We sat at Checkpoint Charlie, drunk, stupid capitalists.

Today is the anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. Twenty years ago today I was sitting on the wall at Checkpoint Charlie. I was drunk on vodka and the whole crazy, weird, madness of the situation. How ironic for us, middle class Interior Design students from Middlesex University in England, to be some of the first people to witness this historic event – to have front row seats if you like in this one time only show. The greatest show I ever went to, in fact. I was too young and stupid to even know or care about the implications of what I was witnessing. Everyone kept harping on about it being an historic event, and we knew this, but I don’t think it sunk in till much later what sort of scale of event we were fortunate enough to be observers at. We thought of ourselves as socialists, lefties, politically aware – but of course we weren’t. We were about as politically unaware as it is possible to be. We mouthed left-wing sentiments but harboured very capitalist, conventional desires and aspirations. We had no idea what it meant to live in a Communist state, and how could we? We were constantly complaining about Margaret Thatcher and wanted a revolution, but if one had arrived we would not have been the first out of bed in the morning to go and fight any battles.

We had even been through to East Berlin that very day. It was cold but sunny I think, and we were anxious to experience as much of the ‘East’ as we could. We laughed at the rows of Trabants and gaped at the grey blandness of the tower blocks, we tried to eat food in a ‘workers cafe’ and found it unpalatable in the extreme, especially when out of the vegetable soup that some of the vegetarians in our group ordered came rising ominous pink lumps of identifiable animal matter. We ascended the Fernsehturm and looked out across the divided city, we went to an art museum and I don’t remember what we saw there, and we tried to buy things in a supermarket but they had nothing to sell that would have been any use as a keepsake, in fact there was barely anything on the shelves at all. I did manage to buy an album in a music shop – strangely, a Richard Strauss opera, Salome, which I don’t think I ever listened to.

At about six o’clock we walked back to Checkpoint Charlie. It was dark, and we had to negotiate a few poorly lit back streets to find the border. I think we may have got lost at one point – the border to the West is not signposted well. There were a few large groups of people hanging around. They were acting a little oddly, they were huddled quietly, not being loud or aggressive or anything. We barely paid them any attention at the time, only later realised the significance.

We finally found the border and Checkpoint Charlie and popped back into the West with a sigh of relief. We went to a restaurant with neon lights and fat candles on the tables, and ate Western food, drank Western alcohol and got Westernly merry. We went back to the hotel, a couple of kilometres from the wall and sat in the hotel bar, and drank more and got drunker. The Germans in the bar were watching the tiny TV hanging over the bar. We were quite drunk by around ten o’clock and noticed that there was a huge crowd of very excited people around the TV. Someone went over and asked what was happening. They came back over. The Germans are excited because East Germany has opened the border. They are letting people through to the West.

How long did it take us for the information to sink in? Our addled brains finally did realise that this was ‘an historic event’ and then there was only one option. We had to get back to the wall. We started walking, and headed for a tube station. But the tubes were packed, and it looked a hopeless task. So we walked. Very fast. We made it, finally. The crowds were big, but not huge. The news had not yet reached everyone. There weren’t even that many TV crews there – in fact I don’t remember seeing a single TV crew. We pressed through the throng to the wall, and there people were already sitting crammed like a row of excited seagulls. A blond German guy hauled me up and I managed to get a prime position. Over in Nomans Land there was a row of green clad soldiers, all linked arms, pale as ghosts. They didn’t move a muscle, but they looked confused. Just a few hours ago their orders would have been to shoot anyone doing what we were doing now!

Vodka was passed down the line of people on the wall. At Checkpoint Charlie the wall was very narrow, not like at the Brandenburg Gate where several people could stand across the width. I was trying to take photographs, but was jostled and dropped my camera into Nomans Land. The guard closest to me looked straight at me and I asked him to give me my camera back. He didn’t do anything for a few seconds, then he bent down, picked my camera up and handed it back to me. Not a word. I drunkenly expressed my thanks but he didn’t smile or speak at all. He was very young and good looking. I only took a few pictures that night, and of them only one came out and neither I nor the wall are in it.

