Right so, welcome to Mommahood. I am a new ‘blogger’ so if I begin boring you, reader, or my undereducated ramblings begin to irk on your sensibilities, bugger off, have some tea and come back when you’re in a more tolerant state of mind. This is not a how-to guide on motherhood. This is the diary, in a way, of a relatively still in experienced mother of 2 under 2. I am not perfect- at all. Nor do I think I will ever bloody reach that state of mind, but my girls have manners, they pick up after themselves, disguise bodily..noises, as such, and are gracious toward complimenters. As far as I’m concerned, I’m doing an okay job, although, kindly, OverLord says I’m doing a good job, as do my dedicated panel of sounding boards who are now spread all over Ireland and Europe but who are, really, just a facebook away. (Thank You All.)
Well I guess some background would be useful in case some reads this whom I have not met. People will be referred to as Personal traits and that’s for privacy reasons.
I was in the grand old institution of Newman in Donnybrook, repeating my first year… because of one effing module- more on that later- when Overlord and I discovered to our…. discreet horror…. that we were expecting. I at 20 (I think…) and himself at… ha well you can make up an image in your mind. Suffice to say, 9- ish months later, out sprang our joyous Wednesday, a little spaced from the pain killer I had resorted to and a wee bit jaundiced to boot. Labour, pregnancy and all those niceties will be elaborated on some other time. It was a stressy time. Society pressures and completely unrealistic expectations of mommy magazines and family members alike combined to make me into a very neurotic, angry, unhappy an severely depressed new mommy. Cheers, fam. The Perm was a particular pain but I will discuss the Perm at some other point when the Scuttlebug is not present as I will get agitated and not very nice to be around. Anyhoo. A year later Scuttlebug arrived in a torrent of absolutely no pain killers and a whopping set of lungs. Things got pretty damn serious the same night when I reported to the natal nurses that Bug was having a hard time breathing and they took her into the ward nursery to keep an eye on her while I went to sleep. Woke up the next day to a heart attack in that Bug was not in the nursery. She’s been moved up to intensive care during the night for fluid on her lungs and a sub-functioning trachea. A hair-raising week of near constant presence in the Special Care unit followed while Wednesday was cared for by the Trunchbull at home.
Took her home after 9 days, exhausted, and we spent the subsequent 2 years moving around like Bedouins because I was a very unhappy bunny altogether. We’re all settled down now in our Shed, which is fine and we’re getting new electricals soon- yay! Christmas is looming, Santa has contacted me to say all has been prepped and all I need do is leave out a hot whiskey and clove with some cinnamon buns, because Santa’s Canadian, eh!?
That is a ridiculously concise but faithful narrative of all my dealings up until now, wherein I am just starting to be happy again.
Thank you again to my panel of Cleverclogses* and Overlord for all the patience, eyeball rolling and snorting whenever I come with new harebrained schemes or ultimatums over this and that. My sanity is growing back, albeit slowly and hopefully I’ll soon actually enjoy the term of Stay-at-Home-Mom.
Until next time (hahahah Survivor is playing) Keep on surviving!!