Sleepless Nights

Category: Life

  • Facebook and Ehlers Danlos

    There is a copy paste status going around on Facebook that makes me want to gouge my eyes out.

    Paraphrasing:

    I love my body even though it’s changed through child birth, every mark, every scar, it’s a sign of my children and etc etc etc. Copy paste this if you’ve had children etc etc etc.

    Lovely sentiment and I can totally understand why women are copy pasting it to their status. Affirmation that even though childbirth has changed your body, you are an amazing woman for it.

    And you ARE. My GOD you are. You’re amazing, you created another human being. That right there is amazing and you should be proud. If I see the copy/paste thingy on your status, I promise, I won’t even be tempted to throw stones at you.

    But reading that status makes me bitter.

    Maybe because after 2 children, I’m not all that changed? I don’t think childbearing has taken it’s toll on my body all that much – except for how much bendier I got.

    And yet, I am broken and battered still.

    If my war wounds were a result of my children, I would bear them proudly, I would stand up and I would shout from the roof tops how proud I was of my body.

    Yet, my elastic skin that tears at the drop of a hat, that wasn’t childbirth. The stretchmarks on my stomach, while exacerbated by pregnancy, weren’t caused by pregnancy.

    The bruising on my legs, the livedo reticularis that means I can’t wear skirts, my battered broken bits –

    Not a one of them I attribute to pregnancy and child birth.

    Every. Single. One. of the things I dislike about my body is caused by Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and that makes me bitter.

    I can forgive the visual changes – really, I don’t mind how my body looks, even though it’s different. It would have been different anyway, no matter what.

    I dislike my body, often, even though I don’t have body image issues (in fact – 2 children later, I am quite proud of how I look).

    But.

    I hate how I can’t bounce out of bed without checking that all of my joints are in place.

    I hate that I can’t walk across the room without tripping over, or walking into a wall, or having to think about every step and judge where everything is by sight, because my feet are stupid and don’t work very well.

    I dislike that I have to think consciously about how I move.

    I hate that pouring the milk for my cup of tea this morning dislocated my wrist.

    I hate the fact that my ribs won’t stay attached to my spine like they should.

    I don’t like the way my skin tears, just because it feels like it and then takes weeks to heal. I dislike the bruising that makes me look like a victim of domestic violence (although, am grateful, my face rarely bruises unless I actually walk into a door).

    I hate that I am 21 and move like I am so much older – feel like I am so much older. I hate the pain and the exhaustion. My word the pain. My joints slide around like butter and while my smaller joints don’t leave me screaming, it doesn’t mean they don’t hurt. We won’t even talk about how my teeth hurt from the clenching.

    I am bitter about how the EDS has changed my body and I dislike that I can’t love myself in it’s entirety, when really, I’d just like a trade in. It can look exactly the same, just someone replace my fucked up genetics and collagen PLEASE.

    Bleh.

    I’m just feeling crappy and wishing my only issues were visual ones caused by childbirth.

    [Again I state that if you copy pasted that status to your Facebook, I am not having a go at you. You are amazing, you created a human being and you should be proud of every single mark it caused. I am just bitter that I am broken and hurting.]

  • How I Met Nathan Part II

    Part One here.

    I organised to meet up with a friend -A- who was visiting from up north. She met me after work and then Nathan drove us back to where I was living. We arranged to have drinks at Nat’s new place and I went home and grabbed a change of clothes. I talked to my boyfriend, while A listened.

    Her comments after I finished talking to him? ‘He treats you like shit Ron’. It’s not that my boyfriend treated me like shit, he didn’t really, it’s that we were 16 and we’d been together for well over 2 years. Familarity and everything. He was a nice boy.

    And so, we went and got drunk. All together, Nathan and I, his older brother, a housemate, and my two friends, A and K. After a few drinks, I stopped drinking and instead, watched everyone else get drunker. Eventually everyone passed out or went home except for Nathan, his housemate and me.

    We didn’t do much of anything except talk.

    Nathan snuggled me, he looked into my eyes and talked to me, he kissed my fingertips. He made me melt.

    His housemate left in disgust.

    The morning came and I was sober. I had had no sleep, I needed a shower and I started work at 2pm. I also realised I couldn’t keep going the way I was going and that it wasn’t fair to my boyfriend. I talked to A, I talked to Nat’s housemate, I talked to thin air. I begged Nat’s housemate to give Nat my number. She was reluctant, but said she would. She didn’t.

    9am that morning found me back at my boyfriend’s house, sitting on his bed, telling him that I wasn’t ‘in’ love with him anymore and crying.

