The Brooks Trio - Part II

You might remember Part I written three years ago...

A lot has happened in three years. The three years since we decided not to have another baby.

Jacob got a new job - an apprenticeship in a trade that he enjoys and has much more financial stability than any of his previous jobs.

I transferred to a position much closer to home and reduced my hours slightly (as a choice this time - not a need because of health issues.)

We moved and our new home is much bigger. We love it here and plan to stay for a good while.

Almost all of my previous health issues were alleviated after a lucky find that led to corrective heart surgery.

We are in a place we had only ever dreamed we could be and after several discussions, Jacob and I decided to try for a second baby. 

Because of Jacob's vasectomy, we had to look into other means of achieving this than just happily jumping around in the sack. We discussed a vasectomy reversal, IVF, adoption, surrogacy and many other different things. We went to our GP who was very supportive and referred us to a fertility clinic. We both had preliminary testing done to look at our fertility and general health. After a few appointments and results we decided that IVF was our best chance and most affordable for us. We also didn't want to get caught up in it all so we decided to give it just one go - if it was meant to be, it would be. For those that don't know IVF, there are several parts to the process and we planned to do only one round of egg retrieval / sperm aspiration. We didn't know how many embryos we would end up with - If we had 5 embryos from that process that meant we had 5 shots at falling pregnant and carrying a baby to term.

After the fortnight of different drugs to make my body do it's baby making thing we had a scan which showed 9 follicles.

At our egg collection 2 days later, 7 eggs successfully retrieved.

On the same day, the aspirated sperm and eggs were put together by the lovely scientists at the fertility center, 4 of them successfully fertilised.

Those 4 were given 5 days to mature. 

Only 1 of them made it to what is called the blastocyst stage. And so, on that day, our one shot, out little embaby was transferred to my uterus.

Then came the long 2 week wait to find out if the pregnancy had been successful. Of course my impatience wouldn't allow that and I became the master of peeing on a stick. From day 7 post transfer, we had a clear second line on those tests that only got stronger as each day passed. As with Charli, I became queasy very early as that hormone started raging through my body. I spewed up my lunch 3 days in a row. I started to get hopeful. Up to this point, I had tried not to allow myself to think on it too much. I had planned for the 'if' because I'm a planner, can't help it. But only an if. That if turned very quickly into a when.

Then on day 10 I started spotting. Day 11 I didn't vomit, I just felt nauseos. I stopped spotting and started bleeding. I've been bleeding ever since. I knew. I knew the pregnancy had been a success. I knew that success had taken a nose dive. But despite all of the raging emotions, body changes and common sense that pointed to the obvious, I allowed myself to cling onto hope. 4 days after the bleeding began I had my 2 week post transfer blood test which confirmed - I was pregnant.

I honestly feel a little sorry for the poor dove who rang me with my results. The conversation went something like this:

"I'm just calling to share your test results with you - congratulations, you are pregnant!"

"Really?"

"Oh, um yes, clear positive!"

"Okay, that's great but I think maybe we need to do another test in a couple of days or something because I have been bleeding - a lot. I really didn't expect a positive result."

"Oh! Okay, sure I will have Amanda call you tomorrow to organise a follow-up test. Don't stress, a lot of people have implantation bleeding!"

I spent the next 4 days home extremely unwell with Rhinovirus (confirmed by a Covid swab) I haven't been sick with a cold for this long in forever. My body was obviously fighting to keep chugging along. The bleeding continued and got worse over those 4 days 

I had my follow up blood test done this morning and this time nurse Rowena was burdened with being my messenger:

"We are just letting you know that your follow up test has come back positive but your HCG has dropped which means the pregnancy is failing. I'm sorry but please be reassured by the fact that your body was successful in falling pregnant and any number of things could have caused it to fail."

"That's okay, we figured that would be the outcome, thank you"

Rowena was trying to be nice when she told me I could at least have a wine tonight.

Over the past week I've prepared myself and Jacob for this. We've talked about all the positives to the disappointing news we had resigned was coming our way. Trying to make it okay. We discussed the fact Charli would be able to be our sole concentration. Big holidays would be taken sooner and with ease. 

We both picked a thing. A thing that we would positively focus on if our news today was bad. A thing we wouldn't freely be doing if Brooks Baby 2 was indeed on the way. 

Preparation of the mind did jack shit for my heart, which had still held onto the smallest shred of hope. I'm much more upset that I had anticipated, and as usual I'm trying to channel those feelings out by writing about them.

We are okay, I mean this wasn't part of our plan until 10 months ago when it became an idea. It only became a real possibility when the actual decision to try was made together only 2 months ago. 

