Being a Mom without a Mom

This piece should probably be called being a person without your person, because I don’t think missing Mom has been harder since Finley arrived. If anything he has helped. By becoming a new person in my world he has made the gaping hole she left just that little bit smaller. This piece may ring true to some of you who have lost a person though; maybe you have felt similar or maybe you have felt differently but for some reason I decided that now is the time to share my first experience of loss.

My Mom died of a heart attack in December 2001. I went to my Saturday job that morning, my Dad arrived to it in the afternoon and had to tell me that his wife, my mother, was dead. He had to do that five times in total, to each of my four siblings, one of whom was pregnant. I remember walking out of the shop into the street decorated for Christmas and I couldn’t breath. The wind had been knocked right out of me and would take a long time to return.

Before I continue my Dad is more of a hero than you even think he is right now and so I know he won’t feel left out in this piece because he knows what I think of him. He has been Mom and Dad for 15 years, he even used to buy sanitary products for me and sister in the weekly shop (thanks Dad), He did everything possible to ease the loss and ease it he did. He has now taken up the role of being Grandad and Nanny and is doing so with aplomb.

So Mom. I keep starting a sentence with when she died and then deleting it because…well what about when she died? When she died so did the future that I had been planning. When she died I lost the chance of just being 18, of just being 19, of just having my twenties. Death had knocked on my door and left it ajar. I was acutely aware that life can end, with one missed beat of a heart it can stop. It’s very hard to live in the moment when you know that that moment may be the very last you have.

As strange as it may sound I have had to work hard to accept that I would probably see the night, and the morning, and I would probably see the weekend. I had to relearn how to make plans expecting to keep them. Your brain, or at least my brain, tried to protect me from the shock I suffered with her death but in doing so it prepared me for everyone’s death, that’s a pretty exhausting way to go about your day. It’s also exhausting to be the partner of someone who lives like this. If my now husband didn’t return a call quick enough I would get anxious and I would be angry at him for making me wait. To this day when I get a call from a family member that I am not expecting for a brief second I am scared to answer. It’s unfair and it sucks for all involved, it’s hard to ask someone to buy a litre of milk when they are talking to you as if you might be the grim reaper.

When Mom died I suffered from fits which damaged the nerve in my right arm and meant I could no longer write like an adult should, I would write maybe two or three words at a time and then my arm would freeze and I could do no more. Every time I tried to write I cursed her and so in the months following her death I missed her, I hated her, I grieved for her, I begged for one more moment with her and I blamed her for not letting me have it. When she died I spent some portion of every day sitting and thinking about her face and her voice because I was so scared of forgetting them. When she died I felt her face with my eyes closed so that I could store it to memory. When she died I wondered what the hell was I meant to do now?

For those of you who never met her she had beautiful cheekbones. Her whole makeup regime involved only black eyeliner and mascara. She washed her face with soap and used Vaseline as her moisturiser and she was glorious. She always took her glasses off for pictures even though she really couldn’t see without them. She organised a holiday every summer that would take us all around Ireland, once to Wales and once to France where my brother was made sleep in a separate tent including on a night that a storm arrived and he almost got washed away. God how we laughed, my poor brother. She made memories for us without knowing that we would spend most of our life reliving them without her.

Men loved my Mom. She was funny and beautiful, she was a great flirt (sorry Dad!) but I don’t think she knew she was. A few weeks after she died the oil man arrived, when we told him she died he had to come in for tea with sugar, he was devastated. Imagine when you die that your impact is so great even the oil man is in mourning. My Mom was a treasure and I didn’t even know it. As it turns out I want to be the kind of Mother that she was, I think that would probably give her a knowing laugh.

When Finley arrived I discovered how much she loved me. God that regret of never knowing or appreciating it. Of course she told me she loved me but hey I was 18, what did I care? A few weeks after Finley was born I was really sick and I was tired, and I cried so hard for her. Where the hell was she? How could she not stay to meet my baby, to meet the father of my baby. And the hardest thing of all is that I know, wherever she is, she’s asking herself the same questions.

