I have a confession, it isn't a secret, but it's a bit of a taboo...I don't like babies.
I could change a terry nappy at 9 years old, I made formula bottles, bathed multiple toddlers and fed little mouths when in was a child myself.
In short, I did more caring for preschoolers than many adults, before I'd reached puberty. I had done my bit and babies held no mystery for me.
Babies just look at you, and then they poo, cry, flail and the only feedback is a clean bottom and less crying. Yes, you get small glimmers of a budding personality, lile smiles, laughter, words, clapping. But crikey, they're BORING, one way conversation and endless games.
Give me a toddler over a baby any day (I'd rather have a guinea pig to be fair). They are great company, can be bargained with (never with m&ms) and are just FUN (miles more fun if they aren't your own, trust me).
I didn't get broody for our first baby, me and MrB just decided to give this baby thing a go. I was broody for a short while when E was about 6 months old.
I haven't been broody since, except for a guinea pig, a PAIR of guinea pigs to be precise. I love them.
So, I've finally reached the level of blogging about potty training. Be prepared for a rip roaring read!
So at the age of 3 and 3 months, I think we *may* have found the way to help him to harness his daytime needs. Yay!
My potty training must haves
A potty - even a pound shop one - decorate it with stickers if it helps!
Crocs - we have ones from Poundland, just in case shoes are weed on!
Small pedal bin liners with sanitary towels - you can use them to line a potty when out and about. Makes getting out that bit easier
I advise waiting until your child is ready. Ignore the '2 year old rule' of the 80s, think more along the lines of 3 years. Cut yourself some slack!
I had 2 children in nappies...for the record, it was easy! You only have to remember your own toileting needs.
I have 2 boys, and I only ever have 2 days off with them at a stretch because of my working days. It's perfect for everything, except for 'potty training' advice in books, which usually suggests you have a week off with your little cherub and let them crap all over your carpet or garden.
So, my eldest, was potty ready at 33 months. He refused his nappy very suddenly, needed very occasional reminders and had 2 daytime accidents. Within 2 weeks he refused his bedtime nappy and the only thing we had to do was to stop a large bedtime drink of milk.
He was really easy!!
Now, Noah, has been aware of his bladder control for a while. So I pushed him, maybe a little earlier than I needed to. He tried, didn't like it and then refused to go near to a potty for months.
I've always had them coming to the loo with me, I've normalised toilets, discussing diarrhoea and 'leakies'. Making no big deal of anything, but letting them know what to do.
I was worried that Noah was afraid of the potty/ toilet, so I did what any self-respecting, smartphone-wielding parent would do...I googled! Each time either boy sat on the little blue plastic throne, I gave them a tiny piece of chocolate even with nappy and trousers on. Within a couple of hours, the fear had evaporated and Noah had discovered that it fitted his head. The blue really brought out the colour of his eyes!
A week later, after a few spells of leaving his nappy off, in was pottering in the kitchen and got shouts of 'done a wee' and with another hour 'done a poo!'. Ewan has been really helpful and supportive of his little brother today. He makes me very proud. They both do.
Update: no accidents at home, half a day of accidents at nursery (2nd day of training)and he has been dry day and night since.
My mum and stepdad won the lottery in 2004.
4.3 million pounds.
It changed the life of my impoverished family. Before I left to go to uni, there were 8 of us living in a small 3 bedroomed house. One bathroom, one toilet, 2 adults and 6 children.
8 people, living off one fairly low salary (my stepdad was skilled, and he worked hard, I cannot fault that side of him).
So, yeah, me and my 5 younger brothers and sisters endured a very sparse childhood. So winning the lottery, for me was all about improving their lives. Their parents, their mum and dad could have made a huge difference to the youngest four, who were 14, 13, 12 and 6 years of age.
Instead, the parents spoiled the girls, and me and my eldest brother to some extent. Sure, they moved house, had en suite bathrooms and a room *each*, but the lack of emotional intelligence as well as mental health issues meant that it physically hurt me to see how badly treated they children were, especially my youngest two brothers.
My step dad gave up work, my mum didn't continue to work either. I cannot describe what I think of that situation, but suffice to say that I need to work, because my brain is self destructive when not kept occupied.
Winning the lottery may buy a huge house with a swimming pool, a Lamborghini and a gardener, but it cannot heal the wounds and legacy of terrible parenting. And, when the markets go bad, you could end up without any money...imagine.
I will never wish to win the lottery.
I stumbled upon this journal article (from a peer reviewed journal) which discussed attachment, BPD and PTSD.
