It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. 

Charles Dickens certainly knew how to coin a phrase. I am stealing it, wholeheartedly. No credit for me. 

However I do not use it to compare London and Paris during the tumultuous time of the French Revolution. This evening, as I sit in my bed, laptop on my knee (thank you dearest hubby for repairing it for me. Much easier than trying to compose your blog on your smartphone!), having just done a quick top up early night feed and got baby back into bed, I am describing motherhood. 

I have two children. My darling daughter is now the grand age of three and my boy, my Little Man, is five months. I am a stay at home mum and, I will, most likely, continue to be so, until the Little Man goes to preschool at three. My two little munchkins make me laugh so hard and smile so widely. There are times when I truly feel like I might explode with love for them and I still can't fully believe that we created them and they grew inside me. However, this time of heart bursting joy is juxtaposed by this also being, by far, the most challenging and difficult period of my life. As Dickens so eloquently put it; the season of Light... the season of Darkness.

There are certain aspects of being a new parent that you expect, before your children come along: the broken sleep, the exhaustion, the nappies, the crying etc. These things are a given. I can handle those. I anticipated those. What I did not expect, after the birth of my second child (I've done this all before, it'll be like riding a bike) was to be categorically floored by anxiety and post natal depression. 

It comes in sudden waves; ambushing you from behind a particularly long day and burnt dinner. And it takes many guises: anger, no, insane rage, resentment, guilt, shame, incredible stress, feeling indifferent, anxiety, and lack of control. It's not necessarily about feeling that you aren't bonding with your baby; I couldn't adore my Little Man any more. It's about me and what's going on in my head. If anything, it's my relationship with my eldest that is suffering. 

I have written before about my need for control. It transpires that I really need to feel I am in control. As my Health Visitor put it, I have OCD tendencies. I need to keep my house clean, tidy and organised or it becomes a huge point of stress for me. I need to tick things of on my mental list. I crave structure and routine. (I'm finding these long summer holidays challenging.) I feel saturated by my emotions and then at the point of the merest sign of things going wrong, I overflow. Spectacularly. This isn't me. This is not the parent I want to be. So, after four long months of burying my head in the sand I am tackling it. Swallowing my pride. Being courageous. It's one of the hardest things I have done in a long, long time. I feel like I have failed. I am not coping very well. 

Yes, I can smile. Yes, I seem very much on top of things. My house is clean and tidy. My laundry is done, menus planned, groceries bought, dinner on the table each and every night. Come September, Little Crumpet goes to preschool and the Little Man is signed up for swimming and music classes. On the surface I seem to be parenting with ease. But I am a swan. Under the water, out of sight, I am paddling furiously, desperately keeping afloat, whilst trying to maintain the calm picture of serenity and togetherness to the big wide world. I certainly fooled my Health Visitor for a while.

A part of me knows that I am not the only one. But to talk about this is taboo. No one wants to admit they are struggling. That it is harder than they feel it should be. No one wants to confess that they feel out of control, a failure, a truly crap mother, or father, at times. Admitting this is hard. Humiliating. But I feel like this. I'm not the only one who feels like this. The associated guilt. I should be better at this. I try my hardest. Every single day. I am my own worst critic and my hardest is never good enough. I know I should cut myself some slack. But I can't and I don't think I ever will. I utterly adore my little munchkins. Only the very best of me is good enough for them. And so I strive for perfection. Every single day. They deserve it. They are amazing little people. It's a catch 22. I want to give them the best of me, but I feel that my best is never good enough.

So I take each day as it comes. I pray the good days are great and many, and that the times between my dark days grow ever longer. I will beat this. It will not consume me. 

