Good Mum Bad Mum Good Mum...

Sometimes when you cry I find it threatening 

Sometimes when I can’t comfort you I feel a failure

Other times I understand and am calm 

Other times I know you’re anguish is not my fault

Sometimes when I can’t stop your pain it hurts me so much I panic 

Sometimes when you need me most I want to run away 

Other times I gather you up in a cuddle and cocoon you 

Other times I know what you want even before you do

Sometimes when your tiredness turns to groans it’s easier to get angry than put you to bed

Sometimes when you’re hysterical I leave you alone because my tension makes you worse 

Other times I listen until I understand your new words 

Other times I read and play and run and jump for hours and hours

Sometimes you’ll be doing nothing wrong, and I’ll assume the worst

Sometimes you'll be talking and I'll be distracted by doing, going, achieving

Other times I'll be patient and hear every word
Other times I'll explain why, as you deserve to understand the course of your own life 


Sometimes you're innocent and I'm damaged

Sometimes I’m a two year old too and barely manage 

What I didn't know then was that birth is the least shocking part of Motherhood

All the time I love you so much it hurts and I know I fail you sometimes, but I’m working so hard at being the grown up more times so I can always be your trusted guide, your calm in the storm and the one person that will never question the validity of you. 

Dedicated to my darlings: Bang and Crash

*Bang, my 2 year old son & Crash, my 10mth old son

©My IdeaLife, 2011, All rights reserved 

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The distance between us [not quite wordless wednesday]

One day sooner than I hope these little feet will be larger than mine. 

So until then I cradle him in my arms, I balance him on my legs, I catch him if he falls and encourage him to fly. 

 © My IdeaLife, 2011, All rights reserved

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How to cope with separation anxiety...or not really

There’s something deeply disturbing about your two year old son waking in the middle of the night crying hysterically “I want my Mamma…Mamma…my Mamma… Mamma, I want Mamma.” Especially when you are his mamma and you’re hugging him at the time. And it’s not just in a whiney annoying voice, he makes this dramatic sound that seems to plumb the depths of despair. The type of cry you’d expect from whichever child Sophie didn’t choose*.

I know this is probably ‘night terrors’ but it should be called ‘how-to-kick-an already-neurotic-mum-when-she’s-down’ terrors. Knowing this doesn’t stop me worrying. In fact a Toy Story incident has sent me into a minor panic.

We have been watching more than a bit of Toy Story 3, or as it’s more commonly known as here ‘the garbage truck one’. At bedtime we were reading the book, (because of course we have to have a book, a sticker book, the movie and every other accessory we can find) when we got to the page where Andy drives off to college and the toys look longingly after him, Bang said “Bye Mama”.

"So long Partner Mama" What the?

My heart sank. 

My head screamed “why does he think I’m going to leave him, have left him, am going away, any of the above?” 

So I went to discuss it with my hubby, mainly because my 10mth old can’t really talk yet, and he said what he always says. And I’m not exaggerating, no matter what I’m asking he has one standard answer. I could be saying “Someone emailed me today and said they’re thinking of coming over and stabbing me to death with a fork”, and he would say “Don’t worry about it, you’re probably reading too much into it”. So I explained the situation and he said “Don’t worry about it, you’re probably reading too much into it”. Funnily enough this didn't help.

So unfortunately this is not one of those posts that miraculously comes up with an amazing epiphany that gets researched by scientists and published in a famous journal and picked up by Reuters. That was last week’s post. Today I’m afraid to admit I am at a loss. I adore my eldest boy in an almost Oediphus kind a way (although if you read about Oedipus, it seems his marrying his Mum was all just a bit of a misunderstanding). Anyway Bang and I are tight, and we do spend a lot of quality time together, well at least from my perspective.

But somehow, whether it be an ever-present 10mth old stealing his books, trains and Mum; going to kindy three days a week or the one I’m trying not to think about; a sub-conscious vibe I give him because I’m selfishly starving for time to myself; he feels masses of separation anxiety at the moment. It’s probably a combination of all these factors but I hate it so much. What I want more than anything is for him to feel confident in my love as I know all too well the destructive affects of the alternative.

So Mums with more experience, less insanity or who listen to their husbands, if you have seen this and come out the other side and know it’s just a harmless phase that I shouldn’t worry about and read too much into, then please let me know. And if, like me, you are going through this I’m sorry I have no answers, just know there is another soppy mess bumbling through this emotional phase.

UPDATE: We watched Toy Story 3 again tonight for the 1374th time and during the dreaded scene he said as clear as day, "Not Mama, it's Andy" I breathed out and heartily agreed "Mama stays, she doesn't go anywhere".


*Sophie’s Choice is a movie I watched when I wasn’t a Mum and bawled incessantly throughout, for the sake of my sanity and my family’s happiness I refuse to watch it now I have children and would not recommend it to any Mums...unless maybe your children are teenagers.

