I’m trying really hard to blog except I keep losing all vocabulary. Not like me I know. I know I need to. I’m inches away from ending up curled up in this horrible little ball of hurt that I keep creating for myself. And I need to just pick myself up, stop acting like an emotional retard, accept life for what it is. It’s not a bloody fairytale. Cinderella does not get to go to the ball, she gets to clean the house on a daily basis and even if she did marry prince charming (and she so did) happily ever after just doesn’t exist. Life on a daily basis just is. Stop wishing for the picket fence and just accept that actually daily grind is better than no grind at all. Things could be a lot worse.  I have the perfect scenario fairytale in my head – ok it’s a little unconventional, but it’s my fairytale, I never promised normality.

Let’s try explaining. Today – day.. er 4 of cycle three million. I wasn’t meant to really hope for that last one. I did tho. More than I think I let on. It was different, I was really stupid and let myself actually like the idea of it. Bad move lady. Won’t happen again tho.

I tried being a grown up last night and invited over the heavily pregnant friend along with other people. It’s ridiculous, she’s the same person, but I couldn’t help but sit there in my own puddle of self destruction. In the end I broke out the yummy vodka style wine we made and got utterly hammered. If nothing else I was too pissed to care about the constant ‘ooh I’ve got a foot in my ribs’ and ‘this week I don’t mind being pregnant so much’. Shut up. Just shut up. No? Fine I’ll block you out in a sociably acceptable way. I can do this, I’ll just end up being the drunk at parties. What’s a liver anyway lol. I can’t avoid all social stuations forever.

So this morning I end up with a bitch of a hangover (which was greeted at 6am by the kids – nice). Took some painkillers and embarked on staying busy all day because I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to stop because when I did last night I wanted so badly to take myself off to the bathroom and smash a razor and use the contents to rip myself to shreds. It was that clear. I could see myself doing it in my head. Instead I took some very sound advice, snuggled up to Mr T and got some very much needed sleep (thank you advisor). Although today, the thoughts are still there and I’m doing my very best to put them in their proper place, which is somewhere at the back of my mind instead of floating there in thought where they can easily start manifesting as good ideas. Let’s not go down that route again eh? I’ve already paid enough to have the old ones tattooed over.

Technical Issues have thwarted attempts to blog… service has returned.

Now usually I hate people who post song lyrics, but today is different. You know who you are.

Every time

I close my eyes

It’s you

And I know now

Who I am

Yea yea yea

And I know now

There’s a place I go

When I’m alone

Do anything I want

Be anyone I wanna be

But it is us I see

And I cannot believe I’m fallin

That’s where I’m goin

Where are you goin

Hold it close won’t let this go

Dream catch me, yea

Dream catch me when I fall

Or else I won’t come back at all

You do so much

That you don’t know

It’s true

And I know now

Who I am

Yea yea yea

And I know now

There’s a place I go

When I’m alone

Do anything I want

Be anyone I wanna be

But it is us I see

And I cannot believe I’m fallin

That’s where I’m goin

Where are you goin

Hold it close won’t let this go

Dream catch me, yea

Dream catch me when I fall

Or else I won’t come back at all

See you as a mountain

A fountain of God

See you as as a descant soul

in the setting sun

You as the sound

Just as silent as none

I’m young

There’s a place I go

When I’m alone

Do anything I want

Be anyone I wanna be

But it is us I see

And I cannot believe I’m fallin

There’s a place I go

When I’m alone

Do anything I want

Be anyone I wanna be

But it is us I see

And I cannot believe I’m fallin

That’s where I’m goin

Where are you goin

Hold it close won’t let this go

Dream catch me when I fall

Or else I won’t come back at all

Btw – for reference a descant soul = a high angel (literal translation)

I love that quote. Read out of context it’s very weird. in context it’s great – snippets below are from the story, but you really out to buy the book, if nothing else it’s a really random story – like Aesop’s fables for grown ups:

Once, long ago in a land far away, there lived four little characters who ran
through a maze looking for cheese to nourish them and make them happy.
……………………………..

Two were mice named “Sniff and “Scurry” and two were littlepeople-beings who
were as small as mice but who looked and acted a lot like people today. Their names
were “Hem” and “Haw.”

