Motherhood is all about Making Allowances.

Just a short observation tonight; I’m tired and sick and I’m keen to get into bed. Miss 3 is having a sleepover at her grandmother’s and Master 1 is already in bed…my bed is calling me too. We have a hot date of lots of sleep planned *nudge nudge wink wink*

But I have strayed from the topic.

Allowances.

Motherhood, I’ve realised, seems to be largely about ‘making allowances’. It hit me today, this epiphany, as I found myself driving from a friends place back to my mother-in-law’s, running late to collect my 1 year old thanks (in part) to having to run through the little time wasting routine that is  (apparently) a part of toilet training. Miss 3 is in training. Woo! It’s great, but it does mean that before we depart anywhere, I have to very seriously ask my little angel “Do you need to wee?” And then wait for her to seriously consider the question, answer in the affirmative, half undress her, sit her on the toilet, wait…wait….wait….wait some more, have more discussion and wait some more. Get kicked out of the toilet and then summoned in the most offended ‘how could you leave me!’ tones a 3 year old can muster. Finally, either get a mere sprinkle of tinkle or nothing at all and go through “yay!”, wipe, flush, redress, wash, dry. Holy shit balls.  It takes time! So much bloody time! 

Hence my epiphany and conversation with myself on the way to my MILs, mentally adding to my list ‘add 10 minutes to departure time, toilet allowance.’

Then I realised, on top of all the other ‘allowances’ I already have for planning departure time, here’s yet ANOTHER one to add! On top of ‘in case baby poops’, ‘finding missing shoe/toy/whateverthebloodyhelltheyredemanding’, ‘gobackforforgottenitem’, ‘win the get in the car fight’, etc etc – you get the idea. I reckon I’m up to about 30 mins extra time in allowances just to get out of the house these days. 

And then I thought, this is my life now…mentally calculating all the extra minutes I need to get myself out the door with the kids. Motherhood. Wonderful.

Holy shit balls.  I’m sure it’s going to get easier as I get better at it….right?

x S

The big Pee En Dee.

(And no, I do not mean Party Next Door, the rapper, cause apparently that’s actually a thing)

As I sit here, watching J eat his vegemite sandwich (eat, or more accurately, smush and rub and chew on a bit then throw it), I think about the fact that he is one tomorrow and I get so emotional. Its been a big year.

It’s the year I became a mother of two. It’s the year I had to be rushed into surgery to have an emergency caesarian. It’s the year I was incredibly lucky to have a stay at home husband for months. It’s the year I became a mother to a son. It’s the year I said goodbye to our beloved husky, Jazz, and our little pony, Archie. The year I learned more than I wanted to know about allergies and gave up all dairy and egg products for eight long months.

It’s the year I was diagnosed with, and sought treatment for, post natal depression.

My story: around 4 months after the somewhat traumatic birth of my little boy, I went to the GP because I’d been having increasing bouts of anger, sadness and, most frightening to me, continual feelings of detachment and numbness.  Feelings like I was watching my family on TV, like I had no actual connection with them. Feelings of despair.  So I went and saw the doctor and described what was going on.  She asked some questions and she had me do the oh-so-familiar PND checklist and unsurprisingly it indicated I was ‘more than likely’ suffering from PND.

Since the day I sat in the GPs office and listened to her diagnosis with equal measures of relief and despair, I have shared this news with some of my nearest and dearest directly, slowly, over the course of a few months. I’ve alluded to it with others, and on this blog, and hashtagged ‘pnd’ on my instagram a few times. It’s not something I’ve spoken too openly about, not really, not in the amounts I’ve wanted to, except with my incredible husband and of course my very skilled psychologist. I’d like to say that’s because it’s no big deal, it’s a tiny part of my day, it never occurred to me – but that would be untrue, and I promised myself this would be a very honest post.

