The magic of...

I love Christmas time. I love the hectic wrapping at the last minute, and the fact that there is so much to do in a very short time. I love that I can shop for gifts at midnight. I love watching the hordes of frazzled people hurrying along, towing their children, who really should have been in bed hours ago. I love the smell of Christmas. The energy of excitement is palpable.

Is there anything more magic when you're a small child than running through a Christmas tree farm? Where the trees are so thick you don't know which way is out, but that doesn't matter because you know if you just close your eyes, a tiny wood nymph will appear to lead you through the maze...

Children glow at this time of year. Watching Ashden as the Christmas tree was brought inside, hearing Connah tell me every morning when he wakes up "There are only this many sleeps left" as he holds up his little fingers - they are glowing.

It's Christmas eve, I am at my parents house, my boys are both sleeping, and Mark has taken off in the fire engine with my father and his friends to celebrate Christmas eve by blowing up airbags. (Where do a bunch of middle aged men (and Mark) acquire enough airbags to make for an entertaining evening of exploding stuff? Not to mention how or why.... I fear a few beers were involved.... ) Ah Christmas...., fire engines, explosions, and beer.... what more could a guy ask for?

And so I sit, under the twinkle of Christmas tree lights, listening to a Christmas movie that's playing on T.V, and smelling the Christmas cookies that Zoe is baking. All I need now is a hot-buttered rum to complete my Christmas atmosphere...I think I'll google a recipe now :)

Merry Christmas!


xox

Take back the night....

I love the night. Quite possibly due to my slight aversion to sunlight. (Yes Zoe, I said "slight". :p)
There is something about the energy after the sun goes down that has always appealed to me. It is calm. It is quiet. It sparkles with possibility.

Then I had children, and the night has become a battle ground.

It all kicks off with the newborn phase.... feeding and/or settling a baby for about 70% of the time which would have usually be put to good use by sleeping.

Next is the teething stage (Usually just follows straight on from the newborn stage.) This involves long bouts of screaming, followed by extremely cute tricks designed to entice you to play in the middle of the night, and then, more screaming.

The "I've just learned to walk/crawl/talk/climb/jump

ect, and cannot possibly sleep while there is so much new information in my head," stage

The sickness stage, which if you happen to be one of my boys, hits at least once a month and just overlaps a separate sleeping issue.

The move from the cot to a bed, when they figure out that there isn't anything trapping them anymore, and they are free to spring from their former prison and roam the house at half past ridiculous.

There are a hundred more that I know I've been through, but we are on day four of the latest issue, and my brain function is down to the stage that I have the concentration level of an A.D.D goldfish.

I am now very aware of why sleep deprivation is an effective torture technique.

This is the "Stay in your own bed" issue. Why are other peoples beds so much more appealing than your own when you're three? (Rhetorical question. I do know why.... doesn't make it any less frustrating though.)

In the last three days I have averaged about 3 hours of broken sleep per night. The rest of the time has been spent convincing a screaming Connah that he needs to stay in his own bed, and then stalking through a pitch black house trying to hunt him down and return him to his room when he sneaks out after he thinks I'm asleep.

One night, I can do. It actually make me a bit hyperactive, like I've had fifteen coffees followed by an adrenalin rush of some sort. The second, I'm slightly worn out, but still perfectly able to function. By the third day, I'm a bit of an emotional mess. I've had a lot of those "I've just spilled some sugar, and have absolutely no idea what to do, so I'll just stand here and stare at it" moments today.

I have been given all advice from "Just let him sleep in your bed... he'll grow out of it eventually." to "Put a lock on the outside of his room." But, as always, I will ignore everybody and just do what I decide is right.

It is quite daunting to think that potentially, I have years more disturbed nights ahead of me. Daunting, but entirely acceptable. I signed on for this when I decided to have children, and if they need me to stay up with them for weeks on end to help them ride out their sleepless nights, then that is what I will do.


