The (Virtual) Pages Of My Life

Earlier this morning I was reading a friend’s livejournal, when Connor snatched the mouse from me, clicked some random buttons and brought me to my own livejournal, in particular the “just plain weird” category of my own LJ. I haven’t used LJ regularly for years, the most recent post was from November of 2006 complaining because my heavily pregnant belly was in the way of any lady garden shaving attempts.

I flicked through the posts, there was an intense hatred of Bobby Flynn (that’s still there, just typing his name makes me want to go out and stamp on bugs just to release the rage), there were silly conversations I recalled with my husband and my coworkers, there were posts written by newly married, newly pregnant 20 year old whose primary concern was the fact that someone with stupid hair and more than a passing resemblance to Eric Stolz in Mask was a favourite to win Australian Idol.

I said fuck and didn’t worry about offending my mother, I posted pitures of myself instead of hiding behind the camera – I was hot and pregnant and everyone needed to see it, I wrote posts in the ten minutes between arriving at the office and the clock ticking over to nine and receiving a glare from my boss indicating that I had to start working immediately.

At some point, and not just since Robyn, that confidence has started to dwindle, it made a steady progression downwards until taking a nosedive of Ricki-Lee proportions on the nineteenth of February when I discovered I was about to give birth to a dead baby.

Posts now sit half written in my browser for two weeks just because I couldn’t find the right image to go with them. Declan repeats something funny to me and I stop myself from posting it because it seems disrespectful to write about how funny my kids are when one of them is dead. Connor (finally!) started walking and I never even mentioned it… because Robyn never will.

Dan and I said within days of her birth that we can’t let this define who we are, it’s far easier said than done. I don’t cry about it often any more, but it’s still there, this constant nagging feeling that I should be watching my daughter roll over around now, I should be buying ridiculous amounts of size 00 clothes in purple and I definitely shouldn’t have enough free time to be working on a new business and attending markets at the weekends.

Today is a fresh start, I don’t think I’m going to ever get back to the care free 20 year old (particularly now that Aus Idol’s gone to shit!) but I would like to get back her blogging style. The one without obligation, the one where I don’t linger over posts for weeks and most importantly, one that actually represents who I am right now at this moment in my life, because although at times I’m paddling madly under the water, sometimes I’m hanging out on the sand and just enjoying my kids and the positives that I have in my life. THAT is what I need to remember when I look back at this in five years from now, not how overwhelming the sadness can be.

I think a new shiny blog layout is called for

Only Words

Last week I bit the bullet and got a referral from our GP to go and speak to a Psychologist. He gave me a referral to who I had requested (Declan’s pysch, who announces on his card that he “does big kids too!”), but not before making me do the dreaded “How Close Are You To Jumping Off A Cliff” questionnaire and suggesting that based on my responses I shouldn’t even contemplate getting pregnant for another 18  months.

Then I burst into tears and don’t remember much else of what he said.

I left with my referral, I have an appointment booked in for Friday, and I’m a little bit stumped about it.

I don’t know what there is left to talk about. I feel like I spent the entire first month just talking about it until my jaw ached, there is nothing left to say. Robyn died, I am sad, but I need to keep functioning to look after my two living children.

I cry when I see sleeping newborns. I am jealous of their parents. Because at some point those babies will open their eyes, and mine never did.

I can’t look at ultrasound screens, on telly, on my mum’s forums, I can’t even look at the old sonograms of the boys. Because all I see is the dead upside down baby, with no movement in her chest and a room full of silent people, none of them knowing what to say next.

I can’t watch telly, I don’t want to see the news, I don’t want to see stupid fluff pieces on morning shows, I don’t want to see adverts for products offering “the best protection for your baby”. I was the best protection for my baby.

I can’t sit still and let my thoughts take over, that would be instant doom.

I can’t imagine having a baby. I can visualise my next pregnancy perfectly. I can picture myself running around after the boys with huge belly once again without any hesitation at all. I can’t imagine myself with a newborn, or with three children living under our roof, I am prepared for the death of my fourth child more so than I am for its birth.

