Can I have a mental health day... please?

Before I created my own family there were so many preconceptions I had made about the ways in which I would approach the parenting of my own children. You make so many decisions based on your childhood and the ways in which your parents raised you. Things you will take on board and things you would rather forget. I had so many ideas of how to parent, based on watching people around me, my friends upbringings, strangers in the parks, women coming through my check out at the supermarket. Some based on admiration and others, dare I say it, based on judgement.

Coming into Motherhood I had decided that each and every day I would be up, awake and dressed before my child was. I would never spend a day in pyjama's. I would not, ever, use a dummy. I would breastfeed until at least 6 months. I would not yell or scream at my child. I will never smack my child. I will not be a 'No' Mum. I will not bribe my child for good behaviour. I will have my partners business shirts ironed and his lunch packed for him each and every morning. My house would be organised and cleaned. I would make my bed every morning.

Since arriving at Motherhood and being thrown into the depths of baby snuggles, baby slobber, pooey nappies, sleepless nights and screaming toddlers, my preconceptions have since become misconceptions. The truth is, Motherhood is hard. Harder that you can ever prepare yourself for and any preparations you did make, often ended up thrown to the wayside and forgotten about. Because once you are elbow deep in those pooey nappies and toddler tantrums, you do whatever you have to do to survive. 

I love my Daughter, with every last inch of my being. There is absolutely no doubt about that. But she is erratic, she is unpredictable, she is strong and she is a test on my patience. My Daughter is slowly coming of age, leaving her baby days behind her and entering the world of toddler. The world of independence and and stubbornness. She is learning so much about our world and about her capabilities that she wants to be apart of it all day, every day. She doesn't want to miss out on a single moment. Goodbye day time naps and hello tired tantrums! She has learnt that she is able to feed herself, so goodbye fast, easy and efficient meal times and hello mess and frustration (because the spoon just wont work the right way and so she must use her hands). She is learning to speak, but not speak fast enough. So now we become frustrated at Mum if Mum doesnt understand what her grunt, groan or moan means straight.a.way!

The truth is, these last few weeks, I have been struggling with the attitude that seems to be sneaking into my household. My Daughter is still the kind, gentle loving baby that I have talked about in many posts before. But at this point in time, she is not showing that side as often and is showing me her frustrations. She is taking out her struggles on me and I am having to learn how to approach these new tantrums in a way that I am comfortable with.

All those preconceptions that I have had, they have all been forgotten about. I am very rarely out of bed before Evelyn wakes me. I did resort to using the dummy as it is the only way she will fall asleep. I was unable to breastfeed. I have yelled at my Daughter. I have said No. If she would understand a bribe, I would have bribed her. I have never ironed a business shirt in my life and Anthony is lucky if there is bread in the house. My bed is made just before I climb into it and my house is no where near organised.

Once you are in the throws of parenting and Mother hood, you deal with each situation as they come. And dealing with my Daughters tantrums and lack of sleep and lack of eating is my focus, for the mean time. The rest of those things, I just don't care for. What I care for, is raising a loving, gentle woman who is well mannered and balanced. I care for teaching my Daughter about the world and I care for her. And most of all, I care for surviving the next few years of toddlerhood with my sanity and my relationship in tact. 

One of the things I am finding the hardest about Motherhood, is that on a bad day, I don't get to come home and say "What a shit day". I don't get to complain about bad behaviour or ill-treatment. I am unable to talk about unfair conditions. We, as Mother's, have to teach our children that these behaviours are unacceptable and we have to teach them how to behave the correct way and at the end of the day we have to sweep our own hurt or disappointment aside and move on to cleaning the dishes. 

Maybe I can ask the boss if I can take a mental health day?

An Angel Born Sleeping

Before I was ever pregnant with Evelyn, before I was even thinking about starting my own family, my Sister had started a family. She has a beautiful Daughter, my beautiful niece, Madison. She was the warmth to my days. She bought the most beautiful kind of happiness to our lives. When she fell pregnant with her second child I was most thrilled. Another piece to add to my family, another niece or nephew to love and hold and cherish with all my might. 