So for now, the night belongs to them, it is my gift to them until they no longer need it. Only then will I take it back, and have the quiet, calm, sparkly nights that I vaguely remember.




xox

The colour of Life....

The Attack has learned to walk.

He has been able to walk for about 3 months, but would only ever do it if he was too distracted to realize. He still refuses to talk, but we're now working out some basic signs/noises, and he is able to communicate quite effectively using this method:

"yumyumyumyum" means "Give me whatever edible item you have on your person, or within your reach."

"ahhhhh" means "Please bring that furry animal/teddy/blanket closer so I can mush my face in it."

Pointing and grasping ineffectually at the air means "There is a drink bottle somewhere within my line of sight - find it, and fetch it for me."

"Wow!" (or more accurately, "EOW!") Means "I can see something awesome, you must admire it with me at once."


We are on week three of his anger management program, and it seems to be getting good results.
He will tolerate being in the same room with people he doesn't know well now, as long as they don't try to touch him.
His uncles can even say hello without him screaming in their faces like a little psychotic banshee.
Doctors still freak him out, (but that's probably because they always try to touch him.) as does anyone wearing a hat / helmet / sunglasses ect. And if he's handed a toy that was not the specific one he was after, he will bat at it with both his tiny hands like a drunk girl in a cat fight whilst making a rather irritating "eeeeeee" noise, but again, much better than the uncontrollable screaming that he used to do.

One day I will hunt down every person who told me that second children were much easier to raise than the first born, and flick them right between the eyes. Hard.

This is not easier. This is much, much harder, which makes overcoming some of the challenges that much more rewarding.

Ashden is everything green. He is earth and grass, granny smith apple candies and those mints that are almost too hot to eat. A dew drop sitting on a leaf, and a forest at dawn. Vital and alive, with that touch of tang that you know means trouble, but still makes you grin like an idiot every time you see him.

He will be the child who just has to go head first down the slide, who will refuse to eat for three days straight because I won't give him ice cream for breakfast, that charming child who calls out: "Mummy, why is that lady so fat?" at the supermarket....

He is reckless, stubborn and brutally honest.

He is only one. God help me when he's a teenager.



xox

Into The Breach - part two....

I have done it. I have enrolled Connah in a childcare center two days a week. (days is a pretty loose term here, he's going for three hours, twice a week.)
We had a few transition days last week, where I stayed with him to get him used to the idea, and I officially left him there for his first day at 8.55am this morning.

This feels wrong. I'm a mess. It's 9.32am and I'm counting down the minutes until 10 so that I can call to see how he's doing.

I know that there are things he needs to learn that I can't teach him, because I will never see him as an ordinary person. He will always be a living ball of glowy sunshine to me. But he probably needs to know that other people will not see him that way. They will ignore him, and they will be nasty to him. And I'm not supposed to protect him from that forever. Wrong.

13 minutes.

The worst part about this whole situation is that I have done this. I have deliberately put him in a situation that I know will cause him pain. The fact that it's for the greater good, and he will probably really enjoy it eventually is irrelevant at this point. I can not cut him without ripping myself to shreds. I seem to take on his emotions so completely, that even as my logical adult brain knows it's only three hours, my child empathizing brain believes it may as well be forever.

9 minutes.....

Horrid things are running through my head.... If he hurts himself, will he just curl up in a ball on the floor because he doesn't want anyone to touch him? If he needs to go to the bathroom, will he be able to ask someone, or will he have an accident? If he's crying really hard, will he vomit? He still does this sometimes and he will freak out if he vomits....

2 minutes.....

Screw it, I'm calling....

According to the lovely receptionist lady, he is baking. And content for now. You would think this would make me feel better, and it does - marginally. But there is still two hours left... a lot can happen in two hours....
To think I'm going to have to do this all over again in two years with Ashden is emotionally exhausting. One at a time...

1 hour 52 minutes to go......




xox

Entering the "Why?" era....

