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Why being a lesbian mum is exactly the same and completely different

There are some fundamental things about motherhood that just don’t change. You will change umpteen nappies, and as a result you will get baby poop and other bodily liquids over most of your limbs at one point or another. Generally speaking however you obtain a child (no, not theft, I’m talking adoption, fertility treatment or in a plethora of other ways) it’s come from the same place – a womb. There will be a time – if you have a newborn or very young baby – where you don’t sleep, you will feel like the walking dead and you won’t know who you are; one day you will find you self sat on the sofa in yesterday’s underwear, bloodshot eyes with bags the size of houses, unbrushed teeth that still look clean because you can’t remember the last time you ate, smeared with poop, a few bubbles of sick down one arm, and some crusty snot thrown in for good measure. That happens. To everyone who’s a parent believe me. There’s other things, like the fact that once your a parent there really is no going back – particularly for those that have carried and birthed a child, once you have that baby your life will never be the same again. It takes time to go back to feeling like yourself, but that self is very much a different self. Whoever you were before you had a child is gone, held captive by your long forgotten and never to return youth. Whoever you were is most definitely not returning. But that’s ok. This new you is a better you anyway!

Thats the stuff that’s the same. Seems like everything, right? Wrong. The differences are invariably cultural. Its always cultural. It’s those little things that make our lives that bit harder. The worst bit, is it starts before your child’s even born.

Take your antenatal classes – a class full of straight couples. Where does the non birth mother sit? For the sake of this and any ongoing blogs I post (and my word count!) the non birth mother will be referred to as ‘mama’ and birth mother (mum). Where should the mama sit? It’s not really with the mums – they are all discussing the trials and tribulations of pregnancy and their fears of labour. But it’s also not really with the dads who are more concerned with discussing where the closest dominoes pizza place is to the hospital.

Throughout pregnancy I felt sorry for my wife – she would tell people she’s having a child and within about three seconds a haze of confusion would melt over their face as their eyes would unsubtly drop to her stomach and back to her face a few times. It’s still not ‘normal’ enough for people to just accept that two women can have a baby.

Even after pregnancy and labour it continues – but the problem is – the differences are between your friends and you. I am sure that to a certain extent straight couples who have kids young experience similar things. The friends who begin to slip away because they ‘just don’t get it’. They are incapable of compromising or being understanding to the fact that organising a night out is the equivalent to party planning for the royals. It takes serious time and effort, you can’t just go out at the drop of a hat. And, lets be honest, most of the time you don’t want too either, not because you’re a bore, but because if you do go out – the consequences will reach further than just a saturday morning hangover. You’re going to be tired long into thursday – especially when your child decides to start teething again – at that very moment you went out and let your hair down – commence a week or two of exhaustion. That bit – is probably the same.

But for the LGBT circle, the current generation of young’uns (17-35) we seem to be taking life in the slow lane. The majority of people who are having children in this gayby boom are 35 plus in the LGBT world – obviously I’m not saying everyone, there are also pockets of exceptions – but in my world – most if not all the LGBT parents I have met are 35 plus – in fact thats kind of mimicked with the hetero-parents I’ve met too. The difference this makes is – most of my friends are still in the culture of being concerned with where the next night out is coming from and who’s round is next. most still live at home with mum and dad, and few have careers sorted or any kind of concept of where they want to be when they grow up. Indeed any kind of mention of commitment and you got yourself a full on epi pen needing allergic reaction. Why is our generation of young LGBT so frightened of commitment? few if any of my friends have had relationships longer than a couple of years. It makes me feel like a freakshow – not only am I LGBT and therefore in a minority group as it is – but I’m a minority within a minority – a young LGBT person with a child, who actually had the child in a lesbian relationship and whats more, gave birth.

Other major differences include the ‘questioning’ when you come across a straight couple with a newborn – usual questions include: Oh how adorable – how much did they weigh? How was the birth? Do they sleep?

Now – we tend to get one or two of those normal questions and then you get hit with the- ‘I’m going to look really awkward and shift from foot to foot because I know what I’m about to ask is rude, but I’m going to do it anyway!’ – face and then the barrage of “oh so, er, how did you do it then?” most of the time I feel like responding with an equally stupid answer “do what? get my hair styled this way?, do what look this good on no sleep?” etc etc. Other stupid questions include “do you know the donor?” “are you both called mum”

Seriously, next time a straight couple asks me how I ‘did it’ I’m going to ask them how they got pregnant too, see how they like them apples!

I’m ranting – but I have a point, we face regular interrogations from joe public, and even from our parents. My own dad commented that he wasn’t really sure how it would ‘be’ raising a male child with two mums. “Where’s the balance” I remember him saying. He ate his own words though when he visited because he then said “I don’t think I’ve met a happier child.”

There are probably a million other differences I could name, but my rant just ran out of steam! For any of you LGBT mummies out there – anyone else able to add irritations to the list?

