Black Dog On My Shoulder

I've been feeling this way for quite some time: lacking energy and drive; regretting not putting more effort into friendships, new and old, but not able to do anything about it; crying; non-existent libido (why does that feel like the hardest one to admit?); angry; generally not enjoying maternity leave anything like as much as last time. I talked to Father Badger about it a few times, but we agreed that it must be down to the pitiful amount of sleep I was getting - Badger Cub has always woken multiple times a night, and at eight months I could count on my fingers the times I'd had a block of four hours sleep. The FBI would probably stop short of this level of sleep deprivation.

Then three weeks ago a switch flipped and Badger Cub started sleeping. Not reliably all night, but most nights (with a few notable exceptions) he has slept eight or nine hours with one waking, and a couple of times with none. The problem is that I didn't start feeling any better. In fact I probably felt worse as I had the mental capacity to start thinking about the emotions.

I met up with a friend and her six month old baby for lunch and coffee. We chatted about many things, mostly baby related, and then she told me about her postnatal depression and how the antidepressants and counselling were helping her. I didn't realise it, but she had obviously spotted something she could identify with in the way I was talking. By the end of the afternoon I had opened up to her, shed a few tears and agreed that I probably ought to find some help rather than continue to try and deal with it myself.

I know there is no shame in depression. When my friend opened up my immediate thought was her strength in telling me. I still struggled to accept it as my situation though - I've always been the strong one, thick skinned, bulletproof. I must remind myself that I don't have to be strong; that my children deserve to have the whole of me.

It took another week for me to gather courage to talk to Father Badger and use the label - postnatal depression - so difficult. He agreed, was amazingly supportive and the following day I went to my GP. To be honest it's been a bit of an anticlimax. I told the GP that I wasn't comfortable with taking antidepressants and she referred me to Talking Space, the Oxfordshire NHS mental health service. I've been booked onto an initial telephone assessment next Friday - TEN DAYS after calling them. The average wait time for the first talking therapy session is four weeks. That takes me to the start of January, just one week before I return to work, full time.

It took a lot for me to go to my GP. A lot. I laid myself bare. I feel as though the NHS has calmly nodded, confirmed that I'm not about to top myself or put my children in danger, then cast me to the bottom of the pile.

I would rant, but I've run out of words and energy.

Image courtesy of Felixco, Inc / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The one where I whinge a bit

I'm having one of those days. It peaked when I found the cat peeing on the door mat. There's nothing quite like clearing up still-warm cat pee while a baby shouts at you from behind the stairgate (left there because he'll want to "help").

Father Badger took both children on the usual Saturday morning walk with his mum, sister and their dogs. In theory that means I can get an extra hour sleep, but realistically by the time I've helped get them ready I am far too awake to go back to bed, however tired I am. (And I am tired.) He took Baby Badger off to a birthday party at noon, then off to Oxford for some shopping. I had strange irrational dreams of Badger Cub having a nap for a couple of hours while I got stuff done. Nothing urgent or even important, but just stuff. Instead I've been feeding (expected), playing bricks, stopping him eating DVDs and having my knees chewed all day. And no nap.

I know I should expect to be doing these things with a nine month old baby, but just once I'd like to be me again. I dream of having the house to myself for a whole day. No preschooler asking for help at the toilet. No baby sucking my jeans, crying because I've taken two paces towards the door. I feel really selfish for these thoughts, but I am slowly going insane.

Just in case you're interested, he's still awake. Other than a few ten minute naps, he's been awake since 6:30am (ELEVEN HOURS AGO). You're thinking that at least he'll sleep well tonight, but you'd be wrong - I predict at least four wakings. That's him in the photo, strapped to my back in the Ergo so that I can at least leave a room without carrying him in one arm. He's keeping himself entertained trying to pull my hair.

Sigh.

How to feel useless

Last Thursday I was called by the nursery to pick up Baby Badger: she had a temperature of 40 and wasn't looking very happy. I rolled up with my scarcely used bottle of Calpol (we are not big on medication), got the staff to administer (yes, I wussed out) and took her home for cuddles. She perked up a bit (mainly due to repeated Igglepiggle), had some dinner and went to bed. It all went wdo so and keep an eye on her.ell until she woke up at 10pm, demanded milk then promptly threw up all her dinner.

