Category: The Me stuff

Infertility and PND

I’ve been toying with a question for a while that I don’t think there would ever be a definitive answer for: Is the occurrence of PND in Infertility Survivors higher than in Moms than managed to fall pregnant naturally*?

Here’s some of what I went through emotionally and still do, the rest I have thankfully managed to either forget or block out.

The first thing I always say about my pregnancy with Daniel is that I was in denial about being pregnant for most of it.  I underestimated the complete mind-fuck that was IVF and I never really gave myself the permission to sit back and relish the fact that it worked, first time nogals.

With IVF your hormones are all over the show, you vacillate between wanting to tell everyone and no-one what is going on and then, when it works, you have to decide whether you want to disclose immediately that you are pregnant or not.  I think an IVF pregnancy actually lasts for 11 months: 1 month to plan (best case scenario), 1 month to execute and 9 months of being pregnant if all goes well.  Our bodies were built to carry a baby for 40 weeks, but when we go through fertility treatment we put an enormous amount of additional emotional strain on ourselves that lingers way after we give birth.

When Daniel came home I had no idea what to do (like any new parent!) and the weight of the responsibility I felt was enormous.  I felt like I had wanted this baby SO badly, I had better take care of it properly.

As a result I didn’t feel that blissful or smug about being a Mother as I have heard some of my friends say, I just felt petrified beyond belief.

Looking back over being a parent for the last 6 odd years I see how that feeling has never really left me, it has often robbed me from enjoying the simplicity of just BEING with my children.  I often talk/write about how wonderfully easy Etienne’s relationship is with the kids and I realize now that I’m still carrying that exaggerated burden of responsibility with me.

I’m reluctant to do something without them just for myself (like go to the hairdresser for 2 hours on a Saturday), I feel like I have to WANT to be with them 24/7 when I’m not at work.  I wished to have them here, how could I dare to want to be without them?

I sometimes feel stuck in a evil cycle where I don’t want to fight with them, but then I get so cross when they misbehave and then I feel terrible for getting cross.

I hope to think that they are well-adjusted and happy children, but in many ways I think I put a lot more pressure on our kids because I so desperately want to get it right.  Besides my natural tendency toward OCD’ness of course, besides the fact that I was a prime candidate for PND anyway due to a history of depression, but I do think surviving infertility added to the mix for me.

Did/Do you have PND?  What is/was your experience? Did you muddle through or get help?  How are you doing now?

*Disclaimer: I am by NO means suggesting that PND is worse for Moms that conceive naturally, it is a very real and very scary thing to go through.

A very serious question about skincare

Now that I’ve lost a little of the gazillion kilogrammes I piled on over the last 7 years I’ve been taking a long hard look at myself in the mirror for a change.

I’m noticing a certain crinklyness in (especially!) my neck and on my eyelids and I realise that being in denial over it isn’t going to help.  Also, summer is almost here and I can’t walk around wearing scarves forever. Yes 4.0, I see you waving from over there where January looms, I’m not scared at all.  But a girl’s gotta look good if you know what I mean.

BK (before kids) I was a Gatineau and Clarins girl, AK (after kids) I would do the walk of shame past the Gatineau counter in Dis-Chem, straight to the formula and nappy aisle.  This made me very sad for a very long time, but it was all for a good cause and I certainly don’t think there is anything wrong with the things you buy on the shelves of the supermarkets.  They served me very well for a very long time.

I just think my skin needs a little more these days and clearly plastic surgery isn’t an option for me right now (although my boobs are looking very worse for wear, I must say.  Hang in there babies, Mama hasn’t forgotten about you!).

What I would like to know is this: what products do you use that you absolutely cannot live without?  As in, which brand do you use for your skin, and if you have a slightly (cough) older mature skin, what would you suggest?  Please, I’m not playing on the Babor and Gatineau fields anymore, but I’m sure there are products out there that are good for my skin, good for the environment and easy-ish on my pocket.

I would ideally like to build up from nothing to a range over a period of a few months and I’m looking to spend about 200 odd SA Ront per product.

Help please?