I could relate to most of it, the case studies were very complex cases, and much more 'classic' trauma than I endured. However, it was the first time I've ever sat down and thought, "shit. I have flashbacks. Parts of my childhood, sad parts are etched in my memory, as clear as if they happened yesterday". These are entwined with intense emotions, thoughts and feelings from those times. Shame, confusion, mistrust, fear.
I could have PTSD as a result of disrupted attachment to my parents, particularly the complete erosion of my attachment to my mum which resulted in me being who I am today. But also, because of the emotional neglect & manipulation, mental cruelty, habitual smacking, and the coercive control which my mum exerted over me (and my poor, poor brothers and sisters - who I miss every day).
Every day with the boys is trigger-ridden. It isn't their fault. I want to be the best for them because I love them too much to be anything else.
I've just noticed a missing link in this realisation this week. Really noticing my flashbacks as and when they come into my parenting style/choices/actions shows that it's in everything I do.
It's an extra opportunity to be kind to myself - it's why I'm at the edge of breaking regularly, why I need so much self care time to myself. To be myself.
If you're reading this and don't get it, think I'm rehashing old junk and need to get over it, then click away. I'm not seeking sympathy, I am clearing my head safely.
My depression and anxiety have spiked this last couple of weeks. It has sucked. I will be going back up to 75mg sertraline tonight. There is just one major point I need to get off my chest, to work through here and share.
My mental illness isn't about my inability to cope with my life choices. It isn't about not being able to cope with my two children, with my lovely husband, nice house, fab career and my lifestyle.
It isn't that I can't cope with the boys, it's just that I can't shoulder the weight of responsibility of being the best mother I can possibly be.
I want to be Mary Poppins - she wasn't a mother, she was a nanny, she was paid to be supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
My mother was shit, her mother was (I believe) shit, my learning has come from them, my parenting mistakes I made whilst helping to bring up my brood of younger siblings, TV, and from MrB's mum. Who, is the polar opposite of my mum.
It is REALLY hard to go against the programming in underwent as a toddler and as I grew up. I didn't learn to give or receive compliments, I don't remember my mum reading to me, but I remember her rubbing my face in my wet bedding* when i wet the bed for the ??? night in a row.
(*My dad insists he didn't know this happened).
I am programmed to be angry, resentful, selfish and shaming. The thing is, I have to fight those impulses regularly, it is hard to do the right thing when it is basically taking a path that you don't have the map for.
I grew up in fear of being thrown out, of being smacked and being verbally shamed. That is what my brain automatically wants to do, that is my autopilot. This means that I cannot relax with the boys, because I can't draw-on any real experience of relaxed motherly love.
It isn't that I can't cope with my children. It's that being a great mum, tires my soul out. So, forgive me when I don't say 'But they make it all worthwhile', because they don't (it isn't up to them to validate me).
I'll be ok, just struggling this evening.
I don't like babies, I'm not overly keen on other people's toddlers anymore either (my own have ruined me). I have, however brought up my younger brothers and sisters. I played with all 5 of then, 4 of them when the were babies.
Despite my general lack of imagination, I'm actually REALLY good at playing with babies. This doesn't take much effort (except being able to tolerate the tedium of being home ALL DAY ALONE with a baby who can't talk). I made it through said tedium using Dawson's Creek, diet coke and Doctors.
If you want to play with baby, but don't know how, here are some things to try to mix it up a bit.
Leave your phone upstairs for a bit - it removes the temptation to use it.
Read books - if you're at a complete loss for what to do or say, a picture book has all the words you need. Seriously, never consider whether a book is 'too old' just give it a try.
Playing in front of a mirror - Ewan and noah loved rolling on the floor in front of my mirrored wardrobe doors. Babies love faces, seeing themselves also let's them see action and effect.
Play in the cupboards - I would plonk baby down in front o either the pan cupboard or the plastic cupboard and let them explore, bash, stack, fill and enjoy. I highly recommend this, as it literally costs nothing and makes them so happy!
Wear baby - pop them in a sling and talk to them, as if they were a grown up. Use any language, in my books, the fancier the better.
Sing nursery rhymes, if you don't know any, just look up Hooplakidz or Little Baby Bum on YouTube. Sing along to your heart's content (or you get sick of it).
Caring for a baby is boring, lonely and a huge responsibility. You feel completely responsible for that little person, but be kind to yourself. Hell, I did all of the above and still checked Facebook 20 times an hour.
Lots of smiles, cuddles and quality time and they'll be a toddler who is good company by about 2 ish and by 4 they are fabulous, funny and keep you too busy!!
Adverts Work, opal fruits are still made to make your mouth water in my mind. Kia ora is too orangey for crows and Breast is Best. These are all facts, and companies spend more money than they should on peddling their brands (it'd be better spent on paying taxes, donating to cancer research).