The following day she stayed home with Father Badger, the vomiting episodes becoming more frequent until the point where not even water or breastmilk were staying in. NHS Direct advised waking every hour that night to get her to sip a little water, and Father Badger generously offered to sleep in the nursery to do so and keep an eye on her. What do you do when nothing stays in? Time to feel useless #1.

Saturday was the scary point: she would wake up, have a sip of water, then her eyes rolled up, her head slumped and she'd be asleep again. We knew she was dehydrated but couldn't get anything into her. Time to feel useless #2. We cracked and took her to the out of hours doctor who reassured us. The moment we arrived she demanded milk and spent the entire examination attached to my boob!

She's now on the mend. She's not eating much and has mainly had booby milk and water, but things are definitely improving. Time to feel useless #3... She's not eating much but happy to nurse and I'm in Leeds, 200 miles from home, for the next four nights. I want to be with my daughter and I'm stuck here with work when she needs me the most.

Being a working mum sucks sometimes.

Image: Sayan Samana / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I survived!

I did it. I survived my first week back at work, and so did my daughter.

Actually being at work wasn't that bad at all, in fact it almost felt as though I hadn't been away for the last year. My boss chucked me straight in at the deep end and I remembered a surprising amount! The only downside is the half hour of my 45 minute lunch break that I spend getting to the medical room to express milk, but that's my choice so I can't complain.

Baby Badger's days were variable, but on balance fine for the first week.

Monday saw her with my mother in law, happy and smiling to be left with grandma. She had a good day, plenty of playing, an outing in the pushchair, and a couple of naps. Perfect. Not a huge amount of food, predictably, and almost no interest in the milk I left. Not ideal, given that she's not putting on weight, but at least she was happy.

Tuesday was her first full day at nursery. She cried when I left. I was strong, I gave her a cuddle and a kiss and handed her over, saying I would be back later, and left. Then I cried in the reception like a big girl and went to work. I managed to hold it together and luckily the nursery called soon after to tell me she had settled down nicely. She had another good day, happily playing with a couple of naps. Again not much food and refused all the milk. Perhaps a pattern is emerging here...?

Wednesday is my parents' day. Again, she was very happy to be dropped off, and had a happy day ransacking their living room, shredding magazines and posting them through the railings of the fireguard *chuckle*. They managed to get her to eat cheese, hummus and apple - yey! They didn't even offer her the milk as "she didn't ask for it and she'd had some lunch". Not impressed. Seriously. I bit my tongue and didn't say anything, but next week I will ask them to make sure she's offered it a few times.

Thursday, and we're back to nursery again. She cried as soon as we got there, but I was strong, played for a minute and then handed her over. This time I managed not to blub like a girl, and peered through the window - she was happy playing within a few minutes - hallelujah! I left just one bottle of milk this time, saying if that they should call if they need another as I'd be pumping at lunchtime, but I didn't hold out much hope. They called! She'd glugged the lot back and I dutifully dropped the second at reception straight after pumping. It was a day of triumphs: not only did she drink two bottles, but she also ate apple sponge & custard (with her hands, to my amusement and their distress), banana cake and toast.

And then there's today... Friday's are Mummy's days. We had a lie in, plenty of booby access for Baby Badger. A leisurely breakfast, off to music group and then lunch. We cuddled up again mid afternoon for a nap and then went for a walk. Bliss!

Image: Danilo Rizzuti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

To believe or not to believe

A few days ago I came across a post by Bethan (no Y) regarding religion and her journey to find religion. Did she find it? Go read her post and find out... It got me thinking about my own struggles with faith.

I was brought up in a Christian family. My father's family are Catholic, with several priests in the family. My mother's family are Methodist. I chose to be baptised in the Church of England, presumably because it was familiar: both my primary and the local church are C of E. I went to sunday school and later church student group, and sang in the chapel choir at University.

