Over the weekend husband Hodge took down the last cot side on Splodge’s cot bed, thus turning it into a big boy bed. After he did it I stood and looked at the bed and thought about the tiny baby we’d brought home from hospital, now nearly a metre tall and in his grown up bed.
Since my two spinal operations this year I’ve not been able to lift him in and out of his cot. In May we tried and converted the cot bed into a bed but he hated it. Too much too soon. So we turned it back into a cot bed until he settled. Then set about one by one over a period of weeks taking a side or an end down and letting him get used to that.
On Saturday night, freshly bathed, stories read, pyjamaed up, he trotted into his bedroom, saw his new improved bed, smiled, patted it and said “Big boy bed, that’s better”. He loves his grown up bed. I love my grown up bed. The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.
Big Boy Bed
My little baby is growing up fast. He’s nearly 3, knows his own mind, and is bright, lively and full of good humour. I’m so proud of him. He is the very best of me and Hodge in one gorgeous, chunky cheeked package. I don’t know where the last three years have gone, but I know that in the blink of an eye he’ll be six foot whatever and buying me a pint.
His big boy bed is just one of a million milestones in his life, and if he responds to them all with a “that’s better” then I’ll be (and am already) a very proud Mummy.
I’ve suffered from low self esteem all my life. After a period of illness this year that low self esteem turned into depression. There have been times this year I’ve been sad, dead eyed, weeping, cold in front of my son. He’s two and doesn’t really understand. He asks “what’s wrong Mamma?” as he did this evening when I cried, and he cuddles me and kisses away my tears. It’s heartbreaking and lovely. Ultimately it’s really unfair on him.
I feel such guilt at these times, he doesn’t understand. I hope he’s too young to remember the dark days. The dark days are fewer than they used to be. I’m working on my recovery for him and for me.
I was mooching around Twitter when I came across mention of a book called A Monster Ate My Mum. It’s a new book aimed at the children of mothers who have post natal depression. To be honest, having read it I think it works for depression generally.
I loved the title. It does seem like a monster has eaten me. Snatched me away from my family. Eaten my smile, suppressed my giggles. Made me less human. I had a copy of the ebook to look at and read to my boy. I was immediately struck by the gorgeous illustrations. I fell quite in love with the illustrations by Helen Braid and when I read the book to Splodge and Hodge they loved them too.
Author, Jen Faulkner suffered from PND with her third child, she wanted to find a way of explaining her feelings to her older children, so she wrote a poem which this book is now based on. It is beautifully and heartbreakingly written.
From my perspective as a parent with mental health issues, this hits all the right notes. It explains things perfectly in an accessible way. Husband Hodge said it made him feel sad because it made him reflect on the impact of my depression on the family. But he agreed that the book is a valuable tool in explaining why Mummy is sad to her little ones.
We sat down and read it to Splodge who is just short of his 3rd birthday. He was excited by and engaged by the illustrations and wanted to look at them over and over. We read the story to him a few times. I’m not sure how much he understood, he is still very young, but he did say “Mamma sad” and pointed to the Mummy in the book. I think if this was read to him regularly then he’d understand more. So that’s what we’ll do.
It is a beautiful book about a sad subject. I’d definitely recommend this for children who have Mums like me. I feel really strongly about mental health issues. I speak and write frankly about my problems because I’m not ashamed, I have no reason to be ashamed and by speaking out it makes it less of a taboo.
Children aren’t stupid, they’re often more astute than adults, by teaching them about the reasons why Mummy is sad can only be a good thing. By not demonising mental health and depression it might make them ask for help if they need it later in life, it might make them more equipped to cope with the problems others face later on, and if it helps them understand there and then that Mummy isn’t like that because of anything they’ve done, then that can only be a good and incredibly positive thing.
I really hope this book is picked up and used as a tool for helping families in this situation. I’m quite in love with it and I know it will help us and Splodge. My recovery continues. The dark days are less frequent but they are still there, at least now I can explain that the monster ate my smile.
