The Mum Mafia

‘It takes a village to raise a child’

This was one of those phrases that I never really understood (like sleepless nights) until I became a mum. I feel fortunate that I get to be the mama of my wild things but being a mum has made me so much more thankful for my mum and the village that raised me. By ‘village’ I mean the mum mafia that I have grown up with and therefore set the tone for my ‘motherhood’ years. My mum is one of my favourite people. She is one of my best friends. She is still best friends with the group of girls that she went to school with and it is these women that I am so thankful for when I think about my own motherhood journey. In order to share a bit about my ‘life as mum’ I want to share a bit about those who have gone before me. My Mum is in her 50s, as are most of her friends (give or take the ones that joined the circle of trust a little later than others – but are still key members). She is a solid over-sharer, she has th social life of a teenager, she goes out in London with her ‘mates’ at least once a week after work (I don’t try and talk to her on Thursdays because she’s “out out” and doesn’t answer her phone!). She goes on girly holidays, on weekends away, she pops round for tea, breakfast, lunch or dinner without being invited; and her friends do the same. Recently mum and her friends stepped into action when one of their best friends needed them…they had adult sleepovers (not that kind!) they made food, they made phone calls, they laughed and listenend and cried and most importantly just loved their friend and were there for her. Because of these women I have a group of friends I have known my whole life… because of their influence and love for one another they have raised a new generation, a new village of women (and men) who love their people passionately with care and honesty. These people are so much more than friends to me and I will be eternally grateful to my mum and her friends for raising us how they have, for showing us how to love people and surround yourself with good ones and how important it is that you are not alone. When I became pregnant with our first child I knew I needed to extend the village…

I joined a pregnancy yoga class (to help with the pelvic stuff and hopefully meet some other mums to be). I was living away from the place I grew up (still am) and didn’t know anyone else who’d had a baby or was pregnant so this seemed a good place to start. It was in this group that I met the Mum Mafia (so aptly named by our social secretary). We were more the baby wearing, pushchair pushing, coffee drinking, boob/bottle wielding, sleep deprived, living in a glass cage of emotion,  similar stage of life, group of similar minded women type of mafia… not the gun wielding aggressive type… just to clarify!

Of course, those early days of not knowing people, trying to make friends as an actual adult, was not easy. The ‘hello, will you be my friend’ of childhood days didn’t seem appropriate and I didn’t want people to think I was weird (that could wait until later). We were in this group for weeks and as each week passed and I didn’t know any of them or talk outside of the group I was starting to worry that I was going to be doing this alone. There was one week that stands out and the day I knew I had met some mummy mates; we were all in the 3^rd trimester with large growing bumps and trying to do the exercises with the class and grace of an elephant in Swan Lake. As we all bent down for floor exercises in pairs, someone…well, ‘let one rip’. The woman just ignored it and carried on and I silently thanked God that, on this occasion, it wasn’t my unruly and unreliable digestive system letting me down as I really did want to make at least one friend. As I tried to hold back the tears and looked at my partner I realised she was not laughing and all of a sudden I hated my 5 year old humour and needed to get out of there and into the car so I could cry and laugh safely; but then, as I looked around I realized there were two curly blonde bombshells in a pair next to me with silent tears and shoulders shaking like they were dancing to 80s dance tunes. I knew we’d be friends. As I caught sight of a few others I realized I wasn’t alone and the Mafia was born (in my head these were my people, these were going to be my village – they just didn’t know it yet!). Fast forward a few weeks and our social secretary (we said that with the confidence that one day we’d be social and have a social life again) suggested we swap numbers and I’m so thankful that she did! These women have walked alongside me in my parenting journey; they are my go to people.

They don’t judge when you text to say you’re having percy pigs and baileys coffee at 5pm because it’s one of those days. Instead they send back emojis of their current food/drink and you’re on par.

They bring you lunch on their lunch break (from being an actual Dr) when you’re in hospital with a very sick child and it’s only months later you realise they never ate with you.

They don’t mock your accent as an Essex girl living in the Midlands.

They answer cries for help without judgement.

They listen like you’re the only thing that matters in that moment (despite the fact that there’s food being thrown, milk leaking, children screaming).

They share their lives with you and welcome you in to theirs.

They can be called upon at any time or any place.

They politely tell you when you’ve got sick or faeces (not your own) stuck to parts of your body/clothing.

They don’t tell you look tired.

