“It’ll be worth it in the end….”

Training her up.

You know those women who can “only” run the six miles every day instead of their usual ten now that they’re 39.5 weeks pregnant? I hate them.You know those women who don their new maternity yoga pants and go to pregnancy pilates classes “because everyone knows exercise is good for you and the baby”? I hate them. You know those pregnant women who work right up till they go into labour because “it would be so boring sitting about at home all day?” Well, I hate them too. And the ones who can still single-handedly do the week’s food shop, carrying all the bags up 20 flights of stairs by themselves. And the ones who can pick up their existing children to comfort them when they fall over. And the ones who can  bend over to retrieve stuff that they’ve dropped on the floor.But you know the ones I hate the most? The ones that can walk.

My hatred isn’t actually confined to pregnant women. At the moment, I hate everyone who can walk.In fact, I pretty much just hate everyone full stop. So what’s my problem,other than being a grumpy, miserable pregnant woman about to enter the joys of the third trimester, I hear you ask? Well it all boils down to a condition given the generic (and delightful) medical name of Pelvic Girdle Pain – or PGP for short. I don’t expect most people to have heard of it,unless they are one of the very unfortunate souls to have suffered from this debilitating pain during pregnancy. Apparently one in five pregnant women suffer it to some degree or another. But you can instantly tell the ones who have – you can see the empathy in their eyes and a pained expression on their face when you tell them you have it.  As a quick synopsis, the essential production of the hormone relaxin in pregnancy softens the ligaments connecting the joints and for some unlucky women – like me – this results in the joints in your pelvis moving unevenly and basically causing the most horrendous,consistent, eye-watering pain I have ever experienced. Medical lesson over. Don’t say I don’t teach you anything.

The problem is that there is pretty much nothing that can be done about it. I had it for the final three months when I was pregnant first time round – which I think is one of the main reasons I swore I was done at one. This time it started just after I finally clawed my way out of the nausea/exhaustion phase (so around 14/15 weeks).It is getting gradually worse as my stomach expands and my weight increases, putting even more pressure on my pelvis and back. It is there all the time, no matter what I do. It’s sore when I stand, when I sit, when I walk, when I try to pick anything up, when I lie down,when I roll over in bed, when I sit on the floor to attempt to play with my daughter and the new Sylvanian Families hotel she got for Christmas. There is just no let up. As with other types of chronic pain, there are good days and bad days. Some days I can manage to walk five minutes in only mild discomfort.Other days it’s out in force from the moment I wake up till the moment I manage to roll myself in an incredibly undignified manner back into bed at the end of the day.  On these days I don’t want to even get up in the first place. Aside from the physical agony, this condition comes with a really crippling mental anguish too. It’s hard to be in constant pain every day. It’s hard going from being fiercely independent to not even being able to walk to the shop to get a pint of milk. It’s hard not to be able to go on my usual adventures with Poppy because I literally cannot move. It’s hard not to be able to do the school run and enjoy that quality time with my daughter each day. It’s hard to ask for help putting on your shoes, especially for me as I’ve done everything for myself and Poppy for years. Some days all I can do is cry,the feelings of helplessness and uselessness – paired with normal pregnancy hormones – completely overwhelming.

Now clearly I don’t actually hate everyone who is capable of being pregnant AND going about their normal daily lives.I am of course just insanely jealous of them and wonder why I can’t just have a nice, normal, pain-free pregnancy? But, with my rational head on, I can accept that our bodies are all different and everyone’s experience of creating human life is therefore different. And anything worth having is worth fighting for etc etc. But think of it like this: we all want the perfect beach body, doesn’t mean to say we enjoy going to the gym to achieve it.  And,despite the woe-is-me nature of this blog post, I don’t want pity. All I want is understanding, and to raise awareness of this condition which – other than the appearance of crutches in really bad cases and some very slow, pained movements -is pretty much invisible to the outside world.Even the NHS has very limited resources dedicated to it, with some midwives barely even knowing what it is. I just want people to realise that women with this condition need support and understanding, as well as the odd offer of help. They have not just suddenly turned into lazy couch potatoes who can’t be bothered cleaning or shopping or going out anywhere. Yes, I use my pregnancy as an excuse to eat a family sized block of Mint Aero, but I don’t use it as an excuse to avoid pushing my daughter on a swing, and I literally would give anything to be “normal” again.

