Journeywoman

Due to developing an illness that affects one in 300 women, or something like that, I was told I should consider having what purists might term an unnatural birth. The baby was at risk, and so was I. So, her birthday was brought forward and I was booked in for the first operation I have had, bar dental surgery. I was so tired, so very exhausted by weeks of illness and not being able to sleep due to the Woman Next Door (WND)'s bloody noisy, ongoing building work (another story)... But there I was, with S, on the early morning of motherhood, nervous as hell and looking pretty unpretty, my skin dull and blotchy. The place was spotless, utterly clinical. My surgeon and the anaesthetist had warned me of all the complications, which included death, so I was suitably shaken.

The obstetrician sliced through my abdominal muscles instead of parting them (as is normal with most Caesarean sections), as my years of kung fu had rendered my stomach muscles 'so tight!' that the team couldn't stretch them. A compliment, at any rate, and one that made me smile as I waited in fear/hope/excitement as my insides were tugged and pulled with immense force. I had imagined that during a Caesarean section the baby was always lifted out calmly, gently, peacefully... but the fact is they try – where possible – to give the baby something akin to the experience of birth. In reality, they push the little being from its warm cocoon through the incision and out into the brightly-lit, impeccably clean theatre with its white walls, scrubbed and greened theatre team, metal implements and an absolutely massive digital clock on the wall, (which had stared back at me as a spinal tap was inserted).

After this part – the 'spinal', as it's called by some – I lay down as the powerful anaesthetic coursed through my body, deadening my nerves. They sprayed an icy cold substance up and down my sides to determine where sensation began and ended, a process that was repeated until the correct vertebral markers were numb. It was a staggeringly quick process and one that added surreality to that which any new parent must feel. One minute there's no child. And the next? "Meet your daughter," as this tiny person is held above the blue cloth they pin up to stop the mother and birth partner (S, in my case) seeing the gory business. Afterwards, I asked S what he could manage to see, and he said: "just lots of blood". I recall hearing the words: scalpel, knife, suction, gutters... and forced S, at the time, to tell me in great detail about his week at work. Also nervous, he got through this quickly and moved on to a ghost story. I think. I was terrified. My hands were clammy, my brow sweated and the oft-repeated warnings of what might happen to me and the baby rang in my ears. A Caesarean is not an easy way out. To believe so is incredibly stupid. What kind of fool would choose a major abdominal operation with a higher mortality rate than the other option?

The birth itself involved so much pressure being applied to my chest that I suffered excruciating pain in my upper back once we got home – and at one point screamed for an ambulance, as I (really) thought I was about to die of a heart attack. But it's not uncommon, this pain. This squeeze out of the womb helps the baby to do what it would do naturally – take a breath and cry to clear its lungs to begin its life independent of the umbilical cord. I cannot begin to describe the feeling I had at that moment. It was out of this world for its sheer uniqueness. My life, at a stroke – in the beat of a tiny heart – had changed irrevocably. I had taken a fork in the road that would lead us to life anew.
The scar is still numb. I couldn't touch it for weeks after the dressing had been removed, and then, only tentatively, peeking at it shyly as though it might open and reveal my shiny, scarlet innards. It's neat, about six inches across (having shrunk from nine) and sits beneath where I might wear a bikini if I chose to do so. Neat work by the startlingly young-looking surgeon who performed the operation. The skin is looser than it was before and, while I was back into my favourite fitted jeans fairly quickly, there is more sag, more excess, more softness. As my abs were cut open, it's unlikely I'll regain my muscle tone of old. I don't worry about these things. I don't diet. I do my best to exercise (a little). But flat tummy or not, my scar will always remind me of all of the above and more: of where I was and where I am now. It is the best kind of body art. No Chinese saying, no Inca symbol, no bird or butterfly could mean more.

Sometimes

Usually, rays of sunlight imbue me with something to keep me going. This afternoon, following a mad, manically busy morning, all I have wanted to do is shout, swear, throw things and generally behave like a madwoman. On such days, things break. I drop things. Things seem to fall over with no intervention. Things. Get. On. My. Nerves.

My shoulders have springs coiled inside the sinews. I can feel them snapping, tightening, acid curdling.

Let's just act as though I've been here all along...

