My Heart, Your Home   

Saturday, 31 October 2015

The day you learn you have a brain tumor

Tuesday 22nd of September I dropped Evie at kindy and left my two youngest kids with a friend while I went into town to have a CT scan performed on my brain. It was not something I was concerned about. I was not fearful, nervous or scared. It was a test to rule out anything sinister so that we could investigate my hormone levels as a cause to my severe headaches and lactating breast.

I laid there and completed the 20 minute scan, 20 minutes to lay down in quiet. It was almost peaceful. I picked up my kids and took them home for a sleep. On the way to pick Evie up in the afternoon from kindy I dropped in to the radiographers to pick up my results. Instead of being handed a big envelope of films, I had the radiographer meet me at the desk asking me to come in for some "clearer images". What does that mean?, I begged. He explained I needed to have a contrast injection to achieve a clearer image and that it was nothing to worry about. Yet him and all of the receptionists were looking at me. Looking at me like they knew something they weren't going to share with me. I walked out of there convincing myself that there was no problem, knowing that something wasn't quite right. 

I went back first thing the next morning. The door was opened for me, "Good Morning Jessica, right this way", they all watched me walk down the long corridor to the CT scanner. I was laid down by a woman with a gentle voice and calming hands and was hooked up with a cannula. She was shocked to learn that I had three young children and suddenly I saw a sadness in her eyes, she looked at me differently. For 40 minutes I laid in that scanner watching through the window that instead of the one radiographer from the day before there were three and "fresh out of med school" employee... there to learn. Learn because there was something wrong. I had become a case. 

I got home and called my GP, prepared to beg her for information. Prepared to tell her I can feel it. I know there is something to know. She answered the phone with an appointment that afternoon for an MRI scan and a number to call, "there is a lesion". So I called the number and confirmed the appointment, 1:45 that afternoon. I convinced myself that a lesion is okay. Its not a tumor, a lesion can be nothing. Then I received a call from my GP with an appointment the very next day with a neurosurgeon - "He is the best Jess, if I was to have anyone go into my brain, this is the guy". So I googled brain lesion. It can still be a tumor!

That afternoon I walked in to the MRI scanner, in a gown, naked from the waist up, another cannula in arm. I was strapped on to a long skinny board. Ear plugs shoved into my ears, headphones over top, wedges either side of my head, and entered into a plastic holder going over my face, then mechanically moved into a tube. A tube that sounds like car alarms, organ players and knocking. I was to have 20 minutes of scanning. Only, I wasn't moved out of that tube until 1 hour and 20 minutes later. 

I got home and I called my GP. Tell me what is going on. She didnt know, not yet. 6pm on thursday the 24th of September I received a phone call.

"I'm sorry to do this on the phone, normally I would want to see you"

What is it, I begged.

"There is a tumor"

Right okay, is that what is causing my headaches?

"Yes, absolutely"

Okay, well thank you. 

I got off that phone call and sat in shock for 5 minutes. I went to go and talk with Anthony to let him know. I saw his face when I told him that was the drs and I couldn't tell him. All I could do was cry. I sobbed. Big toddler-like heaving sobs. A cry that I didn't recognise and a cry that I haven't done since, until tonight. 


The next morning I went to see my Neurosurgeon (Dr. Raymond Cook, if ever you need one, he is amazing). I walked down this long white corridor with doors on each side, to the lonely door at the end. I paused, I took a breath, I took a moment to savour that moment. In my mind this was the last time my life could ever be ignorant to what may be. Before I opened that door, there was still a chance that the radiographers were wrong. There is still a chance there is nothing. 

I walked into that appointment to learn that not only was there a tumor, but there was a cyst. A small tumor in my left frontal lobe. A tumor that is likely benign, but can not be guarenteed. A cyst in the pituitary gland. I panicked. My skin went cold, covered in sweat, I couldn't speak properly and I couldn't breathe. 

"Its okay, its not totally bad news", he said.

Easy for him to say, this is MY head we are discussing and there is something there that shouldn't be there!

I left relieved that we are most likely not looking at cancer, there would be no treatment plan. There would either surgery, or there would be monitoring for the rest of my life. I left with a handful of other specialists to see, more drs, more appointments, more tests. I left feeling overwhelmed and lost and down right terrified.

I had an adventure ahead of me.

Sunday, 22 February 2015

Where has my creativity gone?

As I sit here, for nearly an hour, with a million thoughts racing through my mind and no ability to write them down, I am asking myself, 'is the choice to be dark and creative, or happy and subdued?'.

