Mayhem and Beyond

By Elizabeth McGivern

Mum by day, writer by night. Figuring out the rest as I go along.
Discover the Amy Cole Series here: Amy Cole has lost her mind

Facebook | Instagram | Subscribe

  • Home
  • Parenting
  • Health & Wellbeing
  • Lifestyle
  • Books
  • About Me
  • Subscribe

posted on July 23, 2015 by elizabeth

Expectations Vs Reality: The Park

Earlier today I posted a picture to my Twitter account of Oliver and myself sitting happily on a wooden throne in Kilbroney Park. It’s a nice photo and through the wonder of social media I got to pretend that I was having a pleasant afternoon with my children.

In truth? I was not.

After a fantastic week away in Wicklow – without any major meltdowns – I had become cocky and thought that the ‘terrible two’s’ were something for other people to worry about. True to form, my dearest son decided to bring me back down to earth with a bump.

Thanks to my Mother, I spent manys a happy afternoon in Kilbroney Park. There were hikes up to the big stone (Cloughmore Stone), walks in the Fairy Glen, running around in the park and playing 40/40 in the forest. No, we weren’t charcters in an Enid Blyton novel, it really was *that* fun. So, you can imagine how badly I wanted to experience it all again with my own children.

Like all meltdown beginnings, Oliver hadn’t had enough sleep and passed out in the car on the journey there. I had also reached day 4 of little or no sleep because Oz has decided to randomly squeal throughout the night for no real bloody reason.

I enjoyed the quiet in the car waiting for the gruesome twosome to surface and sensing that I was relaxing for longer than thirty seconds, they woke up crying. I wasn’t too worried, the playground would dissipate any bad moods. Did it f**k.

Thus began the longest afternoon IN HISTORY.

Oliver started as he meant to go on; by being an emotional mess. The playground was too busy, so he cried. The roundabout resulted in him being knocked off his feet and lying spread-eagled on the ground, so he cried. The slides were too slidey, so he cried. His horrible mother wouldn’t set down the baby and play with him, so he cried. She also cut his sandwiches into stupid squares and forgot his juice, SO HE CRIED.

Still, blinded by unfounded confidence, I suggested we took a walk in the forest – by ‘we’ I mean my sister-in-law, niece and nephew (who were both really well behaved, while I had brought the antichrist and his insomniac brother along to the picnic).

Children were successfullly bribed with chocolate and we headed off on the Narnia trail. Well, most of us did. Oliver was 50 yards behind us, eating his chocolate and walking at a pace that would make glacial drift seem like a tsunami.

With my patience wearing thin, I adopted the ‘granny grip’ – a technique derived from how my Granny McCamley would have all grandchildren held (vice-like by the wrist). His little legs were being half-dragged around the forest – as he cried – and I tried to wheel the pram with the other hand. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

Several hundred clensing breaths later, we were coming to the end of the trail when we stopped for the aforementioned picture. Here is it:

 

The picture of lies

 

It was shortly after this, I noticed something grey, moving in my periferral vision and I said: “Look kids, a squirr – HOLY MOTHER OF CHRIST IT’S A RAT, RUN!!”

All children were scooped up and we ran out of the woodland. The drive home was a silent affair.

The moral of the story is: don’t be fooled by the rubbish that people (me included) put up on social media,they’re  probably having the day from hell, disguised under an Instagram filter.

Well, that and: be careful of rats when you’re in the woods.

Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: parenting, park, summer, terrible twos, toddler

posted on April 13, 2015 by elizabeth

My First Love

On the eve of my fifth birthday, my Mum took me to a toy shop to choose my present. I was told to pick out whatever I wanted and I was let loose. Trawling through the aisles I settled at the cuddly toys and fell in love.

This is one of my earliest memories and it’s an important one. This was the day I met Spot the dog. My first love.

