Light! Colour! Action!

With the right light I can look like I've slept really well. Plus it makes Isaacs head fuzz look like hair.

Last Sunday, we were invited by friends to go to Lisbon Contemporary Art fair. My first gut reaction was to pee in my pants with fear. Isaac did the peeing for me. On my pants. But thankfully the fear part was shortlived. Apart from this blog, it had been the first really interesting thing I had done since Isaac came into our lives.
There were allsorts of wierd and wonderful stuff on show and Im sure my babymaking antics have irreversibly changed the way I look at art. First off, I spent more time trying to find anything with lots of bright colours because that was what Isaac got a kick out of. Secondly I didnt find myself thinking about any of it in the way that I would have done before. My ability to think has been drastically reduced to the contents of my childs diaper and what time I last 'boobed' him (my new word for nursing) But as terrible as it may seem, I actually enjoyed my time more. We didnt get to see everything, which I would have exhausted myself into doing before. Instead I felt happy just knowing that I was there, regardless of not being able to process it all and regardless of how little I saw. The friends that came with us, brought their one year old son and it felt good to be able to share our interests with like minded people. It felt reassuring to me too, that going out doesn't necessarily have to be confined to Mcdonalds, parks with too much dog poop and family restaurants with screaming children.
In the end Isaac enjoyed looking at so many lovely bold colours. And we both enjoyed getting out of the house for a change too.

Papas got a brand new baby

In all the hullabaloo of happy sad tears, exploding diapers at three in the morning (followed by leaking boobs that would make the fountains of Trafalgar Square look like a lame trickle), I may have lost sight of a certain husband of mine. Antonio (aka Mr T)did what could only be just about the most natural thing any new pappy in his situation would do; go to work each day whilst secretly hoping his insane wife with the insane hair and the mismatched socks would start to smile again. Not the deranged googly eyed please-somebody-help-me-I'm-going-insane smile, but the smile that made him fall in love with her seven years ago. And last week, he finally got it. And now I've finally started to notice him as the man I fell in love with seven years ago too. Even amongst the projectile puke/pyrotechnic show of a smiling baby, and the aforementioned exploding diapers (which I really didn't need to mention again but that's all my brain seems to want to think about these days)he never lets a day go by without telling me what a cracking looking bird I am. Maybe not in those words exactly seeing as he's Portuguese and not a fruitseller from South London, but I thought I'd be creative.In other words, he still thinks I'm beautiful. Which is something I feel every mama should hear from their partners, particularly when they feel like crap in those early post-partum days and let's face it, look abit crap too.
It hasn't just been this though that has helped me so much. And it hasn't just been the support of friends and family that I've mentioned previously. It's the realisation that Mr T and Isaac are also my rock, my backbone, my source of everlasting support too. I might not have my mum and dad nearby, but I have husband and I have my son, and now that my maternal instinct is starting to kick in, I'm starting to trust my own abilities too. It took about six weeks, but I made it. I'm not as clueless as I thought I was. But even if I was, I'm okay with it. And that just feels superduper.

Here's a song me and Antonio listened to alot back when we lived together in the U.K. We still listen to it in the car. i thought I'd share it with you. It's the kind of ditty that rocks our boat. And my little wonderboy doesn't think it's too bad either. Eventhough I do still worry about his sudden liking for Kate Bush (courtesy of VH1 during tummy time)

Enjoy.

The rock in the storm

I got a phonecall from Natalie the other day. She told me after visiting my blog that she was starting to get worried. I told her that perhaps my posts were starting to veer towards the suicidal and we both laughed. She told me, I had to let it out one way or another. So true.
And that got me thinking. About letting things out. And about having friends who care. About finding a soft place to fall into when feeling like crap and and climb out of when you want to put up a fight and say "I've just about had enough of this depression malarky". I put myself out there, i admitted to my own weaknesses, because i wanted to know how much people care. And they do. They help in whatever small way they can. despite the distance,the busy schedule despite the uncertainty of not knowing how to. I didnt have to ask for it. But if i did it was welcomed as an invitation to get together rather than a quick exchange of "call me if you need anything" which usually means "I know shes not gonna call, but she cant say I didnt tell her, and at least I'll go to heaven for being such a lovely friend". What a load of pants. And thank God I dont have friends who do that. Anyway,I think all of this stems from the crash course in Motherhood for Dummies over the last seven weeks and how it has brought home a truth thats both beautiful and downright ugly as hell. The beautiful part is seeing my dysfunctional family becoming somewhat functional again, all because of Isaac. Its amazing how a baby can heal old wounds. After years and years of bitterness, I finally let my mum do what she has wanted to do for so long and that is to take care of me and guide me. That one precious week that they were here, was chicken soup for my frazzled soul. I let my mum be my mum and she did a grand job.It wasnt just my family though that came out of the woodworks to lift me out of the headfog. Having people who I wouldnt have considered as close friends, turning up at our door with bags of grocery shopping, and minestrone soup. Thats what did it for me. Thats what I call a beautiful thing. I didnt need to prove anything to them or to myself. That is where the ugly part lies.
Ive felt at times that, as a new mother, Ive had to prove that I can manage because its my bed and I have to lie in it. Its like somebody has awarded me with a badge of invisibility which Im supposed to wear with pride, when in reality i want to throw it back in their face and say " Who says that just because Ive had a baby I cant still be vulnerable and afraid and well...normal?" Those that have helped, the friends that have stood by me, that have called and emailed and commented on my blog, and my functional one of a kind family, theyve all allowed me to winge, moan , complain, get it all wrong without a condescending bone in their collective bodies. The ugly part is when I can't be normal in front of certain people.Particularly other mothers. Because of that bloody badge of invisibility stamped on my backside. The unspoken amendment that says all new mothers must endure being ignored, being judged and being spoken down to. They must accept that all kind offers for help without any intention whatsoever of actually helping, is all a completely normal part of being a new mum. Thats the ugly truth. And for me, its downright hideous because I dont even come from this country. And believe me, its one thing being a foreigner in a foreign land, but a mother? The invisibility badge is more like a brown paper bag over my head. Theres no honour in that.
Well. Im here to tell you, that I want to quit focusing on the ugly and start paying more attention to the beautiful. Where I can winge, moan, laugh, cry and be human, because there is nothing that has prepared me to be more human than when I brought this child into the world. I have to be myself ultimately. It would be a disservice to my son, to turn into a not so super, supermum. I'd rather just be Khairun.

Despite my insane lack of mummy skills

for which my mum has given me hell for, he's coming along quite nicely. In fact, I think even he likes me.
And that feels great.
My parents have stayed with us for the last week. They're leaving tomorrow. That is pretty much why I haven't been blogging of late. That and just about managing to stumble through the day with a beautiful baby that I'm totally petrified of messing up. A major mental distraction to say the least. My mum has helped me hugely, with all the intuition of a woman who has raised five children. On top of that she looked after me too, letting me sleep that much needed extra hour or so, cooking and cleaning. Its been great.
I dont think theyll come back again though. The cultural differences make them feel really uncomfortable and out of place. Hopefully I'll visit them as soon as Isaac is big enough.
Theres alot more I want to write but I think I'll leave it for now. My mums watching the national geographic channel, dubbed over in Portuguese, so she keeps asking me what they're saying. My dad's having a siesta after a stroll around the town.
I'm gonna miss them. But I'm going to do all I can to hang in there.