A poem for my sweet boy

Tomorrow, my maternity leave ends. I wrote the following for my Liam.

I will hold you close against my heart

Kiss your cheek, and in your softness feel at peace 

Hold you close and breathe you in, deeply, sweetly. 

I will feel your hand against my skin 

Small and trusting, safe and warm

And feel your fingers stroke me

With love and gentleness. 

On your breath, the sweet scent of my milk 

Rising like a promise, like a poem

Hold you, nourish you, keep you safe

And in your heartbeat, hear my own. 

I will kiss you goodbye, and feel the pain of parting

I will feel my arms yearn to hold your trusting weight

I will say farewell, sweet boy, and walk away 

But I will still be yours, and you mine

Every time for me, a little death 

The pain of parting, the hearts beating alone 

Every time for me, and each for you. 

I will walk into your sight 

Work-weary, pressed down by my day 

But in seeing you, your smile, such a joy

Sweet balm for the spirit and the soul

I will take you into my arms 

And hold you tight 

And kiss your cheek 

And feel our hearts together, 

Beating just as strongly as they ever did, 

And I will see the whole world in your smile. 

And I will be the whole world in your eyes. 

The five second rule gone wrong

So we've all heard of the five-second rule. Wherein if you drop a piece of food, it's fine to eat it if you grab it within five seconds. I am a believer in this rule. Rob is not. To be fair, as he is visually impaired I can see why he doesn't subscribe to this theory. He doesn't allow the children to do so either and thinks it's gross when I do it. But I do it anyway. Because let's face it...as a busy mum, if I am grabbing a piece of chocolate on my way through the kitchen and it slips out of my sleep-deprived fingers and hits the kitchen floor- well, that's my chocolate and I am going to eat it, damn it.

However, I may have recently taken things too far. 

It was last Friday night and the kids and baby were all asleep in bed so Rob and I were enjoying some grown-up time. (By this I mean sitting on the couch in our pjs watching half an hour of a movie before I declare I am too tired and head to bed at 8pm. The wild life of motherhood.) To complete the cosy scene, my cat Pesto was nestled against my legs, purring like no tomorrow. He is much cuddlier in the colder months, leading me to feel slightly used. 

On this particular night, Rob and I felt peckish so he went to raid the pantry for something vaguely resembling junk food. It being the end of the week, I didn't hold out much hope. He returned with a Tupperware container half full of cheese flavoured rice crackers that we put in the children's lunch boxes. Crunchy, cheesy, vaguely resembling junk food. As he put the open container on the couch between us, Pesto leaned forwards with interest to sniff at it but then decided it was too much effort and settled back against my legs. 

We crunched into them as we continued watching (look, I just said it was 'a movie' but we may have been watching Titanic. Don't judge us) and all too soon they were gone. Drat. I was starting to enjoy the strangely orange cheese flavour. I got up and left the room to wash my hands and when I returned saw a piece of cracker where I had been sitting, which I had obviously dropped. 

Completely without thinking, I grabbed it and put it in my mouth, only to discover to my dawning horror that it was soggy. 

Soggy. 

Cat....interested....sitting next to me...oh God. 

Yep, I now had a piece of cracker in my mouth that the cat had tasted and then spat out. I guess he didn't like the powdered orange cheese. 

After I ran to the sink and spat it out myself, I explained to Rob what had happened as he had only heard my noises of horror. He immediately began laughing uproariously while telling me it served me right and that it would teach me. 

Has it? Maybe. Probably not. But next time I will be more careful and make sure the five second rule is actually only five seconds. I love my cat, but that love doesn't extend to eating food he has had in his mouth and then rejected. No way. 

Ready or Not....

So... In one month I will be saying farewell to maternity leave, kissing my sweet boy goodbye a few days a week and heading back to work. That year went INSANELY quickly. I have loved having so much time at home with my boy and I am really dreading my return to work. I think it will be hard on both of us but...I know we can do it. At least I have a job that I enjoy, though like all jobs there are good bits and bad bits. Here are some things I'm looking forwards to about returning to teaching...

*Having a pay check. Yep. I put that one first. I've been on Leave Without Pay for a while now after using all my paid leave and I'm not going to pretend I'm not wildly excited about actually being paid again. 

* Moments of hilarity throughout the day due to the fact that kids really do say the darnedest things. Like the time I was singing Five Little Ducks with my kinder class and rhetorically asked "Where do you think the little ducks are?" only to have one boy answer "Perhaps a fox dragged them away and ate them." Or the time a grade 2 student was playing a language game and arranging word cards to make sentences...and proudly read out "My dad rides the hairy mother." Moments like that require an intense amount of willpower in order not to burst out laughing. I love it, really I do. 

