I do not like thee, 8am
'I do not like thee!' shouts this femme.
I did not like 2, 4 or 6
Nor 1am, thrown in the mix.
I do not like your dull grey light,
I'd much prefer the dark of night.
Under my feet, the tiles are cold
My aching back makes me feel old.
Last night's 'sleep' has left me weary
My eyes make all the world seem bleary.
The house is still, and quiet too
But soon it will resemble a zoo,
The older kids will start to stir
The heating will begin to whirr,
The sound of breakfast cereal's pour,
The crunch of it upon my floor.
The smiled requests for one more drink
While dishes pile up in my sink.
Yes, this is just a simple day,
I would not have another way,
But couldn't its beginning wait?
At least 'till maybe half past eight?
Sunday, 21 February 2016
Thursday, 18 February 2016
Another step on Little One's journey
Little One is a toddler. He is cheeky and cuddly, handsome and helpful. He is also deaf.
He won't always be a toddler, I hope he'll always be helpful, but he will always be deaf.
Having had hearing aids since he was three months old, our clever boy was doing great up until last Spring. Then we noticed he wasn't talking anymore. Or responding to his name. Further hearing tests were inconclusive, but we had a good idea what was going on.
To help ease frustration, we all learned a couple of signs while we waited for conclusive testing. He still couldn't hear us, but he could ask for food or a drink. He figured out that we could be led to the things he wanted; the press where we keep crackers, the stairs when he wanted to take a nap. He started smiling again. A lot.
More hearing tests, more questions. We asked for a referral to the cochlear implant team and our audiologist worked late that night to get the letter out straight away.
We worked for weeks to get a vocal 'no' and celebrated like it was a Nobel. We learned more and more signs and Little One figured out how to use these with gestures and facial expressions to 'talk' to us.
The cochlear implant team told us what we already knew. He is now profoundly deaf. As profoundly deaf as can be. Hope that we hadn't realised we still held was extinguished, but mostly the news was a relief. We're not crazy, he's not stupid. And he's a candidate for cochlear implantation.
There is no cure for deafness. But cochlear implants, if successful, can give our gorgeous boy access to sound.* When he takes off his processors at night, when he needs a rest after a particularly hard day of listening, he will be deaf. When he has his processors on, he will be a deaf boy who is listening carefully to digital sounds.
It's an exciting time in our house. We're all learning more and more sign language, which is essential for his developing brain as well as providing a foundation for communication and speech. We're playing important games and reading books and making plans.
And yesterday, we got the call. The Call.
Little One will receive his implants in a matter of weeks. A few weeks after that the processors will be switched on and then the real work will begin. Tuning and adjusting the 22 electrode arrays to provide sound without discomfort, learning how to listen again, building listening stamina and, hopefully, using all of that to develop speech.
It's been a tough few months for our little guy. And he's got a long journey ahead. But he's happy and engaged and just a little bit of a show-off, and that will serve him well. He is, as we have always known, simply perfect.
*For anyone wondering what the difference is between 'hearing' and 'access to sound', this video gives a good approximation
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=SpKKYBkJ9Hw
He won't always be a toddler, I hope he'll always be helpful, but he will always be deaf.
Having had hearing aids since he was three months old, our clever boy was doing great up until last Spring. Then we noticed he wasn't talking anymore. Or responding to his name. Further hearing tests were inconclusive, but we had a good idea what was going on.
To help ease frustration, we all learned a couple of signs while we waited for conclusive testing. He still couldn't hear us, but he could ask for food or a drink. He figured out that we could be led to the things he wanted; the press where we keep crackers, the stairs when he wanted to take a nap. He started smiling again. A lot.
More hearing tests, more questions. We asked for a referral to the cochlear implant team and our audiologist worked late that night to get the letter out straight away.
We worked for weeks to get a vocal 'no' and celebrated like it was a Nobel. We learned more and more signs and Little One figured out how to use these with gestures and facial expressions to 'talk' to us.