So being a Mom without a Mom, being a person without your person? If you’ve never lost someone close then the experience of it is far more encompassing than you think. It affects more parts of your life for longer than you can probably appreciate. You may not need to hear that but it might help with the level of empathy you give someone, and for how long you give it. When you wake up ready for your day I wake up ready for mine missing Mom. Every day feels like it starts with a -1 and while we may both end up with a +10 for an awesome day I’ve worked that little bit harder to get there. Every death, and every knock that follows hits hard because the foundation is already a little shaky. That’s what it feels like to me. Somedays I realise it, some days I don’t, but every day I remember she died. For every time you get a message, or a call from your Mom I don’t. For every coffee you have with her, for every dinner she makes you, for every smile she has given you I have not had this. And mostly now for every kiss she gives your baby, mine has received none.

How has it affected my parenting? I’m not sure because I guess I have nothing to compare it to. I know that it has affected every part of me and therefore it affects me as a mother. I know I’m anxious about getting pictures with him because I want to make sure he has them if I die. I write down how much I love him so that he knows how wanted he was if I die. Life becomes a little more about death than it should be. I accept that as Finley grows he will be interested in his Nanny but she’ll always be an abstract concept. I know that’s not his fault and I will need to not blame him for it. She will always be a part of my life but she will have never been a real part of his. Kids know what they can see, I have to learn to accept this.

I also know that I bathe in the glory of motherhood. I know that I haven’t fought with my husband as much, or he with me, because we are just so grateful to have this happiness. The joy Finley has brought us feels like a relief or maybe more accurately it feels like a release. Death is a leech, it hangs on trying to ruin your finest moments but the life of a baby is far more powerful. Finally something more powerful than death. In many ways life feels lighter and easier since he arrived, I can welcome back use of the word Mom now. It’s a small word when often used but it echoes loudly when left unsaid.

This piece feels very self absorbed and pitying, lets be honest that’s because it is. I’m writing this one for me, and for everyone who has lost a person and tries so hard to just get on with it. Perhaps Mothers Day inspired me. Also I’m interested in human experience, especially ones I have not gone through and so some of you may be interested to read this having never felt able to ask the questions.

And I want to appreciate that I’m here writing it because I was surrounded by wonderful people when it happened. The evening of Moms funeral my friends brought me back to one of their family homes and put on Shrek. I think they were probably worried that Shrek was a terrible movie choice but it has given me my  single happy memory from that time. They were only 18 too and yet how they reacted to me from then to now was perfect. The first thing my sister did was to ask if I was ok, she too had just lost Mom but in that moment she cared more about me. My sister in law sat beside me when the coffin was brought into the house, and my brother held me as my fits took hold. I like to think that each of us has protected each other and I hope this is Moms legacy, she created a family to love each other and that we do.

Hmm how do you finish a piece like this? I want to finish it by telling you to love your Mom or your person more, to tell them that you do, to listen to them when they say it back, to create memories with them, to let arguments go and not waste time but I’m saying all of that because I still live as if I will die tomorrow….maybe though instead of that being a curse it is actually a blessing?

You, Me, He and We

Sometimes I can’t decide if the world shows just happiness or just sadness. Social media is full of everyone's bright moments which makes it hard when you’re struggling, but yet we also only read about death and despair. So I write about my struggles hoping they will help someone else, but now I want to write about my sunshine because that can be helpful too. I forget, or maybe I remember but feel guilty, that it’s ok to be happy. Its great in fact, it should be celebrated, banked and cashed in to bring us through those times that are less joyful.

You

Before I got married I read about the pitfalls of being married. Websites are very helpful for laying out the Top 10 things to avoid if you want a happy marriage. They eagerly point out the roles we should play, the reasons we stray and how to make sure you know when your partner does. And then I got married and I forgot what was on which list and I was me, and he was he and we were happy. 

Then I got pregnant and I read about how much stress a baby places on a relationship. People eagerly share the impact that a baby has and, sadly, at times I did worry about us. Would we love the baby more than each other? Can a bubble grow or does it just burst? Would I resent my baby or my husband if I was given less love and our new person was given more?

And then Finley Winston Doyle arrived and I discovered that bubbles grow and grow. That love grows and grows. That your heart doesn’t increase in size to accommodate just the baby, but also the person standing terrified with you. I knew my husband would be a great Dad so that wasn’t a surprise, I had just never thought of how him being a Dad would change him as a husband. Of course there are pressures, my god we have driven each other mad. Sleepless nights, painful days. A baby who couldn’t tell us why he was sad, a partner who couldn’t fix it. Everyone is right, it changes things. The websites aren’t lying…the lists are real but they are incomplete. 

