Depressed Single Mother

Or Maybe Not

2006-01-09T05:22:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to get worried now. Maybe I shouldn't go to this group. There's the lesbian mother's group, and they meet on a Saturday afternoon, which I can't do because I've no babysitter. But there's another one called Rainbow Families that I could do, because it's for the children rather than the adults. They go on outings and such. So I'd be taking The Boy with me.

I know it'd be good for The Boy. I know I'm a bad mother for even considering not going. But I feel ill. I can't stop shaking! I want to hide away. I think I'll let the idea drop. I was stupid for even thinking I could do it.

Gathered Guts

2006-01-09T03:11:00.000-08:00

Well! This morning I summoned up a bit of courage and phoned the two language units. One was very positive, the other wasn't sure it would be possible for us to see it at this late stage. They're both going to call back. But I did it!

I also found a lesbian mothers group. I posted on a forum about it, and was lucky enough to find someone who already goes, and has offered to meet me beforehand, so I don't panic and not go. Fantastic. :)

And, the Lothian Autistic Society accepts postal orders, so that'll be sorted out shortly too.

It's been such a nice morning, it makes me wonder when the shit plans to meet the fan.

The Boy On How Life Is

2006-01-08T12:04:00.000-08:00

I was telling The Boy that next year he'll be going to school.

"First you went to playgroup, now you go to nursery, next you go to school."

"What happens after that?" he asks.

"Well, after Primary school, you'll go to high school."

"What happens after that?"

"After High school? Then you might go to university or college, or maybe a job."

"What happens after univasty?"

"Then you'll hopefully get a good job."

He thinks for a bit, and says,

"After a job...can I come home?"

Aww, bless. The poor wee sod thought he had to go away to do all these things.

For fuzzy end of the lollipop...

2006-01-08T05:42:00.000-08:00

I went back and had a wee look.

Apparently, this is Katharine Isabelle, of Ginger Snaps fame.

There you go.

Pretty

2006-01-07T16:25:00.000-08:00

*sigh*

I'm going to go retire to my ridiculously overdramtic and beautiful four poster bed, and think happy thoughts.

Gothic Witches

2006-01-07T10:37:00.000-08:00

I keep running in to this argument from certain witches: that people like me are letting the side down by dressing in a stereotypical 'witchy' fashion.

I wear mostly black. Black tops, long black skirts (I collect them), and black boots (that said, I do love my brown cowboy boots). And yes I do wear a pentacle, which I suppose adds to the 'goth' look.

Apparently, I should be ashamed of myself for promoting the stereotype, and quickly dress in a more normal fashion.

Bugger that, frankly. I like my black clothes. They are flattering. I feel good in them. I love the goth look, even though I've most certainly toned it down since I had The Boy. Anyway, as I don't always wear black/gothy things, what does it matter? I've always loved to look different. So what?

They keep telling me, these witches, that witchcraft is something that people who are strong, independant thinkers come to. That witches are highly individual folk, who come in all shapes and sizes, all walks of life.

So what is the bloody problem? Leave me and my black velvet alone!

I've spoken to people who are also goth witches, and as someone on one forum pointed out, most modern day pagans aren't exactly farm boys and girls, are they? Indeed not.

So why all the grief from these, presumably fading into the paintwork, witches?

Perhaps it's because, while witchcraft is something I do, a skill that I'm learning/improving as I go along, to them it's their whole life?

I appreciate that witchcraft/Wicca often gets misconstrued and misrepresented. I know there's a lot of 'Witches worship the devil' crap out there. But I don't honestly think me and what I wear is going to have a huge effect on that. If my wearing black makes any one single person think I'm/all witches are evil, then that is one hell of a stupid single person, anyway.

Rant done with. :)

Play Schemes

2006-01-07T05:52:00.000-08:00

We're nearly at the end of the winter holidays. The Boy goes back to nursery on Tuesday :)

But I'm already thinking about the summer holidays. Three weeks has been a very long time. Six weeks will be unbelievably long. OK, the weather will be better and we'll be able to go out, but...

