Dear Therapist

Dear Therapist,

Please excuse me for being grumpy with you these last few months. It's just that I'm so tired. and it's a kind of tired that sleep can't fix.

I'm tired of our sessions where you push my son, often until he cries. He's only 19 months and he's not training for the Olympics. I know better than anyone that he's strong willed, and I know he needs to be pushed. You take it too far.

Do you ever look at your own son and imagine him having special needs? I never imagined my son having special needs. Despite everything I have to be grateful for, my heart still aches every single day. It's a pain I can't describe, it wasn't meant to be this way.

I've told you so many times, he needs a little break between activities. He's so young, he can't stay focused for an entire hour. Can your toddler stay focused for a whole hour?
I'm not an overprotective mother and I'm firm with him when I need to be. However, I see no point in making it a miserable experience for him. He's going to need therapy for a very long time.

Do you ever wonder why my son won't go anywhere near you? He cuddles with his other workers but he doesn't like you. It's because every single time he goes near you, you restrain his good arm so he can't use it. I tell you every week to stop doing that. I will do the restraining because I know when he'll tolerate it. You never listen.

I'm tired of motivating my son to do therapy. I'm tired of him being so resistive. I'm tired of lying in bed at night thinking of sneaky ways of doing therapy. I'm tired of nurses, doctors and therapists who don't listen to me. I've been with him through every medical procedure and every therapy session. Please trust my judgement when I tell you what works.

I know that your care plans are mandated by a higher power. I think they're a crock of shit. You spring it on me without warning, it puts me on the spot and I struggle to think of what goals he needs to work on. He continually interrupts our conversation, so I never have any valuable input.

The only reason we keep seeing you, is because he needs to stay linked in with an Early Intervention Program. I don't know what his future holds and I can't sever ties with you just yet. I've come to dread our weekly sessions and it's no coincidence I haven't been there for the last few weeks. I know you're a nice person, but I'm so close to snapping and I don't want to do that. I know you're the expert in therapy but I'm the expert in Max.

Dear therapist. Please listen.

Thanks for the memories

We're moving house. If I knew how to post a link to an old post, I'd post it here ________. But since I can't, the post is called 'Watch this Space' and it's about how desperately I needed to move. Fast forward to now, and tonight is the last night we are spending in our old place.

Our new house is modern, it has real air conditioning and a big back yard. It's only 10 minutes away from my work and my family. I fell in love with it the very first time I went there.




Here's a picture. Nice huh?

It's a darn sight nicer than this shithole I've lived in for the last 5+ years. I've hated this house from the first moment I saw it but at the time, the rental market was tough. It was especially tough because I had a shocking rental history and a large hairy dog who destroyed things. We were so desperate to find a house, we even offered extra money for this craphole. Proximity to the city, is the only thing it's got going for it.

Despite my venomous disdain for this house, there's still a part of me that will be a little sad to say goodbye. It was in this house where I lay sobbing for hours/days/weeks after the ex suddenly up and left. It was here where two of my best friends unofficially moved in and helped me rediscover my confidence. I was in this house when I discovered I was pregnant. I was in this house when my waters broke. We bought Max home from hospital here, not once but twice. The first time as a newborn, the second after his 6 week stay in the Children's Hospital. It was here, where I sat cuddling my dogs Malli and Sebastian, knowing it would be the last moments we shared as a trio.

These walls have also seen some pretty shitty things, there are just as many crap memories I'll be glad to leave behind. Not to mention the hideous decor, I'll share with you now.



Tiled walls in kitchen, cat and lobster.




Heater which you need a Masters degree in Gas Appliances to operate.




Kitchen floor. Laminate tiles which are ugly and don't stay stuck.




Very odd tiny room. What you see here, is the entire room.




Tiny bathtub. Perfect for Max. Disastrous for an adult who might fancy a bath (the streaks on the wall at the top of the pic is bathtub paint, not blood)




It's a BYO mirror in this bathroom.




This is the view from the toilet seat. It's the gas for the hot water. Of course.




When I moved here, I left a beautiful suburb which was semi-rural. I was sad I couldn't hear the birds anymore, so mum bought over a few bird posters to fill the void. I often looked at them and thought "some day I'll fly away".

