Dog food tins, and other nonsense

Sometimes I find it rather frustrating. This whole getting better thing. Some days I feel like I am 100% fine, no PND here, thank you very much and other times I am terrified that the claws of bleakness and terror still have my mind firmly in their grasp. It is such a process. And I just want to be past it already! But it really is a journey, and it's learning about yourself. Learning your triggers, your weak points, your signals.

Lately, I've been struggling. A week or so ago I felt like I had made no progress, like I was still back, trapped in the awfulness of post-Charlie-birth, and I was never, ever going to get out. I was surviving. And I was terrified that things were getting worse, not better. I mentioned it to my Mum, who told me that she was sure I was improving. I asked her why, and apparently it was because of the dog food tins.

So last year, I was kind of just keeping it together. But I was very, very numb. My Mum was helping out a lot with the kids and just general life stuff, and she would often pop over and do my dishes, and hang out my washing and just help in that amazing indescribably awesome way that good Mums do (she still does!). Apparently, one day she came over and was hanging out washing, and she noticed empty dog food tins. Lots of them. (Chloe's dog dish is in the laundry and we keep the food up on a shelf in there.) Up on that shelf, there were about 12 empty tins of dog food that Mum chucked in the bin.

And I just did not see them.

Now, I would see them.

For me, one of the biggest signs of how well I am doing is the state of my house. I'd imagine I'm not alone there. If my house is very clean, my folding is mostly done, my floors are clean, toys are picked up and things are generally in order, that probably means my head is in a good place (or Mum's been visiting). If things are okay, the dishes are getting done, the beds are made, the floor might not be too clean, and the very large folding pile is sitting on the bed waiting (always waiting), then I am coping, but struggling a bit. If my dishes are not done every night, beds are unmade, the folding pile is not even pretending to wait to be folded, and the dog tins are piling up, things are looking a bit grim. There probably is a worse stage after that, and that's the one where the dog is not being fed at all, but fortunately we've never been there.

At the moment, my house is pretty clean, but my folding pile has gotten a little out of control. I am coping, but it's a bit hard. But that's okay. I sometimes look at all these things I want to do. I'd love to get my house properly in order, I want to get motivated about eating well and losing weight, I want to do something extra, that's just for me, and I want to be better at so many, many things. But the point is, I want.

For a while there, I didn't want anything. I didn't see anything.

And so, I may look at this mountain I am climbing and feel like I am never, ever going to reach the top. But if I just turn around and look down, I can see just how far I have come.

Bubbles

I've been trying, really trying, lately, to be more present. But it kind of just sucks. It's made me realise how far I've fallen, and how easy it is, to just not care. It is much, much easier to not really parent, and just turn on the TV, and leave them to their own devices.

I'm really struggling at the moment, with being Mum.

This afternoon I tried. I did. They woke up from a sleep, and I played and laughed tried, and then, because a little girl said please, we went outside to go and blow bubbles. Only it didn't work. I made one batch of bubble mixture, and we ran outside with our assorted paraphernalia from the second drawer in the kitchen and.... Nada. Bubbles Mummy, Bubbles. The bubble mixture wouldn't make bubbles. We ran inside for more soap, once, twice, three times, and it was just no good. I tried again, made another batch, which was just as useless as the first. Bubbles Mummy, Bubbles.

I decided to give it one more go and even googled for a recipe, although excitement levels were dwindling as quickly as my detergent supply. I made a third batch, but it didn't work, and it just sucked. Biscuits Mummy, Biscuits. I went inside in defeat, handed them biscuits, and switched the TV on, added dish-washing liquid to the shopping list, and I felt.... nothing.

Somedays it's hard to believe that Peppa Pig isn't an adequate substitute.

All of my effort, all of my doing... just feels useless at the moment. I make fancy banana pikelets for breakfast to have nobody eat them, I clean up puzzles to watch them get dumped on the floor two seconds later. I just can't seem to get this right.

It is hard work, learning to stretch a fuse that has been too short for too long. Paying attention to  every screech and cry and shout is a choice. It requires discipline, and mindfulness, and effort. Blocking things out, being numb? Is so much easier, in it's way. Being lazy was easy. And coming back, pulling myself (and my children) into line, is a choice, and sometimes it sucks.