They know that you do really love your husband even when you have an adult meltdown in soft play about the fact that ‘you didn’t communicate that to him’.

They love you as you are.

They love your kids and would fight for them like their own.

They are all amazing women who I hold in high esteem.

The internet tells me the term ‘mum mafia’ refers to school gates politics between mums. I’ve been a school mum for 7 months and I think the definition of ‘the mum mafia’ needs an update. I think they are a group of like minded women, who love, support, laugh, cry, listen, adapt, support and encourage other women in their journey of motherhood, whether we’re in John Lewis drinking too much coffee, stuck in soft play tunnels or standing in a school playground.

On this Mother’s day, I’d like to thank the mum mafia, the prayer warriors and village that raised me for being on this journey with me and bringing me this far.

I’d especially like to thank my mum; she is kind and compassionate, she loves beyond measure, she’s funny and lets us laugh at her and with her, she’s fun to be with, she’s a feeder (thanks mum!) and she loves her kids, my kids and her people unconditionally. I’ve learnt a lot from her already but I still have so much more to learn. Without her I would not be half the person I am – she regularly boasts in my triumphs that I get everything from her: except my anxiety – that’s from dad – sorry dad!

Happy Mother’s day Mum and thank you.

 

Oh the Places You’ll Go

Oh the places you’ll go and the things that you’ll see, the memories you’ll make and the moments you’ll keep.

 Oh the places you’ll go and the new things you’ll know; like how rockets are made and how they go where they go.

You’ll learn of adventure and dream of your own, of a time when you’ll be almost but not quite fully grown.

 How you’ll learn about owls and bats and their sight, and you’ll learn why they only show themselves at night.

 Oh the places you’ll go and the people you’ll meet and the views that you’ll see and the things that you’ll eat.

 Oh the places you’ll go as you learn life’s new things, like why penguins like the cold and why a whale sings. Or why petrol is black and why witches hate Jesus and you’ll try hard to listen and do things that please us.

 Although we’ll sometimes get grumpy and moody or sad, you’ll be there, still smiling and promising it’s not bad.

 You’ll do new things and old and have your favourites that you’ll grow, you’ll miss things and win things and lose things you know.

But you’ll try hard at all things that cross over your path. You’ll learn how to feel, you’ll cry and you’ll laugh.

 Every day will bring memories and you’ll keep them or share them. You’ll have ideas and secrets you’ll only tell Ben.

You’ll build bridges, climb trees, pick flowers and build dens. You’ll learn lots about numbers and multiples of ten.

 You’ll spend your days running and jumping and climbing, you’ll be messy and dirty and sharing your singing.

Your imagination will take you to far off lands and the time will start to dwindle when you want to hold hands.

 You’ll learn about history and art and science; of words and of languages of things that surpass us.

You’ll learn how to read and put thoughts on a page, you’ll grow upwards (and outwards) as time shows your age.

 You’ll talk of the sea, of boats, poo and farts. You’ll learn how to tell a real joke and make people laugh.

 I’ll cherish each moment as if it’s our last and cling to my memoires of things that have passed; but each day I will wake with a spring in my step and look forward to watching you and seeing what’s next.

 I’ll watch you and listen and smile as you tell me, of the people you meet and the things that you see.

 So fly high, swim far, run fast and walk slow, so you can capture each moment of the places you’ll go.

I’m in a Glass Cage of Emotion

I am Megan and I am an absolute, 100%, total emotional wreck.

  It’s been building for weeks, in-fact it’s been building for years. I thought I had more time. I vividly remember holding my brand new, shiny, smelly, beautiful bundle of baby boy and thinking, I have 4 ½ years with him, four and a half years before he has to go to school. Four and a half years before I have to let someone else have him for 6 hours a day, to let someone else teach him, encourage him, help him, comfort him, enjoy him, laugh with him, laugh at him. It seemed like such a long time. It is not a long time. I feel like I’ve blinked and my beautiful baby boy is now a beautiful big boy who is growing daily, who is learning constantly and who is changing always yet always, somehow, the same. I am crying writing this. I’ve been writing it in my head for weeks but I can’t stop. I know we have to let our kids go at some point and actually it’s just starting school; but for some kids and for some parents it’s really hard. I know it seems funny, these ‘controlling’ parents who ‘can’t let go’ and should embrace the fact that their children get to go to school and have an education. I feel really silly sometimes. I can’t help it. I’m really sad that he is starting school and I’m just going to put it out there that for some parents it is an emotional time and I think that’s ok. I think it is ok. It is ok to say yes he starts school in September and I’m not coping well with that fact! I’ve been wondering recently, about other times that I may feel like this and also wondering why I seem to not be coping so well. Maybe others are just crying at home and not talking about it, maybe others are fine and excited about it – whatever or however you’re feeling I think it’s fine, and good that people respond in different ways because we are all different aren’t we.

