Breastfeeding

OK, so this one is from the heart.

Before you brace yourself to defend or challenge what I've shared here, please take a breathe.  Then, read on.  Read about my experience of breastfeeding and understand that that's all this is; my experience.  Please be kind with me.

I have no motive in sharing this.  None at all.  I'm not advocating for or against bottle or breast .  I just need to share.  I need to share because my breastfeeding journey was rough.  Really rough.  I'm trying to process what happened and what that meant for Dope and me and our relationship with each other.  Problem is, I'm stuck.  I'm going over and over the same thoughts and it's gnawing away at me.  So I'm writing it out.  I'm sharing it with you.

I exclusively breastfed Dopey until she was 13 months old.  But I don't think I should have done.

For me, I didn't decide to breastfeed.  It was a given.  Everyone knows that 'breast is best' and I don't mean that flippantly.  The nutritional benefits are huge, it boosts the immune system and is sterile, it's free and requires no faffing around with bottles.  Win, win, win.

Then there are the purported emotional benefits of breastfeeding.  That it helps mums and babies to bond and I so looked forward to this.  I couldn't wait to nurse Dope, knowing I was the only one who ever would or could.  Turns out it was this fact that undid me.  Almost undid us.

I found breastfeeding incredibly difficult.  It was painful, stressful and relentless.  Our feeding schedule was 40 minutes on, 40 minutes off.  Horrendous.  I had support worker after support worker come in to help me.  They watched her feed and all said we were doing 'really well'.  The most advice I was given was to try to stretch her top lip up and over the nipple more.  I couldn't do that.

I cried in agony through every feed for the first 4 months.  Every. Single. Feed.  Without exception.  As soon as the feed stopped, so did the pain.  I now realise that what I experienced wasn't the 'let down' pain experienced by most.  Cold cabbage leaves would do nothing.  Dope wasn't happy when feeding either.  She would bob on and off, arch her back, gag, splutter and choke.  She never seemed sated and was continuously rooting.

The GP, health visitor and community nurse shared my concerns when they saw how distressed Dope would get.  They each sent me to A&E to get her checked over after seeing her.  She was admitted to hospital and eventually referred to a consultant.  He felt it was silent reflux and she was medicated.  He told me to cut out dairy in case it was a dairy intolerance causing all of this.  Neither the medication nor dairy free diet made any difference, but we persevered.

(I'd like to point out that this meant me battling through all of this without chocolate.  I know, right???  On top of all of the pain I was denied the staple food group of a new mum).

I desperately wanted to give her one bottle of formula a night.  Actually, I wanted her dad to give her the formula so that I could sleep and give my nipples a break.  I was sore and exhausted and so was she.

But I knew that formula was 'bad'.  It had been drummed into me that only a nipple and breast milk should go in Dope's mouth.  In my sleep deprived, brain addled state this really stuck.

I felt that I was doing everything wrong.  Dope wasn't sleeping, growing or enjoying life very much.  Buda and I were ratty with each other and on the brink of collapse.  The only thing I was doing 'right' for this kid was the breastmilk.  I couldn't decide to withhold that.  It would mean I had totally bummed on this motherhood gig.

So I needed someone else to tell me it was OK, it wouldn't be too bad to introduce one bottle feed a day.  But nobody did.  The breastfeeding support service kept insisting that Dope was getting all that she needed from me and that there was no reason to expose her to the risks associated with bottle feeding.  Even when I sat in tears with a worker telling her that I was so exhausted that I kept falling asleep on Dope while feeding her.  I told her I needed one feed 'off'.  That I was scared that if I kept on with this schedule that I would fall asleep on Dope and smother her, kill her.  The worker didn't budge.  She told me to keep on breastfeeding.  That things would get easier.

They didn't.  Each time Dopey stirred I would panic.  Really, seriously panic.  My heart would race, my palms would sweat and I would start to cry.  I would then battle to get her latched on and cry some more.  My legs would twitch with the pain of feeding.  I would clutch Buda's hand to get through it.  Then she would bob off to scream, root again and we would go through it all over again.  And again, and again and again.