They need a but. A big movie style BUT.

You will cry, you will hate each other (a friendly version of hate), you will fight over abstract emotions that neither of you really feel BUT you will laugh so much. You will lean on each other and feel the strength of your teammate. You will trust the love you have. You will collapse into the history you share like a safety blanket, wrapping you in belief and helping to reenergise your determination. You will see your child love his parent and you will see why. You will look at this person you created together and sometimes that fact alone will leave you breathless. A whole life that exists because you chose it to. You will be proud and you will be content and you will realise that those feelings are very under rated.

He

Our boy. I don’t even know what to write about him, I am not a great enough writer to give him justice. Sometimes it feels like I can see my emotions and so here is my best explanation of being Finleys Mom. In the days following my Mothers death I lay on the sofa in my dressing gown and I recall a feeling of blackness around me. I can remember the feeling still, it just felt dark. Finley is colour, he feels like a deep breath, my love for him extends like a universe. This morning I turned to look at him; he was clapping and smiling to himself, then he saw me and just started to laugh; in that moment life felt complete. My greatest fear now is that he may not know my love for him. That fear in itself is a privilege, because instead of feeling like I have no future I worry about how long my future will be. I accept how lucky I am to experience that.

And We

My family. I am a mother, I am a wife. Some days I feel very far removed from the person I want to be, sometimes I feel like this person is exactly who I have worked to become. Motherhood does that to you. It’s hard to merge your new identity with the feeling that you don’t have one at all.  Right now I’m happy for my priority to be my family, I know it will come back to being myself but until then I’m going to enjoy the simplicity that life with a baby brings.

What’s the point of this piece? Well it’s not to brag. It’s not to sit smugly. It’s just to say that I’m happy and I feel lucky to be. It’s to try counteract some of the lists, some of the dread and the fears. It’s to recognise that while both take work, marriage and parenting are great decisions. That a baby can have a positive effect on a relationship, it just sells more ad space when we talk about the negatives.

This isn’t everyone’s experience of course. I needed to represent my story though because this life, especially on social media, needs a bit of balance.

p.s You may have noticed the chirpier tone of this blog. Yes my friends Finley now sleeps. Love is alive, the sky is blue, the birds sing sweetly once more. 

Silent Ref(l)ucks

Remember I said I would be writing more, and then I didn’t. And then I did…..but inevitably I didn’t. Well here I am again hoping I’ll write more. I have missed the cathartic nature of writing, I have needed it more than ever the last few months but the reason I’ve needed to write is the reason I haven’t been able to.

Finley is almost 7 months old, seven whole months. Jesus. The last time I wrote things were tough and I told you about crying in my yoga class. Well turns out that was the beginning of the end of my sanity! As I suspected our poor bub had silent reflux which is probably a symptom of his cows milk protein intolerance. Basically it means he (and we) spent at least 16 weeks dealing with acid travelling up and down his oesophagus (it’s silent because he swallows it back down rather than vomiting). Medication helped and stopped the nights of non stop crying however many more tears were to follow, evenly divided between me and my boy.

So straight up silent reflux is a temporary issue which babies grow out of. It’s not life challenging or life limiting, it didn’t require hospital stays for us and therefore it is minor, almost insignificant, compared to what other people face. I absolutely accept that and it was my mantra every day. What it did do though was send me to a place of exhaustion and stomp on my fingers every time I tried to climb out. All new parents are exhausted, you know that – we say it all the time. We say it so much it’s boring, what did we expect? We tell expecting parents with glee – oh just wait for the exhaustion, you think you’re tired now? We scoff. Well reflux tired is different. Reflux tired is being kept up all night by your tormenter and then tending to their needs every day.

Wait, stop. Finley is not a tormenter, I know that. Finley spends all day smiling and laughing. He holds my face in his tiny hands and kisses me constantly. Everything I do makes him laugh, he’s the most rewarding audience I’ve ever had. He is literally a standing ovation (well maybe not literally since he can’t stand, but you know what I mean). He takes his medicine laughing, he changed to bottles laughing, we should have named him Joy and just have let him deal with the consequences. However the first hour of the morning I've had to accept another new day and the last hour of night we have had to ready ourselves for the lack of sleep to come. I have had to remind myself that he is not a tormenter, he is my gift, an accumulation of every good we had done in our lives given back to us in a beautiful package. This is the greatest test of reflux, to separate the baby from the circumstance.