 Recently, I’ve really struggled with my anxiety. I’ve cried myself to sleep more nights than I can remember for a long time. I’m pretty sure no-one knows, except my husband who I finally told last week, but not fully, because actually I don’t know.

The thought of school has triggered me, I realise that now. I am, in some way grieving. It sounds absolutely mad that I should write that about my child going to school. I feel like the last four years of working part time, being at home, enjoying, exploring and learning with my beautiful wild things has been wonderful but this new thing on the horizon will change all that. I think it comes down to the fact that I am a creature of habit and I do not cope well with change. At least when it is planned I have time to ‘prepare’. That’s where I am now, I am preparing. It has triggered me to remember; the good things, the bad things and downright ugly things. I’ve been thrown back to times of utter joy and elation and the time I was told he might die. I feel like I’m in limbo, trapped with my emotions – in fact – as the very wise Ron Burgundy puts it – “I’m in a glass cage of emotion” and I have no idea how to get out!

I feel like I’m in the new born days of crying for no reason, crying because I’m tired or emotional or my kid doing break-dance moves, or wanting to talk about becoming a teenage mutant ninja turtle when he is a teenager (we’re not even at school yet) crying because I don’t know what to cook for dinner or what day it is or because I’m thinking so much that I can’t actually think straight. I’m worried about being the random mum on that first day sobbing uncontrollably. In-fact I’m worried about getting through our first ‘parent’s meeting’ tomorrow without crying uncontrollably (apparently first impressions are really important!).

I’m spending my days trying to catch every moment with him. I’m scared. I’m worried. When you feel like they have been yours for so long and you’ve got to let someone else in now to nurture a side of them that you’ll rarely see it feels like a little loss in some way. I’m sensitive, he’s sensitive. I’m worried because of his history. Even though he is fine now it haunts me. I think about who he will be friends with, or what he will be doing, will his stammer may come back, will he like school and want to be there. I have that massive mum guilt when I have to discipline him or say no currently, because I feel like I want these next few weeks and months to be great and fun and ‘happy happy happy’. I’m trying to think of all the things I can do in the next 5 weeks so we can make the most of term-time trips!

I cannot imagine my days off without him. I am excited about spending some 1:1 time with number 2 but we will miss him terribly. On our one morning together currently number 2 is always asking for his brother and when he will see him and when we will fetch him from pre-school. I’m sure we will get into a new routine and enjoy some fun times together and I can focus on him for those special times.

There’s just a big part of me at the moment that cannot fathom it. I’m excited about learning about what he is learning about and his new interests and his friends. I’m sure he’ll love it, even though currently he is adamant he isn’t going.

I think the bottom line is I am going to really miss him and that’s ok. It’s ok to say that as a mum, dad, parent you are worried about times of change. It feels like this is our first really big change looming on the horizon and it’s just been creeping up on me, slowly and silently until recently when it’s ‘happy slapped’ me in the face!

So I’ll rock up to those school gates in September (well probably walk inconspicuously with glasses on and waterproof mascara), wearing my ‘school runnings’ jumper (that I am yet to purchase and really want but not sure that will help with the whole don’t draw attention to yourself thing on the first day of school). I’ll give my big boy a cuddle kiss and tell him I love him and to go have fun and make new memories and then I’ll go cry on my own for a little while knowing that this will be one of the first, of many times I’m sure, where he will begin to make new memories that don’t include me… and that, I think, is ok.

 

 “If we didn’t have change, we wouldn’t have butterflies”

Boys, Toys and Automobiles

Some days, on bad days, I feel like I need one of those signs and sirens ‘wide load, coming through, wide load’. On particularly bad days it’s due to my love/hate relationship with my hips. On other days it’s due to the sheer amount of stuff I’m carrying with no help from my wonderful, energetic, head strong, wild things.