I was broken.  So very, very broken.  I needed a rest.  I needed someone else to do just one feed.  To let me sleep for more than one hour.

But I didn't get this and mine and Dope's relationship suffered immeasurably.  I was scared of her.  I didn't hold her because whenever I went anywhere near her she would root and I couldn't bear the thought of an extra feed.  When I fed her I couldn't wait for it to end and as soon as it did I would thrust her upon whoever was nearest to me.

My fear of smothering her during a feed has morphed into a fear of her dying from anything and everything.  I'm so convinced that she will die very soon that my life with her feels bitter sweet.  I love her so much that I ache.  I spend hours just watching her, soaking her all in.  When I'm watching her I hear a voice telling me to make the most of this because it will end.  I hate buying her clothes and gifts and get angry when other people do.  Not because I don't want her clothed or treated, but because all I can think of is how much it will hurt to clear them out after she has gone.  It's horrendous.

When Dope was around 11 months old we noticed she had a thick piece of skin joining her top gum to her lip.  She had a lip tie.  This would have been why she couldn't get her top lip up and over to latch on properly.  She would have been unable to create a seal around the nipple resulting in air being gulped in.  The reflux and wind were caused or exacerbated by this.  She would have been unable to draw down more than foremilk.  This explained her slow weight gain despite having an insatiable appetite.

When I read all of this I cried.  I cried because my difficulties were real.  What's more, had the lip tie been identified sooner we could have dealt with it.  I cried for the lost months in our relationship.  I could have expressed and bottle fed and she would have grown and I would have rested and we would have bonded. I could have cuddled her.  I cried in frustration that nobody, not a single health professional or breastfeeding support worker ever once considered this or checked in Dope's mouth.  I cried in anger at myself for not finding out about it sooner.  I cried for the discomfort and pain I'd put Dope through.  For the medicine I had put in her unnecessarily.  I cried because I'd known it was real and been left feeling like it was just in my mind.  I just cried and cried and cried for 2 days.

And now she is fully weaned.  I have a more than a little sadness that Dope and I didn't get what I'd hoped from breastfeeding.  I'm sad that she weaned so much earlier than I'd expected her too.  I'm sad that I can't give you any happy ending to this post.  The only thing I'm glad about is that I can now keep my nipples tucked safely away in my bra.

So that's our story.  If you feel moved to comment, do so.  But remember, please be gentle.  I don't exaggerate when I say that breastfeeding was traumatic for me.  I'm on the other side now but there may be women reading this who are still in the thick of it.  Again, be gentle.

Till next time,
DM

PS - Another gripe I have with breastfeeding is that it did not shed my babyweight quickly or at all.  This breastfeeding fact was brandished around all over the place yet somehow passed me by.  17 months on from Dope's birth I'm regularly asked if baby number two is on the way.  No, it's not.  I just never lost the baby bump shape from the first one.  That said, this bump may be more of a biscuit bump.  I eat a lot of them.

Open Day

OK, listen up.  I've had an idea - and it's a bit of a gem.  It's not very original, but it is most definitely effective and that's all that counts.

You know those days, weeks, periods when you feel really 'bleurgh'.  When you're stuck at home with nothing to do and no one to do it with.  When you're staring dolefully at your facebook feed as it goads you with status after photo after update of everyone else in the world having fun?  It feels pretty hopeless doesn't it?  Like you've been forgotten.  And it makes you mad because you can't understand why no one scoops you up and includes you.  Well, I have two things to say to you...

The first is a bit of tough love.  Yes, you probably have been forgotten.  Not because you're bad or boring, unloved or unwanted, but because you're off radar.  The people in your facebook feed don't know you're sat at home in your pjs, sobbing at the screen.  They don't know you want to hangout with them.  They don't know that you're not with someone else.  Now, yes, we could argue that some of them should pay more attention.  But then we would have to, too.  We would have to stop looking at all of the updates and scroll through our feeds looking for the people who aren't posting.  Who are most likely sat at home, like you, waiting for an invite.

This leads nicely onto my second point...

Extend an open invite to everyone you know to join you in some activity.

Sounds ridiculous, right?  And a little bit hard?  I hear you.

