Hello world!

The huge laptop gently hummed on the double bed, I hunched over it, tapping my fingers on the side thinking of exactly how I will launch myself into the world of word press. Making a blog was easy, I already had one, a blogger google one, but word press seems a lot more professional.

I am a writer, the scribe of our times, the person who sits on by while the world spins along recording ever tweet of a bird ever shift of a shadow. I am the recorder of history, it is me who will tell the future people how we lived, what we ate, what wars we started. I will introduce new ideas, question the status quo, support the free thinkers and rebels that society has shunned.

I am the future. Word press is my medium. You, reader on the other side of the screen, you are my subject matter.

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For sale: my voice

Ok the washing machine is done, the cats food is empty and while I’m there might as well find a frozen pizza for lunch…I think there’s one in the deep freezer.

The afternoon rush had begun, Little Fairy was back from nursery, and currently half undressed and tutoring Little Madam (newest addition, who is now nearly 3!) how to build a fort with the pillows…

“Get changed then we can have lunch!” Oh maybe make the husband’s lunch while I’m at it, after the afternoon rush hour dies down I’m going to need a nap.

” How does cheese work?”

“Trees?”

“No!…” She sighs takes a deep breath and Little Madam carefully enunciates “Ch..ee..sse”

Wth do I say to that, do I explain how it’s made? I don’t know exactly myself…

“Cheese doesn’t ‘work’ it’s food…”

“Yes, but how does it work?”

“It’s bought from the shops and we eat it”

“Yes” she says satisfied, my answer has pleased her, a glow of pride radiates through me.

I turn to see Little Fairy omg your still walking around in tights and a vest!

“How do planes fly?”

Are you *#!?#* kidding me?!?

“I’m not sure ask your Papa he will know. Can you please change!”

But she’s gone I turn back to the task at hand…frozen lunch. Mum of the year award.

Ah I need to buy some fruit, they only eat grapes and strawberries now so I guess the apples, bananas and oranges are all for me.

“What’s for lunch?”

“Pizza and waffles.”

“Is there greens?”

Being judged, I feel it…

” I can make some…”

” No I don’t like greens, no peas no carrots”

“But…” I try to be a responsible adult-

“Greens are good for you, they help you to grow…” hands on hips tights still on now the vest is missing…

“So I’ll make some…”

“No I don’t like them it’s yucky.”

Ok deep breaths and just get on with it, she’s made her point.

” I like fish fingers…” Little Madam back at it.

” It’s pizza today…”

“That’s not fair!” She stomps, folds her arms and pouts. She’s angry but she’s so cute I just want to…

“She always gets what she wants…it’s not fair!!” The volume is rising the situation is getting quite perilous!

“I’m making waffles too!”

“Waffles! My favourite!” All anger gone all smiles and hugs. Ok back to business make the pizza, put out washing, feed cats.

“Can you fix my trousers?” Quickly turn them inside out.

“My dolly wants her pony,” run and get it off the shelf where it’s been for an eternity.

“I need to go poo.”
deal with that..

“Can I have cheese?”

“No–” oh she’s gone

“Have you seen my keys?” No check your pockets. Oh he’s gone too.

“Whose house are we going to today?”

“No one’s!”

“Not fair…” Happy place happy place.

“Have you changed?”

“I can’t find my dress!” You just threw it down the stairs!!!

“Mama, I love you” as she plants a big wet kiss on my hand don’t cry she will think you’re upset.

“I said it to mama first, your just a copy baby!” Aww she loves me too

“I am not!” Ok moment disappearing fast!

“I love you guys too” thank god you changed!

“Why is lunch not ready yet? you’re taking a 100 years!”

End the Silence

Silence. 

“You will have to deliver your baby…now” 

“But i’ve just reached 21 weeks will he be ok?” 

SILENCE.

Delivery in all its blood, pain and glory 

“Here’s your baby” 

“Is he alive…” 

SILENCE 

whispers and sympathetic looks. 

