Mummy Fails.

Mummy everyday = massive mummy fails……

  • When your husband gives you a five minute neck rub and your toddler gets so jealous she head butts YOU in the nose. #fail
  • When you realise that your nose is swollen two minutes later. #painfulfail
  • When you finally have some time ‘off’ to yourself but end up organising and running your toddler’s day with her daddy so much that you are too exhausted to do what you originally planned. #fail
  • When you spend 13 hours taking care of your toddler then run her bath and get her bedtime ready, then make dinner for three adults and can’t get to sleep till after midnight because your brain is still buzzing. #fail #wideawake #WHY
  • When you’re away from your toddler for five minutes to go to the toilet and you enter her room to pick up her, she gets so excited that when you bend over the cot to get her, she head butts your jaw so much so you bite down on your tongue. #f**k #massivefail #notagain
  • When your morning consists of pre-school T.V and you actually look forward to it. #fail #pathetic
  • When you wish Flop from “Bing” was your carer. #fail
  • When you wish Flop from “Bing” was your child’s carer. #mummyfail
  • When you go to your local play group and watch your toddler use their death grip on a toy they aren’t even playing with so no one else can touch it either. Especially not YOU #fail
  • When your child decides to have the biggest tantrum later at that play group and all the other mums turn round to see how you handle it. #fail #groundpleaseswallowmewhole
  • When your child decides that chairs are for standing on. #fail
  • When you go to give your toddler a kiss and they punch you in the face. #fail #whydoesthiskeephappening?
  • When your child grunts at you at EVERY request you make. #fail
  • When your toddler sees you through the window but doesn’t recognise or acknowledge you. #fail #nobodyimportant
  • When you find play dough in your child’s pooey nappy #fail #how
  • When your child thinks banging her back against her stair gate is a fun activity #fail #scareds**tless
  • When your toddler’s toys make you happier than her. #fail #saddo #Ihavenolifeanymore
  • When you dream of having a cocktail later but all you’ve got in your fridge is milk. #fail #needadrink
  • When you make your toddler a nutritious, recommended recipe and she spits out the first bite and you end up giving her ham for dinner just as you did for lunch. And breakfast. #fail #foodnightmares
  • When your 20 month old toddler regresses back to having her afternoon naps on YOU as you sit in a chair for two hours. #fail

Actually that last one isn’t a fail at all. In fact none of them are really. Just part and parcel of what us mummys and daddies go through every day. I hope this post made you parents giggle a bit on a stressful parenting day. Feel free to share…..

It’s all worth it in the end.

Apparently (!)

Bite your Tongue.

There are many times where one will need to put this into practice. Often with total strangers, sometimes with friends and colleagues. Usually it’s with the people closest to you – family.

The people that supposedly know you the best seem to be the ones that overstep the mark on a regular basis.

I’ve talked many times on here about boundaries. My family overstepped every boundary I set for myself; they themselves rarely kept any.

From telling me every intricate detail about their private lives to offloading their problems at work on me or irritating friendship issues at every opportunity to the sicker elements of boundary crossing where they’d expose details of their bowel movements while I ate my breakfast or moaned about the constant itching they felt ‘down there’. How is that appropriate? Just because I am here doesn’t mean you can use me as your confidante, your doctor, your therapist.

I cannot give anyone medical advice and even if I could, it would be fairer on your child to see a professional.

As adults and parents ourselves, we too have everyday stresses and problems. I especially know that you need to find time to work through those sorts of stresses in order to get some happiness. You set personal boundaries to protect yourself, to assert your personal rights.

You can be close to a parent without overstepping these personal boundaries. You can share, talk and listen to each other but each of you know where to stop. You know when it becomes suffocating or stressful or inappropriate. Who would want their child feeling stressed out or worried to talk to them?

Not having a proper social interaction and taking a real interest in your children can massively affect them. My family on greeting me, never asked me how I was or what I had been up to – they only used the time they had to talk about themselves. If I dared to mention something to do with me I’d either be accused of and berated for being insensitive or selfish. This would only prevent me from ever offering any information up about my life so when things went wrong in relationships, work or home – it would solely be my fault for not opening up to them sooner.