Hmmm. Why start with all that "why is it February 2011?" stuff? What's the point? Time will fly and the alternative is that we die, so let's just accept it. Thank you for being here and listening. If you are an old friend, a reader who kept pace with me for the past few years (bar the last), I apologise. My thoughts have flicked to this blog and flicked just as quickly away. But I always hoped to one day remember the password and get cracking again.

So, I've been standing in the room all along, a little quietly, observing and listening. Cocking my head for the sounds that envelope my being in this new world where I am me, but I am also another's in a way that I have never been another's. My time is shaped differently. It's sometimes replete with exhaustion (though this sensation is far less than it was a year ago). Time is also lit up with the sparkling, tingling, stunning newness that can only come with spending time with a mind that is yet so unfocused but so interested that it picks on just about anything to hang its hat on. A dog. A leaf. A face. A smile. A bird. Music. Books. These things become fascinating for me anew and I could cry with delight. I remember, feel, how much I enjoy music, how it lifts me from the doldrums or lets me drown in its catharsis. I love walking with no agenda, seeing the trees go through their cycle and life spring up. The winter sunshine invigorates me. I have hardly any money. But I have all of these other things. And I see them reflected back in similar eyes to mine. And the responsibility and wonder hits me again.
If it's not too late to say it: Happy 2011.

Erm, it's May...

Please, someone, tell me how it's May. It's mid-May at that.

Sorry I haven't been on here much – and apologies to those who left me messages and comments that have gone unnoticed until today. You know who you are and I send you good vibes and thanks for not giving up on me.

I sort of don't know where to start. I mean, do I start by writing a huge post that will no doubt take hours and yet fail to convey the reality of life in the past few months? Er, I don't know. One thing that made me think of this blog was my brain-wracking last night as I tried to recall a very rude Finnish word... It has just come back to me and I shall be using it where appropriate.

But anyway.

A summary to begin with, to ease me back into cyberland and blogdom... I hope you will forgive me for being a tad lazy about this.

Sleep – this has not been as bad, or as scant, as one might expect. I am lucky to have such a laid-back and clever bairn, who knows how much mummy values shut-eye. However, baby's teething does cause her discomfort and breaks up her kip at times. Five night in a row is tough. I sometimes feel so tired I cannot move. But she is worth all of it.

House – I am now living in a house, not a flat. It is a tiny house, a Victorian cottage, but there is no GFG, no door slamming from below! Hurrah. However, the woman next door (WND) refuses to remove her stilettos and plods around her wooden floors like a shire horse on stilts. She's a right moody cow with a face like a smacked arse most of the time, but that's for another day. The woman on the other side is, happily, fab.

Work – I have done only a few days' work, as I am on maternity leave. I am pretty broke but now realise how much I frittered in the past. I think my attitude to cash has changed permanently. When I think of how much I/we used to spend on what is, basically crap, I shudder.

Kung fu – this is back on the agenda. I ache like a bastard at times after class, but it's fantastic to be exercising again and to be back in the swing of things. I'm even sparring and fighting blokes twice my size and half my age. Slightly demented, but it's good fun (most of the time).

Motherhood (last but not least, obv) – the most amazing experience. Ne plus ultra. Quite surreal at times. Exhausting. Exhilarating. Energising. Educational. Wouldn't change it for the world.

Cabin fever

I want to go out. I want to go out.

Look, I know I can just go out. But it's tricky. I have a little baby to think of. OK, so when I take her out in this weather, she's wrapped up warm and snug. But she needs fairly regular feeds and that, so I need to be responsible enough to not just go off and wander and that what with the roads being rather treacherous and traffic jam-prone. That's all fine by me (the responsibility thing, I mean). It's just the dratted ice that's causing me to feel trapped, to feel the fever of the cabin, to wish I were in sunnier climes. Mauritius? Mmm. Or just somewhere that could cope better with snow – and ice.

Look, I do realise that this snow is unusual, but where I live, it's not that bad. It really isn't. I recall much worse. When it snowed for a few days when I was a child, we used to have side roads gritted (oh, and novelty, even the pavements were gritted!). But now? Now, we just have roads littered with excuses for this and that, and it means that a short walk, a would-be constitutional, could be disastrous, or at the very least (without the appropriate footwear) unpleasant. See, I like to walk quickly, I always have. But, despite my Ugg-a-likes looking like they could see off any ice-challenge, the truth is that they, too, slip a tad. Drat.

So, I stayed in today and dusted. And tidied. And my back hurts now. Bring on springtime!