When they found out they were having a little boy my heart was filled with dreams of ball games and scraped knees. I dreamed of a day that we would kick a ball around the field or I would watch his first rugby game. My Sister was going to have her perfect pigeon pair, a life full of fairy dust and grubby knees. It was a delight to be able to share with her this journey throughout Motherhood, from one child, to two. I loved being able to share with her, the experience. The conversations, the dreams and aspirations, the worries and the stresses, the excitement and the joy.

~~~

One average, normal weekend morning, Anthony and I awoke in our apartment on the beach. We wandered across the road and spent the morning basking in the sun, frolicking in the water, enjoying the last days of summer and the beauty of life. We made our way home for a bite to eat and an afternoon nap. It was a beautiful day, a day that we enjoyed each other and we enjoyed the sun. We awoke, lazily, from our slumber and made about our way with no rush or urgency to be or do a thing. I picked up my phone that had been forgotten about for the day and I found it to be full of missed calls and a message. All from my Sister. The message simply said 

"We are at the hospital, can you please come and pick up Madison".

At that moment I felt that something was just not right. Something was seriously wrong. I threw Anthony's clothes at him and found my wallet and keys and I shouted, "we have to go". All of a sudden our slow and steady weekend pace had been replaced by rush. By stress and fear. And I had no idea why I was running down those four flights of stairs with Anthony following confused and concerned behind me. I threw the keys and said you are going to have to drive. 

We got in the car and I made the call with dread in my heart and I was met with tears and heart ache. I was asked to just contact Mum and to please come get Madison. I was told to find them in the Maternity ward. I gave Anthony directions of where to go and we raced our way there. Before I was able to pick the phone up my Sister called back and she said to me, two words. Two words that I will never be able to erase from my mind. They are apart of me now. 

"He's Dead"

~~~

In that moment, my life changed in a way that I cannot begin to describe. In that moment my Sister's life collapsed. She was four weeks away from completing her family with the birth of her boy. Four weeks. So little time and yet all the time in the world, for something to go wrong. And go wrong it so terribly did. Her boy was taken from her in the most unimaginable way. In a way that she, and I, were so unaware of. She waited her 12 weeks to reach the "safe zone". We thought that was it. We thought that from that moment, she would be blessed with her second child and me, my nephew. It was never a consideration that this may not be the ending that she will receive.