So someone told me the Lothian Autistic Society runs a summer play scheme. I contacted them by email. And the forms arrived today in the post. They want 20 quid just to join as a member, and then I can apply for a place for The Boy, and that'll doubtless cost as well.

I can manage that, but they want it in the form of a check. Where the hell am I going to get a check from? I've only just managed to get a basic bank account. Us scumbag single mothers don't get things like checkbooks.

I'll have to see if they'll accept a postal order... :(

Pffft

2006-01-06T06:58:00.000-08:00

And it's several inches shorter than what it was advertised as. No use at all. Bastards.

How Very Odd

2006-01-06T03:10:00.000-08:00

Weeks ago now, if not months, I bid for a skirt on eBay, and won it. The sender cashed the money and insisted they'd posted the item, but it never showed up. I'd forgotten all about it.

It just arrived this morning.

Alanis Morissette

2006-01-06T02:35:00.000-08:00

I watched a DVD last night about her. It was a bit disconcerting because my first girlfriend looked like a lankier version of her. Used to dress like her sometimes, too.

Alanis Morissette was my heroine when I was a teenager, but I haven't paid her music much attention for years. I've discovered I still like it! :)

A bit sad, remembering all the dreams I had when I was a teenager, though. Wanting to do music, actually help people with it. My Mum told me to grow up, that dreams don't come true, that 'our kind' (whatever that is) don't do things like that. We get a job in an office, or a supermarket, and yes life is awful, but so what? It's the same for all.

Well being a teenager, I fought against that. I thought if I worked hard enough, made good contacts, had a bit of luck...maybe I could do it. I was bloody good, too. Being an office monkey didn't appeal at all.

I sang 'Bondage' one night, acappella, at the Cas Rock, just up from the Grassmarket. Bondage is a song I wrote about the girlfriend I mentioned above, who looked like Alanis. She died. The song's kind of about being in denial.

When I was done, I stepped off the stage and came face to face with a man who had tears running down his face, and he said to me, "Thankyou. I was at a funeral today. Thankyou. That's exactly it. Beautiful. Thankyou."

That's what I wanted to do. Get to people.

And now here I am, considering a computer training course, so that I can probably become an office worker when The Boy goes to school. My Mum was right. I'm a waste of space.

You know what the funniest bit is? While I understood the anger behind 'You Oughta Know', I'd never been in exactly that situation - being hurt by an ex replacing me at the speed of light. And now I have. On New Year's Eve, at the party, it came on the stereo, and we were singing along in a mad drunken fashion. And all the while, Bag Puss was busy replacing me at his New Year's celebration. How's that for an amusing coincidence, Alanis?

lol!!!

2006-01-05T15:37:00.000-08:00

The Sod has gone home. Before he went, he sat down for a wee chat, and the conversation came round to an old friend. I asked how this friend was doing, because The Sod still keeps in touch with him.

This old friend moved abroad, met someone, got married and had a kid.

The Sod refered to this as getting "...banged up in Holland."

"Do you mean jailed? Or tied down with a family?"

He meant family. You tell it like it is, mate. I suppose it is a prison sentence. But it's one most men manage to escape from with very little difficulty, it seems to me...

The Sod

2006-01-05T10:45:00.000-08:00

I tell him about the language units, and he's just not interested. His son's future and he just doesn't care.

When The Boy was born, I asked him to apply for parental responsibility, because in Scotland at that time, legal responsibility went automatically to the mother, but if the father wasn't married to her, he had to apply for it.

His response was "I can't be arsed."

I've spoken to him about it since. I've explained that if I was to die tomorrow, The Boy would go into care, rather than to him, because despite being the father, he has no rights what so ever. He didn't believe me. I eventually convinced him, and he agreed to apply...if I got the forms and sorted it all out.