Finally I'm about to fly away and say goodbye to this piece-o-shit house on a bus stop. One last sleep, one last bleary eyed morning where I skid across the kitchen on a rogue laminate tile. I ain't gunna miss you house but I thank you, for being there for some of the greatest memories of my life.




Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Go on, say it. I dare you.

I don't assimilate well with the mumsy crowd. For the sake of convenience, I usually attribute that to Max's stroke. The truth is though, I find most of them rather boring. I'd much prefer the company of a homicidal paranoid schizophrenic, then a Jersey Shore loving, Fox FM listening, fashionista. I'm not exaggerating.

Max is a social butterfly, he isn't the least bit shy and he likes to stop to chat with anyone he meets. Especially pretty ladies. So, I often find myself making small talk with the very people who would normally erk me to tears. "yeah he's cute....18 months....yes he is very blonde....no he didn't get that from me....yes his smile is gorgeous". Surprisingly to anyone who knows me well, I kinda enjoy it. I like meeting new people when I'm out with Max. I love how toddlers have no pre-conceived ideas about someone's personality based on race/religion/clothes (etc). I absolutely adore their lack of understanding about social norms. What I love the most though, is his attention span, "yes darling that person is quite dull, let's move on shall we?".

Today, we were at a play centre and I was dutifully following Max, making small talk with some slightly upper class mumsies. I struck up a conversation with one mummy, and instantly fell in love with her brutal honesty. Instead of the usual pleasantries, that send me off to snoozletown, we had a refreshingly honest chat about how annoying our kids were.

In the 5 minutes we spoke, we shared forbidden secrets. The type of things you don't openly admit to most people or they might dob you in to CPS. Things that make you feel guilty because you think you're the only mother who thinks them. And you know what? It felt goooooood.

We all love our kids more than any words can describe and I haven't met a parent yet who would have life any other way. But in those 5 minutes a load was lifted off my shoulders, I told that lady, things I don't tell many people. Who's brave enough to join me? Let's all cut the fluff for a moment and be flipping honest. I promise you, it feels fantastic.

My son is 18 months old, he's cute, he's blonde and he has a wicked grin. But you know what?

He is annoying as hell.





Yes, you're very clever darling, now stop.....hey, don't throw my bra in the rubbish bin and for the love of Jebus would you STOP chewing on my undies??!




Love you baby xxx


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Please don't eat my undies...

I've worked as a psychiatric nurse for almost 10 years and in that time, I've found myself saying some pretty strange things. For example-
(1) No. You are not a hobbit.
(2) Clark Kent is otherwise known as Superman, not 'Cyclops'.
(3) Why would the crystals be anywhere near your uterus?
(4) If you really are Jesus/Allah/Budha, why can't you get out of the psych ward?
(5) You don't need 'love' to have a shower, you need 'soap'. Got it? Soap.
(6) No. You are not an ATM.

(I could go on....)

But, since Max has entered toddlerhood, I've found myself saying things that pisses all over the bizarre stuff I'm used to. Most days, are 'one of those' days. He drives me mental, in a 'wouldn't have it any other way, kinda way'. I'm waiting for the day he looks at me, sighs and feably says "please don't _______". Once, he's down for the night and I've gathered the scraps of my precarious sanity back, I giggle. So, I thought I'd share some of our finest moments to date......

- Do not sweep the dog. Do not sweep mummy. Do not hit daddy with your broom. For the love of god, give me that broom!

- Why is the dog wearing spaghetti? Why is there a noodle on the dogs ear?

- Stop chewing my undies.

- Get your toe out of my nose.

- Please don't put your slobbery banana down my bra.

- Oi. Get my iPhone away from your doodle. NO! Don't rub the TV remote on your doodle instead.

- We are here to feed the ducks NOT swim in the lake with them.

- The toilet is not a toy.

- Does this look like Kings Cross to you? No? Then stop trying to eat food scraps from the bin.

- Why are you wedging that teaspoon between my boobs?

- We don't eat lint from the clothes dryer.

And the phrase that gets said the most?




"You're lucky you're cute"

Love you baby boy, don't go changing.

So the other day, Max was drinking some AIDs

Without scaring you with too much information, I'll just say, my Breastfeeding experience was crap. At no point during the gazillion ante-natal checkups, do I remember ever feeling like I had the choice to bottle-feed. 'Breast is Best' so they say and I doubt anyone would argue that from a nutritional perspective. However, there's an infinite number of reasons why Breast isn't necessarily best but not many people are brave enough to talk about it.