Manchester is no stranger to festivals; we have an inherent party streak and a reason to celebrate most things. This week (24th October to 3rd November 2013) is the Manchester Science Festival produced by The Museum of Science & Industry (MOSI).
Manchester has a proud scientific history and even today our scientists are making groundbreaking discoveries, there is much to shout about. Being Mum to a curious and industrious nearly 3 year old, we thought we’d take him for his first visit to MOSI.
We arrived and straight away we hit the cafe for refreshment. We all had a drink and some cake. I had an enormous and still warm Eccles cake which is basically my idea of heaven. Hodge had an excellent Danish pastry and Splodge a blueberry muffin.
Suitably refreshed, we toddled over to the Power Hall to have a go at making our own Graphene. We were given a bag of bits and some instructions on how to assemble it. Graphene being the most exciting thing to come out of Manchester since The Stone Roses meant that this workshop was incredibly popular. Our little family enjoyed a bit of scientific team building and made our small sheet of Graphene.
Making our own Graphene. Toddler Team-Building
Throughout the day the individual sheets are connected and added to a huge molecular model of Graphene outside. By lunchtime it was already impressively huge.
While we were in the Power Hall it seemed rude not to take the train mad toddler to look at the train exhibits, then he spotted the working steam train outside, so we had to have a go. For £2 per adult and £1 per child for a 10 minute round trip we thought it was good value. We sat with the guard and he let Splodge wave his flag to signal to the driver. This was quite possibly the highlight of his little life to date.
While we were by the trains we popped into the Station Building and took part in the Rube Goldberg Machine Workshop. This was really simple, accessible for virtually all ages and fun. Because we’d figured it out (because we’re geniuses obviously) Splodge was given a bag of sweets. This was definitely turning into the best day of his life!
Impressive sourcing of local foods from the MOSI Restaurant
Bellies rumbling, lunch beckoned. We’d already been to the lovely cafe so we decided to head to the restaurant. I was so impressed. There was a brilliant selection of healthy, local, fresh food. Hodge went for the individual cottage pie with roasted new potatoes and beautiful veg. Splodge had a sausage with potatoes and veg, and I, sniffing the air like the Bisto Kid, smelt pizza and just had to have one. I went for the margarita.
The pizzas are freshly made in front of you and cooked to order in a pizza oven. I’m not usually mad keen on pizza as they can be stodgy and dull, but the base was crispy, the tomato sauce tangy and plentiful and the cheese was tasty and wasn’t greasy, it was pretty much up there for me, and I’m a fussy so and so.
A good lunch for the three of us came to around £20, which we felt was exceptional value given the quality and the quantity on our plates. Hodge said he was impressed there were no chips and that the options were on the healthy side. We’re having a light tea as we had a big dinner. I’d certainly go back again.
After lunch we were beginning to flag, so we explored the “Experimental” area where there are hands-on things for kids to try and make and do. This was brilliant, it wasn’t part of the festival but it would easily keep a nipper entertained for a while. There was a small soft play type area where we went for a little sit down. Splodge charged around building towers out of soft bricks and generally have a great time. He was tiring though so we had to choose one last thing and head off home.
We chose to have a mooch around the Air & Space Hall. Being keen on pretty much all forms of transport he raced around shouting “airplane”, loving every minute and pretty much guaranteeing a return visit fairly sharp-ish.
I was a bit disappointed I didn’t get to see the exhibits I wanted to see. If I’d had my clever head on, I would have broken away from the boys and left them to their trains and gone and enjoyed the Ice Lab exhibition by myself. The exhibition apparently gave a sense of what it’s like to live and work in Antarctica. Fascinating.
There were lots more I wanted to see and do and I’m sorely tempted to go back by myself later in the week and spend a bit more time there. Everything we saw and did was really accessible. All the staff and volunteers were so lovely and helpful, especially towards young Splodge.