It drives me crazy. He comes over two evenings a week, and does all the fun stuff.

There's a nappy needing changed, right this minute. The Sod has said he'll do it, but he's putting it off in the hope that I'll do it. He's drinking a cup of tea first.

I suppose I'd better go and see to it. Turgh.

Shopping

2006-01-05T09:58:00.000-08:00

I took The Boy into town today. I've been avoiding doing so because it's so busy with the sales, but I thought just a couple of shops might be alright.

But clearly even that was too much, because he started to get worried by all the noise and the people.

Into Boots we went, for some bits and pieces. We were heading for the tills when our path was blocked by a lady inspecting something on a shelf. The Boy told me she was in the way.

"Well, all you need to do is say, 'excuse me, please'." I said.

So he pushed passed her, and yelled up at her, "Excuse me!", with his face all cross.

"Well pardon me!" she said to him.

I couldn't quite believe it. I apologised to the poor woman, and she seemed ok, but I was horrified.

I've banned the television as punishment. But he doesn't seem to understand what he's done wrong. And I don't know if it's him truly being naughty, or if it's his autism. I don't know or have any other children to compare him to.

He looked like the rudest, nastiest little boy you'd ever hope not to meet when he did it, and I could see the woman thinking exactly that. But I know he's got no idea how to behave socially. No clue, unless it's something he's learned already, manually, if you see what I mean, by heart. Like saying sorry.

All the way down the road, I tried to explain what he'd done wrong, but he just doesn't understand the half of what I say to him. He knew he was in trouble, and so he kept saying and shouting sorry to/at me. But he clearly didn't know why he was sorry, it's just that he's learned when he's in trouble, he's expected to say it. No clue as to why, or what it means, even.

So was it bad behaviour to be punished, or is it partly the autism and not entirely his fault? I wish someone could tell me.

He keeps hitting himself to punish me for punishing him. I'm trying not to pay attention.

Serial Shagger

2006-01-05T09:10:00.000-08:00

Bag Puss has asked me not to cut him out of my life. But I don't see how I can stay friends with him.

When we split up, he said I was to use the following two weeks to think about things. Then he decided I should think about things for a couple of months, because two weeks wasn't long enough. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too. Which I do. He told me it wasn't over for us, as such, that he felt we could be together again in the future. I was just to think through what I really wanted first.

He's visited me here in Edinburgh (he's from a different city), and it's been the same as ever. Hugs, cuddles, kisses, etc. Like we were still together, only not. It was lovely, but so hard.

While I was still thinking about things, he's gone off with someone else.

Now, I know he had every right to do that. I'd dumped him, he was single. But, oh my god, how it hurts.

It's so quick, like I never mattered at all. Barely over a month later and he's with someone else. "It was a slap in the face, how quickly I was replaced," keeps going round my head.

He keeps saying I'll find a new man...as if he's refusing to understand why we split up. I've told him and told him how afraid of pregnancy I am...to the point where I can see myself alone for the rest of my life rather than be pregnant again. But still the comments about new men, new romance. For crying out loud, if I feel I can't be with the man I love, I'm hardly going to be chancing pregnancy with someone else, am I?

My Mum reckons he's a serial shagger, a typical man, she says.

Yes, I know I'm whinging, and it's very one-sided. Of course it is. But where better to spill ?

Like A Different Child

2006-01-04T09:03:00.000-08:00

The Boy's Speech and Language therapist just phoned to see what I'd decided with regards to where I want The Boy to go to school next summer.

I would like him to attend a language unit/autistic spectrum unit. They're attached to mainstream Primary schools, and the idea is - at his own pace - he'd be intergrated into the main school, with their help.

But places in them are like gold dust.

I'm applying for a place in the local Primary, too, in case he doesn't get into a unit. But he's so disruptive at times, I can't see how he'll cope with mainstream right now.