I said the story was good, I never said it wasn’t weird as hell

……………………………..

The mice, Sniff and Scurry, possessing only simple rodent brains, but good
instincts, searched for the hard nibbling cheese they liked, as mice often do.……………………………

The two littlepeople, Hem and Haw, used their brains, filled with many beliefs
and emotions, to search for a very different kind of Cheese-with a capital C-which they
believed would make them feel happy and successful.

As different as the mice and littlepeople were, they shared something in common:
Every morning, they each put on their jogging suits and running shoes, left their little
homes, and raced out into the maze looking for their favorite cheese.

Let’s assume at this point, they find a daily cheese dispensing area and can obtain full dietry sustainance from said cheese, maybe it contained vegetables, fruit and they happened to be on Atkins…. (full details, read the book!!!):

……………………………

But after a while, a different routine set in for the littlepeople.……………………………………………………

Hem and Haw awoke each day a little later, dressed a little slower, and walked to
Cheese Station C. After all, they knew where the Cheese was now and how to get there.

They had no idea where the Cheese came from, or who put it there. They just
assumed it would be there.

You’d think they’d get bored of the same cheese wouldn’t you? But then look at cheese as our daily routine – if each morning I can’t go through my ritual of doing my face, or I don’t have enough time each evening to at least write a small blog I get very twitchy indeed!

…………………………………………………….

As time went on, Sniff and Scurry continued their routine. They arrived early
each morning and sniffed and scratched and scurried around Cheese Station C, inspecting 

the area to see if there had been any changes from the day before. Then they would sit
down to nibble on the cheese.…………………………………………….

One morning they arrived at Cheese Station C and discovered there was no
cheese.

They weren’t surprised. Since Sniff and Scurry had noticed the supply of cheese
had been getting smaller every day, they were prepared for the inevitable and knew
instinctively what to do.

They looked at each other, removed the running shoes they had tied together and
hung conveniently around their necks, put them on their feet and laced them up.

The mice did not overanalyze things.

Now ok, at this point, one may question why the mice were the same size as the men, well, it’s a story. Secondly why were the mice wearing running shoes when the lack of trainers in actual mice doesn’t seem to limit their ability to run in real life – to this the answer may forever remain a mystery…. but back to the story…

……………………………………………..

Later that same day, Hem and Haw arrived at Cheese Station C. They had not
been paying attention to the small changes that had been taking place each day, so they
took it for granted their Cheese would be there.…………………………………………….

They were unprepared for what they found.

“What! No Cheese?” Hem yelled. He continued yelling, “No Cheese? No
Cheese?” as though if he shouted loud enough someone would put it back.

“Who moved my Cheese?” he hollered.

Finally, he put his hands on his hips, his face turned red, and he screamed at the
top of his voice, “It’s not fair!”

Angry Hem here reacts as most of us do. And drawing no small comparrison to my mental state over the last few weeks. I had assumed that having a baby would have been a case of getting to the source of, ok not cheese becuase that’s just grim,but you get my meaning, and the required outcome would be handed out. I’d made the assumption that this is how it would be and my reaction to the unavailablity of fertile cheese (I can see you wincing lol) was to be frustrated and angry and shout lots in my blog about how unfair it all is.  9clever bloke who wrote this book!)

……………………………………..

Haw just shook his head in disbelief. He, too, had counted on finding Cheese at
Cheese Station C. He stood there for a long time, frozen with shock. He was just not
ready for this.………………………………….

Hem was yelling something, but Haw didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to
deal with what was facing him, so he just tuned everything out. 

Imagine me at this point chuckling to myself as I recount quite how much denial and internal shut down i’ve ammassed over the past year(s). I’m not a mouse. I wasn’t expecting the sucky things, I was not mentally prepared so I’ve got stuck in a rut of yelling (in my head) and shutting down in total denial. I’m mirroring both of the tiny people – does this perhaps mean that I have multiple personalities that are both the size of mice? Interesting thought….

………………………………………….

