I Hope You Dance

Ok, I realise that the above may reveal a little more about me than I might wish. I would therefore like to justify my choice by saying two things. I am not a fan of country music,(I find it one of the more self indulgent types of music and therefore a little hard to stomach, though I do love the titles of the songs ('If You Leave Can I Come To?' and 'You Ran Away With My Best Friend And I Sure Do Miss Him') and I admit to having a soft spot for 'Sweet Home Alabama'). Secondly, it was a little text reminder from a good friend in the UK that reminded me of this particular song and why I had apparently played it "over and over" during a very difficult time in my life. The friend in question is about to get married and I can't be there as I'm due the same day as her wedding! She intends to walk down the aisle to this song and I think, given everything she's been through to get to this place in her life, it is wonderfully appropriate. So there you go. Justification over.

Ahem.

In other news, the bump has dropped. I have another eight weeks to go and apparently the bump dropping has given people carte blanche to comment constantly about how low it is. I literally couldn't get away from one woman who insisted on commenting (with horror) on how low my belly is and how high she carried her son until the week of the birth...and then I got a play by play of how big he was and how small her pelvis was and how it ended in a caesarian...yadda yadda yadda. Why do people do that? I mean, I get that they think that it's forming a connection and that maybe it's interesting to share birth horror stories with pregnant women (thanks) but many of these comments are tainted with a kind of obnoxious attention. As if by comparing themselves to me and coming off more favourably, it makes them better people, their choices better or their experiences better. It pisses me off a bit to be honest. *sigh* I think that given how complicated life often is and how tiring being pregnant is, we should be left alone to enjoy (or not) our individual experiences of pregnancy without people feeling it's their solemn duty to point out anomalies, imperfections or share unbidden their most intimate birthing experiences with us. Is that too much to ask for?

On top of all of that I have been feeling a bit wibbly in general. This pregnancy has rushed by with unseemly haste and I am now standing on the threshold of the next birth/death gateway with my new bubby. I am aware that I have dropped early. I am also aware that I may not get to enjoy the fullness of the next eight weeks because it could happen at any time. And I. Am. Not. Ready. Not even close. I meant to do so many things differently this pregnancy. I did. I meant to meditate regularly and do pre-natal yoga. I haven't. I guess I'm learning to accept that this is just the way I am but it's not going to help me when D-Day arrives, is it? The pelvic instability thing has worsened and the back ache has deepened, which has meant that my mobility has been compromised and the nature of the instability means that the yoga poses that I am most drawn to, are the ones which would make the instability worse. *sigh 2* I feel trapped in a large body that is becoming less workable and comfortable by the day. Add to that the fear that I might go into labour early and have a premmie baby with all the intervention that will bring about, and you have one nervous mamma.

The baby's got hiccups. It's very cute.

Anyway, I don't want to rant on. I am not in a very calm or centred place right now. I am slightly unnerved by the swiftness with which everything is moving and how unprepared I am for everything that is to come, despite my best efforts. I'm about to start working with my doula this week and that gives me some hope that we can get to a place of, if not peace, then relative calm before the upcoming birth. I am also due to do my Calmbirthing classes this weekend, so at least there will be one new tool in my birthing repertoire this time.

I sound panicked don't I.

I just want this birth to be a good experience for me and the baby and I know how badly things can go wrong. I'm trying to focus on the things that will help me to bring about a better birth but I guess it's natural for the fears to come up first, to have some attention given to them, before they pass away. At least that is what I am hoping.

More later.

The Girl in The Bubble

So, I've been having a few problems with our neighbours. They like loud music played late at night. I don't. We have an arrangement where I ring and tell them to turn it down and they do. And they are usually decent about it. The trouble is, I am beginning to get very anxious about it. My highly stressed nature is anticipating the problems to come. I am already fed up of having to phone them every weekend to tell them what they must surely realise - that they are playing their music too loud. Again.