The nursery says he's not the least bit disruptive there. He doesn't scream endlessly. They say he does have a very short attention span, and definately needs a lot of help. They admit mainstream is more formal than nursery, and that will be a problem for him. But he doesn't behave there, the way he does here.

It's not that they don't believe me, they do. They know that a lot of children - special needs or not - behave like completely different individuals at home compared to how they are at school. When the child comes home, they relax and are no longer on their best behaviour. They're so familiar with the parent that they kind of take the piss.

But I just told the therapist exactly what he's like at home. Screaming about things being in the wrong place, or being the wrong size...she was so astonished, she asked if I could video him when he's like that.

As if. I don't have a camcorder, and it's not like he goes off on one, like an event, it's more of a constant stream of whining and screaming and shouting. I'm not imagining things, He really does scream all day long. Both Bag Puss and The Sod can back me up on this...

I'm not sure why they're so surprised. His old playgroup was at a Children and Family Centre, and they knew what it was like at home for us. It must be in his file, surely?

Off on a bit of a tangent, I've got to phone up and arrange appointments to go and see these language units. Then, I have to find them, work out how you get in (I've been to see one before, with our old key-worker from the C&F Centre. It's not easy if you don't know how), meet complete strangers and keep The Boy under control while I do it. All on my own.

I'm actually frightened. I can't bear going to new places on my own. It took me two years to work up the courage to go into a shop I'd never been in before. Before I had The Boy I used to travel up and down the country on my own, no bother. After I had him, I was afraid to answer the door and the phone. Now, I'm not afraid of the phone anymore, but a brand new place somewhere I don't know makes me panic.

Our old key-worker knew it, and as it was a centre that supported the family as well, she came with us. But now he's at a normal nursery that has help for him, but not his family. I'm on my own. I have to confess, there were open days for these units last December, and I didn't go, because I couldn't face it on my own. I made the excuse that The Boy had conjunctivitis. Which he did, but I still should have gone.

I am pathetic.

I will go to these units, and figure out which would be the best for The Boy, and apply for a place there. Even if I have to dose up on Kalms and Rescue Remedy to do it. It is essential I do it, and once it's done, that'll be an achivement.

Yes.

Hades

2006-01-04T03:50:00.000-08:00

Because I was so tired yesterday, today I slept in until 11:30am. Which means I'll be up until god knows when tonight again. It also left The Boy sitting bored in his room. Maybe that's not such a bad thing. It's nice to walk in and see him entertaining himself with his toys as opposed to watching dvd's.

Why is it that your hair looks so damn sexy when you get out of bed? All straight, tousled looking, falling in your eyes... But once you've washed it, dried it and styled it, it looks like crap?

My ex, the one I broke up with because I'm afraid of getting pregnant, confessed he'd perhaps pulled the girl I thought he might pull at new year. We shall call him Bag Puss, to differentiate between him and The Sod. I knew it was coming, Bag Puss and the girl. I've no right to be bothered. I dumped him. But I still feel sick. We're trying to stay friends...but now I'm thinking of him with her all the time.

Ach, I'll get over it, I suppose. :(

It's good I might have been replaced so quickly. That way, I can feel worse, and he can get laid.

Seems like justice.

Told You

2006-01-03T13:19:00.000-08:00

The milk is still sitting there, untouched.

Insomnia

2006-01-03T02:37:00.000-08:00

I couldn't get to sleep until 7am last night. Or this morning, rather. Already, The Boy is shouting at me. I'm to fetch him a cup of milk which he won't drink. He'll leave it sitting there all morning, and then shout and/or scream because it's old milk.

He's eating Whatsits. It's the end of the bloody world because one of them is 'hard'.

Apparently, they're all hard now. I know what I'd like to do with them.

You'll have to excuse me. I'm very tired.

Got Your Number

2006-01-02T12:58:00.000-08:00

Oh, fantastic! :)

Did a "What kind of blogger are you" quiz.

See sidebar for results. lol.

Think Happy, Peaceful Thoughts

2006-01-02T12:42:00.000-08:00

Much better.

