catastrophising, part two...

I love that word, catastrophising. And I can recognise it as what yesterday was about. It doesn't make it any better, of course, and I still wish it hadn't happened.
But today I can accept that it did, and that the sun is still shining today.
Of course, Miss T woke up her usual happy self, there were no dramatic "I hate mummy because she shouted" declarations, and I got my usual morning cuddle. Time will tell if there are any lasting effects but for the moment, we're moving on.
Which means that today continues as normal - and as of 15 minutes ago, I'm alone with her again until bedtime. Unless you count my five furry chaperones...
That does make me nervous, I have to confess. Today started badly for me, despite Miss T's attentions. It was one of those mornings where I knew I had to get up and face the world but I couldn't find it in me to do it.
That doesn't mean I just wanted an extra hour in bed, although that was a welcome benefit.
It means my head was saying, 'get up, get ready, you'll achieve so much' but my heart was stubbornly refusing.
All I could focus on was the catastrophising (I'm going to use that word as much as I can because it makes me smile!) of the previous day and the insistence that Miss T would have a better morning without me there. In fact, everyone would have a better morning without me there.
This is the part I hate most about the black fog of depression. It's all very well being aware of it, having coping strategies and of course fantastic friends, and thanks to all who responded yesterday, but when it descends like that I am literally powerless against it. I know I'm being irrational, just like yesterday I knew I was being unreasonable. But I don't know how to switch it off, or to switch the light on and banish the darkness.
Maybe that's just an excuse. I know it sounds like one and I'm sure that's what many of you are thinking.
So you'll be relieved to hear I am pulling myself together and I have plenty planned for this afternoon, including planting in the garden and errands in town.
Whether that will be enough to keep the fog at bay and the toddler amused remains to be seen.
All I can do is hope - and sometimes I can't even do that.

From bad to worse!

Oh lucky people - two helpings of woe in one day!
So I left you pondering the joys of my day up until mid-afternoon, when Miss T finally decided to have her sleep.
And it should have got better from there as reinforcements arrived and I had a peaceful evening to myself to look forward to.
But it didn't. Reinforcements, in the form of a visit to granny and then Mark coming home, did indeed arrive and it was lovely having someone else share the demands, although I did feel that old pressure of needing to look like a perfect parent while feeling on the verge of falling apart the whole time.
I escaped to the shops leaving Mark to do dinner and bed but even that precious me-time was interrupted with a text about a mundane domestic matter. How sad is it that me-time is reduced to wandering round Sainsbury's?!
And bedtime was a complete disaster as the little princess manipulated her daddy as only she can, resulting in a battle lasting more than an hour between them, punctuated with some fantastic tantrums and toddler foot-stamping on her wooden bedroom floor.
I hate interfering when he's dealing with a situation, but I'm afraid it was clear he wasn't dealing with it, and what's worse, was getting stressed out which helps no one (look who's talking!) so I went up and took over. Part of me is pleased to report that after ten minutes and only one return visit she's now happily asleep - and fell asleep by herself - but another part simply feels weary.
I can feel proud I know her so well and can handle her well, but also disheartened that it feels like I am permanently on duty with no respite. This isn't meant as a criticism of Mark, who is fantastic with her, but just a statement that even my precious time off while he puts her to bed seems to be a thing of the past.
I know that sounds selfish, and of course for Tasha it's best that her bedtime is as stress-free as possible, so if that means I do it then so be it. But I'm sure many of you will understand that after a day dealing with everything from negotiations over when she can walk and when she has to go in the pushchair to explanations of why she should not throw balls at the cats, I feel in need of a break.
It is selfish - after all, she's asleep now so I'm getting a break. So I'm going to stop moaning and enjoy it!
But I am left wondering, and almost afraid to write it, when does PND become common and garden depression? Or was today just a bad day? Here's hoping for the latter...

i am proud of me!

Oh dear it's been one of those days!
But fear not, dear reader - I have neither cracked open the happy pills nor had rows with top level boss type people.
Today was Miss Tasha's first day with the childminder and actually, it didn't go too badly. Sure, she screamed when Mark dropped her off, and at various intervals throughout the day, but she managed a sleep and was playing happily when I picked her up.
But then it all went wrong....
All the excitement had clearly worn her out and after her dinner she quickly became grumpy so I decided on an early bath.
But while I was running it she got her beloved bunny out of her cot and was wandering around cuddling him.
And when I pointed out that it would not be a good idea to take him into the bath with her, all hell broke loose.
Gone was my lovely happy toddler, replaced by a screaming, sobbing, red-faced and angry strop machine.
Removing bunny from her sight did not help, nor did vigorous splashing, pointing out lovely coloured fish and ducks or producing her toothbrush.
I think I would have been forgiven, after a busy day at work in a sweltering office, for joining her in the sobbing or at least becoming frustrated and snapping.
But instead I did the necessary washing as quickly as possible, with plenty of cuddles and calm reassurance, and then removed the aforementioned screaming, sobbing red-faced....you get the picture - to get into her night clothes.
By this point she was in quite a state and the easiest thing to do would have been to bundle her up and dump her in bed and leave her to it.
But instead I employed the baby massage skills I learnt when she was tiny (thank you health visitor and yoga teacher!) to rub in her baby lotion, while still using my calm reassuring voice and plenty of those lovely therapy phrases like "I understand you are feeling tired and frustrated...you feel cross that mummy took bunny away" etc etc (thank you lovely therapist!).
And do you know what? It worked! So after a calming massage and another cuddle we were able to share a story, and she even joined in by pointing out the cat and dog (almost all our stories involve cats and dogs!) and giggling in the right places.
Yes, she screamed when I put her in her cot but only for a minute, and my evening has been salvaged.
And hopefully next childminder session will be better...but I know I can cope if it isn't. So I think I'm allowed to be proud of myself. Because it isn't that long ago that this evening's experiences would have sent me running for the hills...

In other news, according to a statistics thingy I have somehow managed to instal, this blog has been read by people in Italy and Spain as well as good old Blighty.
Now own up - is it really continental visitors interested in my life and woes?
Or are you all so keen you are keeping up to date while on holiday?
Answers on a postcard again, this time from exotic climes - or better still, leave a comment to confess!