It helps to know that someone else is just as confused as you

I’m a bit grumble grumble today. It’s all about a head cold, somebody else’s job being lumped on top of the one I already have, and a general need to not sit in front of a computer. So I’m being slack and reposting something from the very early days, before even the spammers had found me. Enjoy.

The Mother-Figure

I just don’t seem to be able to get to sleep at a decent time these days. Mostly I’ve been staying up too late blogging, but I’ve also been reading The Lovely Bones. I’m struck by the mother character in this book, Abigail. Alice Seabold’s account of this woman gives an insight into something that tends to be forgotten; mums are still just people too.

In the book, Abigail’s daughter Susie captures an early morning photograph where she is ‘revealed’ as a person drinking her morning cup of coffee, before the “mother inside her” wakes for the day.

It started me thinking about our roles as Mum’s and how we balance that with all the other roles we play; partner, spouse, friend, boss, employee. I think I am essentially the same person I was before Lilly came along, but at the same time I also know that I am essentially different. Not just because I’ve become a Mum; it’s the perspective that creating a life and becoming a parent can bring.

I’m suddenly much more aware of the fragility of life. Friends of mine lost their daughter in a car accident a few years ago. My heart broke for them, and while I knew that I couldn’t fully comprehend what they were going through, I thought that I could understand part of their grief. It wasn’t until I became a parent myself that I realised just how far away I was from having any understanding at all.

I’m not as willing to just ‘put-up’ with things as I used to be, but I think that I’m better able to judge what can be withstood and what can’t. In general I think that’s a good thing, but I definitely don’t have as much patience as I should at times (especially at work).

My greatest gain has been in perspective, particularly with my appearance. I don’t really care that my tummy isn’t flat or that my legs are deathly white. As someone who spent a while in therapy getting over an eating disorder, that’s a pretty big change.

My relationships have changed too. My marriage has felt the biggest change; it’s a bit worse for wear in some respects, but its better in others. Boofhead and I now have something that will tie us together no matter what; something that we created and will continue to work on together.

I’ve lost and gained friends since Lilly came along, but I think those that I lost were tenuous to begin with. I’ve always found it difficult to make new female friends for some reason, but now I have an endless topic of conversation to share with fellow Mums.

One of the greatest benefits in becoming a Mum is that I now understand my Mum a bit better. As a teenager I could never understand why she was so ridiculously interested in everything I was doing, and why she couldn’t just leave me alone. I now know why ‘Because I’m your Mum’ was the best and only answer to those questions.

How do you think parenthood has changed you? Has it changed you at all?

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It’s Flog Your Blog Friday!

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In the developing light of a winter morning, she snuggles deeper into the crook of my arm. We pull the blanket up high and tuck it under our chins. The heater casts a warm orange glow from the corner of the room. I pop out the footrest of the lounge chair and wriggle into the crook while the air settles around us.

Princess Aurora dances, reflected in her eyes. She points; “Prit-ty”.

She sighs, and her little face turns to mine. Big baby blue’s stare back at me. “Mum.” Her chubby little fingers reach for my cheek. “Mmmmmwah”.

“Love you Bubba.”

“Dub chooo.”

What simple pleasures are you enjoying this week?

I’ve put on a few kilo’s lately. The last time I weighed this much, I was 5 months pregnant. That’s probably quite fitting, as I actually look about that far up the duff too.

The extra flab is starting to get to me. A few things in particular are bugging me, one of which is back fat. Yes, Back Fat. It ain’t pretty. I don’t enjoy walking around with a second set of boobs on my back. And the fact that my arse appears to be spreading both up my rear as well as down my thighs, I find deeply disconcerting.

It’s the sneaky fat, back fat. The kind that lies dormant until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a shop window, and realise with horror that you’re jiggling in back as much as you are in front. You’d swear an oath that it wasn’t there this morning, but goodness me, it’s there now.

The thing that miffs me the most about my hindquarters making annexing raids that would put Genghis Khan to shame, are the clothes that no longer fit. Every pair of jeans I own makes me look like I could be doing a promo for Muffin Break.

I was particularly concerned when I last attempted to put on my favourite pair of comfy blue jeans. I took a deep breath and sucked in my guts as best I could. Looking down to do up the button, I realised with horror that I had created for myself a whole new set of buttocks just below my navel. My mummy-tummy had turned on me and was registering a protest vote. Just like the Liberal Party ousting Malcolm Turnball, it seemed to have had enough of the shenanigans and decided to raise an arse to prominence.

I did my best to readjust and smooth it out a bit, but it kind of just sprang back into place. My only option was to layer on about six different tops in an attempt to disguise it. This also helped to camouflage the reverse mammaries, so it was win-win, all the way around.

I’m pretty sure I know the reason for my sudden expansion. Cinnamon Tea Cake would have fair bit to do with it. As would Blueberry Muffins and Spiced Honey biscuits. And maybe the pub-style parma and chips I made for dinner last night, and the Cornetto I had after Lil went to bed (no boring bits!). I’ve considered switching to reduced-fat milk, but I think that may only amount to a token effort.

I will work on the flab. I will stop the sweets and do some more exercise. Or I could just buy some new jeans.

It’s funny how your emotions can turn in an instant. How one minute you think you’re fine, and the next you’re holding back tears.

Something as innocuous as a colleague bringing their new baby to work can tear at your carefully built resolve.

Since our last IVF cycle, I’ve been working to bring back a sense of equilibrium. I didn’t bounce back from that one, it took some work.

A few weeks ago, I asked the Boofhead if he was ready to start on our next cycle. He asked me something right back. He asked if I was ready for the possibility of a failed cycle. Of our final failed cycle. I didn’t think that I ever could be.

So we decided to give ourselves some breathing room. We put things off for a month. I set about living my life. I spent some time not waiting for the next cycle to start. I’ve done some exercise, planted a garden, and have at least slowed the constant stream of cake, Nutella, and chips.

I started to feel like myself again, I felt good. I’d go to bed at night, tired, but with a full heart and a smile. I started working out dates. I felt ready. I even, ever so briefly, entertained the thought that if our last attempt didn’t work out, that I’d be OK.

But today I came face to face with the prize. A real life baby. A beautiful little girl, just seven weeks old. All of the planting, exercising, and baking in the world could never amount to that. A strawberry patch will not play house with my daughter. An exercise bike will not share whispered conversations about boys. Even the best cinnamon tea cake will not spare Lil the isolation of a solitary childhood.

I thought I was ready, but now I’m just scared.