* Watching children grow and develop under my care. Sounds cliched but it's true. 

* Having fun with my students. Am I the only teacher joining in on the playground and going down the slide or riding tandem on little pedal bikes or dressing up in strange op-shop fashions in the costume corner? Yes. Do I care that I'm the only one? No. Playing rocks, and students adore having their teacher join in on the fun. 

And here are some things I am not looking forwards to...

* Germs. Kids have a lot of them and they have no qualms about sneezing or coughing right into one's face. Yuck. Teachers pick up a lot of colds. 

* Staff meetings. Enough said. No one enjoys them. No one. 

* Having to have my act together ready to leave the house at 7.45 in order to be at work by 8 so I have time to organise stuff before the students arrive at 8.30 onwards. Those people who snidely remark that teaching must be "an easy job- 9 to 3 and so many holidays!" clearly have no idea. I am up early these days, of course (it happens when you have a baby) but that doesn't mean I am dressed and ready to face the day that early. Blerrrggghhh. 

* Missing my boy. It's going to be hard. I know that. As I said before, it will be hard for both of us and I expect the transitional period to be tough. However, I know he will be in such good hands with either his daddy or his nan and pop. And I know that seeing this cheeky face when I return home will fill me with such joy. 

(Inside out jumper on head= court jester) 

Until next time... 

What I Should Be Doing

We had one of those days on Saturday. 

Liam has become a lot better at napping since we went through sleep school but still has the odd 'off' day and Saturday was one of them. Basically he told naps and self settling to eff off and decided he wanted to have all his naps on me after/during extended breastfeeding sessions. He let me know about his decision in no uncertain terms. 

The morning session lasted an hour. An hour of sitting there holding my sweet boy while he nursed and snoozed, snoozed and nursed. Then he woke up, we walked up to the polling station with the children and then hit up the playground, and then came home in time for his afternoon nap. 

Nope. That one was a ridiculous idea too. So once again I found myself on my bed, holding him. An hour stretched into two, then towards three. I could hear the rest of the family at the other end of the house. I could hear my own thoughts. 

There were things I needed to get done today while he was napping...there are things I should be doing...I should be stricter on him and persist with getting him into bed. I should be spending time with the rest of the family, doing chores and housework, cooking, working on my scrapbook, having me time...

Then I stopped, and took a breath. I looked at my little boy, so peaceful in my arms, one little hand soft and warm against my breast, his eyes closed as he slept deeply and sweetly. As I held his trusting weight, I realised. What I 'should' have been doing...was exactly what I was doing. Holding, nurturing, loving. Being in the moment with my baby, as he is growing so very fast and all too soon, the times when he lay in my arms and nursed and snoozed, snoozed and nursed will be but a memory. There was no one else who needed me in that moment as he did. And just as equally, I needed him. So I held him a little tighter, and I breathed him in, and I let go of what I should be doing and gave myself to the moment. 

And what a perfect moment it was. 

All Nighters

Staying awake all night in my early 20's looked like this: 

Example 1: Uni assignment due in three days, oh my god! Consume Diet Coke while staring at computer screen. Eventually decide to go to bed and work on it in the morning as far too tired now. Go to bed, be unable to sleep due to caffeine. Lie there, jittery and anxious. Feel alone. 

Example 2: Drinks. Many. Ah, to be 22 again. World of pain to follow. Feel alone in my misery. 

Example 3: My old friend, insomnia. Lie awake for hours, retreat to couch to watch random Nicole Kidman movie and eat toast. Feel alone. 

Now...fast forward to my late twenties. (Pause while I reel in horror that I am in my late twenties. I had a moment the other day when I realised I am three years older than the characters on Friends when the show began. What??!! Next thing we know I'll be the same age as the Sex and the City girls. How did this happen?)

Anyway. I digress. Staying up all night is a different scenario now.

Example 1: Heavily pregnant. Lie on couch as bed has become torture rack. Watch random episodes of Survivor. Feel a little person performing acrobatics in my tummy. Feel close to my unborn baby even in the midst of my sleepless frustration. 