Last week Connah discovered the word "why?" Since then, I don't think two minutes have elapsed without hearing his little voice asking for the purpose of something.

I am frustrated.

Not with him. He is not doing this to annoy me, he is genuinely interested in how everything works, and as his main source of information, of course he looks to me for the answers.

No, I am frustrated with myself for not knowing everything.

In my endeavor to remain honest with him, "I don't know" and "maybe" have become a frequent part of my vocabulary. Usually used together, as I don't like to just leave him with "I don't know." eg:


Connah: "Why is that man getting in his car?"

Me: "So that he can drive somewhere."

Connah: "Why?"

Me: "Because wherever he's going might be too far to walk."

Connah: "Why?"

Me: "Because when somewhere is far away, it might take all day to walk there, because walking is slow, but driving is fast, so if he drives, it will only take a short time."

Connah: "Where's he going?"

Me: "I don't know.... maybe to his friends house."


This happens fifty times a day.

Ahh the realm of why... One of the many challenges of parenthood that I knew was coming, and yet was still totally unprepared for when it slammed into my face.

As frustrating as it can be at times (when I'm tripping over my words trying to explain why it's important to pee in the toilet as opposed to the bath..."But they both have holes for the pee to go down Mummy...") It's making me view things from a childlike perspective, making me aware of things that as an adult, I have never thought to question. It's all a bit awesome really.

Sometimes I like to ask him questions... just to see what's going through his little mind, and his answers never fail to fascinate me:

Me: Why is it raining?
Connah: "Because the sun sucked up all the puddles and then spat them out again." (I was quite impressed with this one :)

Me: Why do you have little red spots on your leg?
Connah: "I don't know... maybe a monster bit me. A blue one. Yesterday."

Me: Why do cats have fur?
Connah: "For boys to pat."

The flawless logic of a child. Awesome :)


xox

A message for Aisling....

Where are you?

I don't know you. And although watching your story haunts me, I have become fixated on it. I don't know your favorite colour, or your favorite food. I don't know if you like bugs, or just like to squish them. I don't know if you are scared of the dark.
What I do know is that you have made us all hug our own children a little tighter, check on them just one more time at night. You have made us all very grateful for what we still have.

Where are you?

I look at your mother and my heart bleeds out all over the floor. The way she looks now is the embodiment of the thing all parents fear most. A vital part of her is missing and can only be restored if you are returned to her safe.

Where are you?

In three days you have become this countries obsession. You are the lesson that we should never have needed to learn: cherish what you love, because it can be torn from you at any moment. We wait to hear something, and we hope. We hope, because we know it could just as easily have happened to us, that some little twist of fate chose you instead. And if it had been us, we would be hoping for a miracle. You need to be our miracle.

Please come home.

xox

Lessons....

Ash Attack is not sleeping. Maybe there's a developmental thing going on here or something, because it doesn't seem to worry him much. He is just awake.
It's 3am and I hear "hehehe" coming from his room. I go in and he is just walking around his bed. Just walking. Doesn't want anything, just awake.

This has been giving me a lot of time extra time, as I can't sleep while he is awake.
A couple of nights ago, while listening to him singing through the baby monitor at 4.27am, I came across one of the blogs I wrote while I was pregnant with him, and thought I'd post it here:


Things I've learned since having a child:

1: Breastfeeding does not come naturally for some.

Before having my son I was told romanticized stories by the older female relatives in my life about the "wonderful bonding experience" that breastfeeding was. While not entirely convinced, I still decided to go ahead with it, mainly because of the added health benefits, but also because of this magical bonding. What did I get instead? Pain. Screaming. Exhaustion from feeding up to 16 times a night. There was no time for bonding, I was just grateful he wasn't crying for ten minutes. I lasted about a month before introducing a bottle, and that's about the time the bonding kicked in.... possibly because I was in such a zombified state before that that I was incapable of most human emotions.
Also, breastfeeding in public? Now, I am not at all opposed to other people doing it. I am just not comfortable doing it, something about being half naked while surrounded by complete strangers seems a bit unsettling to me. And before anybody goes down the "It's the most natural thing in the world" path, I'd just like to say that going to the bathroom is pretty natural, and I'm not planning on doing that in public either.


