Thursday, February 16


Today is a fed up day. One of those where there is no apparent rhyme or reason why but you just feel a bit pants. And that is me now.

Partly I feel a bit deflated after my family left after a weekend visit, and a little bit horrified at myself that within hours the place looked a tip again and I was lacking any energy or motivation to do pretty much anything. I had a nap on the rug next to Wriggles who battered my ear with a toy tambourine. She is very much trying to be on the move and has developed a system of pushing herself backwards on all fours and then sitting up, swivelling on her bottom and reaching for things before going backwards and getting stuck under the sofa/bookcase/dining chair again. It is lovely but a little bit of me misses having a baby happy to have cuddles and play all day together. I think as much of this is I simply do not know what to do with myself when she is blatantly happy amusing herself.

Partly I am a bit miffed that an attempt to try and come off/cut down on anti-depressants has ended with a huge fail and a big blunt realisation that if I want to be a good mummy, an interested daughter and friend, an attentive worker and a human being then they are my one option for the time being. I am lucky in that they suit me with no side effects and importantly, work, but part of me resents that without them I just can't function day after day. I become a big heap of bluuuuurggghggmf that can't sleep, eat or muster up any interest in anything whatsoever. Some days, that includes my daughter, and that breaks my heart.

Partly I am beginning (for the millionth time) to get naffed off with questions about dear Wriggles' development and effects of prematurity. It's a constant barrage of 
"Is she crawling/walking/talking/eating yet?" to which to answer is NO. Well apart from crawling; that is very nearly because she is very very clever. When I have to explain we have commitments to go to physio and still have regular consultant input as well as other services, people look at me as if I am mad. I am not an over anxious mother, I want to scream at them. I fully believe she will "get there in her own time" but the fact remains, there are some lumps and bumps to be smoothed out and the medical services believe they should be involved. Do you think I LIKE spending time in outpatients? Do you think I find it FUN? Do you think we go to things JUST BECAUSE? And how exactly do you know it will be alright in the end? Do you have a crystal ball? If so, please give it to me to give me some respite from a little bit of worry. It may all look easy peasy but nothing is straight forward. Our beloved childminder is retiring in the summer and I am looking at nurseries which has turned into a bit of an exciting game as Wriggles' comes under some "additional needs" due to not eating solids, having physiotherapy for gross motor skills and we are awaiting a referral for speech and language input also. She is being fitted for gaiters to help her legs and hips and will be assessed to see if her left leg may need a splint as it is a bit all over the place. Sometimes I feel like life is just waiting as I know the consultants have not ruled anything in or out regarding movement but I do know they are keen to book her for an MRI scan around her second birthday. And what a treat that will be. Now some time has elapsed people forget and say things that niggle me; preconceptions about prematurity, disability, mothering skills. Stereotypes about single parents on low incomes and their abilities to bring children up; "oh but we don't mean you". 

Partly, I am just grumpy today.

1 comment:

  1. Ha ha, very well said as I agree with all of that! - perhaps I'm just as grumpy as you because it actually made me smile!