Example 2: Sick baby. The last week has been a long one as my little boy has been very unwell and unwilling to settle anywhere but my arms at night. Last night we progressed to him settling in his pram for short periods but it's still a delicate situation. I don't know about you, but trying to sleep while sitting up holding a 11.5kg seven month old baby is not an easy feat. Tonight he progressed from wanting to be held tight against me to rolling around and making me his personal mattress. Filled with the optimism tinged with desperation one only feels when it is 4.30am and no sleep has been had, I gently lowered him to the bed next to me in the hopes that we could peacefully lie next to each other for a few hours of co-sleeping slumber. The next thing I knew, by the dim glow of the night light, I could see a pair of eyes looking into mine. Then a cheeky grin spread across his face. Then he whispered what sounded like "Oh. Mama," as he rolled towards me, took my face in his hands and chuckled. Yep, the virus is leaving him and returning my happy boy to me. Suddenly I didn't feel so tired. Instead I felt so grateful that even when I am up all night now, I am not alone. 

And the best part? I just put him into his own bed and he has happily self settled after rolling around chatting to himself while I wrote this. It's time for me to bury my head in the pillow, reclaim my bed and my body for the first time in a week and- 

"MEOW!" 

Oh, god. Yep. That would be about right. Come on then Pesto. Feel free to climb aboard and make me into your own personal mattress. 

Goodnight. Xxx

Beneath the ripples of my secret heart

I hold my baby in my arms, watching the perfection of his sleeping face, listening to the steady peace of his breathing, feeling his warmth, smelling the sweet scent of my milk on his breath. It is 4am. My eyes are heavy, so heavy. This is the seventh time I have gotten him back to sleep tonight and I know that when I put him back in bed, I am only buying myself another thirty minutes. Would it be easier to just hold him? I feel the all-consuming weariness of month after month of shattered sleep.

This is your fault. No one else's baby wakes up eight times a night. You have done something wrong. You must have done something wrong to cause his sleeping issues. It's all your fault. 

I sit in the shade of a tree with a group of new friends and their babies. We talk, we laugh, we watch our babies interact, we share trials and tribulations from this journey called motherhood. I manage to laugh, to smile, to enjoy myself. I share that things are still hard.

Shut up. You talk about the problems you are having too much. Surely everyone is sick of hearing about how many times he wakes up and how tired you are. If they aren't tired of you yet, they will be soon.

The baby naps in his bed, mid morning, after a forty minute battle to settle him. I sit on the couch and close my eyes. I try to rest.

Shouldn't you be doing the things you never have time for? Shouldn't you be folding the washing, dusting the bookshelves, tidying that cupboard? Do you want people to think your house is messy? Keep it perfect, please.

The baby drifts off in my arms after his midday feed. I sit on the couch and hold him, letting him sleep, wanting a respite from the battle of getting him to settle in his own bed. Wanting the closeness, the comfort.

You're making it worse! He will never learn to sleep in his own bed if you let him nap in your arms!
 

The words of my harshest critic echo throughout my soul. I know who they are now. They have been named and identified.

I am the voice of Post-Natal Depression. I am not a logical voice. I am not a rational voice. But I am a loud voice, and I will be heard. You will hear me, you will heed me, you will feel me consume you with despair. 

I know you now. I know why I have been feeling like the waters are closing over my head. I know why I have felt in the depths of despair, unable to sleep even when the baby sleeps, unable to deal with any extra stress or change. I know you want to take hold of me. Your voice is loud.

But mine is stronger. My voice endures. My voice is buried under yours for now, but I have done this before and I will do it again. I will fight off the darkness and my voice will be the loudest. I will ask for help. I will take my baby out in the fresh air and breathe in the springtime. I will accept that he is a difficult baby with settling issues that are not my fault. I will spend time with friends, old and new, and accept support. I will marvel in the changes I see as my baby grows day by day. I will feel joy as he smiles, an uncomplicated smile of pure delight and unconditional love, when he sees me. I will cry, and cry, and be held by those who love me, and know that the clouds will part. The sun will shine. My baby will sleep one day and I will feel this dark passenger leave. This too shall pass.

This too shall pass.

I Was Treading Water, Now I'm Starting to Swim

It's been a while.

Boy, has it been a rough road. I love my little Liam more than I can put into words, and we have had some amazing and joyful times together, but having a baby with major sleeping issues has been a challenge, to say the very least. Since my last blog post, Liam has been very unsettled. He stopped sleeping in three hour blocks all night and instead started waking up every hour all night long and being very difficult to settle throughout the day. The first time it happened of a night I said to Rob, "Well, that was a tough night. Here's hoping it doesn't happen again." And then it did happen again. And again. And again. And then it turned into weeks, and then months.