What has made it so hard though? Sometimes I don’t know. Tiredness is a tricky beast, it takes over everything even your memory. I know that every day I was exceptionally happy, I know that Finley never got the brunt of my tiredness but I know that Brian did. I know that the three of us danced in the kitchen together every night, I know that every day Brian got a picture of Finley being adorable, and I know that almost every morning he had to see me have one little cry to help me get it out of my system. We have been hellbent on not letting it take over our experience of Finley and it hasn’t. Day to day has been glorious still, but somewhere amongst it all I developed a slight anxiety of night times. The anxiety probably made them worse than they actually were because I started to fear the night and what it would bring, even the times when it ended up not being so bad. It also made me slightly unreasonable when it came to letting go of control and allowing Brian to help more.

Thankfully I think (please god let it be true) we have finally got Finley settled on the right formula, his medication has the reflux under control and so we moved him into his own room to see if it would help with his wakenings. I very quietly whisper this but it has. Due to a foot injury and being unable to rock him asleep I’ve also inadvertently started sleep training and the last two nights he has woken only once. Immediately things are better for me, which is where we are blessed that it was only reflux we have had to deal with. And that brings me back here, to write it all down and document another new part of parenting that I hadn’t expected. Parenting has been a struggle at times, thankfully though Finley, our baby, has not.

And you Reflux, you can go f(l)uck yourself.....see what I did there?

PS: my next blog is going to be such a happy one. It's going to be a giant brag about my life, so much bragging you'll need a vomit bag just to get through it.  

Oh I’ve cried…

Haven’t you? 

Today I cried in my yoga class. Yep it happened. Every class our lovely teacher asks us how our week has been and instead of my usual witty (in my opinion) response today I started talking, choked up and could barely finish. The. Shame.

Why? Well we’ve had a few bad nights with Finley. He suffers with trapped wind which I mentioned in my b(r)estfeeding post and it has since become worse. He hasn’t slept for the past three nights and not only is this slightly tortuous and exhausting (which it really is) but I think the tears were based on my inability to cope with seeing him in pain. This is one reason I cried.

Let’s get something straight though; I’ve cried many times before today. I have probably cried once a week but often it’s just tears streaming down my face and usually because I’m too tired to hold my emotions in. I’m not sad, I’m not upset, in fact they often come because I’m happy and also, I just need to cry sometimes. This aspect of motherhood has been a slight revelation to me and possibly the most fascinating part of this new life. There is an ebb and flow of motherhood that has meant I have had tears rolling but felt extreme joy at the same time. Finley just needs to look at me and my whole body fills with a joy I couldn’t create for myself. It’s not even joy, it’s a feeling of contentment and satisfaction that I did not think achievable. They seem like such boring words to use when talking about my son but to me they are golden. To be content, fully content and happy, is priceless to me.

So, the tears are nothing new, but letting them out in front of my yoga class was unexpected. I’ve been trying to figure out why it happened today. One reason is I’m completely exhausted. When I say, he hasn’t slept I don’t mean he hasn’t slept more than two hours, I mean he has 10 – 20 minute blocks and is then awake upset and in pain. Still though I don’t think that is why I cried.

One theory that is dawning on me as the day progresses is that I cried out of disappointment. I have tried so hard to enjoy every moment this beautiful child has brought. On the days that have been hard I have taken a moment but always could put the smile back on and go forth in positivity. This week I haven’t been able to. This week motherhood has kicked my ass and that has been slightly devastating. I wanted to bask in every glorious moment and, if I’m honest, I thought that if I let my defences down, and admit that it’s been hard people would worry about me and think I am overwhelmed. Its ridiculous I know. I don’t even think it’s a pressure that has been put on me but rather one I’ve given myself. When people have told me I’m a natural, or that motherhood suits me I literally grow in stature. I am a natural aren’t I?! It really does suit me you’re right. I guess that I didn’t allow for the picture of a happy, natural Mom to be one that cries….in her yoga class.

