I'm a mum of four, but I'm so much more than that. This blog is a glimpse into my mad world-the frustrations, joys and heartache of raising four kiddies, one of whom is particularly special, and trying not to lose myself along the way. Join me on my journey, I promise it'll be a hell of a ride!
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‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and throughout
Excitement was building- for Santa and sleigh!
We’d like to portray a warm cosy scene,
But the truth is unfortunately not that serene..
The past month at school has been crazy and busy
Nativities, shows, parties; it makes my head dizzy!
The kids are all tired and grumpy and such,
She punched me! He scratched me! It’s getting too much.
At last they were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of snow angels danced through their heads.
The hubby and I had a cheeky nightcap,
And settled our brains for a (brief) winter’s nap.
Awoken next morning-4:30, oh dear-
I’d been informed Santa had already appeared?
Mixed feelings arose as I rubbed my tired eyes
Festive fun? Happy families? Lies, lies, more lies!
Now for those of you ‘typicals’ this is gonna sound mad,
But here Christmas is like any other day to be had.
The seizures don’t stop, nor do B’s complex needs,
But the pressure to have one perfect day is extreme.
The girls want the warm, magic, glittery glow.
But Christmas is hard to pull off don’t you know?
New faces, new food and a present or ten
Means the house gets pretty scary and unpredictable, then:
Our boy who’s non-verbal, who can’t say a word,
Gets grumpy and cross trying to make himself heard.
The crosser he gets the more seizures we see
And the less he can cope with the Christmassy glee.
We try very hard but it’s most fair to say-
Autism and Christmas-not a fun mix, no way!
If we head out he can’t keep his temperature stable,
If we’re in? Hanging scarily upside down from the table.
Routine out the window, B’s all of a flutter,
Tears and frustration-the house is too cluttered.
The colourful presents he pushes away
What the heck’s with the oddly wrapped box anyway?
To those folk who love Christmas, it’s hard to relate.
In honesty each day we’ve enough on our plate!
With therapy and meds, nappies, PECS and the like,
Not to mention the sleep we don’t get every night.
With every intention to make good memories and cheer
We’ll keep on keeping on, year after year.
But life for us hangs in a balance you see
Not much room for manoeuvre or spontaneous glee.
So a plea from the parents of special
kids UK wide,
Please don’t judge us-we truthfully really have tried
Half term sucks. It is not a yay-we-get-to-lie-in-and-laze-about scenario. Not when you have a B, who, from the moment he wakes up to the moment he goes to sleep, needs line of sight supervision. His favourite activity at the moment is posting. All the shit, in all the places. I am done with fishing tiny random lego pieces out from behind the radiator, un-wedging books from the miniscule gap between the DVD player and the unit, and risking my actual life by blindly groping around for toy cars amidst the wires behind the TV. The most annoying thing? The posting of random items IN the bedside lamps. Why? Sweet Lord, why? I have no idea what runs through that boy's head. All I know is such obsessive chaos does not a chilled half term make.
One thing that often escapes the radar of typical families is the complete lack of childcare for kids with additional needs. As in, regular childcare that we can ring up and book onto does not exist. I'll just let that sink in for a minute, in …
It's really something when a potentially enormous life event gets swallowed up in the chronic chaos of the daily. Mainly because life is so full of the life-or-death stuff it becomes the norm. I'm currently sat in Poole hospital, hanging out in the pre-op ward. Not for shits and giggles you understand- I hate hospitals with a passion and would rather walk across hot coals than choose to be here. I even pass all B-hospital-duties over to S, as far as possible. That's not to say I haven't spent my fair share of time here. I have, which is probably why I hate the place so much. While I completely understand the life-saving benefits of a free NHS, and wholly appreciate the settings which provide that care, for me there's too much association with past stuff. Too much time spent visiting parents as a kid, and too much time here myself in various capacities. So yeah, not my forte.
I'm here because they need to get a growth out and there's a small chance it might …
1-At some point in your parenting career you will accidentally ingest your child's faecal matter. Usually in the process of determining whether it's mashed dribbly biscuit or shit on your trousers.
2-Your hoo-hah will never be the same again. This, dear friends, is truth. No amount of pelvic floor exercises can make up for the fact you have pushed a watermelon sized object out of a much smaller sized orifice. And probably needed stitching up afterwards. That shit ain't so fun.
Of course, if you have a C-sec, this won't apply. In which case, I am very happy for you. Really. Very delighted, in fact, for you and your in-tact vagina.
3-The more you convince yourself you will not be that parent- the one whose kid throws those shit fits-the more likely you are to birth Jodie from the Amityville Horror. Karma's a bitch man.
4-You've not felt pain until you've stepped on a lego brick. You also realise your levels of self control while trying not to shout the C-w…