Group Therapy

My name is Gwen and I am the mother of four gorgeous Screecher Creature boys who have inspired me to write a blog called www.wonderfulwagon.com documenting our adventures together, breastfeeding and otherwise. They stretch my patience to the limit every day and also my love.  Thankfully though, my love for them has no limits.  Having said that, we all need a little respite now and again and what better way to get that then by meeting up with a group of like-minded contemporaries.  So I was delighted to see such a group -  Cuidiu - ICT Breastfeeding Support Group being set up in my hometown, Athy, Co. Kildare.   I am fortunate to have enjoyed a very successful and wonderful breastfeeding relationship with my three older boys and the same was proving to be the case with my then three month old.  Being totally honest, I went along to the group that first week mostly out of curiosity.  You see, I “knew” Angela from an Irish parenting website and welcomed the opportunity to meet her in person.  That was a year ago and I can again, honestly say, her group is one of the highlights of my week.  It has grown from strength to strength and many of those ladies and their babies, who then ranged from 6 weeks old to one year, are not strangers with odd usernames on rollercoaster.ie anymore, but friends.   Our newborn babies, and indeed toddlers, have grown together.  We have shared the first smiles, first teeth, baby led weaning tips and stories, that all important and very exciting first step, plus the trials and tribulations of breastfeeding our older children.  For we are all “still” breastfeeding our babies and one or two are “still” very much enjoying sharing that closeness with their older children.  None of us have plans to stop any time soon.    From the very beginning Angela’s group has been a great success.  I have seen new first time mothers walk through Angela’s door with various problems borne from conflicting information received in the hospital, mothers with babies who were slow to gain weight, those with a poor latch and a baby who was born early.  There have been mothers who experienced traumatic births but nevertheless sailed through breastfeeding their older child, and then suddenly found themselves experiencing an unexpected problem feeding their new baby.  I saw Angela help and assist them all.  Tirelessly.  I salute each and every woman who has taken it upon themselves to create breastfeeding groups in local communities, whether they have 15 members or 100 members.  I believe such groups serve a dual purpose; they are there to offer a helping hand and to assist mothers with their breastfeeding journey but they are also a wonderful chance for me, and I am sure lots of other mothers across the country, to be in the company of like-minded parents.    It is an opportunity for me to be social and helps me escape the confines of the house with three small children until school is out and the oldest boy returns home. If I am of a mind I will wear a bit of make-up, maybe even brush my hair before going and make sure my shoes match.  The boys, for I don’t travel alone, also enjoy this break from the norm and I am sure, even though they are not fully aware of it, appreciate their new and energised mother afterwards, thanks to the company and the chat.     I am of the strong opinion that such gatherings, be they mother and toddler groups or breast feeding groups, are very important for those of us who are not in the vicinity of water coolers in an office environment anymore thus cannot avail of the social outlet they provide.  A vomiting bug visited our house in May and I was unable to attend my beloved Group.  If there was any doubt in my mind about my attachment to it, (there wasn’t) missing it that week only proved to me how invaluable that weekly contact with Angela and the other ladies is.  And, it has to be said, it’s the best cup of coffee all week!