While Hem and Haw were still trying to decide what to do, Sniff and Scurry were
already well on their way. They went farther into the maze, up and down corridors,
looking for cheese in every Cheese Station they could find.

They didn’t think of anything else but finding New Cheese.…………………………………………….

They didn’t find any for sometime until they finally went into an area of the maze
where they had never been before: Cheese Station N.

They squealed with delight. They found what they had been looking for: a great
supply of New Cheese.

They could hardly believe their eyes. It was the biggest store of cheese the mice
had ever seen.

In the meantime, Hem and Haw were still back in Cheese Station C evaluating
their situation. They were now suffering from the effects of having no Cheese. They were
becoming frustrated and angry and were blaming each other for the situation they were
in. 

Long story short, the rest of the book focuses on the litte dudes’ struggle to overcome the fear to go out in search of new cheese and what happens if you don’t move with change. It makes a lot more sense if you read the actual book. But the most important quote in the book in terms of where i am right now is:

 The quicker you let go of old cheese, the sooner you find new cheese

What is in the past is done. I can’t change it. Whatever happens I will deal with and I will attempt to do it with a little more grace and dignity than blogged about over the past few weeks. Right now, my cheese station has run out, and if cheese really is that important to my happiness and wellbeing, then I just have to pick myself up, stick my running shoes on and get out there to find some new cheese.

In a way I’m glad today is over. All that’s left is to curl up on Mr T and lose myself in a film. In theory today was a good day, we continued with our brought forward spring clean o our living area which is making good progress (I even organised the crap on top of the wardobe that threatens to knock me unconsious every time I want to dress), and we went for a wander around the local wetlands centre to feed the ducks with the midgets.

This should sound lovely, except it was combined with me having one of  ’those’ days. Those days when being faced point blank with my own infertility and other’s apparent ability to breath in and get pregnant, when talking about donation and how it is percieved that should a man unzip himself in a woman’s presence she’ll be popping out sextuplets. It’s just it doesn’t work like that. For some of us, even if we managed to get the best swimmers fired directly at an ovary, our chances are slim to none and when boiled down to minute details, on a technicality it’s our own stupid fault. On days like that when you have to face up to the reality that your body is f****d, life is generally just too much. In the end we took the kids out and Mr T and I walked, held hands and talked for as long as it took to shake off the feeling of hopelessness. For now we have to put the ttc idea to bed. And it feels like someone has died.

I’m horrified by the source of this quote.  I mean absolutely horrified. So much so I refuse to quote it’s source, you’ll just have to look it up. But today, it works:

“I know it seems hard sometimes but remember one thing. Through every dark night, theres a bright day after that. So no matter how hard it gets, stick your chest out, keep your head up…. and handle it.”

If I was making an attempt at being intellectual, I might have instead called this post, Aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem – (Remember when life’s path is steep to keep your mind even). It’s just today, words need to be as they are, no pretence, just what they are.

I’ve spent the day at the less enjoyable job. I wonder if today I have actually made a difference. Interviewing people today, I have seen several people who had already been drainking pre-lunch (to the point of making my eyes water), people who’s hope of finding work has all but vanished and one person who has not lost hope, but gave me a sharp shock back to remembering that teaching can knock you off your feet. We were discussing child protection, a major part of one of the courses I teach, by opening up this subject it became the catalyst for them to talk about their own experience of disclosure from the child’s perspective. During the discussion, this person’s face changed from the strong adult person to the confused child who was only able to make partial disclosures for fear of hurting those around them. I remembered at that exact moment why being a social worker had been such a tough career choice. I had loved that job, knowing I made a difference daily, but the pain that I felt knowing what children were dealing with was just too much once I became a mother (tbh, even before that I would come home in tears daily knowing that I had walked away from kids that needed help that I couldn’t offer). I theoretically knew that as a teacher disclosures were possible, but when working with adults you tend to think about it less. The situation which this person described was one a child should never have to live through and has left me very grateful for my sheltered childhood. Yes, I played big boys games before I really understood what they meant, but that was partially me rebelling and being led astray outside the home. Not the same. Nowhere near. 

