To my darling Noah
I'm so sorry life isn't going to be the charmed one I promised you when you were just a little wriggler in my tummy, but I promise it will be the best life I can give you.
I watched you sleep today after you conked out on the sofa. I thought of the life I had planned for you. You and Ben coming home after your first day of school telling me about the friends you made and the exciting things you learned. All the birthdays with all your friends as you both, of course, would be the most popular kids in your class. Your first day at secondary school, looking so young but still so grown up in trousers and a blazer. You'll probably have the bad shoes and product free hair that all year seven boys seem to sport. You and Ben would both ace your GCSEs and A levels. You would both graduate with honours, and I would be the proudest mum ever, crying her heart out in the crowd. Naturally you quickly land your dream job and probably move out into some fancy apartment with black granite worktops in the kitchen. You send me lots of photos of your many holidays, except the lads holidays. Mummy doesn't need to see photos of that. One day you'll bring a girl with you to one of our many family get togethers. You'll tell me that she's the one. You get married and eventually give me beautiful little red haired grandchildren. Of course, you may be gay and bring home a lovely man and tell me he's the one. You get married and adopt a few cute dogs and live happily ever after. Either way, mummy is happy if you are.
It makes me cry to think that this may not be your life. In my darkest moments I fear that you might never speak. I might never hear you say "I love you mummy". You might never be toilet trained. You might have to go to a special school. You might never make friends. You might never experience true love. You might never have a job. You might never live independently.
I do strive to be more optimistic. We may have caught this early enough to reverse it with the right help. It might not be autism. It might not be global development delay. You might just be a slow starter. I read the social services report last week and it struck me how far you had come since they made their observations. You smile at me a lot more now and make eye contact. You do respond to your name sometimes, and I don't always have to sing the Wheels on the Bus to get your attention. You don't have any sensory issues with noise or light etc. and you're still chilled when your routine is disrupted. You rarely cry or have tantrums and aren't a fussy eater. So maybe they're wrong. Either way, I shall do everything I can to make sure your life is as wonderful as possible and you get every help you need. I would like to say I would move mountains, but mountains are very big and we should probably navigate our way around or over it. I would punch a great shark for you though or kick a bear in the balls should be it be required. That, mummy can do.
It saddened me to realise that all the cute little things you do are probably because of these disorders. Your hand flapping, jumping up and down, trying to spin everything you can get your hands on, laughing at nothing and smiling at nothing. Or maybe these are just quirks that you will grow out of. Maybe my mum is right and it is your great nan that makes you laugh for hours in your cot at night. She passed away the year before you were born. Your nana says you're an old soul so you're more likely to be able to see her than Ben is. Apparently Ben is a brand new soul, which is why he looked permanently surprised during his first year. I don't know if I believe in that kind of stuff, but it is quite a comforting thought.
Of course, I recognise that these are all my worries, my hopes and my dreams. Not yours. None of this makes a blind bit of difference to you. You're completely oblivious. You have no concept of tomorrows or yesterdays, living only in the moment. The things that upset you most are when mummy switches off the television or when you fall off the sofa. I'm thinking about how I feel. It needs to be about what you feel, want and need. You're happy in your own world. You're always smiling and laughing so it seems like a happy place. Maybe mummy should join you in there instead. We would have such a lovely time together.
All my love
Mummy.x
Thursday, 7 July 2016
Wednesday, 9 March 2016
Scaredy Cat
Since I found out I was pregnant in December 2013, I have lived in a state of constant fear. I was scared about how I, somebody who has been unable to keep a house plant alive for more than a fortnight, was going to successfully raise a child by myself.
I was scared on the way to the hospital two weeks later when I was bleeding and was half hoping and half fearing that I was having a miscarriage. Half an hour later I was even more terrified to be told I was expecting twins. I think my exact words were "TWINS! TWINS!! What the fuck do you mean by twins? TWINS?!"
Throughout the entire pregnancy I convinced myself I had lost them. I wouldn't believe otherwise until I had a scan or the midwife reassured me their hearts were beating just fine.