How could I? It was an impossible vicious circle. If I revealed it all they’d use it against me or feel it was their right to delve as far as they could. Rarely did I receive anything helpful or thoughtful. Usually it was anger and criticism – probably why I don’t deal so well with it now.

I have bitten my tongue for many years and continue to do so now.

My father was a racist, homophobic chauvinist. He hated people from Africa, women drivers, lesbians, politicians, the police. He was critical, opinionated, angry, spiteful, dangerous and very tricky. Talking to him about anything was a risk. Sometimes it was a risk I had to take for my own sanity. In the weeks where he was ignoring me over some “mistake” I’d made, the silence was almost excruciating. If I attempted to make conversation with him he’d either leave the room or stay and utter nothing. He would not even look at me. He’d only break his stubbornness – his rancour – his belligerence if I weakened myself and asked his advice on some other mistake I’d made.

Power is everything to people like that.

When I do not speak of myself is when my family talk to me the most. When I show an interest in their lives, I am heard but only for an opinion on their matters and they’ll be pretty miffed if that opinion is anything other than supportive.

Conversation never flows with my family. Therefore I go through life biting my tongue.

Would be nice if others did the same (!)

 

The Right to: Have Boundaries.

In recent months I have forgotten about my one vow two years ago of being assertive and actively pursuing my personal rights. For many many horrible years, my rights were abused and I neglected what most humans do for themselves without thought.

My husband and I are re-assessing ourselves.

He wants to change and so do I. We know that what we’ve been doing isn’t working so something needs to shift. Happy that we are on the same page, I need to build my confidence, self-belief and assertiveness to become strong and secure whatever our future may bring. My husband’s aims are confidence, communication and drive. We all have personal goals we long to achieve. I am more of a talker than a doer sadly but all that is about to change.

We all have the personal right to have boundaries.

My father encroached on my personal boundaries daily. He regularly interfered with all aspects of my life from reading my bank statements to rifling through my drawers and bin (trash), from checking the bath’s cleanliness after my every use to locking me in his bedroom to “think about my behaviour”.

He had no sense of boundaries when it came to me. It all began as a child. He was always too tactile and it always felt too much. Sometimes a child needs reassurance not with a cuddle but with words, with support, with laughter. He never respected that and I was wrong to question him if I dared. So I didn’t.

I came from the generation and background where adults made every decision for the child even if it infringed on their personal choices. There was a lot of sitting on laps at parties and gatherings even up to the age of ten. I was a child who had to do as they were told. After all, these people were friends, not paedophiles or child abusers…………well would anyone have ever known otherwise? I never liked hugging strangers. I resisted many a time only to be reprimanded for doing so. It was deemed rude to refuse a kiss or cuddle from a male or female friend of the family no matter how uncomfortable I felt. My feelings were rarely acknowledged as a child in these matters.

On a trip to see family abroad and when an important member of the family passed away, my refusal to kiss the lifeless body of this relative was deeply frowned upon and angered some of the people closest to me. However, I was a young girl who had never seen a dead body before let alone someone I knew. It was terrifying. I desperately wanted to leave the room where everyone else was weeping. I was out of my comfort zone, awkward and numb, there were no tears, only a need to be elsewhere. On my abnegation, I was almost forced by one family member to approach the bed to “pay my respects”. It was only then that I felt emotion. I was embarrassed and angry that my personal rights were being ignored and disregarded. It did not matter what I wanted at that point. The extreme anguish my family were feeling was not mirrored by me and for that I became a monster.

Death is not something any child should have to come face to face with but if they do, it should be dealt with calmly and in a controlled environment putting the child’s feelings and needs first.

A child should not be condemned for not acting as you would. They are their own person and that should be celebrated.

I couldn’t assert my boundaries as a child. I wasn’t allowed any. My family broke boundaries as often as they breathed. Everyone was far too involved with each other and crossing endless emotional lines.

As we grow, we put up barriers, guards to protect ourselves. Having a life where boundaries do not exist makes you more open to letting people through your fragile borders. The lines of infringement become blurred thus allowing people to take advantage of your weaknesses. Boundaries can be established at any point in your life. You only need to know them and assert them when the need arises.

Saying is often easier than doing but ultimately, placing down rules of what is acceptable and comfortable to you will only make life better. We all want to feel safe and boundaries do just that.

They are your personal right.

It’s in our genes.

