Yet another blogging mummy

Just keep swimming...... I am sitting at a coffee shop doing some work, and a young mum walks in with a baby in a front swaddle. She looks so peaceful, so delighted, so utterly content with life. Two or three short months ago, she has undergone the most excruciatingly painful ordeal the body can undergo, possibly starting months before she gave birth, culminating in her body being stretched and ripped and pounded, for hours and hours, maybe days, and then left in a heap of exhaustion after which she had to stay up all night, tending to the this precious little creature that simultaneously completes her and makes her want to punch somebody while screaming at the top of her lungs. She has not slept in months, and her body is depleted, withered, a husk, in order that this little bundle of scrumptious insanity lives, thrives, is loved beyond any love imaginable. And yet, she has all but forgotten all that. In this moment, all that matters is the glow of ecstasy she feels at having her perf

First day of Kindergarten.  My little girl is absolutely loving it. It's as if all the problems, all the fights, all the horrible bits of her, have somewhat dissolved. The many, many, MANY things that I had feared, that have run us ragged, that have turned me (back) into an alcoholic, that threatened to destroy my soul and my relationship with my husband, these all seem just to have drifted away somehow. Maybe on the morning mists, maybe on the evening sunset. I am dealing with a very different person. It's not linear, it's not black and white. But, something has changed. Something has shifted. And I feel like I am starting to be able to become my own person again. A person who has healthy amounts of time to do things like this. To exercise. To work. To prepare my work. To think. To sleep.  My nervous system is starting to begin to return to normal again. I feel more whole. More reasonable. More like a grown up. More like the person I was born to be. A mother, and a teacher

This is wonderful.  I am sitting at my table, with my coffee, (kept company by many tiny fruit flies) doing some work, while my wonderful husband keeps my little Pickle busy at the playground, and I have, for the first time in many, many, MANY months, been able to have some time to just breathe, in my own space, in my own house, by myself. Just to breathe. I went on a run this morning (I have been running every day this and last week, feels great) and then I got back, expecting to be met by the usual chaos and noise, and there was nothing. Just....peace. Ahhhhhhh. I feel very, very lucky. Last night, we had a dance party. Friday nights are now going to be our dance parties, I have decided. Even if it's just two or three songs. Pickle loves it SO much and it's a great way to connect. Then my husband and I collapsed on the couch after dinner, and Pickle just played. By herself. For ages. Up to half an hour she played. It was so unusual, so unexpected, and so desperately needed fo

 This summer has been a torrent of opposites. Colour and monotone, peace and insanity, harmony and dissonance, hope and despair, sickness and wellness, relief and panic, simplicity and complexity beyond what my brain can fathom.  I would like to paint a picture of what happened in the last 12 hours.  At 8:30, it was time for bed for little pickles. I cannot accurately explain to you the effort that this pickle threw into trying to trying to avoid going to sleep. She did handstands on her bed. Then she flopped around while lying there. Then, she needed milk, then water, then a wee wee. Then she threw her arms around me, then threw them off and threw her legs around me, then threw them off. Then went into her room, then got "scared" within 7 seconds of being in there (really doesn't bode well for trying to get her into her own bed...for literally the millionth time in the past year and a half) then did a bunch of other yoga moves, then started hitting me, almost by accident

  I've just re-read the last few posts. It really does seem like I am raising some sort of terrorist. I want to caveat that with this; My daughter is the most scrumptious, delightful, innocently sweetest, kindest, most gorgeous golden little girl you could hope to meet. She is my life, my world, my absolute joy and sunshine. She makes me laugh constantly and the joy she brings to my life is indescribable. I love her with the fiercest but also the most squidgy love, and her cuddles make me melt into little chocolatey puddles on the floor. Sometimes I feel like I love her a little too much, and then I realise that's the stupidest thing I have ever had the misfortune to think. I feel that in the past year, it's been difficult, and I've written about it honestly, but that doesn't take away from my infinite and unceasing love for her. My posts seem quite negative, and I think that's because this is how I've been feeling. It's not been easy. But what preschool

 Well. It's been a weekend.  6 am wake ups every day (which are, obviously, reserved for weekends. She only sleeps in on the days when we actually have to be somewhere) and 3-5 wakings during the night. She wants milk. But she wants chocolate milk. She wants a wee wee. She wants some more milk. She is cold. She's too hot. She wants to be in my bed. And in my tummy, and in my head, and on my head. The wake ups are immediately followed by some sort of howling because I won't let her watch TV immediately upon waking up. This eventually fizzles and subsides to sniffling crying noises, and resigned, disgruntled hurrumphs. After a little while, I try and get out of bed, as now I'm up and she's up and everyone is up, and there is enormous resistance from her end that I attempted to get out of bed. All she wants is for me to lie in bed next to her. All she wants, in actual fact, is to be able to control everything in her life.  4:30 am, 4 days til moving day - I've bee

 Hello my dear friends and readers, let me just get my cup of tea... I want to celebrate the fact that I have maintained my sobriety for 60 days. It wasn't easy, I will tell you that. In fact, for the first month, my newly 4 year old daughter became a demon. Almost as if she knew that this was the time to do it, because Mummy isn't self medicating every night anymore. She was a feral, non sleeping, manipulative, whining, non eating, little monster who held her bowel movements just to add a little poison to the already toxic ointment.  But then, just as suddenly and miraculously, she changed. Within the last two weeks, she has, as everyone said she would "gotten better". "It will get better," everyone said to me when I showed up to anything looking like I'd been dragged across an 8 lane motorway during rush hour and then trodden underfoot by a herd of stressed out Buffalo who are late for an important meeting. I would look at them through the one eye that