Bang Head Off Brick Wall

2006-01-02T11:50:00.000-08:00

Aaarrrrggggghhhhh!!!!!!! The Boy is screaming because he wants his torch switched off before he goes to sleep! Fine! OK! Switch it off then! Do not scream about it, simply switch it off! Where is the leftover Malibu?

9 Days To Go

2006-01-02T08:42:00.000-08:00

I am a bad, bad woman, counting the days till nursery reopens. Longing to get away from my son for a few hours.

Mind you, I think he's as sick of me as I am of him.

It's not like the weather's nice and we could go to the beach.

Today it took him three hours to eat 10 spoonfuls of blended up beans for lunch. It makes me want to drink myself stupid. I may well do that once he's gone to bed.

My Mum wants to know why I watch so many DVD's like Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Smallville, Tru Calling etc (it's Alias at the minute). 'They're for teenagers.' she says.

I suppose they are, but I really enjoy them, and I don't think being 20-something is too old for them...I watch them because they allow me to escape. I can live in Buffyverse for a while, instead of here.

It sure as hell beats thinking about the long day of screaming that will follow tomorrow, hot on the heels of today's long day of screaming.

Today, he screamed solidly for 15 minutes, because I had provided him with the wrong size of spoon. Sometimes he wants to use a desert spoon, like the grown-ups, and sometimes he feels that a grown-up spoon is too big for his mouth (he has problems with things going in his mouth), and wants to use a tea spoon. It's a matter of guess work, and today I got it wrong.

Still, we've come a long way. I used to have to feed him milk off a teaspoon, because he couldn't stand to have a cup at his lips. It took forever. And everything had to be blended up, once. Now it's just the occasional thing, like beans. The downside to that is I can no longer sneekily blend up vegetables for him. His diet is more limited now. It worries me a lot.

He's screaming now because there's apparently a hair on his pudding. I have to go.

Ye Gods

2006-01-01T03:52:00.000-08:00

Urgh. I hate myself when I'm drunk. I get obnoxious. It's awful.

"Blah, blah, blah," - ok, shut up now - "blah, blah," - whenever you're ready. Now would be good - "blah, the only good thing pregnancy ever did to my body was leave me with bigger tits, blah," - how thoughtful of you to say so in front of your friend who is pregnant for the first time - "blah, blah, blah," - that bloke over there has never met you before. He thinks you're a tosser - "blah, men taste salty, women taste fishy, blah, blah," - you are a tosser - "I love an argument, blah, blah, blah, I used to be skinny, blah, blah," - what's wrong with you? - "blah, blah..."

Why can't I just sit in the corner being quiet like I used to?

The Sod's woman wasn't in evidence when I got back, at least.

New Year's Eve Party

2005-12-31T03:47:00.000-08:00

I'm going out tonight! My friends who live just a few doors up the road from me are having a party. And so my ex, The Boy's father, will be babysitting.

This puts me in a wee predicament.

Just so you know the story, he left us when The Boy was not quite two years old for this woman. He'd been cheating on me for six months, maybe longer. I'd trapped him into family responsibilties, poor love, and he needed to live the bachelor life again. After all, as he said, he's a very talented musician, his life was meant to be so much more than that of a father/partner/9 to 5 drone.

Hah.

Anyway, this woman he buggered off with is an actress. And a nutcase. She has bipolar disorder. That's what you're supposed to call manic depression these days, isn't it? She beats him up. She broke his nose, his wrist and a rib.

Well, they split up (hurrah!) and he started seeing someone else - who I actually liked - and all went calm, apart from the odd message to me from her, passed on through friends. Mostly how she wanted to see me to apologise, that she could understand why I might hate her. I don't hate her, I just want nothing to do with her.

But now she's back.

The Boy's father (who I shall name The Sod, because he'll probably get mentioned in this blog a lot) told his mother that he'd been round at this woman's home recently, and she'd threatened to jump out her bedroom window. The Sod hauled her back in, and she and her friend who happened to be there, turned on him and beat him up.