Maybe, probably, I am just being too hard on myself. This week hasn't been an easy one so far. With Daddy away and a case of hand, foot and mouth, we are pretty well isolated. Georgie is having a fairly decent 'everything-is-yuck' phase. My good intentions just don't seem to last too long. Like bubbles, they build up big, unreasonable, unattainable and unsustainable.... and then they burst, and all that's left is a great big space.

[image]

Tomorrow is another day.

Just a crooked soul trying to stand up straight

So I think I may have lied before.

I said that Post-Natal depression was not my burden anymore. I blamed it on birth control, and said things will be better now, I'm fixed!

But I am terrified that I'm not.

I don't know if this is motherhood, or if this is whacked out hormones, or brain chemistry, or if I am just so tired.... or if this is me.

Things are better. The lows are not so low. But I am still struggling. I think, I know, I have too much on my plate. I don't know what to do about it. I feel foolish and weak. There are plenty of people I see who are doing so much more than I am, who can do so much more than I am. But I am just so weary. Everything about my life makes me tired.

I co-ordinate a playgroup, I help out with my church's monthly children's event, I attend bible study, Shane and I have just taken on the role as music directors of our church, I sing and lead worship at church, I have two small children and I am dodgy wife and friend and a a tired Mummy.

I need to figure out how to say no to the things that I don't want to do, so that I have the energy for the things I do want to do, and energy for the things that matter. I want to do, and be, and help, and act. I don't want to stand by the sidelines, silent and tired, while the world needs. But I cannot keep operating out of guilt.

I know that power that I am currently operating in, the fire that is keeping me going.... it's not the kind that lasts. I don't want to burn out. I need to open my eyes. I don't judge other people according to how busy and important they are, so why do I judge myself so much more harshly?

I love my family, and I love worship. But honestly? Child-related things just leave me cold. I used to love working with children. But I think at the moment, all of my kid-related energy is being poured into my own babies. I don't really like other people's children very much at the moment. And I need to let that be all right.

Mostly I am angry at myself. My babies are only going to be babies for such a little while. And instead of playing and laughing and taking them for walks to the park, or on playdates with friends, I am angry and tired and stressed. I am chivying them around to hurry up so we can get to a place we don't want to go, because I am always late. I am constantly down about the state of my house, because there is just so much to do and I never seem to have time to do any of it, and when I do have time I am lazy and on facebook, or watching TV.

I am tired of feeling tired and fat and unhealthy and sorry for myself.  I only have such a small time with them as babies, and I am too busy being busy or being lazy to enjoy it. I am the only person who can make things better. I need to do something.

I think I am okay. I just wanted it to be easy. I wanted to be better, like magic. But that's not the way it works I suppose. I don't want to give everything up, but I know I need to figure out how to live better.

When it's just not enough

Don't give up. Don't quit. Keep going.

If you have more bad days than good. If things are too hard. If you cannot cope with the demands of your family. If you find yourself so frustrated and angry that you literally have to lock yourself away from your children because you are frightened you will hurt them. If you just want to cease to exist. If you can barely get through the day.

It is not okay. It is not acceptable.  And it is not supposed to be this way.

If you were in pain, if you hurt yourself physically and had to live life with your pain consistently at an 8, or a 9, or a 10, it would not be okay. There would be surgery, and pain medication, and a plan to heal. Your emotional and spiritual pain should not be any different. Sure sometimes we do struggle and have bad days, pain is a part of life. Life is pain, highness, anyone who says otherwise is selling something. But it should not be your life.

I kind of can't believe I am writing this post. Because I have read so many things that all say the same thing. But a couple of my experiences this week lead me to believe that it needs to be written. Still we struggle. Obviously we just don't say it enough. If this helps one person, it is worth it.

 Don't give up. Don't quit. Keep going.

There is still a stigma. "Oh I didn't think you would be that type of person" (What person, the type with horns and blue skin?) "She just needs to focus on the positives" (She's trying) "He just needs to organize himself better." (No, he is not coping, and he needs help.)

It's easy to fill out the questionnaires you get at the Dr's office, and lie just well enough, so that it doesn't look too obvious, but so that you never really tell the truth. But you know who loses in the end in that scenario? You.

 Don't give up. Don't quit. Keep going.