Father Badger is firmly atheist. Not agnostic (i.e. not bothered, no firm beliefs) but militantly atheist: he firmly believes in no higher power, and he thinks that organised religion is a cause of evil in humanity. To an extent I sympathise with him: there have been many atrocities committed in the name of one faith or another; tribes and peoples are at war because of conflicting faiths. I do however think that if religion was not available to justify these actions, another basis would be chosen: race, colour or similar.

We were married in church, in the village where I grew up. This may seem hypocritical, especially when I say that my faith was already wavering. The vicar was fully aware that Father Badger was not religious, but said he did not see it as a problem as long as the vows were taken with the right intentions and that he was comfortable saying them in church. It was important to me to marry there, mainly because I see that church and its congregation as the centre of my community and upbringing and full of many people that mean a lot to me.

Over the last few years I have become gradually more aware, and recently consciously admitted to myself, that I don't believe in god. I can't pinpoint when it happened, and I'm not even sure if I ever did - I can't think of a moment in the past where I passionately believed, although I must have at some point. I can't see how a god could allow wars, famine, disease. There is no grand plan, no reason for everything. I do however think that church can be a great strength in the community, and provides a good set of morals for bringing up children.

The agreement I have with Father Badger is that Baby Badger must be brought up respecting other people's beliefs, be that in a god or in nothing. I want her to go to church occasionally so she understands her family background, but it's her choice when she's older as to whether she becomes involved or not.

My biggest problem with the lack of faith is guilt. My father is definitely not a believer any more, a result of deployment to war zones with the RAF, but my mother is still firmly Christian. I know she will be devastated if she finds out that I have no faith, and I really don't want to hurt her in this way, but I also don't want to live a lie. My way of dealing with this is to turn up to church on important occasions by way of it being a family event, but I don't read the prayers aloud and I abstain from communion. One day, though, she's going to ask me a question that I can't sidestep and the emotional car crash will occur.

Do you struggle with a similar dilemma? How do you deal with having different beliefs to your family? Have you had the conversation I dread, and how did it go?

Image: nuchylee / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Running out of time

Spring has sprung and the countdown has begun. Baby Badger is now over nine months old - as Father Badger puts it "she's spent more time out than in"! All of these things are lovely and exciting but it also means that my maternity leave is running out and it's causing an internal conflict I never would have predicted before becoming Mum.

There's a big part of me that wants to return to work. I've worked hard since leaving university, soaking up knowledge in my field and climbing a decent way up the ladder. The professional in me desperately wants to continue advancing my career, gaining knowledge and respect from my peers along the way. I've simply put too much into it to throw it away. I'm also a strong, independent woman and I feel very uncomfortable with the fact that I am unwaged at the moment: not because we are in financial difficulties (although obviously things have been tight over the last few months) but because I have always been on an equal footing with Father Badger in terms of what I contribute to the coffers and I somehow see that as earning me an equal footing in the decisions we make about our home and lifestyle.

The same part of me worries that I've changed on my year away from work and won't be able to pick up where I left off. The job I do requires me to care about what I do; to throw all of myself into my work, providing top customer service and going above and beyond to make sure the best possible outcome is achieved. My priorities have changed: I can't easily put in the extra hours the job sometimes requires; I assume all I'm going to want to do at the end of the day is rush out to see Baby Badger. I can count on one hand the times I've had more than four hours sleep in one go: can I really function on this much sleep? Ultimately, will I care enough about what I'm doing when it will naturally come second to my daughter? I take pride in doing a good job and can I cope with only giving 80% of myself to my colleagues?

There's the hassle factor... I am still breastfeeding and don't intend to stop as I would like Baby Badger to decide when to wean from the breast. We're doing Baby Led Weaning, which is great, but she's not yet taking in food in any great quantity so she's not yet dropping feeds. This wouldn't be an issue except that a few months ago she stopped taking expressed milk: she now flatly refuses the bottle. We're making slow progress in getting her to drink water from a variety of sippy cups so hopefully we can progress onto milk - we've got two months to get it sorted! I've had the conversation with HR regarding somewhere to pump at work (oh, the dignity) and although it took them by surprise they have come back with a sensible suggestion. This is a good thing but it does mean that I will have to pump and eat lunch at the same time. I shouldn't complain though as it's my decision to still be breastfeeding.