A friend who knows them all says this woman has been drinking like a fish and taking all of her month's supply of medication in one week, and now she's been cut off.

Now, this all hearsay, I know, but it does worry me.

Everywhere I go, people keep asking me if The Sod and this woman are back together. How would I know? I'm the last person he'd tell. She's an off-limits subject matter between us.

But what if they are? What if (still with me? Getting to the point now!) he brings her round tonight? He brought the last girlfriend round a few times, and that was fine with me because she was never anything but nice to me and The Boy. But I really won't be happy if he brings round this woman. Aside from the fact I don't want the woman he left me for in my home, what if she's as unstable as she sounds? What if she hurts The Sod in front of The Boy? Or worse, what if she hurts my son?

Now - thinking calm thoughts - it's unlikely he'll bring her. Surely he has more sense than that? Okay, he has very little tact or thought for my feelings, but surely even he can see I would be unhappy with it?

I tried to bring the subject up a few days ago, but he got all defensive. We really don't talk about her.

He has said he's looking forward to hiding away from the New Year's madness in my flat for the evening. He's maybe bringing his guitar. He's looking forward to spending the evening with The Boy. All of this suggests he'll be alone.

Oh, I hope so.

Portobello Beach

2005-12-30T11:29:00.000-08:00

I'm longing to get back there. But it's too bloody cold. I've had about enough of winter.

I Must Be Imagining Things

2005-12-30T05:03:00.000-08:00

I may be losing my mind. Twice, now, I've made plans with a friend, written it on my calender, and had her not show up, claiming we never made any definate arrangements.

Then I had some money to put into my ex's bank account, and he told me to put it in on the 28th. That's fine, I thought, that's the day I get a bit of money anyway, so it works out nicely.

But on the 26th, he reminds me I'm to put money in on the 27th, as we arranged. We did not. It was definately the 28th, because that is the day I get the money, after all. He tells me that I'll have to pay his bank charges, then, because that will leave him overdrawn. Great.

I'm begining to wonder if it's me that's getting everything wrong.

The Boy had breakfast this morning, and as usual he had custard, and then a little yogurt pudding thing. I go off to run myself a bath and he wanders through and tells me he hasn't had his pudding yet. Now, I'm sure he did...I even remember him showing me his clean spoon for the pudding (he can't use the same spoon because he doesn't like different foods to touch each other).

But maybe I imagined it. And I can't let the poor kid go without, just because I can't trust myself to remember anything. He's probably chancing his luck, but I can't be sure. Oh god. I'm only in my mid-twenties. I can't go doo-lalley yet.

Agnostic Witch

2005-12-30T02:18:00.000-08:00

I've been having debates about Wicca/Paganism and witchcraft with various folk on-line, often Christians, but occasionally Wiccans and other Pagans too.

Just for the record, I'm agnostic, and practice witchcraft.

I get a bit tired of being called Wiccan. Wicca is a mystery religion that you must be initiated into. Sure, it's been diluted and shaped into something that the British Traditionalist Wiccans don't even recognise, the 'do it yourself' eclectic variety, and arguably that's a form of Wicca too - but that's not me either.

I don't know if any kind of deity exists. It/She/He might, I suppose. But I don't know, and I don't believe it's possible to find out.

In my humble opinion, all God/dess's are man made. A personification of the 'spirit' of the universe in an attempt to understand it.

So, I'm not Wiccan. You could call me a Wicca-based Pagan. Having said that, I am guilty of just calling myself Wiccan in certain situations for simplicity's sake. There are plenty out there who believe Wiccan witches are fine, but non-Wiccan witches are satanic - which I am most certainly not. It takes so long to explain it, though, and usually it's Christian's who want the explanation, yet aren't really listening.