For the first 15 months of Dope's life I was the one at home.  I was alone and lonely and mad at the world for leaving me there.  As the fug of baby days left me I realised that actually, I had withdrawn.  No one was calling because I made out like everything was fine.  That's what I said when people asked me, 'I'm fine'.  But I wasn't.  Every bit of my heart and soul was crying out for them to see past this veneer.  They didn't.

I got so low,  I gave up hoping for any invite and resolved to make the most of my little family, screw the rest of them.  Then I started thinking about all of the other people like me out there.  All of the other isolated people being ignored by the 'in' crowd.  And this tugged on my heart a bit.  I changed tack.  Yes, it seemed too late for me, but it may not be too late for someone else.  I may be able to step in and BE their invite.

So that's what I did.  I thought and prayed on this for a little while, unsure what form this plan would take and who it would involve.  I settled on a single mum at church who I never saw included in anything either.  I reached out to her and made a play date.  Now, because I'm a bit socially awkward and felt like after the invite there was so little I could give, I panicked when she accepted.  I asked her if she would mind if we opened the invite up a bit and I posted on facebook that I would host a Valentine's afternoon for anyone who wanted to join.

What a result.  Two other women joined us.  First of all, this took the pressure off me conversation-wise and for that I will be eternally grateful to them.  They rescued my guest from an afternoon of being babbled at by me.  It also meant that I had pulled two more people in from the cold.  I felt pretty smug.  I had 'rescued' these women from their loneliness and, I felt, won a victory over my facebook feed by hosting an event rather than just gawping at one from afar.

But then something else happened.  A few people joked that they wished they didn't have husbands to spend Valentine's with because my idea seemed better.  They followed up with a suggestion that we arrange another day when we can hangout.  And those days happened.  Reaching out to one woman put me slap bang back on the social radar.  I now have plans and invites and feel included in life again.  I'm building relationships, connections and true friendships.  It's fab.

And you know what else?  All of those women, without exception - yes, even the thin, pretty, smart ones - tell me how they look at social media and feel left out.  That they feel worn out and left out, too.  I've learned that we're all struggling here, it's not just me.  Or you.  It's all of us.

There's a good lesson in here about loving others as you do yourself.  I love this commandment and it's one I live by.  But now, for the first time I realise that we weren't told to do this simply to make life nice for those around us.  This is God's way of ensuring that we stay connected to each other, it benefits the givers as much as the receivers.  By following his command we are forced to open up our own lives and that allows him to pour even more blessings in.  He's got this all figured out, hasn't He?

Tonight Buda is out at Kung Fu, Dopey's in bed and I'm relishing the solitude.  Tonight it doesn't feel lonely or imposed, it feels precious.  Time to relax, own my own space and reflect on all of the gifts I've been given.

So what are you waiting for?  Do it.  Do it now.  Post an invite, open up your world.  You may just be amazed at who comes in.

Till next time,
DM

Life is puzzling

See that puzzle above? That's what my life feels like, friends.  The gap is my 'now', the moment I'm currently in.  All of the other pieces, all jumbled up, that's the rest of my life.  All of those pieces represent a person, a task, a responsibility that I have.  Each and everyone of them is jostling and demanding to get into my now.  Prioritising is impossible.  Each is as important as the next because they are all integral to the whole.  There is no sense of achievement or accomplishment in this puzzle because even when I finally get a piece in the right place, it soon gets slid aside so that another can pass. It's all very complicated.  And like a toddler attempting this puzzle, I feel completely overwhelmed and powerless to sort it all out.

Right now it is 8.23am.  I'm sitting at my desk with a pot of tea and writing to you.  Dopey stayed at her Gran's last night and so I'm well rested and ready to face the day.  All manner of chaos is waiting for me post 10am, but for now I don't need to worry about those other puzzle pieces.  I can breathe in the empty space.  It is the first time in such a long time that there is nothing else that I should be doing.  So I'm writing to you.