The reality is, I’m still ashamed. Ashamed and feel like somehow I’ve failed, am failing, every time I feel a slowing in my progress. Every time I feel a rush of that detached, numb sadness wash over me. When I suddenly started having panic attacks again in January / February, after not having had one for years and years, I felt like I was going backwards at the speed of light.  Crushing, when I had been feeling like I’d made such progress.

Why am I ashamed? Well, partly that’s because I look around and see so many other amazing mums around me, mums who are struggling like I am, only they actually have tangible, serious issues they are dealing with, so in my mind, their struggling is justified. Or worse, mothers I see with enormous hurdles and draining challenges they face every single day and they are coping better than I cope with my small, normal, day to day issues. I look at myself, on the days when I was at my lowest, and take stock of exactly what was going on at that time and I think to myself, ‘How pathetic that you can’t even cope with that, and yet so and so copes with this really well.‘ Big sigh. Even reading back over this makes me feel sad.

In my head, the lovely, logical, left hand side of my brain, I know that it is an illness. And that yes, I struggled to cope with things that normally I would handle no worries, but that’s directly due to the illness.  That other mothers around me simply have a greater capacity to cope, specifically because they do not have PND, so comparing myself to them was always going to end badly.

But the other side of me (thank you, right brain) just feels defeated and ashamed and sorry.  Sorry for being the burden to my husband, sorry for being the downer in my family and my group of friends, sorry for the times I couldn’t be the mother I wanted to be for my kidlets.

No-one talks about it.  Its not like having any other kind of longterm, treatable illness.  Not often would anyone ask me, ‘How are you going with your PND?’.  I rarely bring it up, except on this blog, with anyone bar my husband.  I might say, “I’m having a bad day today,” to a friend, but I don’t even know if they know I’m referring to my PND, or if they just assume I mean a ‘bad day’, like anyone and everyone has from time to time. I feel awkward bringing it up and I wonder if those around me feel awkward bringing it up, too?  Don’t want to offend me?  Or perhaps, when they’ve asked me the general, ‘How are you going?’, they actually mean how is my PND going but I just don’t hear what they are really asking. Or maybe they get updates from my husband…. Who knows?

I know of mothers around me who are suffering PND, too, and we talk about it to each other – but do they feel the same sense of invisibility that I do? The shame, the hesitation to voice any thoughts or feelings or progress or set backs?  Maybe, and I hope this is true, they are a bit stronger than I am and they do talk openly about it with their nearest and dearest.

None of this is to say that I haven’t had support from those around me.  Its a solid wall of support, I know all of those I call my ‘village’ have my back 100% and think absolutely no less of me for this phase in my life’s journey.  I know that and do not doubt it, ever.

And those around me who I’ve never directly shared my diagnosis with (God, I nearly put diagnosis in quotation marks, because I am still so quick to be dismissive of it and myself), well, how could I expect them to discuss it with me?  If it’s something I’ve avoided talking about then, as people who are kind and caring, they would naturally avoid talking about it with me too, no matter how curious they were. Or how much they wanted to ask me, ‘Are you OK? How are you doing with your PND?’

And – even more importantly, I think, if they wanted to say – “I have PND, too,” or “I think I have PND – how did you know? What did you do? How can I get help?”; well, my silence about it would make it very difficult for them to start that already confronting conversation wouldn’t it?

So, hear it is. The end to my silence on PND.  I have it. I’m beating it. I love my kids fiercely and I want to be the best me I can, for them.  And for my husband, I want him to have a whole, happy woman beside him on this crazy ride we call parenthood.

There is so much support out there for PND, if only we can stop thinking of it as something to be ashamed of, to speak of only in hushed voices or minimally.  We should regard it like any other treatable illness – recognise the signs, seek diagnosis, get treatment, get well.  Talk about it. Ask about it.

For anyone, man or woman, out there suffering from this illness, whether a mild or severe case, know that the feelings you experience are not yours alone.  They are symptoms of the illness and they will go away with the right treatment. They are not “fault” any more than a runny nose is your “fault” when you have a cold.