So, I went to see my psychologist yesterday and I mentioned the problem I was having with my neighbours and how anxious it was making me. We then proceeded to have what I felt was a very combative session. She basically said that I was not dealing with the problem and that I was being 'too reasonable'. I disagreed. I AM dealing with the problem, every week actually, and as I said on many occasions during our session, I had every intention of trying to find a better solution with our neighbours, the next time I spoke with them. I was merely expressing my fears that it could all end badly. I found the session quite stressful. Rather than helping, I felt she added to my already stressful situation.

The problem is that I CAN see things from other people's point of view. From a very basic perspective, it is MY problem because I'm the one that doesn't like the loud music. Sure, they should be aware enough to moderate their behaviour and take other people's needs into account - but they don't. I can't change them. I can only change myself. My psychologist thought it was silly of me to think about having triple glazing put in when I shouldn't have to. Well yes, I SHOULDN'T have to but, as I can't really see this situation getting better over time, I need to think about ways to keep my sanity and not have to move house. This is a solution. It may not be a great one given the cost and inconvenience and it doesn't replace my need to talk to the neighbours honestly about my concerns but what it all the talking doesn't produce a change? What then? That was when she suggested that I was trying to 'control' my environment. (Well, duh!) And that I was living in a bubble.



Personally, I think that whatever gets you through the night (without being adrenalised and upset) is a good solution. Bubble is fine with me if it means I get to live my life undisturbed. I will still continue to dialogue with our neighbours but I have to do what keeps me stable and able to sleep at night. Am I wrong?

I spent all day yesterday looking into soundproof windows and triple glazing and acoustic technicians to help me figure out the best solution for our problem. It could be costly and yes, I do resent having to think about these issues at all. Before they moved in, I didn't have to. All was well. However, I am dealing with the 'what is' of the situation. Or trying to.

This got me questioning the nature of reality. Mine to be specific. Warning: This may rub people up the wrong way.

I have always believed that we have a reasonable amount of control over our own reality in a 'create your own reality' type of way. I have seen it work time and time again in my own life (for good and bad) and I have clearly seen the way it works in other people's lives. I do not, though, believe in Destiny necessarily. I think that we all have free will and that we can choose to work with or against or in spite of, the prevailing winds and/or the gentle ministrations of Spirit. Now, I am a bit of a pessimist by nature. Actually, this is not true. It is not by nature. It is by experience. Anxiety, fear and constant dread were the prevelant emotions for the early part of my life. This has definitely affected the way that I view the world when the shit hits the proverbial fan. I get into disasterising, even though I know it won't help and isn't healthy. Yes. It's annoying. I know. It's also frustrating because it's like I can't let go even though I know I need to. So, the anxiety levels rise and the body gets flooded with adrenaline and I go over and over and over the problem until I want to scream. That is what I mean when I say that I am pessimistic. I know that I can't accurately predict the outcome of this current difficulty. But I can look at it logically and say if it was going to improve, it probably would have with the first of the numerous phonecalls I have made.

I have run the entire gammut of emotions really. I have felt punished by adding yet another noisy neighbour to the two we already enjoy. I have felt totally depressed by the thought that my every weekend will be peppered with stress and anxiety as I anticipate and then deal with the inevitable noise pollution. I have felt unbelievably wronged and angry. I am concerned that my whole philosophy of life is completely wrong and that has caused a somewhat existential crisis. Well, perhaps that's a touch over dramatic, but that's what it feels like. Like I am in crisis. I feel like I should be able to look for the lesson and ask myself what I am supposed to learn by this. Why have I attracted this situation into my life? And I am asking that daily, believe me. Maybe it IS all about sticking up for myself and my needs. Maybe it is all about learning to ask for what I want and being prepared to be unpopular in order to get my needs met. I know other people who would just call the cops. However, I think that in order to get a good result for everybody involved, their has to be dialogue. There has to be at least an attempt to resolve the situation to everyone's satisfaction. I don't want anyone to lose. Least of all me.

