The Gallery: Portrait

Kai isn’t sleeping. Again. Can you tell?

After months and months of trying, slowly, patiently, lovingly to teach Kai that sleep isn’t something to be afraid of, and seemingly cracking it for a few short weeks, it seems we’re slipping back into the routine of tears, anxiety, and a body clock that inexplicably means hours and hours of fretful wakefulness and an inability to physically fall back to sleep.

I never, ever knew it was possible to have an insomniac for a child until I gave birth to one.

Starting a day on three or four hours sleep for me is becoming routine again. That grey fog that was so much a part of my life for months on end now settling back around my shoulders.

The long hours as I sit in the dark as Kai cries and begs for a hand to hold are blurring into one long half-dream. Vague thoughts of “no, you must fall asleep on your own. I am here, I am with you, I will not leave you. But you must go to sleep without me by you.” Watching the dull light of the numbers on the clock as they roll by. One hour. Two hours. Three. Listening to him toss and turn as he tries and tries. Calling out in fear to check someone is there.

Yes my darling, I am here. Always here.

I don’t know what changed. We have done nothing differently. As has always been the case there is no logic to his sleep problems. We are doing everything right.

I know it will better. All children sleep eventually. But it’s been nearly two years.

And I am tired.

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This post was written for Week 9 of Tara’s Gallery.

The theme this week was Portraits.

Thin Skin

I don’t make it a secret on this blog, or outside of it, that I can be a bit over-sensitive sometimes. It’s just who I am I guess.

My feelings get hurt easily. I bounce back pretty quick, but I am easily affected by people’s words and comments. They stick with me, rattle around in my brain for days afterwards, losing all sense of proportion. I can’t pretend to be some kind of tough cookie because, well, I’m not.

I don’t know how to be, frankly.

It’s worse when I’m tired, which is often.

I was tired today.

So here’s the thing.

If you’re open about your feelings, both in real life and when writing a blog like this, do you open yourself up to opinion? To judgement?

Do you ask for it? Implicitly?

You put something out there, a worry or a point of view, to someone you’re talking to maybe, or through something you write. And the instinct of the person listening or reading is to give you their point of view.

Of course it is. Why else would you be sharing how you’re feeling, if it wasn’t to hear advice or something back?

Why wouldn’t you just keep your feelings to yourself, or write them down in a private journal where no one could read them?

Because, it’s lonely. That’s why.

Sometimes you need to share. Sometimes you need to spill out your feelings because actually? They are eating you up and you need to get them out. You need affirmation that what you are feeling is ok.

That’s why we talk to people. For most of us, that’s why we blog too.

But conversations aren’t passive. Blogging is not passive. It is responsive. It is interactive.

Sharing invites comments. Comments that carry much potential for understanding, connection, for saying “I hear you”. But also, if you’re like me, that equally carry the potential for hurt feelings, and more self-doubt or feeling judged.

How do you win this battle?

Don’t share? Keep it all inside? Push people away?

Or share. Get it out. And then have to deal with the risk, with the inevitable aftermath.

Is it worth that risk?

Do you just have to get thicker skin?

What if you can’t?

It’s a tough one.

I don’t know how to win this one.

P.S. Those of you that have got in contact recently sharing your similar experiences and kind words, this post is not about you. Please don’t feel that.

Too tired to change

I have been sat here staring at a blank screen for nearly half an hour.

A flicker-show of thoughts and worries plays on the back of my brain in a constant, dim haze. Ever so often one with extra clout will leap out of me at full volume. A doubt, an anxiety, a feeling of guilt or pressure. SOMETHING. It will make my heart beat a little faster before slipping onwards, before the wave of fatigue sweeps me back into numbness.

I am seriously tired. Even for me. Tired to the point of losing the little spacial awareness I have at the best of times. Tired to the point of losing my ability to string more than half a dozen words together. Tired to the point that my eye sight is poor again.

Really tired.

A month long illness has catapulted Kai back into the realms of sleeplessness. Wake-ups are getting earlier and earlier – 5am if I’m lucky, and that’s often after long sessions of restless tossing and turning throughout the night and many tears. I know it won’t last but right now it’s close to finishing me off.

I am hopeless at getting up early. Even after nearly 20 months of very rarely sleeping past 6am I am not used to it. I struggle to fall asleep much before 11pm, however tired I am. I’ve always worked best later at night – it’s the time when my brain seems to come alive and earlier bedtimes usually just mean a couple of hours lying awake watching the flicker-show again. If I’m lucky I’ll get six hours, lately nearer four or five with time spent settling Kai through the night.