The cochlear implant team told us what we already knew. He is now profoundly deaf. As profoundly deaf as can be. Hope that we hadn't realised we still held was extinguished, but mostly the news was a relief. We're not crazy, he's not stupid. And he's a candidate for cochlear implantation.
There is no cure for deafness. But cochlear implants, if successful, can give our gorgeous boy access to sound.* When he takes off his processors at night, when he needs a rest after a particularly hard day of listening, he will be deaf. When he has his processors on, he will be a deaf boy who is listening carefully to digital sounds.
It's an exciting time in our house. We're all learning more and more sign language, which is essential for his developing brain as well as providing a foundation for communication and speech. We're playing important games and reading books and making plans.
And yesterday, we got the call. The Call.
Little One will receive his implants in a matter of weeks. A few weeks after that the processors will be switched on and then the real work will begin. Tuning and adjusting the 22 electrode arrays to provide sound without discomfort, learning how to listen again, building listening stamina and, hopefully, using all of that to develop speech.
It's been a tough few months for our little guy. And he's got a long journey ahead. But he's happy and engaged and just a little bit of a show-off, and that will serve him well. He is, as we have always known, simply perfect.
*For anyone wondering what the difference is between 'hearing' and 'access to sound', this video gives a good approximation
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=SpKKYBkJ9Hw
Monday, 8 February 2016
Bored? Not this mother.
I was asked recently if I was 'very bored staying at home all day?'
It was (I think) meant in the true spirit of curiosity. Having been in full-time employment since the age of 18, how could I possibly stand to do nothing? If I'm completely honest with myself, I have to acknowledge the days when I feel 'wasted', or underemployed. But there simply is no space for boredom, and goodness knows I've had paid jobs where my value was wilfully under-utilised.
I think that for many, the value of work done by a parent at home isn't recognised. What can there REALLY be to do all day? Well, quite a bit actually. The early years of a child's life are of huge importance and lay the foundations for later life from academia to social skills and self-esteem. An average day in my boring little house includes the following activities and lessons.
Object permanence: The ball was under the blanket the whole time!
Cause and effect: Your voice can turn on the lights.
Physical therapy: Blowing out candles.
Building neural pathways and secure emotional bonds: Cuddling for all ages.
Independent play: The importance of self-discovery, risk-taking and letting Mammy have her coffee.
Gross motor skills: Mammy Tiger's going to catch you!
Vocabulary and memory work: Object matching/Songs with actions/Constant chatter while walking around Lidl.
All of this is to say nothing of three daily trips to 'big school', homework supervision, the constant influx and egress of bodily fluids, meal preparation, laundry and the Sisyphean task of sweeping floors.
So yes, it's worlds away from high heels, deadlines and meetings but preparing four children for life in the great wide world is certainly no less important and is never boring.
It can be difficult to do work that never seems to get finished and can't be submitted for award or promotion, but despite the first lesson of the day, nothing is permanent. One day, as I try to motivate an office full of people to take pride in their work I'll think fondly of the days of reading Roald Dahl down by the river, and accepting heaping praise for making beans on toast as a treat.
Life as a modern woman means that I can have it all, just not all at once. That, and I'll never be bored.
It was (I think) meant in the true spirit of curiosity. Having been in full-time employment since the age of 18, how could I possibly stand to do nothing? If I'm completely honest with myself, I have to acknowledge the days when I feel 'wasted', or underemployed. But there simply is no space for boredom, and goodness knows I've had paid jobs where my value was wilfully under-utilised.
I think that for many, the value of work done by a parent at home isn't recognised. What can there REALLY be to do all day? Well, quite a bit actually. The early years of a child's life are of huge importance and lay the foundations for later life from academia to social skills and self-esteem. An average day in my boring little house includes the following activities and lessons.
Object permanence: The ball was under the blanket the whole time!
