Nathan's Day

I hate September, it's a bit childish to hate a month, but I dread it and every year right on cue it comes round and there is no escaping it or the welling of painful memories and emotions that inevitably come along with it.  Today is the day when our dream of having a child together officially ended. Today was the day that Nathan came into and went out of our lives... Can you say was born? Does someone who never had any chance of survival count as being born?

I ask myself why his loss, one out of so many, should be the one that hurts so much and why so many years later this day should still hold so much pain? Maybe it's because his loss really was the end of our road, even if we didn't allow ourselves to believe it, or rather I didn't want to believe it, but it was, the infection after losing Nathan really did put paid to any further attempts, I just couldn't accept that then.

Maybe it's because he was the only one I thought was going to make it, when you get to the magical 12 weeks you start to think 'yes! We're ok! Danger zone past!'  By 16 weeks you're telling people and beginning to plan and becoming attached to the little person in there, so the blow is all the harder to take when it comes.

I hadn't really let myself get attached with the others, more so after Nathan, by then I had realised there was no 'out of the woods' point in a pregnancy for me, it was always going to be an exercise in terror and I should accept it, but with Nathan I was already enraptured, he had a name, I knew he was a 'he' and we already had that connection, that bond, that love. Or at least I did, who knows what he felt.

Maybe in Nathan how I feel is accumulation of emotion surrounding all the miscarriages, maybe it's the tangible experience I had, perhaps this grief is for all of them, just he is the one with a name, he is the one that I wasn't alone for. He is the one we got to sit and hold and cry together over.

The last few weeks have been difficult for me, its not that the ache of loss ever goes away, it doesn't, but most of the time I absolutely refuse to let it rule me. I don't want to be defined by the losses, the pain or the sadness. But once a year I let myself feel it because if I don't I feel that the depth of these emotions will drown me and I couldn't fight my way back again.  Like a release valve on a pressure cooker. 

I was feeling so low last week I took myself off to the cinema alone,  I purposely picked what I thought would be a sad movie, Anna Karenina, I thought I can sit under the cover of darkness and cry and no one will question it. Didn't work,  film was not very good, I shed no tears, no release was had but I did cry all the way home in the car listening to sad songs.  So thats a lesson for me... Just sit in the car next year and listen to Tracy Chapman.

So today is Nathan's Day, today is the day I grieve and mourn the dream that never was and tomorrow I will dry my eyes, lock away the pain and get on with the business of living... Until next year.

Guilty Pleasure

My youngest son is Dyspraxic and has ADHD, he was diagnosed at 9, but I always knew there was something... I won't say 'wrong' with him because I don't think of it as an illness or a defiency it's just part of his makeup and makes him who he is.  Intelligent, funny, sarcastic, persnickety, ultra logical and painfully honest.  But I also won't say it is easy to live with either, hence the guilty pleasure title of the post... I feel guilty that I am happy that he has gone to his fathers for a few days, after an entire summer holiday of Conor I need a break from him, whilst he is all the positive things I said he is also irritating, argumentative, blunt to the point of rudeness and totally oblivious to anyone's feelings but his own.

I guess I always knew there was something different about him from when he was really small, it was little things, rapt attention to a task to the point of obsession sometimes, but I got that, I was like that myself so I understood it.  It was later, at school that his issues really came to the foreground, constant arguments with a specific teacher after which I would be called in and complained to about his behaviour.  Apparently him pointing out that she was incompetant was inappropriate (even if it was true...she got fired by the end of the term). I did try pointng out that she should be impressed that not only did a 7 year old know in what context to use the word 'incompetant' (secretly I was well chuffed) but he could also spell it correctly... Now that is impressive you have to concede!

A period of 2 years of constantly complaining from the school about Conor's "rudeness" and for rudeness I would substitute "excessive bluntness" my son calls a spade a spade,  if you're ugly he would happily tell you, my dearest friend Suzi will testify to this, not the ugly part, she isn't,  but Conor christened her cabbage and it's stuck.  This was a very difficult time, as a single parent I was endeavouring to date and had many a man seen off by Conor baring his arse at the poor chap.  I think in his mind it was some sort of test to see if they would stick around.... If you can bear the sight of my arse you're alright with me! Kind of thing....   Not many men managed to stick it out I have to say.

But the most difficult side effect of Conor's behaviour was my mental health.  I couldn't work out where I was going wrong? At his fathers he was a model child, at home he was hell on legs,  he seemed to enjoy tormenting me, many was the day I locked myself into my bedroom with him battering on the door demanding entry whilst I sat on the inside crying bitter tears wondering what was I doing wrong. 