So I’m left in this weird numb state. I came home and couldn’t talk about it. There’s something that I need to get closure on, except when I have a moment where someone points out just how pointless my issues are compared to what they could be I feel terrible for finding them so hard to deal with. Then I just fold up like a telescope (thank you Alice).  So, for now I’m capable of screaming lots of words in my head that will come streaming from my fingers on the keyboard, but I’m unable to communicate any of this verbally.

So what issues is it at all possible to not have covered in the masses of posts I’ve done? Well nothing actually. And that’s what’s so frustrating. It’s no longer a disclosure for me, it’s become picking to pieces the things that bother me most. Like daily whining about my useless uterus (in fact I may just call it that from now… ), the general longing for it to work rather than require donantion and medical coaxing out of  my eggs. And for those of a nervous disposition look away now, and the magnifying glass to this whole thing still all boils down to me having locked away things for such a long time, and working on the basis that having disclosed everything in the blog (going back a year) everything should have found closure. Except it hasn’t really. Probably because once I’d said it, I put it all back neatly in it’s box to rot when in fact I probably hould have thrown some dettol on it. I am aware at this point I’m totally beating around the bush and no-one actually knows what I’m talking about. I’m not so good at getting this nasty little skeleton out of the closet – it bites. I think what has been getting to me is the question, how is it that I’m ok with the whole sex thing (more than ok if we’re being honest here) having experienced the less nice side of it? The ex, the revolting excuse for a man that I’ve mentioned before, I’ve used the big R word here too. Combine the two and that’s where I’m going with this. Nasty period of time in my life and therein followed some serious body issues. To this day I am utterly convinced of my uselessness in that department (despite evidence to the contrary), I remember being informed of my uselessness, I believe the term ’sack of potatoes’ was used, with hindsight having said no before then not being totally happy with the whole act happening in the first place probably didn’t help. So now, in the moment is very very different. However, there are occasions when I continue to wonder if he had a point which is a dangerous road to walk down.

So there, weird stuff in my head. Other people have it far worse, but for tonight I am null. Blank girl.

 

 

I started to reply to another blogger’s post, but it ended up as a blog of my own, so here it is:

Quick comment (ha), although you know I’ll talk to you later anyway.

It does count – and she’ll need feeding night time until she’s happy to sleep through… six weeks, six months or six bloody years depending on who you talk to (take the months as the norm, anyone with a six week old that sleeps through is either lying, a heavy sleeper or has bribed god himself, six years, well let’s just say ‘bitty’).

The crying thing – you see me coping yes? ‘See’ being the word, in my world you are coping so much better than I ever did. You have routine, you get dressed, and so far you haven’t informed your health visitor of the very real possibility of launching your daughter out of the nearest window. In Geek terms, you are uber-mummy. You just don’t see it from the outside…. Going to carry this on as a proper blog… see you there xxx

How you feel is not the mother you are, how you feel is you not meeting your perceptions of motherhood that is tattooed on every pregnant woman’s psyche by bloody stupid baby magazines who inform you that you should be some sort of parenting guru post labour. My own perception of motherhood is some sort of 1940’s housewife (remember little shop of horrors… that thing out the magazine? Plastic covers and everything, although I draw the line at twin beds…) – I thought I should be able to just pop a baby out and carry on being a Monica-esq cleaning machine who had all white terry nappies on a line with my house spotless and ready for visitors at the drop of a hat. Instead, if we’re honest for the first few years the house was a bloody tip, the kids drove me nuts and instead of being met at the door after work by an I love lucy type wife, Mr T was greeted by crazy cat lady. It was soul destroying knowing that I wasn’t able to be the kind of mother I thought I should be.

Then some weirdos got the idea that I was the kind of parent to look up to. Who are these mad people? Are they actually insane? Except my midget’s aren’t so bad. At times they’re actually quite well rounded. And then I figured it out. You don’t actually have to feel like you’re coping to be a good parent, if the kid thinks you’re in charge and people see you looking like you’ve got it all under control, you’re fine. Much like work, 80% blag, 20% panic.