Before I started taking antidepressants my life was an absolute shambles. I had no routine, I woke feeling lost and I went to sleep feeling aimless. I suffered daily panic attacks. I cried, all the freaking time. I shouted and I nit picked. Since starting medication, I no longer panic, I dont feel nauseous at the thought of meeting new people, I have made friends and connections. My life is balanced, easier, calmer. I feel like I have feel my true centre. However, with that has come the loss of creativity and I don't know how to get it back!

Words have always come easily to me, not to speak them, but to write them. I understand words, I understand the story I am trying to tell and I am able to make my voice heard with writing. Picking up a pencil and drawing a scene that I have imagined in my mind was never intimidating, it was peaceful and calming and enjoyable. I have always had a dark centre and from that centre I was able to create beauty and light. I was able to write love poems, I was able to express myself with paint and I was able to capture moments with a lead pencil.

But now, I have been trying to write just a simple story, talk about the shining light that is my new son since he was, in fact, new. He is no longer new. He is 8 months old and I have not been able to write that story. I haven't been able to write a single story. I sit and I try, my word do I try. But I write, delete, rinse and repeat, until I finally explode with frustration and walk away.

If I were to pick up a pencil I would have no ability to picture a scene in my mind, let alone capture it on paper! I cannot conjure up anything that inspires me to write, to paint, to draw. To do anything that makes my creative spirit fly and I am wondering, do I still have that spirit, or has it flown away for good?

Is that my choice? 

I can be either dark, twisted and enjoy my creativeness. Or I can be boring, but happy and calm?

Why can't I have both?

Friday, 12 December 2014

2014 ~ The year that was

We find inspiration in many corners of the world, wether it be from fellow Mothers, world leaders, teachers, volunteers, friends or the woman next door. Inspiration is all around us. It is humbling to be told that you inspire another human, especially by another Mother. I have been overwhelmed by being given this title recently, an inspiration. To be the source of someone's inspiration is unexpected. As I am no-one special, I am not extraordinary, I am just a regular woman, an ordinary Mother. I spend my days balancing along the same line as we all do, walking the same roads as the rest of the world. There is no great divide between you and I, I do not consider myself a Mother above any other, I do not consider myself special, superb or overtly unique. I parent my children according to my core values, I have some areas in which I excel in and then I have others in which I fail miserably in. I do the very best I can do, and I give the very most I can give.

I began writing this blog and sharing stories of my parenting adventure as I had found myself living in Sydney with a very young child and totally isolated. I had not yet created myself a group of support, friends, people I could trust and rely on. I had only been living in Sydney for such a short while when Evelyn was born, I was suffering severe social anxiety and I was terribly lonely. So I built myself an online community and although they were not here to call upon on the days I struggled to shower, or I didn't eat until 11pm at night, or the days where all I wanted to do was cry. They were here, cheering me on and supporting me from the sidelines. I began to feel connected to other women, other Mothers and I learnt that I was not the only one who was having those days.

As my life evolved and my family grew, so did my community here. I have connected with more Mothers online than I actually did not expect. We have shared stories, we have supported each other, we have offered advice. I have been thanked, continuously for sharing my stories. But my reality is, I am no more deserving of your thanks, than you are of mine. 

Over the years I have shared some of the biggest struggles that I have been faced with. Evelyn's hair pulling, her lack of sleep. Zalia's reflux. Asher's sleep. My depression and anxiety. I have shared some of the most memorable moments I have been faced with, my pregnancies and my births, the story of my love with Anthony. I have shared childhood stories, dreams and goals, my grief and fears, my happiness. This blog has been a safe dwelling, a place I know I am able to speak freely, openly and honestly. It has surprised me to know that I have people who choose to listen, choose to read and to respond and I have been forever grateful for that open communication. I have grown so much over the years, this blog is testament to that.

This past year I have been unusually quiet here. This past year has been a monumental year of my life. I have been faced with many challenges and I found myself coming here and only writing about the negative. So I decided not to share all of those stories. I decided that I needed to find a place where I could accept those negative moments but also recognise the positives in the year. Because there have been many. So while I have been told, many a time, that I am inspiring some of you, I have not been inspiring myself. This year I have been trying to survive with my head above water. It has been a balancing act. It has been a dance. Two steps forward and one step back.But, as it is the end of the year, it is time to recap on what has been, both the negative and the positive. 