Neds

2005-12-29T08:06:00.000-08:00

Me and The Boy have just come back from the play park. It was absolutely deserted and coated with frost and ice, like a winter wonderland. Apart from three Neds, standing at the gate.

Well, I did the usual - head down, don't make eye contact, look respectful, keep out of their way, etc - and we got past them without any trouble. Until one of them decided to throw a chunck of ice at my son. It missed, but that's beside the point. What's wrong with these people? Why is causing pain and starting trouble a sport to them? Who throws ice at innocent five year olds?

Arseholes, so they are.

The Housing Transfer

2005-12-28T11:25:00.000-08:00

All of Edinburgh's council tenants were asked to vote. Did we want to transfer all our homes to a housing association management, or not?

Armfulls of glossy patronising literature came through the door:

"If you vote 'yes', we'll knock down the worst buildings and replace them with these here Wimpy-style show homes, update all the other homes, and all your wildest dreams will come true."

"If you vote 'no' the rent will shoot up."

And one leaflet came through the door from a group who were against the transfer.

"Glasgow. Ahem."

Glasgow voted yes, and now families are being kicked out their homes at an alarming rate if they get a bit behind on their rent.

So I voted against the transfer. As did the majority. Our homes still belong to the council.

Hmmm.

Civil Partnerships

2005-12-28T11:08:00.000-08:00

It's something, isn't it?

Around Edinburgh

2005-12-28T10:45:00.000-08:00

I'm one of these sad souls who's grateful for the beauty around her.

These are some of my favourite shots of the countryside around Edinburgh.

Calton Hill

2005-12-28T10:38:00.000-08:00

I'm going to have to go on a wee photography trip soon. Calton Hill has many personalities. This is only two of them.

The first picture is of The Folly. Apparently Edinburgh's shame, but I like it.

The photo beneath is of the annual Beltane celebrations.

Some Places I'd Love To Go (and won't)

2005-12-28T10:27:00.000-08:00

I used to dream about these places. I had pictures of them plastered all over my various bedroom walls. At least two of my ex's have promised me they'll take me to them one day. Hah.

Some Places I'd Love To Go (and might actually get there)

2005-12-28T10:14:00.000-08:00

One day, when The Boy is all grown up, I'd love to take off in a camper van with a friend or - if I'm lucky - my partner; and travel around Britain, maybe Ireland too.

Huff

2005-12-28T08:17:00.000-08:00

I've spent all day looking forward to one of my friends coming round for a drink tonight. I've made sure there's wine, and stuff to nibble.

And I've come home to discover a message on the answer phone: "hi, it's me, just phoning to say, I hope you both had a happy Xmas and that kind of thing. I'm working today, so I might manage to pop in at the weekend, I'll try my best, 'cause I've got presents for you both. Bye."

Ok, she can't help having to work, but she could have apologised. Or am I just being whiney?

Me and the wine are on our own, then.

Lucy Lawless

2005-12-27T12:49:00.000-08:00

There will be the occasional post purely in tribute to the very beautiful Lucy Lawless.

The Boy

2005-12-27T11:34:00.000-08:00

My son (who, despite the misery of child birth, I do love very much) is autistic. He was diagnosed when he was two years old. He's five now.

He's 'high functioning' which basically means he has various subtle problems which are difficult to explain, and half the time, no-one believes me.

It might be Asperger's Syndrome, it might not. The professionals will decide when he's older.

It'll be bedtime quite soon.

After I've helped him wash his face and hands, and brush his teeth, I'll change his nappy. Then I'll make sure all the drawers in his bedroom are shut tightly. If they're slightly out of place, he screams.

Each and every toy he owns goes in a particular box or basket. And that box or basket goes in a particular place in the room, in a particular position. It's my job to make sure it's all exactly right, or he'll panic.

That done, I'll make sure all the toys that go on the bed with him are on the bed. I'll make sure the curtains are open by exactly a foot, no more, so he can see the sky. I'll read him the same story he has every night. I'll give him a big cuddle and switch on the two night lights, and leave the room.

