Out Of Time

Patience is a funny thing.  I’ve spent so many years waiting for the next big thing… the next job, the next holiday, the perfect pair of shoes. Always wishing my life away waiting for something a little bit better, a little bit more grown-up, something that takes me that little bit closer to ultimate fulfilment.

Now it’s not weeks and months I’m concerned with - it’s minutes and hours. I start at one hundred green bottles, not ten, as I think longingly about the dinner that’s getting cold downstairs, that phone-call I really need to make, how much I want to lie down on my feather soft bed and close my eyes. On bad days I attempt to harness psychic powers to will that clock around to 6:15pm so somebody else can hold this screaming, teething, tomato-faced baby who clearly hates me. It’s a continuous mental battle of wanting time to pass quicker, faster, now, now, now…or watching it slipping past as I’m stuck marching up and down a nursery with an aching back and an inconsolable, wailing boy. It’s easy to fall into the trap of always wanting to be somewhere you’re not. To fall into a pointless spiral of misery.

I don’t know when it clicked for me. Somewhere during the horrible weeks before we worked out that E was dairy intolerant, I think. I reached a tipping point, and my mind gave up. It just quit. It stopped trying to teleport me somewhere I wasn’t, stopped trying to hold back the sands of time, stopped trying to change something it couldn’t change. It wasn’t a conscious decision I made - my brain simply couldn’t take any more. Immediately everything else in the world fell away, and it was just me and my little boy. The irritating hum of what’s on telly when is S home I haven’t done the washing up I think the cat is weeing on that banjo stopped. There was nothing but me and the crying. And when that happened, I finally heard him properly, focused on him, realised there was nothing I could do to help him that I wasn’t already doing. So I just cuddled him. And the minutes suddenly started to pass more quickly, and I wasn’t cross, and it didn’t feel like my fault anymore. It didn’t feel like he was broken and I couldn’t fix him, it felt like he was a baby who was crying, and at some point he would be a baby who wasn't crying. And then he would probably cry again, and that would stop too. And that was just the way of the world.

I'm thinking about this now because I've recently tried to take up meditation, and it seems to me the same sort of set-up. Getting your mind to Just Let Go is simultaneously the simplest and the most elusive thing in the world. To suggest it's even an act you can perform or a state you can achieve seems wrong somehow. It's the opposite of all that. It's a giving up, almost. It's the ultimate patience. Not necessarily being happy, but being content to just sit and be. Let chaos go on around you, but keep yourself still at the centre.

It doesn't always work for me - the thought of having to go back to work in a few months is already giving me sleepless nights. In a bid to stop the pointless dread of the inevitable  future (that almost certainly won't be as bad as I think it's going to be) I'm going to milk every drop of joy from the weeks we've got left together just the two of us. To be still together. To have patience.

2014: Persist

 

Last year was amazing for me, the best for as long as I can remember. I am so lucky to have had the experiences I have had. I have learned to be patient, to be present in the moment and consciously switch my brain off from thinking about the past or the future. I have learned the value of time.

Having acres of time is paralysing. It's easy to put things off. But when, suddenly, time is only available to you in twenty, ten and two minute bursts, you are thrust into the present. Every waking moment becomes an opportunity to get things done. Prioritising becomes an artform. You become an efficiency machine. "Today I will 1 - wee 2 - eat 3 - sleep  4 - shower 5 - wash up 6 - work/email 7 - sit my knackered arse down." So rarely do I reach the end of that list in a day, but it's definitely more often than it was six months ago.

It should be exhausting. It is. But sitting and letting the tide of Stuff That Needs To Get Done wash over me like a tsunami of drudgery is no longer an option. Money is running out. Maternity leave is running out. It's time to ride the wave.

 image source

My word for 2014 is PERSIST. When I fall off, I will get back up. If I feel sad, I need to dust myself down and keep trying. Make that list longer and keep hitting it until I've achieved. I will not spend the next twenty years treading water or wondering what I might have accomplished if I'd tried a bit harder. Even if I only get five spare minutes in a day, those minutes have to go towards something. Another step in the right direction, however small.

Born Free....Soy and Dairy Free....

So the first eight weeks of having a baby were a little bit bumpy. Thing is, even if you KNOW in your heart of hearts that something isn't right, it's very difficult to get anybody to listen to you  when you've got your pants on back to front and haven't brushed your hair since April. "Is this your first baby? AH! All babies cry! They do! Yes, a lot! Babies wake up in the night! Yes, a lot! He will grow out of it! Don't worry your silly head." SUBTEXT - stupid first time mother, go home and man up.

On some days E would cry for more hours than he slept. In the end I videoed him screaming inconsolably (he invariably shut up the second we went into the doctor's surgery) and kept a log of his behaviour. It still took a fifth opinion before a GP suggested it might be a lactose issue, which lead me to do my own research and start wondering if it might be a cow's milk protein intolerance.

