Teef

There's a whole loada stuff going on in my head these days - mainly work stuff as interviews and "chats" (networking) are picking up. It's all good getting out there, but the lesson I learned from my last job is that "it" has really got to feel right, whatever "it" is. But all "it" is making me feel right now is totally hudgy budgy with a lot of antsy thrown in too.

And amidst it all, in my inside world, I'm having an enormous crisis of confidence about myself and feeling quite crap. I keep thinking of my peers and remarking how little I achieved compared to all of them. And I find it quite hard to bear, because when I was younger I thought I was quite clever, quite cleverer in fact than a lot of other people I knew, and good at stuff. But life has been a continual realisation that being clever and good at stuff just isn't the be all and end all of success. There's a lot more to do with the kind of person you really are. And the kind of person I am right now is, erm: boring, fat, boring. And also empty. As in I am an empty vessel. I just don't know who I am any more.

This is babymomma syndrome I'm sure. As in, I'm not actually doing anything for me right now. Not swimming - too busy finding a job, not reading - too tired to keep eyes open, not dieting - too lazy and demotivated, not "enter activity here" - too "enter lame ass excuse here" etcetera, etcetera. My days are busy, but I have no sense of purpose. What am I trying to achieve? Raise my kids well. How long does that take then? About, forever. What's in it for me? Erm, not much really. Oh. OK. That makes it sooo much easier. I would literally rather tread water every day...
Fellow Whittington babymomma Seema came over yesterday. I was saving her from her mother-in-law who has been staying here since February (ugh. can you imagine?) and she was saving me from cabin fever. Anyway, I was trying to explain to her how I felt and was being incredibly inarticulate. And she just opened her mouth and said "I know how you feel. When I was younger I never imagined this would be my life either." And without saying anything specific, the look in her eye, the tone of her voice, it really summed it all up.

We shared a moment.

Anyway, I this blogpost is called Teef, because it's not about me (not supposed to be anyway). It's about Felix. He has been screaming for 2 days non stop because he is teething - premolars - and is inconsolable.

More poo

Felix and Jasmine are both being very difficult at the moment.

Felix is The Unstoppable Baby. He's started to climb - onto stools, sofas, toy chests - which inevitably means falling off too. And despite some pretty nasty tumbles he just doesn't learn what is safe and what isn't. Add to that his fondness for sticking fingers in shredders, pulling on lampstands, playing with dustbins, chewing cables, pulling out plugs, tugging the shower curtain and pulling encyclopaedias off the shelves he is basically a walking suicide mission who can't be left alone for more than a few seconds. The only safe environment for him at the moment is a padded cell.

Jasmine is being nothing short of a Royal Pain in the Arse. I know it sounds awful to speak of your own children like that, but she's just so bloody difficult. It's almost definitely illness-related. (It had better be...) It brings out the diva in her. She's just so goddam particular. Everything has to be done in a certain way. And if you can't read her mind and understand exactly what that certain way is, then all hell breaks loose. Then she changes her mind and all hell breaks loose again. And currently all hell breaks loose every 5 minutes.

For example - today's lunch saga:
Bm: (Calm and patience personified) Would you like a chicken sandwich or pasta for lunch?
J: (All utterances by J to be spoken on whiny toddler voice, permanently on the brink of a tantrum) Want chicken sandwich. Don't want toast want bread. Want bread. Want breeeaaad. NO. Just ONE slice. Want crusts off. NO. Don't want butter. NO BUTTER. No don't cut it that way. Cut it that way. NO. Don't want chicken. NO. CHICKEN. No tomato (angry and insulted) NO TOMATO. Want CHEESE. Want cheese. No. Don't want cheese. Want cheese. (now very confused - does she want cheese or not?) Want small cheese. (small cheese is Jasmine's phrase for grated cheese. I take out grater - Jasmine hits roof.) NO. Want slices. (I take out slicer - Jasmine hits roof again.) Not that one. NOT THAT ONE. NOTTT THATTT ONNNE
...and so on. She issues an instruction, and doesn't stop to notice it has been immediately obeyed but repeats it in her sub-hysterical voice over and over. By the time I have made her a sandwich to her precise specification she has rejected that too and does want a chicken sandwich with butter and tomato.