I’m lucky that I have other mum friends and a kind neighbour willing to help out with the school run, a family who will come to stay if ever I ask them for help,a caring daughter who is my Chief Picker Upper of Things, and a boyfriend who got so fed up of me asking him to hoover that he’s started paying for a cleaner every week (now this is definitely a PGP perk!) but I do feel for those women who have no-one to help them, or a young toddler to deal with. I know in the grand scheme of things, it will all be worth it in the end – as people so helpfully tell me on a daily basis – but when you have constant pain coupled with pregnancy hormones, the isolation,despair and frustration can take over. And when you’re actually looking forward to childbirth, I think that says it all really.

Sporting my newest fashion accessory.

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Best days of your life…

Before.

It’s hard to believe this is Poppy’s fourth week of being “a big schoolgirl” (a phrase I am using very frequently in a futile bid to get her to actually act like one). The weeks have flown by, and I’m pleased to report that at this stage, she is absolutely loving it. She skips off with her class quite happily every morning, following the teacher she already idolises, and chatting with her newfound friends. You should see the grin on her face on the days she’s first in line in the mornings. Those are the days the teacher will hold her hand during the walk to the classroom. Those are the days she is Queen Bee.

“Losing” her to school has been nowhere near as traumatic as I thought it would be. I spent so long fearing the unknown, dreading her first day, and just generally overthinking the life out of it all, that by the time it actually came round, I was almost over the whole thing already.

It was a gorgeous sunny day, and the walk to school was just a sea of tiny children in red cardigans and jumpers, all greeting each other along the way, looking pristine and far too small to be wearing school uniform. As I kissed her goodbye and held her tight in the playground, I was glad of the sunshine and the fact it meant I could wear sunglasses, as I shed a few secret tears before releasing my grip and setting her free. But she gave me the strength not to be sad. Her whole face was beaming, and she was oozing happiness and excitement. How could I be sad when she was so ecstatic about this new chapter in her life?

Shedding a sneaky tear.

And, to be honest, having peace to have a coffee and eat my full Scottish breakfast outside – yep, it was THAT warm – in a nearby cafe with my boyfriend and brother afterwards quickly took away any remaining doubts I had.

After.

Time to let go

As I watched Poppy proudly connecting the “number monkeys” together, surrounded by her soon-to-be new classmates, I suddenly realised that I just have to let go. The beaming smile on her face during her first classroom visit said it all: she is beyond excited about starting school, and more than ready for all the learning challenges awaiting her.

I’d always given a little sneer at those mums who cried when their “babies” went to “big school”. I thought they were a bit pathetic, if I’m honest. I mean, it’s not as if they didn’t know it was going to happen. “Oh how is my baby going to school?” they’d post on Facebook. Well, because they’re four or five, and the law states that they have to – d’oh. But man are my chickens coming home to roost. Every time I go into what will be her primary school come August, I well up. Every time I think about her starting school, I literally have to fight the tears from my eyes. I bought her school uniform last week and got her to try it on…..you can imagine how that went.

I don’t ask myself “how” this has happened. For me, Poppy’s four years in this world have had a dramatic impact. They haven’t passed with the blink of an eye. They have been tough. In all honesty, they have been the hardest four years of my life. Bringing up a child is not easy. And bringing up a child on your own is certainly no picnic. I know a lot of my friends complain about their husbands being useless a lot of the time, but just having someone – just physically having someone – there to take the strain for an hour before bedtime, or half an hour in the morning so you can shower in peace, is better than nothing. And let’s not even mention weekends. So, yeah, I’m probably more aware than most of every passing month and year that got us where we are today.

My difficulty with her starting school is more a fear than an inability to understand how it’s come to this. Fear of the unknown, and fear of the known. Poppy is the sweetest, kindest, most good natured little girl I know – on a good day – and I worry so much that school will either change that, or take advantage of that. The thought of anyone picking on or hurting my little girl is unbearable. Last week she told me a little boy at nursery said she had fat legs and I’m not even going to admit what I wanted to say back to him. Instead, I told her that her legs weren’t fat, they were strong and healthy and why she was so fast at running. Afterwards she said: “I’m glad I told you mummy”, which just took my breath away. What I hope more than anything in the world is that she can always talk to me, and she can always tell me if anything is worrying or upsetting her. I guess that’s every mother’s wish.

After seeing her so happy and inspired during her classroom visit, I just have to accept that school is what she needs, and learning new things is what she craves. And even though it’s hard for me to “give her up” to the big wide world, I’ll just have to do my crying in secret and paint the biggest smile on my face when I wave her off on her first day at school.

A few years ago, my mum admitted she cried the whole two-hour car journey home after she and my dad deposited me at university in Edinburgh when I was just 17 years old. I mocked her ridiculousness.  It’s true when they say some things you just can’t understand until you’re a mum yourself.