I happen to be mother to two strapping young lads! Ok, not quite lads yet but “big boys”. The type of kids that people feel the need to comment on their size – like just the other night, whilst eyeing up some special cars a neighbor has he commented on how “big” he is for a four year old. I smiled politely. We’re that family that have to stand outside the house watching the very flash cars drive up and around the block whilst they are changed over, listening to engine roars and waving – like the Queen (on my part) – because we have car mad boys who love the look, touch, smell, feel and sound of the cars (number one left a lovely nose print on the window of said car that evening!). In-fact, they love any kind of transport, weapon, brick, lego piece, musical instrument, teddy, dinosaur and book. Anyhoo, I am the mother of two boys, who are quite wild at times; not feral (as my brother lovingly pointed out once) but yes, quite wild.  After 4 years and two boys I’m quite used to the comments and people’s need to comment on them or us, but there are some things I don’t get and I’m not quite sure of the meaning behind them.

 

1. “Two boys, you have your hands full”

Now then, let’s lay this straight… anyone carrying a handbag, kids bag, child’s favourite toy or comforter, child on one hip and another holding the leg/arm or any part he can grab definitely has their hands full. Add into the mix trying to push a buggy (that children do not want to sit in) and it turns into a wonderful dance or fun game of ‘chase’ or ‘tag’. So , thank you for stating the obvious – my literal self sometimes wonders why people feel the need to state the obvious but then the non-literal side can read the meaning between the lines. I have two boys; therefore I have my hands full. Don’t get me wrong, my hands are always full, but I’m pretty sure my friends with two girls or one girl and a boy or one girl or one boy or two girls and a boy or three boys and a girl (you get the idea) have their hands full a lot; because regardless of the sex of our children, having children equates to having full hands – always! Sometimes it’s children, sometimes it’s toys, sometimes it’s sick as you catch it whilst your child voms in the car on a long car journey – whatever it is, as a parent, our hands are generally ‘full’. Please don’t assume that because I have two boys it is somehow worse for me and please don’t feel sorry for me – I flipping love the wild things and would have it no other way.

 

2. Non-verbal comments!

The comments are one thing, the looks are another. Those looks that have sad eyes, worrying for you, feeling sorry for you, judging you, laughing at you. If you really feel the need to stare, or my presence and the presence of my children bothers you – just talk to us – it’s much better than staring! Either that, or walk away.

 

3. Two boys, so are you going to try for a girl.

I’m not sure how many people really discuss pro-creation amongst their closest family members and friends let alone complete strangers or acquaintances. I just don’t understand this comment at all and I actually find it a little upsetting and a little insulting. I am blessed beyond measure to have these beautiful, somewhat lively, humans in my life. Every day I look at them and wonder how I can possible love them more and shed a wee tear as I notice a new mole (let’s hope they don’t take after me in that sense) or a new side to their character, or a new favourite thing and I think I’ve blinked and missed a year. I find it sad that people assume that because I have boys I must want or need a girl. I’m not sure where this comes from, because as far as I can see, when our children are little, people assume you must want one of each or if you’re a woman you must really want or even need a girl. Ultimately, you are giving the message that you think little boys are not as good, not as fun. You talk of a time where girls as they grow will always want their mum but boys will flee the nest and ‘never return’. Ok, that’s a bit dramatic but there’s an old saying along the same kind of lines. As our children grow however, roles change a little and all of a sudden it’s the boys who are “flying high” and pushed or told they must get the sought after jobs and it’s the girls who are fighting for equal rights. I know of mums of girls who have never been asked if they are going to “try again for a boy”. What’s wrong with boys? The message you are giving my children is that they are not good enough and the message you give me when you ask me this is that you think my life to be incomplete and assume I must be unhappy or left wanting. I’m not. Some people do want “one of each” and some people don’t. However people feel, certain opinions, views and subtle hints should not be thrust upon us. Please do not assume anything of me. If we were to have more children, it would be because we want to increase our family, not because it’s not good enough with ‘just boys’.

 

4. Do you let him have long hair because you wanted a girl?

NO

See above.

Boys can have long hair too.

 

5. “Oh, so you let him play with pushchairs”

I don’t believe there are girl and boy toys and if my son wants to cuddle his dolly and push her in his pushchair or push his cars and trains around a track it really doesn’t bother me. If he is playing, learning and enjoying himself, surely that’s all that matters. If I didn’t let him play with his pretend kitchen (because we all know kitchens are just for girls) I’d really miss my cups of tea with pineapple, pizza, strawberries and cake with a side of teenage mutant ninja turtle on the side for breakfast. My husband pushes my kids in the pushchair and makes dinner (occasionally!!!). What am I telling and teaching my children if I don’t let them play with these ‘toys’.

