amber rahim

Chronic illness: the parts we don't talk about

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Bonding

They say that the first few hours after the birth of your child are critical for bonding.

If that’s true, I’m fucked. And F has a really great connection with some NICU doctors and nurses whose names I can’t even remember.

At 29 weeks my labour started and they managed to halt it after 30 hours.  My birth plan, which I hand only just started thinking about, became this: keep my legs crossed for as long as possible. Her lungs aren’t ready yet.

A week later you came into the world just before midnight, by ceasarean. 5 eager doctors waiting to whisk you away.

Before they dashed off I got a glimpse of you in the incubator about a meter and a half away. These doctors were greedy to have you to themselves, their reluctance to take those 30 seconde so that I could get a glimpse of you were clear (ok, let’s be fair, they needed to take action quickly to save your life so they couldn’t hang around).

That was the last I saw of you for 24 hours. You were a tricky little lady, with your tiny veins and losing fluids so quickly. They have never had such a challenge to keep a baby hydrated before (and I hope it never happens again).

I did not recognise you that second day. You were so tiny, and so different than the baby I had seen the day before. Wrinkled. Where had all the softness gone?

It took two of them to pick you up, hold your limbs in place and keep all those tubes and wires in place, and place you on my chest. I don’t think you could have found two happier people in the world at that time than us.

We didn’t get long, kangarooing is very tiring for premature babies, and you had to go back in to your incubator,your new womb.

Over the next 5 weeks we didn’t get t spend much time together and I didn’t get to hold you much. You were really ill and sometimes I wasn’t even allowed to touch you at all.

The next few years were a roller coaster where I felt that I never gave you the attention that you deserve because there was so much to do to keep you out of hospital, to get you feeling well.

I always thought that we only started bonding when you were about two and a half. This week you turned 7 and I realise that I was wrong.

We have been connected, bonded since the moment you existed.

I did not have a “big moment” or rush of feelings when I looked at you the first time. There was no sudden falling in love. I was in love with you already.


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How to stop shouting at your kids: 1 simple rule

I have read many articles on this topic but have found one thing that you need to have in place for those tips to work. I discovered it after getting advise from a child psychologist.

About a year ago we asked a child psychologist for help. F had started to have tantrums. Major episodes of anger and sadness and we just couldn’t get through to her at all while it was going on.

Given the traumas in her past and the strict medicine routine that she is on, it was not surprising.

The psychologist talked to us and to her and gave us some things to try (we had already been doing some and had some new ideas).

Then she said this:

“next time she has a tantrum, record it so that I can see what she is doing.  And I can hear what you say and maybe give you some tips on how to respond”.

This was it. The moment of inspiration.

Yes, I hate my voice being recorded and really did not want to see what I looked like on film but it was something else. The thought of being observed, especially by a psychologist, that made me pause.

You see, it’s hard to keep calm, be patient, be neutral even, when you have a kid suddenly dive full on into a tantrum. They can have been annoying the hell out of you all day long and then launch into a fit and yet I’m supposed to stay calm, rational. I’m supposed to but I don’t always succeed.

So that pause told me something: that I was pretty sure that I was not helping the situation. I probably added fuel to the fire.

So I went home and thought about it. What if, in my interactions with my kids, I behaved as if someone was watching me?

Ever noticed, when you are at your mum’s or in-laws house and your kids start acting up, how much patience you have? Or when you are at the park? Oh, definitely now: when other mums are around?

I started noticing.

My tone of voice, my level of calm, my ability to bite my tongue and not join in the snarky-ness. These were all different when other people were around and when in the back of my mind I thought “if she kicks off, I’m going to be filmed as well as her”.

She never had such a big tantrum again. Yes she played up. Yes she got really angry. Yes she got really sad and cried and shouted.

But I did not.

So this is my conclusion:

There is no one more patient than a parent who is being watched. And a watched parent never shouts.

A Watched Parent Never Shouts

 


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The lessons we learn from our children

I saw this on Facebook and wanted to spread the message as it means a lot to me. It’s a cause I have taken up, to create a world where we SEE and are SEEN.

It has also helped me get through something that happened today and I have learned again the value of being seen.

(warning: yes I really did use the word poo 3 times in this blog. well, 4 if we count this warning).

I see you

There is a light sense of irony that while this is my mission with my children and in my work, I have spent the last week feeling unheard, not listened to. Inaudible in place of invisible.

