Stick Some Nazis on the Giant Phone

Oi that's my depression! Put it down!

I last did a blog in March. It's now November.
In May I was diagnosed with depression - hence the silence.

Depression eh? Well this is bound to be a riot of a blog post.

Yep. It's very cheery.

1. The Stress of it all

In online lists of "the top 10 most stressful things" I'd imagine the key features of 2012-13 would all feature: 

Had a baby, 

Got made redundant, 

Gave up smoking, 

Several job applications rejected, 

Moved house, 

Moved city, 

Started new job, 

Child became possessed by satanic forces.

It's been pretty shitty. 

Plus to top it all off a diagnosis of depression is like a gagging order. At least if you break your leg you can tell people all about how it happened, they share sympathy and open doors for you and the like. 

You'd probably get some 'get well soon' cards from friends, family and colleagues. People wouldn't expect you to do too much. 

Even when you're back on your feet people might legitimately say things like "are you sure you're ready for all this?" or "goodness aren't you doing well to be getting back to things so soon" perhaps even "how are you doing?"

Mental illness yields no such sympathies.

I lost my job, then I couldn't even work my notice because setting foot in the place made me hyperventilate and feel like I was going to die. 

It wasn't the best.

So I was signed off work. 

From work I received no well-wishes, no get well soon card, no one called to see how I was doing, no one text to ask if I was ok. No one popped round to check in on how I was feeling. My boss eventually rang to tell me not to go back and introduced herself on the phone with her first name and surname. Friendly.

I never went back. 

Now I have a new job. And I thought it was going to be a magical solution to all my problems. 

But it wasn't. Which is a bit of a shitter.

2. Wonderful advice

In dealing with the current situation I have had several different threads of advice from different sources. Why don't you play a little game and see if you can sort them into good pieces of advice and stupid pieces of advice:

i) Go and see your GP

ii) Get some rest

iii) Spend some time with the children

iv) Just roll up your sleeves and get on with it

3. What not to say to someone with depression

Apparently the sort of suffering I am currently enduring is totally normal and everyone has it. In fact lots of people are way worse off than me so I don't really have any reason to complain.

If I can't get up in the morning: 

"why don't you just do what I do?" what? Leap out of bed singing "oh what a beautiful morning!" dance to the shower and beam with pride at the full night of sleep and marvellous day ahead?

er...because I have depression and getting up makes me want to die sometimes.

If I can't go to work without having a panic attack:

"why don't you just do what I do?" what? Arrive at work early with a smile on your lips and a song in your heart whistling "heigh ho!" and exchanging "good mornings" with all you pass, ready to face the challenges of the day with an optimism only rivalled by Happy Feelgood McGlad of the Shiny Shiny Good Vibe Crew?

er...because I have depression and going to work makes me want to die sometimes.

If I feel like I can't do my job properly:

"why don't you do what I do?" what? What is it that you do? Please tell me because at the moment I can't do anything because I'm paralysed with fear and anxiety and I don't even need to make the effort to want to die because my body is just going to stop living all on its own.

I have depression.

If I can't function enough to go to work:

"why don't you just do what I do?" what? Accept that everyone in the world hates their job and just get on with it? Decide that I actually CAN function on the basis of a personal motto that I read off a teatowel and can adopt as my own to give me magical inner strength and possibly also the ability to become invisible?

because I have depression. It doesn't work like that. 

I am Mrs Rational. If I could rationalise myself out of depression I really really would. I don't actually need a teatowel to tell me how to do that. But a new mug might be nice, for all those million coffees I need to drink because I can't face eating solid food.

I hope you're getting the point here, I'm aware this is in no way amusing you, but if you know someone with depression - even if YOU ALSO have depression, just don't tell them to be more like you. 

It's not helpful. 

I'd love to be able to do what other people do. I'd love to be able to go to work and do my job. I'd love to be able to shrug off a bad day like we all have to sometimes and simply hope that it'll be better tomorrow. I'd love to be able to look at a massive workload and crack on and get as much as I can done with the acceptance that I'm only human. I'd love to be able to deal with my plans not going how I want them to by just serenely accepting what I cannot change. But I can't. Because I have depression. 

It actually isn't my fault and it actually isn't my choice.

4. What to say to someone with depression - regardless of whether you are being paid to say it.

So now I have a counsellor. She is different to other people because when I say "Apparently I make out that I'm being victimised all the time" she says "well why wouldn't you feel victimised? That seems like a perfectly rational response to the situation" 

And when I say "I'm just so angry about it" she says "It's ok to be angry about it". 

