A murder of crows, an adorable of babies

I have two babies but until recently I was used to seeing them one at a time. An eye blink ago Max was very much a babe-in-arms. And Lola a blossoming toddler. Now that Max is sitting up, the whole world has changed. He has always tracked her every move with adoring eyes, but now he make his own lunge for her whenever it takes his fancy. And he does. He launches himself like a rugby forward, without any thought for the hard floor, wall or strange object in his path. He wants to be close to her, to be walking like her, to be talking like her. I think he might skip crawling, because he only wants to do what she does.

Until recently she hasn’t wanted to have much to do with him. But that is changing, too. Now she says “Coo coo Maxi!” every morning and gives him a little kiss on the head of a tiny hug. She often tells me to pass him off to his dad or his nanny, but a few days ago, when an admiring stranger scooped him up, she said, “No! Maxi with mummy!”. Her first visible protective urge towards him. I know he is going to love her more than all of us. He just does.

Seeing them together made me think of all those great collective nouns… a murder of crows, a pride of lions. They are my adorable of babies.  

Seeing them together makes my heart swell more than ever, and lends an even greater sense of surreality to life in general. How did he come to be here, this perfect little fella? No drugs, no agonising. Just here, with minimum fuss and heartburn. He was dangling from his jolly jumper this morning and she was pushing him around in an ill-judged but well-meant kind of way and I imagined how they might be a year from now, tearing around together. Little mates. 

 

 

 

So long, vaca lechera

I just stumbled on a new blog that makes me feel a lot better about myself.

Lately I have been finding being a mum very hard. I lecture myself about this in my head – how can I feel this way after everything I went through to have Lola? How can I feel this way when I am one of the very lucky few to have a baby? Am I letting all the fear and worry about my work override the important, personal stuff? Have I lost sight of the miracle that is Lola? And, how can I be on the way to having another baby? Am I actually cut out to be a mother? Maybe this was all a big mistake.

It all sounds so ridiculous when I put it down here “on paper”. This has all been whirling around in my head for a while now, and I have been so angry with myself for being so lacklustre and useless. My self-esteem is waaaaay down. I feel very distant from my friends, like I just can’t connect. I just don’t feel I am coping.

I don’t know how to explain to DH what’s wrong. I think he must think I am lazy. Or a bit pathetic. And I feel that I am lazy, and a bit pathetic. Years ago, after my boyfriend dumped me in what was the worst breakup of my life, I remember feeling quite desperate and calling him… I was just so confused about why he had dumped me. He never gave me any reason. I was on a bleak wintery train platform in south London, living in the shoebox sized spare room of a friend, and walking around feeling a physical pain in my stomach that was just my misery taking form. He said to me, “You are such a victim”. It stuck, as these things tend to. And lately I have been wondering if maybe I AM a victim? Do I play that role? Am I playing that role with my work life after losing my role while I was pregnant with Lola?

Reading this post: 

http://joannagoddard.blogspot.com/2012/02/motherhood-depression-and-weaning.html

I recognised a lot of the feelings Joanna talks about. I have never heard of depression linked to weaning. And I don’t want to go all Dr Google on myself, but it clicks. I was lucky enough to have lots of milk and very few breastfeeding problems. We used to sing a little song when it was time for night feeds: “Yo soy una vaca lechera, no soy una vaca cualquiera..” (I am a milking cow, not just any kind of cow…) Lola would luxuriate there in my bosom for many a happy half hour to hour. And now… she’s there and not much is coming out. This cow is nearly dry.

I am not a pathetic type usually. Ok, I like a bit of time on the sofa, but I’m not lazy either. I love my daughter. Love love love love love her. And I don’t really think I am a bad mum. But I feel these things lately. Maybe it is my hormones playing some kind fo sinister joke on me. 

I am going to do a bit more research on this; but in the meantime I am going to go for a swim and breathe and try to be a bit kinder to myself.