On February 9th 2010, my nephew, my Sister's son, Tyson, was born sleeping. Too great for this world, unable to take his first breath. He was created for different things, for things we cannot understand. He was made for a world, far away from ours. He blessed us with 8 months of his presence, taken all too soon. My Sister has an angel watching over her, every day. A son she cannot hold, but who holds her close. A son she cannot teach, but who guides her every day. A son that she cannot kiss, but who blesses her every step. An angel born sleeping, to guard her and protect her and wait for the day they can reunite.

~~~

My Sister is one of the strongest, most inspiring women you could ever know. To go through such pain and turmoil, such devastation and loss, but wake up each day and carry on with a smile on her face... well, its something I would just not have the strength to do. Every day she thinks of Tyson, thinks of what she has lost and thinks of what she has gained. Yet every day she carries on. 

A loss such as this is a loss that she  should not know. No Mother should have to carry their child to full term, no woman should have to birth their child and bury him three days later. No woman, ever, should have to experience such bitter sweet emotions. How to celebrate the birth of your son, but grieve his loss in the very same moment? 

My Sister is the type of woman everyone needs to know and her story, the loss of her son, is one that we should all be aware can happen, all too often. 

For more information or to donate to the stillbirth foundation please click here

The Bump ~ 17 Weeks

This morning we packed our two cars full with our bikes and Evelyn's trailer and we made the trip down to the Wakehurst Parkway so that we could unpack our bikes and ride around to Narrabeen and take our 17 week photos. However, when we unpacked the car and sat up on our bikes and posed for the first photo we noticed that the camera would not capture the image. Before long we realised, the memory card is at home sitting in the laptop from last week. After a moment of disappointment and "we just won't do them this week" we began our bike ride anyhow are we able to capture some images on the iPhone. These photo's, at Narrabeen Lakes, were the ones I was most looking forward to.

On Monday morning I woke up and I took very cautious steps out of bed and into the shower expecting to be struck by the awful pain of my migraine and to my very welcomed surprise, the throb never came. I spent the day able to do as I pleased and be a present Mother to Evelyn. We were able to enjoy our day and each other, I was able to enjoy the pregnancy once more. We spent the day appreciating the day and were fearful that it would be a one off. But, from that day onwards, life has resumed as normal.

It has been so lovely to be able to take the week slowly, to be able to walk without pain and to be able to enjoy all that this pregnancy has to offer. Jelly Baby is growing perfectly and in turn my tummy is ever expanding. I am now no longer mistaken for carrying weight, but appreciated for all my pregnancy glory. I am feeling full, full of baby and full of joy.

Anthony and I are yet to decide if we would like to learn of Jelly Babies gender or if we would like it to remain a mystery. Anthony will do whatever it is that I would like but I am unable to come to a decision. My heart feels set on knowing but keeping the news between our family only. We are also yet to truly sit down and talk names. There is one name that I have been trying to whisper into Anthony's ear. A name that I truly love and that I have had kept safely within my heart from the moment Goodness became Evelyn. I will continue to speak that name in the hope that he will love it as much as I. 

Jelly, this week has been a quiet week and has given me the time to place my hands next to you and really cherish these moments we share. These moments that are only between you and me. You give me great happiness and huge hope and many dreams. I cannot wait to bring you into our family so that these moments can become all of ours.

Its you and me babe, our moments together to be forever ours.

Don't forget the homeless

As I Watch Evelyn grow and her personality form I admire her gentle steps, her soft touch and her kind heart. But I do foresee many battles that she will have to fight in her future. I can foresee many battles that I will have to fight in my future as her Mother. And even more battles that Anthony and I will fight, with or against each other, as two people who are completely opposite, trying to parent her. 

I think my Daughter has the ability to change the world. I think my Daughter has the heart of an angel and the touch of a healer. I think she has the type of kindness this world needs to see more of. I think she is growing to be just like her Mother was as a child. An idealist, a dreamer, a lover and a healer. These are all traits that are beautiful to hold and carry with you. But they are all traits that can be stolen from you. They are easily crushed and destroyed by other people's realism.

When I was a young girl I had dreams, such big passionate dreams, of fixing the world. Of giving love and warmth to those who had neither. I wanted to create a haven, a shelter, a "drop-in" centre for all those in the world who didn't have a safe place. Who didn't feel love. Who had nothing to eat and nothing to strive for. I wanted to give them love because I believe we all deserve love. I believe we all deserve a second chance. I believe, that just because you have fallen or you were born into a world without warmth, this does not mean you belong there or should have to stay there. 

There are many moments in my childhood and teenage years that I remember trying to articulate this love and these dreams and I remember having them crushed. I was laughed at. I was told that I cannot change the world. I was made to believe that I couldn't make a difference and somewhere along the way my passion died and I never even tried, not the way I wanted to. Not the way my little heart aches to. 