And when I say "I just can't do my job" she says "What do you think needs to change to make you feel like you can do your job?" 

Which is a very different response to "Well I can do my job, why don't you just do what I do?"

I'm aware that she is paid to say these things and trained to know that these are the right things to say. However, we all have friends and family with depression and we all get frustrated at their insistence that everything is awful and the whole world is against them and whatever they do nothing is going to make it better...but instead of saying "why don't you just go for a walk, a walk will make you feel better" or saying "well everyone else has a shit life too you know" or saying "well I hate my life but you don't see me bitching about it all the livelong day" or "it's not that bad, stop moaning all the time it's not all about you" why not try saying "I'm not surprised you feel that way", it's ok to be angry about it", "What do you think is making it so bad?", "What could make it better?",  "Do you want a cup of tea?"

My husband was training to be a counsellor. But he's very strict that he doesn't do counselling on me, he's just my best friend. He makes a lot of tea.

We've been watching a documentary about Auschwitz recently on netflix, it's really good. We don't have a TV so we watch it on my son's tablet, it's a samsung like my mobile but bigger.

I got really angry last night, I was upset and I knew then that I would never be able to get to sleep because I can't switch off when I feel like my insides are being compressed into a tiny cube.

My husband didn't tell me I was being stupid or justify the actions of the person who had unintentionally made me feel like I should just die because I'm so useless.

He made me an ovaltine, took it upstairs and said "I'll stick some Nazis on the giant phone".

That is why I love him.

Mamas and Papas

Hi everyone.

So I have two things to talk about, I'm not in the most jovial of moods so you'll have to find the gags hidden in the bitter sarcasm of the post this time. Ok? Good. Ok.

1. Mamas and Papas - the pushchair saga.

Hats off to M&P this week, we didn't have the receipt for the broken buggy but they found us on file, sent a courier to collect it, repaired a whole heap of bits and replaced other bits that weren't even broken then couriered it back to us all for free. This was OUTSIDE of the 1 year warranty but within the 2 year aftercare service. Everyone was completely helpful and polite and I was most impressed. So that's that one, if you ever need to buy a buggy I would utterly recommend them as a company. The blog title is sort of aimed to get googlers on their side, I do like a nice investment in customer service training. (they did miss the pickup the first time because our house is hard to find and they do take forever to answer the phone but I'll forgive that and assume they are working on it)

2. Mamas and Papas - Oh! The sexism!

This happened ages ago: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/stayathome-mothers-may-get-more-support-says-david-cameron-2097967.html

then more recently this happened:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/9942602/David-Camerons-must-end-astounding-discrimination-against-stay-at-home-mothers-says-charity.html

Now there are two issues at stake here and I care a lot about both of them. the first is obvious - childcare is incredibly expensive. Additionally, some children completely love it (I got all psyched up for the "no mummy don't leave me" tears and was actually a little disappointed by the distant cry of "eat my dust" I was given when I dropped him off for his first day at creche. He's never ever been sad to be left and he loves all his friends and the lady who looks after him. We don't NEED to put him in childcare, but we do for his own social wellbeing and growth)

Some parents were actual whole people before they had children, and part of that was them having a job. Having a job, your particular job, can be a huge facet of your identity and granted that when you become a parent you have to extend what defines you to include 'parent', really that's not that unusual. We have so many labels and identities anyway; friend, colleague, child, neighbour...it doesn't always mean a radical shift in self-image to add another. Different people have different priorities and we live in a world where we encourage young people to value themselves in a lot of different ways (ok, we do in education, in the actual world they are pretty much told just to be sexy but that's another blog) so we should be positively embracing the fact that we have the freedom in law at least to choose whether we prioritise differing aspects of our selfhood over others. Note that I didn't say prioritise our CHILDREN, I mean prioritise ourselves. I have a job and I'm a mother. I don't feel like I'm juggling the two or that they get in the way of each other. Monday-Friday 8-4 I am an employee and my job is my priority. Before and after that I am primarily a mother and I prioritise the children. I try not to take my home life to work and I try not to take my work life home. As much as possible.

For David Cameron, or anyone for that matter, to suggest that parents who stay at home to look after their children are better or worse at being citizens or employees or parents is absurd, rude and morally dubious. Some children NEED to be looked after by their own parents and some children NEED to be socialising with other children in a childcare setting. Some parents NEED to work to maintain their already existing sense of identity and some parents NEED to stay home with their children because they are allowed to choose to prioritise that aspect of their identity.