Cause and effect: Your voice can turn on the lights.
Physical therapy: Blowing out candles.
Building neural pathways and secure emotional bonds: Cuddling for all ages.
Independent play: The importance of self-discovery, risk-taking and letting Mammy have her coffee.
Gross motor skills: Mammy Tiger's going to catch you!
Vocabulary and memory work: Object matching/Songs with actions/Constant chatter while walking around Lidl.
All of this is to say nothing of three daily trips to 'big school', homework supervision, the constant influx and egress of bodily fluids, meal preparation, laundry and the Sisyphean task of sweeping floors.
So yes, it's worlds away from high heels, deadlines and meetings but preparing four children for life in the great wide world is certainly no less important and is never boring.
It can be difficult to do work that never seems to get finished and can't be submitted for award or promotion, but despite the first lesson of the day, nothing is permanent. One day, as I try to motivate an office full of people to take pride in their work I'll think fondly of the days of reading Roald Dahl down by the river, and accepting heaping praise for making beans on toast as a treat.
Life as a modern woman means that I can have it all, just not all at once. That, and I'll never be bored.
Monday, 28 September 2015
Precious moments
You smell of softness,
I inhale the sweet milkiness of your head.
Your tiny breaths warm my neck
while my arms do their best to encompass your growing body.
I taste the roundness of your cheeks
for the hundredth time (today)
And I count my blessings on your gorgeous fingers and those adorable extra toes.
Your eyes make mine smile,
Even your possets on my shoulder feel like a precious gift.
Your laugh stills my heart, just for a moment,
As I think of the moments gone too soon
When I held you in one arm, when I held you in my womb.
I'm trying to keep those moments in my mind and in my heart,
As I will the many moments to come.
First steps, first spills, freezing cold sidelines and bleary-eyed Christmas mornings will all be ours to share.
But not today.
Today I'll just hold you close, wearing you next to my heart. Because the best moment is this one, right now.
I inhale the sweet milkiness of your head.
Your tiny breaths warm my neck
while my arms do their best to encompass your growing body.
I taste the roundness of your cheeks
for the hundredth time (today)
And I count my blessings on your gorgeous fingers and those adorable extra toes.
Your eyes make mine smile,
Even your possets on my shoulder feel like a precious gift.
Your laugh stills my heart, just for a moment,
As I think of the moments gone too soon
When I held you in one arm, when I held you in my womb.
I'm trying to keep those moments in my mind and in my heart,
As I will the many moments to come.
First steps, first spills, freezing cold sidelines and bleary-eyed Christmas mornings will all be ours to share.
But not today.
Today I'll just hold you close, wearing you next to my heart. Because the best moment is this one, right now.
Thursday, 18 June 2015
Muddling through
Today, we needed goats' milk. No big deal, we'd just do school collection in car and pop to Tesco from there.
Only when we arrived at school, Little Lady was in floods of tears for no real reason. Not to worry, probably just overtired from sports day. She'd surely just doze off in the car and awake refreshed.
As we traipsed around the aisles, me pretending I remembered what we needed, Little One was doing serious coughing from his seat in the trolley. I put aside my calculations of how much time we had before Littlest needed a feed and tried to work out the odds of making it through the evening without a visit to the out of hours doctor.
I vaguely noticed that Little Lady was coughing too.
Tin foil! We definitely needed tin foil!
Gosh that cough was bad. Recalculate doctor visit odds.
What the -? Little Lady had coughed so hard she threw up. On the floor. Mid-aisle.
Tears. Cuddles.
Crap. Littlest was stirring in the sling.
Mad dash to checkout.
Rush back for tin foil.
Actually checkout.
Success! Now just to get the four kids and the shopping into the car. A 7-seater.
A 7-seater with precious little space left after you add four kids, two school bags, one buggy and a package from the post office.
By this stage Littlest was tired and hungry. And not shy about letting me know.
