Revival

Fear is a funny thing, the way it messes with the human brain, the way it changes how we respond so quickly. Fear keeps people quite, but it simultaneously drives people to fight. It sparks a reaction, it lights a fire, to breathes motivation because eventually, we all get to a point where fear is no longer enough to drive the silence; where the tolerance for being silent any longer is less bearable than whatever consequence brings. Safety, on the other hand, is equally as intriguing. Safety and peace often bring a sense of uncertainty, of ‘calm before the storm’ of ‘there has to be something I’ve missed’ mentality in those who have learnt that safety does not exist or that it is not consistent. Safety is also incredibly hard to define for people who are used to living in chaos, in panic, and addicted to adrenaline.

My last draft entry here was in June 2021. It’s been nearly over two years since I even logged in here. My last line I wrote was, “I need to let go. So what am I grieving?”

Now, two years on, I can look back and I can tell you I was grieving things in my life I hadn’t yet left. Things, that I had thought would be different. I was ultimately grieving the life I desperately wanted, desperately thought I would have… but that wasn’t my reality. I was grieving optimism. I was also learning to let go of stress, of living in a world where chaos ensued. I was learning to speak up for myself again, to take my voice back.

I wonder how far I’ve really come in that?

Parenting has been a hard journey. Separating a marriage was a hard and still is a hard journey. Co-parenting is a hard journey.

But the hardest part about it has been finding myself again. I didn’t know how lost I was, how far from myself I was, how often the words circled in my head and how often I shut them down that they just stopped coming. I couldn’t write, for years, I was frozen with fear that what I would say would have some sort of repercussion, or that what I had to say wasn’t worth anything to anyone.

I would ask myself often, but who cares! You’re writing for you!

But I could never get past the ‘but you can’t say that’ that would scream in my mind so loudly I couldn’t hear any of the other words. I could barely understand what was going on in my mind let alone how to say it. I’d never not known what to say, I’d always had that under control.

Two years on from that point and I’m not sure I have learnt to say it. I still can’t articulate what I want to say at least 50 per cent of the time, I still can’t write without over thinking each word I put to paper, and I still am frozen often in my own need for validation and adrenaline that I forget how far I have come. I forget to grieve and I forget to acknowledge what fear does to the human body.

I call this my soft era, my quiet era, my wait and see era. It’s my way of assuring myself that I have not lost my fight or my will or my passion. I’m just taking a moment, a well deserved moment, to put the weapons down and breathe in. To take the hiking boots off after a long day on the mountains and feel the freedom through my toes. I lost myself and that’s not something you get back through fighting, that’s something you get back through listening.

This era is the moment I let my body finally rest. I let it soak in the beautiful human who lies beside me each night and his healing presence in my life. I let the cuddles with my child soak in and fill the gaps in my soul. I let the innocent and curious questions from my step child’s mind flow into curious conversation. I let my skin soak in the sunshine and my ears soak in the sounds of nature as the snowboard scrapes the snow, as the wind punishes the trees, and as the quiet hum of the road lulls me to sleep each night. I am taking this era to learn how to hear my inner voice again, not the one of religious fear that tends to rear its head now and then, but the quiet soft and intuitive voice that sparks my curiosity, that cautions my motives, and that leads me toward decisions that bring peace.

Here I have learnt to set boundaries, to give people their own time and pace to find healing, to walk away from friendships that just don’t fit anymore, to seek out new friendships that nurture, to put down hobbies that don’t align with what brings me joy anymore. Here I have also learnt to let sadness sit with happiness and to grieve while celebrating. I have felt the stark contrast between what I have now and the pain that I didn’t have this earlier. I have learnt to let the pain and the anger come and go without leaving bitterness in their wake.

It’s not ok bad things happened. It’s not ok people weren’t safe. It’s not ok that people’s wounds caused suffering for me. But, I am ok.

Healing is not linear. There are some days I feel further behind than I was two years ago. There are days I do not cope. There are days the scars feel raw. There are days where my wounds hurt others. But I am healing. I am making progress, even if it’s not a straight line. I am doing well now.

I have learnt two conflicting truths can exist, that you can be hurt and you can be happy. You can be healing, and also be angry. You can make mistakes, and still be a good person. You can not be ok, and still also be ok.

The darkness I once felt seems like a million miles away now. The peace I feel in its place often sits uncomfortably. I am not used to her, she is new for me. I am still coming to terms with being myself, with accepting who I am and the way I function. But I am so very grateful to have found people that make that journey smoother because they’re miles a head of me in accepting who I am. I love that. I am thankful for that. I am grateful I was open enough to find that.

Authenticity is my highest value.

I’m still coming to terms with what that looks like and how to listen to her. But I have come this far, I am excited to see how much further I go.

Little lockdown ramblings

This is my first lockdown where I’ve really felt ‘locked down’ and it’s been an emotional rollercoaster. We’re only 4 days in – how did you people all do the last one?! I mean, I did the last full Level 4 lockdown, but I had a 5 month old, I was locked in my house most days anyway. Now I have a toddler I require the ability to escape my house for sanity. Today is our first day without tantrums, and we’re halfway through it, I call that a win. I mean, the house might be destroyed but I’m still on one coffee and no wine, so definitely an improvement on yesterday.

