Useful Things I did Today – Page 5

Passionate Sadness

Two words to describe grief.

I’ve had to take a major step forward this week, and leave a personal issue in the past. That, and my conversations with Inigo have meant that the last two weeks have been the worst since Archie died. No. Last Monday was the worst day (bar the 6th of November 2010), of my entire life.

But I made a decision to stick with uni, and I have an assignment due on Monday. So I have had to get a grip, and knuckle down. Assignment one in “Environmental Peace” has been electronically submitted tonight, and now I have tomorrow to catch up on a week of psychology homework. Ask me about salinity in the Murray-Darling Basin 😉

It doesn’t mean I am not sad, or inhuman, just that I realise that my choices are mine to grasp, not to passively accept the weight of the crap that has rained down on me in these last 12 months.

And today? Inigo told me that he didn’t want to go and see Alex (possibly his favourite person), because he wanted to stay with mama. Maybe I am doing a better job of staying jolly in front of him? Or maybe he accepts that I am flawed, and loveable anyway.

I’ve decided to stick with uni

I’ve spent a bit of time thinking about how I can connect better with the kid, so he doesn’t feel like my sadness is overwhelming for him. And frankly, dropping out of uni isn’t the answer. I think that the key to being less sad around the kid is actually being less sad. And actually achieving something with my life that isn’t about doing something for Inigo (not that that isn’t fulfilling 😉 ) is ultimately going to be the fastest ride out of sadville.

I’ve also connected with another mum who lost a baby at 23 weeks. She is a few years further down the road than I am, so I am really interested in both her experiences of loss and how she survived, but also in how her elder child is dealing with things. She sent me an email telling me that my crazy “why not do a psychology degree” behaviour is actually pretty typical in her experience. She said that in her support group, a lot of the mums did something a bit crazy within about 4 months of losing their babies. Some moved interstate or overseas, some left marriages, some began to study, or quit study if they were already enrolled. She tried to cut all her hair off and move interstate, but was talked down by a kind hairdresser. So what I am doing isn’t abnormal, or strange for those of us “in the club”, it just looks quite mental from the outside. I can live with that.

Inigo is an awesome kid (who apparently prefers his name to be written in a serifed font), and I suppose there are just going to be more and more times when he outsmarts me. So the sooner I get that psych degree (with a major in child development!), the better.

Tomorrow I am off to the ABA conference, where I hope to see Dr James McKenna (click the link then scroll down to see his theory about limbic regulation, fascinating) speak about co-sleeping, and all sorts of other wonderful insights about boobs and how to use them. And then Thursday with the kid, then Friday to finish my essay for Environmental Peace (I am doing salinity in the Murray Darling Basin), the weekend to play with the kid and do a final draft of my essay, ready to submit on Sunday night.

And by then, of course, this shitty, shitty fortnight will be behind me, and I will be looking forward to my first High Distinction. Onwards and upwards!

Finding the Study Hard Going

But does teaching my bird how to do a trick using positive reinforcement count as homework?

Finally got my textbooks!

Today is my first full study day!

Inigo listening to “I Don’t Feel Like Dancing” by the Scissor Sisters while eating his weet bix. He now knows what mama’s headphones are for. Though I was using them for listening to lectures, honest!

A lesson learned. Or maybe two.

One. Never apply for university on the evening that applications close. You are bound to make a rookie mistake, like applying for a course you have no hope of getting into, and neglecting to make sensible choices about your second and third preferences.

I put “Bachelor of Psychology with Honours” as my first preference. Which I had no hope of getting into without an ATAR of about 90 (or equivalent in work experience, or study, etc).

Then I put Social work as my second choice. I got into social work.

Two. When you make a mistake, or don’t get what you want, ALWAYS ASK FOR FORGIVENESS. Or help, or a favour, or whatever. But always ask. Because if you don’t ask, you won’t get. And if you do ask, you might just get…

…offered a place in a Bachelor of Psychological Sciences!!!!

And if I can maintain good results, I might get to do the honours year down the track, and still become a psychologist.

So now I am choosing subjects, and trying to navigate my way around the uni web services, with a view to starting on Valentines day.

An out of body experience

Apparently, I just applied for university.

On Friday, I found out that UNE applications close tonight at midnight, so today, Inigo skipped his nap, and went to bed at 5.30 so mama could scan documents and talk herself up.

Number one on my list is a Bachelor of Psychology with Honours. This is either proof that I am completely unhinged, or a great way to distract myself from the inescapable pain of everyday life.

And here is a picture of a small boy in a home made tutu.

Flood Relief

I volunteered to spend a shift at the Get Up! organised flood relief call centre, trying to match up families needing accommodation with families offering shelter. And it was honestly a relief to spend some time talking to people who had bigger problems than me. Bigger? Well, maybe that is a judgement call, but some of those conversations will stay with me for a long time.

