Here I am again. Staring down the barrel. Looking into the abyss. Reaching for my shroud.

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.

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: 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*

Some of you readers keep in touch with me which is great, but it's nice if you leave a comment here too. ;o)

Noah had his 6 week check - all is grand. Major dry skin issues, but thankfully nothing a little Dream Cream can't fix.

I'm ok too, haven't thought much about my Old Friend in a while, even though Health Visitor and Dr#1 have both declared me high risk. I guess we'll see how it goes.

Noah pooped this morning. Nothing new, admittedly, only that he sounded like an old man passing a bowling ball, huffed and puffed, then went very quiet. Then my leg became very wet. We had our first official Code Brown, saturating him, me, the duvet, the towel he was sitting on, and the burpee beneath it. And yes, he was wearing a nappy, vest and babygrow. We actually contemplated taking a picture.


(Hi my name's J and I'm a Poop Addict.)

Again. It was only a matter of time. I seem to be going through the "Wow do I suck as a mom" phase, and it's not making me feel good. I'm determined to make sure it stays as Baby Blues, and doesn't turn into PND because for the love of god, I can't cope with that right now.

We all knew to look out for it, but I thought I might be a little stronger than this. I already seem to be heading to the Land of Neurosis (especially after we made it two weeks before rushing Noah to A&E after he projectile vomited milk out of his nose for the umpteenth time). I didn't want to be the neurotic mom and I hope I never get there.

I've been terrified of PND for some time. It's my worst enemy. My geatest fear. I can't function when I'm depressed and if that happens, we're screwed.

My body is doing a little better and I try to hang on to that, apart from the fact that I cry my eyes out every time time Noah feeds on Left Boob. It's agony. Like some is massaging the nipple with a freshly sharpened razor blade dipped in lemon juice, salt and vinegar. Lovely.

However, my saving grace was hand expressing 250ml off Left Boob. Left Boob was most grateful, especially as it had started threatening me with a bout of mastitis. Cos you know, if Right Booob can do it...

Yesterday morning was a hoot - D has gone back to work and I had to leave the house. Fill the car with petrol, pick up a prescription. Easy. Yeah. Petrol station: assumed I would only be 30 seconds in the shop, pay on the card. Left Noah in the car (Ahhh...Bad Mommy Rookie mistake). Both cards - declined. Emergency call to the bank. Crying out loud. 15 minutes later, I get back into the car and Noah is screaming blue murder. Hooray.

Next - pharmacy. 'Won't be long at all' she says. Lying whore. You would think I had taken the hint from the petrol station and brought Noah in with me. Nope, left him in the car. Again.* 3 frigging days later (ok, 20 minutes later and several trips back out to the car) I get the prescription. Do you think I've even used it? Nope, because my stupid mentality refuses to pump Noah full of crap at less than a month old. Oh. My. God. What the hell is wrong with me?

The good news throughout all of this? I've pooped several times this week. It's surprisingly reassuring.


*My reasons for this are purely selfish - I struggle to carry him in the car seat and it hurts my hip. Solution? Screw my hip and just carry theboy in his car seat. *tsk*