A couple of minutes later, the screaming will begin again. If I've been thorough, then nothing's out of place and he'll accuse me of having not given him a goodnight cuddle. Which I did.

At some point during the night, he'll scream until I come through. At the moment, as it's winter and quite cold, it's usually because he's kicked his covers off. It's not that he can't pull them back up, he knows how. It's just that it doesn't occur to him that he can do that. His brain's wired up a different way. He has to be told to pull them up.

Although last week he woke me up screaming because he'd realised his shoes were not on the chest of drawers as they should be. They were on the floor next to it. It didn't occur to him to move them himself.

He screams all day long. I wake up to him screaming. When I ask what's wrong, he says "Nothing."

The other day he cried for ten minutes because one of his crisps was smaller than the other ones.

He screams to communicate displeasure. He screams to communicate pleasure. He screams to entertain himself. He screams when he needs help. He hits himself, accuses someone - who's often not even in the room - of hurting him, and screams.

Only this year has he learned to tolerate solid food. Until recently, he ate custard, spagetti rings, cream crackers and beans. Now he won't even eat that.

The educational psychologist thinks he'll be fine in a mainstream primary school without much help. Mind you, this from the woman who asked me if she could stick her head round the door of his nursery classroom, because it's "...always nice to put a face to a name, isn't it?"

On A More Cheerful Note

2005-12-27T10:38:00.000-08:00

My old street. Stabbings, gunshots, drug raids, arson attacks, burglary, even a corpse turning up nearby. We moved out of there just over a year ago. So that's a nice anniversary, unlike the other one.

Child Birth

2005-12-27T09:45:00.000-08:00

The books tell you you'll experience a great rush of love and form an instant bond with the child that will never be broken.
The maternal types tell you it was painful, yes, but so worthwhile.

It isn't.
Worthwhile, that is.

I went into labour at 11 'o' clock at night, just as I'd drifted off to sleep. I spent two hours vomiting and shitting uncontrollably. When that eased enough for me to get in a taxi, I went up to the hospital and was put in a room where I vomitted some more. Then the nurse stuck a metal contraption up inside me that hurt as much as the contractions did.

I was moved to another room where the midwives stood in the corner and chatted about Coronation Street while I screamed. I distinctly remember one of them yelling at me to shut up because I was giving her a headache.

Eventually I got an epidural which hurt like a bastard but was very much worth it. But I couldn't feel the contractions and wasn't able to push, so they let it wear off. I felt every second of that horrific, alien type creature tearing my bloody vagina in two as it pushed it's way out of me.

The midwife asked my partner to watch the head emerging, just to add to my humiliation.

Then they plonked the little bastard on my chest, slimey and writhing about, jabbed me with a needle and hauled out the after birth, at which my partner screamed, "Arghh! It looks like an alien!"

They tried to force me to breastfeed. When I couldn't, they enlisted my partner to force me to do it, all the while trying to stich up my ruined body without anesthetic.

They left me alone in the room with it for a while, so we could 'bond'. If there had been a bucket of water nearby, I would have drowned it.

After that, they asked me to manouvre myself from the bed to the trolley, so they could take me to a ward. I couldn't lean on my hand because it still had a line in it, and it hurt. They shouted at me for that.

On the ward, everybody was given food for their tea except me, because I hadn't been there when they came round to ask who wanted what. I hadn't eaten in two days. They offered my partner tea and toast, but not me. I ate a box of After Eights that my Mum brought me.

That was exactly five years ago today. I still have flashbacks and nightmares about it. I can't stand being near newborns or heavily pregnant women. A labour scene coming on the television without warning makes me hysterical. I can't bear loud noises. I self harm. I ended my last relationship with a wonderful man who I love very much because I'm too frightened to have sex and risk pregnancy. He said he wasn't in it for the sex (!) and understood, and would wait, but even the possibility of pregnancy was too much.