Sickness.

Milo is sick.

I am still sick.

Conrad is away working.

My anxiety levels are high, I'm unsure how to deal with this type of thing. What is okay for a 3 month old baby? It doesn't help that it's happened on a weekend, where I can't make a doctor's appointment and the only option would be go go to the emergency room. Extreme? I don't even know. So far I've avoided acting the paranoid parent and haven't gone.

But I'm close to the edge.

To Milo Phoenix Sharp: 3 months old.

I'm sitting here on the couch with you on my lap. You fell asleep while nursing, as content as can possibly be. Today marks your three month birthday, little man. Life without you would be intolerable.

What have you been up to recently? Well, you love to talk. When I speak to you, you like to respond, and usually with endless amounts of glee. You respond with an "ah-goo!!!" or some such other beautiful variation of your thoughts. You can hold a rattle, but you don't actually know that you're holding it yet. In fact, you accidentally jabbed your eye with said rattle because you went to put your hand to your face. You looked so shocked! You couldn't figure out what on earth had happened.

Yesterday, you were able to roll onto your side, TWICE! I don't think you meant to do it, and I haven't seen you do it since - but I was so proud. You just kind of hoiked yourself over and back onto your back. This means that you have taken your first step towards movement, my love. This means I have to keep an eagle eye on you at all times! Who knows what you'll be up to next?

Last night in your sleep, you scratched your face. I don't think it bothers you, but every time I look at it, it reminds me that I need to cut your nails more. It's just so nerve wracking cutting those delicate little things, but here is a little reminder that it doesn't matter whether i WANT to or not, your nails need cutting and I need to get over myself. p.s. I love you.

So, it is December, and this year will be your first Christmas. I know you won't remember it, but every song I hear and every tradition I think of, I know it will be so much more precious and special because you are there too. Everything is more special and unique and exciting and emotive because you are here.

Today I danced with you to Sufjan Steven's Christmas album. Well, I danced - you stared at every single item in the room. Oh, this is another thing. You love to look at things. Recently you have decided you do not like to be bored! If you are sick of the scenery, you will let me know. You've memorised every book on the bookshelf? You want to look in the mirror this time! Your curiosity and openness with how you see things is beautiful. I hope this lasts your whole life: because, LIFE! There is so much to see! So much to love!

My baby Milo, this month we found out that you are quite a big one. You're going to be tall, I think. Both sides of your family has 6'5 family members, so maybe you'll reach those heights? Who knows - I'm just happy that you're healthy, happy that you're eating enough, happy that you're contented here in this life we have made you.

Thank you for being so perfect, Milo. Thank you for bringing so much unexpected intense love and beauty into our lives.

Love,

Your mother.

I have a million things to say but don't know how to say them. I have 3 half-written posts in my draft box. I'm too tired to write them right now. My body and brain is tired and I can't remember the last time they weren't. Chocolate helps, coffee helps, food helps. I'm tired. All my thoughts are on one thing at the moment and I wonder when that's going to change. I cook and boil the water while running to the shower, I run out of the room while he's watching the dog to hang the clothes up. The glamour, the intrigue... I'm tired. My thoughts are tired. I wonder if I'll be able to talk about anything other than how much I love my son again. My brain is tired. I'm unsure whether I've been 100% since he was born and I'm worried a lot of these months will be a blur.

I try never to say this, because I love him so much. Admitting exhaustion feels to me like betrayal. I love doing it all, I love him, I don't want to complain. I'm just drained.

Got milk?

I've got a milk supply problem. The boobies aren't giving it out in the evenings.

This means that every evening (sometimes, randomly, it's fine) poor little Milo is sucking his little heart out and getting nada. He's upset, I'm upset, the dog's upset - it's not pretty. There's nothing I can do to make the milk come. So what I've done is pump the milk in the mornings, when I have more, and then Conrad has been feeding it to him when I don't have any.