I'm not saying you need to spill out your pain and anguish to every person that you meet. Fake it till you make it can be extremely helpful sometimes. Sometimes you don't want to let every single person who wants in, into your own personal business. And that's okay. But you need to talk to somebody. You need to let someone see you without the mask. You cannot do this alone. You were never supposed to.

People are never going to get it right all of the time. They will never be able to fix everything. But you've got to give them the chance to try. People can't help you if they don't know that you need help. God puts people into our lives for a reason. He is trying to help. But you need to let them. Let Him in.

See your doctor. See your pastor. Talk to somebody about how you are feeling. Maybe you need antidepressants, maybe you don't. Maybe it would help to talk to someone that isn't going to be hurt by the words you need to speak. Maybe they can help you develop strategies so that you can better cope with the problems you have in your life. And yes, maybe the first person you talk to will be less than helpful. But find someone else. Try again.

Don't give up. Don't quit. Keep going.

You are not supposed to feel this way. Don't buy into the lie that this is what you deserve. Don't believe that this is all there is. He has so much more for you, than you have for yourself.

We were created to feel deeply. To feel sad sometimes is normal. But it is not normal to dwell in a place of sadness forever. The story doesn't have to go this way. It is your story. You are not responsible for what happens to you, but you are responsible for the way you deal with it.



Don't give up.

Don't quit.

Keep going.





Linking up with Grace today.

Me, again

Things are better. All of a sudden, I just feel... good again. I'm fine, and I can't quite believe it.

I went to my GP, and we discussed what might help. I told her that I really was not a fan of anti-depressants, (mostly because I don't trust myself to come off them!) and fortunately, it looks like I won't need them. Instead, we decided to try switching my birth control. And in a matter of weeks, the... bleakness that was enveloping every single aspect of my life, is gone. Sure, I still have bad days. But the difference is, they're bad. Not terrifyingly awful.

I am just stunned.

Part of me doesn't want to talk about it yet, in case I accidentally jinx it. But I'm pretty sure that things are just... better.

I was really starting to think that the problem was me, or my life. That something was seriously wrong and I was never every going to be happy again. That the struggle would always be there. But now, I just don't feel unhappy about everything.

It was like I was trapped. The part of me that was alive and happy and joyous, was just restrained and bound. It took so much effort, to do anything. Making my bed or doing my dishes was a mammoth task. But now, my house is cleaner, I want to spend time with people, I want to do again. I have more energy, I can laugh and play and smile and be happy and it doesn't feel wrong.

I wish I had discovered this sooner. But I am glad that (hopefully) things are now so much better. I'm glad to be more me than I have been in a long time.

For him

In all the mess, and the crappy feelings, and the hard. He has been here.

He doesn't know what to say, or do. He wishes he could fix it, because he's a man. But he can't, and he knows it. But he is still here.

Last year, he was less present. Last year was a rough year. Work took so much from him that he didn't have much left over. Lately however, he has been better, and he has been helping me. So much.

There are times in marriage, when you are desperately in love with your husband. When he consumes you and you just like him. When you are so grateful for him. For the fact that you are his. There are times when that love doesn't come easy. When it is a choice. It requires much effort. There are times when you are mostly ships passing in the night. Each going their own way, with not much to bind you together.

Last year, we were ships a lot of the time. Sometimes we were warships. This past year taught me much about choice. About consciously choosing to love, and respect and take care of my husband, regardless of whether or not I wanted to.

But right now? I am so grateful for my marriage and my husband. I am grateful for the good times and the bad times that we have weathered. And I am grateful for him. For so many bits of him, that are really quite lovely. I am grateful that he loves me. I am glad that I am his and he is mine.


Linking up with Jess today :)

Uncle

I never imagined that you could be this sad, without reason. A big important reason, like the loss of a loved one, or the sickness of a child.  I am crying at the drop of a hat. And I just can't understand it. I can't explain it, I can't justify it. But I can't stop it either.

I am so tired.

Tired of feeling this way, tired of having to work so hard. Every moment that I am not sleeping just requires too much effort.