The white stuff

So... it has snowed: well, it is winter. It's pretty and romantic... until the stuff gets muddy, murky and then solidifies. But I want springtime now. Now, now, now. It may be because I am someone who just cannot do ice (I can't ice skate, have no desire to ski and find icy pavements torturous)... but the endless news coverage and the sad stories of accidents and various struggles make me wish we'd have a day of say, erm, seven degrees Celsuis, a nice thaw and can get back to normal again. Plus, I can stop wearing my Ugg-style boots, which are doing my knees in.

Happy New Year!

First, a very Happy New Year to those who follow this blog/remember me/have stumbled upon me!! I'm sorry I have been so tardy and so lax in my blogging but I have been going through some major life adjustments that have rendered me sleepless, time-free and exhausted, but very happy...

My baby was born early, in September, as I was ill. I had to have a Caesarean, which was certainly not the easy-peasy option. Why anyone would wish to have their innards sliced and suchlike, is beyond me, but I had the operation on medical grounds, more of which I will write about in a subsequent post for anyone who likes that sort of thing. All I will say is that being given paracetamol instead of morphine/codeine afterwards was not funny...

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I hope you had great Christmas times and also wished to wish you all a very wonderful 2010 and let you know that I will be back blogging between mummy duties. Baby's well, she's a little sweetheart (OK, yes, biased, cetra...). I will write more soon. Not just about my little girl, but other stuff, too...

Workshy

I am procrastinating.

I don't want to work. I want to sleep.

I, do, however, need money.

I must, therefore, work.

Bugger.

Nessun dorma

I have had trouble sleeping again. The pains near my ribs and the physical discomfort are to be expected at this stage of pregnancy but, flipping heck. I felt like a zombie as I sat having my cereal and toast and had to set my work aside to clamber back up to bed (the effort of this left me breathless).

Mum brought me some chicken curry for lunch. This was brilliant, as I would otherwise have eaten what was in our fridge (bread and cheese), which is not a balanced diet. My trip to Sainsbury's to stock up on fruit and some other stuff will have to wait. These things (shopping for food, working, climbing stairs) would once have been so easy. OK, so sleep was never my strong point but it was getting there. Dang.

What I did today

I did nothing. Well, mum and dad looked after me, cooked me lovely food and I spent the time I wasn't eating in bed, resting. (S was playing cricket all day, one of the last in the season.)

I've not had such a relaxed day in years. I didn't think I knew how...

Crushed conkers

There were a few crushed conkers near the little riverside car park. They lay there, burst by car tyres, beautifully brown and green and white, not yet hardened. Food for the squirrels, I imagine.

It is autumn!

Hot tea

Had some tea – black tea with fiery chillies in it – today. I'd met a friend for a catch-up and we chose my local tea house with its civilised tables, trays of cake and remarkably long menu of tea varieties as our venue.

It was a delicious drink – hot, refreshing and had a satisfying kick. I even parted with a few quid for a pouch of the stuff to take home. It would make a great morning pick-me-up , which, by God, I need.

I feel a bit sick now though...

The disappeared

It's funny – peculiar, not haha – how people come and go from one's life. I didn't really expect to lose friends, or to have them drift, just because I am expecting a baby. But it has happened. I can try to understand the reasons but part of me is pretty annoyed about their selfishness.

I am not the sort of person to talk about one topic endlessly (i.e. impending motherhood). Never have been. It's insulting that some people seem to be unable to deal with events in my life and I am certainly not going to apologise for getting on with things. OK, so I have less time and far less energy to blog, go out and entertain. But c'est la vie. It doesn't mean I've turned into a bloody cabbage. I've seemingly been struck off a couple of people's friend lists and even blog lists. Not what I expected, but hey, it seems that if I can't go out and drink/stay out late, or X, Y or Z (and then write about it), well, that's that.

Well, bollocks to it. I am heartily sick of being a silent, understanding, doormat-type psychiatrist for those who apply my life events to their own, find some huge relevance and threat, and cannot step back from whatever crappage may be behind their 'distance'. I'm fed-up with sending emails filled with questions and interest in the other person that elicit lukewarm shite. I'm fed-up with my invitations to meet being batted away with "I'm busy/ill/broke" etc. We're all fucking busy, feel sick at times and have no cash. I'm fed-up with making allowances for this and that. Enough.

