From here to fertility

Earlier in the week I was listening to a feature on Woman's Hour about infertility and IVF in particular. As woman after woman phoned in with their stories about cycle after cycle, some with tales of repeated failure and others with eventual success. It was a hard listen as it took me back to our journey to becoming parents. 

The day we were told it was unlikely to happen for us and we sat in the corridor and cried for what felt like days. Then wiped our tears and Hubbie went to work and I sat on the train so numb I don't recall where I went and what I did.  

Attending infertility appointments sitting in the same waiting room as pregnant women - feeling like a failure, ashamed, angry and wishing I was anywhere but there.

Turning up for an appointment having left work early to be told there was no consultant there that day and to rearrange. I felt invisible. 

The last appointment we ever went to - we both arrived first thing waited for almost 3 hours as every other woman was seen and finally they told us they'd lost our file. That's how little we mattered. 

Deciding that this was just not for us - if our marriage was going to be all about pills and tests and embryos and waiting and wishing for a maybe. 

The invasive process of being assessed for adoption. Having strangers walk through our home and tell us it wasn't big enough. Answering questions about past relationships, being interviewed by a panel of 13 people who would decide if we were 'suitable' to be parents. 

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. 

Making peace with the reality of never being parents. In as much as you can do that. 

Falling pregnant with Big Boy. Joy at last. Family finally admitting how much it meant to them too. 

Trying - and failing - to repeat the miracle. 

Miscarriage. 

Going through the adoption merry-go-round all over again. This time with the added consideration of how this would affect our boy. 

Meeting Baby Boy. Knowing immediately that this was our second son. 

Now we feel like a family. Finally. 

That was what the programme reminded me about. It never goes away. 

Rolling my eyes: Everyday sexism / racism / homophobia

There are few things that raise my hackles more than isms - you know sexism, racism, ageism, etc. It's been a weird week as there have been cases of quite a few of them in the news. I'm singling out these headlines* because they've really made me shake my head and feel quite sad.

(*these were made up by me - they aren't actual headlines - well I don't think they are)

All Egyptians are white aren't they ? 

Rupert Murdoch, a man known mostly for being old, white and rich remarked on Twitter that he couldn't fathom why there was hostility at the casting of white actors in a film about Moses. No, not Gwyneth and Chris Martin's son, the other one, you know possibly the most famous Egyptian ever.  His disbelief at claims of racism in the white only casting was based on his assertion that all the Egyptians he knows are white. It is entirely coincidental that the movie is being distributed by a company he owns of course. Twitter exploded amidst challenges to his understanding of racism - missing the point that he probably doesn't really tweet himself and doesn't he use the standard disclaimer 'all views my own.' Not that anyone who want to own his views other than him of course. Clearly he is so untouchable that he honestly believes he can just say anything because being so old and rich and white there are no consequences.

Samantha is a goer and she loves it

Radio 4 comedy show I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue has been running for years and with mostly the same all male cast. There is a running series of jokes about the fictional 'Samantha' that essentially are about her sexual veracity and this caused one listener to complain to the BBC trust. The trust found that the show had no case to answer. So ISIHAC rules that sexist jokes will stay, but they will endeavour to have more women on having argued with Stella Duffy that one of the existing panel would have to die before there was room for a woman. Yes, this did happen. A few months ago Stella was guest presenting Pick of the Week and we were discussing how few women are on panel shows on Radio 4. Stella challenged the ISIHAC team to respond to the claim that they don't welcome women guest panellists and they were quite aggressive on Twitter arguing that it was tradition and which of the living esteemed original players did she want them to sack to make way for a woman ? Woah there with that passive aggressive defence of the male panellist there Radio 4. 

Woman takes off top and the world doesn't end.