This small, stuffed, Dalmatian dog has been with me at every important milestone in my life and is now the grand old age of 25. His nose is tattered, his fur is grey (despite how many times he’s put through the washing machine), he was a patch of pink paint on his bum from when I unwisely painted my room a god-awful neon pink shade and he’s wise beyond his years. As soon as this dog was put in my arms at the till, we were inseparable.

There’s 11 years between my sister and I so I didn’t have the sibling camaraderie that others did. Although our house was always full of cousins or friends there were times, when everyone had gone home, that I was lonely. When that happened, he was the friend and confidante that I needed and the comfort of his ‘company’ has never left me.

When the time came to put aside my toys, Spot still had pride of place on my bed. When I was sad and things weren’t going my way he was there with a hug, when I was angry or frustrated with life he was there to vent to, when I packed up my stuff to leave home he was the last thing to be packed away and first to be taken out and when I’m at my worst I often wake up to find that Conor has tucked him in beside me.

Over the years I have fended off the advances of my nephew and two nieces who have taken a shine to him (I’m not proud of that…)  and had no intention of ever being parted from my very best friend until about six months ago.

In the mountain of toys that Oliver played with he happened to spot Spot. Understandably he was smitten and I feared I was about to be parted with my oldest friend.

It started innocently enough: taking him to bed at nap time, chatting his gibberish to him and giving him hugs. It wasn’t until one morning I came into Oliver’s room and found him giving him kisses in between whispers that I knew I was fighting a losing battle and there was no way I could take him back again.

Since then, he’s added another to his entourage – Atticus, the bear. I was told under no circumstances would I be allowed to call any future children this name so I’m christening a lot of Oliver’s teddies strange names…

There will be no sleep in this house unless he has them both with him by bedtime – hence a late night dash to granny’s house when I forgot to take them back with us after a sleepover in order to stop a distraught toddler. The three of them lie in a row and when we go in to turn off his night light we move them to the bottom of the bed. Without fail, he will wake up and squeal with delight to find that his friends have magically moved.

I can’t blame Oliver for loving Spot as much as he does. He was a great friend to me and I know he’ll be just as great to Oliver; I just hope my son doesn’t judge me too severely when I eventually crack and steal him back when he sleeps.

Kidding. Maybe.

 

Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: baby toys, parenting, toddler, toys

posted on January 12, 2015 by elizabeth

Expectations vs Reality: The Library

Dear Oliver,

Today we had our first trip to the library.

I had envisioned a picture perfect moment of the two of us browsing through the titles and then signing you up for your own card.
Despite the fact that all I really want to do at 37 weeks pregnant is sit on a massage chair with a tub of fried chicken and any type of chocolate, I was determined to make this happen.


I should have quit as soon as I realised what form you were in this morning.
After a lie in (we started well), you woke up an emotional mess demanding doooooast (toast).
The toaster wouldn’t heat the bread quick enough so that kicked off the first meltdown of the day.
When the toast was done, on the plate and sitting at your table you shot me a look of absolute disgust.
Clearly I was trying to poison you with this crap!
You waddled over to the fridge demanding a yogurt. Request approved, spoon acquired and again it was left on your table.
And that’s when meltdown number two happened.
I took the pointing and crying at the offending breakfast items to mean: “What the hell is this?!”

The rest of the morning pretty much followed the same pattern; but thankfully there was hope on the horizon,
A magical reset button called: nap time.
Off you went, without much of an argument, and I settled down on the sofa to continue my love/hate relationship with Pinterest.
It was at this moment that the builders decided to start pulling up the pavement outside the house.
Funnily enough this didn’t equate to relaxing background noise.
Nap time abandoned, I continued on with my library plan.
You were going to enjoy this excursion, even if it killed me.

After wrestling you into your clothes for the day, we set off.
We secured a parking space close to the library (that’s harder than you think) and strolled through hailstones because you refused to be lifted.
To be fair, you’re a bloody lump so meandering though the bitter cold was better than a hernia.
Giggling in the lift was a good start, and when we walked through the door your face lit up to see the pirate ships containing all the books.
I could practically see the ‘Hallmark’ card image.
That’s when things went hideously, hideously wrong.

