I can hardly believe it, but I now have a 4 year old daughter!
I'm also wondering why mothers aren't always a blubbering mess on their kids' birthdays. I started reminiscing days before her birthday and it's started to blow my mind that Audrey and Rex both grew inside my body. Woah.
We had a rocky start with Audrey popping out all "extra-chromosomey" so the love we have and the way she is now is extra sweet.
Our next big hurdle is potty training, which she's been potentially ready for for someone (a year maybe!) but I've been putting off and putting off… but once we've nailed that, wow, onwards and upwards for our grown-up girl.
It's a funny time because Audrey's typical peers will be starting school in September (we have deferred her to be the oldest in her year next year), so it's strange that we aren't moving forward in that way. But Audrey needs the extra time and when I look at how far we have come since her 3rd birthday I know it's the right thing to do.
Yesterday we had a great party (a BBQ at home), it rained half the time but we were ok inside. I made a chocolate peanut butter Hey Duggee cake and Daddy cooked lots of meat and made burger buns. Audrey got lots of lovely presents and was out like a light at bedtime, exhausted by a very fun day… the same couldn't be said for Rex unfortunately, he seems to get wired, but he fell asleep eventually.
Around 2 weeks after finding out my mother had 2 months to live, she died. The decline was fast, you could say “at least she didn’t suffer any longer” or you could say “how cruel that she was taken from you so quickly”, either way, we lost our much loved mother, grandmother, aunt, sister, daughter and friend on 3rd April 2017.
The funeral was on Friday, which was 25 days later. People say “That’s a long time to wait” and “Oh I’m sorry it’s not sooner” but I liked the time. I don’t understand the rush. Between death and funeral there is a sense that you have not yet let that person go. Once the funeral is over, it’s all over. And yet it’s not.
I’ve been functioning normally. We had to move house and I’m currently job hunting. We have two children under four, so functioning was the only option. Yet friends were concerned, was I really ok? Was I bottling it all up?
It felt like there was a movie moment expectation that I should be a bawling mess on the floor. But I was having coffee and singing nursery rhymes with the kids. I was clearly not ok because I was seemingly ok.
So what is the answer? Should I be in tears half of the day and should I ensure that’s when someone is around to see it? I actually started to wonder if I was grieving properly… But look, I’ve done this before, I’ve lost important people, but I didn’t have children then. You can certainly afford yourself more wallowing time when you don’t have two children under four. And anyway, grief is different for everyone.
You can pause it a bit. I guess you could say that amongst the singing nursery rhymes and answering job interview questions I’ve had my “moments”. Random tears, random staring into space as stuff runs through my head. She really has gone.
When we first found out Mum was dying I had decided that at 3 and a half, Audrey would forget her and that would make life easier. No explanations, no upset. However, I’ve realised that actually, Nanny can “stay alive” a little longer in order for Audrey to lock her in. She recognises her picture, she knows her voice (I still have some voicemails on my phone) and she knows her house. We arrived for the funeral and the kids were hanging out at Mum’s old house with Bibi (paternal Grandma) and some friends whilst the ceremony took place. Audrey looked around the living room; “Mummy? Where’s Nanny?” a poignant moment and of course it brought forth a tear, but honestly I was pleased. My clever little girl knew where we were (Nanny’s house) and she asked a reasonable question. I don’t need to keep telling her Nanny is gone. Because Audrey will keep her alive for me. As will Rex. The next generation. Their Nanny-inherented-eyelashes fluttering at me everyday.
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 thatis 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.
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!
It started well, with a lovely bit of maternity leave when Audrey napped and on nursery days I could go to the cinema or sit and drink hot chocolate alone. Or nap. Or stare into space. Basically just “be” without a child around.
Then February came; Rex arrived! He turned our lives completely upside down and took me from tired mummy to completely-shattered-and-almost-broken-mummy.
Both my children took their first independent steps! Audrey in October, aged 3 and 3 months, Rex in December aged 10 months and 4 days.
I’ve was so very low at times last year and sometimes too focussed on that. I am looking forward to feeling more positive, as Rex sleeps more and they both become more independent.