It’s been a while since I blogged, I guess as I’ve gotten older and added more baggage I’ve preferred to keep it stuffed down like normal people, that’s how we cope right? Anyway, I’m being a grown up and dealing with my shit like the #professional I am.

I am loving my new job. Managing things makes me happy, organizing shit gets my heart going and I just want to smile and dance and have a good time. Life is good, right? But it’s also tough. Change hasn’t been easy. I’ve felt like I’m walking on the edge of a cliff walking so carefully as not to fall off. But what the hell. Life is to be lived, and mistakes might happen, that’s ok. I need to get out of this trauma response of never being able to make a mistake. I can, I have, I will. Life is like that. We are all learning and growing and perfection is a disease that robs us of the joy we already have.

This year my only goal was to get through it. And I’m proud to say we are 8 months in and I’ve smashed it. Things are looking bright. But, I did have my first panic attack the other day in years. I saw someone that brought back a pretty triggering memory for me, in a place I definitely did not expect to see them. And just like that I’m this frightened 16 year old without a clue how to handle some big life shit (I tried to think of a less sweary word but that’s really the only one for it. Utter rubbish doesn’t quite cut it).

So here I am in lockdown, and lockdown really does make us all face some of the things we’ve been hiding or running from. We have to stop and just be with whatever it is that frightens us, worries us, and we’ve got to deal with it because what else do we have to do?

I want to get back to being that girl who drinks life in like it’s a hot chocolate on a cold day. I want to feel it, be with it, embrace it and dance around the living room with the same joy my toddler does.

Healing is messy, it takes time, it takes courage, but it’s very achievable. I saw a quote the other day that said “you don’t know how broken someone is until you try to love them” and that hit me hard, because it’s true. I always say I’m a hard person to love, to really love, because what’s under the surface can be brutal, abrupt, and unapologetic and that’s hard to live with. But I’ll get there, one day at a time. I’m really happy with who I have become. I heard a song yesterday (Lord Huron – The Night We Met) and it took me back to the girl who drank too many margaritas, spent all her savings on travel, and just was without censoring anything. It’s only been 6 years and I like her, I want her back in my life. So we’re taking the growth that’s happened over the past 6 years, because it’s been brutal and messy but needed, and we’re mixing it with margarita girl at 2am watching the shooting stars.

Life was beautiful escaping to mountains, hiding in France, and drinking wine. But that’s not life now and despite how much I wish I was climbing the mountains in Nepal, the time will come, the world will relax, and a whole new type of normal will exist. In the meantime, life right now is beautiful. I write this in my lounge, doors open to the deck, looking at the sea, hearing the birds, having just fed the horse… that’s what I always wanted, and it’s here.

And it’s about time I appreciated that for what it was.

Collateral Monday’s

Oh hello Monday. I don’t like Monday’s. It started when I checked my emails while I was stuck in traffic because I was running late because I dropped kid at daycare. Never do that. The checking emails thing, definitely do the dropping kid at daycare thing. Thankfully I woke up to the sun rising rather than a screaming child this morning. Hands down THE worst part of parenting btw – take the WORST alarm you can imagine, remove the snooze, and you have parenting. No one warned me about how unbelievably shitty that can make a human being. I don’t even mind the 5am start. It’s the screaming. I DONT LIKE TO BE SCREAMED AT FIRST THING IN THE MORNING!

So, reading emails in the car feels the same. Like the avalanche of tasks that I had anticipated but hoped wouldn’t happen all just swamp me before I’ve even had a coffee. No. No. No no no. Nope.

I have a dirty chai now, Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Makes my day seem slightly more sunshiney and a little less yelly.

Anyway. I’m a Case Leader, and when I describe that to professionals I do it with a big smile and say ‘it’s like a navigator’ and it feels kind of light and fluffy – like a puppy. And to people who come from a sane professional world outside the social sector I say I’m like a project manager for peoples lives. And that makes me seem important.

Really what I do is run around like a headless chicken pretending it’s all fine and it’s allllll going to be ok. And it’s not. Like, 86% of the time not. But we’re trying. Because let’s be honest, people suck. Like today, right, I get to work after the yelly toddler ‘encouraged’ me out of bed, the stupid traffic made me late, the emails that made me wish I hadn’t charged my work phone, and I sit at my desk and I try to use my remote mouse and IT DOESNT WORK. Because someone pushed the little button to sync it to their little computer dongle and I had to reset it to my computer dongle… just like my keyboard last week. You know what I hate more than a yelly toddler? People touching my shit. Hate it. Not cool. Go just go!

However, let’s focus on the positives, because when you work in the social sector you very quickly learn to grasp onto any kind of ‘positive’ which is really just the lesser bad thing that could’ve happened. Positives, right, kid tried to play with the full bathroom rubbish bin which has things like razors (I know parent of the year) and sticky plasters. And I said ‘no’ in this ‘oh for the love of… for F***SAKES’ tone. Just ‘no’ but in that tone. Because there’s nothing more fun than applying make up with a toddler. And he turns and just looks at me like ‘ops’ and goes and eats the soap instead. Mum for the win!