2: The human ability to cope is virtually limitless.

I remember when I was sick pre-child. I would stay in bed all day and feel like if I had to get up for any reason at all, I would just die. Now, not only do I get out of bed (At some un-godly hour no less because children have no concept of "sleeping in") but I clean dishes, do washing, and make bottles and snacks, I sing and dance and get down on the floor to play. Granted, some of this activity is interspersed with bouts of vomiting, and as soon as Connah goes down for a nap, so do I, but I get it done because I have to.

3: The world is a terrifying place.

Now, I don't believe that the world is either good or bad, I kinda just think it's neutral, sometimes bad things happen to good people, and you take what life throws at you and deal with it. This was fine when it was just me, but now that I have a child, when I think of everything that could go wrong, the world turns into a dark twisty evil place and I can't believe I ever let him leave my sight. There are kidnappers lurking behind every corner, all dogs are waiting for the opportunity to attack, every stranger is a potential pedophile, the car is just a moving death trap. I could go on and on here, but I think the point that I am paranoid to the point of mental exhaustion has been made.


4: You can get used to anything if you're exposed to it enough.

I was not one of those people who were disgusted by the idea of changing dirty nappies before I had a baby.... don't get me wrong, I have a pretty weak stomach so I wasn't looking forward to it, but I thought "Hey, it can't be that bad".
That was before I saw some of the stuff that came out of my son. In the beginning I was a bit of a mess. Not so much with the dirty nappies (although being sprayed with feces from four feet away at 3 in the morning was seriously not a highlight) It was more the vomit that got to me. Trying to calmly reassure a vomiting baby, while you are fighting the urge yourself (I'm a sympathy vomiter), and then having to scrub it out of the carpet/bedding/clothing/ha

ir ect, is not a fun way to spend a Saturday night. Now, even if I'm interrupted in the middle of a meal, I can clean up the child and the mess (with only the occasional dry heave) and then go back to eating without a second thought. (Except for worrying for the rest of the night that he may have an incurable illness.... but I think the fact that I'm paranoid was covered in #3....)


5: Your life will be completely taken over by someone else.... and you won't mind.

Let's face it, babies are sponges. They scream to get what they want, their cry is pitched just right to make us frantically try to fix whatever is wrong. It's a survival instinct, they can't do anything else so it's all they have. But that doesn't change the fact that they take and take, and give very little back. (bodily fluids don't count.) I sat and pondered this one day, as I was staring at my 8 week old (Sleeping) son, and having one of those "My baby is the cutest baby in the world" moments.
You see, I expect a lot from the people in my life, so much that I'm often disappointed in them for not living up to my standards, (I don't blame them.... my standards are quite unrealistic) so how can this little child who takes and takes, have never disappointed me?
I don't really believe in unconditional love. If my husband cheats on me, that surely would taint how I feel about him, and if my sister tried to kill me with an ice pick, that might also be a problem. Not unreasonable I think, but still conditions, ie: Condition 1: "Don't cheat on me or I won't love you anymore." Condition 2: "Don't try to kill me with an ice pick or I won't love you anymore."
In my pondering, I came to the conclusion that this is as close as I can get to unconditional love. It doesn't matter what Connah does, or doesn't do, how he acts, or what he says. I love him regardless. Maybe because I know pretty much everything about him, so I can understand the reasons behind his actions, even if I don't like what he's doing. Or maybe because of the whole "sponge" thing, my emotions are not all tied up with how he makes me feel about myself, the way most other relationships work. Probably both.
Whatever the reasons, I don't do anything or go anywhere without first considering how it will affect him. I know it wont always be this way, and am kinda looking forward to the day that I can make a completely selfish decision again, but for now, my life revolves around one small child, and I don't feel that I'm missing out on anything at all.

xox

Just breathe....