Lay off the working parents, lay off the stay at home parents and for the love of St Margot in a rickshaw will you PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE stop acting like you're doing the world a favour by offering shared parental leave "so that mothers can go back to work". On to my second gripe with the world. The sexism of it all.

Some issues are undoubtedly 'women's issues'. Abortion isn't something a man will ever have to go through...but it is shockingly a majority vote by men that continues to restrict women's options. Childbirth isn't something men will ever have to go through - you don't see massive poster campaigns pushing a "natural vasectomy -  all the cutting none of the anaesthetic" do you? No man would be expected to go through anything like childbirth without pain relief, but because it's women and because it's cheaper we are sold a line that it is in some way morally more acceptable to grunt and sweat and well done you for only having a little bit of gas and air right at the end.
Fuck you, to be honest, I've done it twice now and feel a total fool. If you are reading this and have not yet had a baby, as soon as you feel your first contraction get straight to the hospital, grab the inevitably male doctor by the testicles and squeeze until he sanctions the epidural.

Breastfeeding is a women's issue - men can actually breastfeed as it goes, but the equipment takes longer to get ready so I don't think there's much of an argument to promote it as the norm but I should at least mention that. In the same way as childbirth, women are heavily pressured into breastfeeding and not enough government money is invested into the alternatives. Women are harshly judged if they don't WANT to breastfeed and it isn't even subtle when arguments are used to persuade and guilt-trip women by explicitly stating how much money the NHS would save if more women breast fed. How much money would the NHS save if they didn't have to deal with drunken fights outside pubs, suspicious items becoming...ahem...lodged in places...and victims of domestic abuse and rape? Men cost the NHS money too y'know and you don't see men crying about having to let another human rip their nipples off for the sake of a few pennies do you? Well rarely.

Childcare, who looks after children, who goes to work and who is the primary carer is NOT A WOMEN'S ISSUE. I don't know about you but I had two people make my children and one of us is a man. There is actually no legitimate reason on Earth why it should be an assumption that women stay at home and the conflation of terms "stay at home parent" and "stay at home mother" in the articles above is utterly infuriating. My husband stays home with the children. We only got married at all because we knew a tory tax break was on the horizon for married couples but no, didn't come. And now we're all buggered aren't we?

The government should be doing more to help with childcare, but they need to stop stigmatising, stereotyping and shaming women in the process too. It's disgusting and I hate it.

*Insert your favourite joke here*

All sorts of things

Been a while ain't it? 

Excuses being:

1. I am now back at work, which has taken a lot of mental build up if not very much actual work to achieve.

2. I have two children. Duh.

3. I gave up smoking. Well, I gave up smoking ages ago, but after the last blogging episode, and then I was VERY ANGRY for a few days (weeks) and that sapped all my sense of humour away so I didn't think blogging would be wise. Who wants to hear about how much I hate everything for no reason? It wouldn't have been a good time. For my lungs it was a pretty good time. But then I had some teeth out and had to stop sucking my thumb, combined with going back to work and starting a new (amazing) diet I am now smoking again. But less than I was (I am prepared to lie more freely about how much I smoke now) and as a result all is rosy. La la la la.

4. Nothing ever happens.

Ok so now I'm getting around to it I actually have a bunch of stuff to write about. Ingredients for the latest blog-a-thon are:

1. My teeth.

2. My diet

3. My buggy.

4. Softplay. And twatbags. The two go hand in hand.

Here goes!

Chapter 1 - My Teeth.

My dad says I was a really good baby. His standard story goes that after I was born I cried a load, then he put my thumb in my mouth and I never cried again. Although this is probably the romanticised embellishment of an over-proud and possibly tipsy typical dad-type, fundamentally the lesson to learn is that I have always sucked my thumb. As a result I also smoke - because thumb-sucking is NOT cool when you're a teenager and it sets you up for always needing to have something going on between your hands and your mouth. I hid my thumb sucking for a long time. All through university I had my blankie in my cupboard and only got it out when no one was around. Luckily I didn't have very many friends so I basically sat in my room with my blankie for three years. I know what you're thinking...but you can't be me, I'm taken. #Soz.

So now I'm almost 30 and my thumb sucking has RUINED my teeth, have a look at your own, doubtlessly beautiful, gnashers. At the bottom there, you see your front ones? You see how you have four in a row...gleaming with colgatesque brilliance and practically screaming "I am loved"? Well one of mine was shunned behind the other three. Shamefully hiding it's plaquey nastiness from the world. This hiding tooth has been something of the bane of my life.