We went to a bar later and found ourselves talking to a very young guy who had come over. He was very excited about his first purchase in the West, a Beastie Boys album (well, tape) and a Walkman. He didn’t speak very good English, but he kept saying, ‘Margaret Thatcher, she great person, she hero..’ or something along those lines. Luckily we didn’t know enough German to be able to tell him that we didn’t share his opinion of the Iron Lady. But it was my first realisation that somewhere along the line, my ideals were a little contradictory. How did my socialism stand up to scrutiny? And why was I celebrating the downfall of communism, when I considered myself just a little communist…? And was Maggie a hero, after all? I just didn’t know any more.

We returned to Checkpoint Charlie in the morning and the cavalcade of people were still coming through. TV crews had now cottoned on and had set up right by the gates and were sticking their big microphones into every car that came through. We went into the Museum Am Checkpoint Charlie and climbed out of a window on the third floor to watch from on the scaffolding that covered the front of the building. The atmosphere was still electric. We didn’t seem to have hangovers. At one point I watched, fascinated, as a little old lady staggered back towards the border, carrying two plastic bags stuffed full of nothing but bananas. She kept having to put them down. When she saw me, she picked them up and shook them excitedly, but almost defiantly. ‘Banana!’ she shouted at me, happily. I nodded, grinning inanely. Banana. Yes. I still hold that image in my head. Fresh fruit was going to become quite a big issue in the newly unifed Germany, but at the time it was just a little old lady, happy that she could now buy bananas.

Well, I will stop reminiscing there. It seems a lifetime ago, almost another universe. I was starting out in life, and I believed that anything was possible. The me that was me then was a different person, with different views, opinions, desires, loves, anxieties. Even different cells. It is so strange to think that I sat on Checkpoint Charlie, and watched one of the biggest historical events of modern history unfold.

Owen is very well, by the way, and sleeping peacefully.

He makes my life complete in a way nothing and no one else has ever done or will do.

Slow parenting versus group mania

Beautiful day today. Walked down to the seafront this morning, at around 9.3o am and the sea was wild. It was one of those amazingly clear, crisp autumn days, the sun was so bright it almost blinded you bouncing off the sea and the waves just pounded the shore. You could almost feel the raw energy passing right into you. After so many days and weeks of malingering, I felt energised to the point of mania. I wanted to bound around on the rocks and scream at the sea! I wanted to dive in on the crest of a wave, and be thrown about at the mercy of the tides. Owen loved it too! We sat on the sea wall and just soaked it all up, my little man’s face was a beaming picture of happiness. I can’t remember the last time I felt that good. It was an almost religious moment. I knew then that the most important, beautiful moments aren’t planned, aren’t paid for, aren’t  written in the diary. I want to do it every morning, but I know that it wouldn’t be the same.

Later today, I read an online article about something called the Continuum Concept, which promotes ’slow parenting’ – as opposed to competitive parenting whereby the child is dragged to baby swimming at 4 weeks (guilty as charged) and basically bribed, blackmailed, cajoled and chivvied into growing up just as fast as he or she can. For a while now I have felt that these groups are less than useful. I stopped the baby swimming, since Owen didn’t really seem to be enjoying it. The music group was a waste of time – and is it really going to hamper his musical development if he doesn’t sit in a circle being sung stupid songs at six months?! I don’t think so. He hated it anyway – whereas he absolutely LOVES me playing guitar to him! It a no-brainer. The only group I do now is baby signing, and even that is starting to seem pointless. Owen and I are building up our own little shared language, and the Sing and Sign group is not particuarly useful. Owen gets bored in it too. So I think I’m going to be investigating the Continuum Concept, and slow parenting, a bit more now! I think the best time is the time we get together when Owen can crawl and cruise around freely, and I sit with him as he plays. He gets really excited when I lie down on the floor, he’ll come charging over and give me a big hug, and probaby a bite too, and then crawl over me or something – but it’s really lovely to see his little face light up – Mummy is coming to join me!! I have to do it much more often. It’s worth it just for that little happy welcoming squeal!