 

Love to hate

And you think I have issues?

I don’t know about you lot, but I am officially a stress eater.

I’ve been on a marvelous eating plan and have shaken off some of the gazillion kilograms I gained pre-kids, pre-Daniel IVF hormone induced craze, post Daniel, pre Twins, post Twins and post-post Twins sleep deprivation comfort eating.  Not to mention the depression lets-stuff-things-in-our-mouth-because-life’s-a-bitch kilos.

I hesitate to talk about losing weight as I’ve been in a rather abusive relationship with the scale the last, oh, 20 years or so.  I’m also in the habit of losing and gaining the very same 5 kilos once a year and then adding on a few more just for good measure.

As part of this marvelous eating plan you are weighed every 2 weeks and you have to tell them what you have eaten, every meal, every day.  Let me tell you, when you start writing that shit down it gets real.  You really start noticing things about yourself and about the things you eat (and drink!!), when and why.

Mostly I have noticed when I’m feeling stressed, tired or insecure I graze scoff stuff food in my mouth eat.  I’m fine at work, but the minute I get home and I open the fridge or start packing stuff for the kids for school or Etienne sits down with his packet of chips at night its tickets, especially if I’ve had a rough day at work or I have come home to mammammammammammammamma from the minute I put my foot in the door until the kids are eventually fast asleep.  I’m not a big fan of chocolate, but do not let me anywhere near anything remotely salty or these cookies I made last week.  Those were a monumental error in judgement, or so my waist alleges.

I’ve also learnt that when I have something really stressful going on I’m often fine during that period, it’s 2 or 3 days later when my body wakes up and I need to eat everything that’s not bolted down.

I follow a very thought provoking (and beautifully simple) blog by Leo Babauta about Zen Living and I found this post in my reader that really made me think about my relationship with food.  Before you get all angst ridden about how to change a monumentally messed up relationship of any kind you might want to read his posts about changing habits.  I love how he breaks down things that are fundamentally hard for us to change because we go on a mission to re-invent ourselves in one fell swoop and then hate ourselves for failing.  Go on, the man talks a lot of sense.

Except for sharing a toothbrush when you are travelling, Etienne didn’t like that idea one little bit.  How very selfish of him.

If you could change one habit today, what would it be?

At Seventeen

After the concert the other night I ended up having an exchange with a school friend that started out about people who, as I (annoyed at the time) put it on FB  “have an unfounded superiority complex, 20 odd years later”.  This exchange made me think about how we ended up turning out, the Class of ’90.  (Yes, I’m THAT old, 40 lurks gleefully and I’m barreling toward it, arms wide open)

Call it existentialism, call it misguided nostalgia for those simple days of not having any responsibility bar not falling pregnant and PLEASE just pass Matric well enough to get into Varsity, but I’m thinking about getting from school to where I am now.

I’m trying to remember what I wanted for myself, what my dreams were.

I do remember wanting to write (tick) and wanting to make a difference (half-tick).  I also remember wanting desperately to feel loved and accepted and give love in return without manipulation (tick). (Yes, I have issues, big ones)

I don’t remember ever thinking about one day having actual children of my own, apart from “one day when I have children I will NOT be like my mother”.  I remember wanting a career in some unknown something and loving psychology, even though I studied law.  I recall knowing going to University was expected of me and how we looked down our noses at people who went to Technicon.  How wrong we were.  That is probably my only big “fail”, not finishing my degree, but it did lead me to other wonderful things.

And then I started wondering…

What would my 17-year-old self think of the person I have become today?  Would I have made myself proud?  Would I be someone to look up to and aspire to be like?  Are those desires I had for myself still relevant and valid or do they sometimes stand in the way of being a better me?

I don’t think I’m doing too badly, for starters I like myself a LOT more than I did at school (and even 12 months ago), saggy boobs, stretch marks, big mouth and all.  My 17-year-old self would hopefully not run screaming from my 39-year-old self.  I do think my 17-year-old self would be a little confused at the concept of having a career only to want to compromise it by not working full-time because of the children I didn’t consider back then.  At that age I certainly didn’t contemplate marriage/children/work happily co-existing.  I still battle with it, but we are at a cease-fire at the moment.

