Mum guilt and the bloody dog

I know that as I had a baby just 8 days ago, and because I said New Years resolutions weren’t right for me this year anyway, I shouldn’t be worried about the fact that I have that stupid flailing feeling again. 

You know the one. Where you just want to get a handle on this whole coping thing, but you’re swinging your arms about wildly and no handle can be found. 

I should cut myself some slack. I deserve to rest. I’ve got stitches in my private parts, for goodness sake. I ache. I should be sitting down. 

But oh my goodness, the guilt. The laundry, the washing up, the fact that Iris is clearly desperate for fresh air. I feel awful about it all. I should fix it, not sit here crocheting in a sleep deprived daze. 

I’m like a zombie right now. Is a zombie right? I’m not sure zombie is really what I mean. I’m just here, just being. But not doing. And not really thinking either. Peer in the windows and you won’t see any cogs turning. 

I’m so tired. 

I don’t give a crap that my house is a dump and my to do list is as long as my leg. That’s probably a healthy improvement on my usual state of panic and anxiety about everything falling apart around me, but it’s unfamiliar and I don’t know what to do with it. 

The dog hates me. That’s what has caused this particular moment of silliness from my head. He truly hates me. Of course Trevor and everybody else thinks this is stupid. The dog doesn’t even have a big enough brain to be capable of understanding that he can’t just pee on the living room floor, so how can he be smart enough to hate somebody? 

He does though. 

Every time I walk the stupid thing he runs off. Or he does something so incredibly embarrassing that I fall apart from the shame. The second Trevor steps out of the house he starts behaving like a lovesick teenager, lying around under my feet looking broken. Chasing up and down knocking the toddler over. Peeing on the floor. Following me and staring at me. He doesn’t do this stuff to anybody else. Only me. 

I’ve been feeling guilty for a while because I don’t walk him anymore. What’s the point when he just runs off anyway? I have to keep him on the lead and he pulls so hard that it was hurting my hips and my huge heavy pregnant body. I should fuss over him more so we have a bond, but I’m chasing a toddler around all day and trying to keep on top of the mess. I try, but there aren’t many moments left over to spend with a dog that doesn’t like me anyway. 

It’s not really got anything to do with anything, but I feel bad about it. I always feel bad about something. I always feel guilty. 

I think I’m doing my best. If I am doing my best why am I doing so badly? Maybe I’m not doing my best. I don’t think it looks much like I’m doing my best. 

The cleaning rota is back. It’s all I can do to prove (to who anyway?) that I am at least trying. Because I worry that it looks like I’m just doing the bare minimum. I probably am just doing the bare minimum. But that’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to do it all. I really am. 

There was no real point to this post, I know. And I know what the response will be. Cut yourself some slack. Take a break. For goodness sake woman you just gave birth. I know, I know. You’re right. 

I even need to do better at giving myself a break! 

  

Pictures of the Weekend #11

Poorly baby, poorly baby, poorly baby with dog, dog and cat.Poorly baby, poorly baby, hiding cat, poorly dog.Geocaching, poorly baby with poorly dog, sitting up for the first time, playing at Grandma’s

You may have noticed a bit of a theme running through our weekend. Iris has been poorly with a rotten cold since the middle of last week. Super runny snot has turned into a nasty barking cough. It’s unpleasant and means we haven’t really slept in days and days. I was on the verge of being too tired to cope, but last night we actually slept for most of the night. Thank goodness. Only now I’m worried I won’t have time for my new Grey’s Anatomy addiction. On Saturday we planned to go to a thing at Westonbirt Arboretum, but went geocaching earlier in the day and the stupid dog cut his foot. Blood everywhere. Bandages. Pizza ordered and us not going anywhere. Probably for the best with Iris’ cold.

Runaway Seb.

If you asked Trev, he’d probably tell you that this is a funny story. It’s isn’t funny. Don’t you dare laugh.

On Thursday morning Trev went to work too early to help me out by taking the dog for a walk first. I’d had a rough night with no sleep, and Iris had been cranky all morning. As a result I squeezed a dog walk in, after morning nap but before a feed. I knew I wouldn’t have long. I knew Iris would get hungry soon. I tied her into the wrap, and we headed for ‘the pit’ which is currently just a huge area of mud and muddy puddles. Seb loves it there, and I love it because we rarely see other people/dogs/bikes/joggers. Perfect.

I was cranky already, if I’m honest. The walk does me good though, and I was enjoying it. Squelching through the mud singing to little Iris. I was calming down. I had got a grip on the tension. Seb was happy, rolling in the mud. I was happy. Iris was hungry.

I decided to head back home before Iris screamed the place down, so she was still fairly happy when I called Seb back to go on his lead. He looked at me from across a muddy puddle, and when he saw me take the lead out of my pocket he bolted.

I don’t know where he went. I was pretty confused. He hasn’t done anything like this in a long while and I thought he was over it. I called and whistled and shook his bag of treats. No sign of him.