Pole climbing mum

Went to Drusillas Zoo Park today, a good but totally chaotic and hectic day! Gavin came round at silly o’clock to start on the back door (putting in a new one) and me and Owen were tucking in to breakfast. Then off to mums to pick her up. John and all his grandchildren zoomed off to the zoo and we followed at a more leisurely pace – well, we got stuck behind three tractors. Most of the time at the zoo me, mum and Owen went round on our own and John was lumbered with the big kids, who spent most of the time trying to get lost I think. It was gorgeous weather, there were even a couple of kids in the paddling pool in swimming costumes!

I feel shattered now. My tummy played up all day and there were points when I just wanted to sit down and put my head down but I didn’t, just kept on. I even climbed a pole to ring a bell (don’t ask!). It was strange – I suddenly got ravenously hungry and thirsty and had to stuff some crisps and chocolate into me, and a cup of tea, and then my tummy decided it was not happy at all. It feels really hard and distended. But it didn’t stop me climbing the pole that no one else seemed to be able to climb, including a dad who looked most mortified when his son said ‘Dad, that mum just climbed the pole, why can’ t you?’ I couldn’t help smirking a teensy weensy little bit!

 

Not that I’m biased at all

Today Owen and me went for Sunday roast with mum and John. Owen now sits in a booster chair and has a plate that I put food on from my plate, mum also puts some of hers to one side for him. He eats beautifully. I don’t mean tidily, because he isn’t tidy at all, he is extremely messy, but I mean beautifully. He got some admiring comments from some ladies sitting behind us, who were very impressed that he ate roast dinner!

He eats pretty much anything that is put in front of him, although he has preferences. Given a row of vegetables and a piece of meat, he will without fail choose the meat. Given a row of vegetables including tomato, he will pick the tomato. He likes red coloured food, and this rather disturbingly makes his poo rather rosy in colour too! He also shows preferences for particular toys. I gave him a row of zoo animals and he picked the turkey – he did this about six times, after I had mixed them up and added more several times. I don’t know what it was about the turkey that he particularly liked – but it does have red bits on it!

He loves pictures of babies, and again he has favourites! One of my baby books has big glossy pictures of babies, and he coos and smiles when he sees the picture on the front, but then he always turns the cover to look at the baby on the inside cover, he talks and squeals at this baby, and even kisses it! He seems to prefer it to the front cover baby, which is strange because the baby on the cover has a broad, open-mouthed smile, but the one on the inside looks a little melancholy and sad. My theory is that he is trying to cheer the baby up!

He chases me round the room when I hoover, trying to get to the hoover! And his new best friend is the washing machine, but only when it’s on. He’s kind of fickle like that. Lights fascinate him, as they always have, but now he seems to know that they go on and off. He will look at an off light expectantly, as if he expects it to come on. In the morning, when I go to turn the bedroom light on, I put my hand to the switch and say ‘Owen, where is the light?’ and he always looks straight up at it, and when it comes on his grins with delight. He knows that the switch and the light are somehow connected.

I am starting to introduce bottles of formula now. I want to phase out the breastfeeding. I feel sad about this, but I think it will help me. It’s so tiring and takes up so much time and energy, and I am still feeling pretty ill a lot of the time. I want to feel that he isn’t reliant on my milk, to know I can leave him with mum, or someone – Rob and Em maybe – and just give them his bottle. And I’ve been so worried about my milk supply decreasing and him not getting enough – that wouldn’t be an issue. Plus I would be able to take medicines, maybe anti-depressants if it came to it. And he has to stop breastfeeding at some point, doesn’t he? It’s good to know that he will take bottles – and now he’s taking a fair amount of the hypoallergenic milk. Okay, so I am adding strawberry flavour to it, but I will gradually cut that out. I had thought at one point that he would never take that milk, so this is great progress!

I don’t even want to think about the last breast feed, it upsets me too much. But it has to happen sometime. I have to allow my little man to grow up. And getting independant of the breast is kind of like the first step towards being an independant being, isn’t it? As long as he’s breastfed, he’s reliant on me and me alone for sustenance. Once he’s eating solids and drinking milk that doesn’t come from me, in theory he’s his own person. He already knows his own mind and does his own thing, I think he’ll be a fiercely independant child. And clever. And gorgeous. And… well, you know. Perfect, basically. Not that I’m biased at all!

Fire-juggling at not-quite-nine-months…

Owen, it's BEHIND you!!