I always loved Madonna. I admired her tenacity, her capacity for hard work and her amazing body. How she came from very little to being rich, powerful and didn't care about what anyone thought of her. I wore armfuls of rubber bracelets and lace rags in my hair during the Susan days and her single handed revolution in making yoga the class of choice for urban women was amazing to witness. She is now 56 and surely everyone who wants to - and most who don't - have seen Madonna naked by now. It is hardly a shock to anyone and frankly if she wants to take her top off and be photographed you can choose not to buy the magazine. It's like those people who announce on Facebook that they are 'taking a break' and then hang around to see who cares enough to ask them to stay. Honestly, if you are going to be offended, just don't look. Sheesh !! 

Teenagers look sullen and wear short skirts.

A communications aide to a Republican senator saw fit to trash 'The First Family' and lost her job as a result. Elizabeth Lauten took offence at photos of President Obama's teenage daughters looking fed up while watching him pardon a turkey for Thanksgiving. It wasn't just their sullen looks and folded arms, but the fact that they were wearing short skirts that was considered disrespectful - it was unclear whether this was to the turkey or the nation as a whole. She also tore into the parents as bad role models for the girls. It's not often we witness ageism of young people, but this was pretty appalling behaviour towards young women who have no choice, but to be photographed and commented on. Making it about their clothes and appearance is just crass. 

 Jack and Sarah

During a plenary session at the recent Mumsnet Blogfest journalist Sarah Vine impressed friends I was sitting with as she seemed pretty reasonable and canny. Prejudiced by the knowledge of who she is married to, I wanted to disagree, but I did concede that she came across well. She's hardly a Liz Jones or Toby Jones Young type who will openly court hostility from the crowd so it was hardly surprising really. It was very disappointing then to read about the spat she got into with Jack Monroe that descended into homophobic rhetoric. You can look up the entire story so I won't go into it here, but I will say that I don't think Jack was kind in her initial comments about the late son of the PM. In response Sarah came across as homophobic when she suggested that being a gay parent was a selfish and irresponsible choice. It's so very medieval and neither of them comes out of this covered in glory.

My head hurts this evening and it's hardly surprising is it ?

I'm hoping that the next week is better.

Attachment parenting: I swear by it.

I'm not going to get into it about the Peaches vs Hopkins TV 'debate' on attachment parenting. I didn't follow it and neither woman is a parenting role model I'm about to emulate. I am all for attachment though and was listening to Oliver James talking about lovebombing on Radio 4 yesterday afternoon. As a result today has been spent loafing around and doing as little or as much as my toddler wants to do. You see I like the idea of responding to what my child is interested in, but I'm not about to advocate my skills as a parent above anyone else's. I'm doing my best and I sometimes over-do it or get it wrong. Mostly I am just glad that he's a happy child and that he loves us. 

If anything I've probably been over-attached. I never left my son alone at all when he was first born. I would shower while Hubbie was home either in the evening or stupidly early in the morning. I honestly thought that if I left my baby for longer than it takes to make a cup of tea he was going to roll over (which he'd never done) or stop breathing (he's still here).  Of course I do still check on him - old habits and all that - but now I stay in bed rather than shower at 6am. That's hardly tiger mama behaviour is it ? 

As he's a toddler now I do go and shower and leave him to his own devices (watching telly, creating a 'traffic jam' with his toy cars or playing with the hands free soap dispenser if I've forgotten to put it high up) for around 5-10 minutes. I do have to keep calling every 30 seconds to check he's still in the house though as he can't be trusted not to open the door if someone knocks. Grandma was babysitting on Halloween night and as she is quite hard of hearing he heard the door knock and went to answer it - only to be confronted with two rather terrifying teenage boys in masks. They didn't get any sweets, but the boy got a proper scare !!

The other night Hubbie opened a belated birthday card he'd received that had been sent to the wrong house with the wrong age on it. He affectionately called the sender a nob - supposedly out of earshot of our boy - only for the boy to start saying 'nob, nob, nob, nob' in a sing song voice. I gave Hubbie my 'silly boy' head shake and he responded with, "actually, he may have heard that before in the car driving to football." I suppose it could be worse. I'm not sure how though.