 

6. “They’re certainly lively, aren’t they” (raised eyebrows)

I’m not sure if this is really a comment about my kids or my parenting skills and not controlling my lively kids but anyhoo…Yes, they are lively – they’re children. Most children I know, boys and girls are lively. That’s what I love about children, the freedom they charge with and face each new day with, the joy and liveliness of life. Although it can be a bit stressful, most days I envy their liveliness and try and jump on their train. Our boys are lively; from the moment they wake until they go to bed they are on the move and chatting, singing, dancing, playing guitar, eating, asking questions, making comments, charging, running, eating, screaming, playing guitar, laughing, flipping into headstands on the sofa, eating, skidding on their knees on the floor, being ninja turtles or Lewis Hamilton, playing guitar, break dancing (which is hilarious!) building, eating and then sometimes, they stop, to read a few books and have a cuddle. I know boys have a reputation of being boisterous and loud and always moving and mine certainly fit some of these, but I’m sure there are little girls who love to move all the time too. I don’t see it is as a bad thing, I’m just learning to run so I can keep up with them!

 

I find myself in the position of being responsible, along with my husband, for these two beautiful little humans and trying to raise them to be the best humans that they can be. It’s a long road, it’s bumpy, it’s fun, it’s tiring and shattering, it’s changing always but it’s my favourite thing and I wouldn’t change it for the world. They teach me new things every day and whether we have boys or girls I think children should be celebrated and supported, raised and encouraged to be the best they can be, regardless of whether they’re born with a willy or a nonny (sorry, still caught in childhood days of not being able to use anatomical names for certain body parts!).

 

The ‘Planned Fun’ kind of day…

Do you have them? Those kind of days that you’ve planned in your head and they’re going to be fun… I mean they are GOING to be FUN! We had one of those days today. It started at 1.30am with screams. After rushing in to the bedroom unsure of what I’d find and being met with sobs and tears and screams about a runny nose, I swiftly found ‘something’ to wipe it on, snuggled him back in and returned to the land of nod.

At 4am the screams came again, this time a loud voice demanding “JUICE NOW”. I explained, gently, quietly that it was night time and not juice time. The little voice got louder and then another little voice crept in asking if it was “get up time”. It most certainly was not. After 30 seconds (it felt like 30 minutes) of trying to reason with him I gradually came round to the fact that – who am I kidding –  it’s 4am and whatever he wants he can jolly well have (1:0)

At 5.30am a little voice was calling freely on the landing “hello, hello”. Quickly hushed into our bed the reasoning of sleep, daddy sleeping, mummy sleeping, not daytime, still night-time started.

6.00am: 2-0 to the wild one. Cue hour of ‘delight’ with Daddy before handover at 7am with crying and real tears, something about wanting ninja turtles that happen to be in bedroom where brother is sleeping – no go – and not acceptable – cue more tears and demands of “I need them NOW” “I want them NOW mum”. That’s it, Cbeebies in bed (but he obviously can’t be expected to hold the phone and play it on his own can he…) then comes the dreaded ‘10% battery signal’. We had to get up.

I was using my best mummy tone, jolly, happy, ‘really sorry you’re sad but don’t punch me’ voice. Calm, patient and really, really trying. After an hour it would appear that sticking all of his dinosaur stickers on a stool was the only thing that could calm the upset. That and when mummy finally cracked and very loudly QUACKED! That’s right I actually quaked out loud; because despite the wonderful, amazing highs and joys of parenthood and the love that motherhood has brought me and despite the fact that I really wouldn’t change any of it for the world, there comes a point sometimes where you want to scream totally inappropriate words that as a person you don’t even say, to a toddler who would not appreciate them and definitely doesn’t need to hear them and who would then undoubtedly use them against you in public (and we cannot be seen to be struggling at all with these little beings in public can we). So I resorted to quacking…