I am feeling loads better today! So I’m not going to even talk about me. My little man is now ailing though, and has a rotten cold, his noz is all drippy, he’s sneezing all the time and has a quite bad wheezy cough. But for all that he doesn’t seem too bothered by it all thank goodness. He was a bit fussy at teatime today, but he also didn’t get much of a nap this afternoon so I think that was tiredness really more than anything. He was at mums, and I was shopping for boots (!) so its harder for mum to get him to sleep, not having the boobie prize and all that!

We’ve had quite a busy few days actually. On Sunday we went to Brighton and met up with Kelly and two of her friends, Abby and Reuben and their six month old baby Ned. Ned and Owen have met before, when Owen was about six months himself I think. We went for a roast in a pub, and then walked it off on the Downs. It was a gorgeous autumn day, really sunny but cold and snappy. Owen was in a very sunny mood and I felt much better than I have done for ages.

On Monday we went to PLAY in the morning to meet Tina and Fred, and they came back to ours for a spot of lunch before they had to dash off to the pool. In the afternoon, Owen had his nine month check and he passed everything with flying colours, he fairly dazzled the health visitor with his skills – you know, fire-juggling, reciting extracts from Shakespeare, playing the Moonlight Sonata (very tricky key, C#minor). Well, he didn’t quite do all those things but he did demonstrate 12 month old skills in most things, which is good enough for me! I am not a competitive mum, honest!

On Tuesday we went over to Brighton again and met up with Abby and Ned again, this time at the Sea Life Centre. Owen was quite taken with some of the bright tropical fish and he also seemed quite keen on turtles so I bought him a furry one which he promptly ignored and hasn’t looked at since. Today, as I mentioned, I took him over to mums and I went shopping for boots – have ordered a gorgeous pair and can’t wait to get my hands (or more appropriately, feet) on them!

Must go now, tomorrow we’re up early to go for Owen’s allergy appointment, at last!

More boring ailment talk about me.

More confusion. I am NOT hyperthyroid – went to the doctors on Monday because I had had a bad day on Sunday. Mum came with me as well, for moral support more than anything really. But apparently my thyroid is not over-active – its underactive! Frankly I’m astonished – but she did also say that the levels were nowhere near any sort of level that would cause the kind of symptoms I’ve been having. There is still one blood test to come back, the coeliac test, and that won’t be in for a couple of weeks. So I’m still no closer to an answer.

But now the doctor wants to treat me for post-natal depression. I don’t really know how I feel about this. I don’t think I’ve been properly diagnosed with depression for a start – it’s sort of in the absense of any other explanation we’ll put it down to PND. I also never thought that depression would feel so, well – physical I suppose. My mood has been low, but that’s because I’ve been feeling so ill – that’s made me feel low! Anyone would feel low, feeling sick and ill all the time, stomach in knots, head full of fuzz, shaky and heart racing… wouldn’t you feel pretty damn low?! I do keep having emotional moments where I just cry and think about all the worst case scenarios – but again I’ve been putting this down to the fact that I’ve been ill. Physically ill. But I found websites that describe depression and some of my symptoms do seem to tally.

A psychoanalyst would probably read this post and assume that I am in denial of my condition. Maybe I am, but it’s better than just succumbing to it, isn’t it? I was talking to mum about it today. I said to her, well yesterday I got up at 7am, made breakfast for me and Owen, did the housework, cooked a lamb casserole for lunch, put Owen down for a nap, woke him, had lunch, cleared up, walked into town, bought a few things, met a friend for coffee, walked home, made tea, bathed Owen, put him to bed and read my new book that arrived from Amazon. It wasn’t a massive, horrendous effort to do all that, I just did it because that’s what I do, and yes I felt sick and strange at times but I dealt with it. I did feel like crying at one point, but I didn’t, and the feeling passed. Does that sound like a depressed person?

It isn’t that I feel it would be an awful thing to be depressed. I don’t think there is any stigma really nowadays attached to depression, it’s so common. It’s just that I don’t really feel depressed. And I really don’t want to take anti-depressants. I have agreed to counselling, to begin with, so lets see how that goes. Probably the referral won’t come through for another month or so anyway, by which time they’ll have decided I’m not depressed, I’m something else. Just plain mad, maybe.