How much do you really inherit from your family?

Genetics play a big part in who we become as people. We inherit eye colour, height even money over time but what about the other things? Personality traits being the obvious.

I know I have inherited many of of my mother’s traits. We are both very emotional people often allowing these emotions to take over our way of dealing with issues logically or rationally. Our highly emotive states aren’t always to be seen negatively. We are both caring and loyal people. Sadly, that can often be taken advantage of.
I hope I haven’t inherited any personality traits from my abuser.

To think that I could ever possess any of his qualities frightens me.

My family is broken.

It will never be fully mended as sadly, too many parts have crumbled, too many pieces are missing and too much has happened to ever totally heal.

I have made my peace with that. I knew a long time ago that the family I always dreamt of wouldn’t exist for me. I had hoped that one day, I would have my own family. One that gave me security and make me happy. One without conditions and demands, insults and terror, threats and harm. I feel like that family is beginning. I have my husband and now I have my wonderful baby. I have my mother and a relationship with her I never expected to happen. Not once all those years ago could I imagine my mother and I would be close.

I’d love to have my sister in my life too.

I know I’ve spoken quite honestly about her on here but as candid as I may have been, my want to be accepted by her never faded. The darkness her and my father cast on me, their portrayal of me is untrue. I am not a bad person. I am not evil. I do not have that in me.

My heart is and always has been open.

I am not my father.

There is nothing of him in me.

I do not use my love. It is there if it is wanted. I do not bargain or control people with it. I do not give it then take it away. He did. The abuser did.

Love was a game, a business, a possibility to damage and hurt. That isn’t love.

‘Love is always bestowed as a gift – freely, willingly and without expectation. We don’t love to be loved; we love to love.’
Leo Buscaglia

The dilemma.

I am currently on my maternity leave from work. I am now in my fourth month of it and am not entirely sure of where the time has gone.

My husband and I have been researching nurseries for the little one for when I return to work and I have to admit (even knowing that it would always cost more than I could ever afford) I never fully realised just how expensive nurseries in London are. Overpriced is a word that stands out. Some that we’ve looked at are more than my monthly wage for one month! It’s ridiculous.

So what are working mums, with a salary under 30k meant to do?

My combined income with my husband does not provide me with enough money to pay off a mortgage and nursery fees. So what do I do? Here is the dilemma.

Many ignorant people will comment that I should not have had a child in my circumstance. However, this is a stupid thing to say as I am not on state benefits. I am a working woman. My husband also works full time. We enjoy our careers. We have ambition and want to get somewhere in our jobs. This doesn’t mean I do not enjoy motherhood. I love being a mother and I dote on my amazing thriving daughter.

We as a society should be encouraging mothers back into work not depriving them of returning or continuing when nursery fees are through the roof.

I do not have a young mother who can look after her grand child nor do I have a large family base. I only have the option of a nanny or nursery when I return to work. When these options become unaffordable, what is one to do?

One thing is clear. My husband and I are going to have to spend a lot of time researching over the next couple of months to find somewhere of high standard and somewhere that fits comfortably into our budget for the little one.

 

2014 A Look Back: September – December.

September.

September was a very busy month for me. I had just gone back to work after a six week school break for summer and was really feeling the long days compared to my usual chilled and lazy ones. I hadn’t imagined going back to work six months pregnant in the heat would be so difficult. After all, it was not so hard before. However, as I hit my third trimester, all matter of things pregnancy related started to change. I felt more tired, more achy. Feelings of sickness had returned. I truly felt pregnant.

I only blogged three times this month. One was a post I had written last year that I decided to re-blog. After the decision to leave wordpress in August, I began blogging key posts that had a big impact on me or others. “Revenge” was one of these posts where a former colleague of mine questioned my motives to why I was writing about the past. It upset me that she felt it was necessary to be so heartless and give her opinions on a matter she could never understand.

The most significant moment of my life happened on the 23rd of this month. My wonderful daughter Ivy-Wren was born. A lot of people have asked about her unusual name. I picked Ivy as I like the nature side of it. Also, Ivy is a strong plant that withstands all conditions. I found Wren whilst searching through endless name lists on-line. It actually came up as a boy’s name but I loved that it is a little bird. My mum calls me “Tuni” which is a little Indian bird. We felt that adding Wren to Ivy’s name would be a suitable tribute to my mother. No doubt Ivy-Wren dotes on her loving grandma.