In my head I’m a terrible mother. I’m disorganised, I’m tired, I think about work when I should be at home then promptly burn dinner, I worry about home when I’m working and lose my train of thought mid lecture (which the kids I teach fine hilarious). Life is not about being the ideal we had before it was reality, if it was no-one would stay married, keep a job, or have kids (at least for long). Reality when it comes down to it is staying afloat for long enough for a few friends to see you, pull you out of the water for a short bit of warmth and air, then get chucked back in to tread water for a bit longer. Just remember the friends are circling in the lifeboat and will regularly drag you out the water becuase you do exactly the same for them. In reality we’re all just scrambling for the surface but appear to be swimming to shore.

Just Bleugh. I know I was meant to hold onto the contented feeling and be all happy and smiley but I’m not. I’m tired and frustrated and wishing that people would just leave me the hell alone (I’m talking about the people who incessantly follow me talking about utter rubbish I don’t give a crap about). So for today all we get is a rant, sometime you just have to do this. So in no particular order….

I don’t care about Fstops or whatever they are, I point I click and I faff on photoshop. I like what I create and I have no interest in the boy buttons you obsess with.

I have bought boots for iceland. They have fur in. I don’t actually care if they would withstand army training. I have done my time as a lady in sensible shoes, it did not suit. I am a bloody girl and will look like one thank you very much.

You are five, not fifteen. And even when you are, talk to me like that again madam and I will remove all out of room activities except for school and possible bathroom breaks.

STOP BLOODY WHINING CHILD. Stop it, just stop it. I am a reasonable woman, but for god sake everything does not need to be uttered in that irritating nasally whinge. I will get you a drink, if you ask me in a more human manner.

Yes I’m tattooed. No I don’t regret it. No I won’t regret it. No, I won’t. Because it translates as ‘I am good enough’. It’s personal. You want to know eh? It’s because it covers up the scars from self harming and is a better reminder than looking at the white streaks over my arms which just make me want to continue. What would you prefer to look at – ‘I hate you’ or ‘You’re good enough’? Case closed.

The best way to deal with someone in total denial is not to happily chat about your midwife (or not happily dependant on the convo). I am happy for you, I really am, but every time I’m reminded that you work and I don’t it feels like being punched. I know you don’t mean to, but right now this hurts. A Lot. 

It would occasionally be nice if you could pay me for the work that I do. And when you don’t, why on hell’s earth are you exasperated when I’m irritable about dedicating yet more time to the useless unorganised fuckwits that you are. 

Frankly Christmas this year is unstimulating and not exciting me in the slightest. We have no room for festivities and it’s become more about appeasing the relatives than enjoying being with the people you love. I will not allow the kids to know this and won’t be letting on, but as things stand to the adult community. Bah Humbug.

Yes, this is a low for no apparent reason (or just because I’m back to reality which is far less comfortable than hiding out). But it doesn’t make it any less low. It will pass, but until I hit the bounce back up I’m curled up canonball style to stop limbs from breaking when I hit the bottom.

If you wake me up at 3am, don’t expect a happy bouncy mummy, especially if you then prevent me from sleeping until 6.30 when Mr T is instructed to take you away before I go postal. If you then make a tonne of noise preventing me from dozing off until 10 minutes before Mr T wakes me up I will be further irritated and may well possibly be in a foul bloody mood all day. Trust me kid, this is just a bad plan.

If Windows 7 is backwards compatible, why the hell won’t Spore load on it? That doesn’t spell backwards compatible to me. Stop lying to me Mr Gates.

And why, WHY must it insist on raining only between 3.05 – 3.35 pm during the week. This is not funny. School pick up is stressful enough without getting soaked through daily.

Stop meowing at me.

A weekend without blogging. Mr T got an email on Frday asking why I hadn’t blogged, my friend had nothing to read’. So this should keep her amused for a while – We’re currently in the car on the way home from Wales, a day later than expected due to the heavens opening and most of the UK being hit with rain. We ought to be used to the wet stuff, it makes up 80% of our weather, except we’re used to grey, dull, drizzle which is more annoying than exciting. This rain was more flood everything type stuff, the kind where you look out of the window and contemplate building an ark. Instead what we did was to stay an extra night with our friends and come home today (let’s ignore the guilt of midget missing a day of school for this…) on the basis of better safe than sorry.