It turns out The Attack has Measles. He came out with a rash a few days after the fever, so back to the doctor we went. The day after that, I got sick. (Not measles, just flu :) This has been awesome fun, as The Attack has not stopped crying for six days.

He cries until I pick him up.
He cries because I'm sitting down and he doesn't want to sit down.
He cries because I'm standing up, but not walking around.
He cries because I'm not walking fast enough.
He cries because the dog looked at him.
He cries. A lot.

He is hot and itchy and miserable, and I can't do anything for him except give him Pamol and carry him around.

And then there is Connah, who has endured all of my fussing over Ash with patients and good grace, (and the occasional donk on the head with a toy when he thinks I'm not looking.)
He has been waking more at night, but with The Attack unable to stay asleep for more than a few hours at a time, none of us have been sleeping well.

A couple of nights ago, in my fever induced state, one of my worst fears was realized when I woke suddenly, in the middle of the night, to creepy tinkly music.
I opened my eyes, and was staring straight into the face of a silent, pale, blonde haired, blue eyed child.

Demon!

The only thing that would have made it worse would have been if it was a little girl.
After the initial freak out period, where I just stared back, I registered that this demon child actually belonged to me, and I led him back to bed. He must have been sleepwalking because he was asleep within 30 seconds.
Sleepwalking? That just makes it creepier.

Oh, the tinkly music was coming from the Attacks room... he must have kicked his sea horse on. (Why do manufacturers continue to use this type of music in babies toys? Seriously, do they not watch scary movies? These people must not have children, because if they had ever been woken up in the middle of the night with that coming through the baby monitor - where if you listen close enough, you're sure you can hear people whispering in the background - they would stick to that generic "ABC" song.)
Something in this process woke the Attack up, which started a 4am, hour long battle to get him back to sleep. And the fun just keeps on coming.

This has been a hard week, a week of tears and exhaustion. But there has also been singing and dancing, feeding baby chickens and finding out how many calves were born last night, playing trains and stomping in puddles, building forts and "hatching" out of boxes.

A hard week, but still a good week. Because the world no longer stops when I feel like crap.


xox

Is it better to have loved and lost?....

"It is better to have loved, and lost, then never to have loved at all." This is something that I have never really thought about until recently. It was just pretty words to comfort people who were hurting. Now that I have had time to ponder, I have to vehemently disagree.

The Attack turned one on Saturday, and started running a fever that night. I was able to keep bringing it down, until the following night when he wouldn't drop below 39.5 degrees and was just screaming at the top of his little lungs. We ended up at Accident and Medical at about 1am, with his temp still going up, listening to a guy vomit into a bucket at approximately two minute intervals. (This part I didn't actually mind at all, as for some bizarre reason, The Attack loves the sound of people gagging.... it was the only time I'd heard him giggle all day.)

We were seen by a doctor, who could not find a reason for his fever and pronounced it "Viral". He was given 5ml of electrolytes every two minutes for half an hour to help lower his temperature, and we were sent home with instructions to "Get his temp down, and keep it down." Awesome.
He slept fitfully for the remainder of the night, waking often, and I hovered. This gave me time to think about a subject that my brain automatically tries to avoid: what would happen if I lost him? This starts running through my mind every time I end up at A&E or the Hospital with one of the boys, but since that night, it's been festering, so I need to get it out of my head.

I was never one of those people searching for a soul mate. I don't feel as though I'm half of a whole. I am complete. The people in my life are there because I choose it, kindred spirits, some of them, people to grow with, and learn from. But not necessary to make me feel whole.

I chose to have children, I made an informed decision. What I didn't realize was that by doing so, I would introduce two little people into my life who are so deeply ingrained in who I am, that to lose one of them, would break something in me that I will never get back.

