Hell of a day. Immy is teething and very out of sorts. Howling at night and nothing we can do will comfort her. I want to stay up all night rocking her and comforting her but she won’t lie down on my chest. I can’t make her and I feel like I’m failing her. It breaks my heart.
Today she gets up in better spirits. I have a doctors appointment about the fatigue. I try and explain about Post Impairment Syndrome because the GP admits he has no experience of CP, much less in adults. But he still wants to do my bloods and check levels there. So still weeks away from any kind of helpful options.
He reckons I’m not getting to the restful part of any of my sleep cycles.
Am I stressed?
Working mum in constant pain? Just a bit.
Am I becoming anxious?
Long days in the office and constantly worrying about the quality of life I’m left with, wondering constantly if I’m doing right by my daughter? Yeah, pretty much.
The stair gate literally fell out of the wall before we left the house this morning. Immy’s constantly up on her feet so in danger of falling down the stairs if she gets up there in the first place. Her Granddad came racing round to get it off the wall so I’d be able to take her up for her nap but now I’m scared about keeping her off the stairs.
We were due to meet a lovely friend and her little girl for coffee this afternoon. By the time I was ready to get going, it was raining. Immy was having none of that… rigid and wailing as I tried to strap her into the pram. I have to do this outside because I’m too damn weak to lift the pram over the lip of our doorway down the steps if Immy’s strapped in.
And I shouted. And I hate myself for it. She was just getting wetter and wetter from the rain. I want to press on… I want that coffee… I really want the adult company. But she’s howling. And I’m shouting at her for ruining the afternoon. In the next second, I’m crying as hard as she is. Because I’m hateful. She needs better than that! It’s obvious she doesn’t want to go and if I make her, she’ll be sat in the damp. I don’t want her to catch cold. I feel terrible enough.
So I tell her we’re not going and pick her up. But my shoes are wet from the rain and when I bend to put her on the floor, I fall. Crumpled in a heap next to her. She looks at me frightened and I catch myself pleading with her to help me. And I feel even worse. My tiny, frightened baby girl can’t help me can she? I’m the mum. And today, I feel useless. I’m so sorry, Squidge. Mummy didn’t mean to shout. I will do better.