrive on it, but I'm thinking I'm not a fan, ya know?

Unfortunately, my last experience with anti-d's left me gaining about 3 stone in weight, vaguely being able to remember only 1-3 days in any week, and a short (but VERY vivid) stint in a mental care home. I'm not sure what put me off that place; maybe it was the bars on the windows..maybe it was the cameras everywhere...perhaps it was being searched daily for sharp and dangerous objects...it could well have been the other residents who liked to tell me some, uh, very uncomfortable things.

I'm hoping you can sense my reluctance.

Should I do the "wait and see" or "get my butt in gear"? I hate making decisions like these, especially when I often spend so much time wondering what the outcome had I chosen differently. *tsk*
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Not Three Bad
@cosmicgirlie
First of all, before anything else, can I just say thank you so much to all those who responded to my last post. I appreciate ALL responses, and it was so reassuring to have that reminder that there are actually people who do still give a shit (about me) because a lot of the time I forget.

So, thanks.

Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 18+4 days
Month: 5
Trimester: 2
Fetus Age: 17 weeks
Heartbeat: 141 bpm
Time to Go: 149 days
Size: Sweet potato. Ok I cooked some of these earlier and there were like, 5 different sizes. I pick the smallest.
Time til Big Scan: 11 days

After that post, unfortunately things took an unpleasant turn. In that fab way I do, I'm all happy smiles at the moment, but I'm still not quite sure what's bubbling away in the back of my mind. I do know that I can't keep going through all of this; I'm fast running out of stamina (or may have run out already) and I'm particularly scared about my future (in many, many ways).

D and I are still together, I still have my boy, and my baby. The three of them seem to be doing ok. D perhaps has a slightly better understanding of what's going on, but I don't know to what extent. Noah of course is being great again, he has his off moments and he still uses tantrums when he can (it's what they do, right?) but I'm trying my best to ignore them in the hope they'll maybe fade out in about 15 years time.

MW #2 had fun trying to find The Other One's heartbeat this week; it wouldn't keep still long enough (dear sweet Lord, please spare us...) and after 5 minutes she very nearly gave up. But hey, at least she knew where to look (and skimming through that post, it concerns me that a year later I still have a strong desire to shoot the neighbours. Noisy stupid whores).

There's loads more I could say, but not right now I think. So instead, here are a bunch of pictures off my lovely new phone, whilst I go and wait for my Chinese food to arrive. I am the healthiest person alive.



ACK. The cuteness.



!revliS oh iH




NOM.
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Under the Surface
@cosmicgirlie
I realised today that there's an awful lot of shit going on with me, which I appear to kinda of shove uner that fabled carpet and try not to upset anyone with it. Unfortunately, as of late, I'm realising that shit just really doesn't work.

Most of what's happening, I should have known was going to happen, or I should have learnt to deal with it by now. Deal with it and move on.

But I swear to the gods I am on the verge of losing my marbles.

None of this will make much sense, I guess, but hear me out. A bit.

I know, (hope and desperately pray) that most of what's whizzing around in my head is as a direct result of the pregnancy. Those joyful hormones that have plagued us women for faaaaaaarrrrr to fricking long. I'm tired of being "On the Edge" all the time, I'm tired of crying over things that normally wouldn't phase me, I'm tired of being told I'm doing a great job and then have random people offer their opinion on what I should really be doing. Hell, I'm just tired of being god damned tired.

Yes I am WELL aware that pregnancy is exhausting, especially with a child who is 10 months going on 16 yrs. But what makes me sad here, is that much as I adore Noah to bits, and think that he is quite possibly the coolest kid ever to exist in the history of children, I'm starting to resent him a little.

It breaks my heart to type these words, and I'd want him (and anyone else) to know that he means more to me than anything else in the Whole. Entire. World.

But lately...I dunno. Lately I feel like I have to force myself to really connect with him, or to have time for him. And it's not even his fault. He's just 10 months old. He deserves a mum who not only gives a genuine shit about him, but surely should be able to do it without sometimes feeling it's the greatest upheaval ever.