I had such plans for this year. I was going to come home refreshed from a holiday, and I didn't. Coming home, being home, has been awful. I was going to come home to a clean house, because I'd tried to be so organised before we left, but I look around at this mess and disorganization around me, and there's just too much to do. I was going to eat better, and exercise more, and that's going great (Hear the sarcasm there?) I was going to be a better wife, and mother. If only I could bring myself to care about anything. My boy is almost one, and I thought this depression would have lifted by now. Things were supposed to be better, but they're not. And I just don't understand why.

I am tired of having sick children. While we were on holidays, the kids had croup, ear infections, chest infections, and now we have come home, and the first day Shane was back at work saw me sitting in the bathtub with a sick Charlie, and with little-boy-banana-flavoured-vomit trickling down my bra.

Uncle! I'm saying it. Uncle!!!

I'm sick of all my contradictions. I just want to be left alone, but I don't want to be lonely. I want to go out, but I don't want to leave the safety of my house. I want to exercise but I just can't seem to get there. I want to eat well, but it just feels like it is too much work. I almost wish I had never had Charlie, because that seems to have been the catalyst for all of this. But I never ever want to be without him.

I feel like a complete and utter failure. At everything.

But I am choosing to try to focus on the good.
My children are always clean, and are bathed at least once a day.
My children may get sick a lot, but they are building up their little immune systems.
They wear clean clothes every day.
My family never goes hungry, and a lot of the time, we do eat well. (In fact a lot of the time, we just eat too well!)
My husband loves me.
My children are loved, extravagantly. By so many people.
They are growing up in a home with God at the centre.
They have a mother who is doing her best, and they may watch Mummy tantrum and yell and scream and cry and lose it. But they watch her pick herself back up off the floor, they hear her say sorry, and they watch her get on with it.

I'm sorry for whining, and moaning and continuing to spew out all this negativity. But it's all I've got. I don't know how to turn the tide and change. Won't somebody tell me how?

The only thing I know for sure, is that He loves me. He has not forsaken me. He is and always will be holy and good and righteous.

Today is not forever

Crouching, in the shower, as your chest heaves and waves of shame and anger and desperation crash over you. Hating yourself, hating everything about you. Praying, pleading to God for help, as sobs shake your body and stringy, gluey globs of snot and tears drain down the plughole. A little girl opens the shower curtain, "You okay, Mummy?" Please God, let this be over soon.


Before I got this way I never really understood. I made all the right noises, and said a lot of the right things.... but in the back of my mind I was silently judging. How can people feel that bad? I just couldn't get it. Why did they let it get so bad? Why couldn't they get themselves back up? I kind of thought depression was just pure selfishness.

And, in it's way it is. But it's also fear. Crippling fear and ugly self-loathing in a way you'd never dreamed possible. It's not coping, no matter how hard you try. If it was possible by sheer force of will, to not be depressed... nobody would be. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I know how the smallest tasks can seem like Everest. I know how easy it is to plaster a smile on when you are out, and then go home, alone and desperate.

I find it so hard, feeling this way while I have to care for these tiny people.  And there's that lingering question; would I feel this way if I wasn't a mother? They bring my stress and tension into the foreground with devastating sharpness. I wish I wasn't responsible for them, while I am like this.

But at the same time, they are my saving grace. If I didn't have to get up every day, and care for them... I don't think I would get up in the morning. They make it so hard... but they keep me trying, fighting. On the bad days they can make things so much worse, but they can also make the bad days so much better too. The fact that they need me, makes me get up, keep moving, even if some days it's barely a shuffle. Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

I'm grateful for this. Because of it I am going to be a much better, much more compassionate, understanding person. But I am looking forward (so much) to the day when I can be the person who used to feel this way, instead of the person who does.

Healing

You don't get to choose your damage. Abuse, trauma, accidents, sickness, disease, death of a loved one. You don't know what's going to happen, or how you are going to handle it until it happens.

You do have one choice though.

How you deal with it.

You can allow it to dictate your life, make decisions for you. Or you can use it to shape your future. You can choose healing. The pain of healing can be awful. But it's better than living with the pain of the damage.

Cancer has to be cut out. Bones have to be re-broken to be set properly sometimes. Burns need dressing. Damaged limbs need amputation.

After writing yesterday's post I was a bit of a mess. I just felt horrid, and was quite upset. It wasn't until later when I was doing the dishes that I started putting the pieces together.