This is not fun. For some reason I am STUBBORN not to feed our son formula. I don't have anything against people who formula feed, but for some reason, for me, breastfeeding Milo is a big deal. I want to breastfeed him for at least 6 months, and I don't want to feed him formula until then. I don't know why. Every time I see a health visitor or a doctor, they ask if he's formula or breastfed, and always seem really surprised that I'm purely breast feeding. I wonder why? Do I look like the kind of person that wouldn't want to breastfeed?

I really honestly do not thing that mothers who formula feed are different from breastfeeding mothers, I promise. Some women can not breastfeed, some women choose not to, but for me breastfeeding is synonymous with loving my son and caring for him. Giving formula almost feels like I'm failing or that I'm not providing what my son needs. Failing. Every time he's crying because I can't give him milk, it makes me so sad.

So I've been doing what they say - eating oats (home-made oatmeal cookies count, right?), pumping in the evenings after he's eaten to trick my body into making more the next night (although seriously... it's like milking a stone). But it's not working. I try to relax, and it doesn't work. Usually what happens is that I give him to Conrad and he cries his little heart out until I finally get some milk... this can take a while.

It's complicated, it's emotional. Breastfeeding is a whole world of emotions that I didn't expect.

But I may have to give in. I may have to give the poor starving boy a bottle of formula in the evenings. I may have to admit defeat. If it wasn't affecting him, I would try try try try try.. I love a challenge, and I'm determined to make this work: BUT I don't want my boy to be hungry. He needs his food.

Another unexpected parental emotional heart-wrenching practical problem.

To: Milo Phoenix Sharp

To Milo,

I am sat here at the table on your two month birthday, wanting to write something poignant for you. I want to be able to tell you how much our lives have changed for the better, and how the world is a better place for having you in it. How do you go about writing something poignant, though? I’m still sleep deprived (you still love your midnight feasts), and my hands are itching to get to the washing up, the laundry, the hoovering, petting the dog… this is what I normally do in the short nap breaks you take. You see, when you’re awake, you love to eat.

But recently, you love to smile, look up at me and just have a think. I love that you now know who I am, that you quieten when you see me or when you hear my voice. I know I’m the only one that you really hang out with these days, and I hope that I’m helping you get to know the world properly. I like to sing to you, I sing nursery rhymes that I hope one day you’ll sing along too – you seem to especially like incy bincy spider – this may be my imagination. But at the moment, you follow my hands with every movement and at the end you give a little smile as if to say ‘again! Again!’

Now it’s easy to say that the last two months has gone by quickly – I guess it has. People keep saying that I should enjoy this precious time while it’s here because it will go all too quickly. I understand that, and I appreciate it, but it panics me slightly. I wonder, am I enjoying this moment enough? So what I’m going to do is not listen to them, but listen to you. You and me have a good thing going. I’ll still love you in ten years time, in twenty years time, when I’m dropping you off to school, when you’re saying your first words. I think we’re enjoying each other’s company just enough – and we can look forward to the future, we can be in the moment, but we just have to live our lives the way we are living it, I’m sure.

There is so much for you to learn, and so much for me to show you. Yesterday you had your first immunizations. I’m sorry – I know they hurt. And afterwards, you had a fever and all you wanted to do was sleep on my chest. I couldn’t help but be happy that I could soothe you, that you wanted to be with me when you were sick. I know there’s not much choice, but I love you for it already. Like I said, we have a good thing going.

There’s this crazy dog, Snoopy, that doesn’t really understand that you’re a human being yet. One day you’ll be able to ride on his back and pull his ears, and he will love you – right now, I think he thinks you’re in the way. He likes to lick your head, I think he’s still sussing you out. As soon as he understands, he will love you. He is already pretty protective of you anyway.
So, this poignant letter I wanted to write – it’s difficult because 1. My brain isn’t functioning enough to really truly say what’s in my mind and heart 2. You are so much a part of me and my life that it feels almost pointless writing it down – your importance and my love for you is just here – there’s no real describing it. 3. I wonder who I’m writing it for: for me? For people who will read it? For you? I don’t want to be writing for the sake of writing.