I dropped dairy and soy from my diet. Within a few days there was improvement, by ten days my baby was noticeably more settled. By two weeks it was like somebody had swapped him for a different baby altogether. He jumped from the 25th to the 50th centile on his growth chart.

I think you get into a sort of blitz mentality when you have a newborn. You just do whatever you need to do to get through. Looking back I realise how I swallowed a lot of the guilt and emotion that came along with all this, and that it keeps popping up in odd places every now and again.

I recognise now that I still feel angry with myself for inadvertently hurting my tiny, helpless baby. Look, I know it wasn't my fault, and that I fixed it, but it's hardwired in me to protect him and for those first few vulnerable weeks, unknowingly, I did quite the opposite. I wondered if I'd been selfish to carry on breastfeeding - especially when the GP recommended giving him formula to ensure he had a food source that was allergen free. I've been strict with myself, but even now when he has a bad night, I wonder if it was something I've eaten unknowingly. The couple of times I've slipped up - although they have served to prove that soy and dairy are the issues - have been unbearable. And now the second I'm taken out of control of the food I'm eating, I get horribly paranoid. Is that sauce really dairy free? Do those vegetables really not have butter on them? They're kind of shiny.... I'll always go without rather than risk it. I know it's not forever, but for now, it is often challenging.

Luckily at home we're used to fussy diets. My husband is a vegan, so I'm already well-versed in products that sneak whey in where you're least expecting it. He gets his protein from soy though, so most nights I make two versions of the same meal so we don't drop apart from malnutrition. Not ideal when you have a newborn, but has made me the world's fastest cook. And I have so many recipes that you can put sausages in at the end. Also -Boot's chewable calcium supplements. They taste like vanilla sweets. Amazing.


So now we're coming up to 19 weeks, with a happy, healthy, energetic little boy. The diet thing can definitely be done, although I'm still taking each day as it comes. I wish there had been more information out there for me in those early weeks - as many as 2% of babies experience some form of dairy intolerance, and a lot of those go undiagnosed for months. I can't imagine how I would feel now if I'd listened to those doctors and gone home and put up with it. For weeks I felt on the verge of depression - convinced I was imagining everything and that motherhood was a joyless, murderous trudge that everyone else was able to just get on with. As it turned out, there actually was a happy baby underneath it all.

Sockageddon

Argh what is it with those pesky socks? Yet again I have a drawer full of singles long divorced from their partners. Tacky lovehearts and inappropriate Christmas penguins just lolling about lonely with no hope or ambition of ever being reunited by their mate. I really think the cats pinch them and put them in other people's houses when we're out.

It was bad enough in the days PB (Pre-Baby) when I would have at least 20 seconds to ruminate on their whereabouts before stealing a pair of my husband's. Now I am regularly sweaty and sockless in my shoes. This is because I am regularly forced to choose between locating a matching pair of socks and brushing my teeth/putting on my pants/having a poo or some other highly essential daily ablution. The socks always lose.

The worst thing is so many mum and baby activities require you to take off your shoes in order to participate (due, I'm guessing, to softly blanketed flooring and that general not-wanting-people-to-tread-dog-poo-near-babies thing). I'm trying to make new friends here with a vintage Primarni-loveheart-with-hole-in-heel on one foot and that bloody Christmas penguin on the other. THIS IS WHY I HAVE NO MUM FRIENDS.

In desperation I have spent late nights on eBay accumlating a raft of over-the-knee numbers in various colours and stripes, all large and bright enough not to lose. I am now in the process of throwing away ALL my old socks, ALL of them, even those black ones that ALMOST match goddamnit, and replacing them with these ludicrous great danglers. I may now resemble a deliberately quirky wanker or a teenage goth, but HOLY SHIT it'll look like I'm actually trying.

Growing Things

Whilst I have been growing skin, bones, teeth and organs, Sam has been growing what can only be described as triffids. I always thought that things like chillis and tomatoes were challenging for the amateur gardener (especially those without a garden) but these great green mutants are slowly consuming the front of our house. Outdoors, tomato plants have spilled out of their raised beds. They've throttled the basil and the garlic, and are now slowly wending a path across the yard to our front door. Tendrils are curling ominously, as if they're preparing to make a fist and knock. Meanwhile inside, rampaging chilli plants dangle obscene, bulging fruit. Leaves cover the front window like a rainforest canopy, concealing my modesty as I roll around the house with my boobs accidentally hanging out more or less all the time. We have put it all down to our "magic" south facing window and the totally tropical summer. We can't cook enough curry to keep up with the chillis, so if you want some do let me know. No fruit on the tomato plants yet though. Think we have to prune them or something. Don't ask me, I'm growing the baby instead.

