Thursday, 22 June 2017

The One With The Nuclear Fallout (39 months + 11 days)

It is Thursday.

Yesterday, I sobbed, I screamed, I spent £60 on a yellow jacket that I have coveted for several weeks, booked a 10k in Durham for next month, Piglet got a new Paw Patrol toy, bag and hat (this is what happens when I get a credit card increase and "bad" news on the same day), and we went to bed at 7pm. 

And when I woke up, it was 1:30am. And it was Thursday. 

We're giving potty training another whirl at the moment. On Tuesday, I promised Piglet that she could have anything she wanted if she did all her wee wees on the toilet and she asked for a pink bike. Since then, she has only had two accidents at nursery, so it seems to be working. Because she is fine. 

She saw me crying after the hospital yesterday, wiped away my tears, gave me a cuddle and asked if I was OK. Because she is fine.

She gave me a big kiss and a hug when I picked her up last night and told me she loved me. Because she is fine. 

She jumped in bed next to me and insisted that she was squeezed as tight as possible (this is the only way she will fall asleep) and....that can be autistic. But you know what? That's fine. 

Piglet isn't autistic. Piglet is Piglet. Piglet may end up being on the autistic spectrum but it will just be part of who she is. And after the stories I have read this morning, that's fine. It is fine. Autism isn't understood by society. I don't fully understand autism. But you know what? I'm probably on the spectrum. You're probably on the spectrum. We're all on the bloody spectrum. And....it's not Piglet's problem. Nothing has changed, or will change for her. It is just being made apparent to me. So I need to get over myself. 

Nursery said Piglet was off yesterday afternoon; that she was in a really odd mood. And honestly? I'm not surprised. Imagine sitting in a room for an hour with two people talking about you in front of your face- how would you feel? She's sharp as a whistle when it comes to understanding what you're saying, and that can be easy to forget. 

The health visitor isn't trying to set me up, She's trying to help. The pediatrician isn't telling me there's something wrong, she's telling me that there's something different. 

For anyone else in this situation- don't just read literature. Because it uses language like "disorder" and "delay" and other negative words that... aren't necessarily true. Read people's stories. Read their experiences. And you'll have a totally different perspective on the situation. 

I've been fighting any and all medical diagnoses around Piglet. I'm silly, really. I think in my mind, by resisting everything, I was fighting for her; I was defending her corner. And I thought that by going down this path, it would mean her life would be more difficult. But...it doesn't change anything. It's just a word.

The real fight is against what most people believe autism is. Myself included.

So. It's Thursday. What should we all do today? We should buy beautiful yellow jackets. Because life is short. We should educate ourselves. Because ignorance is dangerous. I myself am going to start looking at the best methods for teaching children on the autistic spectrum. I'm also going to be serving pints with a smile to alcoholics at 11am. The most important thing we should do today though? We should hug our babies as tight as we can. Our happy, funny, loving, unique babies. Mine's perfect, and I'm sure yours is too.

p.s. Baby cat fell out of the bathroom window whilst we were at hospital yesterday so I returned home to a very soggy wet cat stood by the back door feeling sorry for himself. This was the highlight of Woeful Wednesday, and has more than made up for the fact that he continually poos on the floor and gave Adelaide a hysterical pregnancy.  


  

Wednesday, 21 June 2017

The One With The A-Bomb (39 months + 10 days)

Today is Wednesday. Many Wednesdays have happened since I last wrote anything. Many, many, many Wednesdays. If I'm being honest, whilst Prozac helped my mood (or at least I thought it did) it definitely stifled my creativity.

In all those Wednesdays that have passed, we've had exams (good), birthday parties (also good), army applications (disappointing), new medical diagnoses (not so good) and trips to A and E (terrifying). I am no longer on Prozac since I needed a medication review before the doctor would prescribe anymore and I ran out in the interim period. Hence, I decided there was no point coming off them to go back on them again. My head feels clearer. I feel. Isn't that funny? I wouldn't have said that Prozac had numbed my emotions at all but retrospectively, I can tell you that it did. Sure, I can feel sad now; but I can also feel happy. And excited. And anxious. And determined. And frustrated. And elated. And irritated. And motivated. And you know what? I prefer it this way. Life is all about feeling. Why the fuck would you want to be numb all the time?