Month 2: Milo, I love you. You are crazily the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You are already sweet in nature, loving, delightful, happy, trusting, beautiful, inquisitive…. You love your father. He loves you. There is nothing else like the love in his eyes when he is looking at you. I am so proud of our family, I am already so proud of you. I want to be able to provide as much love, creativity, happiness, understanding of the world, openness, and show you that you truly can be whatever and whoever you want to be. Nothing can stop you. Go with your heart and your mind. Being yourself can only bring good things.

A 33-week pregnant mind.

Labour. I will be giving birth to a BABY. In approximately 7 weeks. This is seriously scary. I have no idea what my pain threshold for this will be. People say to prepare your ‘birth plan’ which basically means, what do you want to do? I have no idea what I want to do. I want to give birth to a healthy baby, but there are a million ways to do this, and you know what? You can’t make that happen, what happens: will happen. So I say, I dunno... “gas and air? And then if I just can’t take the pain, an epidural?” I pretend I know what this means for me; I do not know what this means for me.

Pain. I know what I can deal with in terms of past experience; lower back pain, skinned knees, a laser to my heart through the groin (don’t ask!). That hurt, but really… an actual CONTRACTION of your WOMB inside of your BODY. This is pain I cannot imagine, and I have no idea if I can hack it. I’ll have to hack it. And there is no going back, because this baby has got to get out somehow.

And as for if things go wrong? You can’t plan for that. It could happen, it very might well happen.

When the baby is here. If I think about this too long I freak out. I am bringing a human being into the world. The human being will always be here, always be in the house, unless we take it out. He won’t eat unless we feed him, he won’t develop unless we nurture him.

Words like “nurture”. There is a whole new language, a whole new world to understand now. Breastfeeding, nappies, sleep patterns, things to look out for… things I’ve never heard of. These seemed like babyspeak to me. It now makes more sense, but all these phrases and words I’ve heard so many times before are beginning to take shape, and now I want to talk about them. I want to understand them. I dream about them at night to the point that I wake up feeling a bit sick and even more confused.

Listening to other people’s point of view and advice. Everybody is different from me. I know from experience that Conrad and I deal with things very differently from our friends and people that we know. So I don’t really know how to take advice – I take it lightly, I keep it in mind. But really? We can only deal with things the way we’re going to deal with things. We are strong, it will be fine. But advice is almost useless. Particularly because all advice is different.

Regardless, I will be giving birth to a new human being in approximately 7 weeks.

I've got a serious case of Gotta Get Outta Here's and there's nothing I can do. This has never happened to me before. I would usually go to extreme lengths to get outta here if I had to (present residential country). I would go into horrible debt, sell all earthly possessions.. but I can't.

Hormones are something ELSE. I'm irrational and emotional at the best of times, and wow do I feel bad for Conrad right now. When I feel sad, it is immense. When I feel angry, it is extreme. When I feel nervous or tentative about the future, it becomes verge-of-needing-valium anxiety. This baby is making me crazy. And I'm already a little crazy anyway.

Other emotions include extreme want to keep the baby safe - being scared of woods. Seriously, scared of going in the woods. I could only imagine this was hyperdrive protection mode, because there is nothing freaky about woods.

Definite nesting instincts. I don't want to be at work, but not just in a 'I don't feel like working way'.. in a I belong with my family (Conrad and bump), I want to be with them NOW way.

Add to all these things a really heavy dose of guilt. Guilt that being here isn't enough, guilt that I feel anything so strongly besides what I feel I should be feeling.

Anyway, most strongly I want to be somewhere else. I know internet land is sick of me saying this, but I need to get away so I can realise that I like England again. So I can feel homesick and want to be here. Because right now, I just want to get away.

p.s. as a side note, one thing that is keeping me going is the most amazing watermelon I've found at the local Greek cornershop. It is better than anything I have ever tasted. England doesn't do watermelon, so this is just a taste of paradise. I can close my eyes and see the mediterranean.

I’m mad about the amount of sun England has.