Coco pops and McDonald's advertise, but that doesn't mean I feed them to my kids more than is healthy.
But when I chose to formula feed my babies? The adverts with the fuzzy focus, women living in tidy homes, with giggling bundles were far from my mind.
I needed to feed E. My colostrum wasn't enough and when I had to be taken to theatre and allowed to recover during my 15 minute obs, he was given formula by a midwife. Not because she had seen adverts but because he was 12 hours old and was ready for a meal.
E couldn't latch. I turned myself inside out, desperate to find help to get it all to work. For it to be as easy as the woman in Parent craft said (and unquote, 'there is not a single reason why a woman cannot breastfeed'). I called local charities, I hired a pump direct from medela. I was desperate not to use formula. Because the Breast is Best message was so powerful. Waaaaay more powerful than any subtle follow-on milk ads.
I am not alone in this feeling. The story is echoed from many mums who tried their hardest to provide the best start for their baby. I pumped for 8 weeks to avoid the shame of formula feeding. 8 weeks, of pumping while E still had eczema, colic, cradle cap and got a cold. I was brilliant at producing milk by the way. My proudest time!
After having N, he latched on and had read the book. He was amazing at breastfeeding. Sadly, I couldn't hack it; night 4, after 2 hours feeding, I started to cry and MrB made up a bottle and took over. He didn't do it because of adverts, he did it because he loved us, and wanted to protect me. I'm crying as I write this.
It is insulting to women, to insinuate that formula advertising affects the actions of women feeding their babies.
Feeding your baby is the most primal feeling I have ever experienced. Nothing matters more than them having the best. The absolute best. If if involves hours in the dark, allowing a health professional to manhandle your boob to help latching, hours of hoping, wondering why you failed.
It isn't adverts. It's making sure that baby gets fed. Regardless of oher circumstances, pnd, lack of milk, poor latching and of course ZERO support.
I'd like to start by saying that I have the flexibility of a lolly stick. So I am not going to be instagramming pics of myself working out as the sun rises in the morning. Now you are safe in that knowledge, I shall begin!
I tried out pilates about 10 years ago, I fancied it and dropped in a couple of times. It clicked with me, growing up with a negative perception of my body taught me to always suck my tummy in. So I was used to the lateral breathing thing.
Then, last summer, I noticed a sign that read 'pilates, 9-10' which also happened to be the time that the boys often went to Grandma and Grandad's house. So I gave it a bash!
I loved it, the classes are full of different people, there is no pressure to wear the right thing, be skinny (or young!). Then in stopped going, because I literally was so busy in December that I couldn't get time at all!
So in tried yoga, I knew nothing, except 'Namaste' and a few poses that I'd picked up from waybuloo and cosmic kids. I thought I'd hate yoga, I'd never fancied it, because it meant I had to try something new by just giving it a go. And that it my LEAST preferred learning style because I was mocked by an insensitive mother and stepdad when I was growing up (in have no idea how i coped with chemistry lab sessions...hours of just doing and trying...well I didn't really cope!!).
So, since I went to my first yoga class it has become and revelation. The original hatha teacher left the studio, but his classes have been taken over by other teachers. One of whom is so fab that I want to do a late shift every Friday so I can go before work! And the other is so grounded and brilliant at encouraging self-caring practise.
So I have committed £42 a month to Chakra Studio, because:
it (yoga and pilates) makes me feel good
It's cheaper than therapy
It helps me with my anxiety aches and pains
It teaches me to relax
It encourages me to just have a go. To want to develop. I'm excited about classes!
£42 sounds steep, yeah? Not really, considering it's for unlimited classes and it will mean I make a bigger effort to ask for babysitting.
Thanks for reading. If you have never tried, I really recommend it!
I've always been a compliment-driven person, I didn't get any as a child. Nothing in did was good enough, so I still struggle with my self-worth as an adult.
As a result of this, I wanted to start a rewards system, so I could have tangible proof that I did compliment them. For those days when I feel that all is lost and I can't even have a wee in peace.
Initially I thought pom poms, they are colourful and easy to get hold of. But then a friend said that she has used marble jars for her children for some time and that it is a really good way to reward helpful behaviour.
So, I have 2 cleaned peanut butter jars and 200 marbles. Total cost £4 (not including the peanut butter).
Every time a boy does something kind, nice, helpful, or makes good choices, they get a marble (and a big verbal acknowledgement).
Putting shoes on,
hanging coats up when the come inside (instead of wazzing them on the floor)
Coming to the table at mealtimes and not screaming (Noah, that's you!),
Being polite unexpectedly,
Being helpful before nursery even though they feel upset (this is an important one, they are allowed to feel upset and I totally validate that feeling, but refusing to get dressed, kicking shoes off, etc was common before the jars).
