My Dad had four daughters. At times it was pretty hard for him. I think sometimes he struggled to understand his daughters. He was an excellent provider, but he seemed to find it more comfortable to leave much of the parenting to my Mum.
I know there were many times, especially in my pre-teen, and teenaged years, when we had so much trouble understanding one another.
So many people have seen that I am struggling. My mum, my sisters, my lovely friends, my husband, and one particular lovely friend have all been doing things to help me. I have also been blown away by how many lovely blogging acquaintances have sent me messages of support.
But one of the people who has helped so much, has been my Dad.
Lately he has been popping around, just to have a cup of tea, or to play with the kids, or just to say hello for a few minutes. It is just comfortable. We don't always talk too much. Sometimes he just does my dishes for me, which is is so helpful. But he doesn't expect me to talk about how I'm feeling, and he doesn't expect me to feel better. I just know that he loves me, and is concerned for me.
He is just there.
If you had told me, when I was a teenager, that my Dad would be coming around, just to chat, play with my kids, and do my housework, when I was a Mum.... I wouldn't have believed you. But he is helping me. A lot.
I am thankful to my heavenly father for the earthly father he gave me.
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.
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.
We've been a little busy round these parts lately. Last weekend saw us off to the city.
Shane went off to ride bikes with my brother-in-law. He has become a bit of a biking enthusiast, and on Sunday he did a 50km mountain bike race. He had never actually ridden 50km before, was getting over a cold, and wasn't quite sure if he could actually do it... but he did! I am just a little bit proud of him.
Buggered... also, hot!
The small girl did her EEG test and she was an absolute angel. She sat and read books, and we sang songs, and played with puzzles for a whole hour while she had lots of wires stuck to her head. We won't have the results for two weeks, and they still may not show anything... but in the meantime she has had no more seizures, so we'll just wait and see how we go. She has still been very unwell though, and this week has been one filled with cuddles (which is so unlike her) and she has not been sleeping very well at all, which means I am also incredibly tired. But she does seem to be acting more like herself today.
We spent a lot of time wandering around beautiful spring gardens while we were away, and were lucky enough to be stopped by a local newspaper photographer while we were taking some photos for ourselves, and he took a couple of beautiful shots. Georgie and Shane even ended up on the front page of Monday's paper!
I am a little bit in love with a couple of those pictures. Who knew we could look so good?
Hopefully, soon they will be able to figure out what is going on with Georgie, and we can get life back into a more comfortable rhythm. We are happy, and everything's fine. But I know I have an awful lot of nervous tension just beneath the surface. I feel like I'm waiting for the knife to fall, or for the other shoe to drop. Or something.
This morning I found myself lying on the floor being a mummy-shaped jungle gym for my two monkeys. As Georgie bounced on my tummy, and I laughed (all the while being hyper-aware of the baby boy being who very close to biting my leg) I couldn't figure out why I wasn't happier, more content, and I couldn't quite keep the tears from forming.
I don't know what I am waiting for, what needs to happen. But I wish very much it would happen soon.
It's amazing how you can wake up one day and have a set plan, or expectation of how that day is going to go, only to reach the end of the day and feel like your world might not be the same.
This morning we had playgroup at my house. It was a nice morning. We drank coffee, and talked, and the kids played madly in the spring sunshine. Just as it was getting to lunchtime, Georgie got a bit tired and cranky and came and sat on my lap. She just wanted to cuddle.
And then all of a sudden, she was gone. She was there, but she wasn't. Her eyes were just starring blankly at me, as if she couldn't even see me. After half a minute or so, she came back. But she kept on doing it, again and again.
She's already done this before. Once, a week and a half ago, after we were swimming, and we went up to the hospital. But by the time they saw her, it was over, and they put it down to dehydration.
This time, I wanted to see my GP. So a lovely lady drove us down to the Doctor's, and came in with us, while the other ladies stayed with Charlie and the other children. This time, they took it seriously, and the nurse saw what we had seen.
By the time our Doctor came in, Georgie had stopped. But she listened too, and sent us up to the hospital in an ambulance.
Georgie and I spent a while at the hospital, she was admitted, and then by the grace of God we managed to see the pediatrician. He only comes to our regional hospital twice a month, but he was there today, and he came and saw us after his day was finished.
It looks like she may have been either having absence seizures, or maybe some kind of episode that is similar to when babies hold their breath. We will go to the city as soon as we can to get an EEG test done. She also has a UTI.
Today has been.... overwhelming.
It sucks that Shane is away in Perth this week, I know how hard it is for him that he isn't here. It sucks that we have to go away for further tests, and it sucks that my baby is not okay.
But...
God has seen us through this hard time. I am so grateful that I had such lovely friends that I could leave my boy with at the drop of the hat. I am so grateful that I have such a great extended family that helped us out any way they could. I am so grateful that the right Doctors and Nurses were on duty today. I am so grateful that my boy was such a champion while we were gone all afternoon. I am so grateful that we were allowed to go home tonight. And I am beyond grateful that my baby girl is currently lying safe and secure in her bed.
We'll just wait and see what tomorrow brings. But I know God will continue to see us through each and every tomorrow, just as he has done today. So right now I am not going to do any Dr Googling, but instead am going to try and get some sleep, and wait and see what tomorrow will bring.
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
I've had a funny relationship with blogging lately. Every time I sit down in front of the computer screen to type something out, the words just don't seem right. I can't express myself properly, I think too much, I feel stupid... and so I inevitably end up pressing delete and posting nothing at all.
I started getting afraid.
Of what people would think. Of me. Of my writing. Of my mothering. It felt too... personal. Or something. I got all up in my head.
It's probably no secret that I've been having a rough time lately. I'm pretty certain I've been battling a bit of PND. It's not too bad. But it's enough to make living just really hard, you know? It takes so much effort, just to stay in control of my mind. To keep myself going. To try and be happy. It's taken so much out of me just to be. And I've been so tired, for so long.
Being, just hasn't come easily these last few months.
It's hardly surprising. Two under two is a lot of work. And Shane's job change has given both of us a pretty steep learning curve. I'm sure if you've read any of my recent posts, you could see it.
My last post in particular, came from a pretty raw place. But it hasn't all been that bad. I turned comments off for that post, because I was stuck in a moment, in a pity party, and I knew it. I just wanted to get it out, and move on. I don't really want to make people feel sorry for me, and I wasn't fishing to be told that I'm a good Mum. I know I am, most of the time. Except for when I get stuck.
But writing these things down, helps give me some kind of release.
I need to write again.
So I'm planning to post a lot more often in the future. I want to stop thinking, and over-analysing. Stop thinking 'do people really need to read this?' and rather, ask myself, 'do I need to get this out of my head?'
Thanks for sticking with me this far. I'm not done yet.