After a grand total of 12 seconds looking at books you spotted the computers to the right of the room.
You had a head start as your weeble-shaped mother tried her best to get off the tiny children’s chair.
You managed to get the attention of one woman who was watching ‘Mrs Brown’s Boys’ on YouTube (so I don’t feel too guilty about interrupting her ‘study’).
Pulling at her sleeve you let her know that it was your turn on the computer.
With apologetic eyes, I tried to lift you away but you managed to slip your chubby arms free of the jacket.
From then, things got farcical.
I had to chase this little armless toddler around a table before finally lifting a slug-like wriggling maniac who was screaming bloody murder.
I could feel everyone staring extra hard at their screens as they tried to ignore the hapless mother with her ill-behaved child.
I wanted the ground to swallow me up.
Although I managed to get you back over to the children’s section, you decided my embarrassment hadn’t *quite* reached capacity.
You took it upon yourself to run up to a Chinese woman and her daughter, grab her hand and pull her towards the door.
It was like she was your last chance to escape your monster of a mother who was beating you.
The poor woman didn’t know where to look.
Should she take this child’s literal cries for help seriously?
Thankfully she didn’t, and escorted you back to your red-faced mum who was trying to check out three of the first books she could grab – yes, I was refusing to leave empty-handed.

Funnily enough, as soon as we left the building and were back in the hailstones you were fine.
Your tears magically dried up and you had a nice little chat of gibberish with me the whole way back to the car.

The drive home and subsequent lunch was in stony silence as I tried to process who the hell this demon child was?

Your books aren’t due back until next month and I’m going to need that time to recover.
I did get my picture though.
Of you and your Dad reading.
That’s right, you and your bloody Father got to have a lovely evening reading your books as I sat traumatised in the corner.

Thanks, son.

Love always,

Mum

Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: books, library, parenting, tantrum, toddler

posted on January 4, 2015 by elizabeth

Lessons my son has taught me

Dear Oliver,

We’re told that parenting is a learning curve.
This implies some sort of gentle gradient from novice to expert over the first few months.
For me, and I suspect I’m not alone, it was more of a shove off a high diving board into quick sand.
If you don’t struggle, you don’t sink – this means: outwardly I look like I’m perfectly calm but inside I’m screaming…
I’m sticking with this theory.


Your Dad’s first panic and/or realisation he was responsible for another human was the first evening we were home from the hospital.
I asked him to go upstairs and get a sleep suit. He dutifully went and didn’t come back down for at least five minutes.

When he returned he was sweating and looked like he needed a strong drink.
It was then he explained in sheer panic: “I don’t know what a sleep suit is!”
This confession clearly meant he’d already failed as a parent.
Strike one, Daddy.
After he finally stopped pacing the floor like an inmate on death row I explained it was just pajamas.
Trauma over with minimal damage to you in later life. Phew.

Despite having nieces and nephews, this ‘practise’ in no way prepared us for what lay (and lies) ahead.
Although we look like we seem to have things under control, trust me when I say: “We are still furiously paddling under the surface.”
So, with that confidential tidbit shared on the internet, here are a few more things I’ve learned over the last 20 months.

1. I hate Postman Pat.
I mean I really hate the guy. I have a little rant every morning about his ineptitude as a postal worker and yet he’s still regarded as a hero. I mean, he got his own bloody movie.
For example: he RUINED  a child’s birthday party by showing up hours late with their bouncy castle then his annoying cat wrecked it with her nails.
He covered the lot in tiny plasters so the kids could eventually go on it and he was celebrated as the saviour of the party.
Had everyone forgotten that he was the one that ruined it in the first place? Well, had they? Yes, apparently they had. Gah.
It’s been pointed out that if he was really ‘good’ at his job it wouldn’t make for a very interesting cartoon; but that’s not the point.
I wish you liked Dinopaws more, it’s hilarious.
You regularly put your hand over my mouth mid-rant when I talk over it though so I guess the real lesson is: I’m willing to put up with things I hate if it makes you happy.

