Genius…Or Not

It’s 3am and quiet, dark in the bedroom when his eyes open wide and a wry smile plays at his lips. Woken with a start from a delicious dream by such an insightful and breathtakingly intelligent notion, yet again. He pushes his hair off his forehead and eagerly scrambles for the notepad and pen that he keeps by the side of his bed for such occasions. This one is gold dust, he just knows it. What a clever idea, and so well thought out too. Even though it’s taken him years to get to where he is he knew it would happen eventually, after all he is what everyone needs isn’t he? He is the beacon of light and inspiration that keeps everyone going.

He reaches over to flick on the bedside light. His wife groans and buries herself further under the duvet. He rolls his eyes and smiles at his reflection caught in the mirror as he pulls himself to sit against the luxuriously padded headboard. Not bad he thinks, smoothing his hair back once again. Not bad at all.

He flicks through the notebook fervently hunting for a blank page. This little gem deserves a page of its own he thinks, as he smiles at late night doodles and half-finished games of noughts and crosses left over from yesterday’s lunch meeting.

Prising the lid of his biro with a satisfying pop he rubs the page before carefully writing a heading and underlining it with a sure hand.

Family.

He pauses, drawing a little smiley face next to the word, buying time while he allows such a wonderful idea to wash over him. Why has no one thought of this before? These links, these analogies, they could only spring from a mind as inspired as his.

His wife rolls over and sighs, pulling him out of his reverie. Back to work.

Cars. He draws a star to act as a bullet point. Computers. He draws another.

Tomorrow he will put this plan into action, he can hardly wait. If only he could slip out of his pyjamas now – his favourite cookie monster ones, achingly clever and with a wicked sense of humour too, what a man! – and into tomorrow’s clothes, neatly laid out on the chair by the window waiting for him. But no, the office can wait. He sinks back into his pillows, relaxed and smiling to himself. You’ve done it again he thinks. This one is a good ‘un.

At 6am the room reverberates with the shrill beeps of the alarm clock. He stretches and his feet find his slippers, left by the side of the bed last night. Slowly, quietly, he opens the bedroom door and heads down the hall, tapping his notebook tenderly as it swings by his hip in the pocket of his dressing gown. No sound coming from the kids rooms yet, thank Christ. That’s the last thing he needs, thank goodness for the nannies! His excitement does not need distracting by children needing things from him.

As his descends the stairs he fires off a quick text, eager to share his idea:

WAIT TILL U HEAR THIS 1 M8, IT’S A BLINDER. LOL X

He chuckles to himself as he imagines the phone beeping with his message before his closest colleague is once again made to feel inferior by his words– he never has any ideas.

***

That’s exactly how it happened, isn’t it Dave?

Mr Cameron, you are a bellend. Your out of touch and generally rubbish ideas leave an awful lot to be desired. You’re right though, as they go, this little one is a gem.

“It’s ludicrous that we should expect people to train for hours to drive a car or use a computer, but when it comes to looking after a baby we tell people to just get on with it.”

Ah, but David, the thing with computers and cars is that they react in exactly the same predictable manner no matter who is using them and which button they push. The problem with using that as an analogy for dealing with actual real life human children is that, well, they don’t. They are an individual, as are their parents/carers and their environment andandand. To put it really simply; what works for one may not for the other. Geddit?

CTRLALTDELETE CTRLALTDELETE

Another thing to have a little think about is this – is parenting really a taught skill or is it leaned through practice and experience and knowing your child? My antenatal classes were fully booked, no one taught me how to breathe during labour, how to cradle a new born with its floppy head and teeny tiny fragileness. No one showed me how to change a nappy or bath her, all red and angry and wet and slippery and seemingly determined to dunk her smooshy new little face under the dangerous water. But I managed, I learned because I did it and we are all ok. In a few years from now she will be ready to start school; will a video I watch in a room full of other parents help me prepare her for this step? Will this advice be tailored to my child, her development and needs and personality? Didn’t think so.

Families, that’s parents and children, do need more support than they currently receive. Maybe, just maybe, it would be better to invest money into community centres or something – remember all of those Sure Start centres that had to be closed because of lack of funding? Like those.

Perhaps parents and their little darlings alike would learn more from a place that was open several times a week, free to attend and that provided fun for children and support for their frazzled parents. An informal and relaxed place where we can take our children, giving us the lifeline of contact with other parents and their offspring allowing us to discuss worries and hopes and fears and nappy contents (because we do) with other people who are going through exactly the same thing. If you’re feeling generous you could even staff these places with someone trained in child health or childcare or simply qualified to answer questions that may crop up.

Wouldn’t that be better?

Squeal, woah and eeeeeeeee! We’ve been nominated in two categories and would love, love, love if you voted for us. Thank you x

Mix-Tape Monday: Steady

Another new week, another Monday morning…Another Mix-Tape Monday.