1. When the sun’s out, every single other person in the UK decides to do the exact same thing you decided to do, at the exact same time.
2. People wear short skirts and short shorts that really just shouldn’t
3. You can only be happy with the sunshine ‘in the moment’… you cannot plan. Once a BBQ or day to the park is planned, the weather will change.
4. You can’t pack your winter clothes away. At some point soon, you will need that thick sweater or that thick pair of socks.
5. Every single outdoor space is packed to the gilt
6. If you try to do anything summery, it just ends up feeling like a Brit’s Abroad Tenerife holiday. Or something equally as awful
7. Your tan that you’re nicely topping up will disappear in two day’s time when the grey sky and concrete slabs of dullness come back
8. Sunshine is bittersweet. It will soon leave and you will feel empty and used.
9. English people complain. SERIOUSLY! They complain that it isn’t sunny, and then as soon as it’s warmer than 20 degrees, they complain that it’s too hot. TOO HOT! And too sunny! This is stupid.
10. All winter long you wait for the sunshine to come back and the hot days to wash over you. Mid June you realise it never happens – why do you always expect it?
11. You take 5 days off for Bank Holiday weekend; it is grey and cold every single day. The day you go back to work it is 27 degrees and sunny.
12. Every summer will be the same. You think it will be different, but it will be the same.
13. You pay way too much for way too little. My garden is a courtyard that would laughably be called a gutter to some in the world.
14. I'm having a baby so I can't spend money on going somewhere I can forget about the greys, whites and dullness of the sky here. I want to go away so I can forget it and come back and love it again. As of right now, I'm mad at it.

The opposite of nesting

I don’t know if it’s being a TCK (wikipedia’s definition) or if it’s something else, but my ‘nesting’ instincts as they like to call it are showing up in really strange ways.

Instead of wanting to set down roots and create a stable environment for our baby boy, I’m trying to think of ways that he won’t ever be settled. I’m already planning trips for his first year of life, imagining times when we aren’t ‘tied’ to living in London. I want to make sure he can see the world as a borderless land where he has every choice he could ever want and be understanding of culture, life and people.

Dear Moves-a-lot-Junior,

Your life is going to be full of surprises, twists and turns, and unexpected people. You will always be loved, you will always be cared for, you will always be free to think for yourself and become the best you there is to be.

I want you to learn for yourself that no person in this world is inferior to others. Every country has its own unique and beautiful culture. Just because you haven’t ever tasted or seen something before does not mean it’s ‘weird’. It’s just different from what you know.

You will grow up seeing beauty in everything, the best in every person. You will have a deep understanding of love and what it actually means, and you will go out into the world with curiosity and open eyes.

I love you so much already, and I can’t wait for you to experience all these things with us. You will love it, little man.

Restlessness.

Every day, around after lunch I’ve started feeling very restless. Some might call it itchy feet, but I just call it my past catching up with me.

I’d very much like to take an early day off of work, get home and start packing. Conrad and I will pack all of our things into a couple of suitcases (including baby stuff, of course), grab Snoopy and his lead (and of course, poop bags), lock up the house (with lights on for winter-time, so people think there’s someone home). And go. We have enough gas in the car to make it to France, I’m sure – once we get over (or under) the channel we can just go whichever way we choose. Perhaps a bit of brie and rich red wine on the way through France, a few stops along the way to eat duck and steak and walk along rivers and buy endless amounts of baguettes and pastries. I’m not sure where we should go next. How do you feel about Spain? I wouldn’t mind seeing some more of that Gaudi architecture, I do like the blues and greens and the tiles and the cave-like buildings. We’ll then perhaps take a turn towards Italy. Yes? Italy, I miss Rome – let’s go see the ruins and soak up the intensity of Italian spirit. I wouldn’t mind some creamy pasta, I could drink a nice cool glass of Pinot Grigio, definitely. Once our feet are too tired, we’ll sit at a café and drink coffee with lots of foam on top. When we’re done, we’ll walk till we can’t walk anymore and we’ll have another one. When we run out of coffee money, we’ll buy lemon fanta and sit in a piazza, not caring that we’re poor. We’ll then drive out to the coast to a small town (shall we choose Chivitavekia?) where no-one will know what we’re saying and we think everyone is angry at us – but really they’re not! Now then, I know where I want to go now – let’s go to Switzerland. Let’s visit my home. I will take you swimming in the Rhine in the height of summer, we will find paths that nobody knows, we will laugh at their choice of footwear and walk giddily through the main street of small town. I will feel at home, I will feel a different kind of normal. We will walk along the river to buy ice cream, I will show you the Munot and the way of life. We’ll need to take a train, because that is an essential! We will leave just on time and arrive when we’re supposed to. The streets will look like postcards, and I’ll know I belong there that day.