I know she's small, and innocent, and very ill at the moment, and she really doesn't mean it - but none of that makes it any easier. I have no purpose in life at the moment other than to be her punchbag, and I certainly didn't sign up to that. I find myself thinking over and over: I deserve more than no income, two ungrateful children for company, a talent left to rot and a whole lot of thwarted ambition.

You just have to be calm and patient. There's no other way of dealing with it. But because I can't take my frustration out on her, and because there's absolutely no one else around to talk to who remotely cares or understands, it's all internalised. So I find myself feeling alone, frustrated, unhappy, but most of all resentful of my children and seriously contemplating selling them on eBay. Joking aside, I fantasise about leaving them to the bf and emigrating about once an hour.

Unable to express myself to a real human being, I have no other outlet than to talk to this blog, paradoxically the vehicle I set up to express how brilliant kids are is now the only place I can talk about how much I want to be able to give them back.

Almost officially unemployed

Tuesday's email from the MD

Subject: Update
While discussions to secure the business are being finalised we regret that the payroll is not going to be administered tomorrow. Matters are coming to a conclusion and there will be a further update by Friday at the latest.

Yesterday evening there was an article in Retail Week saying the administrators had been appointed, so it's fairly obvious what the 'further update' is going to be. I expect I'll be officially unemployed soon, get my P45 and hopefully get some closure.

I've been going through a cycle of emotions about losing my job and what the future might hold but throughout the last month I've made a conscious effort to stay positive. I've hovered somewhere between stoical, sanguine and resigned to it all, but recently I've been giving in to frustration and anger.

I feel angry towards the people who employed me. It goes without saying this is probably unfair. I know that we're all victims of the Icelandic bank collapse - ultimately the lack of funding from our Scandinavian investors is what tipped us over the edge. And I also know our company directors have lost more than just their jobs. And I know they've been working very hard in extremely stressful situations. And finally, I like them as people. At least, I think I do.

But I'm angry nevertheless.

When I was being interviewed we were going to have a new website and open 40 stores. A few months down the line and we couldn't even afford milk for tea. The impersonal nature of the MD's email is what set me off. I wish he had just written 'I'm sorry guys, I know you've been holding out to see if we've pulled together a rescue package and whether you can get paid this month but unfortunately it's not going to happen. I'm not able to tell you details right now about what the future of the business might be but expect a more detailed update before the end of the week.'

Fuck it. I wish he had just written 'I'm sorry.'

shitty christmas

it's been a very long time since i've written anything in the blog. mainly, i've not had the energy. but also, i've struggled to know what to say, or how to say it. but also, there's been a BIG THING i haven't been able to say. a big stressy rubbish shitty thing and it's just inhibited me from saying anything about anything else really. more on that later...

good stuff that happened in the run up to christmas:

1. our washing machine broke but got fixed again. (note where this starts. this is the GOOD things list. and it's CHRISTMAS. this list of the best possible things i can say starts with a washing machine.)
2. it got warmer
3. i spoke at a local council meeting against the proposal to redevelopment the house behind ours into flats, and we got a result: planning permission not granted. babymomma equals skill. many people come up to me after and ask if i am a lawyer (?) - apparently i spoke that well they assume it's a professional skill. babymomma is chuffed ;-)

shitty stuff that happened in the run up to christmas:

friday 19th december:

babymomma wakes up feeling awful. goes to work feeling awful. head-achy-body-achy-nauseous-extra-tired-type-awful. believes it is related to the takeaway curry consumed the night before. spends much of the day with head on desk. attempts to leave work early but gets hit by a deeply shite friday afternoon work crisis. doesn't leave till 5pm. leaves with heavy heart.