I’ve listened to some pretty questionable music this week (mainly consisting of Genesis, ELO and the Charlie & Lola theme…and this piece of wonderfulness) but you’re going to pretend you didn’t hear that right? This is the song I keep coming back to. I think purely based on the smexy guitar riffs and general awesomeness. It makes me want to haul my guitar out, dust it down and…well, and then I remember I can’t play any more, as much as I wish I could. I can still bust out a few tunes on the recorder though…Any requests?!

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Squeal, woah and eeeeeeeee! We’ve been nominated in two categories and would love, love, love if you voted for us. Thank you x

Home Notes #5

A week full of opposites; highs and lows, wet and dry, happy and sad. For every step forward we took two back. Every piece of good news was followed up with bad. But we kept our heads above water and our spirits up. We ran through parks whether the sun was on our backs or the rain in our hair.

bandstand

Moody

Blooming

Spring. Sprung.

Bliss

The way that a smile or a giggle or a cuddle can make everything golden has been the key to the last seven days.

My baby suddenly seems very much the little girl, independent, funny, strong, clever. Stubborn. She is thirsty for knowledge and newness and sights and sounds and it’s exhausting and exhilarating.

Windswept

Future ballet dancer?

I am mama now. She calls for me, she asks for me. She picked me flowers and held them tight in her chubby fingers, her arm extended towards me – ‘mama’.

Rays

Wow.

On a practical level, things are finally moving. We’re making plans and thinking about boxes and removal vans. We took the plunge and went for our very first haircut. We didn’t want any of these things but we’re doing everything for the right reasons and that is what counts.

Up…

up…

and away!

That and being called mama.

Self Taught

It’s been a long time since I have managed to do anything that constitutes as creative. Further than pushing the shutter button on my camera anyway. Last year I found knitting to be a great way to stop my mind from flitting from one thought to another; as my hands moved and the needles click click clicked my body would relax and my mind would empty.

In October I went all out and knitted my biggest project to date, a blanket for my nephews first birthday. Since then I have hardly picked up my needles. Knitted out and on a determined whim I decided to (attempt to) conquer crochet.

Crochet is something that I have tried and failed at twice before but thinking that learning something new would cleanse my mind for half an hour at a time I wanted to try again.

This was my third crochet project – my first was a baby jumper while I got to grips with the basic stitch, holding the needle and exactly what I’m supposed to do with my empty hand. My second was something else that I’m pretty proud of and will post soon – I’m so happy with how it turned out. Somehow I managed to keep it square and didn’t increase or decrease anywhere that I shouldn’t have.

It turns out that crochet is super easy, fast and totally addictive…And Beans is pretty happy about her new blanket too.

Madness. Madness I Tells Ya

This post comes to you four days after the list of finalists was published. That is because for four days the only sounds that I have been able to muster on the subject were limited to ‘ohmigod’, ‘eeeeeee’ and ‘fluuuungh’. All good noises but not exactly that best at summing up how I feel. I did make an earlier effort here though.

So how do I feel?

(eeeeeeeeeeee!)

Amazed. Proud. Happy. Delighted. Shocked… *pinches self*

When I started this blog nearly a year ago I have to (embarrassingly) admit that I had no direction. No plans, no ideas, no strategy. I just wanted to write. I thought that was all a blog was about. It’s not.

The huge amount of support that has come my way in various forms has been nothing short of astounding. Honestly, it has saved me at times. And I mean that, I’m not being melodramatic for effect.

My blog went from, well, nothing really to something people suddenly started reading. I have made friends, I have found an amazing community of people and I have found something that allows me to be me. Blogging is so important to me because of all that it has given me.

Last year I followed the MADs nomination process on Twitter, I voted and I was excited when some of my favourite blogs were made finalists and again when a few went on to win their categories. I was star struck when these winners spoke to me on Twitter.

This year I voted again. I read the list of finalists again.

And then I read it again.

And again.

And then I rang the husband and asked him to read it. Just in case I was seeing things (it was 7am and I don’t trust myself before at least 10:30am and after caffeine).

I’m on the list. I’m on the list amongst all the amazing, talented, clever bloggers that are out there. I am sharing categories with some of the same people that I was in awe of last year.

I still don’t believe it. I still remember once every few hours and let out a little excited squeak.

I am so, so grateful to every single person that voted and just generally extremely eeeeeeeeeee.

If you want to vote for me (or any of the other finalists) (I’d love if you voted for me though) (please?) then you can right here.

Thank you. I’m going to stop typing and commence excited dancing…now.

Mix-Tape Monday – The Comeback!

At long last, my neglected meme is back. I’d love for you all to join in again and create a playlist for my week. No theme, no need for words if you don’t want to type any – it’s as easy as uploading a video of your choice every Monday morning and adding it to the linky so everyone can find it. Your song can be anything; what you’re listening to right now, something you can’t stand, something that reminds you of a good time…It’s a great way of hearing old songs you had long forgotten and discovering new ones while hopping between blogs.