The ‘planned fun’ started with dancing and after one uppercut (3:0) and a clonk on the chin (4:0) we made it out of the house and arrived ON TIME! On time I tell you (4:1). When I told them we were dancing this morning number one said “Ooo I love dancing. My favourite bit is running around the room and fighting with B” – I guess one persons running and fighting is another’s interpretive dance… right? We were focusing a lot on squishing and squashing today…cue excited calls for BUNDLE…. well it would have been rude not to, we were given permission after all. Then come the sponges – soft, squishy, can’t really go wrong – unless, maybe, they are thrown with great force in your face several times (but we’re trying to manage that whole emotion/breakdown/my kids are wild thing in public aren’t we, so it’s ok…right? 5:1). Then… oh yes… then come the noodles, you know, the long bendy things you’d use in a pool to keep you afloat. Well now, you’ve basically told them that they are in fact ninja turtles and here’s your weapon to do as you jolly well like with (cue Donatello with stick down his back and Leonardo sporting a great sword). Ok, so actually they were meant to bend them and bang buckets with them and be swung by mummy with them, but come on, who doesn’t want to be a ninja turtle with your very own weapons. After two full on whips to the face (7:1) and actual watery eyes I thought the whole ‘managing in public’ was about to go sideways. Miraculously we pulled it back and became turtles in the buckets instead (8:2), shell on back and everything (go us!).

 

We (the royal ‘we’) actually love this class and the freedom it gives them to be creative and move and do in their own way. It also brings on the hunger pains (because two breakfasts and two snacks before 10am is definitely not enough to keep us going).

On to soft play. A successful ‘planned fun’ day is having a range of activities planned which suit your children’s interests but give you lots of scope to tire them out all ready for that all important nap time. Soft play also gives you the opportunity to feed them out and therefore less mess at home (8:3). I survived soft play (it really is the battle of the fittest) and arrived home with two beautiful sleeping boys who napped until they were woken (8:4).

All in all, a successful ‘planned fun’ day was had by all and I am eagerly anticipating the excitement of what tomorrow will bring with the wild things (well actually tomorrow is a ‘work day…’) but on another day, planned or not, I’d say the the chance of some fun is 50/50 – I’ll take that thank you very much!

Joyful, Joyful

Where’s Joy??

I’ve always been a generally, chilled, joyful kind of person. Someone told me recently that I’d changed! We all change don’t we? Different things happen in our lives, the roads bend a bit, we decide to climb a mountain and get a bit stuck; stuff happens TO us. Generally this is life and we embark on new things knowing that things will change, we will be changed and our lives may be changed (hopefully for the better!). I’m a bit of a creature of habit though and I don’t do well with change (except sleep patterns – children sleeping longer, that change I can deal well with!). Other change though, it’s scary, it’s unknown and it causes all these feelings that we’re not sure of all at once. Last year I had a big change in my life – I was told I had an anxiety disorder. I think, when you’re a mum (or a parent) this is generally  ‘normal’ and there are ‘normal’ anxieties that come with the territory and the day to day (even if you’re not a parent). Some anxieties are actually good for us. I am by no means saying that one persons anxiety is more or less than another, I’m just sharing a bit of my own experience to date. Now I’ve always been a worrier but this was different and hit me for six a bit. In some ways it was one of the best thing to happen to me. Someone gave me a name and a reason for what was happening and I have the space to talk about how I’m feeling and reflect a little on myself (which let’s be honest, which busy mum gets much time to do that!). As I write this I am watching ‘The Fast and the Furious 6’ and someone has just thrown out the line “Man you gotta check your emotion, you just went from shaggy to all Scooby doo…”. It made me laugh, a lot, because that’s how it is some days; you’re all chilled and happy and joyful and then there it is – pow – and you’re all ‘scooby doo’. Whilst reflecting on how my anxiety has affected me over the last year I’ve found that there’s one emotion that I used to find, notice and enjoy easily and the one that I think my anxiety has stolen from me… that’s right, it’s been stolen! It’s my JOY. There are obviously times, on a daily basis, when I am happy and even joyful but I still find myself searching for Joy, looking for her, wondering where she is right now. I’ve been pondering the missing Joy for a few months now. I can remember mentioning to some friends a few months ago that I started to wake up each morning with the song ‘Joyful Joyful’ in my head (to be honest it made a nice change from ‘Roary the racing car, paw patrol, paw patrol and Blaze and the monster machines’). Again for those that know me, my life is pretty much a musical. I’ve always got a tune in my head and I’m always humming, often without realising it. I usually have a ‘track of the day’ in my head which is on repeat. I can guarantee that whilst I’m talking to you I’ll be singing in my head. It’s no surprise then that I go to bed and wake up with a song in my head. Over Christmas I watched David Bowie and Bing Crosby sing ‘The little drummer boy’ a lot. I found it helpful to sing ‘peace on earth, could it be’ as number 2 was charging, screaming, tantruming, hitting and being generally a very energetic, headstrong and somewhat forceful two year old’.