October.

Ivy-Wren was born premature by 7 weeks. Her actual due date was November 9th so we were growing used to having her with us so early. I mourned the fact I was no longer pregnant. I had looked forward to seeing the whole pregnancy through. She had spent the beginning of this month in hospital under special care. She was a tiny little thing. So very small and fragile. My heart ached to leave her every day surrounded by beeping monitors, endless strangers, wailing babies and lonely in her isolated cot. On the 6th October we were able to take our little button home after two weeks in hospital and although it has been unbelievably overwhelming and we have felt massively under-prepared, nothing can take away the fact that our little girl brings us joy every single day.

In October, I blogged about the lead up to my labour as it wasn’t at all straightforward!

November.

I was appalled to discover that there was a man claiming to hold all knowledge on how to seduce women this month. Not only that, but this awful human being advocated violence and harassment in order to do it! Julien Blanc was thankfully denied entry into the UK. The real horror however is the number of men who signed up to see him on tour. It truly is worrying that some men would consider these derogatory and abusive tactics acceptable.

December.

Well here we are on the final day of December in England (I’m sure many of you have already celebrated New Years’!). My husband and I aren’t planning to stay up. We have to embrace sleep when we can get it! Ivy-Wren has come on leaps and bounds putting on a massive six pounds since she came home. She is a delight, making us proud of her every day.

I look forward to 2015 and the journey we as a family will take together.

I am not going to draw on the negatives of this month too much. Many issues have occurred within the family and relationships have been tested but I continue to be positive when I look at my beautiful daughter.

Happy New Year to all my WordPress friends. May 2015 bring you inner peace, support and a determination to survive. You are all in my thoughts.

See you next year!!

Ros xxxxx

Here’s a little photo of me and my jewel 🙂

cropped-roo.jpg

 

I have O.C.D.

It’s an admission.
One I’ve kept private for many years. It’s appeared on occasion but generally it’s easy to keep it hidden. It’s not your average kind of O.C.D, I do not wash my hands 16 times after using the toilet nor do I have to check repeatedly that I’ve turned the downstairs light off before bed.
Life with my abuser left me with many problems. A lack of self esteem, negativity about my body, lack of ambition, fear of risks are to name a few. I like to think I came out of that terror pretty unscathed, I mean it could have been a lot worse. However mentally, it’s impossible and unimaginable to presume my mind and heart would not be affected in some way.
He left a legacy and I carry the reminder of what he did every day.
I have closure from him. I do not think about him. I do not care to talk about him. Time has done it’s job. I do however know that he’s had a massive impact on who I am now and sadly, I am left piecing myself back together again even two years after his death.
Today I admitted it to myself.
I have O.C.D.
I do not like my things to be moved. I cannot deal with my things being touched without my permission. They just need to be left as they were. It doesn’t bother anyone nor does it cause harm but today my family experienced my O.C.D.
I tried an attempt to explain.
Every day with the abuser was another day of being watched, checked. My room was forever “inspected”. What if it didn’t meet his standards? What if I had not put one thing back in it’s place? Well then I would know about it. He’d go in there when I was out or at work. When he could take his time finding faults.

He’d pick at everything. I’d come home to find my clothes, which had been piled up on my chair, strewn across the floor with a note saying,

“A chair is not a place for clothes”.

Or some shampoo bottles that were nearly empty – stacked on my desk. He’d point out that they should have been thrown away months ago but it was not his “job” to do it.
There were times he moved actual furniture in my room to find dust, to find mistakes. He’d do it through the entire house. He had to find fault.
I hate someone, anyone, moving my things. My personal things.
My counsellor told me that you cannot expect someone to come out of something like that untouched and perfect. O.C.D. is often associated with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I suffered a great trauma with him. He controlled every aspect of my life for sixteen years even down to the way I felt about myself. I needed to get the control back. It is a complete form of control.
He controlled my money, my health, my choice in friends, my relationships, my food, my feelings, my habits, my freedom, my choices, my insecurities.
My family can’t relate.
We have argued today.
They refuse to understand and continues to make light of these issues I have.
I cannot ever be perfect.
I wouldn’t want to be.