I've also been diagnosed with anaemia and a severe vitamin D deficiency which is why I felt like sleeping for 20000 hours per day, so I now have to take approximately 613 pills per day. Piglet knows about these pills- "Mummy's medicine". Piglet has been told not take these pills. Piglet ignored this instruction and took two of my iron tablets. Which resulted in a speedy trip to A + E (prior to this, my parent's dog had also tried to eat my iron tablets- honestly, they taste disgusting, I have no idea why everyone is so keen to ingest them). Thankfully, both Piglet, and the dog are absolutely fine. 

Scratch that last sentence. 

Piglet had her pediatrician appointment today. The one that the Health Visitor had referred her for because she thought she was autistic. Honestly went into that meeting expecting the Pediatrician to say that Health Visitor was a crazy bitch and Piglet is fine. And...that's not what happened. 

Went through everything, she watched Piglet play; I even lied on some of the questions. Not intentionally. But I lied. She asked if Piglet liked to collect things. And I said no. But she does. She collects all her dummies. She likes to have as many dummies as possible at all times. I'm not talking a spare or two, I mean seven, eight, nine dummies. That is an autistic trait.

The fact that her left foot points inwards when she walks. That is an autistic trait. 

The pediatrician said that she doesn't have enough to make a diagnosis but she can't discharge her because she can't say she's "fine". Can't say she "OK". Can't say she's "normal". She's going to send a specialist into nursery to watch her play and then we will review everything. If the specialist has enough evidence at that point she will be given a formal diagnosis of autism. If not, a second specialist will view her, and assess her for autism. At no point was their any mention of her being classed as "normal" by any of these people. From the conversation that ensued it seemed to be a case of the "professionals" have decided that she is autistic and now they are simply gathering the evidence to support their case. 

I've avoided reading anything on autism prior to this point. Which is weird, because usually I like to know everything about something if I am to encounter it. And I think the reason I've been avoiding it is because I've been petrified that I will be reading about Piglet. I've been scared that every single sentence that I see will be her. 

Her speech is definitely behind. I am not arguing that point anymore at all. It's just that I don't realise it until I see her with other three year olds. She will speak in sentences but half the time I have no idea what she is trying to say. It doesn't help the situation that whenever we go to hospital she refuses to talk point blank. 

So. Piglet is autistic. Not formally. Not yet. But whether I believe it, and whether she actually is no longer matters it seems. They've decided that she fits the criteria. And she probably does, and I'm just going to have to come to terms with that. 

1% of people in the UK are diagnosed as autistic. In 2014, there were 695,233 live births in Britain; roughly 6,952 children born that year will therefore go on to receive an autism diagnosis. Why does my Piglet have to be one of them? It's not fair. It's not fucking fair.

I keep thinking it's my fault. Maybe it's because of the glass that fell on her head when she was really young; maybe it's because of when she fell off the bed; maybe it's because I was at work all the fucking time forever for that year of hell. Maybe I'm just a really, really shit mum. 

I'll never be able to think how she thinks. I'll never see the world how she does. And it's so, so, so, SO shit. And unfair. 

But. There will be many more Wednesdays after this one. And since this diagnosis now seems inevitable, I think it may be time to read. My baby is going to be autistic. And I want to know exactly what that means for her. 

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

The One With Lessons For Piglet No. 348 (37 months + 1 day)

Piglet,

Further to my 4am ramblings, here are some 3am ones. These are some pearls of wisdom that those close to me have chose to impart at various points in my life; they are wise, wise people..

From your Great Gran:

Never close any doors- always leave all options open. 


From your Mimsy:

Always have self-respect. Know your worth.


From your Gramps:

(This was something that I imagine was a throw-away comment but had a profound effect on me when it was said)

If you don't like something, change it. 


Do I have any other things I want to say?

Surround yourself with people who want you to succeed. Dream big- SO BIG. Always be positive (prozac helps). Remember that brunch is the best meal ever. Feelings are important. Always make sure your voice is heard; your opinion counts. Appreciate the art of the afternoon tea. Don't get clingy cats that wake you up at 1:30am by purring in your face. No matter what you do, I've probably done worse. You're amazing; never let anybody make you think otherwise. 

Hopefully this will be the last of philosophical mummy for a while...  None of these life lessons really have any bearing as to what is currently going on in life (apart from the one re: cats). It's 11 days until London marathon so maybe I'm just paranoid I'm going to die during it hence the onslaught of random crap I want to pass on to you. 

(I'm not going to die- I am an excellent average runner. Maybe I'm just surprised I've made it to 27?)