Accidental death terrifies me, because it seems so preventable. If it's preventable, but was not prevented, does that mean it wasn't supposed to be prevented?
"It was Gods will," or "It was meant to be." Hold absolutely no water at all here, I will fight the Gods, and the fates. You will not take them from me.

The strength and courage needed to endure the loss of a child must be astounding. I imagine that if you could make it through that, you would have a much better understanding of what you're capable of.

I don't care.

There is no comfort in those words, only lessons, and no amount of personal growth is worth that lesson.

If I had decided four years ago, not to have children, I would have had a very different life. But still a life.
If they were taken from me now, I don't think I would come back from that.

And yet, if someone had told me before they were born, that I only had five years with them, I still would have taken it with both hands. There is no way I would give up the chance to know them, even briefly. But that is from my current perspective where I can not untangle myself fully from the reality where I already have them..... if they had never existed, I would not know what I was missing.

So, is it better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?
Only if you don't have so much to lose.



xox

Lies my parents told me....

We all had one. Something our parents did or said that we swore if we were ever to have children, we would never do. Mine was the classic: "because I said so." In my mind, this translated to: "I can't be bothered," and it frustrated me so much that I decided I would never use it. If I have the words to explain my actions to the boys, I will use them. If I don't, I will find some. I sense this will get harder as they get older.

Another one was the whole "If you don't stop hitting/yelling/squirming/

biting ect, I will stop this car, and you can get out and walk!" thing. Not a fan.

I decided that I would not lie to my children.

Now, I'm not saying that I'll never lie to them. I'll lie to protect them, If I have to. I just wont lie for convenience. Sounds kinda easy right? Most people don't intentionally lie to their children.

This means tantrums are unavoidable (but since I believe they are necessary for learning to cope with frustration and anger, I don't mind that much).

Connah: "Can I have some candy?"
Me: "Not right now. You can have some candy after dinner."
Connah: "No. Right now."
Me: "Not right now, after dinner."
Connah: "RIGHT NOW! RIGHT NOW! RIGHT NOW!" Tantrum ensues.
Why don't I just say we don't have any candy? Oh that's right, I can't lie.

Me: "Connah, you need to come inside so we can go to Gran's house."
Connah: "Two minutes."
Me: "No, right now, we're late and you need to put your boots on."
Connah: "Later."
Me: "Right now please."
Connah: "TWO MINUTES! TWO MINUTES! TWO MINUTES!." Tantrum ensues.
Why don't I tell him that if he does not come inside, he won't be going to grans house? Because I have to work, and have no intention of leaving him home alone. That would constitute a lie.

Why am I doing this? It is exhausting, especially when I can see the storm building in Connah, and know I could end it all right then with one little lie, but I want my boys to trust me. And I believe that when you're caught out in a lie (such as the famous "Get out and walk" lie... I mean seriously, how many of us where actually left in the middle of nowhere?) It eats away at the trust, and therefore the respect. Am I making things harder for myself? Absolutely. Will I be able to hold on to this faith and resolution during the teenage years? I hope so.

For now, my difficulty in finding the right words sometimes, and the time spent explaining things, and listening to tantrums seems totally worth it.

You see, I am not trying to raise good kids, I am trying to raise good men.

xox

P.S Also, I think death might have been a lot harder for Connah to have had to deal with when he got older, if I'd hidden it from him while he's young:

Me: "Harry died"
Connah: "No mummy, she's just having a sleep, see? her eyes are closed."
Me: "No, Connah, Harry is dead now, so she won't be waking up."
Connah: "We'll have to put her in the rubbish now."
Me: "No, we'll bury her in the garden."
Connah: "Can I dig a hole?"
Me: "Yes"
Connah: "Ok. Got any ice-cream mummy?"

xox

Slugs and snails and puppy dogs tails....