But I'm sad. Sad that I won't get to enjoy another little being that is us. Sad that Charli will never have a sibling. Sad that Jacob wanted to be a Dad again and won't get to be. I'm sad I didn't get to share a birth with my big sister as I had planned to.

I'm angry. Angry at the GP who asked Charli if she would like a little brother or sister. Angry at the urologist that confidently told Jacob we would be pregnant in the next 6 weeks. Angry at my body for not continuing to do what it should.

I'm relieved. Relieved that we have our beautiful life, our beautiful daughter and that nothing is going to change that.

I'm happy. Happy that I can continue to (discreetly) spoil my favourite human and love her without distraction, without any other obligations.

And so, we go back to "normal". We go back to loving our little girl with everything we have and enjoying life as our little trio.

Our birth control decision way back when and our IVF attempt now were a choice we were lucky enough to be able to make ourselves. All of the people out there struggling to have even one child through no fault of their own - I can't even begin to tell you how brave and strong these people are. I went through a small portion of the drugs that can be needed for fertility issues and they were brutal. There comes a point where stabbing yourself in the stomach with multiple needles each day around bruising and symptoms from those same drugs gets mentally and emotionally exhausting. It is physically exhausting - some of the tests and procedures are invasive and painful. And then there is the bravest, strongest part of all - the hoping, waiting, the being shattered and doing it all again anyway. I am so glad we are not doing it all again. And so, I'm sending all of my would-be baby dust to someone who is still out there waiting. 

Bribery & A Healthy Little Heart

Today had the potential to be a very shitty day.

As you all know my ticker needed fixing last year, courtesy of a Congenital Heart Defect (CHD).

Not long after my surgery, Jacob’s mother was also diagnosed with a CHD that will eventually need to be corrected with surgery.

My first thought, of course, was Charli. With heart issues now stemming from both sides of her family, the potential for her to have heart problems was that much higher. Cue Mum mode. I immediately got a referral from our GP to see a paediatric cardiologist and on the 23^rd of July last year, the day before she turned 3, Charli was having an echocardiogram.

She was an absolute champ. At that point, after being in & out of hospital for her lungs for the better part of her life, I think she was just used to following instructions in that kind of setting; staying still when she was told, breathing how she was told, moving this way and that.

The Cardiologist (Michael, for future reference) also had fabulous bedside manner, which is always helpful. Michael and Charli discussed what Charli would watch on the computer screen while the scan was being done. After a definite & confident “My Little Pony, please”, Charli lay still for around half an hour, blissfully unaware of how scary this actually was, as she watched Twilight Sparkle & her friends traipse around Ponyville.

Old Michael was onto me, he could probably see the potential meltdown headed his way. So, he first checked for an ASD (my defect) & stopped to tell me that Charli didn’t have any sign of the same. I almost crumpled with relief until I realised there was obviously other problems she could have, but was thankful again when he stopped to share that Charli has a “perfect Mercedes Benz” meaning her tricuspid valve was just as it should be (Jacob’s mother’s defect is a bicuspid valve).

Suddenly, I was wiping blue jelly off Charli’s chest & putting her shirt back on, pleased as punch that things had gone so well. That is, until I turned back to Michaels desk to see him drawing a heart on some paper. My own sank & I fought off a wave of nausea as I sat down with an oblivious Charli on my lap & waited for the hit that was surely coming.

Michael explained that there was a small part of the wall in Charli’s heart that was thicker than it should be – extra tissue that had the potential to cause major issues with structure and blood flow. He also noted that because Charli was only turning 3 the next day that the issue could very possibly resolve itself. So, we would have to come back each year for a check-up.

Fast forward to March this year, a global pandemic has hit our shores and the numbers are going up, up, up. I have heart and lung issues. Charli has heart and lung issues. So, I locked us up. Apart from out doctors trip last Friday, we hadn’t been out in public until yesterday, 44 days after we decided to self-isolate. We are due to go back to day care and work over the coming couple of weeks & although things are looking good, I needed to be sure Charli was going to be as safe as she possibly could be. So I wanted to make sure her heart hadn’t gotten any worse before releasing her back into the wild…

On Friday Charli had her flu vaccine. It was a shitshow. Rewind to early March when Charli was in hospital with a random virus & the doctor happened to find a foreign object in her ear. Even that night when she was so sick with fever, she was so good for the nurses & doctors. Enter the ENT specialist from hell, who forcibly removed the object from Charli’s ear while she screamed so loudly that multiple other staff came into the room to see what the hell was going on. “Oh dear” was all she had to say about the amount of blood that was left in the aftermath & still flowing from Charli’s ear as she ushered us out of the clinic room. Charli hasn’t let me near her ears since & I hoped it was just going to be an ear thing. But no, it has extended to anything medical & Friday she smacked away our GP’s hand as she tried to get Charli’s temperature. Not to mention the joy of getting the vaccine itself – screaming & kicking were involved.