The day came when then school insisted he go to the child and adolescent mental health dept for assessment and I will be forever grateful for that insistance... After tests suddenly there was a reason... I wasn't a shit parent with an out of control 'naughty' child.  I was the parent of a Dyspraxic child and all of a sudden the lights came on.  

Treatment for the ADHD was offered and administered and things did get better, obviously Dyspraxia is not a condition that has a pharmaceutical solution but there are coping mechanisms and behavioural therapies that help and we use them.  

We haven't, however, managed to find a way of stopping Conor taking great pleasure in tormenting me, trust me 4 hours of being poked in the arm repeatedly by a knittng needle would be enough to send a saint into a screaming fit... I am no saint trust me... I scream!

But i have learned to see the behaviour as in some ways flattering, he torments me because he feels safe, I'm the one person he feels safe enough tormenting that he feels won't go anywhere, I'll put up with it and him because he is my son and I love him.

Doesn't mean I won't lose the plot and throw a shoe at him though... Like I said... I am no saint.

So here is to my days off from Conor... my holiday so to speak and when he comes home and asks did you miss me? I will be as forthright as he and say "no!"

I went away a Mother and returned a GODmother

Now that my husband and I have stopped trying to have a baby of our own lots of other questions have come in to play... What about adoption? Fostering?  Could I feel the depth of feelings for a child that was not my own? I shouldn't be asking these questions really as I already have stepchildren in my life but adoption is different, all my stepchildren I have a connection with, the other parent so you do know something of where they come from but with an adopted child you probably wouldn't know anything.

 

Summer Olivia and her Mummy Samantha

Recently a dear friend gave me the highest honour I can think of by asking me to be godmother to her child,  I didn't have a single moment of hesitation, it's funny but throughout her pregnancy this friend had had a horrible time, being there for her was by turns a heartbreaking experience and sometimes frightening and sometimes I just felt angry for her with the things she was having to go through. So little Summer Olivia was already named "Tough Cookie" before she even arrived, such was her determination to survive. 

 

But the moment I got to hold Summer for the first time I just felt it, that overwhelming rush of love, that desire to protect and care for... there were no doubts, no questions, just love. 

I enjoyed every moment of my visit to Sam and Summer, even the poopy nappies, the baby sick and the crying and I can't wait to go back and spend more time with my friend and my gorgeous goddaughter. 

But the one question the visit did answer for me was that yes. I could love a child that was not my own. That just opens up a whole new parcel of questions though?  Would I be prepared to give up some of my hobbies?  Where would we put another child? Could we even afford it?  We're on the verge of being able to go on holiday as a couple, could I forego that?

But then, thinking about it, not going there would mean more free time to zip up motorways unencumbered to spend time with Sam and Summer.

Book Review: My Sisters Keeper

I read this book some time ago, can't remember why I didn't do a review on it,  actually I think I do remember... this book really affected me, it made me very sad when I read it,  it also made me question myself, by the time I read this I already had two sons and so a lot of the issues raised by the book were ones that I really had to think about, what would I do? Would I sacrifice the happiness of one child to save another?  Would I go and have a baby with the sole purpose of trying to save the other?  For me, given the difficulty I actually have getting and staying pregnant its a bit of a non starter question, but ethically it's a conundrum, one I am glad to say I haven't had to face, but I would hope that the answer would be no... I wouldn't devalue one of my children's lives to save the other.  I wouldn't make that child do things he or she didn't want to do without their consent or even over their objections to save the other.   I wouldn't put that child in the position where he or she had to say "no" and get a lawyer to try and get me to realise that their needs were being ignored and made them feel like a spare parts factory.

I do enjoy Jodi Picoult books, although saying the word "enjoy" about these books feels so wrong.  She tackles subjects that are so difficult, asks questions that no one wants to ask and does it in a way that doesnt turn it into a farce, she does it with sensitivity and a depth of thought and feeling that you can't help but disappear into what is an amazing read.  

This story reduced me to tears at several points, pathetic... but true. 

Bunratty Castle

We popped along to Bunratty Castle in County Clare during our weeks holiday visit to my in-laws. The castle is inside a heritage site which includes a folk park of historial buildings like a fishermans cottage, a peat cutters cottage, an old school building, a recreation of a whole street of shops. 

Bunratty Castle itself is an amazing building,  there has been dwellings on the site since 970 but the first defensive building was built in 1270, since then there had always been a castle of some sort on the site.   The present castle was built in 1425 and was occupied  pretty consistently until 1804 when the building was left and fell into disrepair. 

In 1954 the Castle was bought and restored to its present condition by the 7th Viscount Gort and his wife.   Having walked around the place I doubt that they restored it to live in as it didn't seem particularly cmfortable a place to live. 

Plaque commemorating the restoration by Viscount Gort

The Castle itself was very very busy, it's obviously a very popular tourist destination as I was hearing lots of accents and languages from the people walking around. 