2. Babysitters are Precious
B.B (Before Bear) Your Dad and I would go out. A lot. Then complain that we were always broke.
Now, we have to be select on what we are willing to cash in our babysitter coupons for.
The desire to leave the house and be part of the outside world has to be weighed up against if it’s worth organising a babysitter for.
When we do call in the babysitting favour, we also have to weigh up ‘that’ next drink with the potential hangover the following day.
As I’ve said before: hangovers and babies do not mix.
When the stars align and we decide to head out like carefree adults and ignore the sensible voice in our head saying: “You don’t need that double”, we make the most of it.
The night’s out are appreciated a lot more than they were and are usually needed to be organised months in advance.
The lesson here is: We make the most of our ‘free’ time but still don’t know when to stop drinking.

3. Everything is potential death trap.
Anything and everything can be viewed as a killing machine. Yes, even that teddy you’re holding.
What if you squeeze it too tight, the eye pops off and somehow lands in your mouth, lodging itself in your throat?
Say ‘bye-bye’ to teddy and get back into your bubble of solitude.
It doesn’t matter how many times in the day I say: “Careful” or “Watch” you in no way heed me and I usually find you up to no good (this is definitely your Dad’s influence).

Electrocution, food poisoning, drowning… you name it and I’ve thought of some far-fetching and horrific scenario.
It’s because of this that I feel like I’m regularly preventing you from having any type of fun.
Fortunately your Dad is more relaxed than me and is seen throwing you around the place while a live electrical cable is around your throat (slight exaggeration, I grant you).
Lesson: Between the two extremes, you’re bound to make it through to your teenage years at least.

4. I’m affectionate (who knew?)
I’m not great at hugging. I find it awkward and I usually end up embarrassed by the whole situation.
Again, your Dad is the opposite. For years he was used to hugging me as I stood, stiff as a board, not quite sure what to do with my arms.
However, I find nothing embarrassing about smothering you with hugs and kisses – in fact you’ve got the whole ‘Mum, get off me’ teenager look down to a fine art.
You’ve become a very huggy baby and it’s lovely to get morning kisses from you – without having to ask for them.
The more I give you affection, the less embarrassed and awkward I feel about hugging other people.
At 29 I’m finally growing as a person – took long enough.

There’s plenty more where these came from; and I’d like to think that with the appearance of your brother at the end of the month there will be a whole heap more.

Love always,

Mum

Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: Lessons, motherhood, parenting, patience, toddler

posted on January 1, 2015 by elizabeth

The Toddler Diet

Before you start juicing that fruit and  boiling up cabbage for soup I want to introduce you to a revolutionary new diet regime: The Toddler Diet.

It’s a simple, life changing diet that will leave you hungry, irritable, unsatisfied but thinner!
All you need is a toddler to sit with you for every meal you attempt to eat – it’s that easy!
Since Oliver started eating solids properly, he hasn’t been satisfied with what is on his plate. It has to be whatever is on his, mine, his Dad’s, the stranger’s sitting at the table next to us and so on.
It’s because of this (coupled with the perpetual guilt I feel if I don’t give him what’s on my plate in case he starves) that I now have an enviable figure*
*Enviable in this instance means I look like a Weeble and shuffle around  like one too.
So if you want to lose weight fast and be just like me, all you just have to follow these three easy steps.
1. Get a toddler (mine is available for hire).
Make sure it’s not one of those fussy eating types or you will end up putting on weight by mindlessly eating their leftovers when clearing the table after meals – just me? Ok, never mind.Another important trait needed in your toddler is complete clinginess; that way you can’t secretly snack while they are independently playing.
This kid also needs to be able to hear the rustle of a chocolate wrapper or the opening of a biscuit tin from 20 feet.
This is a skill Oliver has down to a fine art.
Even when I check I have the all-clear and he’s playing with his trains, all I need to do is think about a biscuit and he’s standing beside me with that look.
It’s a look that says: “You should eat fruit, we both should; but we both know you’re going for that biscuit tin and you’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m going to let you eat one and not give at least half to me. I’m not afraid to scream.”
2.Eat at the table.
Never mind the social aspect of doing this, this is really so everything on your plate is within reach of their chubby little hands.
Remember to give them a fork so if you’re tempted to move your plate out of reach they can use this tool to drag things off your plate.
If they can’t reach it they will have a handy contingency plan of screaming blue bloody murder until you relent.
3.Leave all will power at the door.
Don’t bother starting each meal with renewed resolve to eat a complete meal on your own, it won’t last (see perpetual guilt above).
And that’s that.
After a few months of this the pounds will drop off and with only a few real side effects (loss of sanity, inability to eat a complete meal without looking over your shoulder and eating ridiculously hot food resulting in the burning of your tongue before the toddler can reach the table).
This convenient new lifestyle change is available today, so what are you waiting for?

Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: baby, food, healthy eating, New Year diet, parenting, toddler, weight loss

posted on December 31, 2014 by elizabeth

The Big Fat Blog of the Year

Dear Oliver,

Now, just to warn you: if you’re looking for some inspirational quotes set on a background of a sunset  to take you through to 2015 then you’re in the wrong place.
I’m also not stupid enough to put my resolutions down in writing so they can be held against me in a court of law when I give up on January 3rd.
This is simply a review of our year.
Before I started this I’ve had a very negative view of 2014 but now that I’ve sat down and written this I realise that I’ve let one (albeit massive) bad point paint the whole year as a rubbish one.
So, let’s start with the good:


The High Points (Chronologically)

I’ve had to look back through my photos to remember the start of the year. I would blame the baby brain I’m currently experiencing but the truth is – despite what I tell your Father – I’ve a woeful memory.

I finally got a hobby.

It’s hard to believe that prior to February this year I had never even attempted running. It’s even harder to believe that’s it’s now something I miss and can’t wait to get back to properly once this baby makes an appearance.


We went to Rome – well, your Dad and I did.

Daddy and I are home birds. We never caught the travelling bug and by the end of our two-week honeymoon in Kenya we were happy to get home. However, anyone that knows me, knows the only place I’ve ever really wanted to go to is Rome.
Specifically to stand at the Trevi Fountain, and this year I finally got to do it.
To be fair, we got continuously lost on one of the days and ended up back at this bloody fountain about five times (the carafes of wine didn’t help our sense of direction).
I made my wish and threw the coin in the water, I was awed by the Colosseum and Pantheon, we trekked up the Spanish Steps and went to visit the Pope.
We also managed to find an Irish Bar (obviously) and befriend a French couple – unfortunately a lifelong friendship wasn’t formed because I can’t even remember their names now…
The trip I’d waited many years for was everything I’d hoped it would be.
 
 
You turned One
This was my favourite day of the year. You couldn’t stand unaided yet so hiring a bouncy castle for the day seemed like the sensible thing to do.
My justification of this was: your older cousins would need entertaining. In reality it was mostly your uncles and Dad making the most of it.
I wrestled you into a shirt and dickie bow which lasted an hour before you got sick everywhere – I know you did that on purpose –  and when we all stood around the table to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ you never looked happier.
My heart could have burst.
 
I forgot how much I hated pregnancy
 
Case in point of how naff memory is: you’re getting a baby brother!
There’s no need to rehash old ground on how rubbish I am at the whole pregnancy thing – you were there first time round so you know.
It’s been marginally easier this time round, with only one hospitalisation, two iron infusions and 74 nights with zero sleep (thanks pregnancy insomnia).
We’re into the last four weeks and I’ve nothing ready – our house doesn’t even have floors never mind a Moses basket sitting serenely in the corner.
              You’re a talking, toddling, terror

By talking I mean you say a few words NONE OF WHICH ARE MUMMY.
Everything is ‘dada’. Traitorous baby.
The overall change in you in the last year is amazing. You’re a proper big man now and sometimes I catch myself looking at you not quite believing you’re here and at the same time not remembering what life was like before you.

