Pox Watch Day 3 – Current Observations and Birthday Thoughts

January 30, 2012 By 2 Comments

1. The spots. Will appear. Everywhere. And anywhere. If you can think of a place, they’re there. Oh, they are THERE.

2. I do not do well waking up every 1-2 hours.

3. Piriton does NOT make Isaac fall asleep.

4. Isaac let me eat my birthday breakfast of a plate of bacon. Whilst he may be ill, he is still considerate.

5. We have taught him well.

6. The Gruffalo, on repeat, somehow doesn’t get old.

7. Peppa Pig, on repeat, becomes tedious.

8. It’s amazing how you discover exactly how your body is able to mould itself into the shape of a sofa as your kid makes themselves comfy on your lap.

9. Snuggling with Isaac on a real sofa with a Graze.com box is lovely. Until he eats all your vanilla infused cherries.

10. It’s really hard to remain patient, when shit loads of lovely people suggest things to make your kiddo feel better and you’ve pretty much tried them all already. And nothing is working.

11. People are incredibly helpful.

12. It’s really ok to have some of the birthday Prosecco for your lunch, under the circumstances.

13. Somethings just do not distract from the pain. Including Lego. This makes me really sad.

14. What I think is “humour” can be really misunderstood by people who don’t really know me.

15. I have a darker sense of humour than I thought. Especially on minimal sleep and with poorly sick child.

16. It occurs to me I’m still waiting for the panic of turning 30 to settle in. 3 years ago.

17. Trying not to lose your rag when your kid is wailing for help, and you keep telling them you are doing everything you can and they just need to calm down and listen, but they keep wailing anyway, is REALLY hard. Frustration is a bitch.

18. It’s amazing how some “pyjama days” aren’t as good as you might like, and especially when all you want to do is throw yourself in the shower. *scratches*

19. I hate feeling guilty for wanting to be selfish for just 5 minutes. Just because the very poorly child with a rash the size of Africa covering his groin area, and yelled and cried all the time I was opening my presents. And yet is now sat quite happily on the sofa watching Octonauts.

20. Birthdays, Chicken Pox and children. You just can’t predict them.

Filed Under: actual happy times, assvice, birthday, illness, Isaac, Just...everything., MAKE IT STOP, Mutha-Hood, neurosis, parenting, photos, , Ultimate Stresssss, wtf

January 18, 2012 By

Ahhh. When you have kids, no one, NO ONE warns you of all the shit that awaits you on the other side.

Like, piles. And losing your sanity. And your missing pelvic floor.

And a hernia!

Yeah. A hernia.

I appreciate it isn’t a universal mothering thing. I also appreciate that two 11lb babies will WRECK YOUR INSIDES.

I don’t blame the boys.

Much.

I decided to ask Dr Twitter last night about hernias, *cough* for a friend *cough* (I think they were on to me), and had responses such as “l” and “” and also ““. I thank you, twitter, I love that you can always reassure me.

So after the peace of mind from Dr Twitter, the natural progression obviously was to go read up on Dr Google. And then I spotted stern warnings from and m which pretty much secured the deal of making an appointment with the doctor today.

The hernia thingy isn’t there all the time. Only, um, when I’m on the loo straining like a bitch. There’s nothing like squeezing like crazy and then suddenly having to pop a little bit of your insides back into where they should be. Whilst doing everything you can to not yell out in pain. (It’s a bit uncomfortable causing such alarm for everyone else in the house, and quite frankly, I’m not entirely happy having someone banging down the door while I’m on the crapper.)

My doctor is awesome. If she ever leaves, I suspect I may never go to the doctor’s surgery again. Previous experience with doctors has NOT made me feel good. Anyway, she had a poke around my stomach and congratulated me on fixing my diastasis recti (FUCK YEAH, no more pyramid belly for me). And then she poked a bit on the side and well, yeah, it didn’t look promising.

So! I have a hernia, though I don’t know which one because there are LOADS of them. It might be ok left alone, or I might be looking at keyhole surgery. There’s a consultant surgeon appointment winging it’s way to me in the next week or so, and an ultrasound scan to have a good look around. I’d rather not have surgery. I have no fear of going under the knife and all that (if they have to do open surgery), but I just can’t be arsed with even more scarring. My body is scarred enough as it is, and they are rubbish at fading. I have burn scars on my neck and arms which have been there for 32 years.