This is mine for the week. Purely because I have happy memories of dancing around without a care in the world as my highest heels stuck to sticky floors and my drink spilled down my jeans with every movement.

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This Is Why

So, what happens when you pen a lengthy and (hopefully) well thought out letter to the big boss man of the local NHS trust? When you try to articulate through your anger and explain how and why you feel that the wrong choices have been made and the wrong (ie: zero) care provided.

On the final day of the twenty five that, legally, a response has to be received a white envelope did indeed drop through my letterbox. Four sides of A4 that would make interesting reading to no one but me as they detailed every single doctors appointment that I attended from January 2011 to the present day. Words and dates and facts and excuses.

Why was a detailed care plan not set up before I had even given birth? Quite simply because it falls to the health visitor assigned to me to make said plans and unfortunately we had to cancel that appointment as I was in labour on the morning that she was due to visit. Although not something that’s particularly ideal (to say the least) to discuss between contractions or while crowning, it is being implied that the fault lies with me for not being available at that time.

Perhaps I should have crossed my legs.

Perhaps they should have written up a plan with me at the next earliest available opportunity?

Until the final paragraphs the letter continues in the same vain; documenting every single contact with GPs and services and insisting that I reported to be ‘feeling better’ and omitting at least another three pages worth of information about side effects and tears and begging and pleading and…

Finally, inches before the end of the last page the questions that I asked about my care are answered. No they say, my condition was not worsened or prolonged, yes they followed the guidelines set out by NICE. All this written not very clearly or transparently, making the hypercritical sentences that follow even harder to decipher. No, they haven’t caused me any harm or inconvenience by the treatment that I was given, but yes they are sorry for any harm or inconvenience that has been caused. No, I do not have a valid complaint, but yes my complaint has been partially upheld as it has highlighted the need for further training.

Eh?

Without going into the NICE guidelines, which I now know very well after pouring over them to check I wasn’t completely wrong, I can tell you that without a doubt they were not followed (antidepressants as second line of care following CBT/IPT or alongside, referral within one month and therapy/support no longer than three months following, communication to rule out the need for repeated assessments, support and understanding of the stigmas and emotional impact, support for family…).

I spoke to my community mental health worker (yes, I finally have one of those after refering myself) after I had received the letter and she immediately said that she would write a letter stating that the delay in my treatment and the lack of specialist advice I was given regarding my medication did indeed cause my condition to worsen and become more prolonged. She then went on to tell me that I will need to remain on my current dose of medication for at least one year before deciding whether or not I am ready to start the weaning process to come off it.

This means that at the earliest I will not be free of medication until the end of 2013. That’s nearly three years since I had Beans.

PND is a treatable and curable illness. It can be wiped out in a matter of months if it is caught early enough and treated correctly and with the right support. I saw the doctor to ask for help in February 2011 (according to that letter he ‘wasn’t worried, all feelings are normal but patient to report back in one week if still feeling the same’ and the notes from the appointment I made the following week ‘patient suffering from severe postnatal depression. Immediate treatment advised’. What had changed in a week?) I put myself in the right place to be given the right help to have not need to go through all of this.

I feel so much better than I did, I am coping with more, having less bad days and finally finding more self confidence with Beans. But I’m still not free. I wont be free until Beans is nearly three.

PND hasn’t just affected me, it has hugely impacted the husband, Beans, our families…Our lives are still not our own. The choice over when we can try for another baby doesn’t even belong to us any more, it’s down to how soon I can come off my medication.

It is no ones fault that I became ill, I don’t think that anyone deserves to be struck off or fired from their jobs. But. But it is clear that I have suffered in ways and for an amount of time that simply wasn’t necessary. It is clear that training is needed for all staff dealing with mental illness. PND is the number one reason of death for postnatal women in the UK. I have a daughter, she might need that care one day.

And for all of that I want a proper apology.

Home Notes #4

Some weeks are easy, some are hard. Some just are. This week has been all and then some more.

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Reflections

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Inspiration (and love)

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Wall

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Technicolour

Misunderstandings led to arguments which led to everything and nothing and making up that happened far in much less time than it took for the rows to take form.

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Wrapped right around her little finger

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Mummy time

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Spot the child

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Spot the frog

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New friend (eek)

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‘Helping’ grandad

We pushed on and on and on and still made sure we got outside of the four walls of (not our) house to walk where ever the mood took us. We found wide open spaces to ignore in favour of a new book because it is quite frankly far more interesting than anything else ever could be. Right now anyway.

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Why run?

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Engrossed

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Reading fairytales

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In a fairytale

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Where did she go?

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March

We indulged ourselves in our own time; a break from teething and temperatures and anger and stress and ourselves. Manicures and books and crochet and colouring. We chased and we gasped and we kicked a ball for the very first time. The toddler waddle is fast being replaced by a determined march. We were inspired and surprised and exhausted and are looking forward to a week that can only be better.

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Mummy mani

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Toddler mani-pedi