What would your 17-year-old self think about you today?  How would you measure up?

ps. I have been thinking about this post for a couple of days now and remembered a Janis Ian song in the shower this morning.  I used to listen to A LOT of Janis Ian.  Her lyrics are like old friends I haven’t seen in a very long time.

The song is called At Seventeen, and here are the lyrics:

I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
In high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth
And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say come dance with me
And murmured vague obscenities
It isn’t all it seems
At seventeen
 
A brown eyed girl in hand me downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
Said, Pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve
And the rich relationed hometown queen
Married into what she needs
A guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly
Remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
Indebentures of quality
And dubious integrity
Their small town eyes will gape at you in dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received
At seventeen
 
To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
The world was younger than today
And dreams were all they gave for free
To ugly duckling girls like me
We all play the game and when we dare
To cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say, come dance with me
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me
At seventeen
 

The Girl I Used to Be

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There’s a lot going on in my head right now, I’m thinking about things I would love to write about but probably shouldn’t but I might anyway. We’ll see.

I’m feeling like there’s just not enough of me to go around and that somehow it’s all my fault for not being completely in control. OCD much?

Don’t worry, I can see you shaking your heads at me behind your phones and computers. (Yes! You!) Move along, there’s nothing here to see..

Someone in my team sent me this poem recently by Rowena K. Lewis and it really hit home when I came across it again today. (I googled her, but I couldn’t find much about her except for the fact that she died in 2007 and that this poem has appeared on several blogs)

Enjoy!

She came tonight as I sat alone
The girl I used to be….
And she gazed at me with her earnest eye
And questioned reproachfully;

Have you forgotten the many plans
And hopes I had for you?
The great career, the splendid fame,
all the wonderful things to do?

Where is the mansion of stately height
With all its gardens rare?
The silken robes that I dreamed for you
And the jewels in your hair?

And as she spoke, I was very sad
For I wanted her pleased with me…
This slender girl from the shadowy past
The girl that I used to be.

So gently rising I took her hand
And guided her up the stairs
Where peacefully sleeping, my babies lay
Innocent, sweet and fair.

And I told her that these are my only gems,
and precious they are to me;
That the silken robes is my motherhood
Of costly simplicity.

And my mansion of stately height is love,
And the only career I know
Is serving each day in these sheltered walls
For the dear ones who come and go

And as I spoke to my shadowy guest,
She smiled through her tears at me.
And I saw the woman I am now
Pleased the girl I used to be

The Woe Post

You know when you haven’t blogged in so long you feel like you don’t know where to start?  I’m there.

I was flat on my back for 4 days last week with bronchitis; I don’t think I’ve been that ill since I was pregnant with the girls.  I think I just needed the rest as well, June was a very stressful month.

After so long at home and then the weekend going back to work on Monday was hard on my heart (over and above the chaos of not being at work for most of the week) and I missed my babies like mad.  Much as I love my job, I wish I had a couple of hours extra with my kids every day.  I bought Daniel some Afrikaans language and Mathematics exercise books last weekend that he is very interested in, but there’s so little time every day!  He also started the recorder this term, but we battle to make the time to practice.  Etienne is very good and wants to help, but of course I feel like a failure to accept the help.

We had a lovely afternoon with the ladies at House of Thembiso for Mandela Day on Wednesday and I got to hold and bath an awesome little 2 month old guy that is waiting for placement.  I left feeling really sad that I didn’t have more time to spend there.  But I did go home and start work on a crochet blanket for a baby.  That I can do at night.

We also employed a new domestic lady and it’s not going too well, it seems we have a major personality clash.  Roll on the self-flagellation. (how’s that for middleclass problems?)

All of this left me in a pretty crappy mood this week that I may or may not have taken out on everyone around me and in no mood to write happy blog posts, so excuse me if you got in the way of my terrible mood.

