Breast Feeding

I think I must be kind of lucky.  Well, actually I am also sort of unlucky I guess.  With the whole breast feeding thing that is.  I am lucky in that I was completely unexposed to all the anti-breastfeeding stuff out there.  I can only assume it’s not actually as prevalent as some people would imply?  Ok, so I never actually breastfed outside of the hospital, so I didn’t get any looks or comments.  I never came across anything in any pregnancy/parenting magazines.  In fact, what I was exposed to was totally pro-breastfeeding.  I did come across a lot of anti-formula feeding information though, and when I found myself unable to breastfeed (though not for want of trying) I felt incredibly guilty.  I also felt incredibly judged when getting the bottle out in public.
Now, I have no problem with people going on about the benefits of breastfeeding.  It is after all the best possible thing to do.  I’d have done it if I could have, and I really did try.  My own body was against me there though.  And I even tried the milking machines.  I just couldn’t get anything out of there.  I had no let down reflex, or whatever it is.  It’s been so long now I can’t really remember.  Anyway I’m writing this now because I have recently read loads of comments laying into formula feeding, and those who choose that method.  I wish these super mums could maybe be a bit more sensitive.  Not everyone who formula feeds chose that method initially.  Ok, yeah, some may not have wanted to even attempt to breastfeed (and if I’m being totally honest, I can’t understand why someone wouldn’t give it a try), but lots of us have tried, and due to biological, and possibly even psychological reasons,have not been able to.  The last thing we need is people laying into us, telling us we have failed our children or that we’re bad mums.  Yes breast is best and all that.  You’d have to be an idiot not to know that.  But please be a little sensitive hey?  Not all of us are as perfect as you are right?  So go and be perfect somewhere else.  Or at the very least accept that some of us are far from perfect.

A Brief Respite

Well, The Child is back at school so I am enjoying an empty house once more.  It’s so peaceful.  I can get a cup of tea and drink it with no interruptions.  I’ve managed a whole chapter of my book.  In one go.  Without losing my place.  It’s heaven.  Or would be if I weren’t now bored.  Just one week playing slave to The Child and I’m feeling a bit lost.  I can do what I want.  I have total freedom.  It feels so alien.  But it is a brief respite.  The summer holidays are almost upon us.  I can barely survive a week alone with The Child.  How will I survive six weeks?  I managed it last year, but she was younger then, less demanding possibly.  Then again perhaps she was more demanding then.  I don’t remember.  I guess I’ve just blocked out the memories.  Repression perhaps.

So, this morning I’ve had three giant cups of black coffee.  I’ve had my breakfast.  I’ve done a job search, which proved fruitless.  I’m not qualified to be a chef.  And that was the only job that’s come up since Saturday, when I last did a job search.  So, I’ll check again tomorrow then.  Anyhow, I’m wondering what else I can cram in, so as to avoid doing the essay.  I know I need to do the essay really.  I shouldn’t leave this one until the last minute.  The last time I did that, and the time before, I regretted it immensely.  But I’m the queen of procrastination.  Perhaps I’ll do it after lunch.  It is only 1,250 words after all.  Oh, and the 750 words essay about my personal development since starting the course.  I’m more sure of what I want I think now actually, but given I’m kind of stuck knowing what I want is actually not a good thing.  In my opinion anyway.  Yeah, I have something to reach for, but knowing I’ll probably get there is making me wonder what the point is.  Yes, I need to look at my CBT notes again.  There is a point.  I’m just being miserable again.  Joy.

So, I have a brief respite from the school holidays.  I am dreading them.  I need something to make me feel better.  Perhaps I could construct an angry letter to a certain person.  If I write it on paper, then I won’t accidentally send it.  I can get all my thoughts and feelings down, and then rip it to shreds.  That might feel good.  And then I might get my guitar out.  And then I might think about starting this essay.  Sounds like a plan.  Wow, I actually have a plan.  Woohoo.

Now I’m Not Totally Serious, But …

I’ve been thinking that fictional men are the way to go.  They don’t break your heart, and can be there whenever you want them.  They exist in your head alone, so can do whatever you want them to.  They’ll never leave you for someone else.  They’ll never suddenly inform you that their wife is pregnant.  Unless you want them to of course, but I doubt anyone would want that to be honest.