On Monday I was grocery shopping with the kids. As we were walking up an aisle I spotted the student midwife who was present when Charlie was born. I watched her face, a face that was etched into my memory.... but not a trace of recognition flashed into her eyes. Funny. It was one of the most important events of my life, but just another day at work for her.

Charlie is almost 9 months old. I fell pregnant with Charlie when Georgie was 9 months old.

As I was doing the dishes I had so many memories flash in my head. Of my labour with Charlie.

It was.... rough.

Not the pain, not the birth. But the labour. In my entire life I have never felt so bad. It was a completely degrading, humiliating experience. I had pushed it down, and pushed it away. And over time, I think the hurt kind of compounded a bit.

It's ironic really. Georgie's birth was filled with intervention, when she arrived Georgie was nowhere near as healthy, and whole as Charlie. She was small, jaundiced, she didn't feed well. Charlie on the other hand, was born completely intervention free. I didn't even have any pain medication. He was a great big healthy baby, he knew how to feed. He was practically perfect. Yet his is the birth that has left the largest scar.

It could have been worse. So much worse. The actual birth was really quite good. And the labour was short. But it was not good. I'm sure many women have experienced worse, and I ache for them. Maybe what happened to me wouldn't have bothered someone else.

But it hurt me.

You want to know something? Shane has found the two under two thing a bit hard at times. We both have, really. We always planned for a big-ish family. But he jokes about "No more babies!" I hate it. Hate it. But not because I'm scared that he will want to stop having children, and I will want to keep going. I'm scared because I think he will want to have more. And I might not be able to face going back.

I'm really glad that Charlie was not my first baby. He might have been an only child. I'm grateful that I had Georgie, so I know that the birthing experience can be a good one.

I'm pretty sure I will go back. Not for a good long while yet- we are busy enough right now! But it's going to be hard when we do.

I'd do it again, for Charlie, in a heartbeat. He was absolutely, positively, 100% worth it. I adore the snot out of my boy, and I am so, so glad that despite all the yuckiness that is Post Natal Depression, I have never had trouble bonding with him. Ironically, it was the midwife's rudeness that helped me forge a bond with my boy.

Worth it.

But I'm still angry, so angry about it all. As I was sobbing over the dishes I remembered hearing from a friend that that same midwife, the midwife who made me feel so low, is pregnant. In my anger I said "I hope she has an awful time! And gets hurt as much as she hurt me!"

Wow.

Where did that come from? Have I been carrying that bitterness this whole time? I've still got a long way to go to forgive her. But I'm getting there.
I'm working on healing.

I pull the pain out of it's little box every now and then. The intensity of it knocks me over a little. But each time you examine the hurt, embrace it, and own it.... it gets a little bit smaller when you put it away again. And in time, I will be able to put it away for good. The monster will be small enough to tame, and it won't be able to claw it's way up to the surface, causing pain, anymore.

Broken

Just tell me it will get better.

I just can't seem to be okay. No matter how hard I try.

I want to be better.

I'm sure that life isn't supposed to be like this. I refuse to accept that this is normal. It is not okay to feel like this.

I never had to try this hard to stay happy. To be all right.

I am angry, all of the time. I am frustrated, and unreasonable, and horrible. Or I am tired, apathetic, and disinterested. I don't know how to stop.

What do I do? How do I change?

I look at the shambles around me, and tell myself, "If I just clean the house, things will be better." Or "If I could just have some time to myself......... If I could just go get a haircut.......If I could just get a massage.....If I could just lose some weight......If I could just get the chance to go for a swim......... If I could just not be me."

I am angry at everyone around me. Because I feel like if they knew, if they really understood, they would try harder, they would be kinder. They would fix it.

But I know it's not like that.

They don't know, because I hide. I am so good at making everything okay on the outside. So superficial.

My floors are clean, and my dishes are done. But my cupboards are stuffed so full with junk and crap and disorganisation, you can't even open them without spilling out all the mess.

I don't ask for help. Because I'm scared of what people will think. And I'm scared that they will get tired of me. I don't want to be anyone's burden. Besides, what are they going to do? I don't even know how anyone could help me. Maybe if they came into my life and took over every single responsibility that I had. And just let me sleep, for a very, very long time.

But that's not an option. And deep down, I know it probably wouldn't help anyway.