There's also the childcare... We are lucky enough to live near both sets of grandparents and they are covering two days per week between them. I think this is fantastic as Baby Badger will grow up knowing them well. She will be going to a local nursery for the remainder of the week. It's a good nursery, and they say they are happy with the less mainstream things I'm asking of them, namely feeding expressed milk and using cloth nappies. I am dreading leaving her there as she is experiencing really bad separation anxiety - unless Father Badger is around, I can barely make it out of the room before she screams, and I can't bear hearing her unhappy.

Then there's mealtimes. As I mentioned, we're doing Baby Led Weaning. The more I think about it, the more I am against traditional weaning. It seems crazy to shovel food down Baby Badger's throat, distracting her in order to sneak another spoonful in. Yes, I know generations have been fed that way, but it doesn't mean it's right. It's very important to me that she continues to be in control of what and how much she eats as I believe it will lead to a more adventurous palate and the ability to listen to her appetite. My worry is that either the nursery staff or grandparents aren't going to entirely "get it" and mess it up. Is this the control freak in me trying to get out?

Then there's the last little problem. I'm going to miss her. I don't want someone else seeing the first time she walks; the first proper words; her cheeky grin. Maybe this is the biggest issue for me...?

All the above makes it look as though I'm in a dilemma, but that's not the case. The terms of my maternity package mean that I'm tied to going back for at least six months (or pay back a sizeable chunk of money), so I don't really have a choice to make: I'm going back at the start of June. I guess my dilemma is convincing myself that it's the right choice. I'm working on it...

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Evenings just aren't evenings any more

I've blogged before about bedtimes. I guess we've not gone down the traditional route with bedtime and Baby Badger. Some would say we are weak-willed, others would recognise it as a type of attachment parenting. For the first five months we co-slept, with all the associated guilt is piled on. Quite honestly I wouldn't have had any sleep if we hadn't as Baby Badger fed two hourly for a long time, and after her shaky start there was no way I was going to discourage feeding. We have since managed to get her to spend the night in her own cot, which sounds more impressive than it is...

Her cot is next to our bed (yes - she's almost nine months old and not in her own room - tick: parent fail number one). She doesn't go to bed until 11pm and I feed her to sleep in our bed then transfer her (tick: parent fail numbers two and three). She has a feed at about 3am (no, she isn't "sleeping through" - tick: parent fail number four) in our bed and is then transferred back after she's fallen asleep feeding (tick: I've lost count, but you get the idea...), and her morning feed is some time between 6am and 9am, after which we get up and go on with the day.

I have an inner conflict about this state of affairs.

The cold, independent pre-mum in me is desperately fighting for some time to regain my identity and ability to achieve at least one non-baby-related task per day. That's quite a tall order when I'm actively being mum for 99% of my waking hours, and why I'm blogging at midnight! I would love for my evenings to be evenings again. I'd like to spend some time with Father Badger as a couple - I'm not talking nookie (quite frankly I'm more interested in undisturbed sleep!). He is wonderful at looking after Baby Badger when he's home to try to free me up, but it means that his attention is on her rather than me and I can't remember the last time we just curled up together.

The smitten, adoring mum in me has absolutely no wish to change anything. I like cuddling up with Baby Badger in bed to feed her. I love it when she falls asleep on me on the sofa in the evening (apart from the aforementioned inability to do anything while she pins me down). I absolutely refuse to try controlled crying to get her down to sleep: it is perfectly natural for her to expect me to come to her if she cries and I don't want to reset her expectation so that she doesn't try - babies are not meant to be independent creatures!

The logical part of me knows that something does need to change. I'm going back to work in June and I will need to be getting a decent night's sleep by then - I can only think of a handful of occasions in the last nine months where I slept for longer than four hours in one stretch (MI5 would be proud of my resilience under extreme torture).

So... what's the next step? We're going to go back to basics. A tickle under the chin to half-wake her after she feeds to sleep, to help teach her to self-settle. Maybe next we'll move the feed to before the bedtime story. And then move bedtime forward half an hour. And again. And again, until it resembles 8pm rather than 11pm. It's going to be a slow process - wish me luck!

