The funny side to life as a working single Mum. My stories of embarrassing escapades, toddler tantrums and great expectations.
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Sunday, 31 May 2015
Woodland Warriors.
I've come to realise that i'm quite the outdoors type. A tomboy. A tree hugger. Since having Ethan, I've embraced this side of myself and, while I'm by no means an adventurer, I love getting grubby and down to earth in the woods or on the beach.
Ethan is a total nature kid. He loves bugs, trees and running wild and free. On Friday, we headed to Wat Tyler Park for Woodland Warriors, which is run by the extraordinary Tiffers, whose enthusiasm for nature is catching, for both children and adults of all ages.
We started by sitting in a circle learning about the various songs of different birds and even my 2 year old was interested, holding the different soft toy birds and listening to their songs. The rest of the session was spent on various activities, from bird mask making to swinging in the trees to building a bird nest and making bird feeders.
A highlight for me was making a clay bird with Ethan and the other families, which reminded me of David Almond's novel 'Skellig' and the freedom of his character Mina.
To end the morning, Tiffers lit an open fire for us to cook marshmallows over. Wearing a huge protective glove, Ethan cooked his marshmallow up, learning about fire safety along the way. It was a stunningly beautiful moment to share.
The whole event felt relaxed and yet structured, with a balance of learning and freedom. When helping an older girl to start her own fire the old fashioned way, Tiffers said 'I'm not telling you what to do, I'm just helping', which summed up the overall atmosphere.
I have a feeling William Blake would have more than approved of Woodland Warriors, with his philosophy of embracing the natural intelligence and creativity of children and the magic of our environment.
'How can a bird who is made for joy sit in a cage and sing?'
Wednesday, 20 May 2015
Dressing up games.
When we are children, we love to dress and make believe. My son loves all things pretend and all things fantastic; from superheroes to fairies to animals. Similarly, I teach many students who love to play at make believe, even as children. It seems to help them deal with their issues and, to be honest, sometimes being someone else feels like a better option.
This leads me to my coming weekend. Comicon. Comics. Cosplay.
I am a 30 year old woman, a Mum and a teacher and yet I'm so over excited putting together my catwoman cosplay for the weekend. For just a day, I can at least pretend to be catwoman. How cool is that? To most, probably not all that cool at all but to me, it really is.
In some way or another, don't we all pretend we are someone else? Someone more ideal? Not all the time, but just sometimes. If not for escape, then just for fun! Isn't it time we accepted that children have fun and that the ability to play is important and vital, in fact, to our humanity?
I love that cosplay is something I share with my friends and my son. We both love dressing up and acting, which is something to be celebrated. It isn't forced or fake and my son is surrounded by a wonderful menagerie of family and friends joining in with his fun. What a lovely tradition to continue on as he grows up.
Saturday, 16 May 2015
Living in the 'cliff.
I have now lived in and around Westcliff-on-sea for around 10 years and thought it was about time I gave this reliable old town of mine some respect.
Standing on my balcony, I can see the 'sea' if I lean over and to the left. I love it; for it may be a murky estuary but it's always been there. When I separated from my first husband just one year after moving here with him, I took a walk to the seafront for some peace and reflection. When I was in an awful relationship and suffered an unexpected miscarriage, I sat on the seafront with a cigarette, beer and the complete works of John Keats, trying to fathom what had happened. Later, while pregnant with my son and arguing with his Dad, I sat on the seafront in the cold, listening to the waves crashing and the boats rocking.
Now, while all of these are negative experiences in my life, I see the seafront of Westcliff as consistent, stable and calming. Through any trouble, I can escape to the seaside. Maybe this is rooted in a childhood of seaside holidays, a talent for swimming or the memory of watching 'The Little Mermaid' at the cinema with my Dad, my strong and sturdy Dad, who cried when Ariel's father set her free to be with her Prince. I'm not sure of the psychology behind it; there may not be any explanation. It just is.
Westcliff-on-sea has been the backdrop for some of my happiest memories, predominantly with my son. Playing on the beach for hours, seaside lunches with my Aunt and ice cream with my Mum. It's a tiny piece of holiday just outside my door. I've not even mentioned the number of shows I have seen at The Cliffs Pavilion and the close friends I have made here.