In fact, I’m feeling so sorry for myself and so bad about my atrocious behavior this week I almost wept when I found the lyrics to Alanis Morissette’s Everything and sent them to Etienne.  It sums up perfectly how I feel at the moment:

“Everything”

I can be an asshole of the grandest kind
I can withhold like it’s going out of style
I can be the moodiest baby and you’ve never met anyone
Who is as negative as I am sometimes

I am the wisest woman you’ve ever met.
I am the kindest soul with whom you’ve connected.
I have the bravest heart that you’ve ever seen
And you’ve never met anyone
Who’s as positive as I am sometimes.

You see everything, you see every part
You see all my light and you love my dark
You dig everything of which I’m ashamed
There’s not anything to which you can’t relate
And you’re still here

I blame everyone else, not my own partaking
My passive-aggressiveness can be devastating
I’m terrified and mistrusting
And you’ve never met anyone as,
As closed down as I am sometimes.

You see everything, you see every part
You see all my light and you love my dark
You dig everything of which I’m ashamed
There’s not anything to which you can’t relate
And you’re still here

What I resist, persists, and speaks louder than I know
What I resist, you love, no matter how low or high I go

I’m the funniest woman that you’ve ever known
I’m the dullest woman that you’ve ever known
I’m the most gorgeous woman that you’ve ever known
And you’ve never met anyone
Who is as everything as I am sometimes

 

Sick? Who’s got time to get sick?

So I’m sitting in my office today wondering about when you go to the doctor with a cold thingymajig.

And do I have a cold or is it flu.

And knowing that, if I go to the doctor, I’m going to leave with a script for AB’s.

And you probably know by now how much I loathe AB’s.

Maybe it will just go away.

Which it probably would if I could spend the next 24 hours in bed.

Which I can’t.

And yet, here I am.

I mean, I’m not ready to fall down or anything.

But a nap right now would be friggin AWESOME.

Why is it that us Moms don’t allow ourselves to feel sick?  For me it’s the guilt of seeing Etienne run around by himself trying to juggle children, entertaining children, feeding children, reading to children, dressing children.  We are a team, I would be letting the side down.  Moms can’t ever be seen to be letting the side down, can we?

Can we?

Have I mentioned I would really like a nap roundabout now?

I think I shall go and have a little lie-down.

Over. And. Out.

PS: I take no resposibility for any spelling errors.

Just call me SuperMom and then smack me with a wet fish.

After last night and this morning I have new-found respect for single parents.

I managed to get the kids up, mostly fed, dressed, packed lunchboxes, brushed teeth, combed hair, made beds, tidied the kitchen, pastry for mince pie out the freezer, switched off lights and heaters, switched on the alarm and out the door, kids in the car, bang on time.

We also achieved all of this in fine spirits without a single tear being shed.  I dare say we had ourselves a fair amount of giggles too.  And Daniel loved that the tooth mouse remembered his money AND ate his cheese AND was quite generous because it is such a big tooth.

I do however not think that this is something I could do singlehandedly every day, especially because I didn’t sleep very well last night.  I’m not easy to scare, but was awake a lot during the night listening for funny sounds despite the alarm being on.

One thing:  I’m still so pumped with adrenaline I’m having the most productive (and inordinately downright weird) day at work.  And the rest of the housework awaits when I get home, but that we can manage for now.  I’m just really really annoyed at the thought of probably having to replace her, but now that the dust has settle a little I really just don’t think we have much of a choice.  I get the chills just thinking of the horrible possibilities, as much as I wish I could send her to rehab or something.  I need our support structure to be running smoothly, if only so I don’t sit and worry at work and that I know our kids are safe and in good hands at ALL times.

I am really not looking forward the really hard conversation we are going to have to have with her tonight, but Etienne will be there, so it will all be good.

If you want to have a good chuckle, go and have a look at Tracy’s comment on yesterday’s post. Well worth it, thanks Tracy!!

The Chocolate Confession

I was going start off by apologizing for being a little odd and then I thought DUH, I AM odd. And proud of it.

So. I’m just going to come out and say it: I don’t particularly like chocolate.

