It’s highly possible that as a child, I suffered some form of OCD. For a good portion of my life (according to my childhood memory; it could actually have only been two weeks), I was convinced that things had to be reversed or I would suffer dire consequences. So if I traced the number 8 on my hand, in the air, on paper, or even I’m my mind, I had to do it backwards or my house would catch on fire.
I got quite good at spelling words backwards.
I also had nightmares about crinkled sheets. Not that this inspired any bed making obsession, but in my mind I would see a beautifully white, straight sheet, and then suddenly black crinkles would develop all over it, and it was very disturbing.
To be honest, I still don’t like it.
So it’s no wonder really that as a first time mum my baby bubble was not only made up of wonder achievements and rainbows and puppies, but also of a strict routine that must be adhered to at all costs.
I was a Nazi. A complete nazi about sleep times and feed times and food and everything. If things did not go exactly according to plan, I was a frazzled, stressed out, cranky mummy.
And I didn’t really have a whole lot of friends.
I’d like to say it stopped after number one, but it didn’t. If anything, I was worse with Bridie, and then worse again with Bailey. (Having said that though, he was always the kind of kid that needed routine or he didn’t cope. No idea where he got that from!)
Somewhere along the line, something changed. I softened.
And, if I could pinpoint where, I think it was probably whilst pregnant with Ava. The horrendous pregnancy that left me housebound and broken and a shell of a person.
When she was born, our lack of connection was a horrible thing; but also, and I hate to say this, a liberating thing. I was so glad to be free of the weight of her life in my womb, that I moved, and walked, and went shopping without her, and coped with sleeps being a little late, and feeding a bit off kilter.
As she got older, I began to fall in love with her, but it was as a complete person. A person who was mending herself, and beginning to see that being a mum meant being me and not just a robotic slave, putting their life on the back burner for the next eighteen years.
In many ways, all that drama of her birth, and all the pain associated with it, was necessary. It’s only been since hitting rock bottom, that I’ve been able to come back up higher than mediocre, closer towards shining. The healing process God took me through from my lowest, has restored to me the years lost under the weight of fear, and shame and self-loathing.
In falling in love with my little girl, I have also begun to fall in love with me.
This was supposed to be a post about our ‘camping trip’ but as it turns out, that is still to come.
Somethings just don’t happen the way you expect them to I guess; in life or in blogging.
And isn’t that a good thing?
Linking with Kate for a thankful Thursday