This week however has expanded my horizons on what kind of Mom I want to be. I see now that being a successful parent means having moments and days that are kinda crappy and admitting so. I know we live in a world where we are open and honest but sometimes as parents and Moms, and women we aren’t always as honest with each other as we could be. So here I am feeling tired, mortified, with my resolve slightly bruised but not defeated saying I have cried, haven’t you?

B(r)estfeeding?

So breastfeedng is a bitch right?! It’s the least natural ‘natural’ thing I’ve ever done. I don’t even know if I continue to do it because I love it, I’m too lazy to formula feed or (which I hope is the reason) I know that it’s working for my baby and so I am persevering through all the pitfalls we have encountered out of blinding love and adoration for him. This week however, like an oasis in the dessert, I see a bottle of formula in my future and I am slowly crawling through the dry sands to reach it.

Let’s start at the beginning. Finley arrived into the world and latched like a boss. He was straight on, feeding away and his latch was worthy of a primary school teachers gold star sticker. We came home in a haze of glorious love for each other and our brand-new baby boy. Two days in and we were rocking parenting. Then the public health nurse arrived and to my shock and horror my 10lb baby had lost weight. BUT… WHAT? Aha fear not said Dr Google, this is normal and he will regain it in no time. We continued to feed round the clock and the PHN returned….dear god not only was he not gaining fast enough, he also wasn’t doing enough poos. MY BOOBS ARE EMPTY I cried, I am starving my child I wept, everything is terrible and nothing will ever be good again I lamented. Disclaimer: our PHN was so lovely however the constant weighing and calls about pooey nappies truly made me want to return to the hospital and make them show me how to keep my baby alive. **Spoiler Alert** He is fine and it was all normal.

So, all babies lose weight straight after they are born. Babies that are formula fed tend to put it on faster while breastfed babies have to wait for the milk to arrive and thus it can take longer. Also, the poo will arrive, don’t you worry Mama, it will arrive good and strong and you will laugh at the day that you fretted. Your baby may then poo many times a day, once a day or once every few days. Breast milk has little waste which is why it can vary from baby to baby and digestive system to digestive system. Remember, as you will have now been told 4 million times, every baby is unique.

During the never-ending weight/ poo drama (which lasted 2 little weeks until he was back to birth weight) I also began to feel an unusual sensation in my boobs. It was day 5 when I felt like there were lines of pain in both breasts and which I decided was my milk coming in. Hurrah! I thought, my baby shall be fed, but ouch it sure does hurt to feed him. This pain got worse…and worse. I cried many times. Dr Google said cracked nipples…bleeding nipples…air your nipples, keep them dry. I walked around the house for days with my boobs hanging out, telling my husband not to look at me as the last shards of my dignity packed its knapsack and scuttled away, too embarrassed to be seen with me. Then Dr Google told me I might have nipple thrush. Yes you heard me, thrush IN MY NIPPLES. Well that’s wonderful. Off to the lactation consultant we went. She showed me how to latch Finley and suggested a treatment for my nipples which was two types of cream on the nipples to be washed off before feed. Considering my baby fed approximately 4,000* times a day this was a pain in the…nips. *(may be a slight exaggeration)

I persevered but alas the pain only got worse. I was then diagnosed with ductal thrush. Yes you heard me, thrush in my milk ducts. One dose of treatment…nothing. A second dose of treatment…nothing. However just for the craic I also got mastitis during this week. That was fun and probably caused by bad feeding techniques due to the spears of hot fiery pain coursing through my breasts. Antibiotics were taken and a new strong 2-week treatment was given for the thrush. Hurrah it will be gone. But wait…what is this constant burn in my nipples you ask? Ah well it turns out that underneath all of those pains I also have extremely sensitive nips inherited from my Mother who passed away before I ever cared to ask about her breastfeeding history. I can tell you the temperature through nipple power alone these days.

And now, 15 weeks later, how am I? Oh well thank you for worrying, I’m super. Ha! Just joking. Our new dilemma is that Finley, due to a stuffy nose, may be getting too much fore milk which is making him gassy and screamy (is that a word?) and not enough of my fine creamy hind milk. Yes I have returned to the fore and hind milk issue. Sigh. If it does not improve I shall try a bottle of formula and see if that doesn’t work. If that doesn’t work then my son and I shall set off to the Caribbean and share a cocktail made on coconut milk which, if you believe popular culture, appears to be the answer for everything.