So many:

“atleast you know you can have children  ” 

“He’s in heaven now”

“You’re young, just try again”

“Dont wait! Have another straight away”

SILENCE

3 children on.

Birthdays, knowing that there is one more that should be here.

Laughter, knowing that there is one more melodic voice that should be joining in. 

Moving houses, knowing that one pair of little feet will not prance around the new empty space.

Saying that i have 4 not 3 children and being met with SILENCE.

talking about the most terrifying moment of my life and being met with SILENCE. 

Reminding people of my holiday (in which my son left us there) and having the subject change to SILENCE. 

There is too much silence and too much pain. 

Listen, acknowledge and celebrate the life that was, no matter how brief. 

My son was real. He breathed, he kicked. He responded to our voices and to my touch. 

He was smaller than my hand, he had a mop of dark hair. He had a handsome face that i still wished i had touched. I swore he was smiling as the nurse took him away. 

His body was put in the ground on a beautiful green hill in a far off land i am too terrified to visit. 

He was real. 

End the silence. 

#babylossawarenessweek

Date night…with 3 kids

So we are either very brave or very stupid. Depending on the situation i yoyo between the two. My 2 yr old little man, 1.5 yr old little fairy and now a 2 week old little miss (nickname soon to be decided) have bought me to the point of extreme happiness, extreme exhaustion, extreme tears, basically a lot of extremes. Little miss has only just joined the fray but seems to have learnt a trick or two whilst still in the womb.

She realises that nap time is the 2 hours in the day that you do not want to mess with mama. So she drinks and nods off with little to no fuss (touch wood). She also realises when little man and little fairy are screaming the house down it is only polite to join in and contribute to the wonderful sound.

So we, husband and i, decided quite impulsively to have dinner out. The kids had a busy day running in the garden, sometimes without shoes, i had had a busy day of catching up on chores as my brood either rocked in their bouncer or became one with nature by climbing trees or playing with the stored up rain water.

It seemed like a welcome break, no cooking! But as the ridiculous task of getting three under 3s ready to go out started, the true stupidity of it all came to light.

Chasing two of them to get changed while they struggled to comprehend why their holey baby suits and ripped shoes were not ok for outside when they were fine to go to the garden in. Cramming three babies essentials into one baby bag and running through a list of all the things i possibly could need, and praying intensely that no poo explosions occur. Dont even ask about how three baby seats fit in the back of the car. That’s husbands super power i just know it.

Surprisingly the dinner was quite relaxed. Little man and little fairy found another little person with whom they kept playing peek a boo with around the booth. It kept them entertained while the food came and they were sufficiently hungry enough to sit quietly and eat their whole meal!

Little miss had a feed shortly before departing on her longest road trip yet, so she slept, and slept and didnt disturb mama or papa the entire meal!

Husband and i finally got some time to catch up and actually have an adult conversation (shock! horror!). It was a risk that paid off.

Although ive been playing this parent game for a while and am fully aware that just because this time the kids realised that chairs are for sitting and tables are where the food goes, doesnt mean that next time they wont be crawling all over the table while we defend the food to the best of our ability. Just because little miss decided to sleep peacefully this time wont mean that next time she wont sing us all the song of her people.

Its either a brave risk or a stupid one.

16/03/16 17:14

The quiet stretched as high as the sky and yet with each passing minute became more fragile.
Any minute now there would be a soft cry of “mama?” And the charade will begin.

It could go two ways.

1. There will be a lot of face stroking and hugs that squeeze her neck yet fill her with warmth. There would be nursery rhyme requests, all communicated via hand gestures.
The children will wake fully rested require a snack and play happily till the hours of late evening. Untill it’s bedtime.

Or

2. The crying will start that won’t end untill they are in her lap. But the little one will want to be the only one on mama’s lap and will push her brother off. Then he would cry, point and complain. All the time she will try and make gentle shushing noises. Trying to keep them distracted from each other. This will continue whilst they are fed.  They won’t play just whine. Untill bed time.