Having found out that we were pregnant with our third child at 11 weeks gestation at the end of 2013 was an unexpected discovery and one that took me by huge surprise. It wasn't that a third child was not in our plans, but rather that I was battling a very young child who was suffering awful reflux and I was still reeling from that. We had planned a third child, just not so soon. But once Zalia had begun to sleep, once I began to sleep, I could see clearly that this pregnancy was a blessing. If not then, than when? 

I took Evelyn to Tresillian as her sleeping was completely out of control. They tried to help. They suggested forcing a day nap, which in turn had her awake until 2am the next morning. They suggested no day sleep (der!). They sent us on our merry way saying there wasn't a thing they could do to help.

Not long after this I had to rush Evelyn to emergency as she had swallowed a $1 coin. She was gagging and was pale as a ghost. She ceased her dancing, her singing, her happy and in her place I had a child who was too scared to move for every time she did she began to vomit. We waiting in the hospital for hours and were finally taken to ER where she was put under general and had the coin removed. Watching my baby go under was very traumatic. A month later and she had to return to hospital to have her tonsils and adenoids removed. 

We found out that we were having a baby boy! We were both excited, for many different reasons!

Evelyn started Kindy. It has been one of the best decisions I have made for her to date, She has learnt, grown and evolved completely in the time that she has been there. 

I re-enrolled in Uni, studying a bachelor of social welfare. I received two credits and a pass this year. I have felt accomplished, successful and proud. I have taken the past 5 months off to focus on getting some sort of sleep in my home and plan on returning in the new year.

Zalia had high temperatures for over a week and there was no obvious reason for them. I took her to and from the drs and they were unable to tell me anything. Once it hit the almost two week mark I decided to take her to the hospital. While we were there they need to get a urine sample from her so attempted to insert a catheter. She was highly unimpressed and I was having to pin her on to the bed while they kept trying. In the end we took her home and I managed to catch wee in a bag and we found that she had a bladder infection. 

I started to build a great foundation of friendships and support and in doing so I have been able to manage my social anxiety, limit bashing myself with doubt and angst and boost my confidence in standing my ground in this world.

I began to a lot of babysitting work, which unexpectedly boosted my self confidence and helped me to believe that I was a likeable person.

Asher was born. He was incredible and beautiful and swept us all of our feet. His birth was beautiful and his introduction to our family has been seamless.

When Asher was 3 weeks old, Evelyn and I decided to bounce on the trampoline. While we were bouncing she took a stack and didn't get up. I knew it was serious, I suspected a dislocated knee or a torn muscle. I did not expect a broken femur but that is what we were presented with. She spent 7.5 weeks in a full leg cast and she blew me away with her resilience, strength and bravery. 

My Sister was married. It was a beautiful and romantic day. I was proud to play a part in her wedding and I am blessed with a wonderful Brother In Law.

I took up some casual waitressing work with a local catering woman. I look forward to those nights of work more than I expected I would.

Zalia decided to stick a small plastic bead up her nose. Which I thought was hilarious, until it disappeared. I had to rush her over to emergency and have them show me how to blow it out of her nose. Weeks later Zalia was playing on a friends trampoline and she ran full pelt at the open gate of the net, not realising, and she fell head first out onto the ground. I watched helplessly and seriously believed that if she hadn't have snapped her neck and died that she was going to be severely paralysed. She walked away with a chipped tooth and a scratch on the head. 

On the same day I was diagnosed with pneumonia. 

Evelyn continued her battle with sleep, only very rarely falling asleep before 10pm at night. Asher began to wake every 40 minutes and only be fed back to night, always sharing the bed with me. I was severely sleep deprived, completely sick and found myself on the way to the Drs to check my lungs as they had become worse, I had only Asher in the car with me and managed to walk inside without him. 

On that day I called tresillian, I called my therapist and I told my friends just how bad things have become. I decided to become more open with where I was so that if I wasn't sound of mind, clear thinking, then everyone around me would be which is when I started sharing openly here (and on Facebook) about my depression and anxiety. 

I took Asher to tresillian. It was amazing, I walked in there and felt like the world opened up and gave me a big warm hug for an entire week. We came home and Asher slept faultlessly, until he became sick with ear infections and he is now on a downward spiral.

I was clinically diagnosed my a psychiatrist with severe anxiety and moderate PND. This scared me to have an actual diagnosis.

I had a beautiful community of woman turn up on my door step each night for two weeks delivering hot, home cooked meals. I spent most nights afterwards in the most joyous tears at just how kind the world can be to a perfect stranger. It blew my mind. (Thank you Sonja!).

Zalia has been seeing an ENT and today was booked in to her grommets in and adenoids removed mid January next year with pending removal of her tonsils after she is two.

