Burning Out: Underneath The Filter

The Lurgy has entered the house. I woke up this morning, after an awful night's sleep, with a stuffy nose, a scratchy throat, aching joints and a pounding head. I was surprised at this as I've not been around anyone with a cold and I've been eating so well and exercising regularly that I thought my immunity would be a little stronger. So foul do I feel, that I felt something must have caused it and I looked back over my week trying to find the source of my misery. Only then did it occur to me that I might be taking on a little too much...

Working as a teacher I'm used to busy days and heavy workloads and countless marking and data deadlines. As Head of KS3 English, I constantly have a to do list longer than my arm and I rarely have a day that sees everything ticked off. Although I occasionally moan about my workload, I know I thrive in situations when stuff just needs to get done. I'm guilty of leaving things to the last minute because I know I can't procrastinate any more and I HAVE to finish a task. It's like I'm on my own Challenge Aneka episode only it's Challenge Jen and I'm competing with myself and time. The adrenaline is addictive and the pride at completing a task makes me feel like superwoman.

Being on maternity leave hasn't made me any more relaxed. Despite no longer having lessons to plan or essays to mark or data to review, I still give myself a huge workload...and I have to ask myself why I do this.

Take this week for instance. On Monday, I went to Mum and Baby group, completed a workout, went in to the local town to top up my grocery shop, even though I didn't need to. Tuesday I got up early to go running in the rain, took a shower and took Seb to Rhythm Time before racing home to have dinner before making the 4pm mum and baby showing of Beauty and the Beast. Wednesday saw a 10am Story Explorers class and a 12.45pm baby yoga class on opposite sides of the town and another browse around Tesco. Thursday? A particularly challenging day of a HIIT and weights session and a baby swim class all before midday followed by an hour's drive to York to have two work meetings before coming home to take Smeagol on an hour long birthday walk. On top of all this I do all the usual mum things: putting Seb down for routine naps, feeding him, dressing him, changing him, preparing bottles and meals, loading the dishwasher, cooking three healthy meals a day, doing laundry, tidying the house, walking the dog twice a day, showering, putting on make up, playing with Sebastian...food shopping. More? I meet up with friends for coffee, arrange play dates and clothes swaps, clear out my wardrobe and donate clothes to friends or charities, update this blog and instagram plus I'm doing the British Heart Foundation's My Marathon May.  It's no wonder that I'm starting to burn out a little.

Why though? Why do I do this? I frequently hear my friends ask how I manage to do so much - how do I find time to cook? To clean? Why am I so busy?

The classes with Seb I do because I think it's important for his development and because I can't stay in the house all day or I'd go crackers. They're as much for me as they are for him...plus I know that when I go back to work I'm never going to regret all the time we spent playing and learning together. But everything else can be neglected a little, surely? Even typing that makes me guffaw because I know I couldn't just neglect my tasks completely. I will always need to tidy and clean because I simply hate unorganised chaos. I deep need in me since childhood has to organise things or people. I think it's the same part of me that will always get a thrill at buying stationary. 

I've always been a bit of an overachiever. I'm not the smartest, quickest, prettiest or funniest. In fact I am distinctly average in every way and so I've always had to work hard. A fear of ignorance means I'm constantly reading and wanting to learn. If I don't know something, I have to 'read up' on it so that I know the answers. I feel proud when I receive compliments on my outfit, carefully selected in my mind the night before, even though I might only be going to the coffee shop. It's not about being the best; I'm not that shallow. It more like I want to be the best that I can be. 

But life is not a competition...and it's foolish to compete against yourself all the time. 

Looking at my instagram page, it's full of glossy, filtered pictures of home cooked, healthy meals, a smiling baby, a made up face and primped hair, motivating images of me working out. How pretty. How 'put together'.They're truthful images because yes, sometimes my life is pretty and put together, but it's not the whole truth. Sometimes, days like today happen.

Today I'm ill, grumpy, greasy and unmotivated. Today I haven't showered or put on make up or even changed out of my joggers and t-shirt which I slept in. I just put Military Man's hoodie over the top, because I'm missing him whilst he's away in Norway. Today, Seb and I have eaten a lovely breakfast of scrambled eggs and avocado, beautifully instagrammed....but I haven't washed the dishes, or unloaded the dishwasher from last night. I haven't dressed Seb - he's still in his pj's. His toys are strewn around the front room, the dog's muddy footprints pollute my usually clean kitchen floor...and it's ok for today. I'm cutting myself some slack. I have no workout plans nor am I leaving the house apart from the obligatory dog walks which I will do in the same clothes I'm wearing now.