Then there is the whole 'what if I'm totally wrong about life, the Universe and everything?' dilemma. What if I AM wrong about the way I view life. What if I am just shit out of luck. If it's just bad luck that I am living in a noisy beautiful area, then what do I do now? My belief's help me to deal with life, the shit and the good stuff, they give me an understanding of things, they help me to make sense of it all. That's normal for a spiritual belief system isn't it? So, if I AM right, I do create my reality, then why did I create this? Why couldn't I learn this particular lesson in some other, less stressful way? Like I said. Existential crisis. Oh deep and unadulterated joy.

So, as Michael directed, we are dealing with it nicely first off. We have met them, we have introduced ourselves and our daughter to them, to let them see the 'real' family that they are impacting. I have explained our needs and asked them to keep the noise down after midnight. I have since phoned on three occasions to ask them to turn it down and they have been sweet about it but it doesn't stop them from banging up the volume every weekend. So, now I have to think about how to approach it when it inevitably happens again this weekend. I have to be much more direct and explain about the impact it is having upon me and upon us as a family. I have to do all of this and it causes me great anxiety. I hate confrontation. I still do it but I hate it. It stresses me out and taxes my already tired adrenals. I don't want any of it and yes, I'm bitter about it right now. Tired and bitter and not very hopeful.



Anyway, I just needed to get that off my chest. And if anyone has any suggestions on how to tackle this problem constructively, i.e. not just reporting them to the police (that may come later!), then I'd love to hear them.

I'll post Day Seven of my 30 Days of Happiness in another post. There's not much happy in this one!

On Visits & Strange Offers

*Photo from here.

While my daughter enjoys a little one-on-one time with Charlie & Lola, I thought I'd pop in here to have a quick catch-up. I know, it's a bit naughty, but she's happy and I'm getting some 'me' time. There was precious little of that last night as our little visitor gave me a mere 20 minutes of sleep before joining us in bed and wrestling her way all over me for the next 4 hours before I got up. Tired doesn't even begin to cover it.

Anyway, the real reason why I'm here, is to share with you the delightful news that the PND Fairy is visiting again. Well apparently, she never actually left. This revelation is however not as dark and woeful as it may sound. My visit to the naturopath yesterday was surprisingly helpful despite the rather depressing prognosis and I have been given at least a little useful information on ridding myself of my most unwelcome visitor. It's sort of ironic that I went along for some advice on dealing with some long standing health issues and to talk about preparing the way for another baby and ended up being diagnosed as still suffering from Post Natal Depression caused by the first little ankle-biters arrival. I wasn't diagnosed with PND until Lily was 16-months old and a lovely friend suggested, quite gently and with much love, that my struggles with motherhood might be due to me suffering from post-natal depression and recommended that I read 'The Masks of Motherhood' by Sarah Maushart. I did and I found it very helpful but I honestly believed that the worst was behind me and that I was out of the thick of it. How did I not pick up that something this obvious was wrong? And not just me, the maternal health nurses, the doctors, the people who were supposedly supporting me after childbirth? I guess there are such subtle degrees of it, it can be tricky to detect. I mean, I filled out all the forms that are supposed to detect PND sufferers. Are you crying uncontrollably - no; Are you overwhelmed and unable to cope - no; Are you having thoughts of harm to yourself or your child - definitely no. So why would I think that I had PND? I was coping. Yes, I was emotional and slightly overwhelmed, but so are a lot of new mothers and I had so much more support than many others. Of course, I also set the bar so high for my mothering that I could not help but fall short in my efforts, so that didn't help.

* My idea of the PND Fairy. Image from here.

So fast forward to now. I'm sitting in my naturopath's office talking about health issues and pregnancy and getting a bit emotional, as I do when someone gives me the opportunity to talk about stuff that I normally keep so well compressed in my psyche, when buggar me if she doesn't drop the PND bombshell on me again. She states, with a great deal of surety, that I have, in fact, been continuing to live with and trying to raise a child through, some more undiagnosed PND. Great. Just. Great.