So we knew heading to the Cardiologist was going to be just delightful. Jake cancelled an appointment of his own to come with us as we realised even mentioning the doctor brought on either outright bawling, panic or complete shut-off from Charli. We tried to make it better, practicing at home with body lotion and one of Charli’s play doctors tools, explaining that it was just taking pictures, that it wouldn’t hurt. We even got her practice on me. We BRIBED THE SHIT out of our kid. I’m not one for bribes but I spent a ridiculous amount of money on Pokemon toys. We bought them with her and then told her we would take them back to the store if she didn’t do the right thing at the doctors. We are the worst. But it helped. Michael & his extraordinarily adaptable approach was key though, he let her look at & touch all of the medical tools & jelly before he even tried to start the scan. She finally let him start scanning, much to our relief – not only that she wasn’t screaming but that a clear scan meant a clear path forward. It was over much quicker than the original scan (thank god).

For 10 months I’ve been keeping the possibility that Charli’s heart could need corrective surgery in the back of my mind. It was so easy to potentially plan the logistics in my head. Making sure there was leave to care for her, money to cover the medical bills, yadda-yadda. I didn’t linger on the gut-churning thought of Char having to experience such an invasive surgery, not to mention such a long road to recovery because it would be the absolute worst part. So when we sat down with Michael after the scan, I was braced for it. Michael got straight to it, enthusiastically explaining that as Char has grown in the past 10 months, the extra tissue has resolved itself. It is completely gone. There is nothing structurally wrong with her heart.

To my credit, I didn’t cry until we were driving home. That background baggage had been weighing heavier than I’d known & I cannot describe the relief. Post appointment, Char got her Babyccino, with four marshmallows. She got a plush Pikachu, a Pokeball Belt with Pokeballs & figurines. I tossed a book into the mix too. BRIBERY. When it’s okay, it’s okay.

Lots of Love

Working part time has taught me a lot about my parenting. I can see I’m overly cautious here, a little slack there. My patience & temper have been put to the test – soooo much. I have bursts of pride, complete joy & contentment; but most of all I have felt like the worst parent in the entire world.

I love Charli beyond anything I could have comprehended. I adore her cheeky little personality, crave her attention at times & find myself in absolute awe of so many things she does big & small. I also don’t love every minute of being her mother. There are days where I simply do not enjoy being at home with the tiny she-beast. My 21-month old is a whole different ball game from the 6 month old baby that went into full time care as I went back to full time work. 

I am now blessed with 5 days a fortnight of pure Charli. I say blessed because I am, the opportunity to work part time & still get along okay financially isn’t one a lot of Mumma’s have. So I have felt nothing short of outrageous guilt every time I have willed those days to go faster, for 5 o’clock when Daddy gets home or 7 o’clock bed time.

Maybe I truly am a shoddy mother. Or maybe there are a whole lot of other Mumma’s out there that feel the same but I can’t seem to fall in love with her age right now. Don’t get me wrong - she is so much fun & joy; full of discovery & simple delights. Right now though that discovery seems to revolve around pushing the limits on everything & those delights are like tiny delicate flower petals that can quickly be stomped by a rampaging elephant (that’d be Charli). 

Tonight was a perfect example of the trampled delight… we had chicken & veggies for dinner. Chicken is Charli’s favourite. She sat on the bench as I served up onto plates, excitedly exclaiming “Chic-kun!” the entire time. I then had to cut up her chicken & that was just taking too damn long apparently. Within a matter of seconds her world had fallen apart & there were real tears happening. I went through my usual motions; explaining – “Mummy’s just got to cut it up Char, look.” Distracting - Trying to count the number of cuts I was doing while showing her & talking about getting her bib & spoon, then hopping in the chair. Reasoning - “Charli, you’re being silly now, your dinner is right here, it will just be a minute” I was finally able to get the blubbering to end after sitting her in her chair & giving her the plate. I stupidly thought we were okay then, that she was probably just hungry & tired from day care so unable to express herself well. But nope. Having hoovered her Chicken, artfully avoiding any vegetables, Charli was now just bashing the plate with her spoon. I asked if she would like some more. I got a no, to which I took the plate from her tray. Cue “Losing her shit part 2”

Fearing there had been a miscommunication I set her tray in front of her again – another, more insistent no. Plate Removal. SCREAMING. High pitched, intense screaming. I raised my voice now, over the top of her, asking if she wanted some more. A warbled no. Stiffened out limbs. Tears absolutely streaming down her face. I cleaned her up, got her out of her chair & set her free, expecting her to calm down. Again, silly me. 