"Every boy should have a dog to grow up with." and with these damning words, I halfheartedly agreed to getting what would fast turn out to be the bane of my existence.

You see, I've never had my own dog, my parents have had a couple when I was young, but in my childish self-absorbed state, I really didn't have much to do with them. They were just there in the background, I didn't even really notice them unless it was convenient to me to do so.

So I could almost be forgiven for allowing myself to be talked into this, and Mark turned up the very next day with a little black Pointer/Lab cross, about the size of our cat.

Cute, right?

I am not a dog person. I did not know this before we got a dog. Now that it's far too late for me to do anything about it, I am aware of it. Isn't self discovery great?

We named him Jax, and it soon became apparent that this was not something that I could put in the background unless it suited me. For a start, he has no concept of personal space. I like personal space. I'm not against casual affection as such, (ok, I am a little bit against it...) I just definitely have my boundaries. Jax does not care about boundaries. He is constantly moving, bunting, licking and snuffling at me, (do all dogs do this, or just mine?) which was only mildly annoying when he was small. Now he is the size of a small pony, and what started out as mildly annoying, is downright dangerous as he knocks me around like a chew toy.

I can not walk from the door to the car without being covered from head to toe in various dog secretions.

I can not wear light colours (not that they feature that often in my wardrobe anyway, but I do have a white coat that I've been too terrified to wear....) because his huge clompy feet are always covered in grub.

He steals a sock right off Ashdens foot every morning while I put the boys in the car. (Seriously, the child only has two pairs of matching socks left, and he only has those because I learned not to put them on until after we were all in the car with the doors shut.)

He eats/chews anything that's left lying around (including wall paper, door frames, matchbox cars, garbage, trampoline safety pads, and even sneaks inside to get the baby toys, our only baby feeding spoon and of course, more socks.)

He had a charming habit (which thankfully he got over) of running to meet me whenever I went outside, stopping right in front of me, and jumping up to bunt his nose in my face. (I just read that back, and it actually sounds kind of sweet..... obviously more detail is needed: Huge dog, flying at you at top speed, skidding to a halt at your feet (spraying you with gravel/grass/mud,) jumping straight up, less than two inches away (so more gravel/grass/mud can be flung on you via the four perilously close huge paws) and squishes his sopping grimy nose to your face. This is always done with the mouth wide open and tongue lolling out so maximum saturation can be achieved.)

He is a giant clumsy oaf, who is always in my face, looking at me with his great big saucer eyes. And I feel guilty because I don't love him.

Now, if I can get off my rant for a minute, I can say that he is actually a good dog. He doesn't bark, ever, unless a stranger comes to our house (which is really rather helpful... for me. The pizza guy didn't think so... he packed himself.) And he's very loyal, all he wants is to make us happy. I just didn't need a dog in my life. I have enough to be responsible for already.

And while it's all great to stomp my foot and throw my toys, I have to come to terms with the fact that I now have a dog. Who will potentially grow even bigger. I should probably try to get over myself and find a way to bond with him before he gets sick of trying to win my approval and just eats me.

xox

And then there were two....

How to explain what it was like for me after Ashden was born? Anybody who has been through any sort of postnatal blues or depression will be very familiar with the feeling of hopelessness. To force yourself to go through the daily motions of being human, while feeling like you have nothing left to give is intolerable. Even being fully aware of what it was and why it was happening could not save me.
I think I cried for about two months... and I'm not a crier. I cried because I felt Connah wasn't getting enough attention. I cried because I didn't think I was bonding with Ashden. I cried because I was crying and children should not have to see their parents cry. I cried eleventy billion times. It was not fun.
While the nasty depression chemicals in my brain, did eventually fade, the points they brought up in that first few months have stayed with me, and left me with the echo in my mind: Is love enough?

Since having Connah, I have never doubted my ability as a parent. I don't mean to sound arrogant, or conceited, it's just that once I reach a parenting decision, I can confidently move forward without second guessing myself. I know I will make the right decisions for the boys until they are able to make their own.

