Breakthrough with extra ice cream

This weekend something amazing happened.

We were invited to a birthday party.

Now, this might be an everyday occurrence for many mums. But I have been spectacularly rubbish at making and keeping mum friends, my depression and anxiety cutting all ties with rationality and sending my confidence and voice deep down into a pit of despair, cutting off the sunlight. I would shrink from other mums, like a vampire from the dawn. Not at all because I didn't want to be their friend, quite the opposite, but because I would just panic. Why would they want to be my friend? I kept trying to go to baby groups, I would make myself because if nothing else my darling Wriggles has always been quite partial to "borrowing" other babies rattles and charming stranger's grannies. I don't know quite what has happened but somehow things turned a corner and bit by bit I began to talk properly to the other mums and remember their names and stop my jaw dropping the floor if they remembered mine (or at least Wriggles'-it's practically the same thing once you give birth). Then I plucked up the courage to accept invites to coffee and this week, exchanged phone numbers with not one, not two but three, yes THREE mums. And received a party invitation for my troubles.

After this feat of brilliance, I seized the day yesterday and went small-person-affordable-gift-shopping. I wrote (on behalf of Wriggles) a card and sealed the envelope in the hope that if I wanted to chicken out I might reason that that would mean a wasted card. This morning I wrapped up a copy of What The Ladybird Who Heard whilst fending off an energetic Wriggles who wanted to eat the sellotape, and tried to find a pair of leggings that didn't have any food down: a near impossible task. For someone that barely eats, all her clothes are covered in bizarre stains and trodden in crumbs.

As the time drew near I ummed and ahhhed. I felt nervous and began to look for excuses. I could see the opportunity slipping away and in a rare fit of decisiveness, grabbed the A-Z and tried to locate the party location. It was less than 10 minutes walk away. The sun had come out. I was running out of excuses. Wriggles had found a shiny box and was pacified. As long as she was still allowed to hold the box, she was happy to put her coat on. Now I had no excuse. Before the moment was gone, we left. As I walked along the road, thoughts niggled at my brain. Was I going to be the only unmarried one? Were their husbands going to be terrifying? I don't even know why these felt important things. I think the one of the hard things about mental health wobbles are the feelings of inadequacy it cloaks you in. I often have felt conscious of being babyfaced and a single parent and worry that it isolates me. In reality, it doesn't or at least hasn't so far. I have been pleasantly surprised that no ones gives two hoots if your house is magazine-perfect (mine isn't for the record, it is a scruffy flat) or Mr Darcy brings you breakfast in bed. Probably as so many mothers are battling through sleepless nights and chasing around after mad toddlers to rub together enough brain cells to care. It is so easy to forget the two things that unite most parents are their children and the helpless desperation to Get It Right whilst doubt and guilt gnaw at you every time CBeebies is switched on. 

The worries were all unfounded. We had a truly lovely afternoon, the babies all played (relatively) nicely and everyone was so friendly. I hope these are the beginnings of real friendships; even if they are not, I can't think of many ways better to spend a weekend that in the company of some Good Eggs especially when you get two types of cake and ice cream at the end.

Walking back home at 7pm (if you're going to party, you need to do it properly. I'm installing this in Wriggles from an early age) in the golden fading sun, I felt euphoric. It is such a small thing, but for me, such a big step. It felt like I had broke through a fog holding me back and hiding me from the world I crave to be part of, that I should belong to. It made me so happy to feel like I was grabbing life with both hands and loving it, rather than living in bad memories. 

A New Start

I love this picture; to me this speaks of a new start. It is not obvious to anyone but me, but this was taken in my new flat (aka, my home). The only furniture is Wriggles' bouncy chair and a wooden crate pretending to be a coffee table; there are not yet any appliances like a cooker or washing machine, the walls are bare and I think this was taken before the official removal van and moving in day.

When Wriggles was born prematurely, I had not yet had time to sort out moving from a professional flat share into a more family friendly private space, as she came so quickly. I would have had 3 months further to play with if she had stayed inside but it was not to be. Unfortunately things became complicated as she came home on oxygen and so it was with trepidation, that I took her back to what resembled a student flat that I had to share. During the few months I was there, I became very desperate. More than anything, I ached for some precious privacy with my baby.

Finally, somewhere came up. Before moving in came around, we had the Intensive Care shenanigans which brought everything very clearly to me. Once we were out of the danger zone, the hospital felt safe. Although there were people in and out, it was more private and comfortable than my flat. It was bliss being able to shut a door and I dreaded returning home. Thankfully, when I did go back, it was merely days before I could move.  My mum had come up while Wriggles was in hospital and stayed to help us move. She felt closed in on too, and we were so eager to leave to pastures new, that the day before the removal van was booked, we packed large rucksacks and laundry baskets of essentials like the kettle, biscuits, Wriggles' chair and milk, the sterilizer, toys for Wriggles, and an airbed, and got the metro over to the new flat and spent the day in a barren place. We must have looked like lunatics on the platform with binbags of belongings shoved under the pram and on our backs, like refugees. There were ladles sticking out of coat pockets, cushions stuffed in coats and teatowels worn like scarves. It was a cold and drab April morning, but we practically skipped up the road and ran into the bare and empty building. It was bliss. It was so quiet and secret, I felt like I could breathe again. It felt like playing house, proudly organising the few belongings in the bare rooms. We stayed for hours until the sun set and night began to creep in. Reluctantly, we left to put Wriggles to bed, spurred on the the thought of being there the next day. When we moved, it felt as if finally, seven months on from the birth, our life as a family was starting.