I hate myself for thinking things like this, and I know it's only a temporary thing, but why should I even be thinking or feeling them in the first place? I can't stand it.

I've felt so disappointed in myself lately. I mentally bitch about everyone else all the time, how I feel like I have to do everything or give instructions to everyone else, and how it feels like it's always me who has to run the show and make sure that everything runs smoothly, because no one else seems to do it. And if things don't run smoothly, then it is my fault and no one else seems willing to take the blame anyway.

And then I have to take a back step and make a huuuuge effort to remind myself about all the things that everyone else has done for me/us/him. Sad to say, sometimes it doesn't feel like that much. I guess I often feel let down, and even though I've been living with that for years (spontaneous support from my own immediate family rarely occurs) you'd think I'd be used to it by now; but some part of me always stupidly (and naively) seems to hold out hope. I guess that just makes me even more sad.

There are too many things going on right now that I think test to some extreme limits every single day. Which is a bitch, because it's getting to the point where I contemplate leaving. Me and Noah, packing our stuff, and moving somewhere so far away, not even D or my own family (should they choose to make an effort) would find me.

I know running away isn't the answer, and I couldn't even do it anyway, for sooo many reasons I couldn't even begin to list them here. Right now I don't know what the answer is. I go to counselling every so often to deal with all the work crap going on in my head (and oh my god THERE'S a whole chapter in it's own right) and I'm now finding her useless. Especially when she calls me Joy. I'm starting to wonder if maybe she's playing some kind of psychological mind game with me...

So that's failing me. I don't have any "just around the corner" friends who I feel close enough to, who would listen to me vent, nod in all the right places and tell me whatever it is I need to hear, without adding a nice dollop of assvice. I realised that no one actually knows enough about me personally to listen and help me in the way that's best for me. Or, maybe they do, but can't be arsed to listen to my shit. D does his best to listen when I finally let off steam, but usually, 10 minutes after it all, it's like I never even opened my mouth, and I'm often back to square one, with an extra side order of sheer frustration.

I'm amazed at how angry, frustrated and annoyed I feel with everyone and everything, including myself. I try to tell myself every day that whatever decision I make for Noah is the right decision, but of course I know I make mistakes. Who the hell doesn't? But sometimes it's so hard to hear someone else's opinion and how it's made to sound like you're the Worst Mother Ever (I once joked with a friend about how we should put together a website called badmommies .com, only to discover that it had a very questionable porn affiliation attached to the very idea. Soooooo baaaaaad.)*

I'm tired of...hmmm...I think I'm tired of busting my ass, getting minimal thanks, next to no recognition for it and not really getting the relief when I truly need it. I'd like to think that I don't ask for help that often (it's a rarity, to be honest), so perhaps it would be a bit easier to help because hopefully I'm not so demanding...I don't frigging know. I warned this wouldn't make much sense. Hell, I've managed to confuse myself now, so lord only knows where I'm going.

One thing I will say which terrifies me to the very pit of my growing stomach, is that I cannot possibly see how I am going to cope with two. I have no idea how I am going to run the show, when it often feels like I have to run other lives without time for my own.

There are so many things I want to quit, in the hope of giving me a fighting chance, to spend the time with my family and give them the time they deserve. But I know I can't quit them yet; the guilt would just consume me to all new realms, it's not the right time, I'd regret it, gahhhh tha list goes on.

I have a rehearsal later, and as I can't remember the last time I had a shower (seriously, no lie), I may just take this opportunity to pretend to do that mad thing where you hope you can wash all your troubles away.

Or maybe, I'll just take a shower and hope to smell nice, even though I couldn't tell because it's now been near on four days since my sense of taste and smell have been dulled by this mother puppy cold.

If you made it this far, then thanks.