I really don’t want any more.

Vain? Yeah, probably. But what’s even bigger than worrying about scarring, is finding yet another something wrong with me. I’m tired of being broken, it’d be nice to be fully functional without assistance, you know?

Oh. How. Wonderful. *sigh*

 

Filed Under: Fucked-Up-Ness, illness, Mutha-Hood, Poopgate, pooping, , Ultimate Stresssss, wtf

At what point does Facial Orifice Fluid take the piss?

December 19, 2011 By 1 Comment

When it’s lasted WELL OVER A FUCKING MONTH.

Isaac is nothing but snot. And sometimes, it’s like, caked into an eyebrow. Or sometimes all over a cheek. In big green clumps. Sometimes, he and his brother have reached early puberty in liquid form; they have snot moustaches from where the trails of the clearer stuff has just caked itself to their top lips.

Seriously, there’s only so many times a day you can wipe someone’s face. I’m thinking about securing tissues to their faces by means of an elastic bands.

What’s really driving me batshit, is the combination of FOF combined with the most shittiest moods EVER. Omfg, I’m a bit bored of enduring trains being hurled across wooden tracks and random attacks of maliciousness at each. I’m either going to beat them both up to teach them a lesson, otherwise I’m going to sell them.

Since selling is more profitable and less likely to land me in trouble, I’m going to go with that.

I was out for the weekend  and decided to wear my Uggs for warmth (say what you like – they may be ugly but they’re warm as fuck). I was non too impressed to see a questionable, dried on streak of something on both boots. How the hell? Snot on my boots? Is this another price of motherhood? What the very hell. I can understand the smears on my shoulder from where they’re burst into tears yet again and have decided I’m worthy of consoling themselves on me, asking for cuddles (it’s a rarity, trust me), but…my boots? That’s just wrong.

I’ve had to develop a new skill that other parents neglect to share details of (you mean swines). It’s become glaringly obvious that when pulling a top on or off one of these small FOF plastered children, it’s more than likely that stuff is going to go everywhere. Smeared all up the face/down the chin, streaked through the hair/over the chin and inevitably, all over the article of clothing.

This? Is never pretty. In fact, when you find yourself reaching for the baby wipes and picking the globules of it out of their rather thick and curly hair, you begin to realise it’s up there with poop smears and minor vomit spills.

Such is the glamorous life we live in this house. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to remove a bright green slug from someone’s top lip.

Nice.

Filed Under: Facial Orifice Fluid (FOF), illness, Isaac, MAKE IT STOP, Mutha-Hood, Noah

That Moment When You Realise You Are The Parent You Said You Would Never Be

November 7, 2011 By 3 Comments

Noah is in “foundation” at school. He has been given phonics to learn since the day he started foundation. I vowed I would never, ever be That Pushy Parent. In fact, I read an article in the Daily Mail recently* which left me thinking what in the name of Lucifer are these people thinking? Why would they push their kids so insanely hard? Are they mentalists? Shall I get off my high horse now?

And I remember saying to myself “fuck that, no way am I pushing my kids that hard.”

This morning, Noah is home because he was working on his Bodily Orifice Fluid (BOF) yesterday, and so isn’t allowed to go to school. Me? I would have sent him. It’s only because he ate a gallon of fruit for breakfast and then continued to shovel food down his gullet the entire day, why we had expulsions. He was perfectly fine in himself, no complaints of aches or pains at all. So this morning I was still asking D if he was going to school.

What? I didn’t want him to miss out. Or something.

I thought maybe I was being a little bit pushy, so I let it go. Y’know, other parents would be pissed if he went in and suddenly pebble dashed the entire classroom, right? Right.

What I DIDN’T see coming, was me lying in bed thinking about getting his cello out so he can have a play. I thought that could be his musical fix, EVEN THOUGH he played on my piano last night for 15 minutes AND regularly sings songs throughout the week anyway. Not even out of bed and already planning a school day. I decided to move on, but hadn’t predicted putting on a counting and maths DVD (WHUT? It was Mickey Mouse. STFU.) quickly followed by working through a couple of pages in his maths books while I downloaded more numbers and letters apps for my iPad. I gave him a pot of crayons to attempt to write some letters and numbers. After that, I gave him his phonics cards to play around with where he casually breezed through the 19 letters he knows so far.