Actually, it was rather great. You see, the diagnosis of PND means that I am not the entirely crap mother that I often feel myself to be. No. I am actually suffering from an acute form of anxiety which presents as hypervigilance and an over-reactive response to any form of stress. As she said, it should really be called Post Natal Anxiety because that's what it really is. And let me tell you, life with a toddler can be very stressful. Hence, the Shouty Banshee is in fact simply a mother coping with PND. I feel sort of vindicated. A bit. I mean as I've said before, it doesn't give me carte blanche to be a crap mother but it does at least enable me to see how some of the difficulties of the past two and half years could be attributed to this undiagnosed and therefore undealt with condition. I have been trudging under the weight of so much weariness, mental sluggishness and a real lack of enthusiasm for life and mothering. And it has been harder than I ever could have imagined despite the end result being so beautiful and radiant a spirit as my Beanie.

And so, I am now taking copious amounts of St John's Wort to help get my emotions under control, am on a new low GI diet to help keep my blood sugar stable and thus handle the endocrine system imbalance I suffer from and am under strict instruction to do 45 minutes of exercise daily in order to lose a few kilos. My naturopath also told me that if I didn't feel better in two weeks, to call her as she would be frankly shocked if I didn't feel much improved in that time. So - the baby-making is on hold temporarily - we don't want to go into all the hormonal upheaval of another pregnancy when I'm still hormonally upheaved from the last one! - and we are working towards a calmer, more emotionally stable Kitty. Bring it on, I say!

I also enjoyed a much more enjoyable visit yesterday and a welcome squidgy shoulder to cry on. The delicious sol-y-luna came a'callin' and we hatched up numerous plans for our newly formed (with gorgeous DocWitchy) Cackle Club. Much mischief and red wine guzzling will no doubt ensue. Lovely sol-y - what a great couple of days we had. We laughed our asses off during a spot of fat burning belly dancing with bollywood moves thrown in for good measure. We talked about things past, present and future and we shared a good few glasses of red. We even went outside and serenaded the beautiful Lady Luna, who was in full and beautious flight across the blackberry blue and star-studded night sky. It was dee-lightful. And the best part is, I get to do it all over again on Saturday with the added bonus of Doc. Yes, the first official meeting of the Cackle Club is happening this Saturday and, hold on to your hats, it includes a Pyjama Party. Whoo hooo! I cannot wait for a whole day and night with my girls. We are planning on visiting the wonderful Stitches & Craft Show at the Melbourne Show Grounds, during the day but apparently, Sol-y and Doc have some surprises up their sleeves for lil old me. Hopefully it doesn't involve me, naked in a classroom, without my homework. I'm sure it will be 'moste excellent' as Doc would say.

Talking of strange offers - I have, oddly enough, been approached by The State Library of Victoria because they are 'committed to preserving electronic publications of lasting cultural value' and they felt that my blog would offer a valuable addition to their collection. In particular they are interested in my blogs regarding the recent bush fires. I am frankly a bit stunned to have been chosen by anybody as a good example of anything (unless the 'Whinge and Waffle' Society is offering me their much coveted 'Whingeffler of the Year' Award) but I'm also obviously quite flatered that they think my blog worthy of preserving. I'm going to say yes, obviously, because its nice to think that something I have written may be of value to someone else, but also because its simply so lovely to be asked. Hopefully, this doesn't turn out to be some giant mistake/misunderstanding/punk'd experience. But because I'm kinda paranoid, I will just say here, in BIG LETTERS and for the absolute record that THE CONTENT OF THIS BLOG remains MY copywrited property and may not be used for defending the planet from Evil (or anything) without my WRITTEN CONSENT. Yes, my ego really is that fragile people.


Picture from here.

So - PND Fairy - Begone Foul Hag. Begone I say!

Until next time, may your caravan be peaceful and (evil) fairy free.