Mornings are spent battling the effects of the night before. My body shakes, I find myself falling asleep if I sit so roam around in an endless fog to try and keep myself awake. If Kai has an earlyish nap I gratefully pass out for an hour but wake-up groggy and unrefreshed. However part of my strategy for trying to get Kai to sleep a little later and not be too wiped before bed is to make sure his nap is late enough in the day to give him a good rest, by which point the adrenaline has kicked in and I struggle to switch off. I live for the weekends when Ant can watch Kai and I can go back to bed, and where I would stay the whole weekend if only I could.

I know not all if it is the lack of sleep. The Fibromyalgia plays a part too – it makes my body less efficient at recharging and adds muscle aches and a feeling of being muddled, like I’m moving through thick custard that don’t help.

I’m sorry. This isn’t making very interesting reading is it? I did have a point somewhere…

Ah yes. That was it. I just needed you to understand how tired I am right now so you get what I’m trying to say.

There are a lot of things right now which I need to change. Things that I know will make my life better. Things that I need to change about myself, about my routine, my attitudes, my thinking. Things I want to do.

But I am just too tired.

It sounds pathetic doesn’t it? A complete wimp out of responsibility and self-motivation.

One thing I hate in life is an ‘I can’t’ mentality. I’ve always been an ‘I can’ kinda girl. I make stuff happen, me. I sneer at people who are forever making excuses, forever opting out. Yet that’s exactly what I’m doing.

And yes, I know I know. You’re all going to tell me to go easy on myself, that I can’t do everything, and you’re probably right.

But what I want to know is, when is it right to just give-in, surrender to the fatigue until things change on their own and inevitably more energy comes, and when is it right to push, to fight through the fog and not let it rule my life?

I consider myself a strong person. I think one of my best traits is an amazingly persistent instinct for self-preservation and survival. Nothing ever stops me for long. I have learnt that even when I feel at my most low, most overwhelmed, or blocked or anything else, if I give it time SOMETHING will kick in and pull me out again. A new idea, or a new inspiration will come from somewhere and push me forward, even if it’s just a little way.

But I don’t want to sit and wait now. I don’t have the energy to do the things that make me happy. I’m increasingly slipping into more and more unhealthy habits and tendencies, things that aren’t doing me or Kai, or Ant for that matter, any good at all. I’m withdrawing more and more from my friends, retreating into myself more. My confidence is at an all time low. Those relationships and friendships that I seem to have lost lately I’m finding harder and harder to rekindle and establish contact. Online friendships increasingly leave me feeling easily hurt and left-out, even if those feelings are completely unfounded.

Most importantly, getting up so early, being so unbelievably wiped in the morning and needing Kai to have a good nap at home in order for us both to survive the day, is making it harder and harder to get to morning playgroups and other social activities (and I can’t find any later ones) – I just don’t have it in me. Given how hard Kai finds social interaction anyway, I know I need to make this a priority but…

…yep you guessed it. I’m just too tired.

I AM trying. I’m trying to remember to eat, to go to bed earlier, to sleep during nap-times rather than write or browse online. This week I’m working hard on projects for Kai, trying to make his environment a bit more enabling and ‘Kai friendly’. But I am so aware of all the balls I’m dropping right now. My family, my friends, my virtual projects and pals. Myself.

Do I need to just try harder? Is it simply a case of mind over matter?

Or should I accept that the greater force rules and find a way to ‘make do’ till this time passes. Even if it’s to mine and my family’s detriment?

How about you? Are you ever too tired to change, even though you know you really need to? How do YOU deal with it?

Make friends, make friends, never ever break friends

I am curled in a ball on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, my face turned away from you, my eyes tight shut against the glare of the artificial light of our early morning.

Vague sounds of the television and your quiet play and chatter filter through but don’t penetrate past the armour I have so carefully applied this morning. You are just noise to me. I wish you weren’t here.

I wish I wasn’t here.

I feel bruised. My body pinched, pulled, rearranged. A night of being your bed, comforter, punching bag, drinks dispenser, toy, as you worked through your rage and despair and frustration and all of the other things that seem to plague your nights. I wonder at what point last night did I finally shut down? At what point did I stop hearing the crying and just switch off to the writhing, grasping, angry little body in my arms.  At what point did you stop being my baby and become something I had to endure? It was before exhaustion took you, finally, that much I know. Long before. Your stamina long eclipsing mine. My head hitting the pillow numb and empty.

I feel nothing now. My body moving on auto-pilot as I was woken from a sleep only just begun. I am cold, my skin prickling, as if the emotional drainage of the night has taken all my body heat with it. I shake, I shiver, wrapped in my cocoon and in darkness.