This is written to each and every one of you out there who is secretly beating yourself up. You are not alone. This is our village. It takes a village to raise a child. Reach out. 

xx

The art of the successful play café

It's a rather chilly, gloomy June morning. In a bid to appease a housebound, restless toddler and the call of CBeebies, we've come out to our local play café. It's housed in a local church hall and only on one day a week. I discovered this morning that this is the last day it's open until September. The promise of warm weather and a truly marvellous park close by is apparently proving too much. It's poorly frequented (there are seven children here as I'm writing this) and, if I'm honest, feels rather unloved. Maybe it's the hard floor, maybe it's the stacked tables and chairs at the back which hint at the building's multi purpose use, which give a sense of the temporary and coldness. I'm sitting, watching my two year old happily bounce on the inflatable play area, sipping a hot cup of tea (a rare treat!), Baby Bear sleeping in his pram next to me and I can't help but compare it to another play café we often go to, further afield. This one is always much busier and feels rather like a large, wonderful, child friendly lounge! It has sofas and rugs aplenty. An area for ride ons, large building blocks and a mini trampoline. A dedicated baby area, with feeding pillows and baby gyms. It feels warm, cosy and 'loved'. It also helps that the staff are fantastic and know the regulars by name. The menu, although small and simple, is home made, delicious and excellent value for money, also offering "Toddler Tapas"; a pick and mix selection of healthy finger food. This café seems to be thriving, so I wonder why my local one is struggling so much.

I often sit and daydream about opening one in my area... To be honest, I don't know the first thing about running my own business, but where I live is crying out for something like this. It's working very hard to encourage independent businesses, with focus on quality. Surely I'm not the only parent who relishes a few hours of children who are happily playing, socialising and having fun, giving us weary mums and dads a few minutes to savour a hot beverage and (dare I say it...?) possibly relax just a little bit? I just wonder why this café isn't working...

What makes a good play café? Thoughts, please.

Ranitidine, tea and smiles!

So, after discussions with the Dr about his reflux, the Little Bear has been on Ranitidine for three weeks now and my, what a difference! He's a completely different little man! He can now be awake and happy! We're starting to have dimply smiles and chuckles, chattering and singing. It's truly delightful and so heartwarming, after so many long and difficult weeks of unconsolable tears. I decided to hang fire on the elimination diet to see the effect the meds would have first (thank goodness really, as I was starving after the very first day and just wanted to stuff my face!).

He's growing at a rate of knots (91st centile for weight) and feeding every two hours day and night. So I'm tired. I'm very, very tired. I am running on tea; a caffinated cup first thing in the morning, but then I'm being good and sticking to decaf for the rest of the day! Although not many get drunk whilst they're still hot! That's a rare treat!

Time passes so very quickly. Although he is only 9 weeks old, we've had to move him into his cotbed already, cue reshuffle of our bedroom furniture, to squeeze it back into our room! The boy is so long he has outgrown his moses basket! It's an absolutely beautiful vintage wicker one. Mum made me a bespoke reversible liner to fit it: pink on one side, which the little Crumpet had,  and green on the other, which Little Bear has had. Truly stunning, but it creaks more than a geriatric's knees, and every time Little Bear moved it was disturbing his sleep, as he was kicking his feet up against the bottom. A big part of me is so sad to be packing it away. My last baby is growing up so much already :( Before I know it, he will be rolling over and sitting up unaided. 

So many new adventures are just around the corner!

Out with the Infacol and in with... Not very much!

So, after three days of Infacol and Little Bear vomiting his milk back up after every feed, after discussions with the Health Visitor, we decided to stop giving it to him. He seems a lot less fussy when feeding than he was when taking Infacol, so that is an improvement already. Unfortunately he has got the Health Visiting team stumped. They don't know what it is that is causing my beautiful little boy to be so unhappy, grumpy and unsettled all the time.

So, I'm trying other avenues to see if things improve for him. As he will just cry and cry as soon as you put him down, or even sit down, my first purchase has been a sling, so at least I can hopefully get on with things and save my poor arms from the constant holding and jigging. This boy is getting really heavy! After a LOT of reading and asking questions and researching, I've decided on a Close Caboo; a stretchy, pre-tied wrap that comes highly recommended for newborns. I'm hoping it arrives in the next few days.