Anyway, I digress; Joy

So I was waking up with this song in my head and it started to make me think about where my joy had gone and why. This started a few months of searching. I would look, all the time and try and specifically notice when I was joyful and what caused it. Soon, there were little signs and reminders of Joy everywhere I looked – quite literally. In December a film came out called JOY – it was planted all over the screens, buses and advertising boards. Obviously, being Christmas ‘Sister Act’ made an appearance with my ‘track of the month’ featured heavily! On Christmas day I watched call the midwife with my in-law family. I’ve not watched this show for years but was drawn in, as usual. At the end of the episode a baby was born and they named her Joy. I gasped quietly to myself as the narrator went on to describe Joy beautifully. Then I went to the supermarket early Jan to get a few bits (without the kids) and I got to wander the aisles and generally have a mooch. You may think it odd but I do love food shopping, especially without kids in tow. Anyway, I get to the till and notice my cashier ‘friend’. Now, we all have them don’t we; that one person who always seems to be working when we’re shopping and is a little over friendly and ‘chummy’. Well, my ‘friend’ likes to strike up conversation about all sorts of things, mostly my hair and without fail about the items I’m buying (fortunately I’ve not had laxatives in my shopping basket to date!). Once, I was buying baking ingredients and after the normal hair comments she asked what I was baking. She then took out an old roll of receipts and asked me what specific ingredients I used and quantities to bake cupcakes and a Victoria sponge. She wanted to know amounts and how to mix and everything – all the time I’m trying to use the self-service! On this occasion I find myself in the shop again and smile as I approach the tills and find my ‘friend’ there. She starts asking about the books I’m buying and telling me I must be a teacher. We have a little conversation about my actual job and then there’s silence before she says “you singing, you’re singing? You’re very happy, very joyful, that’s a good thing”. I am obviously doing that humming thing that I do without realising. Wow, no-one has referred to me being joyful for a long time – I smiled, thanked her and left thinking “I’ll take that”.

I feel like I’ve been searching for Joy for months and actually Joy has hunted me down and found me.

As much as my anxiety tries to take it, I plan on spending everyday fighting for my Joy and my right to be Joyful. I have a lot in my life that brings me a lot of Joy and I want to spend time living in the now, enjoying my adventures with the wild things and being the best wife and mother that I can be. I got a light up ‘Joy’ sign for my birthday that I plan on putting by my new front door so it will greet me (and others) as I enter and leave my house and as I run around after two active little people throughout the day! I love a little visual reminder.

I accept some days are and will be  more difficult than others and on these days, chocolate for breakfast is definitely the way forward!

I know it’s 18 days late but… happy, JOYFUL New Year to you all.

The ‘I’m a comfort eater’ kind of day.

On January 1st 2014 I was on holiday with my in-laws and all the fam including 3 little people. I declared on new years day that my new years resolution was to start a blog. ‘What will you write about’ asked my brother in-law. “I’m not sure, mummy stuff I guess”. I thought I’d title that first blog ‘start as you mean to go on’ although that morning Ben had been up every two hours through the night and up-up at 5am – I was hopeful this was not how he was meaning to go on (18 months later we finally got some sleep!)
Anyhoo, nearly two years later here’s my first post. It’s more of a confession…
I’m Megan and I’m a comfort eater.
I love food, I love to eat, I love chocolate (mint matchmakers are the choice variety) Tonight I have eaten calmari, Indian starters and channa masala. I have minstrels I know I want to eat and a sticky toffee pudding. I don’t normally eat like this but there are days aren’t there, where it’s ok to eat for comfort? For example… it’s raining and cold – I need hot curry and a glass of red (or M&S Ruby chocolate wine!). It’s been a long day… I need chocolate. Hubs’ football team lost… I should comfort eat for him. I’ve been to the place where the wild things are (my kids are quite literally playing gymnastics over my sofa and off the windowsill)… I need energy, food, carbohydrates, like chunky fish shop chips (& if I’m having those I may as well have curry sauce, oh and probably fish.. only then is it a full meal after all!) the tiger came to tea… we need to eat out tonight. You get the idea.
I read an article recently that spoke about how to support a loved one with anxiety (did I mention I’m one of those?). Anyway, in the article there was a point about how people with anxiety remember details; we don’t want to, we don’t choose to but we can remember very specific details, often upsetting or intrusive things.