Good weekend? Yes. In the whirlwind that can be my mind at times, our visits to Wales act like a more physical form of lithium for my moods. The ups and down become undulations and I can feel peaceful and more myself for a while. Going home this time, what were at one point childish tears at not wanting to return to normality have become the realisation that my dose of peace has been topped up and alongside Mr T the helter skelter is less likely to be polished and for a while the mats have run out. For now I can enjoy the contentment.

Hardly describes the weekend does it? Ok, Thursday started it off – I wasn’t sure about whether to go or not. Mini midget had been ill all week and she was only just coming out the other side. Then Mr T’s parents phoned to say they couldn’t look after the midgets as they had come down with equally icky germs. Looked like every thing was off. Then Mr T talked to Lady S and asked if we could bring the masses with us (this was fine, but it generally feels like we inflict the midgets on people and it’s only fair to be concerned). So back on it was…

 Friday Mr T and I finished work together and packed up the car with mini midget, we picked the midget up from school together and set off for Wales. I should explain something about this really. I love Wales, the place, the clean air, the people (who just seem friendlier), the random oddities who wander around the local supermarkets in their PJs, the accent, and Lady S and Mr L live there.  We go there as much as possible and the girls have begun to share my love of the place.

So we arrived Friday just in time for the girls to say hi and head off to bed which they did very well considering they’d just sat in the car for nearly 4 hours. So, with the kids in bed an evening in front of Children in need, cwtched up on the sofa began. Saturday was spent in Cardiff Bay where the weather had started to set in, lunch was found in the lovely Chinese restaurant and then all energy run off in Techniquest (this has to be the most fantastic science museum for midgets). Micro midget discovered a fascination with fish which was beyond cute, and as the kids all headed towards meltdown we headed home. In the sheeting, biblical rain (hmm…..).

Sunday morning, oooh err…. It’s a bit wet out there. We looked at the weather report and noticed a flipping great swirly cloud of black that was about to swirl its way across the whole of Wales and the UK.  Made breakfast and talked about whether or not to drive back. Phoned parents, both sets confirmed the weather locally was pants. Nice weather lady mentioned a gap in the weather today. Decision made. Stay the extra night, deal with reusing kids clothes an drive home in safety. Not the end of the worlds, and if we were to get stranded with anyone, I can think of far worse people! So thank you Lady S and Mr G not only for a wonderful weekend but also for not making us go out in the scary rain. And now I must sign off due to excessive lack of battery!

That can make you laugh like an idiot. Mini midget was poorly again today so this afternoon was spent doing much book reading which of course included her current favorite – Rupunzel. I get her to finish the sentances of the book for me, she’s only 3 so she’s not reading, it’s just she knows the story word for word.

Anyway, she’s reading with me and I hear a mispronouncement, which continued throughout the book and make it very hard not to giggle (which is I do is met with ’stop laughing, it’s not funny’)…. so for your entertainment:

‘Me’punzel Me’punzel, let down your hair’ paaahhahhaha 

 

It was meant to be a positive day. Except I’ve ended it tired and grumpy and feeling slightly guilty that I didn’t hear my phone and didn’t help someone in time.

Mini-midget was poorly again today and I think most of my low mood is down to being indoors for two solid days and not getting much daylight combined with feeling very drained and tired. Generally if I’m feeling low, all I want to do is sleep and I’ve hit that now – it took all my effort to stay awake past 6pm instead of leaving the kids with Mr T and crawl off to bed (tbh, I would have happily done that from about 2pm today).

Off the top of my head, why so low? Second month of the official break and the light at the end of the tunnel has gone out. To start with I saw it really bright, a few months later I realised it was a train, now I’m squashed into the tracks waiting for someone to come along and scrape off my remains.

Here’s the irony of realising that this ttc thing probably isn’t going to work: the three female friends I count as actual friends, one has a tiny baby and has sufficuent issues of her own (which being there for is therapy in itself), one is basking in the happiness of her bfp and the other is nearing the end of her pregnancy. It’s like having your jaw wired and yet sitting in a bath of cream cakes. I love these people dearly, but when I think about my own poor excuse for the female form I just want to shrivel up.