The main culprit is my cheeky minx, little S, but to be honest the whole household has contributed. A huge amount of frustration has been building and was released this afternoon when little S felt unable to wait two minutes for me to get to her and decided to explore her own poo.

Yes, it was as disgusting as you think it would be.

After dumping her in the shower and impressing upon her the wrongness of what she had done I forced myself to stop talking. My tongue was running away with me and I had visions of her in therapy in years to come working through the traumatic “poo incident” where she realised she was naughty.

Man, oh man, yes what she did was naughty but she is not naughty. She is curious, smart and tough (come on, “you make me wait so I’m going to play with poo” talk about playing hardball!). I just don’t think she expected me to flip the way I did.

All cleaned up, I put her back to bed for her nap and gave myself a time out with the Colbert Report (always makes me laugh).

At the end of my time out, nap time was over. Little S told me she loved me and gave me a huge hug. We debriefed the incident and agreed some rules.

She has seen me today, in the many shades that I come in:

in the terrible beauty that is my anger, a sight to behold; forceful, scary, loud

my compassion kicking in to make me stop talking and avoid saying anything more that could harm

my sense of protection, for her and myself, to put myself in timeout.

She has seen me and she loves me anyway.

Though I may not feel heard right now, I am seen and it is transformational: until now I did not see the compassion or the protection, only the anger.

I also see that I am a bit tense, lacking in patience.

No wonder she has been tuning me out. Time to pick a new voice.

 


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Make the ordinary come alive

I know, comparing yourself or your life to others is the first step on the road to dissatisfaction and frustration yet sometimes I do compare. Or notice the differences.

Perhaps I am just fooling myself, but “noticing the differences” feels better, more innocent, even a touch scientific. There’s a clinical detachment with “noticing”.

Ok, I’m getting distracted. What have I been noticing?

It’s the school holidays and as usual we don’t have a lot planned. While there is an underlying spirit of freedom, going with the flow, living spontaneously, there is a seed of doubt: are we just too tired to put some effort into it? It’s hard enough figuring out what we are going to have for dinner let alone plan exciting adventures that all the kids will love.

Try to find something that a 13 year old boy, a 6 year old girl and a 2 year old toddler will all like and can do at the same place. And that doesn’t cost a fortune. (Leave tips in the comments)

But when you have swings, climbing frame and a football… Everyone is happy. So although there are so many amazing things we could be doing while on holiday, most of the time we are playing in the garden.

While I was noticing how our activities are always super simple and wondering if I was shortchanging my kids, a dear friend of mine sent me this (and saved me):

image

I don’t know who wrote this but I like it. I love it. It is at the heart of me and everything I believe about life. Sometimes I forget but when you appreciate and value what you already have, life is extraordinary.


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“I’m going to runaway!”

Sometimes I let circumstances get the better of me. It happened this week. The details contributing to my mini meltdown are not relevant – could anything justify me exclaiming “that’s it, Im running away!”?

This post is about about what happened next.

run_away

The other day I was feeling pretty lost, tired and steadily being driven nuts by F’s constant interfering in everything I was doing (J, the irony is not lost on me. Taste of my own medicine? Absolutley).

I snapped. I told her I was going to run away. She replied “go on then” (small side note, I am incredibly proud of her response to me).

So that was the start of our role reversal and then this happened…

“If you stop being cross and say sorry then I want you to stay” said F.

…and the role reversal was complete.

My little F, not yet 7, is more mature than I am.

I don’t know what got into me (but there is a definite yearning for some peace, as in, alone time) yet I am grateful that F is so wise, compassionate and willing to stand up to her mum and call me on my silly behaviour.

My conclusion? Our children are better than us.

Yet I don’t feel better than my parents. What’s that about? Am I just at that stage in life where I am stuck in the middle, looking at the greatness that surrounds me? Feeling inadequate, hoping that I am not doing too much damage. Holding on to the idea that “what doesn’t break you, makes you stronger”. (be grateful kids, you’re going to be superheros when you grow up!)

Then we had the most wonderful conversation. We heard each other, we made agreements. We hugged.

Maybe F realises that I am only human. Actually, I think she always knew and loves me anyway. It is I who keeps forgetting my own humanity. Now to start loving myself anyway.

 


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Ooh wish I was a cat


I’m taking a break this week.  I am tired, pleasantly tired . Oh and replacing the kitchen so the house is a mess.

If any of you know where to get one of these for humans (not an ordinary hammock but just like this and especially with the fluffy lining) don’t tell me where I can get one, just send one to me. Please.

image

Chilled out CPCC