So yes. This week started well. I haven’t blogged for a while because honestly I just keep going ‘but what if I’ ‘what if so and so’ and it’s EXHAUSTING. My brain is exhausting. Sam tried to make a funny comment about having another kid and I said something along the lines of ‘my sanity is reasonable on a good day, most of the time it’s marginal, another kid will most certainly make it questionable’. Which is very true. I’d adopt, and not because it’s the ‘easy option’ because seriously it is so hard and I think people who do it are amazing. But 9 months making the baby, followed by the year or recovery to feel semi normal, definitely not for me. At all. Did not enjoy that. I prefer my pain and suffering to be in the form of employment and recreation (that was a joke I love my job and throughly enjoy flying solo off my horses).

Unfortunately my sarcasm has also become marginal lately. However I do really gravitate towards people with a dark and questionable sense of humour. They make me feel happy. Like being woken up by a sunrise instead of a screaming toddler. Positives.

One of these days I’m going to write a post about important things like how to actually help someone with xyz rather than ‘raise awareness’ by posting crap on social media (no hate, but seriously). Or I don’t know, helpful parenting tips like how to teach your kid how to drink out of a hose and the benefits of sucking on mud covered stones and touching horse poo. But we’ll leave those gems for another day.

Love you xx

The bad mums club

Right. It’s the middle of the night and I’m blogging on my phone which is going to drive me nuts because of my horrendous autocorrect, but I’m talking to myself in my head, so that ship might have sailed. The words need to get out. So here they are.

I’m nearly 6 months deep into this being a mother thing and oh my gosh kid can you just crawl already?! No one warned me how angry they get when they can’t get something. My whole day is just relocating toys he threw somewhere he didn’t mean to so that he doesn’t do that thing where he screams so loud it makes this echoing sound in my eardrums. And telling him to sleep. Ah, sleep. I used to like sleep. I still like sleep, but I like coffee more. Sleep must’ve been angry I was cheating on it with coffee and delivered me what some people call ‘sleep regression’. I prefer the term ‘torture’. Because at 3am when my child decides that ‘that’s enough sleep for me’, I consider many things that I shan’t include on here because… jail… but anyway, I see why sleep deprivation is a form of torture. Whoever came up with that had kids. I am 100 per cent certain.

Now for those who laugh when I say ‘just crawl already’ like things will be easier, I beg you to refrain from terms like ‘just you wait’ and ‘enjoy it while he’s not moving’. Because I like my innocent, unsuspecting bliss. Leave me alone Karen!

Speaking of the ‘Karen’s’ of the world… I actually saw someone the other day comment about how your kid won’t be traumatised for life if you don’t let them cry for more than 3 minutes. Ok, cool, sure there’s some science to back that up (I’ll come back to this), but what made me actually LOL was the fact she thought a mum could achieve anything needed in 3 minutes to then race back and pick up screaming kid. Like, no, my morning poo definitely takes longer than 3 minutes and I’ll just pay for the damn therapy if he’s traumatised because my shower took 4 minutes and eating took 10.

I shouldn’t joke. But I need to. I cannot, like cannot, stress how actually f****** insane it is how judgy people are! So I sleep train. And there’s articles that will tell you I’m a horrible person who’s traumatising my child. Cool, whatever, something will at some stage might as well get some sleep at the same time (kind of joking). And no I don’t lock him in a room and leave him to cry, but yes there is crying but there was crying from me too before and now it’s just from him so I personally think that’s a win, but there’s LOTS of ‘Karen’s’ who don’t. Because the unfortunate thing about studies and science is you can really find just about anything to back up what you want to do/think/achieve. Because as many articles that say I’m traumatising him, also say I’m doing great stuff! And there’s plenty to say you’re coddling/ruining/destroying your child/society if you don’t let them cry. So, my conclusion, do what you gotta do to stay sane, stay happy, and be a responsive parent who doesn’t resent their child. Your kid will actually be fine. And if not, therapy is government funded (probably a joke in poor taste but hey, that’s me).

So I go back to work in 3 weeks. Wow! Eek! If you’ve stayed with me this far through this blog you will probably not hate me when I say I’ve also stopped breastfeeding (mostly) and I feel guilty, sad, elated, free, and weird about it. I totally pictured myself being a pumping, breast feeding machine that was unstoppable even once back at work. But you know what, I just want my boobs and my time and my body back. I gave this kid a full 12 months of ALL of me. So I don’t feel ashamed that honestly, when push came to shove, I’m really glad I started formula feeding. I finally feel ‘sexy’ again because I’m not freaking out that milk is about to fire out of my nipples at any given time. Not sexy. Or professional either. People don’t tell you about the tops being soaked in milk and the panic when you’ve run out of breast pads and how suddenly your boobs are no longer sexy, and that’s good because we want to normalise breastfeeding and stop constantly sexualising women’s bodies, but also… I want to be sexy still! And no one tells you about mastitis and how it feels like you’re dying and your boobs ache sooooo much and you’re all feverish. And the amount of energy it DRAINS out of you allllllll the time. And the hitting and the biting from the child. Like a mini little vice grip that just rips at ya. And people go awww but it’s so beautiful and natural and sure, sometimes, but most of the time it’s plain uncomfortable and painful and awkward.

So work! I got lost there sorry… back on track. I’m so pumped I was offered the position I’ve been wanting for a while now, and part time! So I go back permanently 3 days a week and I could not be more excited. I’m not excited for the commute and the even less sleep, and the early mornings and late nights but I’m excited to do something I am so passionate about again. I want my son to grow up seeing a strong, capable, independent mum who does what she loves and doesn’t apologise for it. I want him to value that in a partner; celebrate her success and what she wants for her life. He better be all about that equality man!

