Mother


As the UK celebrates ‘Mothering Sunday’, a plethora of cards are being opened (my mum likes the ones with long cheesy poems in, the more words the better) and flowers are being plonked into vases.

Maybe you’re having a roast dinner. Or some afternoon tea. Mostly likely you aren’t talking much about motherhood. You may even have found yourself saying it’s “commercial rubbish”; a day dreamt up by card companies to make more money.

As a mother of two under the age of four, in motherhood terms I feel I’m right in the thick of it. At least I think I am, oh god, tell me there isn’t a more difficult stage?!? And you see, becoming a mother makes me think about my own mother. It makes me look at her differently.

My mum has always seemed nutty to me. Sometimes in a nice way, sometimes in a frustrating oh-you-are-paranoid-because-you-read-the-daily-mail type way. When we were kids she used to sing a song about being carried off to the funny farm, oh what a silly mummy we had! But of course now I see. Now I know. The funny farm song has loomed for me on more than one occasion and my kids are both still under 4! I was the youngest of four. At some point she had two teenagers, a 4 year old and a tiny newborn. Now that is mental health worry territory! But wait, that’s not even the whole story…

When I was born, my mother had breast cancer. I was induced a little early so she could have a mastectomy and some radiotherapy. I was cared for by my (turning 98 years old this year!) Nan, my mother couldn’t breastfeed me, she couldn’t even hold me when she’d had her radiotherapy. I find it baffling that this rocky start never affected our relationship. That is to say, as a child, teenager and grown up, I always felt bonded to my mum, even if I did like to mock or scold her for being crazy/paranoid/irrational! But what she must have been through physically and emotionally in the first year of my life is difficult to imagine, as well as the rest of the family. I was unaffected by this traumatic time because I was just alive, sleeping, eating and pooing, unaware that Mum nearly died. She must have gone through hell.

Beyond this incredibly difficult time in her life, which we all got through, my mum then had to raise two small kids and two in their late teens as a part-time single parent; we moved to the coast and my father worked in London, staying there Monday-Friday, coming home on weekends. I used to think Mum was being dramatic saying she was practically a single parent, but of course now I know how much I appreciate adult company and assistance every evening- the countdown to 6pm each day. I can now see why she was a little bit nuts.

Since I’ve become a mother I’ve probably spent less time with my own. She’s gotten older, stopped doing things and I’ve been massively distracted by two little people to keep alive. The days of meeting for a shopping trip and a bowl of cappuccino in Costa have long gone, now it’s more a monthly meeting where I try to talk to her whilst every so often stopping to say “No Rex, be gentle!” Or “Don’t eat that!”.

My mum is ill. Well, it started as ill. It soon became scans and hospital appointments. Then it was potentially treatable cancer. Now it’s terminal cancer. So after being my original benchmark for what happens when you have cancer (you survive), she’s now become like the others, a cancer sufferer, not a survivor.

So we are celebrating Mother’s Day knowing it’s likely to be her last (I’m not sure celebrating is the word).

People say I’m strong, I don’t feel it. Truth is, I have to park this. Put it in a box on a very high shelf. Zip it up. Stash it away. I cannot let the feelings flood in because I have to function. I have my own little family now. We’re moving in a few weeks and I’m filling in job applications, but aside from these ‘big’ things; I simply have to drink tea, wipe bums and microwave sweet potatoes, because life goes on. 

I’d actually quite like to smash some things. Punch some walls. I’d like to run until it hurts and fall down on the ground breathless and sobbing. However I recognise that won’t help my mum. Sheila doesn’t need me to break, she needs me to be that strong person people think I am.

Happy Mother’s Day to you and yours. Maybe hug a little longer, maybe talk about what those early days were like for your mum. Because they are tough for me, they were tough for my mum, but I know it’s all worth it.

Mum and Dad in their dinner dance days.
On my wedding day.

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World Down’s Syndrome Day 2017

Good morning! Just a quick post to mark World Down’s Syndrome Day 2017. We are busy planning a move, I’m job hunting, both kids are running around like crazies and my mum is ill. So the blog is suffering a little… but I wanted to mark WDSD with a little note.

Audrey is still surprising us everyday, her vocabulary is broader, her stroppiness is increasing, her need for independence (“I want to walk!”) and her loveliness never stops. She is an excellent big sister, but is not so inclined to share toys… but will share a cuddle. Rex looks to her for guidance, he is learning so much because of her. I certainly never thought I’d say this, but our lives are richer and happier with Down’s Syndrome in it. Fact.

So there you are, just be aware; Down’s Syndrome isn’t scary or sad. It’s pretty cool actually.

I missed our local T21 gathering to celebrate (on Sunday), in favour of a mums-only trip to see Beauty and the Beast! But the kids had fun with Daddy and Bibi and here is Audrey enjoying a bit of soft play…

Swear


I’m pleased to say that in our household, the “C-word” is chocolate. Unfortunately the “F-word” is the rudey swear that you think it is. Yes, Audrey has picked up some naughty words.

It wasn’t very long ago that I was so proud of Audrey’s main repeat phrases (“Lovely!”, “Nice”, “You’re welcome”, “Fank you sooo much” etc), but then Rex came along and didn’t really sleep. I think that’s when my stress levels were high and my potty mouth increased… perfect timing as Audrey’s vocabulary grew! And just like that, she started muttering “for God’s sake!” (With an embarrassing amount of ‘tude to go with it). And as I thrashed that one out of the repertoire with lots of repeating (gently, whispered like a kind vicar’s wife) “for goodness sake”, another one crept in… the dreaded “FFS!”! Eek. 

The little minx was picking up on our reactions and started using it with a side glance, waiting for our response. Cheeky monkey! 

Having picked a local church school for her, I was growing concerned. But I also knew that if we worked very hard to be clean, the phrase would drift out of her regular chat and be replaced by something else. I’m pretty sure we are now weeks from a “FFS”, we’ve heard some other random negative words here and there, but mostly the little peach is coming out with gems that make me proud; 
“Mummy making me happy!”

“Hmmm I fink it’s actually lellow”

“Daddy’s at work”

“What’ve you got there?”

“Audrey have some?”

And although I do not want to hear her swearing, I’m grateful for every word she says, she is excelling in her communication and I’m extremely proud of her. Our little chatterbox!