In and Out of My Mind

*see end of post
Today is the day I do my radio show on 3MDR 97.1FM. I am on air once a fortnight on Wednesdays between 3pm and 5pm - around abuot the time all the mummies are picking up their little kidlets. Today's show is on Oriah Mountain Dreamer who I am enormous fan of and who I have mentioned on more than one occasion in this blog. Listening to her on audio, as I have been doing recently, is like taking a long walk through a silent, rain soaked forest. She has this quality of stillness about her that I just love. I can feel my muscles relax and my spirit sit up and take notice. This is an amazing feat in itself, especially as I am so often 'Hi, I'm currently out of my mind, please leave a message or call back later.' I have often said that if all the tension were taken out of my body the rest of me would simply dissolve into a pool of slightly sticky regret. I am, by my own admission, a little neurotic, a little over-anxious and more than a little stressed. But that is, at least for now, just how I am. I'm learning to be ok with it. I am also fervently hoping that in my spiritual unfolding there will be a way for me to reach back into the woman I really am at the core of me. The one that is unperturbed by external circumstances, the one that loves deeply, rests well and embraces the 'now' fearlessly. Oriah, who seems to have lived in my skin, is my way of reminding myself that I have choices, that I can choose to simply let go and 'be' without worrying if the dinner will get made or if my daughter will wake up for the fortieth time in the night and need me. I can, at least for a little while, be ok if she does. This is why I like her so much.

My chronic tiredness continues unabated and has been joined by the evil little fuckers that are insomnia and restless leg syndrome. Neither is a welcome bedfellow. Insomnia snores and farts under the covers while I gasp for a wiff of the cool still air of dreaming and Restless Leg Syndrome makes my calves disco dance all night long. They both have me tossing and turning like a demented swing dancer. I HATE not being able to sleep. It adds insult to over-tired injury and makes me crankier than a whore past her sell-by date. And yet, I still have to get up, take care of my child, cook nourishing food and make time to write and run my business, when what I would actually like to do is fall into a sleep to rival Sleeping Beauty's and kick the living shit out of anyone who dares to try and wake me. I am NOT a morning person. In fact, I very rarely feel like a person at all. Not sleeping really is a torture and its impact on mind and body are very much underestimated in my humble opinion. I am a good deal less fun to be around when I have slept little and I am a lot more likely to forget to do important things like locking the door (or even shutting the door on one particular day), putting on my seatbelt, checking the straps on the car seat once I have my beanie strapped in, making sure I take my keys with me. That kind of thing. Beanie also gets the rough end of a very sharp tongue. Not good.

On the good news front I have emptied out our extremely messy store room and created in its place a lovely jewel of a meditation room. I hope to drag my sorry carcass from the warm cocoon of bed at the ungodly hour of 5am in order to get some 'omming' in and some writing done. It looks amazing. Filled with the smoke of copal and frankincense which always make me feel like a priestess in some ancient temple. I have lovely sari covered indian cushions to sit on and a soft blanky to wrap around me for those cold mornings. The altar is an oasis of peace which I can choose to stare at or ignore depending on my mood. (well, actually, I know exactly what sort of mood I'll be in but I will persevere nonetheless).

Post Script:
I'm back and I really must stop drinking coffee, especially instant coffee (which I never normally drink). I haven't stopped twitching yet. I drove over to the station looking like this... and totally rocked out to the Black Eyed Peas. Let me state for the record that one should NEVER listen to the Black Eyed Peas if one wants to arrive anywhere even remotely sane and definitely never on a weird coffee high that has already lasted for more than 5 hours! Nescafe is evil and must be punished. Still, fun drive though. Felt like a total badass and everyone needs to feel the funk occasionally - even if they are nearing 40 and wearing tracksuit pants and ugg boots.

The show went well I think. It's difficult for me to really be objective about such things as I'm a horrible perfectionist and never feel that I've done a great job of anything. However, it seemed to go ok and I am still a newbie at this broadcasting malarky and one must take that into consideration (something that I rarely do!). I actually really resonated with Oriah's suggestion that one can sacrifice something like perfectionism in favour of wholeness and would like to try that for a while and see if it helps.

More damper. Yes. Now please.

Anyway, I'm anxious to go 'Slow Down and Let Go' in my meditation room. Ha! Anxious to meditate. There's an oxymoron if ever there was one. So I'll leave you with a thought.

Beauty is the doorway to silence.

Like I said, please leave a message or call back later...

* the image at the top of the post is of two hand carved bangles by Jessica Cushman and can be purchased if you've a spare $130 knocking around. I wish!