When I was 10 years old I was punished. I was playing in the backyard of a family friends house, with all of the other children while the adults were inside cooking a delicious dinner and sipping on beautiful wine. We were all dressed in new and clean clothes, shoes, our bodies and hair washed and our tummies about to be filled. We played with balls and a swing set and rode bikes. When a man walked past the gate I ran over and started a conversation with him. He smelt unwashed and looked dirty, his clothes tethered and worn, his head hung low and his face was covered in his sadness and his worries. That man needed a friend and he needed some company and he needed some food. So my 10 year old heart invited him in to join us in our afternoon celebration. That lonely man was chased out of the yard by the adults and I was chastised, yelled at and laughed at. I was asked "What on earth are you doing? We don't talk to strangers". I don't remember that man's name but I remember my response being "He isn't a stranger, he is *insert name here* and he was lonely and hungry". For that, I was grounded.

When I was 13 years old I used to go to church with my Mum every Wednesday night. There was always this man sitting at the back at the church on his own, holding his rosary beads. He looked old and sad, he had lived and lost and seemed to have nothing left at all. One day I decided to sit with him. From that Wednesday onwards, I spent my Wednesday night mass sitting with a man of 70 years. Holding his hand, listening to his stories, loving him and letting him love me. I was told I should not be near him, that he cannot be trusted. I was told many bad things about that man. But to me, he was just a man, desperate for a friend and that was all I wanted for him. I spent years sitting by him. Not saying much at all but in way, saying everything. One day, he died and I didn't know. I wasn't told. Not until a year later when I walked back into that church after so long and he just wasn't there. He was gone and I was never able to say Goodbye. But I remember him. I remember the way his eyes smiled when I sat by him. I remember the way he blessed me and the way he held my hand - like he hadn't been touched for years. I remember the happiness I bought him and the way I helped warm his heart. I believe I changed his life, if only for a little while and I know he changed mine forever. He was just a man who needed to be loved.

When I was 14 years old I travelled to Sydney for a getaway and I walked the dark beach front of Manly Beach. Along my walk I saw many homeless men and women and even children, spending their night covered in newspapers to stay warm. Trying to ignore their rumbling tummies and settling in for another long, dark, cold and lonely night on a park bench. I rushed to the fish and chip shop and bought the biggest serving of chips I could afford. I walked back to those lonely people and I sat down and started to talk. I offered them some of my chips, to which they all politely refused. I made conversation and I made friendly and then I left to go home to my bed. I left that box of chips there and I pray that they made themselves full and content on that meal. The next day I took myself to St Vincents and I bought as many blankets as I could carry and I caught the bus back to that park bench and I waited until the sun set and the lonely came to make their beds. I left them each with a blanket. I hope that I left them each with some warmth and the knowledge that they are remembered and thought of.

When I was 15 years old, I lived out of home. While I was out of home I lived in the house of two other young people, two boys. It was not a steady home nor was it consistent so there were times that I didn't live anywhere at all. I spent those times, settling in for a long cold night on a park bench and I remembered those whom I had given chips and blankets and I took solace in the fact that now, I can understand. It comforted me to know that I had been someone who brightened their day. People would tell me I should beg my Mum to let me move back home, but after what I had seen and the people I had met and the things I had experienced, I could not go to any home. I did not want to go back to a blessed life, owning things, having a bed, having clothes and blankets when so many do not. In that moment, I gave away everything I owned and I decided that I needed to know what it was like to have nothing at all. I needed to have that experience so that I could grow from nothing and know that I grew all on my own. 

When I was 20 years old, I went out for a night in the City for the first time. I spent my money on drinks and food and celebrating what a beautifully blessed life I have. Then, as I walked to catch a ferry home I noticed the people who had spent no money at all. I noticed the people who had spent their time looking for cover from the rain and warmth from the wind. Then I realised, I had let my dream fade and my passion die. In that moment I decided I needed to do something, so I spent my time searching for people who needed help and I left them coins. A little something under their blankets or in the trolleys to help them get through another day.

Now I am 25 years old and as I sit here writing this I cry. Because I have forgotten to care for the people who need caring for. I have pushed them aside and I have let them slip from my mind. I have come from nothing, I have built myself a life to be proud of and in doing so, I have forgotten the very thing that I never wanted to forget. That there is a world full of people who are less fortunate than I. That there are people sleeping in the cold and the rain who haven't eaten for days. As I take my shower there are people who cant remember what a shower feels like. I gave my things away so that I would always remember what it feels like to roam the streets and have nothing... to be nothing. 

In this moment now, I think about how I can raise my Daughter to keep the passion I know she is going to have. I am trying to discover a way, the right way, to teach her to embrace her kindness and her gentleness, but to also carry herself with pride and confidence. I need to teach her to be strong, but to stay gentle. I want to raise her to be all the things I know she can be and all the things that I wish were encouraged in me. I do not want the realism of others to crush her dreams, like it did mine.