    I regret how I told him. We had been together for 2 and a half years and I didn’t have the decency to let him wake up properly before dropping the bombshell. I regret that.

    I showered and cried and got ready for work. Before I left, I packed a bag and my now ex and I talked, a lot. As I left for work, we parted with a hug and a kiss, on sort of good terms.

    I walked to the bus stop, hung over and exhasted. That night at work was the longest shift I have ever worked.

    I crashed the night at Ex’s grandmothers house. She was lovely enough to let me stay (my shifts all started at 6am that week and she lived close to work) for a night or two and to hand me tissues as I silently cried.

    Then, I spoke to my mother about everything and I went home, on her orders. Back to my grandmother’s where I was living, except when I was staying at my boyfriends house.

    It was the smartest thing I have ever done.

    A few days later, Nathan and I met up for coffee before I started work and spent 3 hours talking about nothing. The next day, he picked me up from work and drove me home. He didn’t go home that night, or any night afterwards.

    And that was that.

    We moved into his house not long afterwards, and from there, back to my parents after a large falling out with his housemate.

    We rented our first flat and suddenly, here we are, 5 years later.

    It’s been a rollercoaster these last few years. We’ve now got a mortgage, two babies, two dogs, two horses and two cats. And for all that happened to get us to this point, for how ill I still feel when I think of some of it, for how unproud I am of some things, I wouldn’t change a moment. Because here we are, and I am happy.

  • Unicorns and faerie dust and all that.

    Phew! after the fallout from my post admonishing Domino’s for false advertising, I think I need something shiny and pretty to talk about.

    Or maybe a unicorn. Actually, if I could be bothered, I could try and stick a horn on one of the horses, but I doubt they’d be impressed and I’m not really sure I’m prepared to chase horses around the paddock all day with a camera.

    Anyway

    ***

    It’s been a hard week, this last week. I’m due for my period, my joints keep forgetting that they’re meant to attach to each other and sleep has been restless and broken.

    Nan’s house sold and new people moved in. I thought I was fine with that, but it turns out, seeing their car in her driveway was a bit too much to bear. I cried a lot that day.

    I miss her. So much. I would have liked to hear her perspective on Domino’s and I know she would have been watching the comments as closely as I was.

    I watched a documentary on Palliative care last night. Brilliantly done. It follows four patients through their end of life journey. I cried the whole way through it, but if you’re interested, you can view it online here.

    The lady with breast cancer, her attitude reminds me of Nan so much.

    I miss her.

    ***

    Photos!

    My children play well together. Except when they don’t, and then I fear for my own safety as I wade into the fray of hair pulling and toy throwing to separate them. The house is in a permanent state of disarray, but we’re all having fun. Except for Nathan, the mess makes him twitch.

    Susie is settling in well. She’s such a smart puppy and she learns so fast, that aside from normal puppy behaviours, we’ve not had any issues.

    We just won’t talk about her penchant for chewing books.

    Naughty dog.

    ***

    Again on the Domino’s thing – I rang the ACCC and the government body who deals with food safety and labelling. They’re very interested in Domino’s; as the ACCC says, it’s deceptive advertising to call something Gluten Free and then add a disclaimer that it might not be completely gluten free.

    Please forgive me for not knowing which government department exactly I was speaking to, I was passed through 4-5 before I got the right people. It’s someone in the Health Department and they deal with food labelling laws and issues arising from mislabelled food.

    Anyway, the guy I spoke to at the Health Department, he says that Domino’s cannot have it both ways and agrees that yes, they are breaking the law in claiming Gluten Free, but then adding a disclaimer. He was lovely and we discussed the issue, including the response I got from the Coeliac Society and Domino’s.

    So I can let it go, at least on the internet.

    It’s being investigated by the relevant officials now.

  • Hello and Welcome!

    This morning I woke up and despite it being a Sunday, I promptly jumped on my partner and sent him to the shop for the newspaper. You see, it’s not every day your blog is mentioned in print and I was a touch excited.

    My excitement has, unfortunately, rubbed off on the children, who are alternately bouncing around me, or screeching at me, needing things and whining. Joy.

    So!

    Hello to any mothers wandering in from the EGuide liftout in the Sunday Tasmanian this morning. I was thrilled when Rebecca emailed me and let me know she was planning on doing an article on Mums who blog. In fact, I may have skipped around the house for the rest of the week.

    Anyway, feel free to have a look around, to the right are the archives, for everything I’ve ever written (Warning: it’s a lot of writing), and you can also find my search form, if you’re hoping I’ve written about anything in particular. Up the top on the tabs is my about page and other bits and pieces.

    And down the very bottom, is a comment form, where you can leave a comment and say hello!