Up until now my son's idea of bad language has been to point at me and say 'Oh. Dear.' forcefully as that is what he thinks swearing is. We're also working on discouraging the 'toilet talk' which he loves right now. As an example.
Me: "What did you do at nursery today little bear ?"
Toddler: "Bum Bum."
Me: "I don't think you did. What did you have for lunch ?"
Toddler: "Poo Poo."
Me: "Ok that's enough toilet talk for today."
Toddler: "Wee Wee."
Me: <sigh>

I'm not expecting a call from anyone asking me to share my parenting secrets any time soon. I am, however, expecting to be embarrassed by my son's vocabulary some time in the near future. 

When If he calls Santa a Nob Poo Poo I'll look around pretending he's not with me, but that's when all my attachment parenting will come back and bite me in the 'bum bum.'

"I'd give anything to have biscuit crumbs trodden into the carpet."

I was driving back from a yoga training day today and listening to Radio 4. It was a repeat of Woman's Hour with Jane Garvey and I heard an interview with Jody Day for the second time this week about her experience of being a childless woman. It moved me when I heard it the first time, but I was doing chores that time and today I was properly listening. It was a breathtakingly honest account of discovering one day that having children just isn't going to happen. In addition to dealing with the grief at this realisation there is the loneliness as friends with children slowly let you go as they carry on with their lives as a family.

The interview hit a chord with me for two reasons. At one point we were told we wouldn't have children and it reminded me how it felt when that was the realistic future that me and Hubbie had to come to terms with. One day I was sitting reading a magazine at the hairdressers and I phoned Hubbie from under the dryer to ask if he'd agree to adopting one of the millions of abandoned girl children from India. Another time I called him to say that I'd heard about some healing technique that had amazing results and we just had to try it. We were asked constantly when we were going to have children and some family members were less than subtle about it. As well as being asked about it we also had to contend with other people who were having babies. It broke my heart hearing we wouldn't have a baby. It broke Hubbie's heart too and he even suggested I might want to be with someone else who might be a better bet. I nearly hit him for that.

It could have broken us. Thankfully it didn't.

The other reason is because now we do have a son and when I met up with friends recently we were chatting. I mentioned how I missed going out as much as they do and having holidays and other things that we don't do as much any more now we are parents. My friend said she would love to be in my position and have a child and a family life. I was reminded of that today on Radio 4 when a listener said she would give anything to have biscuit crumbs on her carpet rather than a clean and tidy childless home. That made me choke. Not a good thing when you're on the M25.

I know how it feels to long for a child. To try and count the blessings you will have instead of children. The beautiful home free from sticky fingerprints and the expensive holidays instead of day trips to Legoland and Chessington. I also know that I had a career because I didn't have children. I wasn't a 'career woman' out of choice. Hubbie was willing to endure acupuncture in our pursuit of parenthood - he is terrified of needles.

Of course I know that not every woman wants to have children, but I also know that when it is not an option it just feels so very unfair. I also know that being told you're so lucky that you don't get woken up early is not reassuring. That owning a gorgeous handbag that won't have upturned juice cartons and gummy sweets in it is no consolation when you want someone to call you Mummy. I know that having a spontaneous and inventive sex life with your partner doesn't necessarily make up for having a second bedroom that you would have loved to have been a nursery.

Most importantly that interview reminded me today that I should never forget to be a kind and considerate friend.

I remember how it felt to long for what I now have.

Words don't come easy (apparently)

My favourite misunderstanding this week was heard on Radio 4's Today programme when a reporter said, "cocaine growers say police make bad neighbours." Now had he used the correct intonation it would have sounded like, "cocaine growers, say police, make bad neighbours." Alternatively he could just have used better syntax and there would have been no confusion. It may be just me, but this kind of thing does stick in my mind.

I find it interesting that with the popularity of social media people are using the written word more visibly and I am now judging people I know on their use of grammar and punctuation. I appreciate that the brevity required to make a point in 140 characters can lead to some contracted words, but the paucity of some people's language really shocks me.