I have been wishing away the baby days, but please be assured I have also taken time to appreciate Rex’s delicious baby head, his tiny toes, they way he looks at me whilst having his milk, they way he needs a cuddle after a fall… all of his good baby stuff I will remember, I know I’ll miss it, but I am so excited about this summer. Two walking children!
Rex has started saying “Dada” more often and even aimed it at Ted, so we are taking that as his first word. I’m probably more excited that he has signed “milk” and “more”. We love Makaton.
In the meantime, Audrey’s talking is coming along fantastically and she surprises every day with new words and clever phrases. “Audrey’s so happy”, “Rex, what’s wrong? D’you need a duddle?” … as I type this she is playing with a doll saying “You done a wee wee? Do a wee wee in the potty? Say goodbye to everyone”. She’s a star.
Scarily 2017 would be the year Audrey goes to school, but we have made the decision to defer her until next year, giving her extra time to be potty trained, be a strong walker and generally close the gap between her and her peers. We have picked a local mainstream school and fee very strongly that Audrey will thrive there. She loves learning through play, she is a goody-two-shoes and I think she will be popular at primary school.
Anyway, let’s get 2017 out of the way first. I need to find a job so that could lead me down a new path. And once Rex turns a corner and learns a bit about being gentle and sharing, he and Audrey will be great playmates.
This seems to come around so quickly and I worry I’ve got nothing new to say. Or that I’ve said it all throughout the year in my general posts.
Just know that we (the DS community) raise awareness because we care. We care about the people in our lives with Down’s Syndrome and we fight for them. We fight for others to become “aware” – to try and make them understand that DS isn’t necessarily what you think it is. We look for balance – for dark and light, Down’s Syndrome isn’t a depressing life sentence, but it’s not unicorns and rainbows either. That’s just life full stop.
I sat and thought about what I wanted to say this year and realised I want to talk about whether we can ever really get someone outside the circle to fully understand. Can we ever really make Down’s Syndrome appealing? Can we ever make it ok and not negative?
Close friends of ours got pregnant. They had the screening for Down’s Syndrome. Mum-to-be says to me “So we had the test and I told the lady that we weren’t really that bothered about the result because of what happened to you..” – at this point I start to feel all warm and fuzzy inside; that they would feel ok with a high chance of DS because they know and love Audrey. Ahhhh. But then she continued; “Because, well, you got ‘low risk’ and it didn’t mean anything – Audrey had Down’s Syndrome”. Oh. She was making a point about the test not being worth doing because it’s not accurate, not that it’s not worth doing because they’d be ok with a child with Down’s Syndrome. Of course this was an opportunity for me to push back and question her, but I didn’t. I just smiled and nodded like a fool. I don’t really like confrontation, but I suspect she would have backtracked and it would have been awkward.
My point is, even people close to us (on the edge of the circle), don’t necessarily feel ok about Down’s Syndrome, so how on earth can we spread a balanced message of hope and positivity to pregnant women who have no connection to DS?
Well, maybe we can’t… But maybe we can, so we’ll keep trying.
We can fight for better language (a baby with Down’s Syndrome, not a Down’s baby. Low or high “chance” not “risk” of Down’s Syndrome), we can fight for better knowledge (facts about people with DS attending mainstream schools, leading independent lives) and share our positive stories to outweigh the dated negative ones.
And so I’m going to point you in the direction of this (highly anticipated in our community), documentary;
And I’m going to continue writing my blog and sharing our lives in the hope we reach the right audience. It certainly can’t do any harm to keep on keeping on… We live in a rich and varied world. Life would be so boring if everyone was “perfect” and “normal”.
I can only present life as we know it and our experiences, but I know someone who had an adult son with Down’s Syndrome that was in nappies and only had a few words – the kind of “worst case scenario” if you will. But they loved that son/brother/grandchild and never regretted having him. They would have had every right to be bitter and angry about the life he had/they had, but they weren’t. Love doesn’t necessarily conquer all, but it has a bloody good go at doing so.
One thing I’m 100% sure about is; my world is better for having Audrey in it.