The Last One

There I was, surrounded by all of my male Screecher Creatures and in my arms I held a month old vision in strawberry pinkness.  A truly beautiful little girl looked up at me with unblinking eyes, starfish hands opening and closing and her little mouth making a definite attempt to smile at me.  Mister Husband looked on from the kitchen doorway and asked, “Are you sure you’re finished?”  This little baby and her pending arrival had me worried for a while.  I honestly didn’t know how I would feel when I saw her.  Would she kick start my dormant broodiness or would I be able to hold her and not feel a thing?  I answered Mister Husband honestly, “Yes.”  And I am, for the moment at least, finished.  My family is complete.  I do not harbour any desire to keep going.  I say my family and not ours because Mister Husband has left that ball more or less in my court.  And I say for the moment because I still don’t know how I will feel maybe next month or even next year. However, this December I will turn 40 and for me that was always going to be the cut-off point. I know the chances of having a child with a mental or physical disability are slightly raised the older you become, but this has happened for mothers in their twenties and thirties.  There is also the reality of facing back into night feeds, having a second child in nappies again, being pregnant for 10 months and all that goes hand in hand with that status.  Not to mention the inevitable weight gain and the slog to shed the excess pounds afterwards.  The stress that is involved arranging childcare when ante natal appointments have to be attended.  Then for the ensuing duration of a hospital confinement when the baby is born.  All of that is just chicken feed though because if I really, really, really wanted another baby, any of those reasons not to have one wouldn’t stand a chance.  But there is one thing that, for me, stands out a little bit more in the deterrent stakes.  Guilt.  Having four boys aged 6 and under, there is still only one of me.  I cannot make quarters of myself when they are all still at quite a demanding and needing stage. It can be very difficult when two or more of them are crying for something or if one has an accident and hurts himself; they just don’t understand, nor will they accept that they might have to wait their turn for attention whilst I prioritise one over the other depending on their needs.  Recently my sister in law reminded me of a particularly stressful nightly re-occurrence with small babies and older children.  The newborn is in the midst of the witching hour and fussing terribly to cluster feed.  The toddler is also crotchety and wanting to go to bed. Or not.  It’s literally a balancing act between the two of them and then there are two more waiting for a bed time story.  Stress levels are going through the roof and no-one is happy with the service being provided, least of all the recipients who are feeing decidedly short changed.  And for good reason as corners are not cut, more like shaved off completely.  I’m definitely not missing that particular bed time pressure at the moment.  There is an old adage that follows thus: you have only one mouth and two ears so listen twice as much as you talk.  In my house there are four voices clamouring to be heard and still only one set of ears.  Mine.  Not only is it challenging to listen to them all at once, it is downright impossible to answer them all.  It doesn’t matter what I do, one of them misses out.  There never seems to be an opportunity to spend one on one time with any of them.  That is the guilt making part.  I always feel as if one of them is missing out.  I quite simply don’t have equal time to devote to them all. At the moment Screecher Creature No. 1 gets his downtime with me when I rub athlete’s cream onto his feet.  Screecher Creature No. 2 is showered in my brief attention for as long as it takes me to pull his clothes over his head.  Screecher Creature No. 3 is privileged to have me wipe his derriere.  The baby seems to get the best deal all round.  I am in no hurry to rush him as he nurses.  I relish the opportunity to relax as much as he enjoys his grub and uses his reclined position to stick his fingers up my nose.  Plus being  just 14 months old and still doing the side step around various pieces of furniture, he also likes to spend a good deal of time in my arms.  I’ve tried group story telling but being of different ages and stages, arguments break out over who wants what book read.  There have been moments where tiredness starts to win out and they all gather close to tell me something individually. This always ends up in a fight as they scrabble to get closer to me and my feet get trampled on.  I have been known to be seated in a chair with three of them sitting on me.  They’ve found a way though, it seems, to spend some time with me.  It doesn’t matter how quietly I do it, their sixth sense kicks in and they know I’m in the shower. One or more of them will come in and just sit on the floor. Sometimes there are random questions but mostly, they just sit there, content in the knowledge that they have a captive audience.  They also like to wait till the house has quieted and they are meant to be in their beds, on the way to Dreamland.  There will be a steady stream of little feet up the hallway, followed by a russet, or dark blond head peeping round the doorway.  For boys who can’t remember where they left their shoes a mere hour earlier, suddenly they are talking about stuff that happened a couple of years ago.  All in an effort to delay the zeds. Or maybe just a herculean attempt to get some rare one on one time with their mother.  