Lots of love,

3am Philosophical mummy 

xxxxxxxx

Tuesday, 11 April 2017

The One With Lessons For Piglet No. 347: Be Selfish (37 months)

Dear Piglet,

There will be many moments in your life when will you wonder if you made the right decision. Mummy can say this; Mummy is the love child of gin and regret and therefore spends 87% of her life wondering if she made the right decision. The short answer to your contemplation? You won't. The likelihood is that with every single choice you make you will never know if it was the right one. However, whenever you doubt yourself, I want you to ask the following three questions:

1) Am I happy content?

One of the most important things I was taught, Piglet, came from my therapist: never aim for happiness, as it is a transient phase. The very nature of life is that it has peaks and troughs; nobody can be at the top of the game constantly. Instead, aim to be content. It is a far safer and more reasonable expectation. Are you content? If the answer is yes, then the likelihood is, you chose "correctly". If the answer is no then:

2) Did it make sense?

You are three currently. At the moment your decision making is generally based on, "What do I want right now at this moment in time...? PAW PATROL PAW PATROL PAW PATROL CHOCOLATE" However (I hope) there will come a point where your ability to make choices becomes slightly more complex. Some people have gut instincts. Some people "follow their heart". Me? I'm a logic person. I don't follow my heart, I follow my head. I believe in lists of pros and cons; I believe in taking emotion out of the situation. Is my way of decision making correct? Who knows. It could be considered cold. It could be considered detached. However... that's me. Your own style of selection will be moulded by life, Piglet. For mummy therefore, the answer to this question will always be "yes". Not all decisions I have made have been "right", but all have definitely to some extent made sense to me (apart from when under the influence of tequila but we don't mention these ok?) Of course if your own answer to this question is no, then the final self-analysis I would like you to perform is this one:

3) Is my memory accurate?

No. It's not. Not unless you're looking at things immediately after the fact. As a general rule we romanticise things Piglet. The longer it is since an event, the more we will view it in a favourable light. We only remember the good things- and for good reason; imagine how rubbish you would feel if you held on to all the negative things from the past?! 

I would like for you to be many things, Piglet, and I hope I can help instill them in you. I want you to be kind. I want you to be compassionate. I want you to be inquisitive. I want you to be content. But most of all-especially when it comes to decision-making- I want you to be selfish. You do you. Because life can be a bit shitty at times, and you need to make sure you have your own back. 

Lots of love,

From a 4am Philosophical Mummy (who is always right)

xxxxx

Tuesday, 21 March 2017

The One With The Three Little Pigs (36 months + 10 days)

This is the tale of The Three Little Pigs.

Once upon a time there was a mother pig who had three little pigs (she was stressed off her tits). The three little pigs ate ALL her food, and kept the heating on all the time, and grew so big that the mother pig told them it was time for them to go and build their own homes to live in.

"Little pigs! When I was your age, I was married with three baby pigs of my own, and all you seem to do is lie in your dressing gowns all day demanding cups of tea! I can't take this any longer- I am trying to hold down three jobs just to afford the heating bill on this sty. It is time for you to go and build your own homes; but beware of the Big Bad Wolf!"

The three little pigs set off (Mother pig put her slippers on and poured herself a large glass of wine): "The Big Bad Wolf will NEVER catch us",

Soon, they met a man who was nothing but bones. "Please will you teach me your ways?" said the first little pig, "I want to build my home out of self-inflicted starvation, and an unattainable body image".

"Of course", said the skeletal figure, and he taught the little pig all the benefits of eating disorders and how his home was going to be the most perfect home in all the world. The little pig was very pleased with his home; his home showed the world how strong and in control he was; nothing would ever overwhelm him, especially not some silly wolf.

The second and third little pigs disagreed with his method; they continued their journey onward, leaving the first little pig in his home of bones. A short while into their excursion, they met another man who had a head the size of Jupiter. "WOW!" said the second little pig, "please help me! I want my home to be full of brains as big as yours! With all the knowledge in the world, there is NO WAY a Big Bad Wolf would be able to come after me!"

The second pig built his home of brains. He was very impressed with himself; "This is the best home there ever was", he told the third little pig, "there is no way you could have a better home than this one". The third little pig wasn't so sure- "I think I'm going to carry on. I've got a feeling that there's a stronger material just a little bit further on"- and he continued on his path.

The next day, the Big Bad Wolf was walking along the road, when he arrived at the home made of bones. The first little pig saw him coming and ran inside, locking the door behind him.

The wolf knocked on the door and said, "Little pig, little pig, let me come in"
"No, no, no", said the first little pig, "not by the hair of my chinny chin chin".
"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in", said the wolf.

Unsurprisingly, bones are not the best material to build your home out of. Mental illness fuelled by self-loathing does not a strong foundation make. The first pigs house fell down and he suffered a horrible death at the hands of the Big Bad Wolf.