So after all of that jolly talk what are the lessons I’ve learnt? I’m going to number them to make sure you don’t miss an important lesson. You’re welcome

1.      Well breastfeeding is the hardest, most demanding, relentless thing I have ever done and yet I choose to do it multiple times every day and feel grateful that I have been able to breastfeed my baby. So I guess that shows the power of breastfeeding? 

2.      Breastfeeding is a choice. You shouldn’t feel like you have to do it, but you shouldn’t feel that you can’t either. It is incredibly rewarding and if you want to breastfeed you almost certainly can, you just need some guidance from a lactation consultant, some perseverance and a box of paracetamol to help.

3.      The marketing of breastfeeding is WAY off mark. Please be honest with us dear Government. If you want me to breastfeed show me the picture of the lady with her boobs hanging out to air dry while she cries into her pint of water that she desperately needs to be alcohol/ a comfort drink. I am yet to meet the woman who spent her time breastfeeding with a designer shirt gently resting midway down her arm, her freshly showered hair touching softly off her face as she gazes lovingly at her thriving baby. That might happen but for me.. and every woman I’ve spoken with this was not the case. Tell us it’s hard and brutal and lots can go wrong, then tell us how to avoid this. And remind us that it’s a choice and you can stop but that many women don’t and that it is worth it. The moment I accepted that I didn’t have to breastfeed was when I decided I wanted to and would keep going. Don’t give new Moms false expectations when the reality is so different and she will only find that out when she is exhausted, emotional and possibly sitting on a rubber ring because of extensive surgery to save her vagina (just me?) 

4.      Show me the… Lactation Consultant. Did you know that after having a baby you can’t be discharged until you ‘open your bowels’ (more on that another day)? Well in my opinion as a first-time breastfeeding mother you also shouldn’t be able to leave until you have seen a lactation consultant or been given an appointment for a satellite clinic. I honestly didn’t know that milk coming in wasn’t meant to feel like my breasts may fall off due to combustion until the lactation consultant told me.  Want me to breastfeed? Support me, guide me and make it possible for me to keep going. Not everyone has the money to hand out to a private LC and I would put money on the fact that those who can’t pay to see one may be the same people who stop breastfeeding despite a strong desire to continue. 

5.      I should probably mention dear breastfeeding mothers that I am unique in the amount that has happened. In fact I appear to be a leaflet of all the things that can be wrong, wrapped up in my two boobs to make it easier for you to hear all of the pitfalls in one story. You’ll be fine and you will most likely adore breastfeeding.

Movie Star Tears.

Today I am in a heighted state of pregnancy emotions. These emotions have led me to develop movie star tears which have appeared on and off since this morning. I am highly amused by these pregnancy tears; they gently roll down my face without any warning or sound. They glisten in my eyes, leaving no red rim, and thankfully do not harm my makeup. In typical Niamh fashion I have finally cracked the movie star crying code and yet I’m far too pregnant to break Hollywood (yes it is only my pregnancy that is preventing me from being discovered).

Anyways I think pregnancy tears are hilarious so have decided to bring you through my day so far. You may read these thinking there must be some exaggeration for dramatic effect but sadly that is not the case. Before you read them I would like to mention that I am in fact very delighted with life currently.

I cried movie star tears when:

• I thought my sleeping husband was annoyed at me. I had to wait for him to wake up in order to ask, turns out he wasn’t. Yes, I know, you’re right; it’s very hard for someone who is asleep to exhibit signs of annoyance however that did not stop me crying.
• I arrived at the bus stop and thought my bus had left early. It hadn’t, I got on it at the usual time.
• A lady was nice to me. My swipe card wasn’t working and she told me my day would get better when I had a coffee. That level of kindness was too much this morning.
• I got into the car after a packed Luas journey when no-one gave me their seat, even though I was holding my bump like the celebs do in magazines.