I don’t dislike chocolate, I’m not THAT odd, I just won’t walk down the chocolate aisle and drool over the chocolates or get the sads because I really shouldn’t buy chocolate. I would however get stuck in the chips (crisps), nuts and chevra * aisle. This has thank goodness rolled down to our kids and they don’t particularly bug us whenever we hit the aisle of death at Woollies, waiting to pay.

But yesterday I was waiting to pay and I thought, sjoe, I could really do with one of those little Caramello Bears. Not too much chocolate, just right. So I bought one for R3.99.

I hustle on back to my desk, have my lunch and mid-afternoon I remember about the Caramello Bear and lean back in my chair in anticipation of that heavenly caramel/chocolate taste.

I tear open the wrapper.

I open it.

And it’s gone all white and yucky on the inside.

Very disappointed I first set it aside and then realize that I was quite looking forward to that little chocolate, so I decide to take a walk back to the shop to see if they will exchange it.

Yes, no problem, they will find me another one. Luckily I offer to open the next one at the counter and it’s the same story with that one and the several others they bring, the whole box must have been damaged.

No worries, can they bring me the slightly bigger caramel chocolate and off they go. Oops, sorry, no can do, none in the shop but look, they have the 100g caramel slab. I am horrified. What on earth am I going to do with an entire slab of chocolate? But hey, I thought, they went through all that effort to help the least I can do is pay in the odd R5.00 for more than double more chocolate, how’s that for a saving! Besides, I’ll just hand out the rest at the office.

I gave 4 blocks to someone and somehow the rest vanished.

I have absolutely no idea how it happened, but I’m sure the circumference of my waist will remind me of it soon…

* that chevra link is for the healthy version. The original version is decadent as sin, which makes it irresistable of course.

Things I’m afraid to tell you

I have recently found some really awesome overseas blogs (mostly via Pinterest of couse), amongst which Creature Comforts and she has this post up today about “Things I’m afraid to tell you”.  In a nutshell she mobilized a lot of bloggers to talk about the things they are too scared to blog about and it really hit home for me.

I have been fiddling with a blog post for a while now and for some reason just haven’t been able to bring myself to post it.

It’s about depression.  And a shrink.  And how I often view myself in relation to the world.

My friends regularly joke and call me Martha and I am in equal parts flattered, mortified (I mean, isn’t Martha just a teeny weeny little bit naff?) and horrified.

I’m horrified because I feel like such a fake.  I always feel like there is SO much more that I should be doing.

I don’t spend enough time with my family.

I don’t play with my children enough.  I’m not comfortable with the playing bit and I know it has a lot to do with being an absolute control freak and not being able to let go.  There’s this big wide barrier between being Mom and just being silly and not taking everything so bloody seriously.

I constantly feel like I am the “lesser” parent.  Like it’s a lot harder for me to do things that is second nature to Etienne.  I get that I’m better at some stuff but sometimes I battle to remember what that “stuff” is as our roles are very intertwined and we don’t parent like we were raised in that strict Male/Female way.  I acknowledge that it’s not a competition and I prefer things the way they are as my husband is too awesome for words, but I still have an emotion that needs to be dealt with.

It’s like this: when your toddler falls you have a choice: you can choose to make a big fuss about it or you could play it down, or have a laugh about it before they cry.  And as they get older those “falls” become disappointments or hurt caused by other people and Etienne is really great at teaching the kids that it’s not the end of the world whereas I just take it too personally.  I so hope they listen to him and not me.

I went through a really bad patch last year where I was emotionally absent from my life and I’m reclaiming feelings and joy and confidence and striving to really be involved in my own life.  I try to make the time to really look deep into the eyes of the ones I love every single day, with varying degrees of success.

I also have a lovely shrink.  He rocks.  He has literally changed my world over the last few months.  I love being able to not appear perfect and be a little fragile and a little broken and have someone just listen to all the noise in my head.  It really puts things into perspective.  If you’ve been thinking about it, but haven’t taken the leap, just do it.

So, there you have it.  The things I’ve been afraid to tell you.

If you decide to also do a post about it, please leave me a comment with the link?