Wednesday, 5 September 2012


I am in the middle of my work week, 3 nightshifts down, 3 to go.

It has been a rough run.  Too many really sick kids to mention.  I don't mean fully sick, as in subwoofer,  I mean critically ill, edge of life stuff. 

And so I am feeling a little bruised.  And my mummy bone is a little fragile.

The Nigelator and I negotiated for him to play in a golf thingy for most of the days of this week.  We planned that I would come home, have some breaky and straight to bed, so that I could get up to pick up the kids and do the afternoony stuff. 
This is a bit of a shift from our normal pattern - I usually come home, we share the getting the kids out the door stuff and then I wake up whenever in the arvo...sometimes it's 4 hours, sometimes 7, but he carries the load for the arvo. 
He's a good bloke and I am fortunate to have a relationship where we truly share the load of house stuff and parenting.  (Today, I woke up and he had vacuumed and mopped.  Bliss)

Yesterday, I woke after 4 hours and needed to get the kids from school and preschool (located next to each other so very convenient) and felt super bleh.  Not sick but hurty belly.  Annoying ovaries probably, but my mood was low.

And I found it hard to lift my mood.  Really hard.  Felt close to tears.   And so it goes. 

I have had many times in my life where my ability to manage my mood has been a challenge.  I have certainly experienced depression, and most people who know me well have seen me in times of hypomania.  I have never been formally diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, but my GP skirted around the edge of it last time I checked in with her. 

It wouldn't be a big surprise to me.  Nor, probably to the people I love and love me back.  I function pretty well, and I believe I have reasonable insight into where I am at.

And so it goes.

When I found myself in struggletown yesterday, I decided go and buy some proper digital scales from Big W. 
I love Big W, can't describe it, but I really like to shop there.  Easy to find stuff, good range, good prices (although how are the prices at KMart recently?? makes me a little nervous about the sweatshoppy potential. But I do love a bargain).  But I digress.

I had my suspicions that my dodgy old spring scales weren't as accurate as they could be so I bought some new $30 digital, tell the truth ones.

I didn't like the truth they gave me today, when I woke up after 6 hours of dead to the world sleep.  The sleep of emotional fatigue.

1.3kg more than last week's weigh in.  Bleh

But, I can see where this could be so

  • I am working this week, so weigh in arvo when I get up is not truly a first thing, after toilet naked weigh in.
  • New scales.  Potentially more truthful.  Bleh
  • My bleh of this week has seen me less vigilant with my calorie tracking. 
  • Possibly portion creeping associated with bleh.
  • bleh
And so it goes.

And off we went to the soccer final for Curly after school.  They got slaughtered.  But they are 7 and got a trophy and a sausage so really didn't care that much.
But I found I was close to tears for much of the game.  Nothing to do with the game.  And when, after the game, Pickle said 'mum, are you alright' and I said ' you know what, I just feel a bit bleh.  You know when there's nothing in particular that you are upset about, but you just feel bleh?  That's how I feel.  It's not your fault.' 

And he looked at me, really looked at me.  And he said ' I know exactly what you mean, Mum.'  And he proceeded to recall 4 or 5 occasions where he felt exactly the same way.

And down came the rain.  Sobbed.  Ugly sobs too. Because he meant it.  A boy who at 5 made suicidal statements and tried to be hit by a car.  A boy who said 'nothing about my life makes me happy and I just want to die'. 

A crisis mental health assessment and a great child psychologist helped him out the other side and he is now a regular boy who's mood is sometimes a little low, but who is generally a happy functional kid with good resilience.

Ringing any bells?  Yep, that's be the cow bell of mother guilt.  I have been a peaks and troughs girl all my life.  And in the depths of my melancholy, my 8yo son is the one who spotted it, and dished out the empathy.  And just gave me the most wonderful hug at bedtime and said 'it'll pass, Mum.'


He's right.  But I hate it that he knows.  Way to go with passing on great stuff to your kids, BeccyB.

And so, I pushed down all the feelings with souvlaki and chips for dinner.  Fish and chips for the kids.

Unsurprisingly, that only lasted momentarily.

So the plan goes like this...
  • Go easy on myself for 3 more nights,  then 3 weeks off work.
  • Go back to the GP next week and see what we can do about a referral to a 'feelings' doctor
  • Go for a run, right now to clear my head.
  • Realise that if I can sort my shit out and be a functional person, diagnosis or not, I can still be a great role model to my boy (diagnosis or not) about how to rock the world with your awesomeness, peaks, troughs and all.
  • Get back on track with calorie tracking and know that it's ok
  • Talk to my people. 
So it's out the door now.  I feel a little more clear headed for writing it down.

And I am who I am.  I'll be ok, regardless of whether I have a label.

And so it goes.


  1. Hmmm.

    First up, good for you - digital scales. Naughty girl going the sneaky weigh in clothed and post prandial. Solution: Ignore result.

    And. You have insight to go get some talky help. Tick.

    And. Lots of people who love you are ONLY a phonecall away AT ANY TIME OF DAY OR NIGHT. Tick.

    And. You have raised a thoughtful, insightful, empathetic son. Tick.

    And, Curly still got a sausage and a trophy. Double tick.

    And. One souvlaki meal does not a lifestyle commitment break. Nor will it ruin your overall success due to all the good work you have put in so far. A blip. Ignore and do not feel bad about. Tick.

    And. Still running. Tick.

    And. Excellent plan in place. Tick.

    Michelle would be proud. As am I. Tick. Tick.


    1. Thank you gorgeous alliecat. Tiny tears tumbling.