Let's set some stuff straight.

Apparently I've caused quite a stir.

Thankfully, because I'm not obsessed with Twitter I have managed to avoid the 'discussion' (read: people telling me off like a naughty child) about my previous post.  And I don't WANT to know what people are saying about me, because a) they do not know me, and b) only three of them have bothered to start a real 'discussion' with me about it on my own sodding blog.

This whole thing started off with this headline: Spoons aren't just for sick people.  Apparently this has been deemed EXTREMELY inappropriate in the blogosphere (and I thank my only positive commentator, Jemimaaslana, for bringing this to my attention), EVEN THOUGH the author of the article I linked to (here) uses the word 'sick' herself!  Imagine my dismay when I find out people haven't even bothered to look at the original article and explore the rhetoric for themselves.  I'd say that's almost as bad as judging me and my blog without engaging me in debate.

So the heading of my post enraged 'Annoymous' (and Anji, I'm totally calling you out on this one.  I know it was you and I'm gobsmacked a woman of your drive and passion didn't have the guts to put their name to that comment), and that started a small snowball of anger, judgement and (hee hee) visits to my and Anthea's little innocuous blog about parenting, health and lifestyle choices.  People with disabilities (I looked this up in the Guardian Style Guide to be certain, and this is the correct term, so don't you dare shoot me down for any terminology I'm about to use) are apparently very upset that: a) I wrote about a theory which they, and ONLY they are allowed to claim for themselves; b) that I myself am not disabled; and c) that I have the audacity to use the word 'sick' instead of 'disabled', even though (as I mentioned earlier) that is the phrase the author of the original article used herself.

The whole thing has surprised me, to be honest.  Readers of my blog posts will know my history of managing a mental illness, looking after a disabled child, and growing up with another.  I am not claiming to be disabled myself; I think that's rather stretching it a little, to be honest.  What I AM claiming, however, is that I can EMPATHISE with the author of the original article (and if you look back, you'll see that's exactly what I wrote), and use her theory in my own situation.  I have been criticised for not 'checking my privilege' and trying to claim words and devices people with disabilities claim for themselves, and themselves only.  To me, I can see both sides of the debate.  I can understand why a woman would not want a man to claim certain words as his, and I can understand why a man claiming 'female' words for his own is also important to the development of equality.  Apply this to any other dichotomy and you'll come up with the same.  But no, I do not pretend, or claim, or anything else, to be disabled.  I do not qualify for Medicaid, which my son does as he has chronic conditions that cost him, his family, and the state money - so we are assisted.  But I do receive treatment for an adjustment disorder with depression and anxiety.  It certainly doesn't ENABLE me in any way, but it doesn't DISABLE me, either.   I consider it to be neither.

Not that it's anyone else's Goddam business, but I do know a little something of disability.  I grew up with it, for a start, and very rarely, if ever, discuss my younger sister's conditions because she is not able to grant me permission to do so.  But she has had such a massive impact on my and Anthea's life that for people to fling around comments that I know nothing about disability, is just rude.  I also have a son with various health issues, and being a mother to him has caused my mental health to suffer.  So again, saying I know nothing is just plain rude.  And wrong.  And irritating.  YOU, on the other hand, know nothing about V, or Little O, or my mental health, because you haven't bothered to ask.

I'm going to keep my previous post up because I stand by what I've said.  I also apologise to anyone I've upset or offended, because that was not my intention (and you must see that, if you're honest with yourselves).  Perhaps I'll use the Spoon Theory again to illustrate a point, and perhaps I won't.  I haven't decided yet.  But next Friday, when I'm so exhausted that I cannot lift my head of the floor, I will think about you lot.  And I will think about how closed-minded YOU'RE being that you cannot believe a young mother with a mental health issue can ever feel as tired, challenged, or frustrated as you.  Because believe me, it isn't the case.

Please, engage with me in a sensible, adult debate on MY blog, where I can respond to you.  Don't be cowards and hide your Twitter posts.  If you feel that strongly, you shouldn't be afraid of the challenge.

With respect,

Tina.

Been busy...

I'm sorry I've been absent since before my baby's birth - I've understandably been very busy since then! I promise to fill in the gaps and keep up a bit more now! Watch this space.