on tube near home, babymomma receives message to say jasmine has chicken pox. aaaargh.

saturday 20th december, morning:

jasmine seems ok. bf seems ok. babymomma feels ok-ish. felix has diarrhoea. by the time 9am arrives he has pooed on me once and vomited on me 3 times.

desperate for outing we venture to whipsnade zoo. it's cold and windy. at the penguin pool jasmine has deep panic her hair is 'falling off' and insists on being carried everywhere. poo from jasmine's wellies is smeared all over babymomma. babymomma is haunted by acrid poo smell that no number of baby wipes can erase. (babymomma IS the acrid poo smell no number of wipes can erase). we struggle on regardless. see some giraffes. have lunch. babymomma flakes out. home. coma. boyfried manfully looks after everyone.

saturday 20th december, night time:

jasmine comes into bed with us, upset, uncomfortable and itchy with spots. tosses and turns against me all night = no sleep

sunday 21st december, morning:

Felix is doing early shifts (as in pre-6am) and after our crappy night's sleep bf and I feel like total shit. Jasmine, oddly, is totally well in herself and being an absolute angel. Felix is a bit on and off. No diarrhoea today but he won't eat properly - just wants milk. He seems ok for the best part of the day until we give him a square millimetre of chocolate biscuit and he grabs it and palms it and shoves it in his mouth and giggles and coughs and smiles and jiggles on daddy's lap and then OH MY GOD he does the most enormous vomit everywhere. Bigger than the Witches of Eastwick. Worse than the Exorcist. Not a surface of either daddy or the sofa is spared. Babymomma is too busy drinking tea, eating biscuits and laughing her head off to be of any assistance whatsoever. Bf is agog with disbelief. Felix is smiling innocently and gurgling with satisfaction. Not even a spot of vomit has landed on him anywhere.

Monday 22nd December, wee small hours of the morning.

Middle of night. Babymomma wakes up feeling... a bit weird. Spends the next 7 hours running to the loo every 15 minutes with the most horrendous you can guess what

Monday 22nd December, day.

Bf is feeling queasy, achey, nauseuous too. We bundle Felix to nursery and take it in hour shifts to sleep/look after Jambeans

Tuesday 23rd December

Bf still ill and stays at home. I still feel like shit too, not having had any time to recover from whatever bug crawled up my bottom and died there. Jambeans still covered in spots and in quarantine. Felix still not 100% and still being bundled to nursery. Babymomma's company gives notice to appoint administrators today and I, effectively, lose my job. My supposed career defining move hasn't lasted 3 months. It's 2 days before Christmas. I had known since Friday it was coming but it still feels like shit when I hear the news. When I pick Felix up in the evening I am informed he has had diarrhoea today, and therefore is banned from school tomorrow.

Wed 24th December

Exhausted, sick unemployed babymomma looks after two moaning sick kids. It is Christmas Eve.

Is this rock bottom?

So the good news about this week just gone is that I'm recovering nicely from the op - soreness has subsided and I'm much more mobile and able to do things for myself. The excess glue from around the wound (no stitches this time - some new-fangled superglue instead) is beginning to come loose as the doctor said it would. I was told to rub my tummy well in the shower and let it come off, but to be honest it comes off more easily when it's dry. The bits that come off look like a cross between dead skin and copydex - mmmmmm, nice - and I've started to indulge in slightly disgusting, childlike behaviour by seeing how long a piece I can peel off before it makes me wince.

The bad news about this week just gone is just about everything else. The bf's meagre two weeks of pat leave finished oh so quickly, so he went back to work last week. My mum very graciously took some time off her work to come and stay and help out while I was still recovering. Unfortunately her visit coincided with me hitting the fed up button as the realities of what my life will be like feeding on demand for the next few months begin to sink in and I've just acted like a stressed out bitch to her for the best part of a week.