You can do it, you are not a bad person, it is an illness and those around you love you still, and more, for fighting this battle that only you can win.

Check out the PANDA website, its one of the best in the world, at http://www.panda.org.au/

And be kind to you.  Sounds simple but it’s truthfully one of the rarest things we do.

x S

Letters to Ella #3

Dearest, beautiful Ella,

Happy birthday my love. You’ve just turned three. Three whole years have passed since the moment I held you to my chest and and looked at your daddy with tears in my eyes, unable to fully believe it and finally able to allow myself to accept that I was to be a mamma.

You amaze me. Every day, you learn something and you use it over and over, testing it out, rolling it around, bringing it into conversation – its phenomenal. You have a ‘word of the week’, and its such a wonderful moment when I recognise what it is. Last week, it was ‘maybe’ – “Its time for lunch, maybe?” This week, its ‘think’ – “I’m just thinkin’ about it, mamma,” you told me on the way home from daycare – “I’m just thinkin'” Holy shitballs, my heart explodes at your cuteness.

A switch seems to have flipped in your attitude, too… so much more independence, such tantrums… although they aren’t, compared to some, bad tantrums; but if I look at you up til now and you now – they’ve gone from a 2 up to an 8 … that’s a big increase in a short space of time. And doing things yourself.. wowsers. EVERYTHING. You must do EVERYTHING YOURSELF. Even when you cannot possibly do it yourself. Not frustrating at all…..Hello Threenager 🙂

Your imagination – beautiful and endless. You like to ‘become’ Oceana right now… randomly, I’ll be talking to you and you will gravely inform me: “My not Ella – my Oceana!” And thus I must address you thereon. Its magical. Its also infuriating sometimes and has actually elicited the following response – “I don’t care who you are right now!”  But mostly, its magical.

Co-sleeping. You’ve never been a co-sleeper. I think, prior to the past 8 weeks, you had spent a total of 2 nights in bed with me.  As a tiny baby you slept beside me, but not with me; once you moved to your own room that was it. Maybe twice, when you were ill, you spent the night in bed with me but usually if you were awake at night, you’d come into my bed for about an hour and then I’d have to take you back to your bed. You just wouldn’t sleep with me.  Which was quite great, really, but on those nights when you were just a little bit off, it would have been nice to snuggle with you, and you never could.

Until now.

At the moment, every morning you wake up very early. You call out to me and I come and grab you and bring you back into my bed. Then we snuggle and give kisses and we snooze (well you do, I can’t, still – but I love that you do). It is so nice. We have so many tense, frustrating, hurtful, angry, confused moments during our days that I truly, truly cherish these beautiful, loving, peaceful cuddles and snuggles we are suddenly getting to share every morning.

Its just you, and me, like it used to be … and I love it. Of course I love your brother and our fambam of four, but I absolutely miss the ‘you and me’ it used to be and so these early morning cuddles are so, so precious to me.

What else? You’ve learned to ride a bike (you picked it up in about 12 minutes, no lie), you run like the wind (and crash pretty hard too), you can count to 18, you proudly tell me “Its B for Ella!” whilst holding up an ‘E’, you help me feed Harley and the chickens and Archie your pony.

You miss your daddy and you love your brother – even though he’s not quite big enough for you to play with yet.

You have regular tantrums, but they aren’t too severe really, and you seriously have such a sweet, loving and easy going disposition so much of the time that I have to forgive you the odd epic meltdown.

You’re trying to give up your day naps and its so horrible for me but I’m trying to be supportive…sigh.

You still aren’t toilet trained and though it stresses me out, I’m trying hard to follow your lead and go with the flow and never ever pressure you. But seriously – I’m quite happy to not have 2 kids in nappies, ifyouknowwhatimean.

You love pasta, and meat, and capsicum. You do NOT like mushrooms.

You are love, personified. And I am absolutely blessed to call you my daughter, my little girl, my beautiful tiny human.

Love you sweetheart.

x S – mamma