Thursday, 10 September 2015

When in Rome... (Which I am)

It's hard to know where to start after such a long break. I often have fleeting thoughts that round themselves up and turn into silent sentences, and I think to myself "I should really write that down". But there's something about opening the blogger app on my phone that I just can't bring myself to do. Until right now, that is. Hardly ideal (I'll be interrupted a lot and lose my flo-jo), but K (HN1 for those of you that follow) and I are on the train on our way to Fiumicino Airport; we've just spent a long weekend in Rome. As you do, natch.

A long weekend and our first sans child - thanks Mum. WWJD if he was relieved of responsibility for 3 days? Sleep late, drink at lunchtime, have sex, leave the house with nothing but a tiny handbag, read a book and relax in the knowledge that there's no place to be? Probably. But then he wouldn't have spent 2.5 days pounding the streets of Rome to see EVERY sight - mainstream and alternative (apart from the fucking unicorn museum which was closed for refurbishment).

Drinking a bottle of wine with lunch on Friday at an excellent restaurant near the Colleseum was fun, but led to the tasting of various limoncello varieties. Which in turn led to the purchase of 2 bottles of limoncello and a coffee maker for my brother that we later saw for half the price. They must have seen (or heard) us coming. Bargain Queen fail.

The Vatican museums were overcrowded and hot. So uncomfortable that I think the whole place was ruined for us. Incredible art, I've never seen anything like it. The detail and workmanship and the 4 years Michaelangelo spent on his back painting that one ceiling are awesome. But being hustled through the Cistine Chapel, where there was no room to stand and take it in (let alone whip out a guide and learn something) and no air to breathe because the tour groups had breathed it all, was awful.

Other disappointing things were not finding the pope, and only seeing 2 Swiss Guard having a cheeky break behind a building. We didn't manage to have pizza for EVERY meal, but we did manage to eat more cheese than you can shake a stick at. That's a fuck ton, in case you work in metric.

Anyway, this isn't a travel blog.

I have no idea where I was up to before my hiatus, nor do I suppose it really matters. The following has happened:

K, BabyF and I moved to the UK! Specifically, to Mum's house. It's all the rage to move in with your parents in your 30's, we're bang on trend so fuck off. We put ourselves to work and in the first week pulled up some carpet, worked really hard on restoring the tiles we found underneath, painted some walls and did a lot of reorganising. Then we unpacked an entire shed (hello half the stuff from our house in Brussels packed and shipped 12 years ago and not unwrapped until now) just in time for our container to arrive in the field next door. Then we repacked the shed with our shit from Perth. In the next couple of weeks the solar panels will be installed. We made a new study for Mum and a new double guest room, and I'm halfway through making BabyF's room into a magical wonderland. Think feathers, hot air balloons and fairy lights. Our room looks like shit but we'll get there.

See? Too busy to be depressed. Or something.

BabyF started walking about a week after we arrived. She was 9 months old, unsurprisingly early. Now she's 11 months and still super adorbs - most of the time. She loves the countryside, rolls around naked in the grass, picks flowers, eats dirt and snacks on snails. Actual garden snails - sticks her fingers in and licks them - revolting child. She luuuuurves animals, playing with them, licking them, stroking them (upgraded from pulling their hair), and eating them. Apparently we are not raising a vegetarian - feels like a win for daddy when BabyF has half a sausage in each hand and can't fit any more in her mouth. Or maybe she takes after me. She loves rocks and climbing and making as much noise as possible with whatever is in her hand and dancing (she danced before she walked) and clapping and laughing and riding on our shoulders. This week, she also loves stamping.

Sleep is going pretty well (BabyF), and pretty badly (me). I went cold turkey on my antipsychotics a couple of weeks ago, mainly because of the weight I've put on, with the holes in my brain and lack of memory/vocabulary/ability to follow a conversation a close second. I've turned into a fat idiot which has done very little to help my mood. I can't look in the mirror. I hate being naked. Clothes make me cry. Going out anywhere is hard because I don't want anyone to look at me - plus I have no chat.

I tell everyone I'm fine, and that things are getting better, but I don't believe it. I'm miles better than when I was a resident crazy, but no better than before we left Australia. Perhaps worse. I have dropped some meds though and changed others - my antidepressants aren't available in this country so I've had to swap. The GP was totally useless, and my "urgent" psych referral 2.5 months ago still hasn't resulted in an actual appointment. When I was really low on my Aussie stash I had to do the transition over the phone with a psychiatrist. So much for the NHS being great in mental health. I'll report back when I'm actually in the system.

Meltdowns. Hmm. Had a few, most notably the night of mum's 60th birthday party and one night in Rome. I almost didn't go to the party - thought I could just bake the (14 layer) cake and drop it off, I was so busy in the lead up that I didn't even consider how the actual party would feel. Bleurgh. K had to drop mum off but left with a cuntish remark intended to hurt... Perfect timing to be a wanker. The Rome episode was an attractive affair on a rooftop involving drinks and a river of tears. Tear stained with puffy eyes. Chic as fuck.

I saw a psychologist yesterday for an initial assessment. I suppose the phone interview I did 6 weeks ago was an initial initial assessment. Wouldn't want to help people unless they can definitely prove twice that they're depressed. Both assessments were hard, but the questions yesterday were probing and the whole session was upsetting. I left feeling even more of a failure. The things I feel guilty about aren't the same as the things other mums admit to feeling guilty about. Sometimes I don't want to feed my baby or take care of her. I always, always, do what's best for her though, no matter how hard I find it. Other times I want to hold her and never let go. 

I've started to panic again when she cries. Not a good sign. Handled it like a champ the other night when K was out with the village men's walking group (yep, a real thing. Always ends in the pub, often results in a hangover) and BabyF screamed and screamed. A couple of times I managed to rock her to sleep and just held her like I used to. It's easy to get annoyed when you have to rock and rock and rock a baby, but when I think "she won't be a baby for long" it's easy to rock and rock and rock her while she needs it.

It was strange to be away from BabyF. I really wanted to hold her and smell her hair; if that's missing her then I missed her.

1 comment:

  1. Romantic history, thanks for sharing. Rome is an amazing city, when I came there at the first time I was amazed because of its beauty. But it's one of the most expensive city for tourist in Europe. Want to recommend you one how to save your money getting around the Rome. It's better to use online taxi service than use municipal transport. Using Kiwitaxi you can be just in time in the place you need. Hope it will be useful for you. Good luck.