Things are not all bad on the people front, though. Far from it. My faith in 99.9 per cent of people I care for remains, as ever, strong – stronger, even. And the kindness of someone I'd lost touch with has taken me by surprise. It's a funny old world.


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Listening to: Talk Talk - Life's What You Make It

Big Riddance

Big Brother really is a pile of rubbish now. I watched a bit this evening before putting the dishes in the washer. The latter was far more entertaining.

Fab 40

I celebrate my 40th birthday this coming week.

Flipping heck.

Am not really hung up on the 'Oh, I'm old' lark, being an eternal child, but I recall little things, such as thinking, at the age of six, how ancient 12-year-olds were. And when I was about 12, I thought our 23-year-old teacher was an old bag (well, she was, but that was more about her personality defects)...

So, anyway, what with the bump growing and that, my plans to have a raucous, drunken affair are now put on hold until the next big one (or a Lotto win). Instead, and I am really looking forward to this, we are having a long lunch by the river in a lovely place. People will surely marvel at just how mature and sophisticated I have become, as I sip elderflower cordial. But seriously, I don't mind about the 40 or the sobriety. I feel very blessed, for many reasons, and those reasons – all people I love (including my new unborn one) – are priceless. Spending time with them over the next few days will be the best present.

Swear box savings plan

OK, so some of you may know I am with child. And some of you may know that I sometimes swear. Badly. Not often, but it would appal my mum. She'd be seriously shocked if she could hear me in a proper rage...

Anyway, S and I have both (separately) seemed to conclude that we (as parents-to-be) swear too much at times. So, I would like suggestions for mummy-friendly curses, such as the following:

Golly-gosh willykins [S has actually used this]
Whoopsadaisy
Bobbins [love this, another S special]
Fudge
Sugar
Crivens
Gosling [mum once told me it was ruder than 'fuck', which I had picked up off some oafish boy, so I called several kids in my infant school playground 'goslings' - no one questioned it]

Suggestions, readers?

Hotter than hot

I know that if I looked back at my posts from a year ago (and the previous year), I'd find myself moaning about the summer rain and the rubbish temperatures... but honestly, being pregnant in this weather is no picnic.

I'm one of those people who usually need the central heating on until June has begun. I never remove any clout till May's out, I tell you (though I did take off jumpers and wrap them around my waist when it was warm in spring). But flipping heck, this 30 degrees lark, well, it's doing me in. I'm so hot. There seems to be no breeze, no wind. I get excited when I hear the rain start and can't believe it only lasts for five seconds. Bloody teasing clouds.

Needless to say, sleeping in this heat is interesting. (I am trying not to swear, as I don't want to teach the little baby-in-belly any bad words; apparently she can hear my voice now...)

A quickie

Been absolutely ages since I have been on here... I almost forgot my login details. But, anyway, hello. I am here, just to say hello and to plead excuses as to why I haven't blogged for such a long time. In a nutshell:

Morning sickness (that went on all day)
Moving house (this was a saga; I was coordinating the move, God knows what the estate agents were getting a fat fee for, the buggers)
Sorting out house (this is still ongoing)
Feeling really, really tired (I have a bump to carry around now - it isn't huge (people say) but I've put on an eighth of my body weight (entirely normal))
No internet access (well, apart from at my parents' home)
Work's been rubbish - there's hardly any to be had - but thank God I don't have to commute for three hours a day. Blessings disguised, I tell you...

And that's about that really. Me, the four-plus-hours-of-kung-fu-a-week girl, can barely get up the stairs without needing a sit down. I've started yoga and t'ai chi, though, and go for walks, too. This to me is pretty strenuous stuff.

Anyway, I shall update again and include more detail. I will try.

Rain dear

I was quite pleased it rained today after the lovely long days of sunshine. The garden was thirsty and it was comforting to hear the patter of drops on the windows.

(I hope the sun comes back soon, though...)

Gurkha scandal

So, we appear to be a haven for people the French (and others) don't want and are a happy home to convicted criminals and purveyors of hate who we have to keep 'for their own good' because the right-on loonies says it's fair... But this increasingly moronic government has decided that it won't allow the majority of these top-class soldiers, who have risked their lives for this country, to live in it?! The Gurkhas have been treated abominably. It's disgusting. Sometimes I think we are living in some kind of warped Truman Show where the experimenters set up situations to see just how fucking stupid we can be.