On a related but also different note, I’m fairly confident the first sentence my child says with contain a swear word. I’m trying, I really am, but Sams job and my job… it’s just normal, and it’s so hard to be like ‘nope, raising a quality human here’… because he has my sense of humour so I’m well aware it’ll be a steady downhill decline once words come out. Man, the kid ripped his IV line out when he was in hospital and laughed… he laughed! And then screamed when I wouldn’t let him eat his blood covered hand. Yes, bad mum ruining the fun. He also has a habit of laughing when people talk about death on TV and I promise it’s not because we laugh, we don’t! He just sits there giggling. Should I be concerned for my life? Pretty sure he’ll be the toddler who I wake up to just staring at me. Send help.

It is odd, feeling like I’m raising a child in a pandemic. The world feels isolated and cold and a bit scary at times. We have this perfect little crazy ‘normal’ bubble where very little has changed but it’s scary to think he could grow up in a world where we don’t talk to each other in the supermarket or help someone with groceries or we all wear masks because we’re all afraid someone will infect us (which is a very real fear). But, I also remind myself that maybe this also means he’ll grow up in a world where we’ve learnt the value of connection and keeping life simple and not having to do a million things; keeping life stripped back and simple.

So, here we are. I’m still going. My kid is rolling, babbling, eating solids, he’s growing so so fast and he’s wanting to explore his world and he gets frustrated and feels all the feelings and that’s actually really cool to see. Terrifying too because I don’t really know how to foster that but I’ll learn. In the meantime I’ll keep using a pacifier so I still have some kind of hearing into my old age. Parenting at the end of the day boils down to love, patience, experiences for growth, and just being there and showing up the best you can with what you’ve got. Kids are resilient, funny, and a really amazing part of life. So, my next adventure is being a working mum and I cannot wait figure this all out.

Peace out

Stop asking me when I’m having another kid… and other annoying things

Ok, we need to talk. I going to try not to sound whingy, but also, this is me whinging. It astounds me how many people – total strangers I might add (ignore this if you are close family, I forgive you) – ask me when I’m having another kid. Like, just hold my s*** stained t-shirt while I go shower off the spew and nurse some pulled pelvic floor muscles THAT ARE STILL HEALING FROM PUSHING A HUMAN OUT OF MY —- ok you get the picture. I’ll stop yelling now.

Seriously though.

The answer is never. Ok it’s a maybe, some time, in the far far far distant future, there is a micro possibility I will reproduce again. But it’s also highly unlikely unless my husband is willing to carry the child, birth the child, and look after the child and NEVER SLEEP AGAIN while I soundly sleep several nights in a row. Ok? Ok.

Babies are hard work. They’re hard work in the sense that they can be really, really boring. So it’s really, really hard to stay focused on doing a whole lot of waiting for the day to end while also wanting desperately to sleep, while not being able to, because the pile of laundry, dust in the corners, and dishes are actually haunting you in your sleep. It could also be sleep deprivation induced psychosis. Totally possible. Either way, the screaming, and the pooing, and the demanding boob ALL THE TIME is exhausting. And did I mention the not sleeping thing? Yeah, that was fun when I was 17 and had a vodka in one hand. It is no longer fun. Sleeping is good, sleep, sleep is the best.

Anyway, back to the boob bit. Someone, anyone, please tell me who decided it was a good idea to plaster ‘BREAST IS BEST’ over EVERY SINGLE baby formula web page? Get this right, they actually make you click ‘I understand’ at the bottom of this big page telling you all about how you’re a terrible person for not wanting to breastfeed anymore. It’s super duper encouraging when you have a screaming kid who just punched, pinched, and BIT your boob because it wasn’t producing enough RIGHT WHEN HE WANTED IT. Just ship the damn formula and stop telling me I’m a bad mum. It actually made me cry. Real tears. Proper crying. I cannot tell you how much of a stupid idea it is to have this on a formula page. Ok, breastfeeding is great, we get it, but so is my sanity (yes, it’s actually important) and making sure my kid has food.

Sorry, I said I’d stop yelling. Calming down now.

So it’s been 4 months since my maternity leave started, that means I have 4.5 months to go. And while that seems like a long time away (and I mean a really long time away), I am beginning to feel stressed about it. Mainly, because I want to go back earlier (see above paragraph about how I do not care that I am a ‘bad mum’). Yes, I want some semblance of my life that is not cleaning up vomit, changing diapers, and convincing a tiny human that sleeping is actually a really nice thing to do.

On the topic of sleep…he’s currently sleeping. He’s actually a really good sleeper 90% of the time, which is why it feels so so painful when he has days where he’s not because it’s like ‘we were so close, so, so close… yet so, so far away’ from a full nights sleep. But when he’s sleeping he just looks so sweet, and adorable, and he smells so good and I just give him a little kiss… and then he wakes up and I want to punch myself.

I made baby food. Actually lots of baby food, and I planted some more plants to make some more baby food. I am #bossmum and I will own that small area in which I am succeeding at ‘muming’.

Also, I got into an email fight with someone because they gave me bad feedback on TradeMe.

See, this is why I need to go back to work. I have lost it. Really, really lost it.

Someone save me?

