Persephone: Parent

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Graduating Maternity Leave

I am about to take Robin to her first settling hour at nursery and I am so freaking excited! I love the baby staff. She’s going to love it. She smiles at all the toddler/preschool staff when we collect Elvis and she’s always squirming on me, itching to get down and go play. She loves other adults. She is so incredibly sociable, smiley and loving. In a way that Elvis never was at that age.

Let’s go play!

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Fuck off, Yummy Mummy

Okay, I’m having a bad day. Reeeaaallllyyyy bad day.

Hubby’s at the football. Been there since… I haven’t seen him yet today. The kids haven’t and won’t. That’s kinda fine. I took them both to Robin’s cake smash and no Hell broke loose. In fact, Elvis came completely out of his shell and it was the best shoot with either and both of them! Came home, all fine. Robin napped, I prepped lunch and dinner. All fine.

They both had an afternoon nap. he woke up like he’d never been up there. Refused to eat dinner. Even with tempts of the chocolate cake I salvaged from the cake smash photo shoot. So I took him straight back up to bed – he was complaining that he wasn’t hungry because he was tired. I then tried to amuse Robin for an hour upstairs.

He’s now talking to himself over 2 hours after he went to bed. Because he wasn’t tired because he’s napped, he just wanted to get out of eating pasta! For fuck’s sake!

She has woken twice crying because she can’t find her dummy. Stop sitting on your fucking dummy.

I haven’t even reached half way through my step goal of the day and apparently have eaten too much. Fucking chocolate cake and eating it to try and get Elvis to eat his fucking dinner.

I could really do with a glass of wine or cider. BUT THAT’S MORE FUCKING CALORIES.

And, I just know that I’m going to weigh myself tomorrow and have fuck all to show for a week of being seriously good with the calorie intake.

Oh, and I’m coming down with a cold. Can’t take decongestants because I’m fucking still breastfeeding. And we’re supposed to be doing lots of fun family things for the next two days to celebrate Robin’s first birthday and I just want to hide and sleep.

But, apparently I sold some of my unwanted Christmas presents on ebay. Yay?

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TV Watching: Hercules The Legendary Journeys

I’m currently watching the season 3 finale of Hercules and I thought it would be a funny one to talk about and reintroduce my tv blogging to here. I’ve done my usual amount of TV watching during my blogging break, but since my PND therapy, I am trying to focus on it more. Or at least categorise what I watch and focus on the shows I want to watch.

Hercules falls into the background TV category. Mainly because I can’t take it seriously and pay full attention. It isn’t even about the laughable fighting. It’s the casting. I just do not understand it. I’ve never watched a show where actress re-use is so obvious. Or actress swapping. In the same season. This has nothing to do with me watching all 3 seasons in a row because there’s a huge casting confusion in season 3.

Hercules meets the Golden Hind. Marries her. She dies. She was played by the future Mrs Sorbo. Oh, and she’d played a Queen/Princess earlier in the season. Both characters fell in love with Herc. So, Golden Hind dies and a few episodes later, thanks to Autolycus, he and Herc travel back to when all the Hinds were killed bar the Golden. And she’s played by a different actress. I thought it was because she was younger. But then Herc changes the past, returns to the future and meets the Hind. Who’s still played by the new girl and not future Mrs Sorbo.

I just can’t take the show seriously. At all. But it’s fun to have on in the background! And to hear Claudia Black sound different to any other role I’ve ever seen her in!

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Operation: Declutter!

Oh, My God! I am such a hoarder. It’s unreal. I keep EVERYTHING!

I moved into my mum’s house over 18 months ago (weird house swap), and, well, I’d never truly left. My loft is full. Full of old magazines (that need to be recycled). Full of old computers that need to be chucked. Full of action figures that I think I might need to sell. And goodness knows what else. My back room (what would make a lovely adults only, evening, room, is filled with old baby toys/furniture and a huge box of preloved toys that I’ve bought and have yet to give to Elvis. There is a kitchen cupboard full of dishes that I don’t think we use. A shelf full of glassware that we don’t use (not to mention a box of unopened glassware from the house move!). Then there’s the two craft areas in the house (aka huge pile of crafty stuff that does sometimes get used but looks a mess).

Robin’s bedroom is my old bedroom and has a lovely feature over the double bed (a bed that cost a fortune but takes up all the space in a child’s bedroom) that is filled with mine and my husband’s belongings that we never moved out of the house 4 years ago!

I have two bookcases filled with DVDs that I am never going to watch. I have bookshelves filled with books that I want to read, have read and love, have read and hate. I have boxes in the loft of all my Star Trek, Buffy, Angel, Stargate, etc books that I, honestly, am never going to read. None of them are complete collections so aren’t worth anything.

So, I decided that along with purely wanting to make my house look tidier, nicer, and more fitting with my Operation Yummy Mummy, that things are going. It will be a slow job, but it will be done – please note that the loft may take YEARS because, let’s face it, it’s out of sight and not making my house look messy.

I’ve listed a load of toiletries that I got brand new for Christmas on Ebay. I delivered two huge bags of unused clothes of at our local British Heart Foundation (one bag was all mine, too!). We have started a huge box load of DVDs, games and consoles for Music Magpie and I am in the lengthy process of planning to sell on baby clothes, furniture and toys at a Little Pickles Market.

Phew, I’m doing well!

Meanwhile, doing some of my usual tidying and I finally found my address book. Behind the sofa. Now I can send out those Christmas cards!

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The End?

I posted recently about what this blog has become. It was a blog about how I was struggling and although things have vastly improved since then (hey, for two nights in a row, Robin has had a bedtime!) I’m still left questioning what this blog is.