I have irrational hatred to people that I consider to be parenting badly. The mother in the cafe mixing up formula, I deserve a child more than her, because I would breastfeed. The parents standing in the same aisle as me in Target, complaining because they can’t find anyone to babysit on Friday night, I deserve a child more than them because I would never leave it, ever.

Don’t even get me started on the emotions I have towards the people that actually ARE parenting badly. Another reason why the news is a no-go area.

I don’t want to pick up her ashes, because then we will have to scatter them, and I will lose the last little bit of her forever.

I’m not ready for another pregnancy yet, but I still sob every time my period starts.

The logic in that one fails me completely.

I am sad. I have moments of uncontrollable emotions, but on a day to day basis I am competent, I am coping well, in fact I even feel far better than I did during my PPD with Declan.

I want to go and see the psychologist and just get him to tell me that this is all normal, that everything I am feeling is what I’m meant to be feeling.

I don’t want to sit down and talk for hours about all that could have been, or why what happened, happened. It doesn’t fix anything, it doesn’t make her come back, it doesn’t even make me feel better, it just forces me to dwell on every emotion.

I just want him to tell me I’m normal, that everything I’m feeling is normal.

An Apology

You know when you get a little distracted and don’t post for a while.

And then your mum comes to visit (with less than a weeks notice!), and of course you shouldn’t be messing around on the internet during the first time you’ve seen her in 18 months.

Then you get sick, and spend two days refusing to leave bed.

And then you agree to do your first ever market and spend every spare moment you have sewing.

Then you take on about 20 custom pieces in the same week, ranging from appliques to full blown quilts.

Then one day in the shower, you realise that you have a little blog sitting out there on the internet, and you wonder how it’s dealing with your unashamed neglect.

You figure that now would be a good time to write something, but it’s been so long, so whatever you write should be suitably epic.

So you wait another week to come up with something.

And nothing comes.

(apart from more custom work, and you start to worry that maybe, just maybe, you may have over stretched yourself)

Sorry little blog. I promise I shall squeeze in a few minutes each day to water and tend to your browning leaves, and together we shall cross our fingers that real life doesn’t interrupt again any time soon.

The Voices Inside My Computer

The internet plays a big part in my life, I met Dan way back when through our respective blogs (although back in the dark ages they were still called “online journals”), most of our family income in generated through our sites and connections we make online, and, as sad as it may seem to most people, pretty much 100% of my friends live online as well.

Yeah, I’m the crazy lady with friends that live inside the computer. There are a myriad of reasons for why I quite like it like this; It allows me to be a lazy friend, there’s no gatherings to attend, no phone calls that have to be made, I can pop up a note one day and say that I’m going to be focusing on other things for a couple of months, and when that’s over I’ll be welcomed back with open arms. I don’t have to make plans for lifts to places, work things out around naps or anything like that, if I need it, there’s usually someone for me to talk to hanging out on the other side of the keyboard.

But the number one reason I love the people that live inside my computer, is that they’re awesome women. They’re women that I’ve spoken to for four years, since we all fell pregnant together with our 2007 babies, people have come and gone, families have grown and break ups have happened. And through all this there’s a solid core of wonderful women who absolutely rock my world in every way imaginable.

This afternoon a parcel arrived on my doorstep. Inside were some toys for Declan and Connor (I now have Mr Potato Head’s facial features scattered across my hallway) and two boxes, one for Dan and one for myself.

Inside Dan’s box was a beautiful silver keyring with Robyn’s name and birthdate on it. Inside mine (which was polkadots, and we all know how much I love polkadots!) was the most beautiful handmade pendant and necklace A little locket with a winged heart on the front and Robyn written on the inside. These women have already done so much, supported me through everything, sent me flowers, cards and donations in Robyn’s name, and now to receive something like this, that they’ve put thought and time into choosing for me and for Dan, I’m just overwhelmed with how wonderful they are.