My Blessings

It has come to my attention of late, there is a strong possibility that I might be turning into a cranky aul one.  I can be a right moan-y hole sometimes and I don’t seem to be improving.  I have heard it said, and I am in agreement, that you shouldn’t waste your energy worrying about what others think of you.  It is the opinion you have of yourself that is important.  Well, some days I don’t like myself.  I don’t like that I forget not to sweat the small stuff.  I forget that my boys are young but growing fast and this time will never, ever come round again.  I forget that cooking and cleaning will always win the battle so I should just give up and stop worrying about the Screecher Creatures falling down in a dead faint.  They haven’t died of starvation yet.  Even Screecher Creature No. 1 who was pretty much exclusively breastfed for 13 months and ate nothing but toilet roll tubes, tissue paper, newspapers, the contents of the recycling bin, cardboard and the odd yogurt for variety.  They’re still growing like steam so they must be ingesting something and they certainly have never noticed if the floor needs to be swept or washed.  But mostly, I don’t like that I forget my blessings.  I would have thought it hard to forget about something that is staring you in the face on a daily basis, but there you go.  I am well and truly blessed.  Blessed with four gorgeous, healthy, vibrant boys.  Mister Husband and I only had to discuss, in the broadest of terms, extending our family and I found I was pregnant within months.  I have had very happy and healthy pregnancies.  Screecher Creature No. 3’s entrance into the world was one of drama and urgency but he was perfect.  Yes, times are hard but they’re hard for everyone. Sometimes you just need to put your head down, point your arse to the wind and keep going.  Tomorrow is always another day.  So, I have decided that instead of being a glass half empty person, I am going to give the glass half full theory a shot and see how I get on.  I also have great faith in my back up plan. This being a daily pill pop of Super Evening Primrose Oil and Vitamin B6. I’m expecting wonderful things altogether from that little concoction.

It is widely recommended, or so I am told, that if you practice a little exercise each day, it really puts you back on track and makes you take better stock of all you have.  It’s called a Trio of Blessings and before you retire at night, you make a note of three things that happened that day. They can be as momentous or as bite sized as you like, they happened to you and if you are able to write them down, it means they’ve made their mark.  For example, on one particular day Screecher Creature No. 2 had his grommets fitted and announced that he could hear everyone again.  Screecher Creature No. 4 cut another tooth with relative ease.  And thirdly I knocked another minute off my walk slash run.   You get the picture.  I believe this is also an exercise used by those suffering from depression.  So I had a little think to myself and came up with a whole lot more than a Trio of Blessings.  The following are my blessings.  Please note this is not a definitive list.

•   I love when any of the boys come into our room first thing in the morning, crawl into bed beside me and cuddle up for ten minutes before we start the day.
•   I feel blessed when our 14 month old wraps his arms around my neck for a hug when I lift him out of his cot in the morning
•   It’s a great feeling when Screecher Creature No. 1 hugs me at the school gates at home time.
•  I get all warm and fuzzy when the Awesome Foursome fight over me.  I particularly like when the baby pushes the others out of his way if he wants a cuddle.
•   I smile when Screecher Creature No. 1 refers to me as “his lady.”
•   Ditto when the same fella gives out to his daddy for giving out to me.
•   Being a mammy is the greatest feeling in the world.
•   It is a special blessing being pregnant and coming out the other end to give birth.
•   Breastfeeding could very nearly be described as my hobby!  It’s a gift.
•   Sometimes I smile like an idiot when I watch our kids sleeping.
•   When you hear your kids shriek with laughter, it makes everything in the world rosy.  Equally as nice is the sound of blessed silence when they are in bed for the night! 
•   Nothing beats the way the baby wakes up from his afternoon nap; with mad fuzzy, bed head hair, a wide brown eyed stare and a smile.  He’s immediately ready to get at the toys on the floor.
•   Except maybe the way Screecher Creature No. 3 wakes up from his sometimes afternoon nap; with crazy, curly, damp hair and a sleepy blue eyed stare.  He needs a ten minute cuddle to iron out the sleep kinks before he’s ready to go outside and play. 
•    I love telling the kids there is going to be a trip to the park or the pool or that it’s nana day.  Their whoops are something else.