Believe or not friends I write to you more than you know.  Every day, in fact, I compose one, two or more posts.. Some are funny anecdotes, some are reflections on life and some are just plain rants.  The problem is, they are all composed in my head and never get poured out onto a page.  I'm talking to you as I'm driving my 60 minute commute to work, showering, settling Dopey for a sleep.  You get me?  You're in my mind constantly and I feel a crushing guilt that I don't talk to you more often.  You're very much a piece in my puzzle.  Unfortunately you're so often wedged behind work, child rearing and husband managing that try as I might, I just can't get to you.

I wish that this was a more encouraging, entertaining post and I'm sorry that it's not.  But I feel it is an important one.  I want you to know that I am committed to this blog, to you.  I love seeing how many of you read this.  After each and every post I spend a few days checking back, looking at the page view count on Blogger, delighting as it goes up.  I feel held by you a little bit.  Listened to.  Thank you.

I'd love to connect with you all more personally.  So if you're reading this and relate to my jumbled up life, please leave a comment and comment on each others comments.  I can't be the only one feeling like this so let's reach out to each other.  Say, 'yes, I hear you'.  Give advice, support, solidarity or a virtual hug.  It's what blogs are all about.  Let's use ours well.

Till next time,
DM

Mother's Day

Mother’s Day is almost upon us again.  I’m quite excited about this.  I’ve put a lot of work into Dope and so I think I’ve earned a day of recgonition.  My newfound understanding of motherhood makes me appreciate my mum that bit more, too.  I plan to celebrate her with a little more gusto than usual.

In fact, this year I appreciate all mothers more than I used to.  In large part this is down to the mummy lenses through which I now view the world.  We often hear women start sentences with the phrase, 'as a mother...' and I used to think this was rather crass.  But now I kind of get it.  I don't believe mothers are trying to position themselves as distant and above those without children.  I believe that they are merely reflecting on how massively their perspective has shifted since becoming a mum.  You see, our post-kid selves are incapable of viewing any situation or event dispassionately.  Natural disasters, terror attacks, road accidents, they all pack so much more of a punch now than they used to.  We immediately picture our own babies there and identify viscerally with the mothers.

The situation that’s really being magnified by my mummy lenses right now is the refugee crisis in Europe.  The toddlers fleeing war and violence and then being held at border crossings, washed up on beaches or freezing in makeshift camps.  They’re all Dope.  And I am all of those mothers, trying to get them through.  I feel their fear, hope, regret and hopelessness.  I feel how forgotten they feel.  How shocking and unthinkable it is to be living the way they are while we watch on, carrying on living the way we are.

And it’s not just the enormity of their situation that gets me.  It’s the minutiae.  Knowing that among all of the life and death decisions that they are making, they are also dealing with the day to day life of being a mum.  Nappy changes, kids pestering them for food, asking ‘are we nearly there yet?’, crying over a lost favourite toy.  You know those days when EVERYTHING is catastrophic for your offspring.  They scream for food and then fling it onto the floor.  They demand to be picked up then wriggle and fight their way back down.  They are desperate to get out of the house but meltdown at the suggestion of wearing clothes and shoes.  An on and on and on.  We all know how exhausting that is.  Now, think about dealing with all of that whilst traipsing across continents, hungry, hurting and scared.  Worse, knowing your kids are feeling the same way and that there is nothing you can do to stop it other than to keep on going, hoping that the destination is worth it.  We can’t comprehend this level of motherhood.  We can, however, feel how unbearable this is.  It hurts both our heads and our hearts.

You see, we mothers FEEL.  We understand that everyone, absolutely every adult, child and tween on the planet, is someone else’s daughter, son, Dope.  We understand that every other mother on the planet is simply another version of ourselves.

So what’s my point?  This started off as a Mother’s Day post.  You were probably expecting something about gift ideas and I took you down a rather more sombre road.  Thanks for sticking with me.  The good news is that it really was about gift ideas all along.  Alternative gift ideas, that is.

This year, stop and think about whether you really want or need things like chocolates and flowers.  I love chocolates and flowers.  *They are scientifically proven to cheer the soul.  So if you are in need of such things, go ahead and enjoy them.  We know that plenty of extreme mothering is going on around here so we won’t begrudge you a single petal or bite.  In fact, if you’re in need of a Mother’s Day pick-me-up, message me with your address and I will make sure that something reaches you. 