Oddly enough I wasn't scared about giving birth. I was worried that I would poo myself in front of everyone, which I didn't (I had a plan). Being induced was pretty horrific and 20 odd hours into an excruciating labour I was told the boys were in distress and my blood pressure was dropping. You bet your arse I was scared. I had an emergency c-section. I was scared it would hurt. I was scared the doctors were secretly using my intestines as a lasso behind the screen. I was scared the boys wouldn't make it. I was scared I would die. I was scared when my sons didn't cry. I was scared when they were being given oxygen. I was scared when I forgot how to breathe and had to have oxygen.
I was petrified when I came around and realised that I was now a mother to two tiny people. For the first 6 months I lived in fear that my babies would be taken by SIDS.
Constant peeping on them and poking them in the night.
I also live in fear that the boys will be snatched from me by somebody intent on doing them harm. I worry that paedophiles are lurking around every corner. I worry that every tiny red mark that appears on their bodies is meningitis.
If you'd have asked me 3 years ago what my biggest fear was, I would have said clowns or China dolls. Now my biggest fear is that I won't be able to keep my sons safe and protect them from all the evil in the world.
Right now I'm scared. My boys are being referred to a paediatrician to investigate their delayed development, especially Chops who is showing the signs of autism. I'm scared for them, what it could mean. Will they have a normal life? What of all the hopes and dreams I had for them? How will I cope? What can I do to help them? What could I have done to prevent this? Could I have done anything to prevent this? Am I worrying about nothing?
Nothing is worse than the fear of the unknown. I have that fear. But I trust that I have the strength to get us through this. And wine. I also trust in wine to help get us through this.
I was scared on the way to the hospital two weeks later when I was bleeding and was half hoping and half fearing that I was having a miscarriage. Half an hour later I was even more terrified to be told I was expecting twins. I think my exact words were "TWINS! TWINS!! What the fuck do you mean by twins? TWINS?!"
Throughout the entire pregnancy I convinced myself I had lost them. I wouldn't believe otherwise until I had a scan or the midwife reassured me their hearts were beating just fine.
Oddly enough I wasn't scared about giving birth. I was worried that I would poo myself in front of everyone, which I didn't (I had a plan). Being induced was pretty horrific and 20 odd hours into an excruciating labour I was told the boys were in distress and my blood pressure was dropping. You bet your arse I was scared. I had an emergency c-section. I was scared it would hurt. I was scared the doctors were secretly using my intestines as a lasso behind the screen. I was scared the boys wouldn't make it. I was scared I would die. I was scared when my sons didn't cry. I was scared when they were being given oxygen. I was scared when I forgot how to breathe and had to have oxygen.
I was petrified when I came around and realised that I was now a mother to two tiny people. For the first 6 months I lived in fear that my babies would be taken by SIDS.
Constant peeping on them and poking them in the night.
I also live in fear that the boys will be snatched from me by somebody intent on doing them harm. I worry that paedophiles are lurking around every corner. I worry that every tiny red mark that appears on their bodies is meningitis.
If you'd have asked me 3 years ago what my biggest fear was, I would have said clowns or China dolls. Now my biggest fear is that I won't be able to keep my sons safe and protect them from all the evil in the world.
Right now I'm scared. My boys are being referred to a paediatrician to investigate their delayed development, especially Chops who is showing the signs of autism. I'm scared for them, what it could mean. Will they have a normal life? What of all the hopes and dreams I had for them? How will I cope? What can I do to help them? What could I have done to prevent this? Could I have done anything to prevent this? Am I worrying about nothing?
Nothing is worse than the fear of the unknown. I have that fear. But I trust that I have the strength to get us through this. And wine. I also trust in wine to help get us through this.
Tuesday, 23 February 2016
A Day in the Life
People often ask me "how do you do it?" The truth is, as I sit here drinking my second glass of prosecco, I have no idea. I just do because I have to. I just take it one day at a time. The following is an example of a typical day.
I wake up frighteningly early for no apparent reason. I can't hear the boys so I assume they're still asleep. I go into their room so I can gaze adoringly upon them and plan to sneak back into bed for a bit. They're both awake. Sleepy but awake. There will be no sneaking back to bed for me.
First thing on the agenda is a nappy change for the boys. I sit on the sofa, pretending to fiddle with my phone and wait for a boy to stray too close to me. Chops is first to be captured. We go through the usual struggle which ends up with me being kicked in the throat. When he's changed, he climbs off the sofa taking some cushions with him. He throws them on the floor and rolls around on them.
