Oh shit bugger dear. I think I might have to come clean to the husband about my illicit blogging affair.
It’s not that I don’t want to tell him, it’s just that, well, I don’t want to tell him.
I like the space that my blog gives me to be myself. If the husband knows about it he will likely want to actually read it too right?! Maybe I haven’t thought this through…I don’t think I’ve given away anything about him that I shouldn’t have. I don’t think he would have reason to be bothered. Saying that, he did get mildly annoyed that I had posted a photo of him on my ‘real life’ Facebook account…
Since starting this blog I have had a lot of lovely feedback regarding my posts on PND. Honestly, it means so much to me that not only are you taking your time to read my ramblings, but also to comment and offer support or let me know that you enjoyed what I have written.
Boo is becoming a little chatterbox. Well, a babbler anyway. In the last few weeks she has really started to find her voice. It started with her repeated ‘mama’ and it has progressed in leaps and bounds. She seems to learn a new sound every day and she watches so closely whenever anyone talks to her, silently mimicking mouth movements and practicing to herself before she has the confidence to get it right out loud.
So I have to turn over a new leaf. I need to watch what I say before my beautiful, innocent baby’s first proper word is ‘fuckssake’. Or ‘fucker’. Or ‘shiiiiiiiit’. Or…ok, you get the picture.
My names mummy and I’m a potty mouth.
I love you. In fact, I love you so much I have RSI. I can’t even open my mascara anymore and life with a claw is becoming tedious. All I ask is that you use a bit of sense when autocorrecting everything I write.
Yours Think float Thigh find Thing Thrust leg. Cheers.
Haha, today is another good day. I’m winning.
Fuck you. Continue reading
Recently I was presented with the chance to escape. The chance to run away from everything that is my life. Living with PND the need to escape is a feeling that I deal with every day, the want to simply run away.
The opportunity came and it was begging me to take it by the hands and run never to look back. To run into a new world, a new life, a new me. The thought rattled around in my mind over and over again. I could just go. This new existence was waiting for me, calling me almost every waking second. It was all I could think about.
For a few days it felt like the best thing to have happened. The most appealing thing that I had been confronted with in a long time, the chance to start again.
I constructed this escape in my head; how it would be, how happy I could be. It felt like the perfect solution. And then I woke up to myself.
Hi, thanks for coming. Ooh, you look lovely! New dress? Mine too! It was expensive but I couldn’t resist as it’s such a big celebration. Just pop your coat there, next to the balloons. Glass of champagne? Cake? Jelly and ice cream? Let me just turn the music down and we’ll start opening the presents. It really is the party of the year, the one we’ve all been waiting for. It means so much that you’ve come…
That’s right…Boo has her very first tooth!
Finally. (Bottom right one at the front for anyone keeping note).
Earlier today I sat on the floor in my front room with Boo, desperately trying to tire her out before her afternoon nap. After a while of rolling from one side of the room to the other (her new skill that she won’t stop practicing) she put her arms out to me for a cuddle. I picked her off the floor and cradled her in my arms.
In the blink of an eye I was transported to the minutes after she was born. I was sat in exactly the spot where we had our first cuddle. She was handed to me by the midwife and I held her tight and couldn’t stop staring into her amazing eyes. They were deep, dark blue. Two sparkling, inky pools. I was mesmerised. Her hair was jet black and fluffy, her hands pawing at the blanket she was wrapped in.
Boo is 24 weeks old now. For the last 22 weeks she has been a formula fed baby. I remember our last breastfeed really clearly. I was really ill, really exhausted and really starting to resent how hard things were. She fed for hours. I felt like she was literally draining the life out of me. As of February 13th at around 4pm she was no longer a breastfed baby.
Just as I expected, my breasts did not become engorged. That proved that I clearly wasn’t producing the milk that Boo wanted for some reason, something I had been trying to tell the midwives and health visitors since we started.
My milk, or the little of it that there was, dried up without me even noticing. No one would give me answers because Boo was feeding and gaining weight well on the bottle. I didn’t matter anymore because she didn’t need me.
Last week I noticed that one of my breasts was aching but I ignored it. The following day the ache progressed into more of a pain. That night I went to bed to be woken at 3am covered in breast milk from one breast and what I can only describe as ‘something’ from the other. And then I found two hard lumps.