While some things are growing, I am more concerned with shrinking back to something approaching a size that will fit into things I own. I have become quite accustomed to my pregnancy chub and will feel genuinely sad to see it go. It has wrapped around me like a lovely blanket and made me feel all round and homely and like a proper mum. Unfortunately it is not designed for teaching aerobics comfortably, and so must go much sooner than I would like it to. It has been quite strange having a very substantial arse for the first time in my life (my weight normally goes everywhere but bum-wards, giving the impression that fat only accumulates on my front and sides. If fat was spray-tan, it'd look like I'd been standing with my back against the spray-fat-booth wall). Let me tell you, big botties make small toilet cubicles very difficult to manoeuvre around. I have learned that it is possible to sit on the loo seat and the sanitary bin simultaneously. I have learned other things through pregnancy, it's true, but I feel this in particular is a moment that will really stay with me. Ladies and gents, I had a few minutes there where I really thought I might have to stay in that cubicle forever.

Now there is a small person here with us and there are even more exciting (often toilet-based) lessons to learn. I may talk more about those, and other, unrelated things, when I have another minute kicking around that I should probably be spending asleep.

This blog is temporarily rehoming...

....to Radio Gaga where I talk about growing a baby and playing it amazing music for nine months.

Back soon!

*EDIT: if you're reading this in google reader this is a retrospective post dated December 2012*

A Very Fluffy Wedding

Since the blog that originally posted our wedding report has now taken it down, I am taking it upon myself to re-blog our wedding here so we still have an online memory of the day. If you don't like weddings or general self-indulgent silliness, you should definitely look away now!

For us it was, inevitably, the most amazing day. Our friends and family are truly the best. We did it in five months and we couldn't have pulled it off without them.

People say you won't sleep the night before your wedding, but I did, like a big knackered log. I watched Dirty Dancing and ate cake and drank fizz with my best friend and then I sparked out til 7am.

I can understand why people who have big fancy weddings stay in a hotel the night before. I woke up at home in Armley and it was weird how normal everything felt. Catie and I got ready together and our incredible photographer Kev came round and took pictures of us. It didn't feel like it was actually happening until we left the house.

Even when Suzy came round it didn't feel like it was happening. And then my Dad came to pick me up and exclaimed "ooh you're like a big furry caterpillar!" and it started to get real. Only just a bit tiddly and nervous by this point.

We got married at Leeds Town Hall. Here's me walking down the "aisle" to You Make My Dreams Come True by Hall & Oates. I look really bat-shit smiley on all these pictures, but my enduring memory is feeling like I'd had too many cups of coffee.

We were moderately lucky with the weather - it was a crap June and we got a really sunny day til about 3pm, which was just about all we needed. Windy though. You'll notice me hanging onto The Veil in just about all the outdoor shots.

Got some weird looks posing outside Oceana - worth it to get the picture we used on our thankyou cards though. Onwards to The Lounge, where we had a sit-down meal in the upstairs room with our relatively tiny wedding ceremony gang (only 20 guests, all family apart from best man and wife, and my one bridesmaid).

I can't recommend The Lounge more highly. They were amazing throughout our planning, the food was insanely good and they kept us within budget. The afternoon was seamless, which is more than can be said for the Limelight, our evening party venue, who decided to close the whole building just as we were due to start setting up. Dicks! Luckily our friends are resourceful and amazing and pulled off the set-up in minutes...

This is the unicorn dessert buffet, hosted by our pet mannequin Ken. We had a LOT of cake and a LOT of unicorns.

This is our wedding fanzine, which we gave out as favours. It had a cut-out-and-keep Nissan Bluebird in it. And our cat Granville had his own puzzle page. Our six-year-old selves would be so proud. Also, board games as centre-pieces - good ice breaker and something you can actually keep and use afterwards. Recommend!

Whilst everything was frantically set up, I was safely tucked away at our wedding night hotel, getting ready for the evening and putting my new shoes on. I am forever grateful for nobody telling me our reception nearly didn't happen until long after it had been sorted out.

My memory just swirls into one big crazy party after this point. I kept putting my drink down and losing it. I remember chasing small children with confetti. Rushing round trying to talk to everyone and not really seeing Sam all night. It was good though, there were speeches from best man and maid of honour and there was a Dad Band made up of various members of both our family and the best man, none of whom had ever played together before the day. They were seriously impressive....

....there were Penny and the Sausages too (who apparently were a bit too loud for the oldies, and one small child ran out screaming with her hands over her ears, sorry about that guests)

There was the cutting of the cake (and the moment we realised nobody tells you where to cut it, and also that we'd left the good knife at home)....

  
There were also an abundance of Slips sandwiches, which made excellent fuel for dancing. We only got round to first dance at about half past nine though, we forgot to do it. The Way You Make Me Feel followed by Pump Up The Jam.

 

  

After deciding my husband looks better than me in a veil, it was time to go to a fancy hotel and drink cocktails til bedtime. Exhuastion at previously unheard of levels. Excellent times.

All pictures by The Blackeye Specialist