* You'll note I made sure this WASN'T a hyperlink...didn't fancy the idea of linking to very dodgy (I assume) porn, thanks.
Labels: 4 comments | | edit post
Virginal straps, a Red Jacket, Poop and the Proverbial Fan
@cosmicgirlie
This arrived a few days ago:



It's supposedly a Baby Bjorn carrier, rated very highly. I decided it's a questionable piece of bondage from some people with a twisted sense of humour. I was also considerably annoyed by the smug looking "mother and baby" on the cover of the box, modelling it so beautifully and so effortlessly. I think it was about three days before I decided to embrace the virgin pureness and breast enhancing/figure hugging straps. Have to admit, it's actually pretty good, and Noah doesn't seem to be at all bothered. Mind you, like he's ever bothered about anything.

Needless to say, the Poopgate Scandal continues, and it seems to be spreading amongst close circles. After initiating a fabulous Code Brown at a friends house a few weeks ago (sorry K McG...), Noah decided it was time to let Nana know that behind that adorable cute face, hides a deep dark secret.

Having collected Nana from a friend’s house because she was ill, Noah and I took her home, where Noah had a feed and a nappy change. Followed by another almighty Code Brown. I wonder perhaps if I had not been so stupid as to say "Yes he's been great lately, though he hasn't filled his nappy in a while so I expect we'll day with that in a day or two", then he may not have taken that as his cue to commence the Old Man Grunting and that wonderful bubbling, gurgling sound as he expels everything with all his might into his nappy. It's a sight to behold. Nana almost passed out.

I think maybe one day when I’m feeling particularly care free (and care less) I may just post a picture. However that does mean exposing my son’s nuts on the internet, and well, let’s face it, that’s just wrong.

My sympathies to C enduring her own Code Brown with Huddles. Try laughing, it always amuses me. But then I think I have an addiction to Poop.

By the way, he's still piling on the pounds and is now back to the original growth curve when he was born. Yes, he's 16lbs and on the 99.8th centile. I'm so proud. And back-broken.

My Old Friend is making a very comfortable appearance, rearing an ugly head at every given opportunity. Wouldn’t mind so much if I had the strength to fight back, but it’s amazing how quickly a person can beat themselves up at the most ridiculous things.

“Omg he threw up on me all day and omg omg his nappy is dirty again and omg omg omg I didn’t feed the cat and omg omg omg omg omg omg I forgot to wipe his face clean this morning BAD MOM BAD MOM BAD MOM”

Etc, etc.

Anyway (and this bit is the Proverbial Fan in case you’re wondering) today was just one of those days.

All set to waste a day spending obscene amounts of money shopping with the lovely “Wags”, when I get a phone call to pick up Nana. I think Noah and I had had enough time to approximately drink a diet coke (DIET! Hah.), eat B’s crumpet (thanks B, I never had crumpet before and yours was very nice…), munch on BabyB (omg those cheeks and that hair), and have a brief conversation with C about sports bras and almighty breasts (Seriously. H cups are just frightening things. They’re bigger than Noah’s head).

Nana had fainted from a stomach bug and needed collecting. Is it wrong that for a little while I was really pissed and wanted to go shopping? I felt bad, but hey. She got to see Noah and I know that made her happy. I’ll just have to go buy the world’s biggest tit-slings another time.

Finally got home, checked emails, put Noah in the Baby Torture Device (it’s surprising how fast it grows on you), and then all the power went out. For a whole freaking hour. No heating, no microwave, no cooker, no internet (GAH) nothing. And Noah had somehow soaked his way through his nappy, down his trousers and a sock. So he was really pleased.

And then, to add insult to injury, I had to give in and admit that I had dyed his clothes pink.



In another one of my "Half-Soaked Mommy" Blank-outs, I'd left his red hoodie in with his whites. Which are now bubblegum pink. He's now as well dressed as any other girly out there. I'm not entirely sure what to do; they're still sitting in the bath of bleach, being ignored by me.

He doesn't care, of course, not since his passport arrived and he's free to leave the country.



He also doesn't seem remotely bothered that in an attempt to spruce up Winnie-the-Pooh, we gave him a far more interesting outfit. Or at least a sleeping bag.


In fact, it could be a small scale Baby Torture Device...
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