Anyhow, I am aware that that sounds a bit insane, hence me not being totally serious.  That and the fact that if I do ever meet anyone I feel is worth my time the whole fictional man thing will go out the window.  But anyway, for the time being I’m going to enjoy my books.  I’m going to try and forget about the real men in my life who have done nothing at all to restore any faith I may have had in members of the opposite sex.  I’m sick of being humiliated and taken for a fool.  I am still completely mortified that I managed to get into The Situation at all. 

So yeah, fictional men.  Is it really wrong to fall for someone who exists only on paper and in your head?  Really?  And I far from ashamed to admit my ‘thing’ for Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones.  Intelligence, it’s certainly something I like in a man.  Height is less of an issue for me.

Self Discipline

I don’t have much in the way of self discipline.  I think this is my problem.  It’s why I’m so rubbish at teaching myself things.  Like guitar.  I need more self discipline if I’m ever going to get anywhere near adequate on the guitar.  Anyway, where I could really use some self discipline at the moment is with this essay I have to write for next Wednesday.  Actually I kind of have two essays.  Anyway, I will start them this weekend.  I will.  And who knows, I might even finish them this weekend too.  With a little bit of self discipline anyway.  Hmm.  But seriously, I need to read the CBT notes again so I can reteach myself all the things I’ve learned so I can try and make myself somewhat saneish (as it’s not a real word I’ve no idea whether to leave the ‘e’ in or not) again.  I’m dwelling on things again, and that’s completely pointless.  Now I remember reading some pretty nifty quotes during the past few weeks.  There were of course the pithy slogans as well.  And that’s not CBT, that’s solution focused therapy.  The pithy slogans bit that is.  I’m pretty sure the quotes I liked were relating to the cognitive behavioural stuff.

So, now I could ask myself the miracle question.  If all my problems went away while I was sleeping tonight, how would I know when I wake up in the morning?  Hmm, I’ve no idea.  I might know what my problems are, but I’m not sure that I know what the ultimate solution is.  See, I totally overthink stuff.  The miracle question doesn’t work for me.  One of my problems is unemployment, but the solution to that won’t make me happy.  I don’t want to be a waitress.  Yes it’ll be a job, and I have applied for some waitressing jobs, but I wouldn’t be happy.  I suppose my miracle question answer would be that I have a job as a counsellor.  Realistically though this will probably never happen.  So what’s the point considering it right now?  Grrr.  And now I have no idea where I was going with this post.  It doesn’t have much to do with self discipline I guess.  Or maybe that’s it, I need to teach myself not to overthink things, and then maybe the miracle question will work, and I won’t be too cynical and stuff.  Hmm.  I really wish I could understand my mind more, how I come to the various conclusions I do about things.  And seriously, I come to many conclusions about the same thing.  Monday’s Facebook message for example.  Why was it sent to me?  I’ve considered many different possibilities.  Of course I could ask the sender, but that’s not going to happen.  I’ve taken on board enough of the things we’ve covered in counselling to know that would be a bad idea.  Don't chase things that you can’t achieve.  You’ll just feel a failure, or worse.

So I guess I have some self discipline after all.  I just need more.  Or is that greedy?  Can one have too much self discipline?  Now there’s a question.

Ok, so here’s my answer to the miracle question.  How will I know if all my problems are solved?  Well, I’d be sleeping well for one thing.  I’d wake up actually feeling relaxed and rested.  That would be nice.  No stress.  No worries.  I’d feel happy.  Like this:

Instead of like this:

Babies

The Child is obsessed with babies.  I’d put it down to just a phase or something.  At the worst I assumed she’s one of these girls who go mushy over anything cute (something I too can be guilty of on occasion).  But now I’m not so sure.  We had the most surreal argument yesterday.  Basically she ended up in a huge (and I mean huge!) sulk over the fact that I’m not going to have a baby.  And this was without explaining that I don’t ever want anymore (probably).  Now she wanted to know why I’m not having a baby.  I wasn’t entirely sure what to say.  I’m single and you need a bloke?  Not strictly true if you really want a baby, what with the sperm bank and stuff.  But I really didn’t want to go into the whole hideousness of pregnancy and childbirth.  And yes I’m aware that I’m unlikely to get pre-eclampsia as bad the second time round if I get it again at all, but the one and only time was enough to put me off.  I was not one of those glowing women.  I wanted to be, but let’s face it, it’s just not for me.  And I’m not really a baby person either.  I’m still trying to find my maternal side too.  I love The Child to bits.  She’s wonderful, perfect, gorgeous, and a royal pain in the backside.  How do I explain that as much as I love her, the thought of another is like a waking nightmare?  I can’t do that.  So I just put up with the sulk.  But today’s she going on about babies again.  I’m worried we’re straying into dangerous territory here.  Too many of her friends have baby brothers or sisters.  The big question’s lurking, I can sense it.  I just hope we manage to avoid it for now.  Joy.