There is a reason sleep deprivation has often been used as a form of torture. There were days when I would just cry and cry. There were nights when Rob and I would get into a silly argument at 3am, both so exhausted that we lost all patience with each other. There were times when I felt like I was going mad. I am quite certain that I became very depressed for a few weeks. Having battled depression for the past 13 years, since I was sixteen (there, I said it- it doesn't have to be a dark secret) I can recognise the signs in myself and I stopped wanting to go anywhere or do anything. Simple tasks became insurmountable. 

Through it all, I just kept on going. I got up each morning and cuddled my little boy and tickled his toes and sang to him and watched him grow. I marvelled that it was possible to exist on so little sleep. I forced myself to take a walk with Liam every day in the fresh air. I started attending a mother's group and made some wonderful new friends who have been a great source of support. 

I kept going. I was treading water, barely staying afloat, but making it through the days.

Through it all, we started to ask for help. I acknowledged the situation to my mother's group and received sympathy and support. I admitted how hard it was on Facebook and found friends with and without children reaching out to me to offer encouragement and advice. My parents returned from the island at long last and were an instant source of help. We asked and asked our Child Health Nurse for more assistance. She was compassionate to some degree but kept telling me that he was waking up so often because he is a big baby and needed extra feeds. I knew it was more than that. We tried to get in to see some of the support staff at Walker House. Calls were not returned, requests for referrals were not deemed necessary. "No one will help us!" I sobbed to Rob in utter despair.

Finally we went to see my GP- my lovely GP Paul, who has been my doctor since I was eight years old. He listened, he asked a few questions. He wrote a referral to Walker House and diagnosed Liam with reflux. Reflux, the cause of many babies being unsettled and waking often. I felt terrible that my little boy had been uncomfortable and in pain. We were given medicine to try and managed to work out how to get Liam to swallow it so that I didn't end up coated in it. 

Slowly, so slowly, things started to improve. Liam started sleeping in his bed during the day for short sleeps- though it was a battle to get him down and involved Rob or I holding him for up to 45 minutes. He started sleeping in a few 2 hour blocks during the night. Rob and I started tending to him in shifts so that we each got enough sleep to get by. I took longer shifts as Rob is handicapped by not being able to breastfeed. 

It was still difficult. I was still exhausted. I was treading water, looking at the shore which was now in sight, keeping my head above water. 

Finally, Walker House got back to me and a child health nurse called Gaylene arranged to visit us at home on Wednesday of this week. I was relieved, anxious and nervous, all at once. Things had started to slide backwards again with more night wakings and I could feel myself starting to sink again. 

It was a difficult day. Gaylene was lovely, kind and supportive but very no nonsense as she told us that though the reflux had led to Liam's frequent wakings, he had gotten into the habit now and we needed to help him learn to go to sleep on his own- without being held in our arms or nursed to sleep. This, she assured us, would lead to him self settling through the night and sleeping for longer. Together, we tried. I stayed strong as she taught me to stay with Liam and support him as he cried in bed by patting, shushing and soft singing. My heart broke watching and hearing my little one cry for me to pick him up. I kept telling myself that I was doing this for him, to help him, to give him the gift of good sleep habits. I reminded myself that he must be just as tired as I am and needs my help. We stayed by his side, her hand on my shoulder when she knew I needed a little extra strength, and I watched him grow calm and begin to soothe himself by sucking his fists. 'How do you feel about a thumb sucker?' she asked with a smile. 

We nearly got there. We were very close, but he was due a feed and she advised it best to get him up while he was calm, feed him and try again next time. She left us with the promise to return the following week. 

I had been sure that Liam would feel hurt or betrayed, but he was as cuddly and loving with me as usual. As soon as he seemed tired again I popped him in bed, kissed his cheek and told him to have a little sleep. I left the room. He grizzled for a minute or two then was silent. I peeked in to see him busily playing with and sucking his hands. Normally he would be crying by now and I would be in there picking him up. A few minutes later I peeked again- to find him fast asleep, arms stretched above his head, the picture of contentment. I could not contain my joy and amazement. 

This morning I stood looking at my settled baby, again peacefully snoozing on his own. I marvelled that he had slept for a three hour stretch last night. I felt proud of him. I felt overwhelming love. 

We have still had a few times today that have been difficult. I am sure there are more difficult times to come. He is still learning to settle. But he has come so far already. I can see now that if we persist we will get there and we will all enjoy more sleep. 

I am starting to swim now. My head is above the water and I am making for the shore with strong, clean strokes. I was treading water, now I'm starting to swim.