The other thing I'm going to try is an elimination diet, in case he is reacting to something I'm eating, that is transferring through into my milk. The most common allergens, and things that I am eliminating from my diet, are dairy, soy, gluten, wheat, nuts, eggs, caffeine, shellfish (of which I only eat prawns anyway).

This means no bread (no toast and nutella! Argh! Even gluten free bread has egg in), no biscuits, no cake (sob). Avoid gaseous vegetables such as broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage. No citrus fruits.

I'm armed with rice milk, turkey, lamb, dairy free margarine, rice, potatoes, squash, courgette and lots of pears. The idea is to keep to a fairly strict eliminated diet for two weeks, then gradually reintroduce a food every 4 days, always carefully logging what happens.

Let's see if the little chap improves...

Onwards and... Infacol?

So, the Health visitor came the other day. Little Bear demonstrated his lung capacity like a trooper and cried inconsolably the whole time she was here. She assured me that, yes, he is overly distressed and unsettled. From observing him, she thinks he may have silent reflux, so recommended Infacol and raising the head of his moses basket. She also suggested we go pay a visit to a paediatric osteopath as he may have been a bit squashed up in utero.

So, I dutifully toddled down to buy the little red and white box of promised magic. It's nice, in a way, to be given a possible reason why my darling little boy is so dreadfully unhappy all the time. It doesn't make it any easier to cope with though. It's utterly heart breaking to watch such a helpless little mite cry and cry and cry and not be able to take his pain away. 

So, while I wait for the magic potion to start work, I try to get my littlies out of the house and all of us distracted as much as possible. Order of the day today? Play Café. Little Bear has already thrown up all over himself and the Crumpet has trapped her thumb in a door. I might just cry into my tea and Infacol.

On the plus side, Little Bear was weighed and comes in at a hefty 12lb 5oz at only 5 weeks old. That'll be the breastfeeding every two hours! Go momma!

The pursuit of orderliness

Since becoming a full time stay at home mum, I have found it hard. Incredibly hard. Yes, i know I'm unbelievably lucky, fortunate and blessed to have this special short amount of time with my little ones, watching then grow and develop into little people. However, I have missed adult company and conversation. And it's lonely. By god, is it lonely.

I have slowly been numbed by countless hours of CBeebies and those damned surprise eggs on YouTube (but good god, they are a lifesaver when you really, really need five minutes peace or have to make dinner!) I have slowly become a expert in Makaton (Thank you very much Mr Tumble) and tree fu (not quite so useful, Tom...) and grown a severe, almost violent dislike for certain fluffy fictional characters (watch out Raa Raa, those stupid creatures from Waybaloo (it's YOGA not yogo!), Upsy Daisy (such a floozy) and all the Tweenies, apart from Max, who deserves a medal!) My ear worms are now all children's tv theme tunes. My current affairs knowledge is what ever is trending on Facebook. In depth discussions are now about parenting methods, potty training tips or how to get your toddler to stay in bed past 5 am. I'm sure I used to have a brain...

I also used to be incredibly meticulous and efficient. These are two adjectives completely unknown and alien to a toddler and a newborn.

 And herein less my problem.

I am slowly losing control.

I used to teach. My classroom was my realm: My rules. My expectations. My way.  It was always scrupulously tidy, organised and ordered. Drawers were neatly labeled. Pens and (freshly sharpened) pencils stacked in their matching colour coordinated pots. Books all facing the right way and standing to attention, like soldiers on drill. When I asked for something to be done, it was done immediately. Things ran to time. I was never late. Deadlines were never missed. It wasn't allowed! Lessons were planned, books marked. Children did as they were told. I got, albeit mostly short and working, lunchbreaks. Things ran like clockwork, because they had to.

I also worked in an office for a couple of years. My emails were promptly replied to, then deleted or filed. Desk kept tidy, Paperwork on top of. Activity and phone calls dutifully logged on the system. My meticulous and perfectionist nature earned me the role of checking compliance. I loved it. Nothing got past me, much to the sometimes annoyance of my colleagues.