Some people may look at Westcliff and see drunks, druggies and depression. What I see is reality, community and home. Living here, I actually talk to my neighbours and local shopkeepers. We have a regular cafe, I have a favourite vintage store and it feels like home. It may be a little crooked and rough in places, but so is my life sometimes and that's more than ok with me.
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
Jekyll and Hyde
Toddlers are fickle beasts. You never know quite how they are going to wake up, change through the day or finish the day. Generally, my son is happy, loving and friendly but he can also be demanding, impatient and angry. Most of all though, toddlers seem to be irrational. The things Ethan gets annoyed about are ridiculous. Recently there was a fallout over the hoover. I wanted to put it away and Ethan wanted to hug it because he 'lubs it.'
Just this evening, Ethan stole a bottle of squash from the kitchen and hid it in a toy box. This was funny and cheeky. What came next was a minor breakdown because I refused to let him drink said squash straight from the bottle, as you can see. Just seconds after this photo was taken, Ethan was sat at the table eating his dinner in absolute perfection.
Toddlers, eh?
Saturday, 6 July 2013
Missing out.
Now, I love my job but a lot of what we do outside 'normal' work hours is 'normal' in the profession. It's necessary in order to do our job well and there is no option of retesting less hours. The work needs to be done, kids need our help, the school needs us. That's it.
Probably, some of you will read this and think my Son needs me more and my priorities are wrong but what can I do? I need to keep my job in a difficult time and I need to earn my wage to pay the rent and bills. No option.
Its tough going though and I'm ashamed to admit that every Facebook update or conversation with friends who stay at home with their babies fills me with jealousy. When they tell me about the new things their child has learnt or funny things they have done it hurts. It's not their fault obviously and it is also lovely to hear their stories. I can't help but feel shit though that actually I don't know what my son has achieved this week, other than second hand from his nursery or my Mum. I'm lucky to have excellent care for Ethan while I'm at work and know he's happy but I'm still not there. I'm not the one holding his hand everyday. I'm not the one guiding him everyday.
Ethan is changing so rapidly and I'm missing out. I'm lucky to have the weekends and we will soon have the holiday but essentially I may as well not be here and come to visit for the summer. How sad is that?
Saturday, 15 June 2013
Why I like the bus (sometimes).
So everyday I get the bus from down the road to the village where I work and most of the time I actually really enjoy it. On the days I don't have Ethan I listen to music, drink tea and either get some marking done or read. It's a rare time to relax on my own or get some work done so I have more family time at the weekend.
For the most part I like it on the days I have Ethan with me going to our on site nursery. While he is a handful on the bus, he experiences meeting a whole range of people, some eager to meet him and some not.
A perfect example is the two ladies who we see most evenings who Ethan has made great friends with. One has wild orange hair, which waves and shakes as she constantly smiles and giggles. Her companion is a tall, strong minded South African woman, who tells fantastic stories of how different South African parenting can be compared to English parenting. Namely giving salty biltong to babies as a teething aid, something our South African friend has spoken about too. Ethan really likes these two ladies and it adds a sweetness to our day.
Next, my students. Fascinated, scared and mainly amused as teenagers would be, it's amazing to see Ethan point and call out to the 'big kids' and just lovely to see them respond to him. One of my students found it quite magical that Ethan was 'talking' to her and holding her hand contently. It's a lovely part of the day.
Don't think it's all smiles, giggles and charming baby talk. It isn't. Some of the time, Ethan screams and wails the bus down when just before he was fine. On one particular day he did a shit of epic standards which I thought was some dirty bastard farting on the bus! I'm opening windows while Ethan sits there smiling literally like a piglet in shit.
The staring is the worst bit. The way people stare as though I need to DO SOMETHING! As though I've not thought of trying teething powder, or a cuddle or a drink or any other idea you may have. I understand a screaming babe is annoying but he is just that, a baby. At times he is an exhausted, teething wind filled baby! He's just telling us all about it!
Anyway, I've now just persuaded myself I actually hate the bus. Thanks blog. It's all your fault.
Thursday, 13 June 2013
Motherhood vs Life.