And yet even now, in my dark place, the mother synapses fire again. Ears on alert for sounds of distress and need. I hate that the instinct is so strong, that even when I want to disengage it holds me. Even now blissful nothingness is beyond my grasp, however much I wish for it, as anger burns hot in my chest. Dull but there, keeping me from icing up completely. I suppose I should be grateful for it. Grateful for feeling something. Because what kind of mother feels nothing?

Wrapped in shadow I am concious of time passing. All too soon the sounds of contented occupation begin to morph to sighs and little murmurs of annoyance. It is inevitable.

And then.

Movement. A shuffle. Warm fingers feeling there way beneath my covers to find my face, probing but gentle, searching for a connection and a response.

“Mama”

I am defrosting. The guilt is creeping back now. A familiar friend. Guilt that I seem unable to perform such a basic a function as enduring your need for me. Guilt at my weakness, at my selfishness, at my inadequate limits. Guilt that I am not enough, never enough for you. Guilt that I could ever wish you far away.

Turning, I pull you up and under, your body settling into my shape. I cannot yet look at you but your eager grin hovers an inch from my face in the half-light, your breath heavy and sweet. You wriggle your way through my defences, seeking out my bruises and my hurts with gentle hands, your fingers pushing their way through my hair to stroke and sooth and pat: movements learnt from being their recipient so many times.

You lie still for only a moment, but it is long enough for me to feel a rush of love so strong and deep it takes my breath, releasing in one low, shaking sob, that makes my body move and throw off the cover to let in the bright light of the dawn, here at last.

And I hold you close to me, breathing in your smell and your warmth and your life as the long night drips off me, and you begin to chatter with your nonsense words, telling me of your plans, about the red car that just drove past and that the dog from next door is awake and barking hello, and how you’d really like some breakfast please.

I take your hands in mine and plant a kiss on each small palm and look up at you to smile. Breakfast. Yes.

Mood Swings

I’m a bit up and down at the moment. I’m not sure why.

Some of it is just me I think. I’ve always blown a bit hot and cold and never been very good at concealing my emotions. If I’m happy you could probably solve the world’s energy crisis by running a power lead off my manic energy. But if I’m upset, or pissed off? Man alive, are you going to know about it. The Hadron Collider holds nothing like my potential for causing an accidental Universal Apocalypse. Most days I like this, it makes life more interesting. It makes ME more interesting.

But lately I seem to have been even more temperamental, with the emphasis on mental that is. And what’s frustrating me is that my ‘ups’ are being far overshadowed by my ‘downs’, with the down days triggered by more and more meaningless, pathetic incidents. An unkind word, perhaps not even meant for me but taken that way, can leave me wallowing for hours. I am more and more easily hurt, offended, sensitive and buffeted by the energy and comments of other people.

Is it the no sleep thing? Is the months of sleep deprivation finally making a dent in my mental health? Things are better, yes, but one good night is offset by about ten bad and I’m still managing on about 4-5 hours a night, 6-7 on a really good night.

Or is it the writing? More and more I’m finding I need to open myself emotionally, not only to find the right words to express what I’m trying to say, but to help me perceive the world in a way that is interesting, evocative and engaging. And by ‘opening’ myself to that process I fall in love with it, care about it, obsess about it in a way I’m not sure is always healthy and leaves me vulnerable to feeling deflated and low in confidence.

Or is it, (and I hate this excuse but it’s a valid one), hormones. Kai is breastfeeding less, my prolactin levels have probably dropped through the floor, and other hormones seem to be reinstating their influence as evidenced by the visit of an old friend this week who has been absent since I fell pregnant (yes, that was a euphemism, to spare my male readers some embarrassment).

What ever it is, I don’t like it. I feel out of balance and out of control.

Would love to hear if anyone else struggles with this problem (although you men folk are excused from the last point). How do you balance yourself emotionally? What keeps you feeling sane?

Just when I thought I was going to lose my mind…

Ten ways in which the Universe was kind to me today:

1. Not only did Kai only wake up ONCE last night, he slept in until, wait for it, 8am!!!!! I got up before him, got dressed, made a cuppa. It was quite possibly the best morning of my life.

2. All that sleep meant Kai was in a KILLER mood. We laughed, we nearly wee’d ourselves with excitement riding the bus, we only had a handful of minor meltdowns at Playgroup and Kai made friends with a small girl with pretty hair. Toast was eaten, toys were shared. It was legendary.