I am stronger, braver and more courageous than ever before. I am more honest and open about my feelings, my struggles and my happiness. I have more best friends than I actually ever realised was possible. My relationship is healthy, even though we live on barely any sleep. I am happy. I am overwhelmingly happy. The year has been huge and I have struggled, I will continue to struggle. But I have leaped and cleared each and every single hurdle with my family in tact, my friendships stronger and a clear mind. I have proven to myself that I am a wonderful Mother, I care about my children more than I knew. 

I love hard, I live honestly and I am forever self evolving.
I am living a successful life, I am excelling and I am failing but I am learning.
I am pretty okay with that!

Happy 2014 and may the next year be bigger, brighter and bolder,
thank you for sharing your lives with me and allowing me to share mine with you

Monday, 8 December 2014

What is anxiety?

It is waking up without tolerance. 
It is anger without a reason.
Its being lonely, surrounded by people.
It is fear without boundaries.

Its doubting your friendships and connections.

It is questioning the unanswerable, answering the unquestionable. 
It is living without living.
It is breathing without peace.

It is sleeping away the days.

It is laying wakeful at night.
It is believing you are unworthy.
It is punishing yourself with criticisms and guilt.

It is in the middle of the night,

or random throughout the days.
It is a pain in the chest and stomach,
constricting, panicking and exhausting

It is worry and nervousness.

It is isolation.
It is misunderstood and inexplainable.
It is not your friend.

It is a lack of self belief.

It is a missing piece.
It is a constant battle.
It is always with me.

Sunday, 23 November 2014

Tresillian - The sleep School

Hi, my name is Jess and I am a sleep-a-holic. Its been three and a half years since my last sleep. I haven't been able to contain my cravings or limit my desire. I spend my days waiting until I can have the next hit, but I have three little people who have made it their life mission to steal it away from me. 

I havent spoken much about Asher's sleep patterns, mainly because my biggest struggle has been watching Evelyn's nightly battle to head off to sleep. But the combination of three children and there constant fight with sleep had finally taken its toll on me and it became apparent that Asher was, in actual fact, the worst of them all. 

I had a week, about a month ago, where this sleep deprivation had wreaked havoc with my body and my mind. A throat infection that I had been fighting for months had travelled its way down and caused pneumonia and all I really needed was to sleep for a week, which was impossible. I was completely exhausted that I began to forget things. Things as simple as what day it was, my shoes, drink bottles, commitments I had made, important events in friends lives. But on this particular day, I forgot the most important of all the things. I had dropped the girls off at a girlfriends house so that I could go to the Drs and have my chest checked. I drove to the  Drs, I got out of the car, into the waiting room, sat down and sighed relief that I didn't have the children with me. It was then that I realised that I did actually have a child with me, only I didn't. I had left him behind in the car. I ran out to the car and had retrieved him in less than 5 minutes. But, I had forgotten him.

It was at that point that I realised just how broken this lack of sleep had made me. I never thought I would be the person who could forgot my child. But there I was, sitting in the Drs waiting room, in absolute shock. So while I was in the Drs I broke down and asked for a referral to tresillian and then I held my breath and waited for admission. Two and a half weeks, I only had to survive two and a half weeks.

On Monday the 17th I packed my packs and Asher and I left the family to spend four nights learning how to sleep. Walking into Tresillian (willoughby) was like walking into your Grand Mothers house. It felt like a big warm hug. The nurses greeted us with smiles, they were gently spoken and empathetic. We sat down and went through a welcome interview, telling them about what our patterns and habits were. I advised that he wakes every 30-40 minutes over night. I wasn't worried too much about his day sleeps. But his nights were an issue. We had been surviving the nights by pulling him into bed with me, feeding him and then co-sleeping. It was the only way I could ensure that I, and the house, would be able to get some sleep. 

So when Monday night arrived and he went to sleep without so much as a complaint, I worried that I would appear to be lying. However, within 30 minutes he started to wake. Waking four times between 7 and 8:30pm. He finally settled for a short two hours and then the party began. I was so shocked by just how bad it actually was. He was loud, he screamed, he was wide awake. At 3am the nurse removed him from my room and tried to settle him in the common room while I tried to get some sleep. I slept from 3am until 5am, when Asher was due for a feed. It was horrible, I was emotional.

Night two, we had the same experience. Asher was again removed from my room, just so I could get an hour or two sleep. The nurse, Michelle, who looked after him was so gentle and beautiful, towards both myself and to Asher. I felt safe and comfortable to return to my room and get some sleep. 

