Feeding O hasn’t really progressed.
Actually, that’s a big fat lie. He has taken a bottle and will eat baby food. He prefers the baby food to the 5oz of breastmilk I pump between Wednesday night and Thursday morning. The breastmilk ends up in the sink. I could cry, I really could. But I don’t because if I cry about anything, the crazy might come out and I won’t stop. So I just look sad. Like cute puppy dog needing a home sad. Or cute kitten. Ok, I make the same face as the animals in the RSPCA adverts, ok? Can we move on?
So, breastmilk flushed down the drain…
He feeds when I get home (normally, not always) then the night begins.
Now, he can go 6 hours over night. He usually manages 4. I can cope with 4. Eight to midnight, one to half four, five to nine. Yep, we can work with that, especially if I go to bed about 10 and get a couple of hours kip in before he wants feeding. Or I pull off a dream feed. Either way, if he must wake in the night, this is the pattern I like.
Except on Thursdays.
I get home at 10, feed. Go to bed a bout 11, get woken up at midnight to feed. Get back to sleep at 1 ish, wake up at 2 to feed. Bed at 3, back up at four. He might then go until she comes in at 7.30. Maybe.
Then I spend all friday comfort feeding him.
All this because I left him for five hours.
Last week, on my 30th birthday, I missed my massage class.
I spent hours feeling terrible about it.
Turns out that I wasn’t suffering the after effects of being up in the night coupled with anxiety at all. Afterall, I’m pretty sure OH, my mums partner and our lodger haven’t caught the tired anxious shits. Nope. I actually had some sort of virus and it’s done the rounds.
Last night it was back to learning and I actually felt much better than I have in a long time. No constant sick feeling, no instant panic attacks in the classroom, no stress headaches.
Is this what it’s like to feel normal?
Anyway, my routine is now up to date, I don’t have a huge wedge of homework and I understand what they did last week when I was absent.
See, it wasn’t as terrible as I made out.
Ok, not so snooze. I’m a geek about the human body but still – THIS SHIT IS HARD!!!
And we’re not even on to the whole bones, muscles, tendons, ligaments thing. We’re just looking at the skin. Up close and personal.
I’m not stupid. My brain doesn’t always leak information. Just on the odd occasion, but with everything that has happened this week I’ve found even getting time to complete the homework hard.
When I started the course and the tutor was like “expect to do 3 to 5 hours homework a week!” I was like “Hell yeahs. I do that in my SLEEP lady! Bring it on!”
The reality is that with two kids, one of which who has been in hospital in the last 7 days (he’s better now, bronchiolitis poor thing) I haven’t even been able to scrape together a few hours let alone time to get out my new couch and give the physical stuff a go. I’ve managed to practise once this week. ONCE. That’s pathetic.
So yeah. I just want to rub people to make them feel better…
Massages…get your minds out of the gutter!!!
I’m going back to college on a Thursday to study massage.
It counts as a beauty therapy and I am about as far from a typical beauty therapy student as you can get.
I’m totally stereotyping here by the way and don’t have an issue with people who take pride in their appearance. It’s not that I don’t care about how I look…actually, it is.
You see, I have self confidence issues stemming from the way I look. I hate my face. I hate my chin. I hate the spots I have constantly. So many years of hating my looks have made me apathetic about them. I do my own kind of ignorance pleading.
“I honestly didn’t know I looked like shit. You mean I haven’t shaved my legs in four months? Oh that? That hair on my chin? Yeah, it’s attached. I call it Fred.”
Years of being apathetic mean I rarely shave (my legs and pits. Never the face. Fred stays!), I don’t wear make up, I don’t care if O is sick on my shoulder. I constantly have some child related stains on my trousers and my hands are covered in pen.
When I do wear make up, I still put it on the same way I learnt at school when I was 14. I remember being taught how to scrape my hair back off my face into a tight bun and slapping on the foundation in the year 11 toilets. My mantra is “there is no such thing as too much eyeliner.”
I’m also one of those people who can wear a brand new suit and still look like they just wore it to bed.
It scares me. I want this. I want to pass and be professional. I want to do other things with this and I’m shitting myself that my looks will let me down.
So, as work has not been going to plan for the last two and a half years, I have decided on a complete career change.
After the wonderful birth experience I had with my son, I have decided I want to help and support other parents in having positive experiences right through from late (uncomfortable) pregnancy to labour, birth and into the postnatal period, providing much-needed postnatal support.
One of the things I believe helped me to achieve my empowered birth was consistency of care which is something I hope to be able to provide for couples.
Services I am considering offering are:
Massage – pregnancy, for partners, workshops for labour massage, baby massage and postnatal massage to help with postnatal depression
On call labour doula
Postnatal doula with a focus on aiding women with PND
Now, I know this seems like a lot. It IS a lot and I don’t plan on doing it all at once. I’m aiming to build up my range of services over a period of about 7 years.
I’m not taking this lightly!
Jigsaw puzzle soup, served with a side of stacking cup
Fork in a teapot
Babywipe lovingly cooked and presented on a hairbrush.
Snap card pie
Large portion of snap cards, each delicately folded and placed in a large stacking cup.
An obviously hot liquid which needs cooling by blowing on.
More fork in a teapot
Small cup of tea to be downed in one.