I know it's not their fault. Until I felt like this, I didn't know what it was like. I know that many people I've known, and know, have felt it too.

You just have to keep on going. One foot in front of the other. One moment at a time.

I try keeping myself busy. So busy cleaning, doing, so that I can't stop to think about this. Or I try to go out. Spend time with people so that I am distracted from myself. I try to let myself rest. Ignore the housework, read a book. I try to pray, try to worship and pour out all my troubles to God.

But it doesn't work. I just get more highly strung. More tense. I compare myself unfavorably all the time. The house gets dirtier. My insincere worship hits the ceiling and falls back to the ground with a thud.

Just not good enough.

It's no good telling myself that it could be worse. I know that there are people suffering through far worse than I've even imagined. But that doesn't change how I feel.

I hate looking in the mirror and not being able to see anything that I like.

I know. I have value. I know I was fearfully and wonderfully made. I know that the creator of the universe loves me, and cares for me. I know I am so blessed to have so many wonderful people around me who love me and care for me. I know. I know. I know.

But knowing something, and believing it are two vastly different things.
 
How do you stop this?

I feel broken. Unable to be fixed. Of no use. Ineffectual. Not working. Defective.

I wish I could stop writing this rubbish. I'm sick of moaning and whining. All this introspective garbage. But I can't seem to write anything else. And I have to get this out somehow. But I am (mostly) okay. Really. I'm not going to go out and end it all or anything like that. My people need me.

But I just want to do this better. There has to be a better way to live.

Life can't stay this way forever.

Can it?

No light

I never imagined it would be like this.

Being trapped, and not knowing how to do this.

You know what sucks? Being stuck in a crappy situation, that you have absolutely no control over.

I didn't realise that I would be so bad at parenting. I thought I would be better, kinder, more fun, more patient. Without the Wiggles, I'd be screwed.

How can I teach my child self control, when I have none? How can she learn how to love unconditionally, when I don't? How do I make their world stable and safe and secure, when my world isn't?  How do I teach them patience, and kindness and compassion when I have none? The further in I go in motherhood, the more I am convinced that I am just not the right person for the job.

I thought I was an okay person before I had kids. Not, you know, the best person in the world, but okay. But as a parent, I really don't like myself. It would be so nice to give in. To stop, and be lazy, and not think, not follow routine, not have to do. But I can't. These tiny people need me.

I just don't know what to do.

When my little girl cries and screams and hits and kicks when she wakes up. It breaks my heart. I don't know what is wrong, why she is sad, and it hurts me. But it also makes me angry. I want to smack her and shout at her to just stop it! I just want to be able to fix it, and I don't know how.

I don't know how to care for these people, my family. I don't know how to meet their needs. I don't know how to meet my needs. I don't know what to do. I hate feeling like I can't do anything right. I hate feeling left out, and I hate dealing with insecurities that I thought I'd managed to leave in high-school. I hate this. I hate the weakness. As far as I'm concerned, you put on a brave face and keep fighting. Whining about it won't do you any good. Just keep going, and eventually you'll get there.

But what do you do when you just don't know if you can keep going anymore?

I suck at this.

What is the point of you?

A couple of months ago, we were at my Mum's house with family, and Georgie was playing with her cousin Hamish, who is four years old. Or, to put it more correctly, Georgie was following Hamish around, getting into his things and just generally annoying him as only a toddler can. Hamish eventually got so frustrated with her that he exclaimed "Georgie, what's the point of you!?" It was quite funny, and we all laughed. But lately I feel like that question is just hanging over me.

"What is the point of you?'

At times I feel like I am a less valuable member of society because I am 'just' a Mum, and I don't work. I feel like I don't contribute, don't really add anything to the world. Instead I feel that to the rest of the world, we stay at home mums are the toddlers of society. Not good for much, except for whining and complaining and getting in the way, and they have no idea how much they are looked after or how good their lives are. I don't know how much of it comes from the image of the 'stay at home mum' that is perpetuated by the media, and how much of it comes from my own feelings, but... it gets to me.