One of the articles inside focused on the choice by women to have or not have children. It turns out women are leaving it later in life generally to have children. No surprise. With women moving further forward in their careers, often with more stereotypically masculine attitudes to relationships (think Samantha from 'Sex and the City') and ever advancing medical science it's hardly news.
My issue with this piece is the clear distinction between 'I'm a success and didn't have kids; look at my fabulous life!' with 'I was a success but gave it all up; look at my wonderful mothering.' Either way, both hold a tone of 'you there! Yes you, the one reading? You're fucking shit and will never be this awesome.' Whether you are the 28 year old without children or the 25 year old with 2 or 3 at your feet, you can never be as successful as these women.
Now, I'm not blaming these women at all. They both seem to be great examples of women, when you dig beneath the bullshit. It's the journalism which I hold issue with. We are in a time now where women are forced to seek extreme ideals. While the idea of 'having it all' was once marketed as real womanhood, we are now faced with two opposing ideals. A choice with no middle ground, only perfection.
For the woman without children reading along, she is goaded into thinking her life should be as sophisticated and jet setting as woman A, rather than spending the odd night in front of 'The Voice' shovelling in popcorn in her PJs with the cat. Equally, for the mother (working or at home) she is faced with a frightening example of motherhood perfection; think a beautiful, baking, smiling miracle worker. This mother looks at woman B and then at herself; a milky bile or chocolate biscuit covered display in joggers cooking up fish fingers. How does she feel?
I come at this from the view of having been both these women. It doesn't take having children to make you a full, pure woman. Just as you don't need to live the life of a glamour girl 24/7. We just need to be left to live.
The whole portrayal of women in the Media gets on my wick anyway, but that's a whole other blog or ten. This article just goes to show that public attitudes to women haven't changed that much. You're either a sexy singleton or an angelic earth mother. Case and point.
Come on, have a day off Media. Don't you have a Mum too?
Monday, 10 June 2013
Only a Mother knows.
From this I have been thinking back on what I really gained, learnt from my childhood and one thing prevails. Be yourself. It may sound cliche but my parents really did and still do accept me and my brother for who we are, who we want to be, who we can be. For myself, I feel incredibly lucky to have parents who have been welcoming and accepting to my friends and past boyfriends. They have always instilled in me a link between my life in and out of their house. My parents have always accepted my hobbies and ever changing aspirations with support but an equal amount of realism. Most of all, my parents have always been open and accepting of my love for the unusual, whether that be fashion, music or tattoos. Although, I should probably add here that it was my Mum who got me into Siouxsie and the Banshees and persuaded me to listen to Marilyn Manson as a Greenday bopping teenager!
My parents have always been interested in our hobbies, our tastes, our life which was great. My Mum and Dad would stand in the crowd of my gigs playing drums in shit indie bands and in my days as an angst ridden goth singer! They even made it to a goth night to watch me DJ and my Mum always made sure I had big pants and tights to wear under my mini skirt! As I say, I think this is what I take most from my childhood and adulthood really: openness and acceptance.
Having such open parents does make it hard fucking work to rebel though. See Mum, I said fuck!
Even in adulthood my parents put up with me going through an array of fashions and phases along with going out with some pretty dodgy characters, several house moves and the decision to undertake teacher training after just 6 months living solo working in London. They still accepted me home for a year to do my teacher training. After this my parents allowed and accepted me travelling to Ghana alone for the summer which, while a woman of 26, I can see now how harrowing this would have been for them. In particular for my Mother, watching me check in at the airport knowing that from that moment on I am alone in an unknown world, without her protection or care.
Being a parent never ends. Being a Mother doesn't stop when they are off your hands. It just gets more difficult, as you are forced to let them go and learn to accept and love a new person. This person still holds the core of your baby, your child but has changed under the influence of not just you but the world outside of you. When we live in a world as cruel as ours, its no wonder this ensues madness.
Thursday, 6 June 2013
Kids are just kids.
Teaching Year 7 and suddenly they jump up, pointing with excitement. It turned up we were on the route of the 'buggy bus', which can only be described as a high tech trailer with seat belts which the poor nursery nurses drag behind them like some kind of farmer's mule while the babies sit back and relax! Seriously, it is fabulous and hilarious at the same time. Turns out Ethan was one of the passengers and we all gave a wave out the window, with lots of 'aahhhhs' from my sweeties of a class.