As it is Science Festival week the place is teeming with guides, keep an eye out for friendly types in bright green t-shirts. It’s also half-term week in Manchester and there is so much going on at the festival. Something for all interests and ages. Have a look at the festival website and see what’s on.
Aw look, look at that beautiful new baby in your arms. Isn’t it cute, it’s perfect in every way. Fresh as a daisy and twice as cute. Savour that. Enjoy your maternity leave too, those are the golden days. Have you found a nursery yet? Somewhere fantastic for your perfect, unspoilt child to spend its days learning, playing, creating, getting messy and having fun. Have you?
What no one tells you, ok they may tell you, but you’ll fail to grasp the horror of it fully until it happens. What no one tells you is that your perfect baby will go to nursery and bring you back little gifts. How sweet. How generous. Not so.
The minute your bundle of joy starts mixing with other children, properly mixing, not just clapping hands in a circle at baby singing class, but full on 8 hours a day, they become industrial germ breeding machines. Their first six months at nursery will be spent with a runny nose, runny bum, the vomits and anything else that passes through. Our nursery is currently advising that D&V, Chicken Pox, Slapped Cheek and head lice are stalking the corridors and one child has been hospitalised with suspected viral meningitis, so we’ve all had alerts about that. It’s non-stop. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
As for me, I have thalessaemia which can mean I’m more susceptible to picking up bugs. But for those first six months after the bliss of maternity leave I was intolerably ill. Hacking coughs, stomach bugs, cold after cold after cold and the final straw, tonsillitis. I hardly slept those first six months.
It did get better, he’s built up a small amount of immunity now and he’s old enough to tell me how he feels and what hurts. This week he’s got a cough, cold and two burst eardrums. He’s got glue ear so we’re used to it, but the leakage from the bursts is gross. I won’t dwell but it’s gross.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the very bones of that boy and each time he gets ill I get the bonus of extra snuggles and cuddles. To be fair it’s not just germs he brings back, he toddles in clutching his finest works of art, biscuits and cakes he’s made and lovely little gifts like a flower he’s picked just for me. Those are the best gifts, and for that we’ll happily put up with all the germs he can throw at us and tell ourselves he’s busy building some immunity for when he goes to big school.
So as your perfect baby sleeps in your arms and you start to prepare to return to work, make sure your medicine cabinet is well stocked, bulk buy tissues, get your vitamins down you, eat your greens and prepare for germ warfare. You’re welcome.
The Mothers is a photo project documenting the stories and experiences of Mothers of all ages, with children of all ages. Complete with beautiful photography from Rebecca Lupton.
Rebecca asked me to answer a set of questions around my experiences of motherhood and then she came round to photograph us. Writing the blog itself was cathartic and it helped me to address and work through some of the issues around his birth as well as being something he can read in later life.
For me the real treat was having some beautiful photographs of us. I am usually the one behind the camera so rarely get a decent picture of us together.
In hindsight I wish I’d waited a bit longer, looking back at the pictures I can tell I was in pain. My first back surgery hadn’t worked and a few weeks after I was rushed in for more urgent surgery. I look tired and bloated (I’ve lost a lot of weight since) and I can tell I’m not happy and relaxed. But it does serve as a pictorial reminder of an awful time in our lives.
If you get the chance or want to take part I can’t recommend it enough. It was a really terrific experience. You can read my story here. Do let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy it.
The young master of the household is obsessed with dinosaurs. I mean seriously obsessed! He generally wakes us up in the morning by roaring at us and shouting “dinosaur!” until we let him go downstairs and play with his toys. With this in mind I was super-excited (on his behalf) to see that Dinosaur Zoo is coming to The Lowry in October.
Dinosaur Zoo is an interactive dinosaur show for children aged 3+. Having watched the trailer it kind of looks like something the late, but wonderful Steve Irwin would have done if dinosaurs still roamed the earth. It’s an Australian production and the dinosaurs are very realistic, almost life sized puppets. The children (and adults) learn all about various dinosaurs as well as getting the chance to touch them, feed them and help the zoo-keeper out.