Writing

800px-Stipula_fountain_pen

I am attempting to take more time for me now that I am beginning to get some semblance of routine back into my life. With work just round the corner an the end of my maternity approaching, I am trying to think more about myself and where I want to go. I don’t want baby black to grow up with a miserable mother – just because I carried on doing a ‘job’ that pays the bills. I want to be a role model for him, to show him if you want something bad enough you can do it, you just have to work hard. So, now I have a fixed laptop, it is time to crack on with my writing course. Incase anyone else fancies themselves a writing course you can find it here.

So my first assignment, and piece of writing I had to do was a piece of descriptive writing. I thought I would share it with you. It was an observational piece, and we had to choose somewhere of interest and describe it. Feel free to comment if you like:

In the distance an aeroplane rumbled, and I strained to find the contrail jutting out of its rear. Unable to see it, I meandered down the twisted wisteria walkway instead. This was the aisle I was meant to walk down on my wedding day. Sighing, I stroked one of the baby branches arching over the walkway and was surprised to find it furry and covered in moss; my fingers tingled at its touch. Its elder looked down watching it grow, bark as wrinkly as a grandmothers.

The gravel crunched under my feet, as I continued down the path. I halted as I glimpsed a hint of the pillar-box red oriental bridge in the distance. Veering off the walkway I headed towards the bridge to stand at the edge of the lake, I heard the quacking of a pair of ducks paddling in the pond, and the roar of a waterfall pounded the jagged rocks surrounding it. Staring at the pool beneath the waterfall, I wondered whether mermaids lived in the murky midnight blue depths.

I stepped around the end of the walkway into a huge open space covered in a blanket of green grass. It felt like I was entering a magical world. A towering pagoda stood peacefully amongst the trees and boulders around it. If you listened hard enough you could almost hear the clip clop of geisha shoes, and the flapping of kimono fabric in the wind. Poised at my feet, stood a single flower flecked with pink ready to battle the first frosts of spring like a samurai preparing for war. 

I inhaled deeply, and the sharp air cut my throat as it whipped my fringe into my glasses. I pulled my jacket tighter to protect myself from the chilly air and walked through the dewy grass towards the aged mansion at the top of the gardens. I placed my hands on the filigree garden gate, and shivered as the icy metal bit my fingers. A delicate spiders web quivered in the breeze lonely without its eight-legged owner. The stately gardens behind the gate were pruned to perfection, with chess shaped bushes and neat lines surrounding the majestic fountain centerpiece.  

Springs first sunshine kissed the mansions sandy colored bricks. Terracotta turrets bulged out of the roof, and evergreen coloured ivy crept boldly up the walls.  I walked away imagining wartime evacuees waving behind the mansions enormous square windows and running through the great rooms inside.

 

 

 

30 weeks

I cannot believe I have hit 30 weeks. I really do not know where the last 30 weeks have gone… Life seems to be dissolving in front of my eyes – through a haze of winter colds needing excess sleep and having a ridiculous social life; it appears I haven’t done a pregnancy blog in three weeks – ummm…. Three weeks feels like two minutes ago!

So the big THREE ZERO….

I remember thinking when I was about 6 weeks preggo that 30 weeks would be massive- I couldn’t really imagine ever getting to 30 weeks, it was too ‘serious’ an amount of weeks pregnant for me to ever picture

– it’s like the last stretch – the no going back – the “you should really pack your hospital bag – this shits going down soon-” type serious!!

But strangely here I am…. I am honestly a bit shell shocked that it happened so quickly. I still feel far too in denial to be this pregnant!!

I half heatedly tried to pack a hospital bag and have been watching ‘midwives and one born every minute’ again to try and get realistic about how gross/painful child birth is going to be!!

I have never appreciated childbirth – I am not one of those women who watches and cries when a baby is born – I squeeze my legs shut and try not to vomit!!

I sort of ended up doing a full circle – I watched so many episode that I almost cried at one and then after a few more episodes decided it really was gross and started wondering if I would throw up at the sight of my own afterbirth. I mean really – I faint every time I give blood – not because it hurts or I’m squeamish but because the tube that collects your warm blood rests on my arm and I can feel the warm liquid ooze out…. Ugh.

Honestly why are placentas so vile??? They look horrendous and WHY are they soooo massive?? I seriously hope I don’t see mine or I’m Guna blow!!

I guess having hit 30 weeks I am trying to be a bit more realistic – I booked antenatal classes which start early oct I’ve booked a breast feeding class and as I say started to pack a bag.

The exhaustion is hitting home big time…. I seem to walk around in one state of zombie or another. I’m guessing that won’t disappear for some time either!

Anyway I’m in the dentist -toothache again!!

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One Word

I have discovered a new website…

http://www.oneword.com

It simply gives you one word and you have 60 seconds to write about it… I cant seem to get it to give me a different word, but I am thinking I may use this when i get stuck or lack inspiration and take out the dictionary….