Once the 'buggy bus' had passed it was time to get back to work: poetry writing. What prevailed was a discussion by the boys in my class of how great it would be to take a ride in the buggy bus and in fact be a baby again! Followed by poems on this very topic.
Turns out kids are always just kids at heart.
Monday, 3 June 2013
Putting your foot in it. Literally.
I am obviously an excited and proud Mother every time Ethan lifts his size 3 1/2 G foot to take a couple of heavy steps like a miniature Godzilla until he falls to his reliable crawling, laughing as he goes down. It's amazing to see his face light up with the strength he is ever building. However, I could do without him trying out this new skill through a shitty nappy change. Being full of energy and an urge to destruct, Ethan isn't exactly enthusiastic about laying still for any length of time. Wriggling with such power it is almost impossible to hold him down, his current playtime is to push to standing, with what can't even be described as a turtle-head hanging out of his bare arse. Giggling and panting he then takes messy steps into raisin fuelled excrement, printing shitty footprints all over the change matt and beyond. Like at nursery when the girls got the babies using paint to forever mark sugar paper with their comparitively tiny handprint; except with shit.
Anyway, I hope you weren't eating lunch when you read this. I also hope that some of you read this and recognise the stamp of shitty footprints in your own lives. That't not a metaphor for parenthood, I promise. I hope you too literally have shitty footprints in your household, just so we aren't the only ones. Let me know your thoughts on putting your foot in it in the comments below.
Wednesday, 22 May 2013
Everday Superhero.
"I used to be a superhero
no one could touch me
not even myself
you are like a phone booth
I somehow stumbled into
and now look at me
I am just like everybody else."
This metaphor for a life changing relationship is one we can all relate to and has taken on a whole new meaning since my return to work following maternity leave.
In one respect I used to be a superhero, able to put on a costume and get through anything with relative ease. Since having Ethan, I am more open, more exposed, more free. There is no time to hide behind a costume and no time for defences. I am a Mum and it is hard. Ethan is my phone booth in one respect as he has made me far more honest with my own emotions and more open in sharing my worries with others, regardless of whether this makes me appear weak or struggling. He has shattered my unnecessary defences.
Since returning to work it is as though I have accepted that at times I will struggle. At times relationships may be strained, I may be exhausted and work may be challenging. Thankfully I am lucky enough to work with and for people who accept this and understand the pressures I am facing first hand. I am surrounded day to day by people who understand that we are not robots; we are individuals. We each have individual needs just as we have individual skills and experience to bring to the school. I am not judged if I honestly say that Ethan has kept us up all night and I am exhausted. Instead people offer support and understanding, even if they can't fix the problem.
I can honestly say that the past half term back at work has been positively enlightening.
Back to superheroes though. While I feel like I have been stripped of one superhero costume I feel I may have exchanged it for another. Within a matter of minutes I go from Mummy to Teacher to professional woman to wife with no time to think. To say it is hectic is an understatement and to say it is demanding doesn't cut it. However, it is quite astounding really to think that I, well, women in fact, have the ability to switch between being at home in their comfort zone to out in the world of work in the tights and cape without a phone booth to get changed in.
Being a Mum is a job in itself, the hardest job of all. No training provided, no manual and no guarantee that your management techniques will work. When you add this to a job outside the home it is as though you are doing two separate jobs alongside each other. You finish one shift and head to the next. Sleep. Repeat.
Repeat may make it sound as though my life as it stands is banal or that I am unhappy. This couldn't be further than the truth. While it is challenging returning to work full time, I feel immensely proud that I am raising my own wonderful young man into the world while hopefully helping to raise even more young men and women. Being a teacher has changed for me since becoming a Mum. Before, I would listen to upset students and it was heartbreaking. Now, it breaks my heart because I can't help but see my own child in their position. When I have stacks of marking and am exhausted I think of Ethan as he grows and the importance of praise and feedback for him at school. What would I want for my Son? Surely all children deserve the same. Since my return, I have gained opportunities to use and expand my skills further at work. Over the next year things are changing and improving even further and I feel truly appreciated. The best part of it all is that I get to do this with a fabulous family behind me all the way. I can't really ask for much more.