I have visual proof that I have 2 well behaved, lovely boys and they get real-time feedback both verbally and a reminder of the marble jars, which I keep on the kitchen windowsill. This means that when I do shout at them, or tell them off for being little shockers, that I don't feel as wracked with guilt as I once did. Because I KNOW that I reward good behaviour.
I'm getting to grips with removing marbles when they are really trying, hitting and refusing to make it better is a definite marble out.
Anyway, thanks for reading. I'm really proud of myself and I'd recommend this system!
Today is the day of the first reward, and I'm feeling pretty generous, so we are off to the big toy shop that is run by the Geoffrey the Giraffe! Ewan is dying to get a Nexo Knights set from the new Lego series.
Until next time xx
Anxiety is caring too much about everything.
Depression is not caring about anything.
Having both is the constant worry about the now, while still being hurt by the past.
Dear Anxiety,
We have known one another for a very long time. My first clear memory of you becoming a bit of a pain was when I was 17, shortly after the break up of a relationship. I became plagued by self-doubt and social anxiety. So, in the years hence, I spent a lot of time living my life feeling like I was imposing myself on my friends. University in particular was a very lonely time.
Then the social anxiety bled into my work life, my intrusive thoughts leading to anxiety attacks and sickness absence. I kept it a secret for the longest time from MrB, until one day I was caught and I came clean about the horrible anxiety attacks that made me look fine, when I was falling apart inside.
MrB helped me to get you in check, 'it's ok, you're ok, just one step at a time.' He would coax me into work, often dropping me off to help me through the panic. (Remembering this is very emotional for me, he really is amazing).
About 2 years of no severe anxiety passed, August 2009 to early 2011. My halcyon days. I'd say yes to social plans (every time, and turn up). I learned to battle you, anxiety. I learned to know how you felt, and I could ignore it because I thought it would get better over time. I got really good at ignoring, pushing past you. I read about social anxiety, it helped a little But then I had babies.
Severe antenatal anxiety. Everything was something to worry about, and catastrophising became my mainstay. If I dropped a sock on the grass in the garden, I'd have to re wash it, in case there was some cat poo remains from years ago there. Simply because the leaflets said to be careful of cat faeces.
So, when my PND developed, my anxiety had already peaked and was once again combined with depression. I had to choose, in my first CBT appointment, in July 2014, between CBT for anxiety or depression. I had to CHOOSE, there and then. I chose depression, because it was making my life the most miserable then.
It's now February 2016, and I am done with you, anxiety. I have an irrational fear of dog poo. Standing in it, walking past it. It makes me mean, shouty and ridiculous when out with the boys. It causes me so much worry that I prefer not to walk places with the boys.
This is just one example, I have plenty more reasons to give anxiety the push.
Your days are numbered, my heart shrinking, attention seeking little pal. I want to delete your number, block you on twitter and never see you again.
I've been referred for CBT, and in the meantime I'll be writing, I'll be seeking self-help and i'll do whatever I can do to stop you in your tracks.
I deserve to be happy and kind to myself.
Yours, Caroline
Growing up with a mum who was emotionally unsupportive took its toll on my interactions with other girls and women. I had no idea how to be sisterly, how to respect the opinions, life choices and beauty of other women. I was raised to be judgmental, I was a judgmental arsehole in my head...
Until I started to tweet the #pndfamily. I was greeted and reassured with electronic hugs, and I remember feeling quite awkward...I wouldn't accept or like a real hug, so what am I supposed to do with twitter hugs?
I've been tweeting for 2 years about my post natal depression, electronic hugs are a mainstay of my online experience. I have learned the value of having someone to sit with you, in your darkest moments. Sitting together, being there, being kind when your depressed mind cannot remember how to be kind.
The sisterhood and solidarity shown to me in those early days helped me to learn, that I am capable of being nice, genuine and caring. That my empathy, kindness and experience have value not just to me, but to my family and other people who are struggling.
I was a jigsaw that was completely jumbled up. As I put myself together during the late part of 2014, the kindness of those people who had become my friends helped me to become someone better than I was before.
That's why I still, regularly check and interact with #pndchat. Because I want to be there for others who are in their own dark, sad, depressed, anxious places.
I am employed within the public sector, and as such, I am bound by rules of professionalism, integrity and respectability.
I use this blog as a way of saying, 'hey, this is me, here and now.'
There have been times when I have felt really really low. I am very self aware and in full knowledge of my fitness to do my job. I disclose my mental health issues at work, to those who need to know or who ask.