The Big Bad Wolf walked further along the road, until he arrived at the home made of brains. The second little pig saw him coming and ran inside, locking the door behind him.

The wolf knocked on the door and said, "Little pig, little pig, let me come in"
"No, no, no", said the first little pig, "not by the hair of my chinny chin chin".
"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in", said the wolf.

Now, you may think that brains would be a MUCH wiser choice to build your home out of. And in some respects you would be right; they're certainly a substantial improvement on bones at any rate. However, brains have one weakness: failure. And so, at the first sign of failure, the home of brains fell to the floor, and this time the second little pig was eaten by the Big Bad Wolf.

Whilst his siblings were suffering unspeakable suffering and anguish at the hands of the Big Bad Wolf, the third little pig was busy building his home. The third little pig had thought long and hard about the strongest thing in the world that he could use, and came to the conclusion that he wanted his home to be made of love.

The wolf reached the home made of love and, in the same manner as the first two little pigs, the third little pig ran inside, locking the door behind him.

The wolf knocked on the door and said, "Little pig, little pig, let me come in"
"No, no, no", said the first little pig, "not by the hair of my chinny chin chin".
"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in", said the wolf.

The Big Bad Wolf huffed, and puffed but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't blow down the house of love. He tried numerous tricks to attempt to get the third little pig to come out, but- in summary- they all failed and the scenario culminated with the Big Bad Wolf falling down the chimney and being boiled alive (children's stories are far too gruesome man. What even is this?)

Three years and ten days ago I met my own little piglet and we started laying the foundations for our home built out of love. We've just put the roof on it. I'm sure there will be extensions to add and adjustments to be made, but irregardless of that, at the moment, I'm pretty sure that we can deal with any Big Bad Wolf that tries to knock on our door.

Happy Birthday Piglet x


Thursday, 2 March 2017

The One With World Book Day (35 months + 14 days)

LOOK AT ALL THIS BLOGGING! SO MANY POSTS IN SO LITTLE TIME!

I am going to revisit some of last posts themes later on (mainly regarding me getting my shit together and no longer behaving in a headless chicken-type manner) but first, I need to address the most important issue of the day:

It is World Book Day today, I remember as a child, I used to love World Book Day. You used to be able to get a book for a £1, didn't you? Or was it for free with a voucher? Do they still do this? World Book Day was AWESOME. As a mother? Bloody hell, World Book Day, you cause me far too much stress. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND AN ORIGINAL COSTUME FOR MY CHILD THAT IS ACTUALLY A BOOK CHARACTER? (Do not get me started on costumes that are not book characters- it is World BOOK Day people, BOOK!!!!!!)

Piglet's first World Book Day, I was amazing. I am being modest here. Piglet was Peter rabbit:


See those ears? I made those ears. I was freakin' amazing World Book Day Number 1. 

World Book Day Number 2, Piglet was Winnie the Pooh (shoutout to NNB in the background here):



Less amazing- I have not constructed any of this costume myself- but still acceptable, I would consider this an adequate amount of effort for World Book Day (also 600000 hour working week = 0 crochet time).

This year, up until 2pm yesterday, I had two ideas for Piglet's World Book Day outfit:

1) She can wear normal clothes and go as the Thought Police from 1984

2) I can dye her hair orange, paint cheekbones on her face and send her in with a calpol syringe and she is Mark Renton from Trainspotting.

Somehow I didn't think either would really be appropriate. Anyway, last minute shopping ensued, aaaaaaand: we have Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf (gold is red ok?)


It took me an hour is convince her to wear her cape. She also let the rabbit out of the cage in this time, so I spent half my morning chasing a rabbit back into aforementioned cape, and chasing toddler into aforementioned cage. Or vice versa. Toddlers don't live in cages and rabbits don't wear capes.

And now, I am going to rewind, and revisit. I had mentioned (screamed) about Piglet being referred to a pediatrician by the Health Visitor and about that stupid questionnaire that we had to fill in that was clearly looking at autism. You may have been able to tell from my slightly agitated tone (slightly....hahahahahahah) that I was marginally (totally) freaked.

NNB took Piglet to nursery the following morning, and nursery enquired how health visitor appointment had gone. NNB told them it was "very positive and everything was fine".

EXCUSE ME NNB WERE WE AT THE SAME MEETING?!