All previous calculations abandoned in order to work out how long I could spend feeding him in the front seat, before our frozen purchases thawed in 20 degree heat.
Forfeited our €1 in the trolley to save precious moments.
Paused at the car door.
Paused to listen to the lady who had come over just to tell me she thought I was amazing. That it's tough enough for her to shop with two kids and there I was, doing a great job with four.
Kind lady, I am not amazing. I promise you that I'm not even close. Like you, like everyone, I am simply muddling through one day at a time, and hoping the day contains more kiddie cuddles than kiddie tears.
But to take the time to walk up to a stranger, one who might be just about to succumb to stress, and to say 'Well done, you're doing great. Keep it up', well that's pretty amazing in my book.
Thank you.
Only when we arrived at school, Little Lady was in floods of tears for no real reason. Not to worry, probably just overtired from sports day. She'd surely just doze off in the car and awake refreshed.
As we traipsed around the aisles, me pretending I remembered what we needed, Little One was doing serious coughing from his seat in the trolley. I put aside my calculations of how much time we had before Littlest needed a feed and tried to work out the odds of making it through the evening without a visit to the out of hours doctor.
I vaguely noticed that Little Lady was coughing too.
Tin foil! We definitely needed tin foil!
Gosh that cough was bad. Recalculate doctor visit odds.
What the -? Little Lady had coughed so hard she threw up. On the floor. Mid-aisle.
Tears. Cuddles.
Crap. Littlest was stirring in the sling.
Mad dash to checkout.
Rush back for tin foil.
Actually checkout.
Success! Now just to get the four kids and the shopping into the car. A 7-seater.
A 7-seater with precious little space left after you add four kids, two school bags, one buggy and a package from the post office.
By this stage Littlest was tired and hungry. And not shy about letting me know.
All previous calculations abandoned in order to work out how long I could spend feeding him in the front seat, before our frozen purchases thawed in 20 degree heat.
Forfeited our €1 in the trolley to save precious moments.
Paused at the car door.
Paused to listen to the lady who had come over just to tell me she thought I was amazing. That it's tough enough for her to shop with two kids and there I was, doing a great job with four.
Kind lady, I am not amazing. I promise you that I'm not even close. Like you, like everyone, I am simply muddling through one day at a time, and hoping the day contains more kiddie cuddles than kiddie tears.
But to take the time to walk up to a stranger, one who might be just about to succumb to stress, and to say 'Well done, you're doing great. Keep it up', well that's pretty amazing in my book.
Thank you.
Sunday, 24 May 2015
39 + 2
39 weeks (and two days) pregnant
I have a confession to make.
I have never understood many other pregnant women. Or previously pregnant women.
The ones who come up in the street just to tell me that I'm amazing for 'still' walking everywhere, for 'glowing', for beaming with pride as a waddle-strut with my giant bump in front of me.
The people who say they feel sorry for me in the final weeks. That they'll pray I can 'get it over with' soon. 'You must be miserable'
'I feel so sorry for you'
'Still pregnant? God love you!'
I am a woman who adores pregnancy. It's a fecking miracle. I am growing a whole other human being. We don't know it yet, but they'll already have Daddy's big feet, or my unfortunate ears. They might be stubborn or adventurous, a whizz with numbers or a great listener. That whole person is inside me, right now, getting ready to make their debut.
I am a refuge, a source of life. I get kicked and cuddled from the inside. I get scolded for choosing an uncomfortable seat with kicks to my ribs. I am so bloody fortunate, and so bloody happy.
People wishing it were over for me already? Weirdos!
Although, I may possibly have been overdoing it a little. Today my body would like me to take a break. And it has pulled out a secret weapon in order to ensure I do so...
Hormones...