The thing is, we all struggle sometimes but it is coming to terms with our imperfections and unreachable aspirations which is key. You know what? Sometimes I feed my family fish fingers for dinner rather than an all organic Anal-belle Karmel creation! Sometimes, the washing is stacked up and I febreeze my cardigan for work. Other days I go to work proud of my freshly washed dress and Ethan fucks it up with a carrot crisp. That's another thing: I feed Ethan treats on the bus to keep him amused. I also breastfeed him on the bus, however much it freaks people out. But guess what? Some Mums don't breastfeed and that's ok too! Another thing: some Mums do breastfeed their older babies when they have teeth! Some days I pick Ethan up later than planned because I am still working. Other days I am out the door as soon as possible because I just want to get home and be a Mummy. All of these things? They're ok. They might not be perfect but they are ok. There is nothing wrong with you, your child or your parenting. There is nothing wrong with your life so start loving its imperfections. They're what makes it yours.
Sunday, 21 April 2013
A full time working, full time Mother.
Over the past week I have breastfed Ethan on a busy 7am bus ride, taught a couple of hundred teenagers in total and pushed the buggy in heels, laptop and all on my back! I have laughed, cried and felt exhausted and elated. I will quickly explain the heels. Work trousers too big since buying two months ago. Didn't realise. No other trousers. Heels only shoes to stop trousers dragging on floor. Back to my week anyway. Teaching was great and I feel challenged and happy to be back at it, especially as I feel I am really making a difference on my new students. Ethan has settled into nursery and enjoyed time with my Mum but has been so poorly with teething and a two week long cough and cold. He hasn't been himself and has just wanted cuddle after cuddle. This is the terrible bit of being at work; I am not there 24/7 to give cuddles. I have cried when Ethan cried at my leaving him but had to pull myself together to teach year 9. This is a positive of teaching, in that there is no time to wallow. Your students are the priority and your focus is on their needs.
This weekend has been a joy. Our family together just playing and cuddling. Watching Ethan learn and laugh, kissing and holding hands with my husband. Long walks in the sunshine, chips on the seafront and lazy afternoons spent with Disney. All the simple pleasures which make it all worth it.
Back to work now. I admit to feeling guilty and heart broken leaving Ethan to a horrific extent but I am still 100% Mummy. I am going to say something now which some people might not like but I have been thinking for a while: I hate the phrase 'full time Mum.' It offends me. It upsets me. It confuses me. If a Mum who stays at home is full time but a Mum who goes to work isn't then surely the working Mum a part-timer? It may be because on the brink of my return the prospect that my time with Ethan will be interrupted and limited, making me a part-time parent hurt me but I don't think it is just this. It's more than that. This is personal, political and social, reflecting all that is wrong in attitudes to the role of women. We are mothers, lovers, workers on many levels and yet there is still an imbalance here. Can society really see us as many faces on one imperfect body or are we destined to be typecast as a one woman show? On my bus journey to work this week it dawned on me that 'Shit! I'm a working Mum!' and I considered those words carefully. Just as the full time tag is problematic to me, so is the working Mum title. Don't we all work? Seriously, I have worked for my SMP the past 8 months and it was really tough. So, a Mum who stays at home past maternity leave is surely a working Mum? We are all full time workers, whether in or out of the home but most of all, we are all full time Mothers. Isn't that the most precious and important job of all, regardless of how we manage it?
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Keep Rollin', Rollin', Rollin'
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| Knackered from the rolling! |
The most challenging part of the whole thing was probably getting it attached to the door frame in the first place. It seems baby equipment really isn't built to be easy to make or set up at all. The pram/car seat/transformer is the worst, with its secret buttons and straps and parts it really is one of the biggest challenges of having a baby!
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| Woooooooooooooah! |
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| Happy in this awesome number! |
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| Modelling my new H&M outfit! |
Monday, 22 October 2012
Diablo Jo's Rockabilly Accessories: Treats for Mamma and Bambino!