If like me, however, you don’t want or need anything this Mother’s Day, please consider this.  Unicef– and many other charities, I just like this one because it focuses on children and mothers – have a whole range of gifts and gifts in kind that you can buy.  You could help deliver a baby, warm up a refugee child or provide nourishment to a hungry Dope.  You could also buy your mum some jewellery, a bath set or a purse and let Unicef to use the proceeds wherever they are needed.  That’s what we are doing this year and it feels GOOD.

Shifting our pounds from Hallmark et. al to places like Unicef shows that we get that we’re all in this motherhood gig together.  It allows us to act upon our feelings and demonstrate our compassion.  Most importantly it means that one of us out there who is feeling hopeless and forgotten will, though this gift, KNOW that her mothering is noticed, appreciated and recognised this Mother’s Day.

*I am aware of no such study about flowers and chocolates, it just seems that their healing powers are so widely acknowledged that there must be some science in there somewhere.

How cool is this?

Not our actual glove, but pretty close - image taken from here

Things in the Dopey household were a little fraught this week.  Wednesday night saw Dope herself become really quite poorly.  I called the NHS on 111 and, to my alarm, they sent an ambulance for her.  Of course, she promptly perked right up, charming the paramedics with smiles and waves.  She bounced and pointed and squealed at everything in the ambulance and the crew empathised with me over the capacity of kids to make their parents look like big fat fibbers.  They could have chastised me for using their valuable time on a child that appeared healthy and well, but they didn’t.  They also didn’t seem to mind that she repeatedly reached for the hazardous sharps bin.  They simply blew up a latex glove and drew a smiley face on it so that she had something safe to play with.

At the hospital Dope was checked and monitored and cooed over.  She was admitted (see, we did need that ambulance!) and I was brought tea, given a bed to rest in and offered food.  A nurse came and good naturedly changed the bedding when Dope peed on it.  She didn’t grumble.  She also didn’t scold me for failing to catch the pee in the sample pot that I was supposed to.  Finally, Dope’s symptoms settled down and we were officially discharged.   

It was a worrying 12 hours but that’s not really what I’ve come here to tell you about today.  Instead, I want to remind us all that the NHS is amazing.  It’s most amazing points being;   

1.       It keeps people alive and healthy...

2.       For free...

3.       No matter who you are*

*There are exceptions for non-residents who pay for their treatment.

How cool is it that we can go to the doctors with niggles?  That we think nothing of getting ourselves checked out, ‘just in case’.  Would we look after ourselves quite so well if we faced a bill at the end of it?  Would we wait that bit longer to be sure that there really was an issue to be checked out?  Or would we wait until payday?   Every such delay would increase the risk of late diagnosis and treatment.  These are worries that we simply don’t consider.  The NHS protects us from those risks and difficult decisions by just being there.  Waiting for us, whenever we’re niggling, for free.

 ‘But the waiting lists!’ I hear you cry.  Yes, these are frustrating.  There are also more serious failings in the system; fatal misdiagnoses, neglect and abuse by staff, cuts taking away services, staff leaving for better pay and conditions elsewhere.  Please let’s not get into a debate about the whys and wherefores of this.  Let’s look at the bigger picture.  These incidences are heartbreaking and newsworthy because we expect MORE from the NHS.  We know they can do better because we normally leave hospitals healthier than we were when we went in.  I think that’s pretty cool.

What’s more, we know that there is a point to complaining because the NHS will respond and make changes.  We could be cynical about their motivations and efficacy in this, but the point is that reviews happen.  They, and we, understand that every life matters and that mistakes can’t just be written off.  Elsewhere, profit driven doctors and clinics take payment and glory for healing patients.  When things don’t go so well, they simply take payment.  The more people they see the more they earn, regardless of outcomes.  NHS staff earn the same regardless of the numbers they treat so individual doctors are driven and measured by quality outcomes for patients rather than quantity of patients for profit.  Again, cool hey?