©MyIdeaLife, 2011, All rights reserved, Image of woody taken from the Movie Toy Story 3 and it is not intended to infer any copyright

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Phone hacking? Paaahhhh! The real reason behind the demise of News of the World

Although appearing like the machinations of a deeply disturbed and obviously deluded mind, sources revealed the real reasons The News of the World actually closed.

Revelations during recent hearings have shown that buckling pressure from a newcomer to the news arena was the truth behind the demise. The Mummy Bloggasylum Daily burst into existence only days prior to News of the World closing, such was its power and influence. With headline stories such as Offended by an Office Breast Pump and Kind, Bearded Christian Has Guitar, Story To Tell it’s no surprise this fledging publication has caused such a furore.

Rupert Murdoch is still talking about the forced demise stating only yesterday "This is the most humble day of my life…" While Nicole McInnes was gracious in her newly acquired Mogul status “I’m ecstatic at the launch of The Mummy Bloggasylum Daily, athough I had no intention of bringing down a paper of such standing, but I'm confident that at least some of those that lost jobs will find new employment within the burgeoning mobile phone industry.”

Fish globally replace News of the World with the
The Mummy Bloggasylum Daily as their wrapping of choice

Sources close to the editor have revealed that despite her public respect for the innocent caught up in the News of the World scandal, she has been heard laughing maniacally in her office. “As The Mummy Bloggasylum Daily takes the place of News of the World, as the preferred paper for fish and chip wrapping, fire starting or covering the homeless, Nicole has seemingly forgotten her humble roots”, a ‘friend’ who preferred to remain anonymous stated. Although they remain hopeful that all this fame hadn’t gone to her head, “there’s a talented writer in there…somewhere.”

HAVE YOUR SAY!

Do we live in a world where The News of the World and
The Mummy Bloggasylum Daily could have happily co-existed?

Related Links:
Read The Mummy Bloggasylum Daily now
'Murdoch Mum on Hacking Scandal' so to speak 

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Lost in space?

Last night I had a conversation with my husband prompted by a day that can only be described as a long series of neurotic panic attacks. I had this ache in my stomach all day, and I felt as if every feeling I was having was scratched into my forehead. Of course there was no blood-dripping words appearing stigmata-like to the outside world, just the powerful mind sending a few signals awry and rendering me more than a little emotional.  

So from one grown up, apparently, to another I said: “I think I should just get.some.drugs.”
Hubby: Really? you think that would make a difference?
Me: Only if I take them with...I don't know, cooking sherry
H: That’d work. Except...you don’t cook
M: Well how can I cook when I'm oozing emotions like this, surely they'll infect the food with sadness like that girl in 'Like water for chocolate'

H: Like water for what?

M: Anyway I plan to be hovering somewhere above another planet that only works in slow motion and where everyone’s voice is two octaves lower than normal
H: what has a deep slow voice got to do with dinner?
M: Who cares about dinner when I’m going to transform into that space girl that seduces Dr. Smith in Lost in Space, you know the green one that seems permanently turned on?
H: well me for one, wait did you say 'turned on'...'permanently'? 

M: No, you must have misunderstood... 

So it was decided mainlining meds with whatever spirit I had in the cupboard was going to solve all my issues. I was going to be happy at last, all green and orgasmic. Yippee!

There was no medication involved here...none at all...

But until the correct drugs were obtained from a ‘medical practitioner’ I had to walk around oozing mush and goo and tears – it was ugly and then I had a shower; no, that was not the solution; but afterwards I looked in the mirror (for the first time in 24 hours obviously) and the answer was right in front of me, actually it was right on me blinking a warning signal from below my lip "Danger! Danger! Nicole is going to be mental today".

Humongous pus volcano fully explains near nervous breakdown

Call off the dogs (or at least the men in white suits with really large syringes)! this little discovery explained everything. I had PMS. Pre-Menstrual Stress. What a freaking euphemism it should be called Pre-menstrual ‘I’m-Going-to-Turn-Into-Someone-Best-In-an-Asylum-For-A-Day-Or-Two’, PMIGTISBIAFADOT for short. Pre-pregnancy or breastfeeding, that would be like three years ago, I always used to get a gigantic pimple a few days before my period. It was as certain as my hubby flicking to sports channels during the ad breaks of Glee, and it's regular occurrence made me feel, well, regular. Now with my trainer bra boobs these monthly blemishes are going to make me feel like the quintessential teenage 'dream'.

With sanity looming and the prospect of re-living my youth, I started mopping up my weeping wounds and got happy until I'm not again, probably in about a month...or maybe tomorrow...
 

What causes your mental health days?

© MyIdeaLife, 2011, All rights reserved. Athena remains the property of 'Lost in Space', unfortunately.

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One blind housewife

As I sit here on our dining table, lotus-style and all zen (not!), a small brown furry creature is likely working up the courage to scoot across the family room floor in search of cup cake crumbs. And I’m not talking about Bang, Crash or Boom* although you could be forgiven for thinking so.

It is with great shame that I admit this: we have a mouse. This little rodent that Bang will probably want to keep as a pet, embodies my complete failure as a homemaker or Tom our builder’s complete failure as a builder, neither of which comes as a great surprise.