I think my Daughter could change the world, in all the ways I have not.

Dear 18 Month Old You

Yesterday, you were 18 months old.

I have been avoiding sitting down to write this post as the idea of you being 18 months old actually terrifies me. 18 months. That is one and a half years, on the nose. That means that when someone asks me how old you are, I can no longer really respond with a monthly response. But rather, with, 'one and a half'. That means, you are no longer my baby but rather, my little person. And that, Dear Evelyn, terrifies me.

There has been nothing I have loved more in life than watching you grow. Every day a new adventure. Every moment a new lesson. With each day passed you become a little bigger, a little more interactive, a little less baby and so much more you. It has been the most incredible journey, me growing as your Mama and you growing as my baby. I am not sure that I will ever be able to find the words that truly express how deep my love is for you and how truly inspired I am by watching you. 

All I can do, is love you. Each and every day I try to make you feel the love that I have. It is important to me that you never question it, that you never feel like you have to. My love for you will never falter, fade or die. It is constantly growing bigger and brighter within me and it is my aim to ensure that you know in every moment how big and real it really is.

You have changed so much in the last two months. Every day you step closer to becoming the beautiful young girl I just know you'll be and you leave behind more of that little baby that I once carried within me. Your personality is so strong. So soft and so quiet and so dreamy, but so there. I can see that you are going to be quietly confident, softly opinionated and powerfully independent. You are a dreamer, you are wary, you are an observer. I just love the way you walk the earth with your cautious steps and your inquisitive mind. It gives me a sense of peace to know that you always test the waters before making a decision and I hope that this is a trait that you carry through life with you.

When you were just a young baby you were more than wary of unfamiliar grounds and faces. You needed to be in the arms of those you trusted. Some mistook this as shyness and fear but I believe that this was your independence. You were not fearful nor shy, you were strong willed and bossy. You only wanted to be in the arms of the person you chose and if someone else where to pick you up, you would complain. The older you become, the more apparent this becomes. You chose which situations you would like to be apart of and which people you would like to talk with. You do not like to be told what to do or be forced to do. I can foresee that this will be an eternal battle between you and I, Mother and Daughter, the older you become. But it will always be something that I am proud to see in my Daughter.

You are communicating more and more. With words and understanding. I find it the most fascinating thing to watch you communicate in your own very special language. The most fascinating of all, is that you and I can understand each other, without actually speaking the same talk. I love our little language and understandings of each other, it is our own little world that just we are apart of. As much as I look forward to the day you are speaking with a full vocabulary I will be sad to see the end of these moments. Our special whispers.

You yearn for more, every day. More to learn, more to do, more to see, touch and experience. I love the adventure you bring to my life, I love the motivation you give me to get back to basics and start at the beginning again. To pick flowers, to stop and touch the grass, to feel the sand between our toes and to chase the waves. You have so much excitement in your small 18 month old body that it is contagious. You make life fun and exciting and full. You remind me every day of the beauty in our world. To seek out the small things and to appreciate the colours and sounds and touch. 

But, with all the great, comes the other. The tantrums. They have started and they are big. Before this weekend past, I have never truly had to handle a tantrum, let alone a public one. But this Sunday you chose IKEA, of all places, possibly the busiest shop in all of Sydney. And you tantrumed. It was a show down. A throw down. There you were, days off 18 months old, in all your fully formed toddler glory, throwing the worlds most spectacular performance. Filled with screaming, with acrobats, with punches and scratches. There was no stopping you and your almighty strength. You were going to scream until you got exactly what it is that you wanted... whatever they may have been. 

Through every moment, the good and the bad, my heart beams. You fill my life with such joy that sometimes I cannot believe my luck. You have given me reason and you have filled our home and our family with so much... You. I can't love you enough for that. 

You will forever be my baby girl, wether you want to or not.
I love you so fiercely my darling xx

Losing Myself to Mother's Guilt

A Mother's guilt controls the way you live your life, the decisions you make and the steps that you take. It can cause you to become someone that you are not and live a life that you never envisioned. Mother's guilt does not become you, in can turn you unkind, unhappy and un-you. Mother's guilt is not a feeling that we should allow ourselves to feel, as often as we do.

And yet, Mother's guilt is what is controlling my every desire. Lately, I have been feeling a need for more but that guilt has built a barrier between me and more. It is preventing me from knowing how to start the search. From the moment my Daughter was born, my life became hers and no longer mine. That was a decision I made with every fibre of my being. I wanted to be the ever present Mama. I wanted to be everything for her, for our family. For the last 18 months all that I have done, all that I say and think and dream, has been for her. I spend my time trying to provide her with the best, the best of everything, and along the way I seem to have lost my way. 