The tantrum continued & that was enough for me - into the cot she went to scream on her own until I thought I would finally be able to go in & see the kid I kinda like laying there, ready to be a nice human. I was in fact wrong & the tiny possessed she-devil started screaming at me again, resisting being taken out of the cot. So I walked away. I vacuumed my floors to drown out the screams. When I started mopping she had calmed right down & came to me out of the cot snuggling into my neck with big heavy “I just screamed my lungs out, I’m exhausted” sighs, then happily exclaimed “Awe, floors!!! Wet!” like she hadn’t just lost her mind for the past 20 minutes. 

I know this is kids. I get that. But for me, this is going to be where I struggle as a Mum. I struggle to keep her occupied enough when we are at home 3 days in a row. I struggle to not be stubborn & annoyed when she refuses to try new foods or let me show her how to do things. I struggle not to stress out. I struggle to do another puzzle, for the 1000th time that day. Sometimes, I leave it be. Sometimes I discipline. Sometimes I wish for some time to pass & fast.

I love my little girl. Give me baby stages, give me kid stages. Toddlers suck.

Please note I’m not sure I’ll adore teenage stages either…

Kudos to all of the Mummies that don’t skip a beat & to all of the daycare workers who look after multiple feral little spawns of satan day in & out. I don’t know how you do it.

For me these days are filled with joy, exasperation, giggles, irritation but most important of all, it’s filled with lots of love & that’s all the matters.

The Brooks Trio

“Oh she’s so cute!! When are you going to have another?” 
“Jake & I have talked this through a few times & unless things change drastically we’ve decided we’re only going to have one.”
“Oh…”

This conversation. All the time. 

It's not that the question itself is offensive; it's a pretty normal & an obvious conversation to have with people. It's the responses I get to my answer that make me want to scream.

The most common retort: "You can't just have one!"

There are the people that think they know future us better than ourselves: "No you won't. You'll see, you'll want to go back."

The couple of people that think we are doing other people an injustice (also, wtf?):  "What about people who can't have kids? Isn't it a bit cruel that you can have more but won't?"

And, last but not least, my personal favourite: "Well that's just a bit spiteful... She needs a sibling, you know."

The fact that I haven’t simply birded these people is an absolute wonder.

I really don’t feel the need to explain myself to them, but I do feel the need to put all of this out there. Our experience as a family can have no comparison so please remember I am only talking about us here. Here are the reasons we would both love to have a number 2 and the reasons we have decided that we probably won’t.

People seem to think because my first pregnancy was bad, it’s the entire reason we have decided not to try again. First off, if my second pregnancy was like the first or worse, does ANYONE really want to see me or Jake go through that again? And Charli would have to go through it now too…

I know it could be completely different, I could unicorn my way through that shit & pop out another tiny human just as awesome as the first! For those people I say, really? It wasn’t the greatest 9 months of my life – I was tired, weak & sooooo sick of the sight of that damn red bucket. I spewed in all sorts of vessels, in all kinds of places. I had the pre-term labour threatening from week 27 with constant trips to the hospital. The urinary tract infections seemed to just be there no matter what I done. So yeah, not exactly glamourous & I hated it, ask anyone. But really? Why would I ever want to give up another 9 months of growing a tiny us? Those pinpricks of light in the darkness, the heartbeat, the kicks. They were worth the misery & would be again. Plus, I lost in the vicinity of 15kgs, guys. What a bonus.

Then they say we are being selfish – we want to travel & own a house but we aren’t going to give Charli a sibling! Friggin oath. Even with just one baby we will probably never own our own home. We hope to but we know what the market is like & how much we earn. And yes we want to travel! I’d rather be able to travel with Char & give her those experiences than not travel at all or much less. Also, when she is old enough to be home alone & off with her friends – “BYE! Dad & I are off to Europe, don’t burn the house down!”

The “money doesn’t matter” routine. This one is good. These people that are SO frustrated with MY life choices that have ZERO effect on them whatsoever cannot be more exasperated when they say we shouldn’t be worried about money. They tell me that things just work out. Yes they do, I’ll be the first to tell you that you just make things work & if we happen to have another baby, we will just work it out. But for now we don’t WANT to work it out. We don’t want to lose the life we have built for ourselves & planned for Charli’s upbringing.