Reasons I have cried today:
- My husband hugged me
- Little One peed on my last pair of comfy jeans
- I can't fit my left foot in my flip-flops
- Little Man was walking out the door to go to a birthday party
- I forgot to bring the spade to the playground
- Little Lady remembered to bring the spade to the playground
- I'd really like to go for a run
- I'd really like to go to bed
- When I told Little Lady that I had a headache she whispered that she hopes Baby doesn't have a 'headick' too
- I was trying to tell my husband about all the weird crying
- I lost my temper
- My husband hugged me loads more
- My husband was right and having a shower made me feel better
So, I'm currently lying down. Waiting for the storm to pass.
Ladies of the world, I understand. This isn't a plea for your sympathy, more a request for your forgiveness. I honestly had no idea. You deserve a damn medal. And while I hope that tomorrow I will be back to my sickeningly joyful self, I will remember today, and I will not think you weird for having been through it too.
I have a confession to make.
I have never understood many other pregnant women. Or previously pregnant women.
The ones who come up in the street just to tell me that I'm amazing for 'still' walking everywhere, for 'glowing', for beaming with pride as a waddle-strut with my giant bump in front of me.
The people who say they feel sorry for me in the final weeks. That they'll pray I can 'get it over with' soon. 'You must be miserable'
'I feel so sorry for you'
'Still pregnant? God love you!'
I am a woman who adores pregnancy. It's a fecking miracle. I am growing a whole other human being. We don't know it yet, but they'll already have Daddy's big feet, or my unfortunate ears. They might be stubborn or adventurous, a whizz with numbers or a great listener. That whole person is inside me, right now, getting ready to make their debut.
I am a refuge, a source of life. I get kicked and cuddled from the inside. I get scolded for choosing an uncomfortable seat with kicks to my ribs. I am so bloody fortunate, and so bloody happy.
People wishing it were over for me already? Weirdos!
Although, I may possibly have been overdoing it a little. Today my body would like me to take a break. And it has pulled out a secret weapon in order to ensure I do so...
Hormones...
Reasons I have cried today:
- My husband hugged me
- Little One peed on my last pair of comfy jeans
- I can't fit my left foot in my flip-flops
- Little Man was walking out the door to go to a birthday party
- I forgot to bring the spade to the playground
- Little Lady remembered to bring the spade to the playground
- I'd really like to go for a run
- I'd really like to go to bed
- When I told Little Lady that I had a headache she whispered that she hopes Baby doesn't have a 'headick' too
- I was trying to tell my husband about all the weird crying
- I lost my temper
- My husband hugged me loads more
- My husband was right and having a shower made me feel better
So, I'm currently lying down. Waiting for the storm to pass.
Ladies of the world, I understand. This isn't a plea for your sympathy, more a request for your forgiveness. I honestly had no idea. You deserve a damn medal. And while I hope that tomorrow I will be back to my sickeningly joyful self, I will remember today, and I will not think you weird for having been through it too.
Sunday, 19 April 2015
Still thinking about the children...
I've been fairly certain from the outset about how I'll vote in the upcoming Marriage Referendum.
Put simply, in the absence of a coherent reason to vote No, I had decided to vote Yes.
There is a sustained campaign from the No side to suggest that children will be the innocent victims of a successful Yes vote. Children who will be raised without a mother's love if gay men are allowed to marry.
There are a couple of immediate issues I can see with this reasoning
- gay men are already 'allowed' to raise children, and the referendum will not change that, no matter the result
- also, are the children of lesbian couples therefore utterly blessed to have TWO of these amazing creatures, mothers, to raise them?
As a mother, I couldn't help thinking about my own children and really tried to see what the harm to them might be if I was not their mother.
I spent the weekend watching my husband with our kids. What is it about him that could make him so deficient he can only parent if I am here to mask his shortcomings?
Certainly, I have him beaten hands down when it comes to giving birth and breastfeeding. But with our soaring Caesarean section rates, and notoriously low breastfeeding rates, can we really say that either natural birth or nourishment are intrinsic to parenting in Irish society? I don't think so. Birth and provision of food do not make a mother, so they are certainly not flaws in a father.