Anyway. I’m going to see actual grown ups this weekend and talk to them about grown up things with actual words. My child is so freaking adorable when he says all these cute gurgly sounds and these ear piercing high pitched squeals, but I’m going to be honest, the conversation dries up real fast.

So, people keep asking ‘how’s mum life’. That, right there that you just read, that’s mum life. It is ‘easier’ that I expected because my child does actually sleep in his own bed and he hasn’t had colic, so I guess I’d prepared myself for it to be harder (and mum’s who have gone through those things or mums doing this alone, you are the strongest humans on the planet). However, it is not easy…at all…not even kind of.

This is the part where people add ‘but it’s so worth it’. Be quiet. Some days it’s totally worth it. Other days I seriously just want to watch The Block in peace and eat my chocolate!

(don’t worry, when he’s old enough to understand actual words I will be teaching him ‘it’s mummy’s time now’ and how vitally important ‘mummy time’ is to the success of any future requests from him)

I promise I’m a good mum really…

I think.

Anyway, cheerio for now

Sanity, what is sanity?

I’ve begun 2020 in a fashion in which I ended 2019 – sleep deprived and desperate for a shot of whiskey and a long nap on the beach. My child is now 12 weeks old. Google, and any old lady who’s path I accidentally cross, would tell me my child should be sleeping through the night by now. I’d love to remind the stranger old ladies they used alcohol back in the day to help with that and it is now seriously frowned upon to do so (though, I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind). Facebook suggests ‘sleep training’ programmes on a regular basis. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against sleep training. Actually might give it a go. But I’m also so fucking tired I might not. Because training anything requires energy, and I don’t have any of that. My child sleeps, roughly 3-5 hours at a time in the evening/night and as of this week, not at all during the day.

The whole night sleep thing is actually great, I said that to someone the other day who gave me a sideways look. Yes, 5-6 hours of sleep a night is ‘not a bad night’ and 7 hours on average I’m quite proud of. Turns out all my years of late night, last minute assignment completion, late night parties, and just in general not sleeping during my younger years prepared me well for my zombie like state. I can function like a normal human 80 per cent of the time. Heck, I even started making baby food and went for a run today.

#nailedit

This week the entire household has decided they can’t get enough of me. The dog follows me around like a bad smell, the cat had a meltdown because I locked it out of the room, and the child thinks I’ve abandoned him if he’s left to sleep alone for more than 10 minutes. I have seriously considered going all jungle book and leaving the animals to raise my child.

Speaking of animals, the dog has decided all wooden baby toys are hers and they are to be destroyed. She’s still alive, and it turns out the more tired I am the less energy I have to waste being angry. So she just got to enjoy those baby toys. The baby wasn’t really enjoying them so I guess at least someone was making the most it.

I have been riding my horse. And, I’m excited to share I have only fallen off one time, and I can now jump a series of jumps without totally embarrassing myself. My horse has also forgiven me for my terrible riding skills and has decided to assist with keeping me on top of her, for which I am thankful for.

We are hopefully getting our Hyundai back in a week or so. We took it in for a service in November… and because I have some of the most strange bad luck, we were one of only a few in every 100 THOUSAND who ended up with a faulty oil filter, resulting in a very broken car. So, I learnt how difficult it is to put a carseat in a sedan. Hard, really bloody hard I tell you. There have been many a swear word uttered as a result of that stupid fucking seat belt jamming and my head hitting the door frame. I have never been so damn desperate for my SUV.

I’d like to think I’m acing parenting. But the truth of the matter is I’m not. No one ever really wins at parenting, other than the small squawking being that now owns your soul. The washing never ends. It was like that pre child, it just didn’t bother me as much. There never seems to be enough time to enjoy making food, and I really like to enjoy food. And exercising is exciting, though a slap in the face when you realise just because your body WANTS to sleep well after a big work out, does not mean that it will be allowed to.

Oh, and nappies. All those reusable diaper ads that said ‘don’t worry, you don’t have to touch poo’… like, yes you do. Regardless of the nappy you use – disposable or reusable, you’ll touch poo. Just accept that fact and learn to be ok with it. I remind myself it’s smaller than a horse shit and stinks less than the dog shit, so really, is it that bad? No. No it’s not.

So, things I’m managing to do successfully; exercise everyday, make nutritious food most of the time, exercise the dog and the horse, sing to my child (fairly certain he will be traumatised from it), and remain awake.

Unsuccessful things; well pretty much everything else.

But hey, I’m alive, child is smiling and starting to giggle, and the animals are fed. The rubbish may be taking over my house, and my new vacuum cleaner is getting more use than it signed up for, but I’m ok. We are all ok. We have Google and opinionated strangers to help us through the mind field that is parenting after all.

Til’ next time.

The year that was

Ah December. The month where suddenly we all realise we’ve survived another year and spend a thoughtful moment reflecting on what didn’t kill us. I’d like to think I achieved a lot this year, but despite bringing human life into the world, I actually feel like it was a quiet year (yes, that really does speak to how mad the past few years have been).

But, it’s not just the end of a year, it’s the end of a decade! And a decade it has been. I finished school in 2010, and I was very under prepared for what the following 10 years had in store for me. I moved out of home, moved to Hamilton, moved around a lot in Hamilton (6 times I think all up in 3 years), got a degree, a diploma, then got a job, bought a horse, sold a horse, bred a baby horse, sold a baby horse, decided I didn’t like my chosen career, quit, went travelling solo and LOVED it, came home, moved home, ended a relationship, started a new relationship, got engaged, got married, travelled some more, trained for the police, turned down a position as a police officer, found my strange dream job, got another diploma, bought another horse and then another and then another, then sold them all and bought another.