Charli needs a sibling. No, actually. She needs a household full of love, encouragement and happiness. She needs people she can rely on & share things with. She will have that and more. Just speaking for my side of the family Charli has 10 cousins she actively sees. 4 Aunts & 4 Uncles. 1 Grandma that accounts for the love an adoration of an entire country…

Jacob & I were watching a TV series where a 16 year-old girl got pregnant. Jake simply said “I hope if something like that ever happened, she’d know she could come to us” We want to be her parents first, but we also want to be her friends. She will have everything she needs.

Did I mention by the way one of the women who pushed this to me the hardest – she had a sibling for her first child. Not a second child for her family - A sibling for her first child. Her wording. Those siblings don’t speak. Enough said.

Lastly, time. The number one reason that I decided for myself that I didn’t want to have another baby. I work full time, the weekends race by & doing all of the things in between, the time I have with Charli is so small considering she is my daughter living under the same roof. It is barely enough. I don’t want to give up a single second. Not for anyone or anything because 10 months is going to turn in to 10 years before I can blink. I know I would love Charli just as much if she had a sibling. I know I would give both of them all I had but I don’t want to. The thought of another little bubba, another birth (believe it or not – I know why all of you crazy bitches do it again now), another set of fingers & toes, another personality. It’s almost enough to go right ahead and do it all again. Almost.

Who knows, we might change our mind in a few years. We might have a little surprise happen upon us. But right now & for all of the near & further off future, it’s a no from us. Thank you for everyone who has respected this & haven’t said boo. A super special thank you to the small minority who actually quizzed us, wanting to know why, not to correct our reasoning but to better understand it.

For the families out there who decided to have one, two or twelve; that consist of just themselves & their partners, to those who stuck with just the fur-kids; the adopters, the step families - Kudos to all of you guys.

PND?

I like to be open about my shit. I don’t hide much from the world & for me, putting things out there, even if just in cyber-space, is how I cope; sometimes how I heal.

2016 marks my 8^th year dealing with major anxiety & depression. No one can describe the helplessness, the illogical thoughts & emotions. No one can tell you why or how or what. The symptoms are mostly universal but the reasons are not. Help can come in the form of a mental health professional, a drug, mental & physical exercises, friends & family. The same thing doesn’t work for everyone.

Because these disorders aren’t visible people like me are often given a hard time; stereotyped as unstable, lazy or incompetent. It took me a too long to realise that most of those people don’t have the empathy or intelligence to comprehend such a thing. No longer is my energy wasted on such small minds & closed hearts.

Before getting pregnant I had debated if I could ever even be a parent. There were days when I didn’t go to work; days where I simply didn’t look after myself. Days when I cried as my then-boyfriend hugged me through the tears & pain with no idea why I was crying. How could such a person ever raise a happy & healthy child? Would they inherit this shitty disorder? If so, was it entirely cruel to inflict that on another person?

After just 6 months of a previously untried regime for my mental & emotional health, I was the best I had been in the previous 7 years. Steady, happy with only minor dips that were few and far between. I realised that I wanted a baby & discussed it with my by-then fiancée. We decided to start trying later in the year when we had moved into a better house & there wasn’t so much going on. Falling happened faster than expected & with it came a sudden dread.

Pre & Post Natal Depression hadn’t been on my radar when thinking about bringing a tiny human into the world. Finances, planning for care, a new car, providing everything a baby would need, that was easy. But when that second pink line appeared on my pregnancy test a whole box of unthought-of variables & challenges raised their ugly heads.

I do admin work for a team that receives the discharge summaries of all mothers who give birth at our local hospitals. Going on 5 years now, I know when I see the indicative words/tick boxes that a mother has had previous anxiety or depression; they are more likely to have PND. So I planned for the absolute worst. I planned to have issues connecting with & loving my baby. I planned to need emotional support. I planned to need help tending to my baby. When I went to the doctors to see a psychologist about an unrelated matter, I didn’t use all of the sessions available to me, banking enough to get me through to at least the end of the year. I made appointments with the psychologist & social worker in my own workplace to put in place strategies that would help me cope. I discussed it with all manner of people from my Husband to complete strangers if the conversation had turned that direction.

Towards the end of my pregnancy, I was an emotional & mental wreck. I hated being pregnant. The magical moments of baby kicks, ultrasounds & that absolutely breath-taking  heartbeat of something growing inside me… Those moments were tiny pinpricks in an otherwise endless cycle of nausea, cramps, spewing on the side of the road, hospital visits, more spewing - this time in a freshly run bath, no sleep, feeling weak & useless from the combination of all the above. By the end I loathed it & in turn hated myself. So many women I knew would be so thrilled to be harbouring a healthy little bubba in their womb. So many women I had heard of had been hospitalised for so much of their pregnancy in a worse condition than I was ever in. Then there were the pregnancy unicorns. The women who had no idea such things happened in pregnancy & floated through their 9 months like majestic angels with their amazingly capable baby-carrying bodies & minds. Those bitches could piss right off from about my 30 week mark.