But I am not a natural parent.

I look at the parents around me, and while it doesn't look easy, (It never looks easy) they take it all in their stride. Things that stop me in my tracks, are things that they can breeze through with no problems. It amazes me when people tell me that I'm a natural mother. I just want to grab their head, and scream in their face: "are you not watching!" I research, and think, and contradict, and research some more before making the smallest decision, all the while maintaining a calm and sure exterior, so that the boys do not pick up on the stress vibe. They can not see any doubt from me. At this stage in their lives, I am infallible, their sword and their shield.

Not a natural parent, just a very attentive one.

The "more love" concept came up when I was trying to decide whether to have a second child. Other parents spoke of the "extra love" that magically appeared with the birth of another baby.
I worried that I would not have enough. Not love. I knew I could love another child, it was the time, patients and brain power devoted solely on raising this child the best way possible. I was worried about what I would take away from two children, by adding one.
Others with children tried to brush away my concerns by saying "But they get so much out of having a sibling." or "Ask my children; they don't believe they've missed out on anything." And my favorite: "They wont even remember when they're grown up anyway." That does not mean it won't affect them. Everything you do as a parent effects your children, pushes them toward the adult they are going to be, and just because they cannot consciously retain the memories of their early childhood, in no way means it has not irrevocably changed who they were going to be.
So, while I don't believe that you simply "Grow more love" to accommodate each new child, I also don't think I love Connah any less with the addition of Ashden, it just stretched out to cover him too.
My point was always this: Is it enough to simply love them both? When time and attention are halved, are they really getting all they need? My logical side screams "NO" which is possibly why I feel like I've been close to breaking point several time since Ashden has been born, trying to give them both all they would have if they were my only child. However, my emotional side (which has a tendency to be overly optimistic,) say's "yes, If they know you love them, everything else will work out."
After all this, I ended up having a second child, because I believe that the benefits will outweigh the risks. I can make it work. I just need to combine my logical side, so that I will actively raise my children, not simply watch them grow up, with my emotional side so that I will hopefully remain sane :)

xox

Into The Breach....

I always said that I would start to look at childcare, or kindergarten for Connah when he turned three. Why three? Because the first three years are vital to the development of the neurological pathways in the brain, and I didn't want virtual strangers to interfere when everything that happens during this time is potentially shaping the person they will become. And by three, he would probably be at an age where socialization with children his own age may be beneficial to him.

Now that I'm staring down the barrel of that gun, I am hurting. This is a child who has never been yelled at his whole life. He has never been hit. When he is very upset, he cries silently, so no one will hear. He has a tendency to freeze whenever he is uncertain or uneasy in a situation. And I have always been there.
Now, I plan to send him into a loud, chaotic, pushy environment, with people who don't know these things about him. To them, he will be one of twenty or thirty generic children in a room. The people I will be trusting with his safety have no idea how important he is. They cannot possibly know, he is not their whole world.

Children are very self centered.... they have to be in order to learn who they are. Unfortunately, this makes them shocking at dealing with children who are not as loud and obnoxious as they are. Connah is so quiet when he meets new people, that most children do not hear him trying to speak to them, and they just move around him like he's another obstacle on the playground.

I don't want him to have to sacrifice his quiet thoughtful nature, in order to have friends.
I don't want him to feel isolated because he wont adapt.
I don't want him to learn that people will be cruel for no reason, that they will kick and bite and call him horrible things, just because they can.

It hurts my insides just to think about it.

It has to happen. If he is to successfully function in this world, he needs to learn about these things. Even if it almost kills me.

And so it begins. Outside influence is inevitable, much as I wish it wasn't. I can only hope that the mental tools and lessons I've given him, and will continue to give him, are strongly enough ingrained to sustain him over the brutal heart-wrenching period that is the "School years".

xox