When I picked her up that night I spoke to nursery about it all to see what the hell was going on. Nursery have said that Piglet shows a lot of autistic traits. Copying is an autistic trait. I didn't know this. Speech issues are an autistic trait. This one I did know. Problems with sleep are often exhibited in children with autism. However, they also said that there are a lot of symptoms of autism that she doesn't show, which I would very strongly agree with. She is social, she is affectionate, she reacts to others when they are upset. They said if she was autistic, it would be incredibly mild. And-after a lot of pushing, if I'm being honest- they said that they wouldn't be concerned; that it is probably just to rule it out.

So I am more chill. If Health Visitor thinks she is autistic, that is a lot less stressful that if nursery think she is autistic. Nursery see her 50 hours a week; Health Visitor sees her once every 6 months/year. (NNB says I am like a child telling on nursery to health visitor and then telling on health visitor to nursery and I told him to shut up because I am allowed to stress about my child and he is a poo for being so chill about the whole matter. Even though it is better that he is chill because if he wasn't chill then I would be even worse than I already am).

We had the dentist earlier this week, which Piglet was really good for. I was not. I hate the dentist. I have a new lady dentist who clearly doesn't have any children and I hate her already and I think she hates me too so.... I need three fillings. And to brush Piglet's teeth. Apparently her brushing them herself does not constitute teeth brushing... Why do I not know this... So now we play the game of Mummy brushes Piglet's teeth and Piglet brushes Mummy's teeth. Dentist shouted at me because Piglet still has a dummy when she goes to sleep. I swore about dentist under my breath. Dentist then told me about needing three fillings. I swore some more about evil sadistic bitch dentist under my breath.

Hate dentist.

In other news, Piglet and I are potentially having a new roommate come to live with us. In the Summer. My sister (Auntie M) is starting college, and would like a fresh start. I haven't spoken to her yet as to whether or not she is comfortable about me discussing the reasons for this, so I can't elaborate any more about circumstances as of yet. So, this means that in spite of me being so "rah rah rah I will never more I am not a gypsy I will have ROOTS", I might be looking at moving. Since we only have two bedrooms. Which may be a struggle with three of us. NNB has suggested something which is an interesting idea, although I'm not sure if it's going to come to fruition or not. NNB is looking at buying a house. Some of the properties he has looked at consist of a two bed and a three bed flat. I told NNB that this was a stupid idea as he could not be my landlord. NNB said he was not suggesting this, he is suggesting I live in 3 bed flat rent-free.

I think NNB is smoking crack. Or he just really likes me. Or more likely he really likes Piglet.

Oh, I've also got a potential PhD offer lined up for after I finish masters. One of my lecturers emailed me and we're going to discuss options next week. VERY EXCITED.

So basically... HERE IS MY POSITIVE POST THAT I PROMISED. Slightly late, but still here! (Pls judge me when I am happy and nice not when I am crazy and stressed- I am a good person, promise)

BIG LOVE and shiny happy vibes

Bones + Piglet

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thursday, 23 February 2017

The One That I Promised Would Be Positive (35 months + 12 days)

I promised you a positive post. Here goes:

I got 94% and 99% in my Semester 1 exams.

And thus concludes the positive post, because guess what? IT'S ALL DOWNHILL AND DEPRESSING FROM HERE! (Seriously, stop reading unless you want to be a soggy weeping mess like me- to anyone who just saw a sobbing girl running at 93mph in puregym- hi! That's me! I'm here! 

Yesterday Piglet had her eye appointment. Which was fine, and I could discuss in detail but I don't want to because the only thing that I've come away from that with is the information that she has a "pale optic nerve". Now. Apparently this could be totally fine. It could just be a paler shade within the normal spectrum. Alternatively it could mean her optic nerve is dying and she's going blind. Either way, they're just going to review it in six months because HEY HO THAT'S WHAT EVERYONE SAYS TO US. IT'S NOT LIKE I'M GOING TO BE STRESSING ABOUT IT OR ANYTHING RIGHT? BECAUSE THAT'S DEFINITELY SOMETHING THAT CAN JUST BE TREATED LIKE A RASH ISN'T IT?

The health visitor came round today because nursery had called her about Piglet's speech. She said we could either go to a speech therapist or we could get her referred to a pediatrician just to "rule anything out" because she has got "quite a few things going on and they could be connected". I said sure, yeah we can do that- not really getting it at first to be honest. It was only halfway through the 19 page question form that I realised what was being hinted at:

Does she have a lot of repetitive behaviours?

Does she react to you when you're upset?

Does she get extremely upset if her routine is disrupted?

They think she's autistic. Nursery think my baby is autistic. But she can't be autistic, right? She has friends. She interacts with them. She interacts with me!