What is surprising though is my reaction and the little guy’s speed. He really motors along, seemingly turbocharged by my screams. Before today I always laughed at people who were scared of mice. I had one as a pet and it was sweet, his ever-moving whiskers tickling me as he crawled around my neck and through my hair, and the only reason they were banned as pets now I’m a very tall child grown-up is they smell really, really bad. That single reason has now exploded into a thousand little reasons perfectly encapsulated in my ability to jump from comfortably seated to teetering on the sofa balancing the laptop. 

So with this sort of new found fear sparking mega-production of adrenaline you’d think I’d be brick in hand ready to squash my little Beatrix Potter friend into a meat patty, but no. Surprise number 2. – I don’t want to kill it, I don’t know whether to blame 'The Green Mile' or whether I’m just a life-loving creature at heart but all I can think is “I bet he has a little family waiting for him to bring home the bacon or in this case half a cup cake". So what to do? "What about opening the backdoors and mustering it cattle-style into the corral, that is our backyard?" I propose to my newly materialized hubby. Pretending once again that I hadn’t said anything, let alone screamed my head off, he says "Do you want me to go and buy traps?" I stared at him not knowing what to do, so he took my silence as a yes.

He returned with surprise number 3. Evidence of complete love, consideration and devotion in the form of humane traps!!!! This from a guy brought up on a farm! Actions therefore very worthy of an out-of-character show of affection and I was planning all sorts of tomfoolery when he pulled out the murderous kind as well, still hopeful I said "we can try these humane ones first and then those right?" Wrong. "I’m not risking a mouse running around while we're away, I’m putting out both."

I slumped back to my normal state of ho-hum and realized there was no point in fighting a country boy – I would just have to live in hope the little guy liked cheese more than peanut butter, the brown furry thing that is, the Beatrix potter character, the scurrying rodent, no I’m not talking about my hubby I would never refer to him as a Beatrix Potter character, I meant the mouse.

UPDATE: At last count all traps are empty, maybe the broom tunnel to the back door combined with Bang’s remote control helicopter and Thomas the tank engine worked? I hope so as the alternative is a toy story style takeover of our house in our absence yet this time the toys do poo – great! 

*Bang = our gorgeous 2 yr old, Crash = our cheeky 9 mth old, Boom = my long-suffering hubby

© MyIdeaLife, 2011. All rights reserved.

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Invasion of the Boob-snatchers!

Before you think otherwise, I am a major proponent of breastfeeding – I loved it so much I got all sooky and nostalgic when my youngest decided to wean himself at 7 months. And besides there were some not-so-hidden benefits like we didn’t need to buy our baby a soccer ball, he had two AND he could eat from them – well only just (see below).

Baby gets a new flesh balloon to be swallowed by play with.

I was happy* with my new toys, as was my baby, and my husband, well he was, how would you put it? beside himself. Can you blame him? they were bigger than they’d ever been and useful too. Even my toddler found them amusing - so everyone was euphoric…that was until one day I woke up and they were gone. I am not exaggerating, D one day, trainer bra the next.

Now if I don’t wear a small crane with a hydraulic lift around every day I look like I’ve got two deflated balloons hanging down around my waist. Literally, the same wrinkles left from stretching around full blown mammary glands and the same sad droopy look, lamenting their former lofty glory defying gravity.

My hubby who is lucky if I turn up, let alone with fully inflated boobs and cleanly waxed and polished, sensitively broached the topic one night as I changed for bed, ‘What happened to your playstations? Look at them, they look like two fried eggs only not as firm.’ At this point he was laughing, that sort of schoolboy chortle you're more likely to hear directed at some poor kid in change rooms, when the other boys discover he’s still got no pubes or something. I, of course, abused him for being a dirty perv and quickly covered up, but the next day as I took in my new pre-pubescent silhouette in private I did wonder, 'Where did they go?' and more to the point 'would they ever come back?' (without the help of Dr Plastic Fantastic that is). 

If your DD sized breasts are getting you down and you too
want to look like a pre-pubescent teenager this t-shirt will help

A few google searches later and a couple of corners I wish I hadn’t turned down, eek! I’d found my missing breasts. It seems the process of pregnancy and breastfeeding transforms the breast tissue from mainly fat to mainly mammary glands. It’s not all droop and flop – they do come back in part as gradually some fatty tissue returns and they look a little fuller than their post-weaning un-happy sack state.

Until that day my hubby is making the best of things having recovered from the initial shock. Only yesterday he said my little ones make him feel like he’s dating ‘a teenager’. I embraced this rare compliment, choosing to ignore the implication that I’m now married to a would-be cradle snatcher! Me? I am content that for my boob’s sake I have to eat chocolate and avoid the gym.

*euphemism for bloody ecstatic

© My IdeaLife, 2011, All rights reserved, Two fried eggs t-shirt image remains the property of zazzle.com and cannot be reproduced.

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