The dinosaurs range from cute baby dinos to teeth-gnashing giants, including a carnivorous theropod known as the Australovenator, based on the most complete meat-eating dinosaur skeleton found in Australia.
We cannot wait to go and rest assured I’ll be blogging about our Jurassic adventures when we get back. In the meantime I’ll just have to put up with even more roaring early alarm calls from the boy.
Dinosaur Zoo will be at The Lowry, Salford on Fri 4 October 1pm, Sat 5 October 10.30am, 13.30pm & 15.30pm
Tickets £13.50 & £16
Being of the bad backed persuasion, I’m very keen on looking after it. I’m also half sloth so I like my sleep. My bed is my favourite place, a place of serenity, relaxation and comfort. I guess a lot of people feel that way.
When young Splodge was on his way, like any parent we wanted the very best for him. I remember spending days traipsing round baby shops and department stores looking for suitable prams and nursery furniture. In the end we gave up and just went to our local John Lewis and set up a baby-list (like a wedding list but full of small adorable things).
The great thing was that the staff in the baby department are like information ninjas. They’ve been on tonnes of special training and know their products inside out and back to front. It was there where we had a lengthy chat about cot mattresses with a delightfully helpful chap.
For a simple, everyday item buying a mattress for your precious baby can be a terrifying prospect. We’ve all been scared to bits, and rightly so about the risks of cot death.
With this in our heads we were so grateful to the nice chap for his advice. We were buying a cot bed and he guided us through all the mattress options – coil, foam, organic and pocket sprung. He talked us through the pros and cons of each one and we eventually plumped for a good quality pocket sprung mattress. The mattress gave good levels of support and comfort, which for me as a bad backed person was very important. I want my son not to suffer as I have.
Annoyingly for everyone but us, Splodge slept through the night at 6 weeks and soundly bar the odd poorly night ever since. Partly that’s down to his temperament and a good routine, but I reckon sleeping in a comfy bed is up there on what makes him a happy sleeper. He loves our bed too, getting in it for a cuddle with Mummy and Daddy, snuggling and reading a book. Cozy, comfy bedrooms are just good for the soul.
I love my son, he is beautiful. He is excellent company and charming and funny. He is everything I love about me and my husband rolled into one, precious, much lovelier parcel. He is my world.
He is poorly, nothing serious, he’s 2 and there’s a plague of Croup going round nursery, he’s got a nasty, barking cough but he’s fine in himself and bouncing round the place, full of beans and twice as messy.
Normally this wouldn’t be a problem. Normally I’d handle it, distract him, cuddle him, play with him but I’m selfish. I’m going through a period of anxiety and I’m bound up in myself, in my head, I can’t shake the feeling of doom and panic. The loss of control and the fear of spiralling, spiralling like I did a few weeks ago.
So as he bounced off the sofa, tipping toys everywhere, I sat cold, unfeeling, lost in my head and the dark, confidence ripping thoughts negatively running on a loop through my mind. Selfish. Selfish bloody woman.
He turned to me and saw the tears streaming down my numb face. He gazed for a moment and my heart broke as he said “What’s up Mamma?”. He climbed onto my knee and cuddled me, held me tight, my poorly baby comforting me. Selfish. Selfish bloody woman.
“What’s up Mamma?” His face full of concern.
I replied “Mamma doesn’t love herself as much as she loves you.”
There you have it, a lifetime of therapy and an endless prescription couldn’t have fathomed it out any quicker than a toddler with a cough.
I hate myself, my actions, my lack of control, my need for validation from other people. I hate the way I look, the way I sound, how I think, the things that I think. That I’m weak, that others take advantage of that. I hate that I’m like this, I hate that I’m in the grip of it. Because when I’m not I’m a great person, loving, funny, caring, wise. I wish I knew how to stop it, I wish I knew how to love myself. I wish I knew how to stop being a selfish, selfish bloody woman.