I had the word:

‘welt’… and I wrote:

The welt was etched into her skin like the script on a tombstone. She pawed at it as pain burned up her arm. She wondered whether it would ever heal, knowing deep down it was going to leave a scar.

The Old Boys Club of Women’s Intuition

intuition-women

 

in·tu·i·tion

/ˌint(y)o͞oˈiSHən/

Noun
  1. The ability to understand something immediately, without the need for conscious reasoning.
  2. A thing that one knows or considers likely from instinctive feeling rather than conscious reasoning.

 

Women’s intuition is a really funny thing. It reminds me a little of an old boys club.

Most, but not all women have exceedingly good intuition. It’s a frighteningly powerful tool we use to seek out ‘wrongs’ or ‘no good’ but sometimes to seek out things we must do, or prevent.

Women generally like to over analyse everything, I am the ultimate example of an over analyser. It’s painfully annoying I hate myself for it, but I simply can’t help it.

I regularly sit around with my friends debating this ‘hunch’ I have, or a feeling I got when so and so looked at Billy bob in a strange way, and now I’m convinced that such and such is happening.

These discussions are highly secretive! If Billy Bob or whoever it was they were looking at were to interrupt or pass by, then hushed silences would fall over us, or indiscrete hand gestures would be thrown around the conversation bringing us to a rather undiplomatic silence.

The thing is our intuition tends to grow with our friends. One of my friends and I in particular, have a strange ability to throw a single look at each other, make one teeny facial expression and convey an entire conversation in an instant.

In fact I might only need to utter a single word or even half a syllable, and she will be nodding enthusiastically saying “mmm hmm, I thought so too”

Not that we would want to admit it, but we women are harbouring ourselves and our intuition in old boys clubs.

My point about this, is, we do strange things. We instinctively know when something’s wrong, when someone’s cheated on us or stabbed us in the back.

I pick up my phone a millisecond before it rings knowing its a particular friend.

And then…. Then there’s the really weird intuition, the intuition about our body’s….

If we pay just a tiny amount of attention to our body we can know all sorts of weird things.

Two months running I knew exactly when I was about to ovulate. So I got up and tested myself and got a positive result…

This month in particular was such a strong sensation that I sat bolt upright and just “knew” even though it wasn’t when I ought to have tested.

Women know things. We do. And we use them to do special, amazing and impossible things.

I think that I knew, I must of. My body must of told me to take that fertility test all those months ago. Something deep down an intuition, an inkling – that despite all the dismissals from the wife and doctors saying I was wasting my money- that I needed to take that test to prove I needed to do something now.

Why else would I of gone against professional advice?

The thing that I love about these boys clubs is that all the women around you coo and cluck in agreement affirming your suspicions because they too ‘had a feeling’ or simply understand because they’ve been there before.

We have an ability to know when you meet someone for the first time if they are a good egg or a bad egg.

I can reel off numerous examples of meeting someone – take another one of my friends, she had this new girlfriend that I took an instant disliking to for no apparent reason. I mean, I met the poor girl for a couple of hours, and immediately hated her. I couldn’t tell my friend why, either. I just didn’t like her.

Turns out the bitch was a psycho, and because I’m a good friend I didn’t say ‘I told you so’ !

In fact, my instinct is so acutely sensitive one of the wife’s best mates asked me to go to dinner with his new girlfriend to suss out whether or not she was worth hanging on for.

Turns out I didn’t like her either, and as it happened, she was a bad egg too.

Sometimes, we just know.

What I am hoping, is that I will know if I’m pregnant before I can test in two weeks… After the insemination yesterday two weeks of waiting is a seriously long time. It’s going to kill me. I’m impatient at the best of times but waiting two weeks for something this important is literally torture.

Maybe I’m over analysing because I’m desperate for a ‘sign’ but seriously…

We know shit right?? Sometimes you can know?!

God I hope so because otherwise it’s going to be a fucking long two weeks!!

 

Sacha lost her mojo

so, I am not sure what wrong with me, but i am feeling particularly like Austin Powers at the moment, except the bad Austin, the Austin who has lost his mojo.

I have been married for precisely 1 month today, and I haven’t seemed to be able to do anything yet. It took me three weeks to recover from the wedding, and not wake up feeling exhausted. Then I got ill, recovered – just- and then got ill again, today I feel better although I am still pretty sniffly.

But the problem is I seem to be living in some sort of nowhere zone.

I cant seem to bring myself to do anything. Literally. I am just surviving…. again. I swear I was doing this before the wedding, and now its over I seem to have slipped back into it.

I’m not writing, I’m not reading, I’m not gyming, I’m not baking, I’m literally not doing anything.

I lost my inspiration, my muse and my mojo.

If anyones found it…. Please return it to me!!