In writing this blog I realised I have missed one thing which is probably more important to me than I like to make out: fashion. To clarify, when I say fashion I mean unique and original ideas and creations which make you look and feel good, not TOWIE inspired dullness. I like to think that I am far too interesting and clever to be bothered about silly things like clothes, make-up and hair but the truth is I am a girl and I like pretty things! Like I say to the teenage girls I teach, there is nothing wrong with enjoying these things but this doesn't stop you being a creative, intelligent individual! My style, if you can call it that, varies between poetic bohemian (ha!) to indie comic book geek to 50s rock 'n' roll. The later of the three is my favourite look but the one I have always struggled with. To embody real 50s glamour you need to maintain yourself well, from your hair to your nails it works best when you make an effort. Sadly, I don't have great nails and wear my hair short. While I love having short hair and think it suits me, it doesn't quite fit the 50s chic look. Here is where the rock 'n' roll comes in!
While pregnant I came across some outstanding headscarves which provide the perfect solution to my hair woes. Designed to tie in a typically retro style headscarves come in a range of cute and kitsch designs, from classic flowers to edgy tattoo inspired skulls, each and every one stunning! Throughout my pregnancy and beyond I wear Diablo Jo's creations, not only to help on bad hair days but to make a simple jeans and t-shirt combo far more glamorous! Since finding Diablo Jo's I have found an array of wonderful hair accessories which are just beautiful but the latest addition to the range is 'Bambino Diablo' which includes fabulous pieces for your little rocker! The skirts for girls are gorgeous and I can imagine they would make any little girl look and feel amazing. As for the boys there is an inspired range of beautifully crafted bibs in the same designs as the headscarves. Designed to make your little dude look similar to a cowboy they hold so much more style value than the usual dribble catchers without losing their practical value.
These are two of my favourite designs from the Bambino range:
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| Anchors Away! |
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| Skulls and Roses! |
Saturday, 4 August 2012
10 things to do when overdue in pregnancy (the alternative list)
We have
all read the usual lists which contain enlightening suggestions of things to do when overdue
such as reading a good book, watching a film or washing baby clothes. In all
honesty these tips are either ridiculously obvious or as dull hearing yet
another woman tell you how kinky 'Fifty Shades...' is. I like to think that the
following is a list of far more inventive and entertaining ways to spend your
final days with child:
1, Go out
for dinner in a busy restaurant and, when you get massive cramp in your massive
arse, jump up suddenly and loudly. If not suffering cramps, do it anyway. Watch
the staff shit themselves and the childless couples around you look really
uncomfortable.
3. Take a bus or train ride and when (if) someone offers you a seat act horrified and demand to know what they are suggesting.
4. Head
to Boots but not for your usual breast pads and Bio Oil. Browse the contraceptive
aisle for a while and engage an assistant in an in depth conversation about which
method is best.
5. Ask
for a tour of your local gym. When they ask you what you want to use the gym
for tell them you have a bit of a belly to sort out for your holiday to Ibiza
next month.
6. Go
speed dating and watch the horrified and potentially disgusted looks on the
faces of the singletons. In particular the men as they sit down uncomfortably
and think of something to say.
7. Take a
trip to Ann Summers. Ask the assistant for advice on the crotchless knickers
and nipple tassels. If you are really brave you could even ask them which sex
toy is best to bring on labour.
8. Go to
your local shop or cafe and pick up a bag of prawn cocktail crisps. Proceed to
ask the assistant whether you can eat them because they contain shellfish and
you are concerned about the risks in pregnancy. Please note someone genuinely
asked our midwife this question. I shit you not.
9. Take a
trip to the cinema to see a 15 or 18 rated film and ask the staff whether you
allowed because you are carrying a minor. Even when they look confused and tell
you it is not a problem, leave quickly, looking upset and ashamed.
10. The
possibilities are endless. Use your imagination to make being overdue in
pregnancy as inventive and enjoyable as possible.
Note: I
have not tried out all of these ideas and am not a medical professional. I am
not suggesting that sex toys or any other point from the list will help to bring on
labour or is a good plan in any way.
Friday, 3 August 2012
The Moth and The Chamber Pot.
I spent what I consider a considerable amount of time simply maneuvering myself out of the bath like something more reminiscent of a creature from some Japanese horror story of revenge and doom than the glowing earth mother I am in my mind. Having relaxed and feeling rather proud of managing to hoist myself from the bath I suddenly felt an onset of unusual pains. Embracing my inner big screen demon I wandered around a little, sat on the sofa, had a crack at bouncing on the exercise ball. Imagine if someone shagged one of the zombies from 'The Walking Dead' and got it pregnant then then left it to get on with it in an airy flat by the sea. Imagine a potential victim of Jeremy Kyle, who even he couldn't find the right synonym for 'scum' because, well, she's dead and trying to eat him. Now that would make daytime TV far more interesting but that's a whole other story.