On a normal day I'm pretty obsessive about keeping my household in good order, but absolute control freakery has taken over since Felix was born (not a new thing - it was much the same after Jasmine too) so in true Monica Gellar style I have been completely and utterly anal about how to handle baby/help me breastfeed/ clean stuff up/ wash things/ stack stuff/ tidy up/place things/ do pretty much anything and everything. I've also been a bit of a Nazi about when to do it. ie IMMEDIATELY. NOW. PREFERABLY YESTERDAY. As opposed to the saccharine world of American sitcom, however, there is absolutely nothing funny about my control freakery, and I am quite relentless in my "requests" for stuff to get done "properly" so I wasn't the easiest person for my Mum to be around. And that's putting it politely.

But what made me particularly snappy and stressed last week was my continuing sense of concern, anxiety and guilt about any negative impact that Felix' arrival into our home might be having on Jasmine. I actually think she's very cool with it all, and is handling the change just fine, so my worrying about it all is taking more of a toll on me than it is on her. In all honesty it's mainly a drama that is playing out in my head and nowhere else, because if I entertain the merest thought that something I am doing might lead Jasmine to feel a bit neglected or left out then it simply breaks my heart, and I can't deal with that feeling. What it does mean is that I try to overcompensate by lavishing attention on Jasmine when I can, which is not very often because I'm knackered all the time, so I expect absolutely everyone else (aka my mum) to be equally focused on her when they're here. This is particularly true when I'm feeding Felix, which is just about always, so instead of feeling calm and relaxed and enjoying it, as I'm supposed to, I just feel tense and edgy and wired about how Jasmine feels seeing me feed him all the time. So I try and feed Felix and at the same time talk to Jasmine or read books with her, which is exhausting and difficult, so when someone else is here, aka my mum, I just end up barking instructions at her to get on the floor and dedicate some quality playing time to Jasmine. Which of course Jasmine doesn't always need and my mum doesn't always want to (or indeed have to) do. And it all just makes me feel more and more stressesd.

Everything came to a head last Thursday. Jasmine had a crappy cold and was being particularly clingy. She gave her cold to my mum and me. I was still pissed off with my mum for no good resason. And obviously I was dog tired, not having got used to snatching a couple of hours sleep here and there to last me through. The bf came home quite tired and scratchy and we snapped at each other over "do you want dinner on a plate? or bowl?". Apparently, I was "nagging" over the plate or bowl question. Which I really don't think I was, but I'm allowing for the fact that I could have been because the thing about being utterly exhausted is that every fibre of your being is so focused on getting through the rest of the day and hoping, praying, dreaming that you might be able to go to bed soon that you have absolutely no grip on what you're saying, how you're saying it or how you come across. And your emotions are terribly raw, and everything seems more intense than normal.

So when the bf said the N word (nagging) something inside just snapped. First I felt super angry, with both him and my mum, for being the two closest people to me and for being right there in the house with me and yet having absolutely no idea about how my life wasn't covered in a rosy, glowing, new-baby-hue, but was more akin to a solitary living hell in which everyone else got time to be normal and do normal things like read books and check email and play games and watch TV and sleep, but where I was exempt from those rules and just got to look after children, do housework and generally feel like shit.

Then pretty soon after that the anger turned into doubt and a total loss of self confidence. Over the belief that it was probably me and not them, and that I probably had been acting like a bitch to my mum without her deserving it, and that I probably had snapped plate or bowl at the boyfried unncessarily and then that appallingly destructive feeling of self pity mingled with self loathing washed over me terribly. And the tears came soon after that.

