Persephone: Parent

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Have We Survived The Move?

A.K.A were my worries just me being silly? Hehe!

Before we moved house, I made a series of three blog posts about the impending move: What Worried Me, What I would miss and Things I was looking forward to.

These were my worries:

  • Elvis coping
  • Losing everything
  • Losing time on the lunchtime nursery run
  • Being exhausted in general

Well, Elvis was fine and I lost nothing material wise. I have lost time on the nursery run and am struggling to make it until December without relying on hubby to come and collect me every day, but I could never have foreseen the back pain (as the pelvic pain has actually all gone!) As for the exhaustion, well, Elvis took to his new home very well and continued to nap all afternoon which greatly helped me with all of the unpacking. I really was worrying over, well, not much!

I was going to miss:

  • Having Elvis in another room but so much closer than he is now in the new house
  • Only having two small bedrooms to clean
  • Knowing that I can hear Elvis from downstairs
  • Traffic noise masking Elvis overnight
  • The closeness of all being in the one and only communal room
  • Being forced into moving Elvis (now Robin) into their own room
  • More carpets to hoover
  • Watching TV all of the time

Okay, Elvis has been an amazing night sleeper for months so him being those few steps further away was never gong to be a massive problem — it also is not a problem at all, when I have hubby take over night times as it’s difficult to lift in and out of a cot with a bump the size of mine! So far, the cleaning has not really been a problem. I have my Tuesday mornings off where I can get the hovering and dusting done. It doesn’t physically exhaust me yet! I can still hear Elvis when I’m downstairs in the family living room, maybe out in the back garden I can’t, but that’s what the baby monitor is for and I can hear him perfectly all night long (his 5am conversations with himself still wake me!). We also changed our plans for the living arrangements and still all live in the one room downstairs together rather than spreading over two, I’m also enjoying not having a TV in the kitchen and not always allowing the TV on when Elvis and I are playing. I do still have worries over deciding when Robin will leave our bedroom, but then we haven’t actually decided which is going to be our bedroom yet! I don’t think I actually miss a single one of those things yet!

Here is what I was looking forward to:

  • Space for all of Elvis’ things in his own bedroom, space to put away the toys and clothes he’d finished with (ready for Robin) and space to have all my DVDs and books out!
  • A spare bed for me when I have insomnia!
  • Escaping to get 5 minutes without hearing a screaming baby cry
  • Peace and quiet at night with no traffic noise or drunken chavs
  • Less dirt and dust from the traffic
  • Multiple rooms to escape to, away from crying, away from hubby, not being trapped because there’s someone asleep on the only sofa!
  • Having a garden!
  • Having different wardrobes for different seasons (at the moment, different times of life – maternity, normal, nursing)
  • having a home for coats, shoes, bags and pushchairs
  • Drying clothes outside!
  • Not having a dodgy fuse box.

And, yes, I do love each of these things! I love having space to spread out, space to store everything and sort everything. I love having the spare bed for insomnia, for family and friends. I love not having a TV at mealtimes, but I love the freedom of having a second TV and sofa for when sport is on or friends are around. I love having a spare living room where I can keep my crafting materials. I love having a wet room where the pushchair rain cover can dry!

Yes there was stress with moving, no we haven’t actually moved everything or unpacked everything, but we’re mainly all done! Next step will be to plan our refurbishments and decorating. After Robin gets here!

~ P x

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Aaagggghhhh!

Okay, I’m dressed, teeth cleaned and bags all ready.

I’m off to work in about 15 minutes. First time since April 2014, I think.

Elvis’ first two mornings at nursery went perfectly. The staff love him – he keeps his hat on outside, doesn’t squirm for sun cream, eats all of his food and fell asleep in the cot without needing to be rocked or held! My little superstar!

Now, I have to go to work. Aaarrggghhh!

So scared and nervous. No idea why.

~ P

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Graduating!

I finally have a date when I graduate.

June 25th.

Okay.

3 months.

It’s such a relief to finally have that date. I’ve been waiting on tenerhooks for the date for almost 3 months and it was starting to feel like my life was on hold until I knew. Maybe it was a reason behind my insomnia, too.

Now, to find out if we can agree on hours!

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Finding the Old Me

I’ve been having some sociable problems recently. I’ve been upset at baby groups that I love, considering stopping attending to try and feel better. I’ve been struggling with doing too much with hubby back at work and with simply missing him (not missing his help or him giving me a break, actually missing him) and I’ve started to want to hide away at home.