I'll admit a dirty little secret here.....I never wanted to Breastfeed. Shocking yes? Selfish, yes? Child abuser yes? The thing is, I'm a bit of a prude sometimes and I never felt comfortable with the thought of my boobs hanging out in front of people. Every time I heard someone say "flop out a boob", I literally felt sick from the anxiety. Everyone told me, once you've given birth, you don't care who see's your body. For me, it was the opposite. After childbirth, I became fiercely protective of my privacy......fiercely. I was also in a lot of pain from a pretty traumatic birth and having nightmares/flashbacks from said traumatic birth. All in all, I wasn't in the best emotional state I was a blubbering mess.

The thing about pregnancy, I loathed most was the body sharing part. What can I say? I like my space. If I could've rented someone else's uterus, I would've. In my last trimester, the only thing I could eat, was icy poles. My beloved coffee, made me spew. My even more beloved Pepsi Max made my esophagus burn. Everyone told me to 'make the most' of being pregnant but not once have I wanted to put him back inside.

Despite all of that, I tried to Breastfeed and failed dismally. There wasn't one simple problem, there were several. The lactation consultants at the hospital couldn't see me for 2 weeks. 2 weeks is an eternity when your baby is screaming and your nipples are falling off.

I remember typing into Google 'will my son become a serial killer if he is bottle fed?'. I seriously worried about that. I was angry that everyone else was able to love and adore Max, whilst I was an emotional mess. I went through so much to bring him into this world, how was that fair?

It was Rob who made Max his first bottle late one Sunday night. I'm glad he took control of the situation because I felt like a demon mother for even considering it. Hearing him skull that bottle and the sigh of satisfaction at the end, was the sweetest sound I've ever heard. My baby had a full tummy for the first time ever and it was the first feed, I didn't cry through.

The Australian Breastfeeding Association, have been slammed in recent days following allegations, that one of their presenters told parents to be, "formula is like AIDs". Benign comments like these, made by 'lactivists' infuriate me. If I'd continued with Breastfeeding, I have no doubt, I would've been another Postnatal depression statistic. How is that 'best' for my child??

The A.B.A. have since stood down that person, pending an investigation. They are no doubt, saying things like "this persons view do not reflect the opinion of this organization, blah blah blah". But, such extreme statements are not that unusual and many of my friends have said they felt bullied to Breastfeed, by a well intended Breastfeeding Nazi.

It needs to stop, now. Breast may be 'best' but it may not be 'best' for everyone. It's time the lactivist's allowed woman to make an informed decision rather than a co-erced one. It's time woman's online forums quit stirring the pot with contentious articles, intended only to entice readers into a slagfest. Back the f*** off people and mind your own breasts....I mean, business.

Welcome to the club

Every now and then, a 'newbie' arrives at the CHASA* group on Facebook. Someone's child has either just had, or has just been diagnosed as having a stroke. No one can forget being at that place, and we embrace people who've just arrived. It's a dark, confusing place and it doesn't matter how many people are standing there with you. You feel more alone then you've ever felt before. Recently, I got to thinking about the things I'd say to myself if I could go back in time to that moment. So here goes.....

*Children's Hemiplegia and Stroke Association

I would tell myself, it's ok to grieve..... It's a strange sort of grief and one I've touched on before. I never felt like it was appropriate for me to feel sad, when I had so much to be grateful for. Those first few hours at the hospital, before being told of Max's diagnosis were absolute terror, in it's purest form. I remember thinking 'please don't take him, please don't take him, please don't take him' like a broken record over and over again. Once I knew what we were dealing with, I was ok. I didn't think I had the right grieve, when I had so much to be thankful for. How can you grieve for someone who is still alive? More recently, someone told me it's ok to grieve. Although we didn't lose him, something else was lost that day and it's something that will never return.

I would tell myself, it's ok to be afraid.....Two days later, the doctors would sit us down again and tell us our son had brain damage. If I could go back in time, I'd tell myself it was ok to be afraid. Fearing the future doesn't make me ungrateful, it makes me human. At the time, it felt as though everything I'd dreamed of for my son had gone. I was afraid he'd have no quality of life, I was afraid he wouldn't know I was his mother and I was afraid I wouldn't have the strength to keep going. I felt guilty for even thinking those things.