I swear to god, it wasn’t planned. But the fear of him falling behind from just one day off from school seemed to have permeated my brain, leaving me a shell of my former, slightly normal self, and instead there was this crazed parent, determined to get her nearly 4 year old doing quantum physics by the end of the day.

What the fuck happened? He is not even FOUR, for crying out loud. He fidgets like crazy every time I sit him down to do this stuff, and sometimes he freezes over completely when he sees the books or cards or whatever sitting on the counter. Can I blame the kid? No. Do I blame myself? Partly. And the school? Also partly. I don’t like reading his Reading Diary and seeing “Noah still doesn’t know “b”, please keep practising at home.” What in the hell do you think we’re doing? Do you not think he tries? Did it never occur to you that maybe he’s just a fraction slower than the other kids?

Not everyone is a genius.

The very fact that Noah even KNOWS the phonic sounds for 19 letter of the alphabet, pleases me immensely. He is so not stupid. I’ve never known any kid ask so many questions, and repeats the answers back to us some weeks later (after no recap). I need to give him a break. Which will happen as soon as the teachers give me a break. Sometimes a kid wants to come home from school and just be a kid. That’s no crime. Now, as soon as I can wake the fuck up and ensure that is actually happening here at home, that will be sweeeeeeeeeeeeet.

Now excuse me, Mickey Mouse is counting something else on Disney Jnr, and I need to make sure Noah is paying attention.

* Please don’t hate me The Mr sent it and I didn’t know what it linked to and I suddenly found myself on the site and I didn’t mean to be there but it just happened it was an accident I’m sorry it’s his fault.

Filed Under: assvice, Education, Mutha-Hood, neurosis, Noah, parenting, School, Ultimate Stresssss, wtf

I LOVE PAIN. Apparently.

July 18, 2011 By 15 Comments

When I was pregnant with Noah, I had SPD and sciatica from about 12-ish weeks, and was on crutches by 14 weeks (right through to the end of the pregnancy). I had migraines so bad I couldn’t see and took great pleasure trying to drive at work without actually being able to see where I was going. With Isaac, well. I knew I was pregnant before I had even taken a test, since the SPD and sciatica kicked in at around 4-5 weeks. That was fun.

I knew things would subside after they wer born; there was no way this shit was going to last forever. I’d been fit as a fiddle beforehand; hell, I still have  medals and awards from my athletics competitions at school. Carrying those bastard cellos around for 26 years made sure I was fit and healthy, for sure.

So Isaac was born, and during the I’m pretty sure he obliterated all the nerves a nerve or two in my right hip. His head hadn’t engaged, so when those waters went, he slammed into my pelvis at full force (11lbs of baby inside a person is just not fun, no matter what anyone says). Instant cramp down my entire leg while pushing him out (the cramp hurt WAY more than his 2ft long body emerging from my crotch) and a slight numbness in my toes.

It’s over 2 years later, and right now, I am sitting typing this with the most excruciating pain down my right leg, and once again my toes are tingling and slightly numb. The pain is similar to the sciatica, but not how I remember it was on my left hand side. What I do know, is that it hurts like fuck.

Was it worth it? Of COURSE it was bloody worth it. I’ve got two of the most gorgeous kids ever to walk the Earth.

But the pain..oh god the pain. D and I talk about having a third. All these maternity and newborn photo shoots I’m doing at the mo are making me broody as hell. We always wanted three. But pregnancy screws my entire body over something chronic, I don’t know if I could handle it. I actually LOVED having a maternity bump, and that weird “Earth Mom” empowered thing you get after delivery was pretty awesome, both times.

And I sit here and think, how bad can it be? I can handle it. It’d TOTALLY be worth it, and it’d be over in about a year.

A year is a long time to be in pain, especially when done voluntarily. And let’s not even load PPD into the equation. Noooo let’s just not go there.

As I move around the house in the last few weeks, I honestly have to be careful not to scream in pain whenever I move wrong. Whether this fucked-up nerve on my right is now sciatica, I don’t know. The pregnancy sciatica was on my left hand side, damage from Isaac was on my right. But I do know that it hurts like a bitch, and my toes are currently numb or tingling 24/7.

Bah. Maybe the decision is already made for me.

Filed Under: assvice, Fucked-Up-Ness, Labour, maternity, Mutha-Hood, nursery, pregnancy, SPD, Ultimate Stresssss
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