But they didn't come over dinner, or during Jambeans' bed time because I managed to stuff them back in, but they started flowing pretty heavily as soon as I was on my own - which happened to be when I was giving Felix his next feed. So there I was, sitting alone on my bed, in the dark, holding a two week old baby, and hating myself, hating my life, feeling alone and like nobody close to me understood what I was going through or why I was so miserable, all rounded off with a heavy dose of guilt that my negative feelings were all going to rub off on the bub. I was physically exhausted, emotionally spent, and I remember asking myself "Is this rock bottom?"

Which I guess it was. I felt so awful about how I had been treating everyone, and convinced that I was being a total bitch all the time (which I probably wasn't - it's just that I had no grip on reality) that on Friday I fessed up to my mum, amid yet more tears, about how shit I felt about being a nasty, snappy, bossy cow to her all week and about how I didn't feel in control of myself at all and that behaving like that made me not like myself at all.

And then she did the best thing - the thing that only mums can do.

She gave me a big cuddle and made it all right again.

So then we had a chat about everything, and she gave me lots of emotional support and I started to feel better about everything.

That's not to say that it hasn't continued to be fucking difficult. My cold is a bit of a stinker and is making it hard for me to sleep even when I do have the chance. And in the few days that have passed since Mum went home I've still found it hard to cope with how desperately lonely and boring breastfeeding round the clock can be (not to mention extremely painful on the nipples).

And when I'm at the beck and call of a small baby who doesn't understand anything than his constant need for food, sleep and new nappies, irrespective of what my needs are, then I have felt extremely resentful towards the other adults around me, namely the bf. And I know that's not particularly fair, but I feel it anyway, and then I waste valuable sleeping time calculating how much sleep he gets a night (ca. 6.5 continuous hours) compared to me (average 4.5 hours in 90 minute shifts) and I hate how still finds time to do his hobbies (ie reading, gaming or tinkering with the pooter) when I still haven't read a Heat amgazine that I bought 4 days ago, and even when I do get round to it then even looking at the pictures feels like a real challenge.

But generally, I do feel better and am beginning to enjoy the new mum thing again and I will get easier.

misery loves bloggery

dear whoever forgive me for i have sinned. it's been about 3 weeks since my last entry...

why oh why is it always the shite times that draw me to the keyboard? i could, for example, have written something last week when jambeans' nose stopped running and she was on brilliant form, and the sun came out and it was gloriously hot, and we went to steve and jessica's for lunch and auntie jessica took beautiful photos of everyone (except the one where i've got about 3 chins) uncle steve did roly poly's for jasmine and made her squeal with delight.

or i could have mentioned how nicky and i had a fab day at work last friday organising our team's magical mystery challenge as we leave our beloved london office for watford and the local asda.

or 2 days ago when i got a pink pass (outlaw in town so i got cover) and jessica and i went and pampered ourselves at the dorchester, which was ay-may-zing, then we had haircuts and i went and bought lots of clothes that are scrummy and actually fit my growing bump, and in the evening the bf took me out for a lovely meal, and it's only the second meal out we have had on our own since jambeans was born and the first one didn't really count so it was extra special and scrummy and lovey-dovey.

but instead i'm compelled to moan in type about the shitest day from shiteland i have had today. jasmine has conjunctivitis again, and after a minor row with the bf about who should stay at home and look after her today (my view - definitely his turn after i took time out of work a few weeks ago even though it completely screwed my week up) he asked his mum to stay on for an extra day (got the benefit of a willing and doting babysitter but... well, you know what) so he could do his meeting in the morning and come home this afternoon, which he did, and i managed to get away early from a tough day at work, where serious weirdness has happened (more later) and when i got home jambeans screamed blue murder (plus iGoo, snot, tears, writhing, more snot, more tears, inconsolable wailing and did i mention the earth shattering screaming?) for 90 minutes and i thought, after half hearted attempts to feed her and get her to sleep, that it was a tantrum, and i should just ignore ignore ignore, but turned out to be real, actual pain and discomfort soothed only by bf actually trying to do something to help, and giving her some ibuprofen, a chocolate biscuit and a cuddle on the sofa when she fell asleep, leaving us seriously stressed out and, for my part at least, GUILTY guilty guilty that i didn't try harder to make it better, and at the back of my mind all the time i'm turning, turning, turning over this weirdness that has happened at work, where two people that i used to manage, so worked with very closely, have outed themselves as a couple, and the chap has left his partner of quite a few years (wife of 2 years) and 5 year old daughter and 18 month old son so he can be with the chap-esse, and they are both very professional at work and i have a lot of time for them and i know nothing of their home lives, or whether they have been very unhappy in their previous situations, or whether it's the right thing or not for all involved and in my head i KNOW that i should be dispassionate and non-judgemental but in reality i just feel very upset about a situation that has absolutely nothing to do with me, and that's making today particularly shite because it's an emotion that i do not understand at all why i am feeling it.