So this is my big f-you to all the naysayers that insist that online friends aren’t real. I’ve found my biggest support to be the people inside my computer, whether they’re from my March Mamas or complete strangers sharing their experiences online. Whether you’re sitting across a room for someone or sitting at your respective computers, it doesn’t make the emotion and the solidarity any less genuine, and I am blessed to have such a wonderful group of women at my side. When the women I went to college with and who I’ve commiserated on every break up, celebrated every new job or high test score over the last seven years, even keeping in touch with them when I’ve moved to the other side of the world. When they don’t send even the emptiest words of sympathy or regret, and yet when a collection of mothers, who by most people’s standards wouldn’t even be considered “real” friends can take time out of their life to think of me and my family, and to help us heal, I think it says a great deal about what is real and what isn’t.

This was meant to be a wonderful post celebrating how awesome my online mum’s group is, but this has been bubbling over inside me. It really is true what they say about events like this making you realise who your real friends are. I KNOW that they know what has happened, and the only thing I can hope, is that it’s not that they don’t care, it’s just that they don’t know what to say.

Sew Happy

I love sewing. The process of cutting up bits of fabric and putting them back together seems completely insane to some (aka, my husband) but I really can’t think of anything I would rather do with my spare time. I love fabric, I love trying out new techniques and colour combinations, most of all I love the sense of accomplishment when I finish something. Being a mother is such a thankless task, there’s no end point where you can sit back and say that you did okay, sewing gives me that feeling I crave of a job well done.

Of course, if housework gave me that feeling I would probably be richer and my house would be far cleaner, but that’s an ongoing task as well, which is why I avoid it to the best of my ability.

Good Days

When someone asks me how I’m doing I’ll normally answer something along the line of “I have good days and bad days”, even if I feel fine at that particular moment, I’m very aware that if I say I’m fine then people will start to think I’m in denial and not coping. Then if I say I’m not fine then they’ll think I’m having a breakdown and, again, not coping. I have visions of them carting me off to the nuthouse if I say the wrong thing and so I try to remain neutral in what I say to most people. It’s true that I have good days and bad, most of the time I just don’t feel like going into details about which side of the scale I fall on at that particular time.

Maybe I just over think things.

Today was one of the good days. Both of the kids are sick so the house remained fairly calm, Connor slept most of the day, and Declan was content to read and play with his cars instead of spending the day bouncing off the walls.

It felt normal, and normal is all I need right now to consider it a good day

One Month Down

Yesterday was my due date, the magical 40 week mark that I still have yet to hit with any of my pregnancies, it also marked one month since Robyns birth and death.

I guess that officially that should be death and birth, death came before birth for her, which is just an odd concept to wrap your head around.

I’d been dreading the anniversary, was preparing myself to be a wreck for the entire day, but it came and went without a tear shed. Why should one day hurt any more than the previous ones simply because it’s a full month, year or decade. Anniversaries are what we make them, so I made yesterday a celebration of Connor’s 18 month birthday, with cupcakes that spilled out of their wrappers and a bright yellow crown that was too small for his head.

The emotions are different now, the grief and pain isn’t completely overwhelming, it ebbs and flows. Sometimes it’s just a pang, like this morning seeing a pink and black newborn outfit I would have bought, sometimes a scene in a movie will set me off (FYI, when you’ve just lost a child, Kill Bill is probably not advised) it’s like I’m drowning in tears and I need Dan there rubbing my back and helping me to calm down.

I’ve come a long way in a month. For the nine days in between her birth and the funeral I wrote daily in a private journal, it helped me process things. Just reading back on those first few days shows me how far I’ve come, logic and sense have returned.

The overwhelming desire to steal someone’s baby has left and although I think about getting pregnant almost hourly, I also know that’s not going to be a good move for me, mentally or physically, right now.

I no longer feel guilt for walking away and leaving her in the hospital, instead sense has returned and I understand that there wasn’t anything else we could do.

The haze of confusion has made way for a whole new wave of ambition and determination. I was so insistent that this all had to be happening for a reason, something good must come from it, and if that something good is me being a better mother, and more enthusiasm to achieve bigger and better things in my personal goals, then I’m happy with that.