3. When we got home Kai sat happily and drunk half a cup of moo moo milk (as opposed to mama milk). This is only the second time I’ve got him to drink any with out screaming and throwing it at me. If you were in the Midlands area and heard a Ahhhh sound that would have been my boobs sighing with relief. We’re down to two feeds in 24 hours people! TWO!

4. In one of those adorable toddler moments, every sip of Kai’s milk was accompanied by a “mmmm!”, a lip smack and a big grin. I’ve been giving him milk everyday and encouraging him to drink it with lots of “yum yum” and “ooh delicious!” – looks like he’s cottoned on the fact that moo moo milk = gooooood.

5. After drinking said milk we read a story (about diggers obviously), we drew the curtains and Kai lay down in his cot and went to sleep. Just like that. That is the first nap time without tears in about a fortnight.

6. While Kai was asleep I made two cups of tea. I’m not sure who the other one was for but I drank them both. With biscuits. I may make two cups more often.

7. The powers-that-be have decided to dig up a car park in the town centre. That means DIGGERS people. Diggers for probably all this week. This afternoon Kai spent 20 ecstatic minutes watching those diggers, who happened to be driven by friendly digger men who were happy to flash their lights and spin the diggers round and drop things from high up to make a better crash all for my rapt little boy. We will be back.

8. Instead of screaming all the way home, Kai sang. Loudly. It made everyone we walked past smile – not frown and look alarmed at the thrashing hysterical toddler that has been the norm for the last week or two.

9. We got back and Kai SAT. And gave me kisses, and giggled at me talking to him in a funny voice, and played with his cars beautifully till his Dad got home. I remembered how much I love him and decided I might not run way to New Zealand after all.

10. Bed time went without a whimper. Kai chose his fire engine book, we sniggered at the instruction to “feel the Fireman’s hard helmet”, and then we said “Night Night” and he lay down and went to sleep. Again.

Thank you Universe. Now why can’t everyday be like this??!

Please Send Wine and Cake

*WARNING: In line with my honest disclosure policy and commitment to blogging with integrity, I should warn you that this a whiney post*

Kai is going through a phase.

At least, I think he is. It could be teething, it often is. I fear not, however, I fear that this is just HIM.

I never realised this about babies, before I had one that is. I figured that they grew and stuff (obviously), but I never realised THEY changed so much. Their needs, their personalities. That periodically they would become demon children from hell as they transitioned to a new stage.

Kai I think is in one such transition. After he started walking we had a month where he was absolutely delightful – everything was fun and exciting and interesting. We’d spend all day going on adventures and discovering the world from an upright position and all the many delights it had to offer – puddles, pidgeon chasing, running with wild abandon through the shopping centre and trying to steal things from shops. I loved it, and, as I always do I stupidly, rested on my laurels and thought “Ahhh this is lovely. THIS is what Kai will be like now. Life shall be good from now on”.

And then came this week.

This week where the my lovely, smiley boy was replaced with Lord of the Nazgul, complete with ear piercing shriek which he proceeded to unleash, with tears and biting and hitting and thrashing around, roughly every 7 minutes.

Here he is in all his glory:

NOTHING has pleased this boy this week. He doesn’t want to play, he doesn’t want to go outside, he doesn’t want to make dens on the sofa, or build things, or colour. He most certainly does not want to take a nap. All he wants to do is shout at me with nonsensical words, throw things, attempt to scale the furniture and get his mitts on every type of easily breakable thing in the house. Every trip to a public place has resulted in a prostrate, screaming child, and me trying to wrestle him, plank-like, into his pushchair by pinning him with my knee and fending off well-aimed kicks to my head. I am THAT mother, smiling wanly and embarrassingly, as the world looks on slightly pityingly obviously wondering why I seem unable to control my child and worrying that his head seems to be covered in rather nastly looking bruises (from throwing himself backwards and hitting it on every protruding edge in sight).

Our routine has gone to pot. Again. This is the other thing you don’t expect as a parent. You are told that routines are important for a child so you do your upmost to settle into a consistent rhythm of eating and sleeping. And it works, beautifully, for about 6 weeks. Two months max. Then you find they suddenly change the rules – they want to get up earlier, or aren’t ready for bed at the same time. They need less naps, or shorter naps, or more snacks. And you are left running to keep up.

I HATE these times. They never fail to make me feel incompetent, insecure, useless and doubt every single aspect of my parenting.

Of course, it will settle again, it always does. But in the meantime I am in my own personal hell and miserable with it. I’m still so tired anyway, with my blood pressure all over the place (turns out that’s why I keep falling over), and I’m having to spend my days wrestling with a small, ferocious ball of rage.