                               Christmas Day
 
You don’t quite ‘get’ Santa – although you can say his name and ‘ho, ho, ho’.
Despite this, it was lovely having a proper Christmas back in the house and watching you play with your presents.
You’re going through a bit of a Minion obsession so there was a definite theme this year. I even managed another year of avoiding the cooking as we shipped ourselves out to Aunty Jenny’s. It was amazing, although I’m starting to panic that they may actually think it’s my turn next year.
I relish this challenge.
Here’s hoping they like beans on toast.
The Not-So High Points 
 
A Glitch in the system
 

All the great parts were overshadowed by that whole pesky mental breakdown thing but I’ve written enough about it here so it’s another point I don’t need to go over again.
It’s staying where it belongs: 2014.


And beyond

I’m very excited about the New Year.
We’re currently homeless, I’m heavily pregnant and surviving on very little sleep.
It’s starting off well…
Don’t worry it’s not as bad as I’m making out – the homeless part I mean.
We’ve packed up our lives in the village of the damned and bought a house in Newry.
Well, technically the bank owns the house we just have a mortgage.
January will be an ungodly race against the clock to get the house sorted and moved into before the time bomb, or your brother as we should be calling him, arrives.
It’s a great kind of stress to be under so I’m not going to complain about it.

And that’s that.
A year summed up, just like that.
Here’s to the next one.

Love always,

Mum

Filed Under: Lifestyle, Parenting Tagged With: motherhood, new year 2015, new year resolutions, parenting, toddler

posted on April 29, 2014 by elizabeth

Coming out of the fog

Dear Oliver,

You might have noticed I’ve had a break from writing your letters.
It’s not because there hasn’t been much going on.
You FINALLY have some teeth (two at the bottom, they’re very cute), we celebrated St Patrick’s Day, your Dad’s birthday, my first Mother’s Day and Easter.
You even went to the zoo.
When I say ‘went’, I mean you fell asleep through the majority of it.
Don’t worry, we took pictures.


Anyway, the reason it’s been quiet on the old letter front is because you’ve had something of an absent Mother.

I didn’t have a holiday or run off with Colin Firth; I’ve just not been very present.
There’s no point in sugarcoating these things, Oliver.
The truth is: Mummy went mad.
That sounds more dramatic than it is, lets go for ‘mentally interesting’.

For the last four months I’ve been fighting (and losing) a battle with depression.
Things finally came to a head four weeks ago, and since then I’ve been trying to claw my way back home to you.
People describe depression and being under its influence in many different ways.
A dark cloud, a black dog, a dark passenger (that’s more Dexter than depression, to be fair).
For me, it’s like a poison.
It seeps into my consciousness so slowly and in such small amounts, I don’t really notice it’s there until it’s too late.
My usual self-deprecating humour starts to get a little sharper, the criticisms a little too harsh, the ability to get out of bed in the morning a little too hard.
The poison nestles nicely into place and a darkness takes over.
I become nothing more than a vessel for this poison.

Christ, I sound like a bad gothic writer. Emily Brontë can rest easy.

Anyway, despite my rubbish attempts to carry on as normal I had become saturated with my own particular brand of poison.
Sleep was the first to go, next was my ability to concentrate, then my memory and finally my drive to even fight the poison off.
I let it wash over me and to my surprise, things became easier.
There was no need to fight it anymore, this was who I was now.

To my shame, I started to avoid you.
I would hand you over to Daddy as soon as you were given to me and pretend I had to go upstairs to get something, or I had to make dinner, or I had to alphabetize the saucepans – my excuses got weak, fast.
It’s not that I didn’t want to spend the time with you, I couldn’t.
I thought if I held you for any length of time you’d somehow soak up my misery – like a chubby sponge.
I was terrified.

It didn’t take long for your Dad to notice that I had become the incredible disappearing Mummy, but he was at a loss as to why I was acting like this.
Even when he asked outright, ‘What’s wrong?’ I still couldn’t admit what was going on in my head.
What if I finally admitted that I couldn’t look after you and a random social worker walked passed the window and heard?
It’s a stretch, I grant you, but that was probably one of the saner things that went through my head at the time.