I woke the next morning and I was truly disheartened, I could not imagine that this was ever going to change. That this was to be my life, from here on in. It was so defeating. The nurse that morning readmitted me to return the following week, as Asher was just so impossible. Night three rolled around and I felt so extremely anxious and apprehensive. I didn't want to tackle ANOTHER night. 

I put him to bed at 7pm on night three and I sat on the lounge and I couldn't help but I cry. The hope and faith I had put into the magic that is Tresillian was quickly leaving me. I was surrounded by others Mothers who were just short of Angels, they were loving and supportive and encouraging. I took myself to bed in preparation for another night of torture. Asher woke as I entered the room and I gave him a bottle. It took him 1 and a half hours to settle. I drifted off into a nervous sleep and when I was woken by Asher's cry, I couldn't help but think "here we go again". Until I looked at the clock and it was 5am! Amazing! I was all smiles!

Night four came around and I found myself convinced the night before was just a fluke. But, he proved me wrong. When went to bed at 7:30pm, he woke at 2am and then slept until 7:30am! We woke up and had some play time and he rolled from back to tummy for the first ever time. I was able to cancel our re-admittance and come home positive that we will be okay!

Tresillian is the place that sleeping angels are made from! The support, the company, the sleep, the kindness, it is incredible. I left there feeling calm, confident and strong. I will be forever grateful to the women who supported me through what was such a highly emotional and physically draining week. I will remain confused about what we really did to change his habits. Other than stretching out his feed times and his wake times, I really do not know what the magic cure was! 

Last night, all three children were asleep at 10pm (the girls sharing a room for the very first time and Asher in his big man cot!). Anthony and I crawled into bed at 11pm and we weren't woken until 5:30am. 

Hi, my name is Jess and I am a sleep-a-holic and I think I may just find my hit in the next coming days!

Tuesday, 11 November 2014

Passing ships in the night

The thing about having a child who doesn't go to sleep until after you wish to be in bed yourself is that it means you do not get even a moment to yourself. Not a moment without a child chatting in the background or asking for something or going to the bathroom. You do not get the time to spend with your partner, or eat a meal in peace. You are forever fending off questions, nurturing their souls, losing your temper. The thing about going from waking moment, to slumber (and multiple times in between) is that you forget to nurture your own soul, feed your own heart and care for your own self. 

I knew when I started having children that my life would change dramatically, I knew that I would sacrifice my time, to have shared time. I knew that my hobbies and interests would take a back seat for a short while. Having children, a family, was so much more important to me than all of those "sacrifices". However, what I was not aware of is that I wouldn't know myself outside of my connection to my children. I wasn't aware that my body would not exist without the attachment of a child, from the moment I rolled out of bed, until I rolled back in. 

I have found myself in a situation where I am unable to decipher where I, and the things I love to do, begin. Where my children and their demands end. I spend my days living on another planet, giving my every ounce of energy to my children, yet waiting for the moment I can go to sleep. I miss being able to recharge by writing, or drawing, or being with Anthony. I miss being able to reenergise by being me.

Anthony and I built our relationship on the foundation of bottles of wine and late night talking. I was seduced by our conversations. We fell in love over a glass of red wine. We danced to common music. We would watch the sun set and the moon rise. We would connect over beautiful food. Our love thrived with each others silences and it grew with our exchange of words. Oh how I miss being able to have an uninterrupted meal, a glass of good wine and hours of conversation with the man who taught me how to be. I miss being able to sit in his company and feel the strength of our love forming, growing, developing. There is something to be said for just being with each other, to feel each other. 

Life with three extremely young children has robbed us of being with each other. We are like passing ships in the night, giving each other the occasional nod of support as we swap to settle another child. A groan of sympathy when another child wakes at the darkest hours of the night. A sigh of acknowledgement when we both collapse on the lounge in a heap to attempt to eat dinner. Conversation revolves around our plan to survive the next 24 hours and then it comes to a halt and we merely survive, side by side. There is no romance, there is limited connection, there is zero to none conversation and there is just no time. 

We are surviving these early years of parenthood, the very best we know how. We are stronger than ever before, even if we are not connected like before, because we know that at the end, one random night, our children will all sleep. They will sleep and then we will sleep and we will have our very own family. A family that we created, we raised, we nurtured and we grew, all on our very own.

On that day, we will high five each and we will know that those nods of encouragement, the sighs, the nights of passing ships, were all worth while

as we will have the rest of our lives to be, to converse and connect, to fall in love over the sounds of our children laughing, and sleeping.

