The Cynic V The Anxious Wreck: a war story

From the day Wade was born, I have been waging an internal war about how to manage the competing feelings of wanting to do the best for him, yet not wanting to get sucked in to the heaving pile of guilt-laden extra “stuff” that society makes you feel utterly compelled to do for your child, whether they need it or not.

In the past, I have struggled with anxiety. Snowballing worries and being paralysed by indecision usually topped the list of how it manifested. The great paradoxical irony being that, before I met Mick and had Wade, the consequences of bad decisions were fairly minimal but the anxiety levels were pretty high. There was only me to worry about yet I found it extremely hard to move forward when there was no clear path or there were too many pros and cons to manage. Now, even though there is much more at stake, I find it much easier to manage the anxiety and make clear decisions. The turning point for me came well before Wade though, at the police academy, where I learned that when faced with an unfamiliar situation, you have to make a decision and do SOMETHING. Walking away is not an option because when you are standing there in the blue uniform, everyone is looking to you to fix the problem and even though you might not know the absolute best course of action to take, you have to back yourself and pick one.

It was the greatest lesson I ever learned. Continue reading

Nutty new mum

Wade was (still is, although there is some stubbornness creeping in) a dream baby. My idea of having a newborn in the house was, scream, scream, poo, scream, finally asleep, shh, shh, creep around, don’t wake the….dammit, scream, more poo, dried spew in your hair and maybe a smile every now and then.

Wade hardly ever cried. He settled quickly into the feed, play sleep routine. When he fell asleep, nothing really woke him. He usually slept for an hour on the dot and woke up smiling. In fact he smiled most of the time and only pooed once a week for the first 5 months of his life. I think this is actually due to the low muscle tone meaning that everything took longer to work its way through but I was counting it as a win. Other mothers would groan as I complained about how he was getting a bit grumpy as poo day was coming up, when they had just cleaned the third poo for the day off the walls, the floor, the car seat, change table or whatever else was nearby.

And he was this cute too….

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