After a while I heard barking. I headed that way to find him barking at a nervous man who was trying to shoo him away. Unfortunately the man didn’t have the sense to stop and I just couldn’t catch up. I lost sight of them. I didn’t know which way they went. Another 20 minutes of walking and calling and whistling later, Iris was seriously annoyed. Poor kid wanted her 2nd breakfast. It was also about time she slept.

My kiddo doesn’t do patience. When she needs something she needs it right now. If you don’t provide she lets you know. Loudly.

I finally spotted Seb, far away on a hill, staring at me.
Can you see him over there?

I headed for him, Iris’ crying making me feel tense and flustered. Sticking her dummy back in over and over again just wasn’t working. I needed the dog and to get home. Now.

As I approached he sat perfectly still, watching me. I showed him his bag of treats, to let him know I came in peace. I used my silly voice that he likes. He didn’t move a muscle.

Until I reached him. Then he was off!

He ran towards the mountain, and probably up it too knowing him. I couldn’t see him anymore. I decided to pretend I was going home without him. A technique I’ve seen parents use with tantruming kids in supermarkets. It never seems to work for them but it worked for Seb. I crossed the bridge out of the pit and hid. Luckily Iris had gone quiet. In a few minutes I could see him, stealthily sneaking after me, to see where I’d gone.

When he was pretty close I softly called his name. He ran. Iris lost it, big time. I text Trev at this point, to find out what he would do, but he was somewhere in North Wales where mobile phones just don’t work. I had to feed this baby. Had to. I headed home.

As I crossed the road I felt guilty. I went back. One last try. Iris was not amused.

He sat at the top of the steps, totally still, watching me. As I reached him he ran again. Not just out of reach. He ran right away across the pit towards some trees.

That’s when I decided I wanted to kill him.

With nothing I could really do about Seb at this point I really did head home. I fed Iris and I fed myself. I even made a cup of tea, which I left to go cold. I wondered if somebody would find him. They’d never catch him. He hates other people. He barks at them sometimes but never lets them close. I didn’t think he’d follow me either. He’s terrified of the road and reluctant to cross it even when I’m with him. I sat and nursed Iris until she was calm and I was slightly calmer than before. My blood was no longer boiling. I felt incredibly bad for leaving him.

I bet he didn’t feel bad, the little monster.

I grabbed his lead, popped Iris in the wrap and headed back. Really I should have been settling Iris for a nap. Bloody dog. The teenage boys that are always on the bridge, day or night, informed me that they’d seen him a while ago, heading along the cycle path towards Pontypridd. Great.

He’s been running away from me for an hour at this point. I’m furious and have decided I will never ever walk him again. I’ll stop buying big bags of Dentastix from the discount shop too. Horrible dog doesn’t deserve them.

I call, I whistle and I walk. I try to hide the anger in my voice because I know it frightens him and will only make him run further away. Eventually I spot him. Oh how I wanted to shout at him! But I didn’t. I called him and called him. He sat down. He didn’t appear to have even noticed that I’d left him there for half an hour and gone home. He certainly wasn’t frightened and frantically searching for me.

The same trick again. Staying totally still until I’m near, then off he goes! Thankfully Iris had fallen asleep. I stopped approaching him. Instead I showed him a treat and chucked it into the space between us. He went to eat it. He really is that dumb. So I chucked another, slightly closer to me. This went on for a few minutes before I could grab his collar.

What I would have liked to do at this point is scream at him, obviously. But I didn’t want to wake Iris. So I dragged him home without once looking at him or talking to him, and I shut him in the kitchen and went straight back out. I went into town for a few hours, still fuming. See, I told you it wasn’t funny.

The trouble is that this means I just can’t risk letting him off the lead when I’m on my own with Iris too. I just can’t. So he’s gone and ruined the lovely morning walks that I enjoy so much. Now he’ll have to stay on the lead, trying to pull my arm off, and nobody will enjoy it as much as before.

Sebby Dog and the Space in my Head

I’m writing this while I walk the dog, on the notes app, on my phone. Normally I don’t touch my phone while I walk the dog, but I’m making an exception today to tell you exactly why I don’t touch my phone while I walk the dog.

My ex boyfriend didn’t really talk to me. I know that sounds bonkers but it’s true. In one way or another he worked every waking moment, even when he wasn’t at work. If he wasn’t sat facing a laptop he was checking his emails on his phone. He did have a very important job but I don’t think that a very good excuse. Over those years I developed a terrible habit of using twitter (others too, but mainly twitter) almost constantly. Because it was silent in the real world. I was lonely and I had a lot to say. Most of it rubbish, but I still had to say it.

I’ve been away from him for quite a long time now, but the habit is a hard one to break. I wouldn’t want to break it completely. I’ve met some great people through the internet, many of them are now among my closest friends. I spend a lot of time on the sofa nursing a baby, and have you seen how crap daytime TV is? Social media keeps me from going mad. I keep in touch with friends and family, share photographs, have conversations about things I feel strongly about, learn about stuff that interests me, and connect with new people. I love it.

