Chin up.

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'm at breaking point. But this time, it's a different kind of breaking point. I'm not longing for the black shroud (as much as usual), but instead, I want to escape and live. There is so much going on, and I so desperately want to be a part of it. Of ALL of it. I don't even know where to start.

I'm kicking ass halfway through week two Sans Nanny. And this morning I was admiring my efforts as to how wonderful it would seem that my two, beautiful darling children were actually playing together. Isaac in the Baby Einstein, Noah showing him the toys around the edge.

Sweet Lord. Why do you test me so? Do you not feel it is enough to be a mother of two very young, lovely children, that you must add extra traumas to the situation? Is my body not wrecked enough for you that you must destroy it a little more? Do you enjoy watching me smack my head against a (any) wall (daily) in frustration?

I've been MIA for a while because there's shit loads of stuff going on at the mo. And they're all significant enough for me to want to bury my head for a little bit.

Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 41+2 days
Month: 10
Trimester: 3
Fetus Age: 39 weeks
Time to Go: I don't like that question anymore.
Size: Yeah.
Time til potential induction: Tomorrow.

May I mention a few things? (well I'm gonna anyway)

I'm struggling. I'm struggling with everything. I'm terrified of everything too. And I have no idea how I'm going to cope. If these hormones don't leave me the fuck alone soon, I'm scared I'm going to die. I know that sounds SOOOO dramatic, but I actually mean it.

I have a confession. And it's a big confession, one that I haven't voiced seriously for a while but it's worrying me so much.

Lately I've thought about harming myself again. Like I did when I was 19 - 22, and going through the worst 3 years ever endured. They were so bad, and I spent so much of it in a drugged up, antidepressant trance, I don't actually remember that much of it. But I do remember how I felt.

Lately I think about waiting until the baby is born, then taking a large dose of sleeping tablets, just like I used to, and then I'd never have to wake up to this hideous recurring nightmare of fear, paranoia, anger and frustration. Sometimes I think maybe I won't wait til it's born, but find some way to induce myself. or even more hilarious, take myself to hospital and beg for an induction, and then just get it over with. There're plenty of people who would look after Noah and T.O.O. and help out D.

You know what? I remember listening to conversations about people who would harm themselves, and the general outcome was that it was always selfish or a way of seeking attention. How about this for reverse psychology - having heard that makes me want to do it even more. I feel like as long as I'm around being this miserable and not being strong enough to find someway to cope actually makes me selfish, and that I'd be doing the world a favour. As for seeking attention? No I don't want any attention I think. I just want escape from what feels like a horrible, vile, living nightmare.

Someone recently (albeit in jest) said "get a grip". I appreciate that it was in jest, but a part of me wonders if indeed that's what I should be doing, and if so, how the hell am I supposed to do it. I can not face going back on meds. They were actually soul destroying. They made me feel like I was on a different planet and I couldn't cope with that on top of everything else right now. I've tried counseling, and it was a complete and utter waste of time. I don't think I'd ever felt so patronised, ever. Waste. Of. Time.

Which seems to me to leave the options of "get a grip", or...what. I don't know.

There are too many things going on at the mo. I feel full of hate for so many things, and I hate to think what that might be doing to the baby. Hey, look, more guilt! I've been thinking about my "career" as a musician, and have come to the conclusion that I'm done. I don't want to play cello any more. I've played for 24 years, and have gotten to the point where quite frankly, I'm really, REALLY tired of people shitting on me, when I'm really not so sure that I deserved it.

Christ I'm even doubting myself and questioning my own actions even though I did nothing wrong...

Over the last, maybe, 5 years, more and more people seem to be getting a real kick out of making me feel incredibly shit where music is concerned. I hate playing now. And I get the feeling that my lack of participation in various orchestras is making a lot of people a whole lot happier. The same can be said for having worked for DPA. I don't know if I'm harbouring some major paranoia (probably yes), but i wonder if I should ever even have applied for that job in the first place. I sometimes feel like I worked my absolute ass off for people. And yet, I still got shat on.

So right now I hate my cello. I don't miss playing it at all. In fact to be quite honest, people have had so little faith in me, I'm not even sure I can still play it, or why I bothered to carry on for as long as I did.

I have other ideas on my possible change in career, but with these kinds of doubts going on, I don't even feel like I could voice them without being ridiculed. So I'm going to hang on to those thoughts for now and see what happens when T.O.O. is born.