I no longer live for me. I no longer take the time to be me. Somehow, somewhere, sometime, I have lost me. In recents days, or even weeks, I have really been grieving that loss. With the coming arrival of Baby Jelly, I worry that if I do not make a change soon, if I do not find my way and find me, then perhaps she will be lost forever? This fear has forced me to reconsider my choices and reevaluate my life and I have found that if I do not live my life for me, if I do not find my own balance and harmony, my own happiness, then how can I ever teach my Daughter to grow and be confident in herself and find happiness in her life. I need not give my everything to my children, instead, I need to give them inspiration, a role model... Someone to aspire to. I cannot do this, if I do not know myself. 

My life has become one of repetitiveness, of structure and of routine. I am not a creature of routine or structure or habit. My nature seeks adventure and spontaneity, thrills and the unexpected. I thrive when I live each and every day bigger and better than the last. But lately, my days have been the same. They are full of habit, of routine. They are becoming more and more the same. As a result of all this structure I am beginning to feel like a caged animal. My heart yearns for a change, for something more. My body is aching for the freedom of spontaneity. My soul is searching for something. 

I need to rediscover myself, rediscover my spark and my fire. I need to press pause of the daily grind and search for my spirit, before my spirit is a distant memory. My children deserve the very best version of me. Anthony deserves the very best version of me. But today, what they are being given is a mere shadow of my former myself. They are being given less than they are worthy and I can see it in their eyes, in his eyes, that I am not the only one who is losing me. 

My Mother's guilt has been preventing me from going out on my own, but I am beginning to realise that my Mother's guilt should be pushing me out the door and paving the way of my journey back home to me. 

I need to dance in the rain again. 
I need to pick wild flowers and walk barefooted
I need to create
I need to feel... 

The Bump ~ 16 Weeks

16 weeks pregnant and it feels like just a mere blip of time! Mostly.

Last week I talked about my two week long headache, which I have now upgraded to a migraine, as it has continued along this journey with me for the third week running. It is beginning to become extremely draining, both physically and emotionally. I have tried all alternate treatments and as many mainstream as this pregnant body is allowed and I have found myself just one day of relief. The thing about a headache migraine like this, is it because all consuming. I feel like I am living, waiting, for the haze to clear so that I can see and think clearly again.

Other than my state of head, every other part of the pregnancy is going so extremely well. No morning sickness. My energy levels feel like they have risen, although I can not exert them in fear of increasing the pain. I am sleeping mostly well. My temper and emotions have stayed in check... at least, more so than the last pregnancy. My weight gain has been more than minimal and my body confidence is soaring.

Unfortunately my desire to want to take the time to embrace and celebrate this pregnancy every week has been on pause, mostly because my focus is just on making sure I can be as present a Mama I can be for Evelyn whilst dealing with my head (I know I am really driving this headache home lately, but I just cannot see past it). 

Today was a very interesting day. I needed a break from being at home and decided that family fun day at IKEA was in order. Heavens knows why, I love the product, but my God do I hate that place. I should have known it was a bad idea when we are 15 minutes away from home and Evelyn starts screaming in pain. I pull over to the side of the road and I pull her in the front to have cuddles with her Mum and Dad. Before long I worked out she was having trouble going to the toilet so Daddy gave her his magical tummy rub. 

"Is that her or is there a sewerage tank near by?", I ask Anthony.

He pulls her away from him to find that not only had she finally gone to the toilet but her nappy had busted, all over his lap. All of a sudden my foul mood had passed and I was on the side of the road with a poo covered baby and a very shitty Dad (literally) in absolute hysterics!

"Its actually not funny", says Anthony.

Which, of course, makes me erupt even more! We braved IKEA anyhow, shit covered tshirt and a cranky baby. The whole trip was a total failure but completely worth the incident on the side of the road. However, I had to deal with my first public toddler tantrum. I had a very tired and very hungry baby who wouldn't sleep or eat throwing herself out of my arms in a total fit of rage. Slapping me in the face, pulling my hair. My gentle, soft, kind hearted baby was taken over by the devil... Im sure of it. 

For just a brief moment I considered the thought - why I am adding to this? But before long, Evelyn was in the back of the car and she was giving me her cheeky smile and talking and singing and whistling and it became clear again. I am adding to this because my life needs more cheeky smiles, and laughter and an abundance of love. I am adding to this because as humiliating as Evelyn's toddler throwdown was, the burst of love I felt once she gave me a kiss in apology far outweighs the momentary bad moods and hard days.

Jelly, I am sure that one day you are going to throw yourself out of my arms, scream, kick and fight with me. Today I thought, just for a moment, I cant do another tantrum, from Evelyn or for you. But tonight I know, you can kick and scream all you like because at the end of that throw down you will smile and nod at me and give me a big beautiful cuddle and a kiss. Just like your Sister. And that, dear Jelly, is totally worth the melt downs.

Its you and me babe, together we fall, together we will rise again