Today is day 365. It has been 365 days since one of the worst days of my entire life. I remember it like it happened yesterday. I’m not sure I’ll ever forget. It’s not healthy, it causes me massive anxiety, it’s still traumatic and tonight I’m comfort eating because it’s been one of those days where every time I’ve looked at the clock I can remember what was happening this time last year. I drove to work feeling sick, I drove home feeling sick and the nausea hasn’t left me all day.
A year ago today our little dude was in hospital with a rare blood disease (ITP). We were reading books, hanging out on his hospital bed and eating treats (well I was sneakily eating the mint matchmakers that kind friends had delivered and trying to hide them from him). I left his bedside for approximately 6 seconds to walk to the end of the bay and put rubbish in the bin. That’s when I heard him. An almighty scream then the tears then the screams. I ran to him. He was writhing in pain, grabbing his head and screaming and crying. The paediatrician was at the bed opposite and came over. He was complaining of head ache. He was showing ‘neuro signs’. The major problem with ITP is that the platelet levels are so low that the patient’s blood doesn’t clot and they are at risk of internal bleeding, the worst being abdominal or brain bleed… back to the ‘neuro signs’. The Doctor went to make a phonecall, he started vomiting. An emergency CT scan was put in place and within the space of about 6 minutes we were surrounding by numerous medical staff; at least 3 consultants, 4 junior doctors, specialist blood nurse, ward nurses, junior doctors, student doctors. Our consultant arrived; I could hear lots of quiet voices making a plan… bleed, brain, ICU, blue lights, CT, neuro. I was covered in sick, sitting holding my floppy, screaming, vomiting little boy who was turning white and covered in more and more bruises and the deep purple, blue and black rash. I started to silently sob. I’m not sure what had stopped me so far. I think I was under the impression that this was not really happening and I was having some kind of out of body experience where I could see it but not feel it. The lovely blood nurse got down to my level and asked me kindly if I knew what was happening, ‘has anyone spoken to you yet’. Through snot bubbles and tears I muttered ‘I think you are all here because you think he has a brain bleed’. She left and returned with the consultant Dr. from the ICU who got down to my level (this is very important, no matter what your age) and started to explain. He is showing signs that something is wrong in his brain; if it’s in the left or right hemisphere we will need to blue light him to Nottingham; we have prepared platelets for surgery; he will need to go in the ambulance with a team of medics under anesthetic so you can’t go with him but we’ll get you there somehow as you won’t be able to drive yourselves. I have to tell you that if there is a bleed in his brain stem – there is no coming back from that. More vomit – all over me. I can remember asking “so you are all here because you actually think he is bleeding in his brain”. He is showing a lot of signs. We have 2 hours from time of onset to get him into surgery. The CT is the first point to tell us what’s happening. There are three possibilities:
1. There is a brain bleed and he needs surgery
2. There is a small bleed or no bleed but he needs observation in intensive care
3. There is no bleed and you’ll need a few extra days of monitoring in hospital.
In the lift on the way to the CT scan a little girl called out – “wow mummy look at that spotty little sick boy” – my heart broke…again! Outside the CT scan I was given a scrub top (the only time in my life I felt like I could pretend to be Meredith Grey and it was totes inapprops timing!) I can’t remember if I flashed the patients waiting for their scan or the lovely student doctor (who was with us the whole time) but I whipped off the vom top and I went into the room where my very sick boy sat sniffing anesthetic. I gave my baby a kiss, not knowing what was coming next and sat outside praying… no bleed, no brain surgery, no bleed, no brain surgery. By the Grace of God, the doctor ran out and said NO BLEED! I can’t quite remember what happened next until I saw my husband as we arrived back at the ward waiting for our baby. These are the ‘details’ that have plagued me today.
It was one of the worst days of my life and there were similar to come.
365 days later… it’s not a distant memory, it’s still raw, it’s still traumatic even though all is now well. Tomorrow I will be ok but today… it really is a ‘comfort eating’ kind of day; and that’s ok!