When my sister in law in Nepal told me she was pregnant I was excited.  Buda not so much.  I chastised him for being a grump and he silenced me by reminding me that in Nepal you don’t celebrate a pregnancy.  You celebrate a birth that leaves both mother and baby alive.  And THAT’s the gift of the NHS.  It allows us to live freely and plan life with little caution.  We know that there is a safety net there for us that will almost certainly protect us.  Can you honestly say that a pregnancy announcement has left you worrying for the life of the mother?  I think this is the coolest point of all.

So people, please take a moment to consider what a gem we have here in the UK.  If you’re so inclined, take this one step further.  See it as a call to action to promote and protect the NHS.  If that’s not for you, just try really hard to imagine life without it.  Remind yourself and others of the freedoms it allows you and never miss an opportunity to highlight just how cool that is.

PS – It’s worth pointing out that neither I, nor anyone else connected to me, works for the NHS.  I just like to give credit where credit is due and to inject a bit of gratitude to areas where we can easily become complacent.

Playing Cupid

So, that's Valentine's Day done for another year.  For some there will have been flowers, romance, love and so on, but I suspect for most it will have been just another day.  For some, it was probably  a tough day.  A day when every shop, TV advert, facebook update felt like a personal attack.  Red hearts and pink champagne dangling just out of reach, saving themselves for those 'in love'.  That exclusive and excluding club that makes anyone outside feel a bit sucky, a bit less worthy.  And I don't like that.  Not one bit.

Earlier this week I had a friend over.  She is single and childless and hurting because of this.  She's 38 years old and working on accepting that she will never be a mother, not naturally at least.  She's a good and successful woman but feels rejected and alone.  For her, Valentine's Day magnifies of all of the gaps in her life.

After she left my house I got to thinking.  I got mad at Valentine's Day.  Stupid commercial, Hallmark holiday.  Callous shops, adverts and facebook statuses spurting out Disney-fied versions of love and relationships.  And couples...COUPLES!  You have each other.  You love and hold each other and share memories and homes and children and cars and fears and worries and hopes and dreams all year long.  Why spend a day looking further inward, leaving others hanging around on the edges alone?  I wanted to stop the whole thing.

Then I realised that stopping all of this nonsense is not the way to go.  Yes, Valentine's Day has been hijacked as a day of romance, but we can change that.  We can, and should, keep it as a day of love.  And here's the difference; romance might get one person interested, but love will make many people stick with us.  Love connects more than just couples.  It embraces friends, family, pets and communities.  It's long lasting, supporting, ever evolving and deserves to be celebrated.  So, this year, I reclaimed my Valentine's Day for LOVE.

I messaged my friend and invited her to my house this afternoon.  I then went on facebook and invited anyone who felt like being loved and happy on Valentines - regardless of whether they were single, married or anywhere in between - to my house for cake, tea and lovely times.

Two more women joined us.  Two awesome women raising kids on their own.  They have both been hurt by romantic love in the past.  They have no-one to take over mummy duty when it all gets a bit too much.  I simply cannot imagine how tired they must feel sometimes but they keep on keeping on regardless.  I don't know either of these women well but very much plan to change this.

I knew that the women coming to my house today needed to feel part of Valentine's Day, reminded that they DO have a claim to this festival.  Heck, I needed that too.  Yes, I have a husband but he's not particularly romantic.  No-one was going to spoil me, woo me or treat me so  I gave these women the type of Valentine's that would make me feel loved.

Each got a homemade card with an individual message and verse inside.  They got red roses tied up in ribbon and a favour bag with heart shaped chocolates, I made lunch and let their kids run riot in my house.  I wiped up their spills and assured them it was fine when they pushed my daughter to the ground.  We talked, we laughed and generally enjoyed each other.  When they left my house was upside down.  Nothing was in the same room as it was this morning - even the rug from Dopey's bedroom was lifted out into the living room.  It was perfect.  I plan on doing the same again next year.  Maybe with the same women or maybe they will have moved on by then.  I may have a room full or my invitation may not be accepted by anyone.  And that will be OK because it will mean everyone feels loved enough already.  But I will keep on inviting.  I will include the excluded and be the person who shows EVERYONE that they're loved, especially on a day that seems designed for telling us we aren't.