Okay the storms probably aren’t helping.

But I seem to have lost my confidence.

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Day 283: Verbalising the Worries

Yesterday I was reading through the blogs I follow that I get emails for and one of them stood out to me. I’ll try and find the blog link before posting.

The blogger said that they had been reading about mentally preparing yourself for labour and I wondered exactly what they meant. I’ve done my fair share of reading the facts with regards to labour and then, when it became relevant, induction, choosing to ignore people’s advice from their own experiences due to individual variability. It’s my preference to have knowledge and information regarding processes, signs and symptoms without knowing everyone’s horror stories.

So was that what the blogger meant? No, the blogger had read some information about verbalising, and therefore releasing, your fears, doubts and worries, that by keeping those things in a body could stop or at least hinder labour.

I don’t want to get into discussions or pros and cons or any sort of debate any more than I want people offering up their birth stories or unsolicited advice, but surely verbalising any kind of worry is good for the soul? It’s similar to writing lists before bed to get worries off your mind, not trying to solve the problems just simply getting them off your chest.

As I happened to be reading my emails with hubby sitting next to me I decided to verbalise my issues to him and he sat there and simply listened because there was nothing he could really say. He listened as I told him how I’m concerned that I’ve put all this pressure on myself regarding the birth. He patiently sat there as I admitted that I feel like a failure, that I’ve always considered our fertility problems being my body and my failure. For three years, once a month my body failed and, yeah, fair enough I’ve suceeded in growing this baby and nourishing this baby and doing as much as I possibly can for the good of this baby, but I can still be a failure.

And I don’t even mean the hugely pessimistic failure of something going so wrong that I still don’t get my baby dream. No, I mean that I can fail yet again because of an inability to give birth without assistance. And this isn’t a perceived view of how labour must go from propaganda where some organisation states that nature is best; it’s something I’ve decided that has become a stronger and stronger notion.

I tend to view it as that I was a failure in getting pregnant (you know that thing women are built for) I don’t want my body to fail in labour. By no means do I think that women who require assistance in labour as failures, just as no one else with fertility problems, no one else still sadly in the trenches, as failures. It’s just me! And I’ve now built it up to a huge thing all on my own.

He didn’t even laugh when I told him that I was scared to give birth because then I’ll have to share Elvis, even if it’s sharing Elvis with hubby. Which is crazy, but for however many months Elvis and his kicks, punches and reactions to being tickled have made him so tangible and my child that I don’t want to lose that. I sat there and told him I was concerned that I would push him away because until Elvis is born he is all mine.

Oh, and all the stuff about how I know he’s safe all the time whilst he’s still in me and once he’s out there are far too many things that I can’t control.

And so I told hubby all this stuff, crying very slightly at the time, but if I have been holding Elvis in, maybe now I’ve let the words out I can let him out. I haven’t solved any of my concerns/worries/fears, but I have shared them. So, come on, Elvis!

~ Persephone M

Blog I read: The Solo Mama Project

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28 Days to Go… If I can Count

I’m incredibly tired today so not 100% sure I can count, but I know that my EDD is 4 weeks to day, which I guess is 28 days, or 27 depending on how you count.

Whatever, I guess, it doesn’t really matter seeing as it can be plus or minus 2 weeks. Hell, it can be way less than minus two weeks.

I barely got any sleep last night. I think Elvis (or at least the bump) grew right before bedtime and it made it all so awkward and uncomfortable. I now feel utterly exhausted. Was planning on going swimming again tonight, but not if I’m this tired.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or a random conversation I had yesterday, but I seem to keep having random moments of panic and fear today.

The first few months of pregnancy were horrible for me. I was convinced that after 3 years of trying and then paying to get pregnant, my pregnancy would not last. Lots of people say this is normal and changes after you see the heartbeat.

Saw that at 7 weeks. Nope.

Or it gets better after you see the baby at a scan and see it look like an actual baby.

Nope.

I stopped panicking and worrying, fearing the worst, when Elvis started moving so much. For someone who used to hate all pregnant bellies (they looked weird and moved!), I’ve fallen in love with mine and can happily sit there mesmerised watching bits poke out and ripples across the top.

Until today when I do keep worrying that I haven’t felt him move for a while. Except I don’t often feel him moving all day long.

