In the rain, on a Friday.

This morning I turned and threw another log into my cart, readying it to bring another load of firewood up to the house from the yard. I saw a car pull up across the road at Former BNHQ (That's right! They've moved out!) and start blaring it's horn incessantly. It looked very much like a car that used to visit BNHQ and that was often how they would communicate to visitors.

I marched to my gate and said 'Excuse me mate! I've got a sleeping kid here! Please?!'

The male driver glared at me and roared (yes, roared) 'MAYBE YOU COULD CUT ME SOME SLACK HERE? I AM TRYING TO GET A DERANGED WOMAN OFF THE ROAD, I HAVE A BABY HERE TOO.'

Then I saw her. A young woman, looking pregnant, dressed only in a nightgown, wandering along the tiny verge on the highway, crying. Then I saw the driver, a young man, looking terrified and angry and slightly deranged all at the same time. I raised my hands in a 'Sorry, sorry' gesture as Mr S came out of the house to see what the commotion was. I watched, saddened as she walked up to the car, got in and they sped down the highway.

Oh my god. What on earth was their story? As a young Mum who has suffered with anxiety and PND (twice!) my mind raced to the unimaginable. What drives a young Mum to walk the highway in a nightgown at 9.30am? Where were they going? I hope he was taking her to see a doctor. Unfortunately, I doubt it. Is she ok? Is he ok? Is their baby ok? I hope so.

Then, Lady Pippa woke up, Mr S brought her to the window to wave at me. We've had an uneasy week here, with reflux and no sleep and finally getting some sleep help. We began our sleep training with Pip yesterday and so far, bless her, she's got it. I had my first full night's sleep in a year last night. Pip did not move a muscle from 8pm-5.45am. Fist pump.

I dropped my cart handle, shed my raincoat and boots, ran inside and smooshed her little smooshy cheeks and kissed that sloppy open mouth kisses that she offers and ran my hands through her curls.

I do hope the family I saw this morning are ok.

R U Ok?

R U Ok?

At various times in my life I’ve felt anxious. I’ve felt depressed. I’ve been unable to get out of bed. I’ve cried by myself and I’ve cried in the arms of those who love me. I’ve wondered fleetingly if it’s all worth it. (yes, it is. the answer is always yes.) Then, I open my eyes, I blow my nose, I push the doona covers back and I stand up. Sometimes on shaky legs, but I stand up and I find a kernel of sunshine in my day. This is now easier, as I don’t need to look very far to find a (kernel) 8kg fat roll of sunshine.

It seems fitting that as I sat down to write this I realised that next Thursday is

R U OK? day.

Since becoming a mother everything, EVERYTHING, touches me tenfold. We can no longer watch the news as we eat dinner as stories of starving children send us both dissolving into tears. I couldn’t watch a show on September 11 last night because all I could think about was what the people stuck in those towers were thinking… their families? What were they thinking?

Today I held someone close and whispered in her ear that she’s ALWAYS worth it. Always.

On my drive home to pick up my daughter from Play School today I couldn’t help but reinforce into my own head that along with all the responsibilities I’d realised already, there was another one. I will always be fundamentally ‘OK’ for Millie.

Following Millie’s birth I had times where I wasn’t okay and I wondered if I ever would be again. And the guilt following that. And the guilt of wondering why I was looking at the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen and not feeling much at all. Then one day she smiled at me, and I began to heal.

What has helped me exponentially in these times is being able to communicate with others who sometimes ask ‘Are you okay?’, and sometimes they don’t need to.

When I think about

RU OK?

day now, as a parent, I think it’s more important than ever. It breaks my heart into a million pieces to think that for every person that takes their life there is a parent wondering why. Because in every parent’s eyes their child is always a tiny newborn in their arms whom you need to guide and protect, and ask RU OK?

Whilst today’s hyper-connected society can be isolating it can also be wonderfully supportive. I have a brilliant Facebook mother’s group who hold my hand from time to time, and I hold theirs. I have an astonishingly wonderfully supportive bunch of Twitter friends (Twitterati) who are always there, and have been there in person as well. And when you live in the sticks and are a bit crowd shy like I do and am, this is super important and I am so grateful.

Friends, my point is to take some time on any given day and chat to someone who perhaps you couldn’t find the time to previously. You could make their day and help them find the light out of a dark place. And remember, you are always worth it. Always.

If you need to talk to someone call

Lifeline

24hrs/day on 13 11 14. You can also talk to someone at

Beyond Blue

 on 1300 22 46 36. And don’t forget to have a look at

RU OK?

. OK?

(this photo is taken at Taupo. When I’m feeling sad face, I go to my ‘happy place’, which is my NZ honeymoon last year. I miss the North Island so much.)

Winter




The first day of winter is here. Coinciding with Millie being ten weeks old today. This picture is taken from my bedroom and the white you see is fog. Fast forward an hour and the fog hasn’t lifted yet. It’s very chilly and Millie and I are snuggled up inside with Lucy supervising the fire. I confess winter makes me sad this year. I think I always struggle with the first few weeks because I get cold. As in on some level I refuse to believe it’s winter and therefore never wear enough clothes. It takes a few weeks for my body to sigh and come to grips with the cooler weather.

I yearn for springtime. To feel the warm air on my upper arms and my face, to feel a warm breeze and to see the garden bloom again. Is this a lesson in living in the now?

In springtime Millie will be almost 6 months old. And rolling, perhaps thinking about crawling. This morning Hubs and I sat in bed eating breakfast with Millie sitting up against the pillows between us. Ten weeks ago she was born and was a tiny, helpless being. Now she’s sitting up, still relatively helpless but chatting away, starting to intentionally move her hands and grinning like a demon. The passing of time is swift.

In these first really hard weeks there’s been a quote from Gretchen Rubin’s book ‘The Happiness Project’ that has stuck with me.


The days are long, but the years are short.


Indeedy.