Benny is too clever to allow himself to get caught, so I have to chase him around until I wrangle him on to the sofa. He screams and kicks me. I attempt to calm him down by singing "There's a Hole in the Middle of the Sea". Chops is enchanted by my soulful voice. Benny screams even harder.
Next up is breakfast. Chops watches Baby TV and Benny looks at a book. I make eggy bread and a fruit salad. I wrestle the boys into their highchairs, serve them breakfast and disappear for a quick shower. I return to a remarkably tidy carpet and to Benny rubbing kiwi fruit into his hair.
Next step is getting them dressed. It is every bit as frightening as it sounds. Imagine trying to undress and redress a particularly cantankerous octopus, and its equally arsey mate, and you kind of get the gist. Socks are the worst.
Oh my God, the socks.
Finally I can get myself ready. I haven't washed any of my own clothes for about a month, so I dress in some stuff I was going to give to charity, put on a bit of war paint and I am good to go in less than 5 minutes. Gorgeous.
There is a final wrestling match as I put the boys' coats and shoes on. Of course I win, but it was touch and go for a while.
Boys are stuffed into their pushchair, bags, blankets and bunnies are loaded up. Snack pots are filled and I am absolutely exhausted.
Three and a half hours after waking up, we are off!
First stop is the Post Office. The boys are unusually quiet which I appreciate. Until I turn around and see they were using their snack pots to catapult Hula Hoops across the floor. I scrabble around picking them up and stuff them in my handbag. The financial advisor accosts me and somehow persuades me to make an appointment to discuss life insurance. I didn't have the heart to tell him I don't have any money.
Next stop is The Golden Boot. A couple of weeks ago I bought the boys their first shoes. They were apoplectic and so I said I would come back another day. Today was that day. What was I thinking?! They cried. They tried to escape. Noah turned into a noodle whenever I tried to get him to stand up. There was kamikaze moves off the chair. The assistant bought old bubbles, tried to get them interested in the train. It was awful. The end results? A photo of a gormless, open mouthed Benny with a bubble popping in his face and a morose looking Chops. A third picture has me in it. Looking like a whale in a dress, dazed looking as a boy sprints off in each direction. The latter has been put in a fridge magnet frame and a duplicate property dedicated to "give to nan". Oh joy.
The next hour in the shops passes by in a haze of crying and things being pulled off the shelves. Eventually Chops has a nap but Benny is going strong. My will to live has been decimated and I take the boys home.
Nappy change (see earlier) and lunch (see breakfast) ensue. Then I put the boys in bed for a nap (them) and to sit with my head in my hands for a couple of hours.
Chops wakes first. I take the opportunity to give him a cuddle on the sofa. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it feels like heaven. After 5 minutes or so he bites me on the bloody arm! I'm somewhat shocked and tell him off and it's quite obvious not a single bother was given. He runs off to do whatever it is he likes to do. I go to wake Benny up by tickling his nose. My attempts to cuddle him are rebuffed. So I start cooking dinner. Food is partly eaten and partly worn. Boys are scrubbed and the futile nightly attempt to brush their teeth ends up with them chewing the brushes.
It's an hour until their bed time. Yay! There is a bottle of prosecco in the fridge which has been calling my name.
The daily fight to get the boys into pyjamas ensues. I get battered again. Eventually boys are in bed and I finish tidying up. I go to sort out my handbag and discover the hula hoops from earlier. They were bbq beef flavour. My handbag now reeks of bbq beef.
The time has come! I put my feet up with a glass of wine. It feels amazing. I notice the finger prints all over the TV. I try to un-notice them. It doesn't work so I end up cleaning the TV. And the cabinet. And the windowsill. And then I do some hoovering. And then I remembered that I am supposed to be relaxing tonight.
And here I am still. Trying to summon the energy to go to bed and recharge my batteries so I can do it all again tomorrow.
I wake up frighteningly early for no apparent reason. I can't hear the boys so I assume they're still asleep. I go into their room so I can gaze adoringly upon them and plan to sneak back into bed for a bit. They're both awake. Sleepy but awake. There will be no sneaking back to bed for me.