The health visitor kept saying things that I imagine were supposed to be positive but instead just sounded patronising and limiting: "if there is something wrong, the pediatrician can put things in place to help her reach her full potential"; "she's made really good progress since I was last here"; "she's managing to cope very well".

What the fuck man.

I just can't right now. I don't even know what it would mean if she was autistic. Will she be ok? Will she be able to live a normal life? Will she be able to tell me she loves me? Will she ever talk properly? 

Again, the appointment with the pediatrician can take up to six months to come through.

Six. Fucking. Months. 

Fuck this shit man.This isn't right. 

Wednesday, 22 February 2017

The One With The Facial Swelling Where "I Bought A Book About That" (35 months + 10 days)

I'm going to kick this one off with a request: it's my birthday in six weeks- could somebody buy me some time, please? (Also a maltipoo- I really, really, really would like a maltipoo. Please. I cannot afford to buy a maltipoo myself. I cannot justify spending all that money on a dog. So please. Pretty please. Please. Please baby Jesus, please).

Fun fact number 1: Piglet goes to nursery. What? Oh, you know this already? Of course you do.

Fun fact number 2: I wrote a massive huge long blog about how much I loved Piglet's nursery and how it was perfect for us and not a Fascist Child Structuring Brainwashing Camp like the other nursery that we went to view. Yes, yes, you know this also...

Fun fact number 3: Piglet's nursery does "developmental reports". 

Developmental reports. For a two year old. DEVELOPMENTAL REPORTS. FOR. A. TWO YEAR OLD. 

I'm guessing you can already tell from my tone that I was not happy with Piglet's "developmental report". I'm guessing that you can already tell that I think- to put it politely- that it is all a pile of shit (sorry Nana- but it was).

I had a parents evening to discuss Piglet's developmental report. Although it was actually a parents morning because they wanted to "discuss everything in more detail but there was absolutely nothing to be concerned about". I took NNB with me (still playing couples at nursery. I am getting sick of pretend coupling at the moment. But I will discuss this more later else I risk getting side-tracked from Rant Numero Uno). Normal "parents evening" appointments were for 15 minutes. I spent 90 minutes sobbing in a toddlers cloakroom. Yes. 90 minutes. Whilst my child was- in a very, very nice way- pulled apart. Whilst- although my parenting was absolutely fine- my parenting was not fine. Whilst Piglet was totally, completely fine- but not fine. According to their things. Their stupid bullshit things.

 Let me enlighten you with several choice points.

The first one is obviously her speech. Her speech has improved in comparison to how it was. She can say more words than I can count, when she chooses to, and she will say short sentences ("Look mummy, moon"). I also know full well that she understands absolutely everything I say to her. Is her speech perfect? No. Do you have to decipher it at times? Yes. But- is she two? YES. Is she as fluent as some of the other children they have at nursery? No. But aren't we, as parents, constantly told that they develop at different rates and not to worry? YES. 

Nursery have said she needs speech therapy. I am not averse to speech therapy. However- as I pointed out to them- I have bought a book on speech therapy for toddlers, as I fail to see what a speech therapist could do that I couldn't. Also, being perfectly honest, I have an incredibly hectic schedule; it works far better for me if I am able to aid Piglet at home, at times when I know I am free as opposed to having to rearrange the 367 different areas of my life to revolve around hospital visits for speech therapy. Furthermore- who the hell says she even DOES need speech therapy? I was telling a girl at work about this, and she said that she didn't talk until she was 4 or 5. She says she was a really late talker. And she's fine. So....could it not just be that? The health visitor is coming round on Thursday to discuss it anyway. I really like my health visitor though. So I might just moan to her. And ask her what I can do. (My health visitor gets me- I really, really like her). 

They also put her comprehension as "emerging". As I've just said, she understands everything. Everything. Do you know what their justification for this label was? "Sometimes when we ask her to do things, she won't follow the instruction if she doesn't want to do it".

IS THAT NOT JUST BEING A PERSON?! THAT JUST MEANS SHE IS DEFYING YOU, IT DOESN'T MEAN SHE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE SAYING!!!!!!!!!!!

They said they didn't think she was ready for potty training because she doesn't understand. Do you know what she did that evening? She asked to put her pants on, and then she went and sat on the toilet and did a wee. And the day after, she did a poo on the toilet. SO SCREW YOU NURSERY. SCREW YOUR FACES. (We are taking a relaxed approach to potty training currently- if she wants to use the toilet that is cool; if she doesn't that is also cool. I'm letting her lead me. My parenting is FINE. Also, I bought a book on potty training- I also told nursery about this book aswell- and it says I can do it in a week. So. Basically, I'm just trying to work out the best week to do it).