In my last 9 weeks of Charli-baking, I went downhill. My Husband watch me cry, complain, get frustrated, sob, eat chocolate for comfort, throw said chocolate up & then start all over again. We sat through countless nights of talking out how I was feeling & one weekend even ended up at the hospital as my anxiety had amped up so much & my depression had set in as not to budge; a combination a lot of people don’t believe is possible but I can vouch for it being very real & consuming. Thankfully, Doctor Matt was on duty that day. Everyone remember Dr Matt from my birth post? He was the one who delivered Charli. This particular weekend he sat on the edge of my hospital bed, rubbed my leg & told me that I was doing an outstanding job. He told me growing a tiny human was exhausting & took so much physical, mental & emotional energy that I needed to stop beating myself up for feeling crappy. He spoke to Jake who told him I was not sleeping & all of the details of the threatened pre-term labour that had been on & off since 27 weeks. Dr Matt looked me square on & stated I was going to take some pain relief, some sleeping tablets (all perfectly fine for bub of course) & I was going to stay in the hospital until I got a proper sleep. Then I was going to eat a hot meal & take my time going home. Yes, Dr Matt.

Finally, Charli arrived. That had been my light at the end of the tunnel. I had been waiting for the moment when my nausea would stop, when I wouldn’t need to carry around that little red bucket & “Chuckies” in my handbag just in case… I would build up strength again. I would be sleeping better, able to get comfortable at least (everyone laughed at me on this one, but I was right).

But I could not tend to my little girl at all on her first night. On so many drugs I wouldn’t have trusted myself to hold her alone & I certainly couldn’t pick her up while standing – I could barely stand myself until the next day. So as always, Jake was there when he was needed the most; looking after our daughter on his own without even blinking on his very first night as a parent.

After what felt like failing that first night because I was incapable of caring for Charli, I was keen for the second night. Jake was getting a good night’s rest at home, Charli & I were still in hospital. Exhaustion was inevitable & unlike the night before where she woke every 2-3 hours for a bum change & a feed, she DID NOT SLEEP. I could buzz the nurses any time I needed to but I was her mother for Christ’s sake, I needed to be able to do this! My very favourite midwife from my night prior to Charli’s birth (the tucker-inerer) was on duty. She noticed at about 12am that Charli & I hadn’t slept AT ALL. I asked if Charli could take a dummy at this stage – I of course hadn’t thought to pack one. Tucker-inerer swiped us a dummy that she was not supposed to give out… I told her I had no idea where it came from.

By 2am when the dummy still hadn’t worked she came back & stole Charli. “You can’t see to her when you can barely keep your eyes open!! Let me take her for an hour & feed her. Go to sleep.” She came back with a wrapped, sleeping bub which lasted all of 20 minutes. I think I got an absolute total of an hours sleep, broken over that night. I had messaged my Husband at some point in the wee hours of the morning “Get here as soon as you can please, bring her dummies!” & then I waited. My second failure as a mother in as many days as she had been in the world? I wasn’t cut out for this & started to wonder what happened when a mother couldn’t even take care of her own child. Would someone take her off me? Would Jake & I have to swap roles so I could work while he cared for her? He was obviously better at it than I was.

I waited until it was late enough for people who didn’t have a newborn to be awake… 6:45am I text my Mum, trying not to raise her ‘My Daughter is having a meltdown Alarm, I subtlety asked what she was doing that day:

Then I called her & had my first major Mummy melt-down. Why did she cry all night – I couldn’t stop her crying!?! I changed her, I fed her, I hugged her, I gave in & tried her on a dummy. Jesus Christ! I can’t do this. How was I supposed to take care of her if we both didn’t sleep? My Mum, amazing as always when she knows what’s what told me I was doing fine, she reassured me in all ways possible & said the golden words – she would be coming to the hospital for a visit that day. Relief flooded all of me.

When Jake came I explained to him about my night. He helped me shower & then we both took care of Charli. We both ate… Visitors came & went & then the sun started to go down & with it my confidence. As the stars started to twinkle in the twilight so did my anxiety. What if it was a repeat of the night before? I got myself in a right state – twisted myself in knots to the point of a full blown panic attack from which there was no escape. I needed to calm down. I asked the nurse for a sleeping tablet. I wasn’t allowed. I had a baby to care for; I couldn’t be sleepy or disoriented. And so, my amazing Husband came to my rescue AGAIN. I was allowed to take a sleeping tablet if Jake stayed until I was capable of caring for Charli alone. I can’t remember how much sleep I was able to get but I remember that when I woke, I was much more level-headed. Jake headed home & I stayed with Charli in the hospital again. We had a good night.

