Gardening

My Name is Teddy and I love to garden.

 A Lot!

My mummy planted a beautiful vine yesterday. She found one with long tendrils to wind around the trunk of a tree. She was so happy. I knew then that gardening was fun!

This morning, very early, I thought I would have a little go at gardening.
I looked at mummy's vine, newly planted in the ground

I pulled a little bit, just to adjust the leaves.
Bits shook.
I like that!

I pulled really hard and poooffffr out it came.
I was so proud!

I think I should show Mummy... I will drag it down the backyard.

For some reason Mummy was not happy with me. Maybe it was because I tried to drag the root ball
through the doggy-door.

Mummy says I'm not allowed to garden anymore.

Guilt v's Regret

My last post was a tiny glimpse of life 12 yrs ago in our home. Many have read it and sent messages, comments and love. I have appreciated every person who took the time to give me a cyber hug.  Because you accept that this snapshot is not the total sum of me, I feel safe enough to keep sharing.

A recurring theme in those messages was Guilt.

I shouldn't feel guilty, please don't feel bad, don't have regrets....

So I thought I would give you my little take on this.. it's okay if you disagree, it's okay if you comment and share your opinion (kindly). This is something I have battled with for years, tried to wrestle into something I can sleep next to (metaphorically).

There is a difference between feeling guilty and feeling regret.

Guilty means "I did this on purpose" . Guilty means "I chose this".

I do not feel guilty. I wanted this family and these babies very much and so badly wanted them to have happy, healthy childhoods and beyond. I would never have chosen for them to see their mother like this, to break their tender hearts like that. I didn't choose the anxiety, the uncertainty, the crippling fear, the nightmares, the long tear drenched days, the senseless arguments with The Man I Married.  I didn't choose it and I don't feel guilty for it.

But I have regrets. I wish it were different. I wish I had found help earlier. I wish I had insisted that all wasn't okay the first time I saw the Doctor who sent me away with a condescending smirk. I wish I was older and more aware of myself when I had my children. I wish I could once and for all settle the heart of my beautiful girl. I regret those things.

And that is okay.

The first glimmer of regret was the first glimmer of strength to make tomorrow different.

The first time I realised that doctor was a complete tool who didn't listen to me was the first time I realised that the Doctor isn't all-knowing God.

Those fights with The Man I Married will be forever why I love him. He stood by me through all my 'crazy'. He held on when I wanted to let go. He stepped up as Daddy and Mummy when I was too lost to be either.

I'm stronger than I've ever been, more balanced than I could have dreamt of. I have thought long and hard about what is important and what gets to stay in our world. 

Guilt does not get to stay.

Regrets.. well, to me, they are the seashells on the shoreline.. empty and no longer used, but a reminder of what came before.

                                         

                                 Photographer Roim | Agency: Dreamstime.com 

If you are struggling, if you feel the same way as I did. If you know something isn't right and need a starting place , contact Beyond Blue , speak to your doctor or Child Clinic Nurse. Speak to your best friend, your Mother In Law, speak to me at lybliss@gmail.com -

Please speak to someone. I promise you that this can be different, better, easier. I will hold your hand xxx

  

PPD and Depression - Glimpses of that place

A bit of a dark post .. if you are looking for a laugh this is not the post to read... xxx

Depression in general and Post Natal Depression in particular is a truly personal and individual condition. I have been asked what PND feels like and I can only give you a glimpse of my own experience. This is by no means a blanket description for all PND

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Even now she asks for a hug. Even now I can see it on her face. She is still prepared for a knock back. Prepared for me to run, to hide, to be busy, to be distant.

All the hugs in the past 14 years have not healed that deeply ingrained uncertainty. She is not sure of me.

I cannot change the way it was. I will wish forever that it had been different.

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Glimpses of that place:

I'm sitting on the kitchen bench cross legged so you can't touch me.

Little chubby fingers reaching up, huge eyes and an uncertain smile. You know I don't want you near me but you don't know why. You do a little dance and I watch. Inner thoughts urge me to smile. To encourage. To give you a glimmer of softness. But I can't. I cannot make my mouth curve. I can't look you in the eyes.

Your big brother is watching Play School and your baby sister is sleeping. You have me all to yourself and yet...

I'm hiding, head in my hands, whispering "Please go away. Please go away."

It's not your fault little girl.

None of this is your fault.

My heart is rock heavy and I am so deeply numb that I cannot feel anything for you. Nothing. A blank wall.

I know you deserve better.

You are such a good little girl. You try so hard to please me, to reach me. So perfect.

I am a terrible, shitty mother!  How can I be this way.

Looking at you reminds me of how crappy a job I am doing. Reminds me that I don't deserve you. That you don't deserve this. That you would be better off with another Mummy who doesn't feel this way.

And yet you still stand there, little arms raised up.

" I hug Mummy?" you ask.

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She says she cannot remember how it was. But her heart remembers. I know it does.