I could think of hundred’s more to add here, but for now I’ll concentrate on the important ones. My time with my kids and my health.  Because when you’ve got that, you’ve got everything.

For Una

A gorgeous little baby girl came into the world about two months ago.  Her mother is one of five members of a well-known girl band.  She is the Irish member, with gorgeous flowing red locks, fabulous skin and a figure perfectly befitting of a girl band member.  My heart goes out to her.  She has come in for a certain amount of flak of late due to her decision not to breastfeed her little girl.  She is the mother of a two month old child, living across in the UK thus away from her nuclear and extended Irish family, a regular face in the media due to her job, and back at work already.  Did I mention she is the mother of a two month old baby girl?  That is why my heart goes out to her. "The fact that I wasn't going to breastfeed her made me feel a bit of the blues. I would really love to, but because of work and everything I wasn't able to.” And "I just knew it wouldn't be practical to be performing on stage with big leaky boobs full of milk." she said.    And there you have it.  She would “really love to” feed and nourish her baby herself but work commitments made her decide otherwise.  In the event that a mother decides not to breastfeed her baby, for whatever reason, her body neither knows this nor does it care.  It just goes right on ahead and makes milk for the new arrival.  Milk will come in regardless.  I can remember sitting on the side of my bed, each and every time after four babies, feeling like my chests were about to explode when my milk came in. There is no way on this earth I could have entertained, even for one second, getting up on a stage and bouncing around to a backing track feeling like that.  Even after a missed feed, your body reminds you of that fact.  I bet given the chance, she would grab, with both hands, the opportunity to stay at home with her little girl over going back to work.  I bet if she felt she could be publicly honest about it, she would admit that is what she would prefer to do.  I have also seen photos of this new mother dressed in tight t-shits and wearing skinny jeans with not an ounce of extra flesh on her anywhere.  She is being congratulated and admired for this too.   More pressure.  Now, I’m guessing that she is in her 20’s, it is also her first baby and she most likely would have been very fit and healthy before and during her pregnancy so all of these factors help in shedding the baby weight.  But it’s still only two months after the birth.  There is a lot more going on with the post-partum mother other than a physical recovery.  Mental health is also an issue.  This lovely mother has already mentioned she suffered from the blues as a result of deciding not to breastfeed her baby.  Reading between the lines, she is not entirely happy with her decision but obviously felt this was the best option all round.  She has her band members to think of, she obviously doesn’t want to let them down.  I am sure she doesn’t want to leave the band herself, no doubt having invested a lot of her time and possibly made sacrifices to have achieved the status they are enjoying today.  Una, you deserve a big hug.  I hope that fiancé of yours is looking after you and is aware of the expression “mothering the mother”.  I hope your band mates are supporting you in this your new and probably most important role of your life.  It will be hard for them to understand exactly what you are going through.  And it will be hard for you to have patience with them because of that. Trying to explain what parenthood is like to someone who doesn’t have kids is like trying to explain to a man what period cramps are like.  I hope you will not be too hard on yourself for making the decision not to breastfeed your baby this time.  I have no doubt in my mind that you will get that opportunity at a later stage.  It is just one of the many decisions you as a mother will have to make.  I commend you on being able to get up, get dressed and put on all that slap, to catch a flight and make all of those early morning breakfast show appearances for the banal entertainment of the rest of the country when you have left your sleeping baby in the care of another.  Chances are you didn’t even get a chance to say good morning.  Your band mates, I fear, have no idea how lucky they are.  And also how lucky you are to be a mother.        