    There is also an orange button you can click on to Subscribe, or you can enter your email address into the form below it to have my posts delivered by email.

    Click on the photo to enlarge the article so you can read it yourself (you may have to click again, after the photo comes up to maximise the image).

    The other bloggers mentioned are Bad Mommy Moments, Dooce, Three Ring Circus, Life and Love in the Petri Dish, Julia {here be hippogriffs}, Misc Mum, Mommy is Moody and finally, A little pregnant.

    Some of my favourite blogs are there!

    (See? I’ve made it easy for you, linking everyone else.)

  • Suicide Hour

    Suicide hour: That hour as you’re busy cooking dinner, the children are hungry and tired and no one seems able to do anything on their own without help.

    It normally involves frequent whining, a couple of tantrums and an urge to throw yourself off a bridge. Or time out everybody while you finish cooking. Or time out yourself and let everyone else fend for themselves.

    Also known as Arsenic Hour, The Witching Hour and Please Everyone, Just Go Away and Let Me Cook Dinner Alone Hour.

    ****

    Both children are at my feet, screaming at me. Amy is tugging on my top, asking for a glass of milk and Isaac is wailing at my feet, clutching my pant leg.

    It’s dinnertime and I just had to hop into the lounge room to settle a dispute.

    Amy, no, you play with this toy. That one is Isaac’s. Isaac, here you go.

    Unfortunately, my presence has alerted him to the fact that he is hungry and tired. He clutches me, wailing, while I try to make it back to the kitchen. I can smell things starting to burn.

    Isaac! I grump – Sit here! Right, now play with your toys.

    Amy! Give him BACK his bottle. You’re a big girl, you don’t need a bottle.

    But I neeeeda bottle, she wails.

    No, you don’t.

    I make it to the kitchen before the wailing begins again. My head is going to explode, I can feel it. Glancing at the clock I mentally count minutes until I can feed everyone and start putting them to bed.

    Nathan makes his way to the lounge room, ostensibly to give me a hand. Neither of the children want Daddy though, and they remain at the kitchen gate, wailing for me. My stress levels rise as I run the stick blender through the pasta sauce and drain pasta. I only just caught it in time, gluten free pasta won’t stand for overcooking. I’m pretty sure no one wanted to eat pasta mush with their tomato sauce.

    I start dishing up as the wails get louder. I’m getting frustrated now, how hard is it to entertain the baby for 5 minutes while I dish up dinner? Amy screams about an imagined slight and I have to remind myself to breathe deep and ignore it for now.

    I mentally take myself to my happy place, only somehow, my happy place has been infiltrated by tiny short screaming people and it’s looking less like a happy place and more like hell with every passing moment.

    The house has been trashed in just one short hour. Toys are everywhere and I’m fairly sure I just fractured something as I dodged a thrown baby bottle and stubbed my toe on the cupboard.

    I manage to keep the swearing to an under my breath mutter and slowly, I get the pasta dished up and sauce allocated.

    The baby sits on the floor, pasta and cheese in a bowl in front of him. He spreads it out in a giant circle around him before starting to eat. I ignore it, wishing, yet again that he would submit to the highchair.

    Amy sits at the table for 2 mouthfuls before needing a glass of water/the potty/to bother her brother. Still trying to grate cheese over my own dinner, I get her fixed and heading back to the table.

    It’s a useless effort of course, because as soon as I sit down, my dinner becomes The Most Interesting and Tasty and both children end up sitting at my feet, begging for mouthfuls of now gone cold pasta.

    Sighing, I give up on getting to eat unbothered and share my dinner, wishing I could get away with hiding in the bathroom to eat.

    Slowly we finish my dinner and I start to get the mess Isaac made cleaned up. My favourite method of cleaning just involves letting the cats inside, but as Isaac still looks hungry, I pick up the pasta from the tablecloth he was sitting on and pop it back into his bowl. He, of course, spreads it back out in a circle again.

    I give up.

    As I head to the kitchen to dump the plates and open the door for the cats, Isaac notices Daddy. He’s eating dinner relatively unphased  by the circus surrounding him. Isaac hauls himself to standing and stays there, holding onto Nathan’s legs with his mouth open like a baby bird. Amy notices and climbs up, to sit next to her father as well.

    Reluctantly, he shares out his dinner as well, even as his eyes plead with me to rescue him. I look at him, trying to keep a straight face, but I can’t.

    Please? He says.

    Sorry honey, I’ve uh, got to go outside and uh, do something.

    Smiling now, I disappear outside for 5 minutes to get my head back together before the bedtime circus begins.

    God knows I need to after all that.