Who knows. Maybe I should just "get over it". I remember someone else saying that to me, many years ago. "Why can't you just cheer up?" they said. "Why can't you just get over it and be happy for once?" Sadly, that person has since suffered depression. I think I may have helped them through their depression a bit. I know I certainly tried to help them, offering advice when they asked for it, being as supportive as I possibly could, whilst dealing with my own colossal amount of crap. And I hope I helped, because I would never wish this on anybody. Shame now, that that person is one of the ones who decided to crap on me recently.

I'm bitter, I'm sad, upset, tired, frustrated, angry, confused and I don't know where the hell to go next from here. People keep turning to me like I'm supposed to have all the answers to fix this. To sort Noah out. To make sure the birth goes ok. To make sure my relationship with D is ok. I have no more answers, I have no more strength, and I feel like I have reached the end. Which makes me feel like a failure.

It's a sad state of affairs when I wonder about my future, and whether I have one, once this baby is born. I only hope to god that whatever happens, no one will suffer as a result of my actions. Because it's bad enough hurting myself, let alone hurting anyone else.

Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 37+3 days
Month: 9
Trimester: 3
Fetus Age: 36 weeks
Time to Go: 19 days
Size: Smaller than your mother.


You all knew it was coming. You all said "at the end of the day, blah blah blah, healthy mom healthy baby, yaddah yaddah". You all sat there thinking how nuts I must be trying to deliver another big baby at home. I'll even bet some of you wondered what point I was trying to make, or what was I trying to prove.

Maybe I'm just very paranoid (which is very true).

But as of today, I have given up. Scan yesterday, showed baby measuring about 9lbs in weight, with potential to gain a pound a week, but could go 20% either way. Fluid levels down from 11 point something to 9.4cm, so they're dropping and things starting to look good.

So whaddup?

They're all too scared. They actually threw a million scare stories at me during today's appointment. Mr Consultant actually said if I decided to stay at home, then he would pretty much not be involved in the delivery, and would not advocate me staying at home. Yes a MW would be in attendance if I called in, they would have to be, they have no choice (by law). But "if something were to go wrong, I would take full responsibility and no body else could be to blame".

"But of course, Mrs M, the decision at the end of the day is yours!"

I had no point to prove. I had no point to make. I just wanted to deliver my baby in an environment that I knew I would be happy in, that I would be comfortable with. Without fear of what would the medical profession would try to do if they got too close.

I am SO fully aware of all the dangers. I am also fully aware of the dangers that could happen with ANY. OTHER. BIRTH. He even said himself that shoulder dystocia can happen in a birth with a "normal" size baby. But once again, they're just pointing out as many of the factors as possible, including the fact that my fluid levels are still too high. So what would be REALLY great is if people can just be in agreement with what the hell is normal and what isn't. I can't cope being told one week that 11cm is acceptable and shouldn't be concerned until we got to 24cm. And then the following week, well actually 9.4cm is still too high, and even though the level has dropped, that's still not good enough.

So you know what? They win. This is a fight I can't keep up anymore. I'm frustrated, I'm tired. If I go into labour I'll go in to hospital. I don't want to, but after all they've freaked me out with, how the hell am I supposed to happily and comfortably give birth at home?? Christ, today when I went for my appointment, ALL the staff knew who I was and why I was there. Now I'm thinking that can't always be a good thing.

So I give up. I'm gutted. Actually, I'm more pissed off than I am upset. Pissed off because I didn't want it to be this way. I didn't want this birth to be so tainted. Maybe I should have just given up the fight earlier, but how can I do that when I'm told so many different things every time I walk in there?

They want to do another liqor scan at 39wks, do an internal and if nothing's happening, they want to induce. Pah. I think they may have to catch me first. I can only thank god that he refuses to do C/S, and has no intention of inducing unless absolutely necessary. I can't even begin to say how grateful I am for that. But that comes on the back of no home birth, and I can't even have a water birth in hospital because of the fluid crap thing. I'm starting to feel like everything is being taken away ("the decision is yours Mrs M...") and that quite simply, I'm just not going to enjoy this birth at all. I know I can't have everything. But even the few things I wanted have now gone.

I'm really fucked off. Like, they can't even give me straight answers, they can't prove anything, they don't know anything for sure and they've made me feel like crap in the process.

So that's that. I pretty much hope I go into labour before 39 weeks because I cannot, just CAN NOT face induction. And yes I KNOW that people have been induced and it's gone great. Good for you. But that's not what I want. I also understand that babies need to cook for as long as necessary. I can assure you I know that too. Remember my own mother is a Midwife. So is D's mother. But understand that I do not want medical intervention.