The next day, weary & more than ready to go home there was no hint that only the previous day, I had been an anxious mother who had had a major meltdown. I had this covered! And there it began – the pattern of what would be my next 3 months. Over that time I encountered quite a few post-partum medical issues that called for all sorts of medication; one of which was to stop excessive bleeding. It was basically a concentrated contraceptive pill that screwed with my hormones… Shit hit the fan in a big way. One day Jake got home, I handed Charli to him said I needed to go & then left the house for something like 3 hours. Messy doesn’t begin to cover how things were that week. I didn’t know that I would come out the other side. I honestly had done enough to keep Charli & I alive. I avoided leaving the house, I didn’t answer the phone. I wanted so bad to just give up. I was a terrible mother. Look at my disgusting house! No ironing done, no dinners cooked. I began to hate myself even more. It killed me that nothing was getting done & it was my own fault; but at exactly the same time, I didn’t give a rat’s ass.

To this very day the cycle continues. I have days where I kill it. I get out of the house, have a coffee with Mum, do some early Christmas shopping, have 3 loads of washing done & away in one day, dinner is ready, I’ve exercised, dogs are fed & cleaned up after, the grass is watered, maybe a spot of ironing. In the 3 times “Crazy Stupid Love” played I caught all of it. Charli was fed & changed; tummy time & bumbo time were achieved. I remembered to take my vitamins.

Then there are just as many days that I sit on my lounge room floor & cry. I put the TV on for background noise & take in none of it. I feed Charli & change her. I eat crap food to fill the void that seems to be consuming me. I stress about finances & the cleanliness of the house to a ridiculous point. I avoid talking to anyone; I look at the ironing pile & wonder what the point is. I get frustrated when Charli cries & instead of talking to her & soothing her as I normally would, I just cry with her. It’s a pretty miserable existence on those days.

I don’t actually know if I what I am experiencing would be classified as Post Natal Depression/Anxiety. It makes sense that it would be, I was doing a lot better prior to the end of the pregnancy. Beyond that I have reverted (mind you, not nearly as badly) to the thoughts/feelings/actions of the person I was before I found my perfect balance. Whether just a circumstantial increase to those somewhat dormant parts of myself or an entirely new thing I am experiencing, it’s happening. Symptom wise, I’ve been here before, been to what was for me the depths of hell. Up & down. I have no real control over it at times & in a way I suppose I am used to it.

The scary difference now is Charli.

The bad days currently don’t have much effect on her, she probably feels my anxiousness but not to the point of being upset by it. She is looked after & cared for & loved on the worst of my days. But what I fear is the future. I cannot let her see me like this, especially if she is doomed to the same mental & emotional health problems. I need her to see a strong, independent, happy female role model. I need to show her how to deal with it. So that is what I am striving towards every day. I honestly believe I will be able to find that healthy balance again in the not too distant future.

I hope that anyone who has ever felt this way in ANY circumstance, parent or not, who is dealing with these things. I hope you find your way. Sometimes it's overcome, sometimes it's for life. Find your own balance & keep going. <3

Respect

I remember when I was pregnant; I went to my older sister’s house where we chatted about the excitement of another little bub coming in to the family. As the conversation kept rolling, big sis started asking me about my intentions; with dummies, with feeding, with sleeping. All of a sudden she stopped herself & said – “Oh Ash I am so sorry! Please don’t think I am telling you what to do or thinking what you are going to do is wrong.” I had never once felt that way during the conversation but appreciated that she had thought to say it. I had always felt (and still do) that she was just giving her experiences & opinion to give me any help & information that might help with my own decision making. But my decisions were always mine. They were respected & I have never been made feel like I am doing anything wrong even though I know for a fact I have done things with Charli my sister probably wouldn’t have dreamt of with her little girl.

My family & some of my friends have shown me this same courtesy. They have always given us information if they think we may not have it but were not offended or negative if we chose another way. I cannot thank these people enough for their support, their interest in Charli’s well-being & their respect for our decisions as Charli’s parents.

The rest of the assholes out there that think Jacob & I are such terrible parents can go jump off something high, without a parachute, preferably into some sharp jaggered rocks…

After 9 months of pregnancy & almost 4 months of motherhood, I’ve just about had enough of the rest of the world; the people who know better because they have a kid as well. Your kid is not the same as my kid. All babies & children develop differently, hate & like different things, need comforting differently. Piss off with your know-it-all attitude!