A sad day

Today has been a sad day. It's a long story...

Three years ago our family of Mother Badger, Father Badger, A-cat and W-cat were joined by S-dog: a bumbling grey ball of fur. S-dog came to fetes, welcomed postman and delivery drivers into our house, went to obedience training (with mixed success - he understood ok but sometimes just couldn't be bothered) and generally became a huge part of our lives.

Something went awry about 18 months ago. Something spooked S-dog. No idea what. Maybe it was adolescence kicking in? What we ended up with was a 10 stone dog that was a happy companion most of the time but defensive of his food and aggressive to visitors. Perhaps worst of all, he bit me twice while I was pregnant with Baby Badger.

That might have been the final straw for some, but we love him and feel a huge responsibility to give him the best life we can, so we consulted dog trainers, brought in a behaviourist and spent a year trying to sort out his behaviour. The result? A much improved S-dog but still not an animal we would consider letting near Baby Badger until she was much, much older. We realised that we couldn't guarantee keeping them apart without excluding S-dog from family life, and he deserves so much more than that.

Which leads to today. S-dog has gone back to the family that bred him. They still have his father and one if his litter mates. The aim is that they will help him overcome whatever has made him nervous and find him a new loving home.

I know that we have done the only thing we could for the sake of our daughter, but it hurts.

Image: www.henson.com

Oh, the Guilt...

It's amazing how little sleep you learn to deal with. I browse the Baby Centre forums quite often, and find myself jealously cursing the mums with babies (mainly formula fed as far as I can see) that sleep through the night. The question in my mind is this: do you do whatever it takes to get enough sleep to function or do you follow all the rules and make like the walking dead the next day?

Left to her own devices, Baby Badger wakes roughly every two hours to feed during the night. Take away the 20-30 minutes required to move to a chair, feed and burp her and I'm left with 90 minutes until the cycle restarts. That's if, of course, I've managed to get her into her crib without waking her. It doesn't take a genius to work out that I'm not really getting enough sleep.

Obviously, over the last few months I have found ways to get additional sleep, or else I wouldn't be capable of typing right now! Father Badger, or perhaps a grandparent, takes her for an hour or so while I sleep, but I'm not really one for daytime naps - I'd much rather tick off a few tasks on the list so I have "achieved" each day. I've found a fairly reliable way of getting more sleep at night, but it comes loaded with guilt: co-sleeping.

The term "co-sleeping" is applied to more than one scenario. Sometimes it simply means having baby in the same room as parents, which is advised for the first six months to reduce the risk of cot death. Sometimes it refers to having the cot or crib next to the parents' bed. And other times it means having baby in bed with mum. In my case it's the last of these: I've found that if I feed Baby Badger lying on my side, I can drift off and she simply falls asleep once she's finished. She sleeps much longer, presumably because she feels full, warm and protected snuggled at my side. Strangely, she also seems not to need burping (I've not seen any evidence of spit-up).

The problem is this: co-sleeping my way is contraversial. There are risks associated with it: duvets or pillows can smother, baby could fall out of bed, or a parent could roll on to baby. Parents who smoke should not co-sleep, nor should you if you are a heavy sleeper or have been drinking or taking drugs. On the other hand, co-sleeping is in many cultures the natural way of keeping your infant at night, and there are ways to reduce the risks. I honestly believe she is safe this way. I keep the covers off her, my body surrounds hers with a hand on her bum, and I wake up in exactly the same position, as if I instinctively stay in the protective position. I awake when she stirs to feed, usually well before she feels the need to cry out of hunger. Surely these are all positive reasons for co-sleeping?

Last night we introduced an additional dose of guilt; something I swore I would never do. After the midnight feed I gave Baby Badger a dummy (usually referred to nowadays as a soother, but that makes me think of throat sweets). She slept until 4:40, giving me four hours of sleep in one lovely stretch, at which point I brought her into bed, fed her and fell asleep for another couple of hours (back to source of guilt number one). We'll try the same again tonight and if it works I'm just going to have to admit that a dummy has its uses.

Further information on co-sleeping: http://www.mumsnet.com/babies/cosleeping

Image: winnond / FreeDigitalPhotos.net