Oh wait, get this one- they said she copies other children which is concerning. 

...I'm sorry, what?

Children....copy? 

Shit, really?!

Whatever man. Whatever. I'm fine about the whole thing. Totally fine. SO chill, (I am not chill at all, I even googled foetal alcohol syndrome in case the fact that I drank before I knew I was pregnant could have any effect on her speech. To summarise: no Bones, it can't. You are overreacting).

She loves nursery though. And it is a really nice nursery. It was just.... well, it's never nice to hear anyone say there are concerns about your child. She's the star of football though, so she can just be a footballer. Footballers don't need to speak. In fact, it's probably better if footballers don't speak, so that works perfectly.

In other news, this happened:

Can you see my big fat massive face? This is actually after I'd started antibiotics. I have a wisdom tooth coming through and it got infected. It was wonderful. Really, the most enjoyable experience of my life. Ever. (Dentist was v. attractive though, so that was a bonus. Or not, depending on which way you look at it...). I have been flying off my face on all the painkillers I can legally acquire. This has meant that I have been falling asleep every 5 minutes because I don't do so well on drugs. But it is all fine again now. I finished antibiotics yesterday, and my face is once again semi-symmetrical. 

Piglet and I had a lovely day together at the weekend exploring outside. Here are pictures, (seriously, I should do PR for Sunderland- look how pretty everything looks):






















(Please don't ask why she is carrying a pink umbrella around with her; she refused to leave the house without it. I don't know why she was so attached to it, I just went along with it). 

We went and saw the hospital people about her feet a couple of weeks ago. She had to have x-rays taken. Seriously traumatic. Nothing like having to pin your baby down whilst they're screaming to scar you for life. The consultant said her hips are fine, she's just got really flexible joints. He thinks her foot will correct itself as she gets older so he's just going to see her again in six months. 

I'm going to finish off with what will hopefully be my last moan for a very long time. NNB has got a new job at a school in North Shields which he will start in September. This is wonderful for NNB. Well done, big clap, you're great. However, I am not the only one who plays the "this is my partner" game. NNB told the current school that he works at that he was looking for a different job because "his partner" (this is supposed to be me in the fake world) is doing their masters at Newcastle so he wants to be based closer to there. NNB is now looking at moving. To North Shields. Or Gateshead. Or somewhere else that's nowhere near Piglet and I. 

1) I'm not your partner and it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever to tell your employer that I am. Telling nursery that you're my partner makes sense otherwise they're just going to be like who's this weird beardy man?

2) North Shields is not Newcastle. North Shields is not Sunderland. North Shields is nowhere near me in any fashion.

3) NNB dear, why do you look so shocked when I inform you that I'm not moving because I like where I live, and cannot afford to move whilst I am paying £3000+ a year for a masters?

4) NNB SWEETPEA, why do you look even MORE shocked when I tell you there is no way that I am moving Piglet's nursery because she's only just settling in there and I want her to have some level of consistency in life currently, as part of me is concerned that is what has delayed her speech? (more paranoia, I know, I know). 

5) NNB DARLING DON'T YOU THINK YOU SHOULD HAVE DISCUSSED THESE THINGS WITH ME PRIOR TO JUST GOING AND DOING THEM?

I am trying to be happy for NNB, but...I'm not doing too great at it. He was talking about doing that stupid NCS thing where he's away all Summer again and I'm like, I need to work? Can we not discuss this? Summer is my time to get money together so I don't have to kill myself during uni? I've even got work to give me a set shift pattern to limit the amount of time he has to watch Piglet. So he has her on Sundays. The rest of the time she is with me. And now he won't even be able to do that. I feel like I try to accommodate him, and it's all about him. I think he has been very selfish, and used ME as the excuse for being selfish when in actual fact it is not helpful to me at all. You're going to ask if I've tried to discuss this aren't you? I did. I told him he was selfish. He said he was going to pretend I hadn't said that, and then attempted to act as though everything was normal. I really can't be bothered to play fake couples anymore. Maybe I'm being selfish. Maybe I just don't care. 

Do you know what? 

I feel SO much better now. 