I think the kicker is that I REALLY don’t agree with most of the parenting styles these people have adopted themselves but of course I never said anything because it’s NOT MY KID. It’s not my place. If it hits such a nerve I feel I need to talk to anyone about it I discuss it with someone else!! Even if it is something I wouldn’t do it with Charli in a blue fit - if that’s what works for you & your kid, go for freaking gold mate! Just show me the same respect.

Advice is different to an opinion. If you have open advice with no expectation that I will end up doing exactly that with Charli, please share. If you have an opinion on how my child should be raised, kindly shut your hole.

Then there are the people who disrespect your wishes in front of your face & mock them as if you’re not standing RIGHT THERE. I have ignored the mocking so far, as long as my wishes for Charli are being upheld. I have heard my Husband have to demand for Charli to be treated in such a way or be given back to him. Daddy-hood has made my calm, easy going husband a big protective bear & I love it.

I suppose I am just still shocked that people are so ridiculously disrespectful. I have decided after this past weekend that I am going to tackle things a little differently from now on & really take no shit. Anyone who can’t respect my parenting doesn’t deserve to be in my or Charli’s life anyway so bring it right on.

I also want my Mummy friends to know that if I have EVER shared with you or talked to you about parenting I hope I have never made you feel the way I have been made felt by so many others. My intention was always to share advice for you to take as you please, as my wonderful sister does. If I actually disagreed with anything I would have kept my mouth shut anyway. It is simply not my place & I don’t go there.

I know a lot of amazing parents out there that I love sharing my experiences with; the ones I don’t have to filter my thoughts with. You guys rock. Keep doing your thing. We are all kick ass Mums & Dads <3

Lost & Found

People couldn’t seem to help giving advice when I was pregnant. Majority of it was appreciated. Some of it was frustrating. Some of it was pure gold.

One of the things I didn’t expect to hear was: “you have to make sure you don’t lose yourself.” I ventured to ask more as I had never considered that having a child would cause me to “lose” myself in any way. I asked if they meant that I needed to take time out, go see a movie every once in a while, take an hour when hubby returned home to have a relaxed shower & read a chapter of a book. I asked if they meant it was because there was less time for themselves to pursue hobbies. Nope. Of the five women who warned me of this like it was the end of days, all five stated that from the minute their babies were born they weren’t themselves ever again…

None of this really worried me. Throughout my pregnancy I was pretty chill about the prospect of birth & everything after that. But it sat in the back of my mind.

In some of the weeks that followed Charli’s birth, the words of those women came back to haunt me… they seemed close to true & I felt as though I had fallen in to an endless cycle of washing formula stains out of cot sheets & trying to stay awake during night feeds. The endless streak of bodily ailments certainly didn’t help me feel any better & daily anxiety with an equal dose of depression became the steady grind… I started to muse over their words & doubt myself.

My life has changed - no doubt about it; from making life decisions to watching TV shows.

I have had the same disc of Friends episodes play 4 times & I still haven’t seen the whole thing. I drive slower. My handbag is in the back of the closet & only makes appearances once a month or so now. It took a lot of thinking before we picked a new car to buy. There was a lot of consideration before we planned our next holiday. My body is entirely different to pre-pregnancy. There are only a couple of nights a week my Husband & I are awake enough to talk to one another in depth. Obviously, there are a million other things.

Then today, I suddenly found my answer. I was pushing mortar into weep holes around my brother’s house when a pair of tiny white & pink striped socks fell out of the top of my singlet. I had stuffed them in my shirt to make a quick escape from the crowded nurse’s room where Charli was weighed earlier that morning.

For some reason or another, my mind went through it all then, everything from the past nine & a half weeks. With mortar coved hands, I stuffed the socks back in my top & smiled.

I do everything I would have done before Charli was born – if a little slower. I still read. I still give rock-star level performances in the car & shower. I lay turf in spring & make sure the dogs have ice through the summer. I ask questions when I’m not sure & lean on the people I need to. There are also times I have confidence to put an entire car-yard sales team to shame. I still go to my brothers & fill weep holes with mortar & cut timber for the deck that he is currently building. I also cut up lunch & make dinner for the other helping hands. I stop in between it all at the moment to play Mum which in the years to come will evolve into something different all the time.

The ladies were right to some extent. From the second Charli made her first cry & lay on my chest, my life shifted. Absolutely nothing else mattered but the health & happiness of this new little human.  But, I do being Ash so much better as Charli’s Mum. I enjoy all of the same things for myself but I choose to do things with the knowledge that it impacts Charli & that my little girl will be watching my every move from now on. I want her to watch all of the things I do & all of the things I can’t do; the day-to-day grind, the accomplishments, the attempts & the failures alike.

Becoming a mother & my beautiful daughter has filled my life with more purpose & strength than ever before.

I have not lost but I have found.