I wanted to cry when: (this means tears pricked my eyes but I didn’t let them fall)

• I wanted a muffin and bought one.
• I saw a picture of a premature baby born at the same stage as my baby is at now.
• I was worried that I wouldn’t love my baby.
• I thought about how much I love my baby.
• I had to ring my manager and was worried I would cry during the conversation.
• A lady power walked passed me during my lunchtime walk and I realised that she wasn’t really walking that fast.
• I saw children playing with swans in Stephens Green.
• I told my colleague about a day I forgot my keys to the office and it was raining outside.

While the movie star tears are most likely down to hormones, I am also slightly sleep deprived. Not only have I discovered the phenomenon of pregnancy tears but pregnancy dreams have also arrived full force. 

A few nights ago I dreamt that I was involved in a love triangle with Common and Xzibit (while still pregnant and married). We decided to work this problem out with the help of a mediator who turned out to be Robin Williams. Unfortunately the mediation came to an abrupt end when Robert De Niro shot us all. I rang my husband to say goodbye as I stood looking at the hospital he worked in. Sadly for me the hospital didn’t deal with those types of emergencies so I felt I shouldn’t go in and embarrass him. Not only was it a crappy dream but I woke feeling guilty about bringing Robin Williams back to life only to shoot him dead.

I’d like to think that tomorrow will be better, but I really shouldn’t think about it too much, just incase I cry.

Fear of commitment.

As I write this I am 25 weeks 3 days pregnant. I weighed myself during the week, I still don’t know if that was a good idea or bad. I never weight myself in normal life, I just try on my skinny day jeans to see if I need to consider eating less. Unfortunately that doesn’t work anymore, those mock me when I try entice them past my knees. Anyway I appear to be 3 lbs up on the result given when searching for ‘weight gain at 25 weeks’ (I know I’m all for accurate, medically sound information). I’m not sure how I feel about those 3lbs – they seem irrelevant compared to the other XXX lbs I’ve gained (no I’m not ready to share with you) however I also feel those 3 lbs will be my nemesis post pregnancy when I try to fit back into my wardrobe, especially because those 3lbs are very likely to turn into XXX lbs (no I’ll never tell).

I actually don’t mind the weight gain or soft feeling of my body from lack of hard core exercise. I still feel sexy and enjoy my rounded stomach but I do see how pregnancy can be tough for people who care more about their physical appearance. It really isn’t a vanity thing I’ve decided, it’s more about confidence and self-identity than about appearing attractive to others. So yes basically I’m saying it’s not about you, it’s about meeee. Anyway there’s my tuppence worth on body image in pregnancy…what do you mean you didn’t ask for it?

The other thing I have realised this week is that I have a fear of commitment. Yes 25 weeks and 3 days pregnant is quite late to realise this however worry not – my fear of commitment is towards baby item shopping. I am in the head melting world of baby buggies, dear Jesus there are too many models and so expensive.  We’re planning to go second hand and so I have signed up for alerts when new travel systems are uploaded. I check my email, find the perfect one at a good price, nod my head, admire the bargain and then close the email. I can’t commit to anything yet. What if the Quinny isn’t as good as the Uppa Baby, better than the Joolz but non match the Bugaboo??  Do you even know what those words mean? For some reason because I had a successful fusion of egg and sperm I’m now meant to. It’s a terrifying and unpredictable world and I am among it without so much as an instruction manual (or bank balance to buy the Stokke which is so very pretty).

Amongst this fear of committing to buggies, baby clothes, nursery colours, drawers and cots I have realised a talent for committing to … blankets. Yes blankets. Possibly the least important item that is needed by a baby, (I mean you could put a towel on baby if you had to), however I have bought a blanket every time I’ve been meaning to buy a useful item on my list. I have blankets in grey, white, grey and white. Some are fluffy some are knitted, some are cute, some trendy. However all of them will fit and I’m almost certain I won’t regret purchasing any.

Blankets are safe, they are my friend, they are the accessory shopping on a day you feel fat. They don’t say anything about my ability to be a mother, they will lie there looking awesome and shan’t care what buggy there are seen in. One day I will drop one of these blankets, someone will pick it up and admire what a nice blanket I have. They will then see the glory of the child it is covering and I am entirely convinced won’t even notice that my buggy is a convenience shopping trolley. I guess what I’m saying is that it isn’t what’s on the inside that matters, but what you dress it up in.

It’s likely I have 4 – 19 more blankets to buy before I commit to any larger investment piece.