We still have more hurdles to jump over, we got a letter a couple of days ago saying that Robyn’s ashes were ready to be picked up, we need to scatter them, and then the dreaded autopsy results in just under a month. But overall I feel each week my mental state improves a little bit, the individual days, and even hours, are up and down, but if you step back and look at it on a bigger scale, I’m getting there, I don’t think the pain will ever heal, but ever so slowly it’s easing, and that’s all I can hope for right now.

Smile, Though Your Heart Is Breaking

If I come out of the other side of this learning one thing, it’s to truly appreciate what I do have, to enjoy the moments that make me smile and keep me going each day.

Like the love Dan has for the boys and myself.

Connor’s refusal to ever grow up.

Completed projects.

And interruptions

Fast Food Fern

I am slightly obsessed with junk food.

I’m also slightlyfairly overweight.

These two things may or may not be related, but I’m thinking they probably are.

This pregnancy was my hardest and my heaviest. Again, I’m thinking that’s probably related. One of the big goals I’ve set for myself this year, and before we even consider trying to have a fourth baby is to get healthier, get fitter and drop the pounds that I’ve put on through poor food choices and not working hard enough after each baby. I’ve managed to put on 60lbs since Dan and I first met, going from a Australian size 10-12 to a 14-16 and I really didn’t realise how bad I actually looked until I joined in with a weight loss challenge with my online mum’s group and had to take photos in my underwear.

That’s photos OF me in my underwear, not taking photos whilst wearing just underwear, which would be odd yet exciting all at the same time. I propose a movement towards partially nude photographers.

I have back boobs, my bum is barely small enough to fit into my flesh coloured granny panties and I have bingo arms to rival my Nans. I don’t look, or feel, like a 23 year old.

I’ve been working hard on eating better and eating less since giving birth, and I’ve already lost eight pounds, but I feel the need for a definite challenge.

And this is where the fast food comes in.

I vow to not eat any fast food or takeaway until my 24th birthday, on the 21st of August.

That means no KFC, no takeaway pizza (homemade is allowed), no McDonalds, no kebabs, no Chinese, none of it.

Sushi is allowed, as is going out to a proper sit down restaurant or cafe. But every single meal we eat at home must be homecooked.

Our last pizza was on the 21st of February, making it an even six months without take out. I’m hoping this is long enough to completely put me off the taste of fried food and hopefully get me out of the habit of ordering out when I can’t be bothered to cook.

I also worked out, based on our average weekly spend, that this should save us a little bit over $1,000, which of course will go directly into my Lime Green Sofa Fund.

I am putting this out there in public so I can be held accountable (and also because Dan doesn’t think I can do it, in fact he finds the entire idea of me not eating KFC for six whole months hilarious – which is probably is, but damnit, I’ve promised the internet something now so I have to stick to it.

Coping Mechanisms

One of the main triggers of me going a little loopy is when there is too much inside my head. Brain dumps are my best friend, I need to hold my head over a sheet of paper and let everything that’s inside it fall out of my ear and allow itself to become more organised somewhere other than my skull. The house is always liberally scattered with sheets of paper with random scrawlings, doodles and numbers that at one point made sense to me, but now out of context, and usually with the same thought spread over different scraps of paper, they may as well be written in another language.

Inspired by this beautiful diary on Kikki.K I have resolved to empty my brain on a daily basis and give those currently wandering thoughts a home where I can make a little more sense of them. Unfortunately, I know that if I drop $30 on a book with nothing but numbers and a pretty cover I’m going to freak out about using it, the perfectionist in me will rise up and it will sit untouched forever more.

Instead I’ve gone for the McValue meal version: one $3 Derwent sketchbook and a sharpie, no new notebook=neat writing guilt, no beating myself up if I miss a day, just focusing on making my mental state a little more stable and clearing up the debris that is currently fighting for attention within my cranium.

I do hope that 2010 will be 365 days of awesome for me and for our little family. Although in comparison to the mental clusterfuck that has been 2009, even a mediocre year will look like peaches and cream. I know that nothing will magically become wonderful in three days time when the clock ticks over, but  I can’t help but feel excited about the fresh start, and hopefully this little book will be part of it.