Back to my toilet/moth story. Feeling tired after all that undead action I headed to my chamber pot only to find that even this would be a challenge to face. When will it stop? Still feeling unusual I reclined and realised nothing was happening down there, other than the original pain. I would apologise for too much information but if you didn't get a vibe for the subject matter from the heading I refuse to take responsibility for your lack of responsibility. Already uncomfortable, it was at this point I fell off the toilet seat, which appears to have broken somehow. Probably because of my massive arse or belly weighing it down. After 9 months it has just given up. Oh, the irony.
This pretty much covers the whole toilet fiasco, except for an uninvited guest. The moth. It may have been a tiny beast but it seemed determined to make my afternoon toilet adventure even more eventful. So, here I am at now over 9 months pregnant, in a bath towel, looking and acting like a zombie on the toilet. Falling off it, getting back on. Fighting a moth all the way through Read into that whatever metaphor you will. I am just wondering whether Beyonce was in the same boat as she prepared to head to the hospital floor she had rented with her millions.
Thursday, 2 August 2012
Yoga: not just for hippies.
I can see what you are thinking. This woman is clearly a hippy so how does this support yoga as anything other than a pretenious pastime for the peculiar?
When I fell pregnant I hadn't undertaken a sustained amount of yoga time in several months and felt it would be an easy way to stay active without working too hard! However, I really have found that it has provided so much more than an easy way to prevent myself from feeling like a total sloth. While continuing to work full time in a highly pressured and intense job with the usual pregnancy gripes it was the only time I really experienced real relaxation. Whether this is simply because of the focus on movement, careful breathing or simply the quiet time to switch off I would suggest everyone should try it at some point, pregnant or otherwise. I also suggest doing so with the door shut with no risk of interruption to save yourself any hippy shame!
Right, I know that was a quick one but having completed my afternoon yoga session it is about time I headed off for some green tea and chick pea curry!
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
The good, the bad and the ugly.
I will start with the good but believe me, it is all downhill from here! People tell you about the pregnancy glow right? They may even tell you have it. In the early stages when you have been projectile vomiting for longer than the girl in 'The Exorcist' or even the parody of this legendary scene seen in 'Scary Movie 2' this is a ridiculous. As you move further on in pregnancy and seem to become more tired and aged than the coverage of the Olympic ticket farce already has done it feels on the cusp of offensive. Either this or blame the hormones. While some people may be saying you have the glow on a day when you really do look like shit to try and perk you up, I do believe there is some truth in it. I am not saying we have some kind of teen vampire sparkle but looking back at photos of myself I can see some truth in the preggo glow myth. Either that or blame the hormones. Again.
Next I come to the bad. There are plenty of bases to cover here. A base of constipation with a filling of piles and heart burn all topped off with stretch marks for good measure. Lush. This isn't to say that these aspects of pregnancy have been unbearable or are in any way not worth the final outcome; they are largly just amusing really. My own Mum saw my stretch marks just the other day and seemed surprised but told me, in her Rosie the Riveter manner to be proud of my stretch marks and what they represent. Outstanding advice in my opinion. Hence why these are only finalists in the category of bad. I am talking about the bad which are what I like to call baby wardens, belly monitors or the bump police. We all know them, those people who just love to comment on the size, shape and implication of your bump. They feel the need to tell you either how massive you are and what a beast of a baby you are going to have to push out of your nether regions or how tiny and lucky you are but that your baby will clearly be a tiny, malnourished specimen which will just pop out no trouble! In my case it was the later. From people I actually know to taxi drivers, it seems that bump development could be considered an Olympic spectator sport. I am sure they mean well but take a minute to think about it. At what other point in life do you approach a woman and tell them what a fat bastard or skeletal creature they are?