I would tell myself, I am strong enough to deal with this, but I don't have to be strong 100% of the time...... It's true when people say, you never realize how strong you are, until being strong is the only option you've got. That being said, no one can be strong 100% of the time. It's ok to cry, and it's ok to feel overwhelmed. Crying reduces stress hormones and you'll feel better for it.


I'd tell myself, no one wants to be in this position...... In the weeks following Max's stroke, I spent a lot of time on the net looking for other families in the same position. In every story I read, parents were saying things like "we wouldn't have him/her any other way". I felt bad for wishing things were different, and I felt guilty because I wanted my son 'unbroken'. I've since realized though, no parent wants life to be this way. There's a point where you accept what's happened and you can find silver linings for the storm clouds. But, that doesn't mean you wouldn't change it if you could. There's nothing wrong with that.

I would tell myself that my heart will break every time I see my baby struggling..... It does get easier but the pain never truly goes away. Watching other kids do things with ease still throttles my heart with astounding ferocity. It's ok to hurt, just so long as it doesn't consume you. Acknowledge the pain but keep moving forward.

I would tell myself, that life isn't fair....... I don't know how many times I've wanted to run into the middle of the road and scream "IT'S NOT FAIR!!! WHY HIM???". Any honest parent will tell you, they have the same moments. It's ok to have these moments, but it's not ok to let them destroy you.


I would tell myself, brain injuries don't magically heal, every achievement takes a lot of hard work...... The experts would tell me we were lucky this happened while Max's brain was still young enough to adapt. No one ever told me how much work would go into every single achievement. Some days, it's so daunting and I feel like throwing everything in. Which brings me to my last point.....

I would tell myself, for every low there's a counterbalancing high..... There's a certain degree of perspective which comes after surviving crapful situations. When you've stood on the edge of a cliff and faced losing everything you've ever loved, you appreciate everything that's truly wonderful about life. You stop sweating the small things and you rejoice in every tiny achievement. It's a perspective that can't be taught and it can't be explained. It's impossible to truly understand it, unless you've lived it.

Everything in life happens for a reason. Whether or not you understand that reason is irrelevant. I intended to go to Italy but my plane landed in Holland instead. Turns out, Holland isn't so bad, just different.




I love you so much beautiful boy

Watch This Space

10 years ago, I moved away from the suburb I grew up in and vowed I'd never move back. I was 21, nearly at the end of my University Degrees and in my own mind, destined to achieve great things. I aced most of my Uni subjects, with an (almost) HD average. I only applied for one graduate position, because I knew I would get it, I was young and I was cocky. But for the most part of my life after University, I was drunk. I managed to hold decent jobs but had disastrous relationships and got evicted from one rental property after the next. To this day, I have very little to show for my 30+ years on this earth. Memories? Yes. Assets? Zilch.

I've lived in my current house for over 5 years but in the 5 years before that, I lived in 8 different houses. The house I'm in now, is a total shithole. I hated it the day I moved in and I still hate it now. I hate the suburb, I hate the street and I hate the memories. I moved into that house with my boyfriend aka 'the one' in early 2007. It was late 2008 when he packed up and left me for another woman. When he left, so too did the fragments of my white picket fence dream. He is the reason I don't fall in love, and he is the wall that keeps others from away. When he left, the house became a virtual backpackers hostel. Housemates and their pets came and left, the only thing that stayed the same, was me. That shitty old house, with it's shitty old memories, reflects my total failure of grown up life.

The only thing that has kept me there, is sheer laziness and the fact that I loathe moving. In early 2010, I decided to move back to the neighbourhood I grew up in. That was 2010 and I still haven't budged an inch.

There's always been good reasons for staying put. When I was pregnant, I didn't have the energy, then Max came along, then Max got sick, then Max had a full time schedule of appointments, then I nearly drove myself bonkers trying to be mum/physio/OT/breadwinner (etc). But now? I have no reason to stay.

I'm not exaggerating when I say, I want to hire a massive skip and dump most of my possessions in it. Most of it is worthless crap, shitty artefacts of my former life. I don't need those possessions to remind me of where I've been, because those scars are with me everywhere I go.

Last Summer, I swore I would be out of that house before another summer came around. It's almost the end of August, and Summer is only a few months away. It's about time I left.