Seventh birthday party

Emoji Party

Seven years ago I was at the Royal, about to spend my fourth night in hospital because of high blood pressure, the original reason for my admission, which was followed up with early labour. The Drs managed to stop the early labour on the 23rd. On the 24th (today is the 24th) they set the date for my daughters birth, moved forward from July 8th to late June. 

She was born at 36 weeks and 4 days and she was just fine. She was born screaming, like most babies. I can still remember the moment they put her on my chest. I said "hello" and she stopped crying and tried to look at me, with her dark, almost black, eyes. She couldn't get her eyes to look in the same direction for the first couple of days. She eventually got the hang of it. Her eyes eventually lightened through shade of teal, they are now light blue, almost grey in some lights. They're beautiful. 

 

I, like most mums, like to reflect on this first cuddle and how our world changed that day. 

I know I'm biased, but she's just such a great kid.

She's kind. 

She's thoughtful. 

She believes in justice, she tries to make the world a more fair place. 

She's so happy. 

She's creative. 

She loves to sing.

She loves gymnastic. 

Her memory is amazing. 

I'm still in awe of her now, like I was on that first day.  

The first time we were left alone in the hospital room, I remember sitting next to her cot and I explained to her how I wasn't like other mums. That I'd had rheumatoid arthritis since I was two years old. I explained that I wasn't sure how on earth I was going to manage this whole mum gig. But I promised to do my best, but I'd probably need her help along the way. 

She's been Mummy's little helper from the start. Like instinctively she knew that she needed to help me out. Small things like arching her back when I went to pick her up as a small baby, crawling to me in a chair and standing up to help me pick her up from the ground when she was 6m-7m. She's always been very physically strong, I think it part because she's had to be. 

I can't believe she's already seven years old. Well almost. 

My Messy Home

My very own super hero

Have you seen those super hero movies where even the super hero has to make a choice? Like in Superman when Superman could only stop one of the two missiles that Lex sent in different directions or in Batman where Batman is presented with saving Robin or Dr Chase Meridian. They're both able to eventually save everyone by spinning the globe in the opposite direction or using high tech gadgets and ropes. As I get older I'm beginning to feel less like a super hero. I'm beginning to tell myself that it's okay to make a choice. I don't have to do everything. 

So I'm letting somethings go.

My rheumatoid arthritis is so severe that I cannot bend down and touch the ground, so to pick up toys I have to use a pick up stick (which can't grip everything) or balance and use my toes to pick things up. When the kids were younger I used to try to clean up the days messes the best I could using that method. It's exhausting. 

Two years ago I decided to start my PhD, I also work part time and I'm doing my best to be a happy present parent. My cleaning has always been far from perfect, but I've long ago decided to let it go. 

 I've had someone tell me I should stop working so hard on my PhD and put more energy into keeping the house tidy. It made me wonder why it's my job. If I was a man with rheumatoid arthritis I doubt these expectations would be placed on my shoulders. 

My priority will always be my children and them having a happy childhood. Our choices may mean that it's going to be a bit messy. I hope they forgive me. 

And if you're coming over, please excuse the mess. 

And now for something a little bit different

My Uni

I'm a little bit tired of recruiting. So I'm delighted to be doing something different thing week. I'm been given the opportunity to mark some exams for one of my supervisors and I'm actually really enjoying it. It's currently Friday night and I'm hoping to have 79 exams marked by Wednesday. Oh and it's my daughters seventh birthday party this weekend. And I'm visiting a participant on the morning of the party because no other time suited the participant and my drop out rate has been devastating me (I really appreciate their time - I'm in no way complaining about them giving up their time for me, I'm just commenting on being busy). I've downloaded a handful of apps to try and find one that helps me organise my projects/tasks; both personal and professional. I'm hoping to write a post about my experiences soon. 

This weekend will have to be run with military precision. I'm excited that my baby is turning seven, I'm also appreciating the new task of marking, oh so much. Taking bets as to when I'll be over it. 

The count down is on 'til my long service starts - 3 weeks to go!

Rawr

QLD museum

My family does not adhere to gender norms very well. And sometimes it hurts. My son is very attached to his Daddy, like a lot of children get very attached to Mum. "Only Mum will do."

Except it's not Mum. It's Dad. I'm currently lying in bed at midnight, feeling rejected. As only Dad will do. 

Alas, Ri is out tonight with some mates, something that he basically never gets to do. So it's just me and the kids for the evening. Everything went fine until we reached the end of story time and it was time to go to sleep. My almost-seven-year old said goodnight and immediately fell asleep. My son, my four year old, my Arch, begged me to sleep next to him. When I snuggled in next to him he started screaming for me to get out. Only Daddy would do. And my heart still hurts. 

Arch ended up coming to my room, apologising and asking me to come back and lie next to him while he fell asleep. After begging me for Daddy, one more time.

I've always taken great pride in Ri's parenting, he is amazing with our children. And me feeling insufficient as a Mum has nothing to do with him being amazing. 

I'm feeling tired and anxious in myself, it was hard not to burst into tears and let the four year old know in no uncertain terms how he hurt my feelings. But I honestly don't think it's Archie. 

So I swallowed my pride, put him to sleep... and wrote a blog post about it instead. 

 

Long service

Me in Rome September 2010

 In just over a month I'm going on long service leave. And in a twist  that is surprising for me/any one who knows me, we're not using that time to travel. My husband and I have been to around 30 countries together and the kids have been to 7. I'm trying to keep Immy's country count above her age. 

I had thought that my long service would be used to visit Ri's father in France, but I think Archie is a year or two away from being ready to go to Europe (and not make our lives miserable). 

I know that I don't have to take my leave, but I feel as though I'm at a turning point and I need to focus on my research for a few months.  Will I miss my clinical role too much? Or can I leave it behind? I honestly don't know. 

I'm just recovering from another episode of imposter syndrome, I worry that if I leave my clinical job, that all I'll have left is that feeling that I'm in over my head. On the other side of that coin, for what equates to one day a week of pay, my clinical job takes quite a bit of energy (I find myself thinking about my patients a lot). 

I've got too many balls in the air and something has got to give. So I'm going on leave. 

Pain and fear

My left shoulder hurts.
It hurts a lot.
It hurts so much that I've decided to stay home from my sister in law's birthday dinner.
Not something that I do lightly.

Having had RA since 1987 I am not new to pain. But I'm new to staying home when it's getting too much and allowing myself time to rest.

I've started looking into shoulder replacements. I've had my hips and knees replaced in 2001 and 2003 respectively. I've always been of the opinion that hip and knee replacements are better quality than shoulder replacements.
And even if the technology has improved, the thought of getting a replacement now is different to when I was looking at getting my hips replaced.
I was sixteen when I got my hips replaced and I knew everything would work out for the best. I didn't consider the things that could go wrong. I literally blocked my ears singing *lalalalalala* when my surgeon listed the risks prior to the surgery. My logic was if I didn't know what could happen then it wouldn't. Flawless logic, I know.
But now I'm afraid. What if something happens? What if I'm left with nerve damage?
What if I got an infection and died? Is it worth leaving my kids behind?
I've gone from one extreme to another.

So the next step will probably be to get another direct into the joint injection.