First thing on the agenda is a nappy change for the boys. I sit on the sofa, pretending to fiddle with my phone and wait for a boy to stray too close to me. Chops is first to be captured. We go through the usual struggle which ends up with me being kicked in the throat. When he's changed, he climbs off the sofa taking some cushions with him. He throws them on the floor and rolls around on them.
Benny is too clever to allow himself to get caught, so I have to chase him around until I wrangle him on to the sofa. He screams and kicks me. I attempt to calm him down by singing "There's a Hole in the Middle of the Sea". Chops is enchanted by my soulful voice. Benny screams even harder.
Next up is breakfast. Chops watches Baby TV and Benny looks at a book. I make eggy bread and a fruit salad. I wrestle the boys into their highchairs, serve them breakfast and disappear for a quick shower. I return to a remarkably tidy carpet and to Benny rubbing kiwi fruit into his hair.
Next step is getting them dressed. It is every bit as frightening as it sounds. Imagine trying to undress and redress a particularly cantankerous octopus, and its equally arsey mate, and you kind of get the gist. Socks are the worst.
Oh my God, the socks.
Finally I can get myself ready. I haven't washed any of my own clothes for about a month, so I dress in some stuff I was going to give to charity, put on a bit of war paint and I am good to go in less than 5 minutes. Gorgeous.
There is a final wrestling match as I put the boys' coats and shoes on. Of course I win, but it was touch and go for a while.
Boys are stuffed into their pushchair, bags, blankets and bunnies are loaded up. Snack pots are filled and I am absolutely exhausted.
Three and a half hours after waking up, we are off!
First stop is the Post Office. The boys are unusually quiet which I appreciate. Until I turn around and see they were using their snack pots to catapult Hula Hoops across the floor. I scrabble around picking them up and stuff them in my handbag. The financial advisor accosts me and somehow persuades me to make an appointment to discuss life insurance. I didn't have the heart to tell him I don't have any money.
Next stop is The Golden Boot. A couple of weeks ago I bought the boys their first shoes. They were apoplectic and so I said I would come back another day. Today was that day. What was I thinking?! They cried. They tried to escape. Noah turned into a noodle whenever I tried to get him to stand up. There was kamikaze moves off the chair. The assistant bought old bubbles, tried to get them interested in the train. It was awful. The end results? A photo of a gormless, open mouthed Benny with a bubble popping in his face and a morose looking Chops. A third picture has me in it. Looking like a whale in a dress, dazed looking as a boy sprints off in each direction. The latter has been put in a fridge magnet frame and a duplicate property dedicated to "give to nan". Oh joy.
The next hour in the shops passes by in a haze of crying and things being pulled off the shelves. Eventually Chops has a nap but Benny is going strong. My will to live has been decimated and I take the boys home.
Nappy change (see earlier) and lunch (see breakfast) ensue. Then I put the boys in bed for a nap (them) and to sit with my head in my hands for a couple of hours.
Chops wakes first. I take the opportunity to give him a cuddle on the sofa. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it feels like heaven. After 5 minutes or so he bites me on the bloody arm! I'm somewhat shocked and tell him off and it's quite obvious not a single bother was given. He runs off to do whatever it is he likes to do. I go to wake Benny up by tickling his nose. My attempts to cuddle him are rebuffed. So I start cooking dinner. Food is partly eaten and partly worn. Boys are scrubbed and the futile nightly attempt to brush their teeth ends up with them chewing the brushes.
It's an hour until their bed time. Yay! There is a bottle of prosecco in the fridge which has been calling my name.
The daily fight to get the boys into pyjamas ensues. I get battered again. Eventually boys are in bed and I finish tidying up. I go to sort out my handbag and discover the hula hoops from earlier. They were bbq beef flavour. My handbag now reeks of bbq beef.
The time has come! I put my feet up with a glass of wine. It feels amazing. I notice the finger prints all over the TV. I try to un-notice them. It doesn't work so I end up cleaning the TV. And the cabinet. And the windowsill. And then I do some hoovering. And then I remembered that I am supposed to be relaxing tonight.
And here I am still. Trying to summon the energy to go to bed and recharge my batteries so I can do it all again tomorrow.
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