But she has to continue smiling whether it’s scenario 1 or 2, she has to keep her cool. To always be the source of calmness. To clean up every and all messes, without being annoyed. To discipline but with love. To play without being bored. To acknowledge they are angry, upset or tired without her allowing herself to admit she is angry,  upset and tired.

The charade will begin. But right now there is silence. Right now she can sit and eat her chocolate and not pretend she is anything but a slightly plump, angry woman in her mid twenties enjoying her chocolate a bit too much.

20/01/16 22:20

The rounded woman, in her baggy top and maternity leggings that she should have thrown out a year ago, bit her lip.

The words threatening to spill out and the rage that was itching to be set free, were held back by the strong clench of her teeth on the inside of her mouth. Pretty soon she will be tasting blood.

She patted the nappy rash cream on her child’s bottom as gently she could but he screamed blue murder.

“Bad mother” rang in her ears. She should have stayed home. The disapproving eyes of everybody in the room burned holes in her heart. They were seasoned mothers, women who surely had experienced a few raw bums in their day yet the judgement dripped from their faces. The little boy wiggled on to his legs and was off like a shot ready to play. The sore bottom forgotten.

But they would not forget and she knew it. She heard whispers of:
“can’t even clean nappies how will she raise him?”
The lady is old and is bored, ignore her.
“You should really toilet train him”
Smile, nod, bite harder.
“You could have been more gentle! He was in so much pain”
Control the rage. Happy thoughts!
“You aren’t like your mother she raised you lot so well”
The dam broke.

Tears threatened to spill. She tried to exit the room as quick as she could but her vision began to blur.
“You’re upset?  In our day people always complained but we didn’t cry!”

Next time she would decline any invitation to a party untill the kids had grown and left. Maybe not even then.

???

What kind of mother am I?

It’s one of those days, the kids woke up crying from their nap and haven’t stopped since.
I’ve tried everything. But the crying doesn’t stop.

Then daddy comes home and it’s all smiles and hugs and I wonder what kind of mother am I? 

Dinner should be ready by 8, but the damn potatoes took longer than usual today. So its 8:02 and little man is bawling pointing at the kitchen and I try to explain to a two year old that dinner is not quite ready. All the while tears stream down his face.
What kind of mother am I? 

I woke up today feeling the onslaught of a killer flu. Throat swollen sinuses congested. To find both babies are also under the weather. I just about make it through the day, hiding in the kitchen to get some personal space away from the needy, clingy kids.
What kind of mother am I? 

I finally get them down to sleep, climb into my bed only to hear one of them cough on the baby monitor. My whole body fills with dread. The thought of another disturbed night has my heart racing and I pray harder than ever that they roll over and sleep.
What kind of mother am I?

I type this blog with little fairy on my lap, fever burning her body. While the little man climbs the sofa then the table and is testing the radiators stability. Yet I write. So I can exercise my brain. I write so I can vent. I write so these thoughts don’t drive me mad.
What kind of mother am I?

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08/10/15 19:33

He sat gormless, the light from the TV aged him somehow. The kids had fallen asleep over an hour ago but she was still wound tight. Every creak, every cough made her stress levels increase. Any minute now they will wake up, there is no guarantee they will go back to sleep, ever.

He had tried to hold her hand but she had slowly edged away. Physical contact is not what she needed right now. But it hurt her when he didn’t try again. It was obvious, he didn’t love her any more. If he loved her he would have tried again. He would have asked what’s wrong. But the stupid program was obviously more interesting.

She glanced at the clock. If she slept now she could have atleast 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep. But she wasn’t that sleepy right now. She could wash the dishes from dinner but the thought of getting up tired her out. Plus the kids might wake up from the noise.

She could try hold his hand, but why should she. Why was everything her job? When will he start taking the lead and show some affection? So they sat side by side on the couch. The TV flashing, the distance between  them ever increasing.

Until he slowly put his arm around the back of the couch. Instinctually she fell into his chest, her head resting on his heart. The slow drumming and comfortable warmth slowly put her to sleep.

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