The Devastation of Sleep Deprivation

I cry. I shake. My mind tumbles into despair, spinning.  Suddenly, I come good.  I bustle around doing dishes, chopping vegetables, folding laundry.  Singing.  Another hour goes by, my toddler decides to crack the shits and so do I.  And the tears flow again.  Just. So. Thoroughly. Exhausted.

The Birth Immaculate

I live in a scenic, vibrant little mountain town.  One of the reasons we chose to live here was because we thought it to be a perfect place to raise a family. The day we moved into our beloved home I was pregnant with our first child, and when we considered our birthing options for both pregnancies we looked no further than the friendly country hospital located just five minutes drive from home.  So on the morning of the birth of my second child, being sent back home from our local hospital to wait for my "proper" labour to kick in actually made perfect sense, because being at home was not only more comfortable, we also knew we could get back to the hospital in a flash. But wouldn't you know it, even five minutes drive would prove to be too far.

40 Weeks... and then some

40 Weeks: noun. 1. Nine and a quarter months.  2. The average length of a normal pregnancy.  3. That pinnacle day of pregnancy after which a dramatic increase in boredom, frustration and annoying phone calls will often be suffered.

40 Weeks.  It’s that magical day in your pregnancy when you have supposedly reached the end.  For forty weeks (and possibly longer) you have been charting, measuring, counting and ultimately, waiting.  So by 40 weeks of pregnancy the waiting should be over.  The baby should be here.  The dues have been paid.

The Guilt of Motherhood

Why do I feel so guilty?  I've just dropped Bode off for his morning of "school" today, and I feel like I've abandoned him. For four months now Bode has been going to day care one morning per week and by all accounts he has been thriving there.  Sure the first handful of weeks were tough, but he never cried and screamed (nor did I thankfully), and once he grew to trust that I would reliably be there to pick him up every single day, he began to relax and truly embrace his new, stimulating environment.  So just this week Bode began going to school two mornings per week instead of one.  He seemed perfectly content when I dropped him off this morning.  So why do I feel so guilty? 

The Storm is Brewing

There are dark clouds on the horizon. I can see them coming my way. And although the sun is still shining overhead, the air smells like rain and I can sense the change in pressure. A storm is brewing. Having survived the almighty tempest once before, I am ever attuned to the subtle changes in my psyche that signal its impending reappearance. Triggered primarily by sleep deprivation but nourished by a rich broth of hormonal soup, pregnancy and birth-related depression is a frightening condition to which I am particularly susceptible. And the events of the past couple of weeks have put me on high alert.

Potty Potholes and Pitfalls

Fail-proof potty motivation

I am burning with frustration. Burning. Hot and deep in my core. For weeks now we have been in the trenches of potty training, with great effort and great success. Sure, it has been time-intensive, energy-intensive, and demanding of more patience on my part than almost anything I can remember. Sure, there have been setbacks; plenty of steps forward and plenty of steps back. But until today, both Bode and I have always been able to make some sort of progress, no matter how small. Until today, I have been able to keep my cool and my patience, regardless of what happened. Today however, the whole process got the better of me. Today, I broke.