Anthea

Unexpected challenges

There are some typical things about being a new mother I've found very challenging, such as getting enough sleep and trying to cope with tiredness when that isn't possible, but I've also discovered parenting Owen has some rather unexpected challenges too:

1. Keeping up with laundry is sooooo hard sometimes. Owen's reflux means he changes outfits at least four times a day, and we get through burp cloths and blankets like you wouldn't believe. I can usually attribute the mood I'm in as to whether we have clean burp cloths or not, as I feel a thousand times happier knowing there's a clean stack somewhere.

2. The bickering and constant arguments with my husband. Mike and I have always had a fiery relationship and fighting for us meant we got to make up afterwards, but these days we spend more time bickering and sniping at each other than smiling and laughing. We still talk, but it's always either about Owen or how one of us is failing at some aspect of the housework, and it can be completely exhausting at times.

3. One thing not every parent has to endure is the feeding routine we have with Owen. Feeding him with a pump every four hours, followed by at least an hour and a half of continuous, hand-held venting, is monotonous and time-consuming. I've said it before and I'll say it again, but if he ate from a bottle or the breast and didn't have reflux, I'd have so much time on my hands I wouldn't know what to do with it.

4. I wrote in my last post about how I've found it difficult accepting my new title in life. I'm still finding that hard.

5. Keeping the house clutter-free. This is SO tricky! Mike and I have a policy of doing at least ten minutes of tidying-up and/or cleaning every evening so that the chores don't build up too much before the weekend, but the CLUTTER! I spent time last week purchasing a couple of wheely carts with drawers to organise Owen's medical supplies and the kitchen is now a lot neater, but the rest of the house just gets overwhelming sometimes. How does a small boy generate so much mess?! Between dirty laundry (there are those burp cloths again), small toys, feeding supplies and the crap Mike and I seem determined to litter the living room carpet with (currently new kitchen brochures and bill stubs), I can count on one hand the amount of square feet of tidy space I can see from here.

6. Leaving the house. As with any small baby, this is a challenge, but it was very unexpected nonetheless. Owen used to screeeeeam whenever we went in the car and he's got a lot better now, but he still throws up the minute we go over a bump and organising a time to actually get to an appointment is bloody hard to start with. I have stopped making appointments for the morning as the earliest feasible time I can get out without drama is 12.30pm, but it's so limiting and I do miss that freedom to just jump up and go.

7. The sheer boredom and loneliness of having a baby was very unexpected. I won't go into too much detail, but I believe they have really contributed to my post-partum depression. I try to get out as much as I can to visit friends or attend baby groups, but as I said before, leaving the house isn't always easy...

8. I think finding time to be myself without being Owen's Mama is kinda tricky, too. Don't get me wrong: I love my little one and the thought of everything we've been through with him and how at any minute things could have turned out very differently scares me half to death. But there existed a person before Owen Henri and when he's grown up and left the house that person will still be here. I just have to make sure I don't lose her in the meantime.

9. The guilt! Goodness me, this is a big one. I feel guilty ALL THE TIME. I feel guilty that I resent getting out of bed to attend to him; I feel guilty when he's asleep and I'm relaxing with a book instead of washing the dishes. I feel guilty that I don't sleep with my husband enough and when we do get down to business, I feel guilty that I'm not looking after Owen. I feel guilty when he spits-up (irrational, but true) and I feel guilty when I spend money on new clothes for him. I feel guilty that my body doesn't look the way it used to; I feel guilty that I indulge in cookies and ice cream when I should be eating grapes to shift these last few pounds. I feel guilty for disturbing him and taking him to all his medical appointments even though they're for his own benefit and I feel guilty if I cancel one because one of us simply isn't up to the challenge of fighting a medical institution that day. Most of all, I feel guilty that my body make Owen the way he is. I feel guilty that my egg gave him those crazy chromosomes and that my body pushed him out when he wasn't ready. I feel guilty that I couldn't breastfeed him and I feel guilty that I had to leave him at the hospital for so long. I feel guilty ALL THE TIME.

10. The last unexpected challenge I've found (although I'm sure I'll think of more before my next post) is how much love I have for this little boy. You may not see that as a challenge, but can you imaging having so much love in you that it breaks your heart? If we have one, how on earth will I find room to love another baby as much as Owen?

Tina.