It didn’t take long for the crash to happen.
The facade of my normal life became too much of a burden and I came to an obvious decision: you and your Dad would be better off without this miserable stranger sucking the life out of those around her.
As soon as this realisation hit, my noisy head became very quiet.
The poisonous words that were on repeat, day and night for the last four months finally made sense.
There was a very simple solution and I just needed to be brave enough to take it.
I left one Thursday morning for work, with no intention of ever arriving.

**Spoiler Alert, I’m still here**

As I came closer to my chosen final destination, I began to think about you.
How I waited for years to see those two faint lines on a pregnancy test, how I smiled at those who were pregnant around me and I had no baby in my arms, how I saw the first grainy flutter of your heartbeat on a scan.

My noisy head began to awaken as it realised I was starting to put up a fight but the memories kept coming.

I remembered the first flutters of your first movements, how your Dad’s face looked when he felt you kick for the first time, how you loved when I drank orange juice first thing in the morning, how I sang to you in the shower every day and how your Dad read to you every night so you’d recognise his voice.

A fresh wave of poison hit me and once again I was floored.
There weren’t enough memories in the world that could make me change my mind.
I had to die, in order for you to live.
Live a proper, unburdened life – it was simple.
I didn’t want to go, but this was the only way.

I’ve never considered myself a particularly strong person but what happened next was the singularly strongest thing I’ve ever done.
I picked up my phone.
I rang your Father, I confessed my plan and he did what he has done so many times in the past: he saved me.
He told me to keep thinking of you and he was on his way.

As I sat in my car waiting for him to arrive, I thought of your smile, your infectious laugh, that mischievous look when you’re up to no good, the way you snore louder than an adult, how you look so smug after you sneeze, how you refuse any finger food (unless it’s something I’m about to eat).
I thought about every minute detail of you and as I lay in pieces I knew you were so much a part of who I was now, it was impossible for me to leave.

If I couldn’t keep myself safe for me, then I could do it for you.

It’s been a very difficult few weeks since that day.
Some good days, some bad.
People keep telling me to take it slowly; one day at a time and to be honest, that’s all I can do.
The best thing is: I’m in no way alone.
I’m surrounded by the most amazing, supportive family and friends who have helped pick up the shattered parts of me; and every time I get a text message, a phone call or a visit from any one of them they help to put that little piece of me back to where it belongs.

I can’t ask for anything more.

Love always,

Mum

Filed Under: Health & Wellbeing Tagged With: depression, mental health, motherhood, parenting, post natal depression, suicide awareness, toddler

Recent Posts

  • Claim your FREE book!
  • How to survive IKEA
  • The Drinking Iceberg
  • It’s not me, it’s you
  • A Little Wallowing Goes a Long Way

Tags

advice anxiety baby baby announcement baby brain baby toys books CBT depression diet family food get fit Grief half marathon healthy eating hobby Home hyperemesis Lessons library marriage maternity mental health morning motherhood new year 2015 New Year diet new year resolutions parenting parenting advice patience post natal depression pregnancy relationships running sahm sickness slimming world suicide awareness summer tantrum toddler toddlers weight loss

Categories

  • Books
  • Health & Wellbeing
  • Lifestyle
  • Parenting

Social

Follow me on:

Tags

advice anxiety baby baby announcement baby brain baby toys books CBT depression diet family food get fit Grief half marathon healthy eating hobby Home hyperemesis Lessons library marriage maternity mental health morning motherhood new year 2015 New Year diet new year resolutions parenting parenting advice patience post natal depression pregnancy relationships running sahm sickness slimming world suicide awareness summer tantrum toddler toddlers weight loss
Copyright © 2021 | Fabricated theme by The Pixelista | Built on the Genesis Framework
Let's be friends!

Don't worry, I'm far too lazy to spam your account