That first weekend there, my aunt, uncle and cousin came to help organise the flat. We still had no cooker, washing machine, sofa or chairs, so spent the weekend sat around on the floor, microwaving vats of soup my aunt brought over from her home in Cumbria to eat, inbetween putting up curtain rails and unpacking boxes. We pegged and sellotaped duvets and bin bags as curtains and sat on crates, got lost trying to find Homebase, lived off cups of tea and instant soup-in-a-packet and biscuits, and played and played with Wriggles who adapted marvellously quickly to her new palace. When appliances arrived, they sat in the middle of the floor for weeks like large traffic islands, waiting to the installed. I didn't care one jot. The disorganisation was laughable but yet heavenly.

Having my own space meant the world to me, it meant that finally I could establish a routine, do things as I intended to as a mummy, speak when I wanted to, and deal with everything in my own way. I could ask for help to deal with the depression that had engulfed me, safe in the knowledge that I was allowed to have bad days and that I wasn't under the watchful eyes of people, who had the best of intentions but would never look away. And so I began to find myself as a mummy. With furniture at last.

Smile

Augustus and His Smile by Catherine Rayner is one of my favourite books. I adore Catherine's illustrations which are classic, whimsical and full of character. This is one I will happily read again and again to Wriggles; if she will let me! It is one of the very first books I bought 'for her' when she was a few weeks old and still months away from being classed as 'term'. Once she came home I would show her pictures and read the story to her when I became stuck on what else to say to a newborn. (The books say talking to them is vital, but they are not very conversational!)

Augustus is a happy tiger until one day his smile goes missing. He sets out on an intrepid adventure to find his pesky runaway grin, taking in the treetops, the desert, the sea and the mountains. Rayner's pictures transport me instantly and her colour palette (it's the former art student in me!) is gorgeous. I love then enormous pictures that you feel like you could step into.

Luckily for Augustus, his smile is not far away. As he skips through the rain, he catches a familiar sight in a puddle....you'll never guess..his smile! Have a point and a chocolate biscuit all round if you got that one. 

It is a sweet tale without being nauseatingly twee, and I think the tiger and jungle setting makes it loveable for both boys and girls alike. I like the simplicity of it and the purity. toGranted, I have never met a materialistic tiger hellbent on this season's antelope handbag, but I think it has a really strong message that all you need to be happy is to be yourself and to enjoy life and all the experiences that it throws at you. My baby daughter already seems quite keen on throwing herself into life, and she has the most blissfully gorgeous cheeky smile that I hope will be plastered on her face for eternity. 

This story reminds me of all that I want for her-happiness. I can try to provide as best as I can and doubtless will sometimes fall short. I may not be able to literally bring her the mountains, the desert and the sea (THINK of the carbon footprint, not to mention airport tax... ) but I hope I can show her, or guide her through the richness of life enabling her to sample everything.
I think children become your "puddle" so to speak. We all have moments when we wobble and fall down and feel really, really rubbish or lost. But the magical thing about being being a mummy, is that you have this little mirror trailing around your legs; an infinite reminder about what life and living is all about. When I came home from work today, my daughter didn't want to play with her toys, she wanted me. It was either one of the more explicit times that she demanded unadulterated affection, or one of the first times I've really noticed since starting to shake off the fog of depression. We played on the living room floor, she sat on me as if I was a seaside donkey and we sang, tickled and laughed. As I plonked her into the bath, she would turn to me every few seconds inbetween gleefully splashing (her new trick), offering up a huge toothy grin. It made me feel all wibbley inside. It's such a soppy cliche, but her smile is my smile. 

When she looks at me, nothing else matters. 

When I was really struggling in the past, in the thick of hospital admissions and uncertainity and horrible doubts, I never thought I would be able to think as simply as that. I have always known that was the 'right answer' so to speak, but there always seemed to be a "but". I'm not naive enough to say that's it, the bad is all gone away and shall never return, life is so more complex than that and the human mind is more complex still, but I know what is real and what really matters. 

And that is what I want Wriggles to know most of all out of life: that happiness is more important than perfection. If you can be happy and make other people happy, then you're doing pretty well. As you become an adult, then a parent, it becomes a very intricate balancing act taking all sorts of factors into play to achieve such an end. What I'm learning is that you don't have to have it nailed completely, not all the time. Life evolves, what is important one day is not the next. But that's the great thing about special people. They don't change. My baby will be my baby in 50 years time and will be as cherished then as she is now, just a lot bigger. I don't know how our lives will pan out, I'm pretty sure that there will be hardships and heartache as well as lots of fun. I know realistically I can't keep her grinning the whole way through and that by the time she is grown up, I will be one of many people who are at the core of her life but I was there at the beginning. It's quite awe-inpsiring to think I set her on this journey as she makes her world around her. To go back to the book, that is why stories are so important. They help the smaller people see and equate things in their life with names and experiences. They provide pictures and words to confusion and consolidate rules that surround them, both the spoken and unspoken. And they always have a happy ending! (Or at least the good ones anyway) I think it is equally important for adults to sometimes be reminded of that, and hark back to very clear cut facts. We all know that good isn't always good and bad isn't always bad by the time we've grown up, but sometimes you need to shake off all the heavy 'stuff' and just look back into your puddle or whatever metaphor you want for yourself, and just relish in the better times. to stop thinking and worrying for a moment and just be.