Wednesday Whinge

Disclaimer: Due to the amount of whinging I feel I have been doing lately, I’ve come up with a disclaimer.  Here it is.  I am not a whinger.  Much.  I am not a miserable so and so.  I promise.  I am not a contrary aul one, although that might be left open to debate.  However, I do feel the need on (lots of) occasion(s) to let off a bit of steam and have a right old moan for myself.  It doesn’t mean anything; it’s just my way of letting off steam, lightening the load a little bit.  It should also be noted that my boys are the best thing that ever happened to me and I would not be without them for all the tea in China.  They wreck my head and my house but I still wouldn’t have it any other way.  We get on like a house on fire and they are well used to me giving out.                       Warning:  So buckle up, bitches, coz here I go again.  More honesty ahead alert.  Oh, before you read on, I’m not in “bad form” today. Au contraire.    I was a couple of weeks ago but that has passed.  I’m just clearing the air a little bit tonight.  My air. So if you don’t like it, log off now! 

Wednesday Whinge:  Kids do not strengthen your marriage.  That’s bullshit.  It’s the help you get from your partner when you have kids that strengthens your marriage.  Anyone who thinks otherwise is wandering around on Walton’s mountain.  And sometimes, just sometimes it is not “hormones” that send us off on one.   I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately.  Something was niggling at me, just scratching under the surface and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  Then it clicked.  It’s guilt.  But its other people making me feel guilty.  Before I continue I would like to clarify that I truly believe nobody can put you under pressure or send you on a guilt trip except your own good self.  Others can start it off but it is our own high expectations and what we “think” we should be feeling or doing that ramps it up, and before you know it, you’re bogged down in a quagmire of shit that is entirely of your own making.  Of late I have been writing quite a bit about howharditis and feeling that parenting four young kids willnevereverend and ohpoorlittleoldmeno-oneunderstands. I haven’t changed my mind about that, thank you very much.  I am quite happy in my little isolated cocoon of self-pity; there is room for others if you want to join me.  After all, doesn’t misery love company?  Fuck it lads, it is hard.  Dam hard and I stand to that.  If you ask how I am doing and you receive the long version, well, tough.  You did ask and if you don’t like the response, don’t give out to me.  Don’t dismiss me or my feelings; they are just as valid as yours.  It just so happens that I may be tired.  You don’t need to point out to me how good I have it really.  I know this.  I’m well aware of how blessed I am.  It’s called letting off steam.  It’s still how I feel at that time.  No mother in the land would be without her children, despite how difficult she may be finding it.  It makes people uncomfortable to hear another admit that it’s not all plain sailing and surprise surprise, guess what? Sometimes it’s all a big bag of shite.  I was feeling guilty because those were my thoughts on the matter and I felt that I shouldn’t be feeling like this.  I had questions.   Why am I feeling like this?  Why aren’t I full of the joys of spring?  Why aren’t I gambolling through daisy filled meadows and doing fun make and do things with the boys?  Why am I shouting all the time?  Why am I bothering to take two strong multi vitamins a day, designed for “womanly” feelings and emotions when clearly they are not working?  Why am I so wrecked all the time and spending an unhealthy, regrettable amount of time wishing it all away?  Why aren’t I enjoying it more?  I would come away from chatting with various people, feeling very dissatisfied and angry afterwards with the conversation we just had.  I felt like they hadn’t got a clue what I was talking about, and they pasted that careful, blank expression on their face, the one that said “oh dear, she’s off again.  Don’t encourage her.”  I would regret opening my mouth at all, rue that I let my façade slip and dared to be honest with them.  They didn’t want to hear how I was really feeling or getting on.  They wanted me to tell them that I was fine and everything was dandy.   I wanted to tell them that myself but I couldn’t.  I decided to let off some steam instead.  Then I watched and listened to other people who had small kids to see how they were getting on, to see if they had more patience than me. Pick up a few tips from them.  I wanted to see if I was alone.  To see if I could fix it.  Fix me. I wanted to see if they had the answers.  And they kind of had the answer.  The first thing I noticed was they had only one child. You can do anything with one child.  If there was a second, there were a good couple of years between them.  These people “got out” more.  But mostly, they had help.  I have help and I get out.  