BIG LOVE GUYS XXXXXX (don't talk to boys, boys are crap, girls for life xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox) 

p.s. I promise to be less super moody bitch next time hopefully fingers crossed xxxxx

p.p.s. I have fallen in love with my chemotherapy lecturer so maybe I'll write an entire post about her- that one DEFINITELY has to be positive. 

p.p.p.s I COULD have ranted about the fact that Mr Dickhead is once again behind on his child maintenance payments but is pretending to them that he's paid but I'm not going to because I am so chill.

p.p.p.p.s The personification of chill

p.p.p.p.p.s Might start referring to myself at "The Chill" because that's how chill I am right now about all life. 

Chill. 

Monday, 6 February 2017

The One With Marathon Prep (34 months + 26 days)

I'm about to get controversial. I can feel that I'm about to get controversial. I'm in dire need of a huge ranty outburst about some social indignation that relates to me in some manner, but I'm just not quite at boiling point yet. Does that make sense? I can't even really summarise to you what I feel the need to get on my soap box about right now (although that may be due to the summary aspect as opposed to the topic itself), I just know that I need to get it all down on paper (ha, ha, ha, or screen?) asap or my brain is going to explode.

That being said, right now I had an 8 mile training run today (#Londonround2), have just been asleep for 3 hours, have a Chemo assignment I need to start, notes to make on several chapters for Organic Synthesis before Thursday, and potentially sleep before work tomorrow. So, it is likely that right now is not the best time to unleash the psychopath within...

It is unlikely that between uni and work I am going to have time to get my crazy on prior to Thursday/Friday. So, prepare yourselves for a marathon of a post from crazy, crazy, moany, ranty, early edition Bones before she tried to pretend she was a normal functioning member of society.

In the meantime: we have a Facebook page- give us a like?

BIG LOVE

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Wednesday, 18 January 2017

The One With AAAAALLLLLLLL The Pictures (34 months + 7 days)

Ok, so AS PROMISED here are two million and nine photos from when Piggly and I went exploring at the weekend. We had planned (by we, I obviously mean I) to look round more things but we'd been up v. v. v. early (2am....) revising/causing chaos (Piglet drew on my new copy of Animal Farm. I had bought it less than 24 hours before), and needed to be back in time for afternoon naps:

5am: REVISING LIKE BOSSES


9am: Cheeky breakfast (breakfast is the best meal of the day, eggs for days xxxxxxx also I have no idea what has happened to my face here, I swear I have a normal shaped head)


11am: Post-metro arrival at Cullercoats/ Aquarium visit (look how pretty it is I am 2000000% going to live here)


Turtle that was surprisingly speedy for the camera:


Silver fish which may or may not be dead:


Starfish ("Mummy, look! Star!")


Bloody petrifying flat fish:


Piglet examining the bloody petrifying flat fish:


Is this real or is this fake I have no idea:


Aquarium selfie (p.s. I'm not ill, I had just ran out of fake tan. FEAR NOT I HAVE ACQUIRED SOME MORE!):


Anemonemonomenamenes:


Gross worm fish:


More anemonemonomenamenes:


What I can only guess is a starfish being eaten by an anemonemonomenamene:


Otters ("Mummy, look! Cats!"):


Nemo:


Degus......(yes. In the aquarium. I don't know don't ask me why giant hamsters are in an aquarium)


"Awh, mummy, hamsters!"


V. dodgy pic of sealions (was so bloody cold outside absolutely no way we were staying out there longer than was necessary)


The most disgusting fish in the entire world:


Monkeys.... ("Awh, cats, mummy, cats!")


Tunnel of fish:


Wiggle:





*Insert attempt at afternoon nap here*

Make-up artist:


#Stunning


I took Wiggles to this aquarium because I was told a hilarious story by someone at work that involved a fish jumping out of one of the tanks and this was something I had to witness for myself. Unfortunately, (or actually maybe fortunately- I'm not too keen on fish to be honest) all fish remained in their tanks and did not make any attempts at escaping whilst we were there.

In other unrelated pictures, here are Walter and Adelaide shockingly getting along:


Piglet having the most amazing bed hair in the world:


I had my first exam yesterday and it was quite possibly the most lovely exam I ever had (except for that maths GCSE one where I got 100%- I don't think I'll ever top that one). Also got another assignment back and had got full marks because I AM A BOSS AT TOXICOLOGY (I'm so sorry, I've booked time off work for exams so I have nobody to boast to about my achievements). I'm looking at starting a facebook page related to the blog to post mini updates (such as Piglet pressing the emergency alarm on the metro- definitely a top 10 embarrassing moment right there) but it's currently a work in progress, so I will let you all know when it's done.

BIG LOVE AND KISSES AND BRAINS XXXXXXXXX (not in a gross sense- in a metaphorical sense, obviously)