My husband prepares meals for his kids. He reads to them, admires their paintings, puts Factor 50 on every piece of exposed skin.
When they are hurt, they find only tenderness in his muscular, tattooed arms. When they are frightened, he vows to kick the butt of any zombie he sees.
He cheers them on, and punishes them. He coaches football, removes tangles from hair without any tears and paints small fingernails in a dazzling array of colours.
It is simply not his gender that makes him a parent. His personality, his capacity for love, his sheer enjoyment in watching these quirky creatures growing up before our eyes, those are the things that make him 'Daddy'. He is a safe place to run to, a fun person to run with and he is so much more than a Y chromosome.
It is not only mothers who pace floors singing lullabies, who worry beside hospital beds and who deserve respect as parents. Apart from the lactating (and he's really quite stubborn about that) there is literally nothing that I would or could do for our children that he cannot do equally well.
There is no such thing as an ideal family. There are just people, getting on with it, trying to fit in enough cuddles around the working day and figure out where all the clean socks keep disappearing to. Children thrive on love, both observed and received. When children are wanted, cared for and nurtured, it matters not a jot whether their parents are male or female, only that they are there.
I still have yet to hear a valid reason to vote No.
I will be voting for equal marriage rights, for equal groups of people. I hope that this will result in many happy marriages, in happy, loving families and maybe, just maybe, in a generation more open-minded and tolerant than those who have gone before.
Put simply, in the absence of a coherent reason to vote No, I had decided to vote Yes.
There is a sustained campaign from the No side to suggest that children will be the innocent victims of a successful Yes vote. Children who will be raised without a mother's love if gay men are allowed to marry.
There are a couple of immediate issues I can see with this reasoning
- gay men are already 'allowed' to raise children, and the referendum will not change that, no matter the result
- also, are the children of lesbian couples therefore utterly blessed to have TWO of these amazing creatures, mothers, to raise them?
As a mother, I couldn't help thinking about my own children and really tried to see what the harm to them might be if I was not their mother.
I spent the weekend watching my husband with our kids. What is it about him that could make him so deficient he can only parent if I am here to mask his shortcomings?
Certainly, I have him beaten hands down when it comes to giving birth and breastfeeding. But with our soaring Caesarean section rates, and notoriously low breastfeeding rates, can we really say that either natural birth or nourishment are intrinsic to parenting in Irish society? I don't think so. Birth and provision of food do not make a mother, so they are certainly not flaws in a father.
My husband prepares meals for his kids. He reads to them, admires their paintings, puts Factor 50 on every piece of exposed skin.
When they are hurt, they find only tenderness in his muscular, tattooed arms. When they are frightened, he vows to kick the butt of any zombie he sees.
He cheers them on, and punishes them. He coaches football, removes tangles from hair without any tears and paints small fingernails in a dazzling array of colours.
It is simply not his gender that makes him a parent. His personality, his capacity for love, his sheer enjoyment in watching these quirky creatures growing up before our eyes, those are the things that make him 'Daddy'. He is a safe place to run to, a fun person to run with and he is so much more than a Y chromosome.
It is not only mothers who pace floors singing lullabies, who worry beside hospital beds and who deserve respect as parents. Apart from the lactating (and he's really quite stubborn about that) there is literally nothing that I would or could do for our children that he cannot do equally well.
There is no such thing as an ideal family. There are just people, getting on with it, trying to fit in enough cuddles around the working day and figure out where all the clean socks keep disappearing to. Children thrive on love, both observed and received. When children are wanted, cared for and nurtured, it matters not a jot whether their parents are male or female, only that they are there.
I still have yet to hear a valid reason to vote No.
I will be voting for equal marriage rights, for equal groups of people. I hope that this will result in many happy marriages, in happy, loving families and maybe, just maybe, in a generation more open-minded and tolerant than those who have gone before.
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