Everyone puts pressure on themselves but I do think mum's add even more weight to the load because they have a little person that they feel they're letting down if they don't do something perfectly. This is silly. Not once has Sebastian looked at me this morning, in his avocado stained superman pyjamas, and frowned at me as if to say 'you're failing as a mother'. He gave me his usual gummy giggle and blew a raspberry, spraying me with unswallowed remnants of scrambled egg. Sebastian thinks I'm perfect. One day, this will change and no matter how hard I try, he'll still give me stony teenage glares that will unhinge me. One day, he'll think I'm a rubbish mum and in a fit of adolescent rage he might even say it. But for right now, Sebastian thinks I'm the most wonderful mummy in the world, complete with greasy hair and a messy kitchen. And today, that's the best that I can be.


J

Yorkshire Days Out With Kids: Part One

This post is inspired by Emma's Summer '17 Bucket List over at her blog which includes loads of fab ideas for days out in Yorkshire. If you're sprogless, definitely have a peek at her list!

My list is for those that have mini humans attached to them this summer (or if you're just a big kid at heart!).

Every Spring, I find myself making grandiose plans for the Summer. There was the Summer that Military Man and me were going to go on a Staycation, camping in a 2 man tent around England to see all the places we've never seen (Glastonbury I'm looking at you!) but being 7 months pregnant with a beagle puppy, it didn't really feel like the right time. Another Summer  we were going to do city breaks. A weekend in Vienna here, a jaunt in  Rome there...but life got in the way. Besides, city breaks are expensive!

So this year, facing the prospect of a long (hopefully warm!) season without Military Man who will be sunning himself whilst working in Cyprus for 2 months, I've decided to make some plans a little more realistic that will be enjoyable for me and keep baby Sebastian happy too!

1.  Eureka Children's Museum - Halifax

This place looks amazing! It caters for children from birth to 12 years old and encourages hands on interaction with the exhibits. With 9 different 'zones' to explore - including sensory areas and soft play, you really get a lot of bang for your buck. An adult pass is just short of £13, under 1's are free but once you've got a pass it's valid all year. This would be a rainy day out!

Image credit: Eureka.org.uk

2. Ponderosa - Batley

I love the idea of this place. It's a therapeutic centre which is suitable for children of all ages but is specifically catered towards children with disabilities. There's a small zoo with animals ranging from the Tropical Jungle of Brazil to the Sandy Plains of Australia and children can pet and feed some animals. There's a picnic area and a man made beach with a pirate ship to play in plus a zip wire area for older kids. An Indoor play area and an ice cream parlour makes this a really fun day out for a really reasonable price of £5.50 for a combined adult ticket.

3. Baby Rave by BoomChikkaBoom - Various places

I have to admit, I'm so excited for this one. A Baby Rave, for those not in the know, consists of messy play, light shows, bubbles, confetti and noise makers all with music and glo-sticks! Events are held regularly in Halifax, Leeds, Harrogate and York and are often themed and held at baby appropriate times. At £6 for an adult and 1 child, it's not going to break the bank either.

Image credit: BoomChikkaboom.com

4. The Rainbow Factory - Leeds

This is one for the kids who love storytime. The Rainbow Factory is a play centre that caters to children from birth to 10 years old with weekly drop in sessions ranging from Music Monkeys and Sensory Stories to themes events like Harry Potter Day and Enchanted Theatre performances. Event prices do vary and you have to book events ahead of time so keep checking the website.

5. Ilkley Lido - Ilkley

If we are lucky enough to get a day a beautifully hot and sunny day I am definitely taking a trip here. Located near Bradford, the Ilkley Lido is one of the few remaining operational Lido's in the UK. Inflatables are allowed and there's a paddling pool for little ones. A picnic area is available to save on costs but there's also a cafe. An adult pass is £4.50 and a junior is £2.35. Please note that this isn't a heated pool so be sure to put your little one in a full body wetsuit and take lots of towels for snuggles after splashtime!

Image credit: Ilkley Lido

I hope you've found some inspiration in my list so far. Tune in next time for Yorkshire Days Out With Kids: Part 2.

J

Cesarean Sections - Cutting Through The Crap

Pregnancy is a mother fucker. It really puts you through wringer mentally and physically. The nausea, the bulging boobs, the swelling tummy, the kicks (oh the kicks) in the ribs that legitimately give you the fear that your baby is going to puncture your lung. And then there's sleepless nights (practise, I was informed, for when the bundle of joy arrives! Ho ho ho), waddling like a drunk penguin and pain in all your joints that inspire new sympathy for the elderly.

But despite all this, you're excited! I couldn't wait to meet my little baby boy, my little Gizmo the womb gremlin. That excitement got me through the days when i felt like my belly entered the room 5 minutes before the rest of me. That same excitement also got me through The Fear.