There are so many more places to go, but my mind is tired now. Perhaps I’ll just stay here in my office in London and dream about it, but you’ll still be there with me.

A thought

I think I may have control issues. This has just come to me now, after 28 years of living.

I am 5 and a half months pregnant, therefore I do not have control over certain things. I make a plan for my super-productive day and I get to about a third of the tasks and crash out. This angers and upsets me. Sat from my lazy position on the couch, I try and think of ways I can get up and carry on, but in all truth - I can't! All energy is sapped out.

Rather than being thankful for the excuse to rest, or being cautious because it's important to save up energy for the week ahead, I just get mad. And cranky that the wonderful feeling of productivity and purposefulness is so far beyond me right now.

So yes, something I didn't expect about pregnancy: Complete annoyance about lack of the control I have over the situation.

Missing people, missing things, missing ways of life. This is just a normal part of my upbringing and is just another part of normal life. Sometimes it hits harder than others. The fact that I can’t ever casually see my brother and sister, that I can’t pop by my brothers house to congratulate him on one of the most exciting things that’s happened in centuries; his recent engagement. My sister can’t see my growing tummy, and can’t talk to me about exciting things to do with her becoming an aunt and just generally be a sister.

This is before mentioning the fact that all my good friends I’ve had throughout my life don’t live anywhere near me (excluding Conrad, of course). A lot of times I feel friendless – when asked what I’m doing with my time, I don’t have that old friend that I can meet up with over the weekend, I don’t have the fail-safe people that I can call to who know me without me having to explain myself.

Most of the time I don’t think about it, this is the life I have, I obviously can’t complain. But every now and then I miss certain people that were really seriously important to me. People who got me straight away and really cared about me. I will never see these people again, that is just a fact. They are still in constant transient position far away from the UK. I do not have the disposable income to travel to wherever they are living at any given time. If I did have the money, I would visit my family, visit the places that still own part of my soul.

Ah, then there is missing places. Homes I cannot drive past and peek through the window, homes that are entire cities, entire country smells that I miss deeply. I dream of them sometimes, that I’m there. I dream that I’ve finally taken Conrad to my home – that he can see that part of me he never really could understand because it so vastly different from where we exist in now.

It bugs me when people don’t understand all these feelings, but they never can. I can never be in five places at once; I can never be with all the people I love. That is definite. It’s hard when people see things so one-dimensionally. When culturally they can be so unaware, so near-sighted. The world is not England. England is not the centre. The way English people live isn’t the ‘right way’, isn’t the ‘norm’. Going away for 2 weeks - or shock! A month! Does not mean you will understand me, does not mean you understand how it feels to be so very scattered and fractured. England is not my home.

Boredom is the worst thing. Stagnant mind, stagnant soul. Minutes go slower and all you can think about is the crap in life, the minor, unimportant details.

Give me air, give me crisis, give me changes of mind. Give me a day where you end up somewhere different than where you started out. Give me a minute of shock, of readjustment. Let me smell something musty, something out-of-place – snap me back to a moment decades ago.

Show me a glimpse of possibles that I don’t think are possible. Use a word that I’ve never heard that explains how you feel, a feeling I’ve never felt before.

Twist my expectations so I can’t see more than 10 minutes away – start running when I’m ready to sit down, ask me questions when all I want to do is de-focus.

Bring me life that I know exists, in this – this regularity that everyone so enjoys.