Trivia

I went out last night with some friends to a trivia night.
Man, some of those players take Trivia VERY seriously. (As In -> lining up your lucky troll toys along the table and using your lucky pencil <- kinda serious).
These are the kind of people who "whoop whoop" and high five each other with the announcement of every correct answer. These people can and do challenge the judge if they disagree with an answer. 
We were placed on a table with some of the above.
They were less than impressed with our enthusiasm at the appearance of the drinks waiter.
They did not appreciate our relaxed attitude towards the questions.

They really didn't appreciate our lack of sport knowledge.

They were quite horrified by our inability to name 20 songs by the opening bars.

Worst, worst, worst of all was our excitement at coming last and winning free cheesburgers and a sundae from McDonalds ..."Guys it's a free cheeseburger. Free! Cheeseburger! F.R.E.E"

I doubt we will be saved a spot on that table at next year's Trivia night.
That's OK, we'll be at the bar.

Are you a Trivia Night Guru... are you holding up the bar or kissing your Troll Toy between each round?

Pink Pegs

Most days I pass as quite normal.
Most days I manage to keep my own aspie tendancies under control.
But then I get run-down. Sick or tired, or simply sick and tired.
Today I feel a bit crappy.
My eyes are gritty and swollen. Every sound seems to be echoing down a mine shaft to my ears. My throat is sore and my brain seems to have been replaced with very fine cotton wool.

On those days, maintaining normal is harder.
Those are "pink peg" days.

I hate hanging clothes on the line.
Not because of the effort or because its cold outside. Not because I'm sick of doing it or because there is a never ending pile of washing in need of hanging.
No
I hate hanging washing because it is nearly impossible to make it look neat and uniform.
I am quite happy to hang 20 cloth nappies (diapers).. -  5 to each line, evenly spaced little white flags in the breeze.
I will hang towels, although I dislike when they are different sizes and colours, but I absolutely hate-hate-hate the hotchpotch mix of clothes from large adult size down to small 8 yr old, mismatched socks, different school uniforms, girly pink alongside grunge green............
There is no order to the line. No system and no rhythm.
Even more frustrating, it is impossible to buy cloths pegs all the same colour ( unless they are wooden which is not good as they rot in the Victorian winter)

On days like today, to feel calm and bring some very small degree of order, I pick out all the pink pegs.

If I have to I can dedicate a quadrant of the line to a colour, pink pegs, white pegs, yellow pegs and purple pegs.

I cannot figure out where teen boy gets his Aspergers from .

And then they grow.......

My big boy went on his first Army cadet camp this weekend. (its actually called a bivowack bivawac bivowac Bivawac but clearly I can't spell that word so we are going to call it a camp).
He is a (very) late starter in Army cadets, but all he wants to do is join the Army and the Army don't see his potential yet, they see a young teenage boy with Aspergers who needs some life experience.
So he has joined the Cadets and plans to use the 20 months he can legally be in them as a spring board for the full time Regular Army,
( in answer to your questions -
                                                  *yes he still has Aspergers, it doesn't go away when they become adults                                        *yes I'm terrified about the Army but have you ever tried to steer an Asperger person away from their chosen topic of interest? Impossible
                                                 *Yes we could have let him apply for the Army and not mentioned Aspergers.. in hindsight that may have been a better plan, but we believe in being honest and proud of ALL he is, not just the "socially acceptable" bits )

So he went on camp on Friday evening, so handsome in all his army gear ........... squeeee...

Do you remember when your kid was a newborn and they gave you their very first real smile. Do you remember the ache of love that came with that moment, when you felt like your heart was squeezing itself inside out. Those feelings come thick and fast in the first few years as that tiny blob of newborn becomes a little person, toddling and talking and hugging and blowing kisses. The first few years are exciting with so much change and so many new experiences.

I know as my kids have got older I thought that most of those "heartsqueeze" moments were over.
And yet here I am again, looking at this ADULT who is so cute and ready for whatever happens and I can't believe he's mine.

He had a great time at camp, came home exhausted but happy, ready for the next one in a couple of weeks.

That's my boy

SIGH

put simply

School assignment aspergers style

He is doing an unit on the current WorkSafe ads. He has chosen the ad with the young girl in the bakery.



The questions are simple.

Who is this ad aimed at?
His answer - "idiots with no common sense"
I re-read the question and tell him the teacher wants reference to gender and age group.
He re-writes his answer- " 18yrs  female idiots with no common sense"

Will this ad have an impact on your work practices?
His answer - "no because I'm not an idiot,  also I don't have a job in a bakery" 

How does this ad get your attention?
His answer- "screaming, blood and the thought of fingers in your bread"

Do you think television advertising is an effective way of reaching the target audience?
His answer - "yes because practically no-one listens to radio these days and you can't show blood on radio, plus if you go into a bakery to buy bread and heard that ad playing in the shop, you probably wouldn't want your bread anymore".

I explain that the teacher is expecting a bit more. He tells me that this is how he operates. Straight to the point. And what's the point in making up sentences to say the same thing three times in a paragraph.
I try to explain that the point would be the teachers have asked for at least 1 paragraph on each point.
He tells me he will place a space between them and 'voila' it's a paragraph albeit a short one.

I am tired.
He knows this.
He says "Don't worry mum, the teachers know how I work. If they want to know more they'll ask me" .