But if I’m not careful it fills my head, and I slip back. Finding myself checking in constantly, needing to know what’s going on without me. I can’t do that right now. Between Iris and Seb and Trev, and all the other people online and around me, there’s no space left for me and my thoughts.

Every morning, as soon as Iris shows signs of tiredness, I strap her to me and put Seb on his lead. For an hour or so Iris sleeps and I walk, whatever the weather. Seb needs very little assistance from me to run wildly around in the long grass, leaping happily and rolling in muddy puddles. My phone gets no signal here. I’m cut off. It’s just us and the clouds and the mud. The mountain too, if I’m in the mood to climb.

The exercise is great. Having Seb forces me to walk, and although I love to walk I’d probably find myself on the sofa eating biscuits instead given half a chance. The fresh air too, is healing. Even when it’s cold and wet. The colours soothe me, the greens and browns and yellows. Even the squelchy mud somehow cheers me, just like it does for Seb.

Mostly it’s the silence, both inside and out (not so much out today, I have a squeaky welly boot). It gives me some headspace. I somehow stop fretting, stop thinking, stop analysing everything everybody says and does. I feel uplifted, and every day I realise that actually I’m doing ok. I’m feeling ok. Things are good.

So today, as I wander slowly around this muddy field watching the tip of Seb’s tail waving above the long grass, I just want to grab it and write it down. Iris is waking and the peace is shattered until tomorrow morning, but the air and the mud have mended me for another day.

Domestic Meltdown

It’s hard for me to admit that I’m struggling. I’ve never been any good at asking for help. I hate when I start things and don’t finish them or when I do finish them in a rush and they just aren’t how I wanted them. Perfection isn’t really that important right now, but I just can’t let it go.

Last weekend was a funny one. I’d spent all week looking forward to time together, the three of us (and Seb) and when it came I was just too shattered for it. We spent Saturday shopping, and my wonderful man spent a lot of money on new clothes for me. I’m endlessly grateful, and feel so much better about myself now that I have things to wear that fit. I enjoyed our day together, wandering around Cardiff, but I felt cranky. I kept the cranky undercover, and we had a really lovely day. We followed it with pizza delivery and a G&T and I introduced Trev to the Black Books box set.

No sleep. Another night of no sleep. I can’t blame Iris. She slept well. It was just me lying awake in the middle of the night, head buzzing with thoughts and all the things I want to do. Need to do.

So Sunday our plan was to do all those things. Clean it all, the whole house. Dog proof the garden too, as Seb keeps going next door. On the whole we got it all done, but I was cross, tired, upset and generally just wanted to curl into a ball in bed, alone, and forget about it all.

Sometimes Trev comes home from work and talks about his colleagues, his customers, the wind turbines he works with. He talks with real passion and I love that about him. But I resent him too, and it’s horrible. Sometimes I think you’re so lucky, with your life that hasn’t changed that much, your adult company and the way you sleep all through the night and I get jealous. This is clearly the stupidest thing ever, because it’s me that’s the lucky one. I get to spend my days with our precious little bundle and he doesn’t. I never have to be parted from her. He misses so much. I wouldn’t swap. No way. But I’m so tired.

There’s no weekends for parents. You can’t book some annual leave, or storm out when you’ve had enough.

So all day I barely spoke to Trev, while he held Iris and I cleaned, then I held Iris and he fixed stuff. Not because he annoyed me. He didn’t. I didn’t want to talk to anybody, because I wanted to rant. I wanted to scream and cry and stamp my feet. And I didn’t want to do that to Trev. He deserves a break too, he works so hard. It didn’t help that Iris didn’t nap all day. She cried a lot, and we couldn’t figure out why. All day long. Then when all the work was done she still didn’t sleep. Just before midnight she filled her nappy quite spectacularly and then nodded straight off, peacefully. Tummy ache then, I guess.

Don’t tell me to forget the housework. Please don’t. I’m bored of hearing it. I do ignore the housework. But you reach a point (surprisingly quickly) when there are no dishes to eat from and no clean clothes to wear. No food in the cupboards. No cooked meals to eat. Ignore that? It isn’t possible. Trev works long hours, and Iris is very demanding. Sometimes days and days and days pass by and nothing gets done. Is this the same for other mums? Am I the only one not keeping on top of things? I feel awful about it. So guilty. That mum guilt isn’t nice.

By the time the evening came (Iris still shouting) I’d more than had enough. And the weekend was over. No more quality family time for another week, and I’d spent the whole weekend in a grump. How stupid! I grabbed the dog, and we headed up the mountain for some thinking space. I sobbed and raged and thought it all through. I looked at our tiny dot of a house from way up there, and watched Seb gleefully bounce around. And I got it all straightened out. I was being silly. As usual.