Since it was hiding, it was always a total arse to clean, I had to have hygienist appointments every 6 weeks and had to brush my teeth at least 3 times a day through my teen years (again, not cool in the lunch hour to be manouvering a toothbrush around your gnarly pegs). Then the solution was suggested by the orthodontist that I could have my jaws broken in 4 places, my mouth wired back together and 4 back teeth removed. So I'd be completely unable to chew for 6 weeks, but then regain about 40% chewing function after that. I was 16. They said they'd do it over the summer so I wouldn't miss any school. Yeah...thanks...I never went back. The tooth wanted to hide, so I let it hide and generally speaking people didn't see it unless I pointed it out. But remember, I was drunk a lot.

So now I'm all new-baby-having, denistry is free (woohoo!) and my new, sombre and scary dentist said I should just have it taken out. The heavens sang like...in a film...imagine one. Oh I know, when Harry Potter finds his wand for the first time in Ollivanders and a shaft of light shines down upon him like he's Jesus. Maybe that was a hidden metaphor. Not very well hidden let's be honest. I digress, anyway that happened. In my mind obviously, I'm not sure Jesus K. Rowling gives a monkeys about my incisors. I was on the road to freedom!! Opted for a general anaesthetic as they had to take out some wisdom teeth too and what, like, 400 weeks later off to the hospital I go. La la la la la.....

To most people, the wisdom teeth would be a big deal. I cared not. For when I awoke from the (terrifying) anaesthetic I would have something like the teeth of a normal person. I. Was. Excited. I told the nurse my tale of woe and went through the procedure with the surgeon. Like, 400 hours later, off I am wheeled to surgery. The anaesthetic was horrible by the way, felt like a plastic rod being thrust up my arm.


Imagine the scene...I awake...a nurse is looking over me asking if I feel ok, calling my name...hello...hello...is it me you're looking for?

And I'm awake! Woo flipping hoo!! Genuinely, a tear formed in my eye at the joy that it was all over and the evil hiding tooth was gone, GONE!!! GOOOOOONNNNNEEEEEEE!!!

I had a feel with my tongue...

What the f....it's still there. My tooth is still in my mouth. I have not had my tooth removed. My tooth. Stayed. In.

Nurse lady says "don't worry now, it's just the anaesthetic, it'll wear off soon and everything will be clearer, it all went fine" NO! IT'S STILL IN MY SODDING MOUTH, WOMAN! It was like I was in a coma and no one knew I was still totally there. Ok it was nothing like that, she just didn't believe me. But same sort of thing.

Back on the ward the nice nurse came to ask me how wonderful it was to be free and I showed her and burst into tears. The surgeon was promptly called for and her explanation of what went wrong was "oh, I forgot that one. That's never happened before" Wicked. Well I'll just leave it then shall I? "You can come back next week?" WHAT??? NOOOOO!!!!! I've said my goodbyes to my thumb now! Sob sob sob!! "OK, We'll put you back under" thanks.

So I had two general anaesthetics that day, but the tooth is now confirmedly gone forever. So I've stopped sucking my thumb and blankie lives in a box. That is the story of my teeth.

Chapter 2: My Diet

I do NOT believe in dieting. All the people I've known to diet have only made themselves sadder and rarely any thinner. I also think I haven't the willpower to stick to it properly. Which is a massive bummer because I'm a massive bum...mer? I have a massive...you get the point, I'm a bit fat. I did just have a baby.
I don't actually even care about what size I am, only now I'm back at work I need to wear clothes (that's "the rules" apparently) and none of them fit so what choice do I have? The science diet...yeeeeah. Not like what you feed cats by the way, I mean a diet based on science. And not celebrity "How Mylene Klass lost 6lb in a lift with this simple diet tip and you can too" science, I mean actual science made by science people.
I'm intermittently fasting, so for 2 days a week I limit myself to 600 calories and the rest of the time I eat biscuits. I've lost a bunch of weight and it's brilliant. You should try it. Research it first, don't let's be stupid. I am not a celebrity...keep me in here? So anyway, my point is that two days I week I don't eat much. And now my clothes fit.

Chapter 3: (wow 2 was short wasn't it?) My Buggy

This is just a quick intro to what will probably be my next blog. Given my excessive use of the C word in the first post I don't think the advertising people are going to want to use my influx of readers to hard sell crap to, but that doesn't have to stop me doing my own product placements. I have a mamas and papas sola. It's very pretty. It does a load of cool stuff and I love it. Except the wheel keeps falling off. This is extremely inconvenient, especially as it has done this a mere week after its first birthday which is typically what all expensive items do when they are under a 12 month warranty. Buggies definitely need to have wheels, of all the parts of a buggy that could fall off, the wheel is probably one of the least good. So I called the helpline (open from 8-6:30 mon-fri) at 8:30 and it was shut. If mamas and papas piss me off I will be ranting a lot about them on the internet, brace yourself. However if they pick up my buggy, give me a courtesy buggy, fix my buggy and return my buggy I will be all sweetness and light and will probably start recommending their products all the time. So prep yourselves for the future...watch this space.