and steve and jessica are going to hong kong because steve has got a job, and even though it really is the most fantastic news i am simply gutted they are going.

like a rollercoaster but without the thrills

so life recently has been up down up down up down non stop, actually more yo-yo than rollercoaster, and the down bits are getting a bit boring to say the least.

2 weeks ago jambeans was really ill again, only about a week after i had to pick her up from nursery the last time. so i stayed at home two days to look after her which was sort of ok but i found it quite stressful emotionally cos the bub is all floppy-feverish one minute and we're plying her with calpol, and all grumpy-yelpy-moany the next and mum can't do anything to console her. and all the time, nagging worry worry worry at the back of my mind that she shouldn't fall this hard each time she gets ill, and it always goes to her chest and she gets all wheezy and it's oh do worrying that she's still so vulnerable in her chest, and worries about lung damage as a result of being premature or cos of adenovirus resurface, but nothing we can do while she's still so little and GP just said to ride the virus out, which we did, and she did get better after a couple of days.

then i was at home with her on thursday as usual, and had a day off to look after her on friday as the bf was in paris with auntie leon and uncle mary, watching the england rugby team get mullered by south africa, and he was away saturday too so jambeans and i were on our todd again, and when he came home on sunday was ill, probly cos he ate too much steak done bleu and tartare (and mary had andouillette which is effing impressive tho' i'm guessing she didn't know exactly what she let herself in for) so i looked after her on sunday too and scheeezus was i effing knackered and fed up at the end of it. (seriously - i have no idea how full time mums cope day in day out. give me work any day - sooooo much easier)

so come monday morning i was in a right grump at having had such a shitty week, and missing work and having to catch up yadda yadda and i went along to my cervical scan... and found out we're having a boy.

and everything went in slo mo and all i could think was "we're having a boy!!! wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!" even while the probe-thingy was up my unmentionable and the doctor was guddling around.

It's a boy it's a boy it's a boy hurraaaaahhhhhh (we were hoping for a boy) and i was sooooooooooo excited and happy i forgot all about the shitty week and literally sobbed with happiness after the appointment all the way to the tube and some. cervix still looking fine btw - nice and long, and clamped shut, the way we like it.

so we're trundling along, then jambeans is ill again on saturday when i am home alone again as bf is off teaching at a course, but she bounces back again on sunday, so we have a short while to recover, then the bf is working like a bastud this week and is late late late home, and life all feels a bit ho hum hundrum peppered with stress and sleepiness.

still - pampering for mummy day in a few weeks time, plus week off in november.

bolt awake since 3am

couldn't sleep last night.
woke at 3,
lay awake,
eyes wide open,
heart beating fast,
totally wired.

i'm worried about my future.

i suppose i ought to write i'm worried about the future, and that's why i can't sleep. worried about things like global warming and bomb threats and wanting to protect my children.

but it's not true. they're not enough for me to lose sleep about.

it's all about ME.

my future.

work.
family.
money.
that stuff.

and now i am stiff.
and wired.
and tired.

and stressed.

about my future.

aaaaaaarrrggghhhhhh.