Highly recommended as a place to visit but be warned the whole park is quite big,  we didn't manage to see it all as with a 5 year old with us it got quite tiring and both he and I were pretty shattered by the time we had done the castle and the village. I think we will be going back again during another visit to see all the bits we missed out. 

There's plenty of information available about the castle, the folk park, opening times etc on the Shannon Heritage website 

Tapestry inside the main Hall of the Castle

Inside a cottage recreation

All of the buildings in the Folk park have been brought to Bunratty stone by stone and rebuilt from sites all over Ireland including one from Shannon Airport when a runway was being put in.  It's a fascinating look at how people lived.  I wouldn't have made a very good early Irishwoman that's for sure... the peat fire really irritated my eyes.

But I was really impressed by the level of detail put in to recreating the cottages, including photographs, chinaware and all the paraphanalia of family life.

This statue was hidden away in some trees and hedges mostly unnoticed but it caught my attention.

Just a Little Riot??

I've found the most beautiful wool, it's by King Cole and it's called Riot. It's so soft and fluffy and I love love love the varities of colour that it comes in.  The wool is variagated, posh word for meaning mixed colours in no particular pattern, I love using this wool for knitting baby booties because it means no two are ever the same, the variation in colours is always a surprise. 

The particular style I've used for these booties is a very simple design which just gives the Riot wool the chance to shine.

Bootielicious a Sweet Treat for Precious Feet 

There's some amazing colour blends available in Riot. try Yarns 4 Less who have Riot in some wonderful colourways.

Time

Time is a very funny thing, it's a difficult concept to actually wrap one's head around,  at some points it creeps and crawls like when your child is a baby and they are teething and won't sleep for nights on end and whinge and cry all the time, time seems to mooch along at a snail's pace dragging it's feet as you beg for it to hurry up and for that period of time to be over.... please please please when will this end arrrgh.

And then other times time rushes past with the speed of light, so fast you never feel like you are catching up and that it's all getting away from you. 

Motherhood seems to be based so much on time, the passage of it, the squandering of it, the need for more of it...

And then one day you're stunned to find it's all gone by too fast and standing in front of you is the young man that once upon a time was your little baby.

Yesterday I felt that moment upon me,  my son reached his 18th birthday.  All the drama and joys and the tears that were shed over the years reached up and tapped me on the shoulder and I felt that pang... it's all gone by too fast.  My baby is a young man, ready to start his own struggle with time.

From Blog That!

The Power of Words

Over the last two weeks I have been recuperating from our sad loss, it's not easy being upbeat, although you do have to try, children don't always understand loss and sadness, they generally haven't had to experience it and why should they, they're children and shouldn't have to face these things until they're all grown up, the flush of youth is gone and they discover how truly shitty life can be. Let's not rush them into that one eh!

So I have been having to hide just how sad I feel from my sons mostly because I can see how sad my sadness makes them. I can see how worried they are about me and it was brought home to me just how scared these miscarriages make them when my 14 year old said, "you won't be doing that again will you mum". I thought he meant the miscarriage bit, but he was actually talking about trying to get pregnant again! It's one thing when Conor says it, being dyspraxic I kind of expect him to come out with things like that. But when my older son Daniel said something similar I realised just how frightened they are and how much they understand about the process I go through.

I couldn't really explain to Conor why it was so important to me to try again, he just doesn't understand but I gently pointed out to Daniel that if I hadn't kept trying the five times before he stuck, he wouldn't be here and how empty and sad would my life have been then? I think he "got it" but who knows, the workings of the teenage boys brain are a mystery to me. I often look up, ignoring the loud cracking in my neck and wonder how this beautiful 6ft 5in creature ever came out of me and then being ever so grateful that I inherited my fathers stubborn streak and kept on plugging away trying to have a baby.

I have managed to secure my health insurance companies support to go and see Dr Shehata at the Miscarriage Clinic in the hopes that he will be able to find out why my pregnancies are ending the way they are. He seems to behaving some success with women who have recurrent miscarriage. I am hoping to have a test for Natural Killer Cells which could be the reason I am having such trouble.

I wonder if I am crazy to hope that they are...? If they are then there is a reason for this to be happening to me and also a treatment, both of which would be a good thing, a step forwards instead of the 10 steps backwards I constantly seem to be taking.

The worst part is not knowing... not knowing means you can't make decisions. Not knowing means you run around in stupid circles blaming yourself for some imaginary thing you think you did to cause the miscarriage, cursing your body for failing you or just feeling an utter failure for not being able to do something so natural, something every woman's body is designed to do.

So roll on April, I am not looking forward to the trek into London, I hate going into London but small price to pay for an answer.