Now, I'm not expecting high literature, but some basics would be great. So as a rough guide please spare me the following:

"could of" - I will hit you - hard

"definately" - I will hit you and then hit you again - hard

"first world problems" - honestly, you're making this easy aren't you ? just stand still so I can hit you repeatedly

"epic fail" - used ironically just about ok, otherwise - this is hitting with a large spade material

"as of yet" - "yet" is fine - you don't need to say any more than that - enough !

"you can talk to myself" - no I can't, really, because I have already judged you to be a dunce and this will not end well.

That's a start. Just work on these for now and we'll get to the more complicated ones later.

Thank you :o)

My childhood love of Michael Rosen is rekindled...

Like 18,882 other people I follow Michael Rosen on Twitter. You know him, the poet who wrote for children and performed on television and radio when you were little. The man who told us it was cool to read books and that we were not nerds at all.

Well, he has serious concerns about what is happening to education at the moment - and who can blame him - so I sent him an email this evening outlining a few of my thoughts. Imagine how flabbergasted I was when he replied less than half an hour later asking if he could include my comments on his blog !

He's put them on his blog and now I'm putting them on my blog (which is a curious form of cannibalism surely ?) Anyway, what a lovely man and still the most important advocate for children and reading this country has.

http://michaelrosenblog.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/letter-from-parent-of-2-year-old.html

If you want to follow him: http://michaelrosenblog.blogspot.com and http://www.michaelrosen.co.uk

Tuesday's Tarzan Toddler Tantrum and other traumas

I've awarded myself the coveted title of worst mother ever today - again.  As a multiple winner of the title I have run out of new things to say in my acceptance speech - usually my voice has gone from shouting so much anyway.

Having promised myself that I will be a better Mummy today (which I do every day) it often goes very wrong for no discernible reason. I do wish I was more patient, more zen, more loving and kind and better able to deal with:

- just after waving bye to Daddy a pot of yoghurt hitting the floor and a water cup hitting me in quick succession

 - wrestling to get the boy to put some shoes on, to get him in the car and to get his car seat harness done up

- my boy dribbling all his drinking water over his clothes for no reason other than he finds it amusing - four outfit changes later we can leave the house

- assuring him that yes he can go in the "buggy, buggy, buggy" to go to the post box, only for him to screech like a banshee when I try to actually put him in it

- watching him tear around playgroup like he's had sugar coated crack cocaine for breakfast while I wander round holding a mug of tea observing the Mummy cliques and trying to decide if there is seat that isn't 'reserved' for anyone where I can still see him before he runs over any small children with a Tiny Tikes car

Of course I love my son. I already feel bereft when I think about him growing up and leaving home to have his own life. I am not wishing away these golden years when he is forming his personality and testing boundaries. I just hope that I can learn to be a better parent so his memories of this time aren't relived in therapy and mine aren't of hiding in the garage listening to Radio 4.

Garbage Panda Rocks !!

As I type Hubbie is in the kitchen listening to the radio which usually veers only a few steps from Radio 4 to BBC London. It is currently on a station called Garbage Panda which has to be the best name for a music station - or indeed anything - that I have heard in a long time. My attention was drawn by the music being played which really caught my ear and apparently it's remit is rockabilly and an assortment of other sounds.

They're not the usual tunes we play at home (with Hubbie being a Fall fan and my adoration of Prince we don't often play music together anyway), but music is an enormous part of our lives. Hubbie plays guitar and I've been known to dabble in drums, saxaphone and tenor recorder over the years. We've been singing to our son since before he was born so he enjoys music - most little ones do as far as I can tell - and he does love to bop around.

Music is so intrinsic to my life that I cannot imagine anyone not being interested in it or having a passion for certain songs or tunes. I met a man once who told me he really wasn't into music and I was floored. I had assumed (wrongly) that being from Ireland he'd have grown up surrounded by music and therefore would love it, but no he had no favourite music or interest in it at all.

My parents playing Indian music and my Mum singing when she thought no one was listening still form the most potent of my childhood memories. There are songs from films that are evocative of a particular time and place and the haunting soundtrack of Pakeeza makes me shudder as I recall my Dad telling me the beautiful lead actress died during the filming so a lot of the shots are of her body double.