I don't like the way this has turned out. But I know at this point now, there's not a fat lot I can do. That's fair enough. I understand I need to go in. I understand I pretty much have no choice. My hands feel like they've been tied somehow...but you know what? I'll deliver this baby, and I don't care what anyone says, it's going to have to take one SERIOUS frigging situation before they have to intervene. There will be no C/S. There will be no medical intervention.

Any intervention will be my own doing. And it'll probably be in the form of large quantities of pineapples and fair amount of power walking. Possibly with the odd curry thrown in. Now if you'll excuse me, these Braxton Hicks are driving me batshit and I have a Poopgate appointment with the bathroom.

Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 36+3 days
Month: 9
Trimester: 3
Fetus Age: 35 weeks
Time to Go: 25 days. Heh.
Size: Big enough to make regular people crap themselves.
Time til ANOTHER Growth Scan: 6 days

Ok, so I understand there are a few questions and situations that remain unanswered. And so, here are the results.

House viewings: Not interested at this stage. I didn't understand when the feedback was that the property was just too small. Which begs the question, why, having read the details on the web/brochure, did you come and view it, and also go round commenting on how huge the rooms were? Or...maybe you're a member of the Dumbass League? Awesome.

Noah: He doesn't have an ear infection (even though he's constantly rubbing his ears and wincing), and therefore one of the few explanations for his fantastic behaviour lately is indeed puberty. Or the fact that he somehow knows something is really up in this house (like the colossal fact that he's about to have a brother or sister).

And on that note, we've decided it's a boy. Not because of any scans. Not because of gut feeling. Not even because we straight out asked the Doc to tell us. Nope, it's because tonight, in the bath, Noah took it upon himself to say "brother". Always on cue, whenever prompted. Do you think he would say "sister"? Helllll nope. Wouldn't even make a sound. But every time, "brother" came out, crystal clear. Hell, I can't even get the kid to say mama or dada, and the closest we get to any word at the mo is "oof oof" (which of course, is a dog barking. Plenty in terms of sign language though, so we're sill happy).

TV Fantasies: I do have a thing for Nigel Barker and Gordon Ramsay. I have no idea why.*

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.

Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 13+5 days
Month: 4
Trimester: 2
Fetus Age: 12 weeks
Heartbeat: 151bpm
Time to Go: 182 days
Size: Peach, apparently, but that could depend on what country you're in.

So this morning, I have had an extra nap with Noah, he then had breakfast (complete self-fed finger food breakfast - Cheerios, Corn Flakes, Raisin Wheats, fruit pouch, cup of water), shipped him off to grandparents, had a shower, had breakfast and am now sitting in front of the tv. I've even washed my hair (no idea when I last did that).

I've pooped. I realised it'd been approaching a week and was about due. Noah hasn't pooped. That'll be nice for the grandparents.

Every so often I feel The Other One having a fidget, and heartbeat is always heard clearly on the doppler. In the mornings before my colossal pee, I have a ski slope of a bump.

Weight loss has slowed down, but I'm still only 5lbs heavier than I was at this stage with Noah. Appetite is still minimal, Cheetos addiction has phased off a bit, but hey! That's ok. I know I'll find some other crap to eat.

I'm physically exhausted and still have the odd migraine twinge, but the good lord has decided that my drugs WILL work, and I'm no longer ploughing my way through a thousand tissues a day.

My car should hopefully be ready tomorrow, and I will no longer have to drive the Bum Nut C3.

Noah is cutting 4 teeth at the top, all at exactly the same time; all 4 have cut the gum open and are waiting to make their grand appearance, which we expect by this time next week.

Come on bitches, I dare ya to try me now.

It's Friday. My car has been sat on my drive since Sunday with a flat tyre and knackered wheel. A days worth of phone calls and THREE AA men later, the car has FINALLY gone to Peugeot (there's a whole new story to fill you in on), dropped off by AA at the AIRPORT to get a hire car...

Avis won't accept my details. I'm stuck at the airport, no money, no transport, no help.

I screamed, I shouted, I cried, (yes right there in the Airport), I called D and asked him to rescue me. Even though he was in the middle of putting Noah to bed.

He came, with a credit card, sorted me out a car, dropped me off at Avis to pick up the car.

I may never, in all my days, have driven such a shitty little car. A Citroen C3. Which I want to burn.

I'm half an hour late for my rehearsal. I haven't eaten. I left the house at 5:30. I got back to pick up my cello at 8:00. A week, surely, beyond belief.

The AA deserve to be sent to the very pits of hell for all eternity, where they will be made to clean Satan's bollocks with their BARE TONGUES.