Chapter 4: Softplay and twatbags

If you don't own a toddler, know this: they are arseholes. They need constant amusement, food, attention, placation, scolding, activity, stimulation and monitoring. A bored toddler is about as dangerous as a terrorist, and people are just as pissed off about having one on their plane.

One of the worst things about toddlers isn't amusing them, they are frankly very easily amused. However they will insist on you paying attention to them, mine will play quite happily alone with his train set as long as I am actively watching him and making appropriate oooh aaah noises, as well as providing the 24 hour Thomas the Tank Engine Jukebox that is my newfound alternative to exchanging speech with real humans.

One of the best things to combat this barrage of tantrumming, attention insistent, Thomas-jukeboxing is softplay.

At softplay, there is so much fun that adults are not required. We have a coffee, the toddlers go bananas, everyone is happy. Well, until you start noticing the complete idiocy all around you.

Here are the top 10 things to look out for at your own local softplay:

There would be a prize for spotting all ten, except there isn't unless you take your own. I suspect that all prizes must be purchased on the premises or else they are not allowed in the seating area, but you take your own risks.

1. Babies drinking suspect liquids from their bottles. Today I'm pretty sure I saw a baby drinking coffee. It could have been tea but either way that just isn't good.

2. Adults keeping their shoes on whilst they supervise their children. Why the bollocks do they think the children have to check their shoes in? Like danger money? No. There are babies licking the carpet all over the place, keeping your shoes on is just gross.

3. "That parent" (ahem Angry Bird ahem) shouting at the staff for not enforcing the policies of softplay correctly. Those policies are there to ensure that all children (MY child) is able to play equally and fairly (uninterruptedly) with all the toys (my toys. Basically. I paid right?) in the place. God help you if you disobey the printed signs from the 90s. God help you.

4. Table Stalking. A lot like the age old pastime of 'swing stalking', adults will loiter around the seating area, as soon as someone so much as rests their coffee on the table all adults assume the "get set" pose, then if a coat is lifted RRUUUUUUUNNNNNN!!!!! Seating is vital. One must not stand at softplay.

5. Escape enablers. The smaller children are protected, in all the softplay centres I have been to, from escaping to their certain death by a gate with a simple latching system designed to be too high for them to reach. How marvellous then that adults are so willing to hold the gate open for unattended toddlers to roam through. Slow clap. Well done you.

6. The look of almost religious awe that small kids get when looking at the big kids area. There is a divide...to cross it means death. Or maybe a bonk on the noggin. At least a telling off. The toddler will yearn for the big kids bit like the terrorist yearns for Jannah. And they're about as likely to get in there. Luckily for the world there is no terror equivalent to the escape enabler as far as I'm aware. So the whole metaphysical wonder of the afterlife is in principle better designed than soft play, but I can't say I'm surprised because I think heaven has been going since before the 90s. Correct me if I'm wrong.

7. You see that kid who looks a bit peaky. Yeah he's got a disease. Could be norovirus, could be conjunctivitis, could just be the shits. Tomorrow, your kid will have that.

8. Big kids, for some reason, seem unhappy with the Valhalla of the big kids area and will invariably sneak into the small kids area and star chucking stuff about. They are usually the children of the escape enablers who apparently run a two way gatekeeping system. They will swear and chuck stuff about, maybe just the toys but maybe also some crisps if you're lucky. Enlist "that parent" to get an incoherent announcement made over the loudspeaker, that should solve (do nothing whatsoever about) the problem.

9. "That kid". Is my one I'm afraid. He's the one going up the slide instead of down. He's the one who has realised you can climb up to that precarious ledge, he's the one who's figured out how to skip past the parentals and get straight to the escape enablers, he's the one who just ran over that lady's foot (if only she'd kept her shoes on eh?), he is the one licking all the fake foods to spread the diseases more efficiently, he is the one eating the crisps off the floor. He is "that kid". All other kids will follow him. He is not Jesus, following is not wise. I am sorry.

10. Music. Why not play some banging house tunes from the 90s? Toddlers love that shit.

I'm done now. Go and share.

If my blog gets a million likes my kid said he won't teach your kid how to use matches.