Dongles

Being a bit on the penniless side, I have one of these top up dongle things for my internet as I then don’t have to fork out for a phone line.  I have a mobile which I hardly use for anything other than texting.  I don’t need a house phone.  Notice that I’m also hopeless with the appropriate terminology for these things.  I remain a hopeless technophobe.  Maybe that’s another reason I’m not such a fan of kindles and stuff.  Anyway, back to dongles.  It was working well for me until a bit over a month ago, give or take the odd bad phase.  Anyhow, for the past month or so I have been more or less unable to get a decent connection.  I can waste great amounts of time just trying to log out of things.  I somehow always manage to log in, it’s once I’ve logged into things, such as Facebook, that the trouble starts.  Maybe I should stick to pages without pictures and that I don’t have to log into either.  My dongle doesn’t like pictures either.  Pictures and logging out of things.  I don’t like dongles very much at the moment.  Of course it could just be the recent random weather playing hell with the whole signal thing, but I don’t know.  I still don’t like dongles very much at the moment.  To be fair though, I don’t like much at the moment.  I still like guitars though.  Perhaps I should rename this post guitars and just write endlessly about my love for guitars.  All guitars.  And there are many types of guitar.  I love guitars.  And now I’m happy again.  Until I try to publish my post that is and my internet decides to give up on me again.  Hmm.

The beautiful Fender Stratocaster.  Then again I am a bit biased for I own a Strat myself.

More Joy

I made the mistake of going into town today, and boy was it fun.  All I needed was detangling conditioner for The Child.  And weed killer.  Unfortunately I was so pissed off with the insane people I forgot the weed killer.  Now I need to go back to town.  Joy.

The Child is one of those people who gets weepy when someone dies in a film.  I officially feel awful.  If I’d known she’d get so upset I’d never have put on Charlotte’s Web.  She was really enjoying it though until the spider died.  Oh dear.  It wouldn’t have been so bad, but she really burst into tears.  I’ve never seen her so upset over something like that.  In fact I’ve never seen her so upset over anything other than her hurting herself, being ill, or being told off.  We had a big cuddle though and that helped a bit.  I’ll be more careful in future, though I was never really so affected by stuff like that as a kid.  I certainly wasn’t prepared for the crying.  A tear or two perhaps, but the full on bawling her eyes out?  No.  Bad mum.  Oops.  At least she’s over it for now.

And why is it when you think you’re all sorted and over something, it resurfaces and manages to make you feel like crap all over again?  Grrrr.  I hate Facebook once more.  Joy. 

So there we are, the bank holiday continued to be full of joy.  Roll on summer.  Yay.  Or not.

But I have my continued obsession with Richard Kruspe to keep me happy, so all is not lost.  Music and a good book is all I need.  And perhaps a good cup of tea.

Picture found at the Rosenrot fan forum.

Bank Holiday. Joy

I’m not a fan of bank holidays.  In fact I’m not a fan of holidays full stop.  Unless it’s a holiday for me.  But personally I find holidays a pain.  My town fills with brainless imbeciles who turn the most basic of food shops into a nightmarish hell.  The Child doesn’t have to go to school which means I have to find ways to keep her entertained while trying to keep the house from sinking into new levels of hellholeness.  It’s not fun.  It’s stressful, and to be blunt, it all but turns me into an axe-wielding psychopath.  But maybe I’m over-reacting.

At least when the long weekend’s over all the flags and bunting will disappear.  It’s not that I’m completely unpatriotic, it’s just that I don’t want it rammed down my throat.  I’m also not exactly proud to be British.  When something gives me a reason to be proud to be British I’m sure I will be, but when I know what we Brits are famed for in certain foreign circles, I just cringe a bit.  Hmm.  What have we done as a nation that’s pretty brilliant lately?  I’m not aware of it whatever it is.  But I am pretty ignorant I have to confess.  I can’t bear to pay too much attention to the news these days.  It just depresses me.  But the knowledge that soon trips to Sainsbury’s with The Child shall not be accompanied by a running dialogue of how many flags or lines of bunting we’ve passed cheers me up immensely.  Oh how I can’t wait for it to be over.  I’ll only have the Olympics to grumble about then.  That and the general crapness that is British summer.  In a seaside town.  Joy.