My opinions are mine, and mine alone. I never disclose my employer and rarely my job. My online, social media presence is completely unconnected to my job but it remains an essential part of my mong term recovery.
Let's talk about how my meds affect my sleep, they have improved the quality of my sleep and banished anxious hours laid in bed, dreading having to get up.
I'm on sertraline, which slows my brain down, and makes me sleep a bit deeper. This was always the case, even from the beginning, so I have always taken it at bedtime. This isn't the case for everyone, but I'm grateful for this side effect, especially as I'm a great believer that a decent night's sleep helps me to work though problems.
I was started on mirtazipine, initially as a direct swap for sertraline, long story short, I ended up on a low dose of both and have been this way for a year. Under the supervision and advice from doctors. Anyway, this drug has revolutionised bedtime for me in many ways.
I fall asleep quickly - with orodispersible tablets, they get to work much faster and I can be asleep within 15-30 minutes!
I get back to sleep easier and faster after loo trips and night settling.
I don't wake an hour before my work alarm, and so don't have to fight my intrusive thoughts alone for ages before I even start my day.
I also sleep heavily, REALLY heavily! None of this sleeping with one ear open after kids malarkey, mirtazipine knocks me out. If MrB is at home, I mostly sleep through the night with the odd loo trip. I often wake in the morning to discover that he has been up 3-4 times with the boys in the night. When he is at work at night, I do get up, I think I sleep a bit lighter when I'm solo. But I feel quite bad at MrB is doing all the settling. I tell him to give me a nudge, and he does when he needs to, but i get a lot more sleep. So I'm trying to let him have more lie ins to evening out, and to be fair, if sleep keeps me being a decent mummy, a reliable worker and an emotonally stable wife and best friend, then I don't need to feel guilty. I am, however, very lucky.
I've written many posts over the last 18 months about my mental health, the whys, hows and reasonings ramblings). I often use my blog to work out my feelings or "where I am at" there and then. Today, I'm going to talk about my PND journey,as I've been suffering a few flashbacks on holiday and I want some closure.
I'm pretty sure I didn't have PND after having Ewan so i pick up the story after Noah's birth in March 2013:
The pregnancy had been anxious, my anxiety lessened somewhat by having an elective caesarean booked, but heightened because Noah was small for dates and had weekly growth scans from 28 weeks. I was signed off sick from work at 26 weeks due to pelvic girdle pain.
The delivery went well, the midwives and doctors followed by caesarean birth plan and nothing bad happened. He latched on lile he had read the manual and I felt accomplished-ish.
I have no recollection of "the baby blues", I felt ok, and MrB had a few weeks off work and then went back to his shift pattern of 6 days on, 4 days off. It was hard, I had 2 boys under 18 months and for 5 months I thought I was fine. Close to the end of August, I self diagnosed with PND and went to tell my GP. With retrospect, things were dark from only a month post-partum, I remember feeling worthless, like I had no personality and nothing to offer my friends if I saw them. I felt empty, but assumed that was how all mums in my position felt. Health visitors asked how I was, I said "oh yes, I've had depression before, I know what to look for".
I couldn't see where the tiredness ended and I began, I was tired to my very soul. MrB was a saint and let me go to bed really early (asleep by 7pm) and always fully pulled his weight 50:50.
when Noah was 10 weeks old, MrB took us on an inpromptu holiday to centerparcs, he just knew I needed something and he hoped a holiday was it. The holiday made me feel a bit better and "less murderous" was how I phrased it to a concerned friend on Facebook.
August 2013, my GP offered me citalopram because it was the "cheapest" and neglected to refer me for the CBT which I had asked for. I refused medication for months, trying hard to use exercise, serotonin boosting supplements and precisely arranged logistics to get better. No amount of organising, hoping or gadgets could help me shake off the feeling I was failing at everything.
I was also getting worse, consistently with every 10 day cycle of MrB's shifts. It was awful, I was being the best mother the children could want for, we went out, they were always clean, and yet, somehow I was never good enough for my own standards and comparisons with other mums. I was desperately lonely, believing that I had no friends, and hoping that I wouldn't bump into anyone I knew when we were out, and if we did, I'd hide. Ashamed of myself and my lack of personality.
PNDHOUR began in January 2014, I found it within a fortnight and was a regular contributor. I met many women who supported me, and showed me the kindness I had no way of giving back either to them or to myself. I learned that medication is not something to fear, that it is a necessary tool in recovery for many people with mental health illnesses.
I want to cry, having written this story, because I don't know how I would have made it through 2014 otherwise. I had no idea how ill I was, and I'm not sure how many other women felt like this.