No, I’m questioning why I’m even blogging.

My original blog was for my poetry, for my Hellish journey at trying to conceive. This blog was borne out of me managing to become pregnant. I still use the original blog for poetry, but I am about to run out of my back catalogue of written poems. This blog was still a place I could vent, a place that I could be honest and work through whatever problems that I had, but then I made the fatal mistake of linking it up with my personal Facebook, my personal twitter etc so that my family and friends could read it. And for a year and a half that was fine.

Sort of. For them it was.

Then I made a blog entry that upset some of my family. I’m not going to comment on it. I did it, I can’t change it. Ever since then, after that side of the family have become more and more anti-me to the point that my mother has been ostracised from the family despite a) not being the boss of me and b) not knowing a thing about my blog, I question every single thing that I write. I question every single thing that I think.

Two years ago when Elvis was born, I struggled. I posted about it, desperate for some light at the end of the tunnel, desperate for someone to help me. And do you know who did? Aside from a best friend who saw the posts through Twitter, the people that rallied around me to try and help in literally my darkest hour were faceless, nameless fellow mummy bloggers. Not a single fucking member of my family gave two shits about what I was blogging.

Perhaps they read it and laughed.

Perhaps they read it, felt sorry for me for a moment and then moved the fuck on.

Perhaps they did care but didn’t know what to say because they have no sympathy or empathy and so ignored my fucking peril.

Whatever the reasons, They. Did. Fuck. All. In my time of need.

Then, when I make a few blogs a year after their doing fuck all, complaining about whatever and whoever (as is my way of dealing with things and moving past it) in a public forum they have a problem. And although I truly felt awful at how upset I had made people that I had never wanted to hurt it took a few days for things to clear in my guilty mind.

It took a few months for things to clear up fully.

They don’t give a fuck about me, just themselves. Because, remember, they didn’t give two shits when I needed help and I used this blog to find it. Fine. Whatever. And clearly they read it, did they just happen to not read those previous ones? But this isn’t about who was right, wrong, what I should have done, what they should have done, what I would have liked, what they got upset about. This is about one resounding thought that I have.

Now every single time I consider writing a blog, every time I’m having a hard time and want to seek out help, sympathy, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, I always stop and think “Why, what’s the point? My family don’t care. They’ll just use it all against me.”

And I know that I could get that sympathy from a nameless, faceless blogger, but all I can think is how people who are supposed to love me have never cared. They didn’t care when I was blogging in pain after Elvis was born and that never changed. I know full well that one member of my family read my original blog and read about my fertility problems. Yet never said anything. Until she presumed that I had mentioned her. And I can’t help but feel that it’s the friends and, more importantly, family that should matter. But I feel like I have never mattered to them, to the extent that I thought I was bullet proof, could say what I wanted and have no repercussions because why would they care to read. Except they did care to read, but only cared to comment and help when it mattered to them.

It’s affecting most of my actual life right now, if I’m honest and not just my blogging. The simple knowledge that they don’t care, that they didn’t before all of this crap, before I upset them with my blog. That they never cared. Never, ever. Because it goes back far further than two years and it covers far more things than a blog I wrote that upset them.

So, due to these thoughts permeating every blog I write on here at the moment, I think my blogging journey needs to rest for a while. Like I said, things will still appear on my original blog, but sometimes you have to burn bridges to avoid crossing them again and in the words of Pink “let’s burn this fucker down”.

Thank you for following,

Elise aka Persephone

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Dinner Time

I fucking hate dinner time.

She fights her afternoon naps. He wakes at 4pm.

Today I got thirty minutes playing with him upstairs before I had to pick her up due to screaming because she wants to sleep and needs rocking on the nursing chair.

That’s downstairs.

But downstairs means TV, namely Mickey Mouse.

So I try holding and rocking her. Meanwhile he closes the fucking door so ww’re all trapped in the bedroom. But he does (un)helpfully close the window.

She’s having none of it. He’s kicking off as he wants the door open. My arm is aching because I have serious upper body pain from holding her. All. The. Fucking. Time.

So I tell him I’m taking her downstairs (because asking him resulted in no). Well, now he does want to come. But he wants to be carried.

I put her down. She screams. I carry him down. My muscles want to scream. But he’s not screaming.

And he’s watching Mickey Mouse.

I bring her down. She falls asleep withn minutes of me rocking her.

Oh, crap. How do I cook dinner now?

So I text hubby, no dinner for anyone.

I start to consider putting her down so I can do his dinner but wonder how I can watch him eat whilst holding her when my upper body is screaming in agony.

Before I can make a decision she wakes and wants milk.

As I’m arranging 101 cushions to try and take all the weight, strain and pressure off my upper body, getting her latched on, he falls off the fucking sofa.

So I yank her off. Put her down safely and grab him up. He’s fine. Just shocked. She’s screaming.

I return to feeding her.

Now it’s half 5. She’s the only one who’s eaten. I didn’t manage lunch. And I want to physically pull my hair out.

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Part Two

And apparently I’m dehydrated which explains the headaches and yesterday I ate only sandwiches and cereal. I don’t even feel hungry anymore. I just feel exhausted.

I’m going to fall asleep on the sofa as he feeds if I don’t write this and it’s not safe for sleeping. At least the bed is safe. Its prepared and so I freeze overnight.

We have no bread so today there can be no sandwiches; hubby could shop on his way home but I already go to bed an hour after he gets in and straight after swallowing however much of the dinner he cooks when I’m nolonger hungry.

I wasn’t supposed to have a baby and this is my punishment

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It’s tough to be a mom

My tears and difficulties aren’t just mine. I still cry at least once a day but it is getting easier. As it will for us all!

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