And I have felt him move, just not as much as he was doing during the night (probably did not help the sleeping thing). I’m just starting to get the fear that things can still go wrong and as these 2, 4 or 6 weeks start winding down the fear could simply grow and grow (alongside him!)

As if on cue, a few kicks and ripples from Elvis and this post is mostly irrelevant!

~ A very tired Persephone M x

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Two Thirds of the Way Across

I’m still waiting for my original blog to catch up before I release this blog and publish these posts so I’m trying not to write too much. I will post these few in quick succession though so that both blogs end up back in real time.

My estimated due date, EDD, is 13 weeks today! How freaking scared does that make me?

That means, although nothin’s accurate with these things, that I’m on the final third and, seeing as it’s all measured in thirds, the pregnancy journey – No Man’s Land – is on the final stretch. I sometimes worry that I’m not supposed to get worried. That after three years of trying to conceive (TTC) and being diagnosed as having unexplained infertility, that because of all that effort and stress, the fact that treatment worked should make all of this the best thing in the world.

I’m not one of those people that have enjoyed pregnancy. I spent the first 3 months petrified. The second three (which are supposed to be the nicest) flashed by without me realising that they were even there. And now at the beginning of the final three, I already feel too hugely uncomfortable. It hurts to lie on either side or my back. My pubic bone still randomly hurts, although not as bad as at week 19. And I still have 13 weeks to go!

I spent the first three months declaring that I hated the pregnancy so much (not being pregnant, just its effects on my body) that one child will be more than enough. Of course, having had medical help to conceive it’s all together possible that we would need treatment to get pregnant again anyway. But I’m distracting myself from the rest of the hugeness that will happen (although I’m being fed up with being told I’m *too* big) by getting the house in order, buying the bulkier things I need to sort out. I like shopping so it should provide a good distraction.

And although I feel crappy when trying to sleep at night, Baby Bump is more active during the morning so doesn’t keep me awake and going swimming regularly helps me feel better. My lower abdominal pain is only really present when I walk and the rest of the time I feel fine.

If only near strangers and my parents could stop saying I’m far too big and must be having twins or have my dates wrong. They’re about to give me a complex!

~ Persephone M

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Introduction: No Man’s Land

I’m starting this blog to keep my new, current  journey separate from my usual blog. I linked to someone else’s blog from my original who described her journey (and my previous one) as being in the trenches. According to her metaphor, I’ve managed to escape the terrible trenches of trying to conceive (TTC).

I want to expand on her metaphor and introduce myself on this new blog. Some of the readers might be the same, but I fully understand why some won’t follow over; I wouldn’t. The trenches are where my fellow bloggers still are and where I barely survived for three whole years. In the mud and rain I wallowed for 3 years. Surrounded by the doom and gloom where even the sun could bring no heat, merely a bitter chill.

I suffered in wet dark conditions where my feet sat in the mud and mould, losing parts to gangrene or the rats. I shared those 3 years with rats and fleas, the constant fear from the bullets flying overhead. Hoping that one day the gunfire could cease long enough for me to pop my head up, perhaps glance across No Man’s Land, maybe even try and make it across to the other side.

And after 3 years, 3 so very long years, I managed a peek at No Man’s Land. More than that, with footholds and bullet-proof armour, I began my run across No Man’s Land. And run I did. And running I still am.

My fellow blogger had left her analogy at those of us who escaped the trenches and I’m not saying any of this to negate her views. I fully appreciate and understand how she means it: for 3 years I was always one of the soldiers left behind. Until I got given that bulletproof vest.

So, yes, I’ve made it out of the trenches. This time I’m the one that’s leaving the others behind.

But I’m still running across No Man’s Land. I haven’t made it to the other side yet. There’s no more rats, no more fleas, no more rotting feet, no more stale biscuits and meager rations and the skies are void of any gunfire noise.

Anything can go wrong in pregnancy, anything can go wrong in labour. Anything could cause me to stop. Dead. Anything could make me turn tail and flee back to the safety of the trenches. Perhaps I could trip. Or my armour might not be good enough, it could allow just one stray bullet in.

I know I’m a lucky trench-survivor and all I can do is hope I become a No Man’s Land survivor. With that hope, I can’t blog this run on my original blog, but I also can’t ignore the running and wait until I get there. The running, crossing No Man’s Land is a journey too.

I will always remember everything about the trenches. Its part of me now and forever.
~ Persephone M

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