It’s so boring, all this ailment talk about me. On a much happier note, Owen stood up for quite a long time yesterday with no support! He was standing leaning against my knees when I was on the phone to mum, and then he let go and was standing up! And then he did it again three times…. and today he did it rather impressively at Sing and Sign, and then again at Tina’s. My clever little sausage.

Postpartum thyroiditis, possibly?

Me and Owen crept out into the sunshine, a good day!

Well this morning felt terrible again. Waves of nausea and weird spaced-out-ness. Cried a lot, for no apparent reason, except that I kept thinking that maybe I was dying and I kept looking at Owen and thinking, I can’t die, I can’t be ill, I have to be well for him because it’s not fair to him otherwise… it’s like a black hole that my brain gets sucked into, and then gradually over the morning I crept out again into the sunlight again.

We were going for Sunday lunch with Rob and Em, as it was Rob’s birthday yesterday so after Owen had his nap I drove over to mums. I felt a bit better by then. She had been busy googling ‘overactive thyroid’ and found lots of stuff about post-partum thyroiditis, which I have never heard of but it does look like this might be what I am suffering with. It is basically inflammation of the thyroid after giving birth that leads to hyperthyroidism, and then sometimes hypothyroidism afterwards. It can be mistaken for PND or anxiety, or even just the general worry and tiredness that comes with being a new mum.

I feel kind of relieved that I can now pin a label on to my symptoms – if that’s what it is, I am totally self-diagnosing now, based on the blood test and internet research. But it doesn’t help how I feel when I’m having an ‘attack’. I feel totally freaked out, panicky, dizzy and sick, like I’m about to pass out or even die, and my head fills with doom-laden thoughts about that, and that feeds my panic and probably pumps even more adrenalin around my body. If that’s what’s being pumped around my body. I have to get this sorted, it is completely debilitating and I just can’t cope with it on my own. It’s frightening, and I feel helpless when it’s happening. I think I will try and bring my doc’s appointment forward, I need to get some kind of medication to deal with it. But then the problem is that I am still breastfeeding, so I don’t even know if they will prescribe anything.

On a more upbeat note, my little gorgeous darling has now stood up on his own with no support at all for a couple of seconds! And he’s done it a few times now – won’t be long before he’s walking, running and pole vaulting I think!

Hanging on grimly…

I seem to have turned a corner with my illness now (that’s tempted fate, hasn’t it?!). Have felt a bit better each day for about three days now. It feels like a massive weight being lifted off my heart. I am still getting the odd ‘wave’ now and again, but they are less and less frequent, and less and less intense. Such relief! I am not going mad after all. I was so worried that perhaps I was suffering with PND, or some kind of Owen-linked anxiety. It was a vicious circle, the more I worried about it, the more I linked it to Owen and the more it seemed to be somehow something to do with my baby. But now I realise that it was just an illness, no more and no less. In fact, one of the blood tests has thrown up a potential suspect in this strange case. I have abnormally high thyroxine levels in my blood - not massively but I am apparently borderline hyperthyroid. No bulging eyes, yet though!

Apart from the getting better thing, which is great, I am having a nightmare with Owen’s sleep. I think I probably made my own noose here, because I have been feeding him to sleep. Which was fine when he was waking two or even three times a night. At the moment he is waking pretty much every hour and a half! I can’t feed him back to sleep that often, and he’s not even hungry – unsurprisingly. He just seems to want to play. He doesn’t really cry as much as whinge. But I hear every bleat and huff and puff, as he’s in the next room to me, and it keeps me awake.

What do I do? Do I leave him? Or go to him? But if I go to him, quite often his whinging often turns to full on crying until I pick him up. Or laughing – like last night. Last night I got about four hours sleep, and that was after resorting to giving him some Calpol. I thought maybe his teeth were bothering him, but I don’t think they can be that bad because when I was going in to him he was smiling and laughing at me – not the reaction of someone with toothache! I so want to start him on a bottle at night, but he just won’t take the formula I’ve been prescribed. Oh well, we are seeing the allergy specialist in a couple of weeks so I guess I will have to hang on grimly for dear life and prop my eyes open with cotton buds till then…

Bedside manner training…

Tried to post the other night but something went wrong and I didn’t have the energy to try and fix it! I’ve had a horrid few days, felt absolutely at death’s door yesterday and the day before, but feeling a little better today. Have enlisted mum’s help for respite! She is now on duty with Owen, has taken him off to the supermarket to pick up a few things for me. She’s an angel. I will never grumble about her ever again!