The worst thing is that he is always as good as gold when in the company of others, like his grandmas, so meaning they don’t really understand what all the fuss is about or why Ant and I periodically take on a grey, shrivelled look and look at our child slightly fearfully, worried he might ‘go off’ at any second.

God only knows what’s up with the child. I fear a lot of it is frustration – we had a similar patch just before he learnt to walk. He is obviously so desperate to communicate, babbling desperately and earnestly at every moment. Shaking his head and gesturing wildly. But what ever developmental thing that needs to ‘click’ to make talking possible just hasn’t happened yet. He struggles to formulate more than a handful of basic words although understands nearly everything you say to him. You can almost see him, trapped in this little body of his that hasn’t quite caught up to his brain. It’s no wonder he’s so angry really, I think I would be too.

Luckily time heals all ills, no doubt he WILL learn to talk eventually and this frustration will ease and all will settle again. Until the next thing of course.

And in the meantime, I’m left with this…

Please send cake. And wine. I mean it. For the love of god. Please.

I’m sure you’ve all been there. Any advice always appreciated xx

Fear

I am blogging this morning in a desperate attempt to stay awake.

Kai is busy doing things that Kai bear’s do: hiding things in various places to be retrieved later, pushing things round in his beloved new fire engine. He has a small plastic duck in his mouth and my cardigan wrapped around his neck. So normal day for him.

I, however, am not feeling quite so breezy. I keep falling asleep, my limbs feel like lead, I am dizzy and wobbly on my feet. And I am scared, very, very scared.

I don’t think this is low iron, or lack of sleep, or over-exertion. I think this is my FUCKING Fibromyalgia (and yes people with sensitive ears I WILL swear), and the thought of that taking a hold again makes my stomach lurch and my skin go cold in a way I can’t possibly make you understand. The doctor won’t see me till Friday but I know that’s what she’ll say. The pain levels are ok, but this overwhelming fatigue is how it starts. I have been here many, many times. Hopefully this will be a bad couple of weeks, maybe a month and then it will lift. But last time it was years. I thought I had beaten it, I really had.

I cannot go back to being ill again. I can’t. I am grabbing you by the virtual lapels right now and shaking you because you have to listen here. I cannot be that person again.

For six years I was a pale, floppy can’t-do shadow, managing to walk to the end of the road and back  on a good day. I won’t tell you about the bad days. My life revolved around wheelchairs, and overwhelming pain that makes labour look like a walk in the park, pacing, and positive thinking and TAKING IT FUCKING EASY.

I don’t want to take it easy. I want to be alive and not a ghost person. I want to DO and get to be the person that I AM – full of energy and enthusiasm, and not some miserable, pathetic not-Josie.

And the real bitch is that everything was going so well. I was feeling happy and settled, I was FINALLY getting going with life and doing things that felt right and that were taking off. I wasn’t depressed or anxious or all the other things that no doubt my doctor and everyone else will assume is respsonsible for the relapse. I was doing great, I really, really was.

It.is.not.fair.

I don’t care if I sound petulant and whiney. I know it could be a lot worse. This illness won’t kill me but my god it kills my life. It kills my plans, my ambition, my potential.  And it has done this over and over again my whole life.

I will not let it do it to me again.

I will not put my life on hold again.

You hear me?

Sick Note

Morning folks,

My apologies but there will be no Writing Workshop this week. As some of you know I’m feeling a little under the weather at the moment, I’d probably even use the ‘exhausted’ word. Have had a couple of scary blacking-out moments and generally feeling very wobbly and tired. So I’m going to try and be good this week.

Not entirely sure what’s going on. I’m usually tired but not THIS tired. Kai is actually sleeping better generally but I’m finding the bad nights are intensely more gruelling now I’m used to the odd better night. I just want to sleep all the time, bullying my husband to get up early so I can have an extra hour or two. I’m finding the breastfeeding very draining these days too and am wondering whether it might be time to gently encourage Kai to wean now. In any case, I’m booking myself in to the doctors to get my iron levels checked and I’m going to try and spend a bit less time rushing round like a blue-arsed fly and a bit more time resting and not putting myself under so much pressure.

We’ve had four fab weeks of creative writing loveliness and you’ve been working very hard getting your entries in so I figure you could probably all do with a week off too.  We’ll be back in business next Monday with five new prompts, I promise.

I shall still be about though, and will probably post the odd blog or two between now and then. But the priorities this week definitely need to be fresh air, snoozing, remembering to eat and cuddles with my boys. Oh and writing. Obviously. But of the quiet, as and when I feel like it, scribbling whilst sitting in a pile of leaves with Kai variety.

See you soon! x