Don’t get me wrong. I do the shopping.   Some of the most liberating conversations I’ve had have taken place in the supermarket or at the school gate with people my own age or people with kids the same ages as my own.  It’s like a free for all, a mother’s “what’s said in the playground/supermarket stays in the playground/supermarket.”  Yes, it’s a whinge. Yes, it’s a moan but it feels great to get it all off your chest and be safe in the knowledge that the other person is not going to try and fix you or your problem.  They don’t say annoying things like “it’s a phase, it’ll pass” or “we all went through it.”  Newsflash.  We know all of this! But by saying that it’s sweeping our feelings and emotions, what we are going through, under the carpet and rendering them the “ranting’s and ravings” of a “hormonal” woman.  Someone who doesn’t know how lucky or good she has it.  I write a blog, you’re reading it so you know this, but I have a small confession to make. I don’t really read any other blogs.  I will dip in and out, there are one or two that I really enjoy and I tell the blogger that. But equally there are a few I avoid because these are the ones that make me feel like shite and I can do that all by myself thank you very much.  These are the ones who wax lyrical about how parenthood is the best job they’ve ever had.  I’m not arguing with that but nothing seems to be too much trouble for them; they co-sleep all the time, baby wear all the time, home educate all the time, grow their own fruit and veg all the time, their home is a veritable make and do Mister Maker wonder land for kids all the time, no-one ever raises their voice and if they feel a little stressed, well they take their kids out to the fields to play and then post up gorgeous feel good photos of it.  Are these people for real?  I mean, they do all of the above all of the time and there is still a homemade meal (from scratch) put on the table every day and what’s more their kids eat everything.  And come back for seconds.  Do they have body doubles?  A robot made in their likeness because I honestly don’t know how they can do it otherwise.  It’s just too much for me, a mere mortal, to take on board.  It makes me feel inadequate in an area where I know I am doing perfectly fine.  Room for improvement on some days, sure, but on the whole, my kids are well rounded individuals.  It’s nice to hear that others are embracing motherhood and all it entails but disheartening when there is a definite, for me anyway, subliminal implication that I am doing it all wrong and obviously not putting in enough effort because if I was, I’d be enjoying it more.  I chose to have a family and I am in the very fortunate position of being able to stay at home with my kids.  They used to be in full time day care and the guilt I felt when that had to stop is a whole other story! It used to kill me every Sunday might putting money into an envelope for crèche the following week.  God, what wouldn’t I do with that money today???  The things that money could buy for us now, the list is endless.  Mister Husband used to say it was a drop in the ocean compared to what he will probably end up paying for my future psychiatric treatment.  (He didn’t realise how close to the truth he was sailing)  I love coming across little “facts” such as “stay at home mothers, in particular those with kids under 6 (feel free to apply your own children’s age) are constantly in a state of high alert.  They are like fire fighters.”  I feel a very clear sense of vindication when I discover these titbits.  I’m all, I knew it, but you wouldn’t listen to me!  I think part of me just wants this job and all it entails to be acknowledged sometimes.  In other words, when I am in bad form.  There’s nothing like a little compliment to lift your mood.  I’m not interested in a “my job is better/harder than yours” debate.  We’ve all got “stuff” to do. But I will say one thing, when you don’t ever get a lunch break per se, when something as simple as going for a run has to be done whenever you get the chance as opposed to 5pm or another set time every day, when trying to organise a simple doctor’s appointment requires precision planning, when you seldom get ten minutes to yourself to drink a lousy cup of tea, when the stress and frustration of all of this gathers momentum, well sometimes there is a little big explosion.  Sometimes innocent bystanders/Mister Husbands/family members unwittingly find themselves caught in the crossfire.  We’re all trying to do our best, mostly.  It’s only human to want to pack it all in once in a while.  Like a lot of things lately, when I think about packing it in, I do it arseways and I also pack an overnight bag for the boys along with my own! Kind of defeating the purpose.   Again, I am not in bad form, I am just having a little rant for myself.  There are a lot worse off than me out there but it’s all relative.   In the words of Philip Larkin “Your life is the harder course, I see.  On the other hand, mine is happening to me.”  And don’t you dare forget it!