I am hoping that I have now turned a corner with this illness. Saturday night, I thought that I was dying. I couldn’t sleep because of stomach pain and nausea, and because of an army of doom-filled thoughts that marched unremittingly through my addled brain… what if I died, what would happen to Owen, what if I collapsed and no one found me for days, what if, what if… what if I send him to nursery and there’s some evil paedo there… what if Owen starts to pick up on my unhappy vibes and becomes depressed… what if, what if… the list goes on and on. At four in the morning, it’s very hard to get out of this mind-trap. I finally did get some sleep but the next day I felt the worst I have felt since I got ill. I do think that some of how I am feeling is psychological, that I start feeling ill and then I get anxious, which makes my tummy contract, which obviously makes me feel worse.

We went out to lunch yesterday with mum and John. Owen was a star, he ate his roast dinner perfectly (well, for an 8 month old – a lot went on the floor still!) but I could just about eat some potato and watercress soup. Felt really bad all afternoon, so mum stayed with me till 7.30 when Owen went to bed, and helped with the dishes and stuff. I was just glad that she was there, really. Then today I got a doctor’s appointment, and had some blood tests done by a woman who seemed to take positive delight in the fact that I was squeamish about needles - halfway through she declared loudly that the vein had collapsed and then proceeded to explain exactly what that involved. Thanks, nursey. You might think about doing some bedside manner training…?

Plus I got some medicine for the acid in my tummy which helped a bit, I think. Mum came over to mine afterwards and helped out over lunchtime. She’s just gone to the supermarket with Owen now, so I can put my feet up for a bit. But my tummy is starting to feel a bit rubbish again so I think I will take some more meds before tea.

At least now I have had some tests done, so I can stop worrying about that – there’s no point really until the results come back. And mum has said that she will help me out as long as I am ill. Just having her around is a massive help, it takes my mind off things.

Boobie boy turns nose up at formula.

Sigh. Still not right. Today has been up and down. This morning I woke up feeling okay, after a fantastic night’s sleep - 8 unbroken hours! Owen woke at 10.30, but then slept through till about 6, and then went back to sleep till 8am! So I got up thinking that I’d feel pretty good this morning… not to be, sadly. I started feeling lousy at breakfast and couldn’t eat hardly anything, or drink my tea. Then I just felt sicky and weird all morning on and off. Owen went for a nap at around 11am, later than usual and I had a little meltdown. Melting is a good way to describe it – it’s like all the tension and anxiety of the morning suddenly melts, and I just let it all go in floods of tears. It’s a release, and it does make me feel better.

Made lunch and by the time we had sat down to eat I was feeling a bit better. Dad turned up at 1.30 and we were still eating, and by then I felt a lot better. The afternoon went by with me feeling quite human again, Dad and I did attempt to play a few songs but it was quite difficult as Owen kept trying to grab Dad’s guitar strings, and he did have a little go at harmonies but wasn’t very tuneful! We walked up the road to have a look at the new guitar shop and drooled over a few beautiful guitars, Owen seemed quite happy to gaze at guitars too!

I have been trying to give him some formula milk, but he is turning his nose up at it. I tasted it today, and it is absolutely disgusting. No wonder he won’t drink it. My policy on food is, if I wouldn’t eat it, I wouldn’t make my son eat it. Should I also adopt this policy with milk? It is hypoallergenic though, which apparently tastes worse than normal formula. The thing is, I don’t really want to stop breastfeeding, but I feel like it is really draining on me and this lingering illness means that I feel this more than ever. I also worry about my supply. Owen is still feeding from me a lot – four or five times a day, and sometimes for half an hour at a time. If I could get him to take even one formula feed in the afternoon it would help. But it’s going to be harder than I thought – my boy is a boobie boy, no doubt about it!