And as well as the woman who wanted to know what religion a single mum with health issues was before she committed to offering to put a roof over her head. Really??? Really? FFS woman, is it Christian to only offer succour to people that agree with you? I think NOT.

And then there was a woman I will call Lovely. She had two bedrooms spare in Ipswich, a place where so many houses were devastated that accommodation offers there are few and far between. She had been in touch with a single mum with three kids, and expected her to spend last night at her house. Only to get a text message at 10:30pm, saying “found a place for tonight, call you tomorrow”. What followed was a number of phone calls where Lovely got progressively more worried about what sort of person she was opening her home to. We assured her that she was under no obligation to offer her home to a stranger that she didn’t trust, and she relied, “there is so much need in the world, how can you close your heart to anyone when you know you could be missing an opportunity to help someone who really needs it”.

Wow.

Lovely, I hope everything works out, that your guests don’t steal your silverware, and that many, many blessing are heaped upon you and your big heart.

Another bit of history bites the dust

My friend David used to have a thing for Standard cars. He and his brother Andrew (my boyfriend for a while) shared a massive Standard Vanguard painted with Hammertone Grey that we all called Chubb. It was a fabulous way to arrive at a nightclub, but leaving could be difficult, what with having to crank the beast in the pouring rain, etc…

So anyway…

David and Andrew, but mainly David, used to work on cars a lot. It was David that taught me how to change the oil on my Ford Escort Panel Van, and gave me the confidence to know my way around a combustion engine so that no mechanic could ever baffle me with bullshit. And one day, David was pulling apart an airconditioning pump, and on his workbench I found a gorgeous captured bearing, or “thrust race”, covered in motor oil, which I proceeded to work over my hand and onto my wrist. I was a lot thinner then, and luckily David didn’t need to put the pump back together, so I kept wearing it.

Over the years I got fatter, and the bracelet became a permanent reminder of those days, one I wouldn’t dream of removing, even if I could.

Unfortunately, when Inigo was about 6 months old, the metal strip joining the two halves finally wore away, and the bearings all fell out, and my gorgeous bracelet was reduced to a torture device that cut into the flesh of my wrist and ached off and on.

On Saturday night, thanks to Richard, I finally had the means, the opportunity and the temporary fortitude provided by gin to remove it.

Before.

In the vice.

First attempt with the angle grinder.

The hacksaw wasn’t much use.

Finally free!

The aftermath. You can’t see it here, but I have an injury on the inside of my wrist, I am not sure if it is a cut from the vibrations, or a burn from the steel heating up, but it will heal soon, and my wrist feels so much better. FOr the first time ever I have been able to cuddle my boy without worrying about putting an eye out or hurting him.

A few productive days

As well as chatting to a few mums that needed breastfeeding support, Ive also culled, sorted an labelled the toys, painted a birthday card for my gorgeous nephew that is about to turn 4, and started up the t-shirt printing again.

Feels much better than wallowing, but I think there is still wallowing to come 🙂

Today in dot points

• Got a lie in for the first time in a few days. I’ve been doing the morning shift with Inigo since Monday, feeling very proud of myself. We had diner with mum and dad last night, and Inigo had a meltdown a the thought of coming home with mama instead of having a sleepover with Nanna. I wish I had that meltdown on video!

• Had my first solo bath in about 6 months. Having a bath was on the forbidden activities list for women with ruptured membranes, and since I’ve been out of hospital, Inigo has wanted to be with mama as much as possible, and that means solo bathing is a real luxury.

• Had my 6 week check up today. Found out a few things..
° I was very lucky that I didn’t end up in intensive care. My doctors were really worried about me, and very relieved when I started to improve.
° Although I have improved a lot since leaving hospital, it is going to take a while until I am back to normal. Roshni said she would have “liked” to have seen me better than I am by now, I shouldn’t expect too much.
° I can start some gentle exercise now. No weight training yet, but aqua aerobics would be ok.
° International travel mid next year would be OK. Previously I was told not to travel, “just in case”.
° And if we decide to allow hope to triumph over experience, and make another attempt to add to our family, the ideal time to wait after a c/s is 18 months. Being over 40 may change that recommendation.
° Usually, premature rupture in one pregnancy means an increased risk for future pregnancies. But because I was pregnant with twins, Roshni thinks that was the cause of the rupture, and a future single pregnancy would “probably” be ok. Sheesh.

• After all this excitement, we go to the post office in Merrylands to pick up a few parcels, where I forgot my credit card.

• Lunch at the Taj. Inigo coped very well with no nap, and no mango lassi (they forgot to bring it). Home to tackle some housework, for the first time in a long, long time.

Tomorrow, I am going to be completely wrecked…

(First image, Inigo and Nanna last night, second image, a four leaf clover I found on the day of Inigo’s birthday party)