*breathe*

In the past decade I’ve learnt how to grieve; we’ve lost my great nana, my granddad, my nan, and we miscarried our twin babies at 10 weeks. I’ve had a lot of disappointments, challenges at work and in my personal life, things that just did not go my way. I’ve felt like life has given me it all and then taken it all in the same breath some weeks. I’ve battled with my health, and there were days I honestly did not think I could keep going.

But we’re here, we made it. This decade is finishing how it started; bloody marvellous. I have a beautiful little boy, a pretty awesome husband, I’ve found a crazy horse that I can’t get enough of, I still have my Ivy horse who I’ve got to watch enjoy her final years as a competition horse again, and we have an incredible home close to family. I feel pretty damn lucky actually.

When I left home at the end of 2010 the world was at my feet; it was there waiting to be lived! And, now, while it does not feel AT ALL like I expected it to 10 years later, I still feel like there’s life to be lived and a world to be explored… just perhaps in a slightly more sedate take-my-time manner after several strong cups of coffee.

Honestly, 10 years ago, I thought by now I’d be a hotshot columnist and investigative journalist, and competing my horse every weekend over 1.40m jump courses. But, instead, I work at a youth justice resident with quite honestly some very challenging but also really cool kids, and I’m just thankful to actually stay on my horse let alone jump it.

But I am happy and content, and I think 16 year old me would have been pretty pleased to know what 26 year old me was going to turn out like.

I have not lost my love of a good wine, a long bubble bath, a walk on the beach, and my vocabulary becomes more colourful each year. I’m still as mad a hatter with little consideration for preserving my life, and I will forever be addicted to adrenaline.

The one thing I will take away from this decade is you cannot plan life. You really can’t. It will come as it comes, it will give you what it gives you, and you just have to either make the most of it, or survive it when it’s too hard to do anything else. And, at the end of the day, it will eventually be all ok. Do the unexpected, take the opportunities that scare you; be brave, be bold, be a little bit crazy. And to be honest, it is far more exciting to just live it… don’t over think it, just live it. Oh, and when it all turns to shit watch some crappy TV, have a wine with some friends, take a long shower, and move on.

So, cheers to a bloody awesome year, a decade that is likely to ever be rivalled, and to finding out what the next decade has in store… hopefully more good wine, good company, and a few more crazy horses.

Peace out

 

7 weeks in (and still ok)

Ah parenting. How are things going 7 weeks into being a mum? Well, yesterday I forgot to put the protein in my protein smoothie so take what you want from that. I write this as my child sleeps sweetly (finally) beside me. Right now, you’d think it was all perfect.

And it is, to some extent. I don’t think there is such a thing as perfect really when it comes to parenting. Kid is fed, kid has had some kind of sleep, I read to kid at some point in the day, and I didn’t cry at all today… success.

Each time I see a professional I get asked ‘so what’s Theo doing now?’ well, shitting and sleeping? Should he be doing anything else, he’s a baby? I mean, he cries too? No, they mean like smiling and interacting and while yes, totally have realised he does those things, my sleep deprived brain fails to locate those memories on demand.

I’m getting fit. Now, while I am motivated to do so to ‘bounce right on back’ (please note there is no ‘bouncing’ back, it’s more like a painful slog up a steep hill back) to my pre-pregnancy body and weight, I am really just walking a lot so the child sleeps. And also so I maintain my sanity; one can only do so many loads of dishes, sing badly out of tune, bounce on a yoga ball, and beg said child to GO TO FUCKING SLEEP so many times in a day. Walking, regardless of how tired I am and how damn hot it is outside, is my small amount of ‘I’m still a real person’ I get.

I have hopped on my horse. Yes, it’s sore, no I do not care, yes my birth sucked, no I will not discuss the intimate details of the destruction of my vagina with strangers (honestly, it is amazing how many people I don’t even really know ask me about my birth… I mean I don’t really mind, but I don’t really want to share those sorts of details with middle aged men I’ve just met). Getting back on a horse was terrifying for a number of reasons, one is that I have 0 balance, two is that I have 0 core strength, and three is because of the downstairs repair situation. But I did it. And then I’ve kept on going and now I can ride my crazier horse without dying, and actually enjoy it. I’d say that’s progress over 3 weeks.

It is terrifying to start again. Not just horse riding, but my fitness in general, learning a new role in life, and not working. I miss work. Every single day I miss it. And I wasn’t expecting that. I always knew I’d want to go back, but I didn’t think I’d spend so many hours thinking about work like I still turn up every Monday!

Being a mum… it’s not as difficult as I think I anticipated. My kid is pretty cool. But it’s also as challenging in some regards as I thought. It can be really really boring. Like, how many conversations can you have with a kid? It will get more interesting, and I have begun to enjoy it more and more each day, but it’s an adjustment.

I think people tend to paint a relatively rosy view of parenting. I lost count how many people told me it would be the greatest thing to ever happen to me. I was never in the dark about the reality of being a mum, it took me a long time to actually want to do it, and I’m glad I have. But there was no mushy, wave of pure joy and happiness washing over me the moment he was handed to me. Honestly? All I felt was utter relief he was out and a desperate desire to sleep! It took me at least a week to feel any sort of way toward him other than ‘I need to keep you alive’.