Time for the best bit. The ugly. If you have ever heard the phrase 'bumping uglies' I may have found where it originates. The challenge of the beaver in pregnancy. Let me take you back to my time in Ghana. My volunteer friend and I were getting dressed for the day and suddenly realised that with a lack of consistent running water or clean facilities we were beginning to develop an au natural approach to tackling said beaver and couldn't wait to tackle that bad boy on our return home. First on the list was a cheese sandwich and cup of tea. Next was the battle of the beaver. Let me tell you something, what I thought was a beaver discovery in Ghana was merely a simple squirrel in comparison to what has emerged over the past 9 months. In the beginning and for some time I was gaining points in the beaver wars but as time progressed and my view of the beast became even more limited I was forced to hold up my white flag and surrender. In the battle of Cat vs Beaver I am sad to say that beaver has well and truly won. KO.
You may as well laugh at the ridiculous bits of pregnancy. Otherwise you might just cry. Or maybe this is all the hormones talking yet again.
Tuesday, 31 July 2012
My Ghana experience.
I have always had an urge to volunteer doing something worthwhile with my time and energy. It was only once I became a Secondary English teacher here in the UK that an opportunity arose with a Ghanaian organisation. My trip to Ghana was my first flight alone, first trip alone and first adventure alone. When I reached Ghana I soon realised you are never alone; you always have friends and family. Whether this is through the wonderful children in Santrokofi, the amazing Agnes or volunteers and local friends you meet there is always someone to talk to! Once at The Living Faith Orphanage I was struck by how easily I was embedded in day to day life with the children. Every child at the orphanage is a pure joy to be with and I feel privileged to be able to hold them in my mind and heart.
Soon after my arrival at the orphanage a group of RHF volunteers arrived and immediately I felt welcomed into their family. I was due to leave for another project on my own but couldn’t bear to leave the children and just had a feeling that these volunteers were who I was meant to be with in Ghana. From the happiness I saw in the children when we took them to the park or read them stories to the support we gave each other in private times of emotion I truly feel that I have gained not only memories and experience from the children of Ghana but friends for life in the RHF volunteers. While at the orphanage I formed a close bond with Mambra, a girl who for unexplained reasons seemed to connect with me. I remember her asking me not to leave and the urge I felt to be able to return to Ghana and maintain my link with the children. When we moved on to teach at the school in Santrokofi I found that my teaching experience and understanding of children was a mixture of incredibly useful or totally useless! I was able to teach with freedom, creativity and most of all love. One of my greatest memories is of using music to encourage students to consider their personal feelings and it was amazing to see them go from being apprehensive to reflective of their own emotions and thought processes. We ended the lesson by taking the class outside as it was incredibly hot and it was unreal to see the class dancing and laughing to ‘You got the love’ by Florence and the Machine; a song which sums up Ghanaian love to me.
Beautiful Mambra.
Monday, 30 July 2012
9 months and counting...
Well, I could have done that or I could have saved you all the mundane details of pregnancy! This isn't to say that being pregnant and expecting a child isn't the single most exciting and eye opening experience of my life so far. It is to say just that; it is an eye opening experience in my life. A private experience which, if many people were honest, really can get a little boring. Even as a pregnant woman myself there is only so much talk of heartburn, bump size and baby clothes I can take! Everyone has an opinion and everyone has a story to tell. It is just unfortunate that some of these people don't keep them to themselves.
Again, I probably sound as though I am rejecting my maternal insticts and refusing to throw myself into the pregnancy experience. I promise you this is far from the truth. Nothing has made me feel more complete than the past 9 months of feeling our unborn son kick me in the ribs, preparing our home for our new arrival or the endless dreams with my husband as to how our son will look, act and the person he will become. Ultimately the knowledge that I am capable of creating and maintaining another human life is the the most poetic experience possible. Somehow both intangible and absolute at once.
As a writer, teacher and general book geek I have found it a hard task to find a fitting metaphor for pregnancy, an able adjective for my greatest creation. It either isn't possible or I have finally discovered why I am a failed writer aka English teacher. To clarify I love teaching but it does take a sense of humour.
With an accute awareness that at any moment the unborn child I have been supporting will be here and we will be responsible for his life outside the comfort of the womb I am filled with conflicting thoughts, feelings and questions. All of which are normal. All of which are real. All of which are part of the experience. I won't bore you with the details but promise to see you on the other side of the past 9 months.
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