When you think about it really, what is the problem with Mothers? I must admit that at times I read blogs where women who are Mums speak about their struggles with depression, with motherhood, and you almost get a little desensitized to it, you know? I understand why people poke fun at Mummy bloggers. I know before I had kids I used to hear so much about how hard it is to be a mother.... and though I'd never admit it, in the back my mind I was a little like 'Really?' It's a bit of 'Oh your poor rich woman with too much food so you worry about being fat, with your beautiful home and healthy children.... it must be so hard for you to live.' (insert sarcastic tone here)

But here's the thing. It is hard. At times being a stay at home Mother is the hardest thing I have ever done. It's not like I have the stress of being in charge of a huge multi-national corporation, and sometimes I do get to hang out with my friends and drink coffee. But at the same time, often it is so incredibly mind-numbingly dull.
 
I love my children, so much it hurts sometimes. But I don't love the mess they make. I don't love washing the same dishes, cleaning the same toilet, washing and folding the same clothes, mopping the same floor, making the same beds, feeding, changing nappies, fighting the same fights.... every damn day.

And it's not necessarily the everyday tasks in themselves that get to you. After all, cleaning is a part of life. But it's the fact that it feels like the sum of those tasks, is are all you are worth. The feeling that you're not good for anything else. Plus, having children really messes with your mind. The constant worry, the responsibility, the pressure. It never stops.

Why does he throw tantrums? Is she too attached? Will this house ever be clean? Sleep (oh sleep!) Are they growing enough, eating enough, eating too much? Is she talking? Will she ever stop talking? Do my kids watch too much TV? Are we playing enough? Reading enough? Will they be ready for school?  Will they make friends? What if they don't make good friends? What if they do drugs?  Dear God, what if I don’t get my kid into a good enough school and my child ends up being a creepy forty year old man who still lives with his mother? 

I want my life to mean more. Be more. I don't want the fact that I got all my folding done, or enjoyed a really great cup of coffee to be the highlight of my day. But, this is a season. I will not always be the Mother of small children. This particular hard will not always be my hard.

So it's true. Mothers do complain and moan and go on and on about the difficulty of Motherhood. We probably do act like toddlers at times. And yes, it gets a bit much.... our constant outpouring of thoughts and feelings that all say the same thing. I get that. But, we don't do it forever. And in the meantime, we are still important members of society. Even though we live in a world that constantly devalues children and the raising of them, this, raising tiny people, is valuable. And if blogging and talking and writing and communicating about it all, helps get Mums through the day, then it matters.

Expect Less...

I read this post by Bron at Maxabella Loves this morning, and it almost made me cry. I know she wrote it for a friend, but it still is very applicable to me right now.

My expectations on myself are way too high lately. I know it. Everyone keeps telling me how well I'm doing, and how much I'm doing... but it doesn't feel like enough. I'm still expecting myself to have the house as organised as I did before Charlie was born. I'm doing way too much. Yesterday, for example, I cleaned the kitchen and made the bed and did the general house cleaning stuff. But then, when the kids napped, I also vacuumed and mopped the floor, and clipped the dog and washed her. By the time it was time to wake the kids up to drop them off at my Mum's so I could go to a hair appointment... I never even ate lunch. And that's not good.

I need to try to nap more. Because I'm still only getting at most 6 hours of (broken) sleep most nights. And when I'm tired, I'm not a very nice mother. I snap, and get irritated at Georgie much more quickly then I should. I also need to lower my expectations when it comes to Georgie and her behaviour. She is hard work yes, but it is not her fault. She is a beautiful little girl, who is also getting used to her life being very different.

I need to remind myself that I have just had a baby 6 weeks ago, and my husband is away, plus my baby has what I thought was colic, but now I think it could be silent reflux. (We are going to the Doctor today to find out). I also have a toddler who is extremely busy.

So my new Mummy mantra at the moment is 'expect less'. I know I feel better when the house is clean, but there is a difference between keeping the house as tidy as I can, to cleaning maniacally at the expense of my well-being. I don't have to be firing on all cylinders all the time... that's a sure way to burn out. I also need to stop getting so upset when things don't go to plan. Life is difficult and messy, and I cannot control it. I need to let go of my stress and enjoy things a little more. Otherwise I will end up very unhappy and I don't want that.

Not what I want to be
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Today I'm going to try and take it easy. And stop pushing myself so much. I need to try and expect less from myself.... and I suspect that I'm not the only one.

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