Oh, and the ‘your babies cry is like an alarm going off in your head’, now I know enough mums to know that this actually is usually the case. But not for me. I can sleep quite soundly through my child crying right next to me. Yes I’m a terrible mum I’ve accepted that. My husband, however, will wake up when he’s sleeping down the hall with both bedroom doors closed. I don’t find his cry anymore alarming than anyone else’s child’s cry, and I haven’t struggled to leave him with other people while I go riding. I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how well I can focus on my horse or coaching when I’m not with him.

We ventured out to the shops the other day for the first time alone. He cried. A lot. I got all of 40 minutes (which was actually not too bad considering he’d been shitty all week) before a total meltdown occurred in Kmart. I had to laugh when the well child nurse said I was brave. Brave? He cried, we left, I’ll try again next time. I don’t really think going out alone is brave, it’s just something we have to learn to do together and I’m not deterred by a meltdown. Heck, I’ve had worse meltdowns in public myself, it’s fine. My horse is far more terrifying to deal with during a meltdown than my sweet 6 week old child, and I’ve dragged her out in public plenty of times nervously hoping she doesn’t outright embarrass me. Just smile, cry, do whatever, and try again tomorrow.

So, 7 weeks in summary, it’s hard – I want to just drink a wine without having to prepare in advance so he can eat, and I want to sleep an entire night uninterrupted – but it’s also really amazing to see this little human I’ve made, grow and become a person of his own. I’m still just as determined to not lose who I am, and I’m really proud of how much I’ve managed to do with him. I’m also super grateful to have so much family support, because gosh this would be bloody hard on my own.

I was going to add more humour in here somewhere, but I’m really tired and I should be sleeping instead of writing, so that’s it for now.

Until next time!

Week One Maternity Leave – I need stress

Boredom is something I have not felt for a long time. Actually, come to think of it, I really can’t remember the last time I felt truely bored. I’ve dreamt about down time; time to relax and do nothing but organise my life and ‘chill’. The reality is I am NOT built to ‘relax’. Day one of being alone on maternity leave resulted in me moving pot plants that were too heavy and walking up and down my steep driveway. I stopped short of scrubbing the floors, only because the baby belly prevents any form of bending for a prolonged period of time.

My kitchen is clean, the washing is done, fire is lit, dinner cooked. And I know… “make the most of it before tiny human arrives and destroys every bit of peace you have”. But lets me honest, I much prefer to function with too much to do, than not enough.

We’ve reached week 37 of pregnancy (well, 36 weeks and 3 days). I thought my anxiety levels would decrease as pregnancy went on; that I’d become more reassured it would all be ok. But I haven’t. If anything, the closer we get the more anxious I become about losing him – about the bottom falling out of my world and me not being able to survive that.

It’s strange to go from a high stress work environment and demanding job where I am constantly making decisions and advocating, to deciding when the best time to plant tomato’s is and how many I need to make a decent batch of chutney. Now, I always knew I can balance the ‘house wife’ ‘country bumpkin’ thing alongside ‘I want to be a career woman and help people’, but I prefer that in balance – too much of one or the other and I’m feeling a little out of sorts.

I do not enjoy the ‘wait for the husband to arrive home while I play house’ thing, not at all, and even less so as I’ve gotten older. And while I should really appreciate the time I have off, and trust me, I am trying HARD to really enjoy it, it’s not me and it feels weird. I feel ungrateful, but I am also a firm believer in being true to who I am.

BUT, I am glad I’ll have time at home with my bub, for a while. And I’m seeing the benefits to not sitting at a desk, being able to nap and sleep in as I please, and I know I will adjust eventually to having cortisol levels that would FINALLY make my naturopath happy. I’m just a little scared 9 months might feel like eternity. Especially when Sam works late, and I sit at home thinking of all the things that could have gone wrong – including the impending doom of him dying. And I mean in most circumstances that might seem like an overreaction, but his job does regularly involve people with guns and knives and you know, who want to hurt him. So I’m going to flag it as a relatively valid fear.

It’s also strange to sit at home while he gets to have all the high adrenaline fun at work, and the hardest part of my day was re-organising baby clothes.

I did NOT expect to find this, this hard. I thought I’d be frolicking and appreciating all my spare time pre baby, that I’d be doing yoga and meditating and writing my book. But all I want to do is eat a damn doughnut (or 10) and get on my horse. And trust me, it’s crossed my mind more than once just to get back on it.

Sensible ‘mum’ me is trying hard to quieten that little voice that says ‘just do it, you’ll be fine!’ Because that little voice is regularly wrong, regularly I am in fact not fine. Usually, when that little voice says ‘just do it!’ it leads to some form of pain, fun and enjoyable most of the time and well worth it, but mum me says ‘not right now, wait till someone else is holding the kid’. And mum me is definitely right in this situation.

So instead I became lost in the depths of youtube comedy videos and horse riding fails, diffused oils, cleaned the kitchen – 3 times, did the laundry, made dinner, ate some popcorn and carrot sticks instead of a doughnut, and had a great chat with my dog. I then got annoyed at the pot plants and moved them to a more satisfactory location, and walked up my brand new concrete driveway. That made me happy.