Family Fun Fail

Looking for ways to keep your kids entertained and your bank balance in credit?  Well, I'm afraid to say that you're probably in the wrong place.  I just failed miserably at this.  I planned on taking Dope to see the fish in the little aquarium on the 2nd floor of our nearest museum.  How cute!  Dope loves fish and the museum has free entry.  Perfect.  Free and fun.  Hurrah!

Unfortunately, people, the afternoon was neither.  I spent my life's savings on road tolls getting to the museum and then took out a bank loan to pay for the inner city car parking charge.  I sold a kidney to fund the cup of tea I had to buy to sit in the museum cafe and then finally had to sell one of Dopey's kidneys to buy another drink to re-hydrate us on the way out of the sauna cum aquarium.  Free day out it wasn't...*

In terms of fun, our starting point for the day was Dope's nursery.  I picked her up at lunchtime thinking that she could sleep for the car journey over to the museum.  She had other plans.  She apparently still hadn't forgiven me for abandoning her in that safe, caring, stimulating environment earlier on in the day.  She screamed and cried and shouted at me the whole way there, finally conking out as we pulled into the car park.  That nap cost me 40-odd minutes of city centre parking.  I could begrudge that, but it's in the past so I'm willing to let it go.

After battling through the howling wind and icy rain, I took her to the museum cafe.  Here, my friends, we were going to sit happily.  I would drink tea and Dope would eat her healthy, homemade snack and babble to me about her day.  Instead, I wrestled Dope into a highchair and she merely considered my culinary offering before swiping it out of my hand and down to the floor.  I offered it again, she screamed.  I re-packed the snack and she went into meltdown demanding I give it back to her.  I gave it to her and she threw it at me.  We repeated this cycle several times.  What fun!

We then headed up to the aquarium and finally had some success.  She made all of the right noises at the fish and the eels and the octopus.  She wandered up and down, delighting the pensioners around us.  She waved and pointed at everything and all was good.  Except that it was stinking hot.  So hot that I seriously thought I may pass out.  I bundled us both out of there quickly and back down to the cafe where I bought an extremely overpriced orange juice that most likely saved my life.  This is probably the only time its price tag has ever been justified.

Back home things got worse.  Buda was working late so it was still just me and Dope.  There followed a catalogue of errors that would keep you reading way past your bedtime so I will just give you a snapshot of the aftermath, as shared on my Facebook feed...

"So, I've managed to jam the bath plug in the bath; smash a glass in the kitchen sink; burn my daughter's taste buds with madras spiced scrambled eggs; drop her replacement dinner onto the floor; fill her up with rice cakes and fruit pot; fall while carrying her. My child, understandably, has grizzled and protested at me throughout this time. She then took 90 minutes to get to sleep. I'm also covered in baby snot from all of the consoling I've had to do. Oh, and I've just noticed that our electricity meter is almost at zero so we will most likely be plunged into total darkness fairly soon. Sorry Keshav, you work one evening shift and I've let our household crumble. ‪#‎proudmummy‬"

At this point the urge to fall asleep there and then was great.  But I decided to say NO to defeat.  A good mother never gives up, right? So I cleared up the mess and the house looked great.  Did I enjoy my well earned rest then? No I did not.  I decided I was going to finish the day UP on where I started rather than simply breaking even.  I went to the washing machine and saw, for the first time in my life, that I had dyed all of the white bits of my clothes pink.  I didn't think that this happened outside of detergent ads and predictable sitcom storylines.  But it does and it did.

Buda finally came home and laughed at my day.  At me, really, but he was kind enough to de-personalise his amusement.  He cheered me up with news of a cheesecake he had brought home with him, bringing me this with a cup of tea.  

Has anyone else ever seen such a cheesecake?  No, and I'll tell you why...because hemorrhage themed desserts have never caught on.  I was so horrified I knocked over my tea and then finally conceded defeat and headed to bed.

* Understand that my life savings, along with mine and Dope's internal organs did, in fact, remain in tact throughout this afternoon.  I didn't take any loans out either.  I did, however, have to dig very deep in my pockets to fund this folly.