Now I parent. My workplace (our home) is constant disarray and chaos. Trying to get out of the house in the morning is an almighty challenge. Things don't have homes or places so I find them sqatting illegally on the kitchen dresser or table. Mess seems to reproduce faster than two horny bunnies. There is no end of the working day. Once the children are asleep, my second job as housewife starts. House to clean and tidy, dinner to cook, laundry to wash, dry and put away (I gave up on ironing long, long ago) meals to plan and groceries to buy. I know it sounds like the ultimate cliche, but it's so so much harder than being at work.

And I struggle to do it all. I can't keep on top of it. And I hate it. I really, really hate it. I hate the lack of control. I hate that things are inefficient and untidy. It makes me incredibly stressed. And this is my inner monster, the demon I fight continually every single day. People say, just let things go, but I can't. The mess would stare at me all day long, my anxiety levels getting higher and higher, until I eventually break down. Cue tears and rushing about in a frenzied fashion tidying up.

Cleaning and tidying makes me calmer. They allow be to be in control in my world where I have very little. Doing all the dishes, putting everything away and shining my sink is the perfect tonic, after a day of failing to console a crying baby. (Use window cleaner and a clean soft cloth, for a real sparkle!) To bring order to my world full of chaos, is my goal. To have a calm and clutter free home. I'll get there. Eventually. 

But right now, I have an absolutely beautiful, but hungry and cross little boy who needs feeding and then settling. It only took two hours earlier, so this'll be a breeze, right...?

Long time, no see....

It's been a rather long time since my last post. A lot has happened. I've gained a son  for starters. I have also discovered the Marie Kondo method of decluttering my home. I'll admit I'm not sticking to it religiously (I'm still balling my socks, not folding them and I'm not talking to my possessions, thanking them for all they've done for me). So many of my posts will most likely now be about my transition from one offspring to two, my ongoing fight against the tide of toys and baby paraphernalia and my quest for order and calm in my home and life generally!

Little Bear is five and a half weeks old now and is definitely making his presence known and exercising his new lungs! The journey from being mummy to one, to being mummy to two was a bit more of a shock than I expected. I've spent the past five weeks breastfeeding, winding, changing nappies, more breastfeeding, jigging, rocking, swaying, more breastfeeding, pacing, crying (lots of crying), despairing, being pulled in opposite directions, wishing I had another pair of hands.... oh, and breastfeeding. The little man feeds every couple of hours. He does grant me four hour slots in which to try and sleep at night, for which I am eternally grateful.

He is a very different baby to his big sister. He is finding the transition from in utero to the big wide world bewildering and overwhelming. Come to think of it, I feel pretty bewildered and overwhelmed most of the time too! I think I was very naive thinking that as I had done this baby thing before, it would be easy. Oh goodness, how wrong was I? It is so, so much harder with two!

I am spending my days trying to stay on top of everything, keeping things in order and generally feeling like I'm swimming against the tide, with the threat of imminent drowning ever present on the horizon.

I find a lot of time motherhood is spent feeling an overwhelming range of emotions: love, guilt, frustration, confusion, adoration, failure, loneliness. I'm fairly sure most mums feel like this... Don't they...?? Social media is a wonderful thing for advice and support. With both my children, I have a group of ladies who had children at the same time. Some I have met, some have become my closest friends, others I only know from their Facebook profiles. There is always someone online at three in the morning, awake, feeding a baby. It's reassuring. However, on the other hand, social media presents an Instagram life - well filtered portrayal of the perfect family and home. Smiling, happy babies, immaculate rooms in homes with not a scrap of Happyland, broken crayons or sick covered muslins in sight. Do these people really exist? Or is all their clutter, forgotten nappy sacks and selection of milk covered babygros all piled high out of sight of the camera lens?

My aim is to be honest. These posts will probably mostly be written one handed, in the early hours of the morning, during bleary eyed feeds. The only time I have when I can sit down, the toddler asleep and baby quiet and content. I can't promise the photos won't have the Instagram magic touch (I need all the help I can get!), but the content will definitely be #nofilter

Xx