When I hear the Wannadies You and Me Song I think of my wedding day and our first dance. It wasn't a great choice to dance to wearing a sari, but still it made us happy and no one was really paying any attention to us mucking around up on the makeshift stage anyway.

The opening bars of the Smiths How Soon is Now remind me of Digbeth Institute in Birmingham. Ok, bear with me on this. When I was at uni me and Neil went to see Jesus Jones and they were supported by Soho - twins whose only hit song (Hippychick) began with those very opening bars. They sort of disappeared pretty soon after that (as did Jesus Jones to be honest).

It's also where we saw Killing Joke - possibly my favourite band of all time. Their song Love Like Blood actually makes me tingle when I hear it. It's a powerful and resounding anthem from a highly political band. I was so pleased to get a ticket to see them a few years ago so when the gig was rescheduled for two weeks after my son was born I was gutted to miss seeing them again.

I could go on about politics and music (not in a Red Wedge sense you understand) but I will just mention the La's There She Goes which was played in the Student Union at my Uni the day Margaret Thatcher resigned. Even now I associate that song with a happy, happy day and the sense of humour of whoever the DJ was that night.

So as you can see music is not only the food of love, it's the food of life. Sometimes a bit rich and overwhelming, sometimes basic and just enough. Always emotive and always essential.

My mother's daughter

As I was half listening to Radio 4 yesterday I heard that a report had found that mothers who work are less likely to become depressed than women who stay at home with their children. One of the women commenting on this report stated that she would be bored senseless if she stayed at home with nothing to do but look after children and going to work gave her purpose and meaning in life.

Having been at home for over a year looking after my boy I noticed that recently I had become resentful of not having any time to myself in a day and waited with impatience for Hubbie to get home so that I could go and do something other than be with my beloved offspring. I was a seething mass of unexplained anger and found that being by myself with my son was appealing for only so many hours of the day. I don't know many people in the area where we live and the ones I do have mostly returned to work or are pregnant again so I don't even see them much. The weekly routine of playgroups and activities gets us both out of the house and I make sure that we do something constructive every day even if it's just a walk to the park. Coupled with an insane paranoia about leaving the house because of a spate of burglaries in our local area I've become a bit reluctant to go too far or out for too long. This is no way to live I was aware that if I didn't pull myself together I was going to become agoraphobic.

I finally opened up about this to a few friends and they concluded that I needed to go back to work as I was bored and underachieving at home. So in the last month I have returned to working a few days a week at a job that is not far from home. I was absolutely miserable for the first few weeks. I missed my son terribly and couldn't bear being in an office on my own for a whole day with only the scale filled kettle in the finance office to lure me out for the occasional cup of tea. It was, however, lovely to come home to hear all about what my boy had been doing and to see his smiling face and acknowledge that he hadn't been irreparably harmed by me not being there to tend to his every whim.

I'm still not entirely sure that this is the dream job for me, but I do know that when my son waves me off in the morning he's in good hands all day. I enjoy going for a walk at lunchtime and I like using my brain for something other than planning meals for my family and deciding if the bookcase should stay where it is or be moved a few feet to the left. Ok so I don't get to bake as much - which is completely overrated as a pastime by the way - and I'm sure the cat will lose some weight without me giving in to his plaintive cries for biscuits every time I go anywhere near the kitchen.

My Mum worked full time most of my life and didn't have a choice about it. She still cooked a meal for us every evening and managed the household budget as well as ensuring we were all doing well at school. In my mind that is the gold standard of what I should be aiming for and anything less is just me being lazy or not trying hard enough.

Trying to be a yummy mummy is pretty demoralising stuff. From comparing how much slimmer every other mum appears to be, to feeling guilty for sitting on the sofa watching mindless telly while the baby naps it all adds up to not being the woman who "has it all." Which brings us back to where I came in and the Radio 4 piece about the myth of women wanting it all when actually we just want to not be bored or depressed or taken for granted. Being pregnant again would be a pretty sweet bonus too if anyone is asking :o)