The countdown is on to little bub, he’s nearly at full term (something we did not think we’d make so yay for us!), he’s healthy, a good weight, and I’ve decided I will no longer stand on scales because it’s not an enjoyable experience… at all. Eventually, he’ll arrive and shatter all my new found peace and freedom, but in the meantime we wait, I will wash dishes and bake things, I might even bust out the knitting needles.

One day I’ll look back and laugh at myself and think ‘man, I could use some of that down time now’, but I’ll also read this and remember – I ACTUALLY LOVE MY JOB and I really do need some form of stress in my life to feel secure.

I think I might have some issues to work through.

Surely there’s a YouTube channel to help me deal with that.

Till next time.

Transit

Hospitals are funny places. I’ve always likened them to airports – tired people everywhere, just focused on getting through this to get to the next place; excited to leave; impatiently waiting, desperate for some good coffee and a decent bed. Ambulances are kind of the same. I liken them to trains, bumping along all rattly with an abrupt way of turning.

It’s 2.50am and I can’t sleep. I’ve managed to be in three cities in one day yesterday. My morning started like most mornings; 10 minutes of yoga, feed the dog, pet the cat, get lunch, make breakfast, shower, get in the car, work. Work began like any other day – meet with boys, do some paper work, see boys again. Through 6 metal doors to my office, through some more to the other units, back again, staff room, handover, cup of water, toast, back to my office.

I took myself to the Rotorua ED after some blood in the toilet bowl – it’s nothing I reminded myself, this happens a lot in pregnancy. I’m 26 weeks 5 days pregnant. I shrugged off the feeling of aches and pains, the dizziness and nausea, I’m just sick, it’ll be fine. That was 14 hours ago and I’m now in Waikato maternity ward. I thought I’d get a check up to be safe. Turns out those aches are contractions. Baby’s happy, he’s just chilling in there growing away. He’s been well introduced to the world of medicine – both western and alternative – in this pregnancy. He appears ok, but you never really know, do you? Good heartbeat, good growth rate (he’s a little fatty), it’s all good.

My body, my body is not all good. Not sure why, but I have an ‘irritable uterus’. Please tell me I’m not the only one who finds that term just a bit funny. My whole bloody body feels ‘irritable’ so my uterus really just decided to get in line. I’ve been fighting a virus, I thought I was over it, possibly not. Bugs suck. Winter sucks.

And while I’ll whinge all day about being pregnant, and people will remind me ‘I need to get used to no sleep because it won’t get better once baby is here!’ I can certainly tell you I’d happily give up all my hours sleep to hear this baby boy scream his little healthy lungs out. And I would most certainly never wish for this to end sooner at a cost to him.

I lie here and I google pictures of premature babies – I need to be prepared for the worst and hope for the best. I don’t do surprises, this is no different. I’ve told myself this whole pregnancy it will be different, it will be ok, this baby will make it. But it’s not always easy to hear, or listen to. Positive only gets you so far when history has shown you the worst can in fact happen.

And so I then find myself thinking, what would I do if this all falls apart? How do I keep myself together? Can I? Or will I simply finally succumb to the shit and just lie down with my broken pieces and break with them? Or will I rebuild myself? Will I make it? And I actually strong enough? I tell myself I am, because well, when shit happens there are limited options as to what to do. I’d run, I’d run far far away and I’d hike some mountain for a few weeks and I’d scream at the top of my lungs. I’d do everything I could to remind myself I was alive. And then I’d come back, and I’d find more reasons to be here. But I would also lay on the floor, and I would just ‘be’ with the broken pieces. Because sometimes pain needs to be acknowledged in its very rawest form.

I lie here, and I cry. Not for what is, but for what could be. I am afraid. We are all brave until it’s 3am and you’re still awake. Nobody has a crystal ball, no one can reassure me, no one can promise me it’ll be ok; it may not. But it also might be. It might be completely and totally ok.

Pre-term labor are never, ever words you want to hear.

And the irony does not escape me, that the very machine – ultrasound – that terrified me at the beginning of the pregnancy, I now find great comfort in. The thing that used to make my stomach turn because it could hold the truth of demise and loss in its tiny little screen, is now the same thing that brings me great hope and joy. It reminds me I have a strong and healthy little boy, and that in itself is at times enough for me.

Aside from loss, my worst fear this pregnancy was the NICU, my second worst was bed rest. Me, sit still for several months? I honestly do not know how or if I can do that. I really don’t; I know for certain my sanity will not be the same.

So I lie here, and I find myself remembering the time I took the tube with my friend Tom around Paris at night to see the Eiffel Tower light up, and how we had to jump a barrier at the train station when the ticket wouldn’t work, and how I made Tom take 100 photos of me to get the right one with the tower lights. And the ambulance reminds me of that tube and the way it bumbled along. The hospital room reminds me of the room we stayed in in China during a stop over. I’m not sure why, the room in China was considerably nicer. Sam and I fought about something, and I went to bed mad. I don’t even remember what the fight was about – I was probably over tired and hungry. And the hospital reminds me of the airports – wait, wait some more, turn my mind off or to something mundane, and wait. I’ll leave eventually, everyone always does. This is why memories are important – they keep me sane. They remind me that life can, and will be, wonderful. I will be ok.

Stay put little bun, this oven might be a little faulty, but it’s still got some cooking to do.