The Fear was all consuming in those final weeks. This little wrigger, burrowing his way in to my bladder and ribcage simultaneously, was going to have to come out. 

I'd been repeatedly told that my little Gizmo was actually not so little and was measuring big. I measured at full term 40 weeks by the time i was 36 weeks pregnant. So it was natural for me to think that he'd be making an early appearance - he was cooked and ready - he'd definitely be popping his not so little head out my foof sooner rather than later. Right? 

Wrong. I got to 41 weeks and nothing was happening. No dilating. No effacing. No other puke inducing words that implied imminent vaginal birth. The Fear got worse. I'd be birthing a beast that would tear me open! He'd get stuck and he'd die! I'd bleed too much and die! (Most of The Fear scenarios ended up in someone dying in 1800's birth bloodbath style). But then   The Fear changed as i started to think that i might not be able to birth my son...that my most natural, instinctive reason for existence would be deprived from me...

I was born by cesarean section and I have nothing against them - they are amazing, lifesaving surgeries and i applaud the surgeons and patients alike. But elective cesareans were a different matter for me. I hadn't realised how much I had subconciously judged those who had them as being 'too posh to push' until I had to have one myself. 

At 41 weeks I had a stretch and sweep by a consultant. It was excruciating and i bled considerably and right away i was sent for a vaginal ultrasound. Afterwards, sitting in his office on a sanitary pad that resembled an adult nappy, he gave me and my husband 3 pieces of information.

1. My cervix was high, tight and closed. He'd torn through it anyway (hence pain that made me nearly throw up - really) but he doubted i would go in to labour naturally.

2. There was something behind my cervix that wasn't the baby. Something that felt like a lump.

3. The lump, likely to be a dermoid cyst (google it if you're brave), was attached to my ovary and was twisting it downwards. I would need surgery to remove the cyst and most probably my ovary.

Stunned, I stared at my husband. I vaguely heard the consultant explain that I could try for a natural birth but that it may damage my ovary, it may burst the cyst causing sepsis, it may end up in emergency c-section because my baby boy could get stuck. 

My visions of a waterbirth dissipated. The images of me crying and grunting as i partially fractured my husband's hand whilst our child was delivered by a brusque but lovely Yorkshire midwife disappeared.

There was just no...romance to an elective c-section. But it seemed we had no choice. We were booked for surgery 3 days later...the 25th October 2016. We went home with mixed feelings.

The next day i woke with a new found excitement. How lucky was I that I knew the exact date when my baby would arrive? We could plan for someone to look after Smeagol the beagle, inform family so they could book time off work and make arrangements to travel to visit.  To make it even more exciting, we did a C-section announcement as a fun way of telling friends and family without inviting pity or questions.

Our C-section announcement

Ironically,  at 3am on the morning of the 25th October, I began to get contractions. I lost my plug and the contractions started getting more frequent and painful. It's true what they say - they are about as unmistakable as having a red hot vice squeezing around your uterus. But i felt so grateful...i got to experience just a little bit of labour. We had the impassioned drive to the hospital with me huffing and puffing, repeatedly saying 'that was the worst one yet!'

Because I was in labour I was prepped for surgery immediately. It was a surprisingly casual affair. I laughed and joked with the nurses and the anaesthetists, my husband took selfies of himself in his blue scrubs, we had a lovely chat whilst the surgeon cut me open.

I wasn't numb exactly but i couldn't feel any pain at all. It was like someone was doing dishes in my tummy and there was a lot of tugging.

C-sections are busy. I had a screen covering me from under my bust (Sweeney Todd type splatters of blood are normal) and there were so many medical people around me. Hubby was right next to my head and my trusty anaesthetist was behind me, continually checking I was ok. My midwife was there, smiling, letting me know exactly what was happening.

And then i heard it. His cry. My baby boy's first long, powerful scream. And it was so full of life. Tears sprang forth so easily that I wondered if I had been crying the whole time. He was placed on my chest, a red, gunky, warm little thing, all tiny hands and feet and squashed face. It wasn't love at first sight - it was awe that this tiny little human had arrived. 

It didn't matter how he'd arrived. It didn't matter that i had to be sliced and diced to see him. I'd do anything in the world to see his face...his perfect little face.

Whilst me and my husband, the new mummy and daddy, did skin to skin and helped our little one to the breast, the surgeon continued to operate and removed the cyst. It was the same size as my son's head and accounted for a lot of the apparant 'large' size of my son. At 8lbs 14oz he was big...but not the minimum of 9lbs60z i'd been told to expect.

My ovary was saved, my chance of conceiving again completely unaffected and i was sewn up and whisked away to my warn with other new mummies. We were no different. We all had the same look of love, awe and terror. 

And i got my brusque but lovely Yorkshire midwife...