Sunday, 9 November 2014

Sleep... Please!

I am by no means leading a life any different to the next person. My situation is no harder, or easier, than yours. My struggles are not comparable to yours and my triumphs are no bigger than yours. We are all living a life that is full of its very own, individual hurdles, bumps and valleys. On some days we cruise through on autopilot without a single hiccup and on other days we have to accelerate and hit the brakes constantly.

Lately I feel like I have been taking a back seat in living my life. When I wake up in the morning I feel like I am scraping myself up off the ground, I drag myself out to the living room with my knuckles dragging along behind me. I manage to prop myself up on the lounge and feel like I have to hold my eyes open for the rest of the day. My company is poor, my speech is slurred, my brain is mush and my tolerance is low.

There is very minimal sleep in this household. For those of you who have followed me and my blog for quite some time you would know that I have struggled with Evelyn getting to sleep for two years now. She gave up her day naps two years ago. She pulled all her hair out of her head two years ago and we had to shave her head and remove her dummy at the same time. For two very long, very arduous, very straining years I have battled with her to go to sleep. We have tried each and every approach. I took her to tresillian a year ago where they sent me on my way with a wish of good luck. But the problem still remains. She will not go to sleep before 10pm at the very earliest. Some times she is awake until midnight. She is up multiple times throughout the night and she wakes early. 

Evelyn is a beautiful, calm and timid child but her lack of sleep is beginning to strangle that girl. She has become clumsy, grumpy and very intolerant. She is suffering and we are suffering. In a months time I will be taking her to a paediatrician, finally, to have her prescribed melatonin and in the mean time I will hold my breath and clutch at every single ounce of hope I have left that the melatonin will be the answer to my very desperate prayers.

I have three children now and this of course means that there is more chances of being woken throughout the night. I don't think that I am awake any more than anyone else, but with my children, the chances obviously become much higher. Zalia tends to sleep quite well. I give her a bottle to go to sleep, this is not ideal at all, but for the meantime it is working. She mostly will drift off to sleep and she tends to be the one that will remain asleep. But if she is teething, which she unfortunately is quite badly at the moment, she does manage to wake up several times.

At this point in time, however, my biggest battle is my little man Asher. He and I managed to see every single hour of the night from 11pm onwards. He wakes every 40 minutes. He feeds back to sleep and then he wakes again. He doesn't scream as long as he is with me, not like Zalia used to as a bub, so I have always felt like I should be grateful. He is chilled out and easy and quiet. But he is awake and if I return him to his bed awake, he does scream. I don't feel so grateful anymore, I feel a wreck. However, in one weeks time I will be taking him for a week long stay at Tresillian (the NSW sleep and behavioural clinic) and I could just about back flip with excitement!

For two very solid years I have not been able to have a moment to myself within my own home. For two very solid years I have a child up with me until I go to sleep, sometimes she will even be awake after I fall asleep. I wake with the children. And now I have a child with me, awake, every single 40 minutes of the night. There isn't a moments break. Not a second to catch my breath. Or to sort my thoughts. 

It is exhausting and challenging. I love all three of my children, to no end, but I would really like to have just an hour to myself before passing out in bed. I have been dealing with this situation on my own (with Anthony of course) and I believe that I manage to do it quite well. I have moments where the stress of it piles up on top of me and I can find myself so mad. But I ensure that Anthony and I get a night away to try and recharge every now and then. Without that, I think we would both snap.

We carry this family basically on our own, with no help from the outside. Within the last 12 months I have managed to surround myself with some beautiful friends who do step in and they take the girls for me when they see me beginning to drown (and I am ever so grateful). I am okay with carrying the responsibility of my children, but sometimes I do wish that I had that family to fall back on. Someone to turn up on my door and send me to bed. Sometimes I do find myself envious of the people I know who have that support that I so badly crave.

I am okay, I am resilient, I am capable of raising my children and my family solely on my own. But sometimes, as crazy as it sounds, I wish that I wasn't okay. Sometimes I wish that I could scream that I am not okay and know that I had that family to step in and take over, to help and support. To clean my house, or wash my clothes, or even make me a meal. Sometimes I crave that attention. 

My situation is no worse, no harder, no easier or no better than the next Mummy, we all have our battles and it is always relevant to the lives we lead at the time. I am not competing with anyone, or trying to overshadow anyones situations. I am just a great big mess of no sleep and I really needed to scream from the rooftops that right now, this blows!

Good Night World!