The only way is up...right?

So indeed it has all come tumbling down and I'm currently trying to claw my way back up and out of this absolute meltdown/breakdown/deep, dark hole of anxiety and stress and overwhelm and panic and all of the things. But to brighter things first. 

Birthday!

The boy turned 5. FIVE! I can't believe it and yet, obviously, it is to be believed. My friend said, 'Five is serious'...YES, IT IS! FIVE. IS. SERIOUS. It's hard to think he was just a wee teensy two and a half when I first met him and just a few months after that, he came home. What a wild, wild journey we have been on so far and what a beautiful day we had celebrating. I've mentioned before that he finds new things quite a challenge. One of his most favourite things in the world is the CBeebies Numberblocks show. I know. Shocking. He LOVES it, like, jumps all over the bedroom, hair-plastered-to-his-head-with-sweat, loves it. However, when I introduced the app to him on his tablet, he took a very, very long time to warm up to it. What would happen is that he would look at it, sort of peering over from the doorway, run to his bedroom and then gradually make his way back to have another look. We went from this, to me playing it for him, to him using my finger to press the buttons to eventually him playing it himself. This was quite the process and took a great deal of time, building up slowly, slowy. So when I was thinking about how to celebrate his birthday because I thought that this year he might actually get it, that it's a thing to be celebrated, and I wanted to make it special, Numberblocks were clearly to feature. Balloons also. I went to town, quite forgetting that new things are hard and too much is just that: too much. After spending quite a few hours blowing up balloons and wrapping presents and making it all special and perfect, I was really excited to see his reaction in the morning. 

Well, I didn't need to wait long. 2am came and there was Emilio, up and at 'em. NO amount of cajoling, cuddling, SHHHHH-ing, meditating, soft musicing, would get him back to sleep. 2 BLOODY AM. Eventually, I gave in and we went into the living room to see what's what. It was all going well until I showed him the Numberblocks on his personalised balloon...off he went tanking it back to his bedroom. I wasn't sure what had offended him until I suddenly remembered Numberblocks App-gate! MARIANNE!! How could you have gone SO over the top?? Honestly. What then followed was me making all the coffee and reading my book on the sofa while he gradually came round - first peeking round the corner to look at the balloons, then peering over to see what presents there were, to eventually, EVENTUALLY, taking one at a time to the hallway to open ('OO-PEN!', says he) and having a wee play before coming back for another one. The whole process took roughly an hour and a half. Well. That's the way to savour the moment, isn't it? I tell you, this boy teaches me something new every day. He is so wonderfully weird and yet it makes me think he's right; take your time and enjoy the things slowly. There's no need to rush. And when you love something, why on earth would you go looking for new things?? Thankfully, he does love all of his new things and we had a really lovely day playing before going to see our village in the park. Numberblocks cake (duly viewed 14,000 times by video on my phone before seeing it live in the cake flesh!) was a total hit and he learned to say 'Happy Birthday!'. I'm not sure he has a notion of what a birthday is, he certainly doesn't understand what it means to be 5 (do any of us?!) but he's fully aware of the fact it means celebrating, cake and presents with the people who love you. And that's just exactly enough. In fact, I'm fairly sure that's everything. 

Get us home!

You know, I write 'home' while fully understanding that Peru is Emilio's home and, in fact, we are each other's home because surely home is your person/people?  Peru is also my home, in some way. I've spent the last 12 years dancing round the world, falling in love with people and places, and leaving pieces of my heart all over the place. And here, in this country, through sheer will, determination and entire forest load of paperwork (I'm so sorry, Amazon. We will find a way to help), I found the person to give all of my heart to and call home. But something about this pandemic, about losing my mind, about being a mum, about doing this life and this journey almost alone has made Caledonia call out. And she loud, man. She is practically screaming, bagpipes blasting, cold wind blowing, rain battering and green hills rolling at me. Get. Us. Home. Now. All through the last year, before we knew what we know now, I thought we were better off here because what would be the point in getting to Scotland for Emilio to still not go to school and for me to have no childcare again and to be 5/6 hours ahead of the school day? That would make no sense. However, after 14 months of this, I WANT TO GO HOME. I want my family and my friends. I want Edinburgh. I want rain on my face. I want Emilio's Special Human Squad. I want Emilio to experience life beyond the concrete jungle. To go walking in forests and up the hills and to throw stones in the sea again and play with his cousins (alright, play alongside his cousins while completely ignoring them) and to feel connected to something again. More than anything, I am craving connection. We, over here, are all over our personal edges, whatever they may be. We barely have enough in the tank to keep ourselves going and our own families so what support we can offer each other is very, very little. I am writing this, painfully aware of my privilege, as always. Painfully. But you have to view this from your own lens because it's the only lens you have and you can't constantly feel guilty for what you have and deny yourself feeling the pain of being separated from the people you love for this long. No comparative suffering. Right, Brené? 

Anyway. This is turning into a rambling rant again. Point is, I'm trying to get the boy's paperwork sorted so we can get on a flight somewhere that will eventually lead to the people I love. It is with the Home Office, my MP is on the case trying to get it expedited and I am now trying to figure out how in the chuff to get our lives packed up and ready to roll if it comes through and we can go. Furniture? Sell or ship? Dogs? Take them home and then to our next country? Leave them here and get them sent directly to next country? I think we all know which option I am happy with and therefore which it will be. And so we will be back in a logistical nightmare, trying to problem solve the bejesus out of a million different things. Watch this space...

And it all comes tumbling down

I mean, this is just pandemic life, isn't it? One week you're up, the next you're on the bathroom floor, wailing and unsure how you're going to get yourself through the next day. Actually, scratch that, it's one minute you're up and thinking you have a handle on it all and you're in control and literally one minute later your sister sends you a selfie of her and your nephew and you are sobbing uncontrollably for the next half hour. This has actually happened. I'm not embarrassed to share that because I know how many people are struggling in the same way. One minute they are mindlessly watching a TV show, the next their partner tickles them, literally just tickles them, and they are off into hysterical tears. We are not ok. This is not ok. And sometimes you just need to come right out and say, 'I AM NOT OK!'. 

This is the time for me to say that. That nanny of which I showered praise and love on in the last post? That one? She is making me demented. Yes, her relationship with Emilio is developing and she seems to be great with him, but there have been constant issues from the start regarding money and, I'm not going into it here, but it has had me up in the night wondering and worrying myself sick if she is desperate enough to do something to him. What I've realised today is that, a) I have always had good instincts about people and when I don't act on them, I've been hurt or screwed over, b) the fact that I'm worrying if my nanny might kidnap my child means that I have possibly lost it and am potentially on the brink of mental collapse and c) there is no way I can trust her with him. So here we are again. Well, not quite here yet. I'm currently putting the feelers out to see if there's anyone around who can help and have a couple of leads...so we will see. Watch this nannyless space once more. 

There seem to be people who are just getting on with pandemic life now and accepting it as normal. There certainly seems to be that impression from my work; COVID: YEAR 2: GET ON WITH IT. We already know that each person's experience of this crazy existance is wildly, WILDLY different. Those in families, those newly coupled up, those single people, those childless people, those petless people, those single parents, those with jobs, those who have lost their jobs, those who can 'bubble', those who live in Peru where 'bubbling' isn't a thing...etc, etc, etc. It is not easy for anyone. Not. One. Bit. But it is definitely easier for some. And those people do not have young children at home. I'm not sorry I'm saying this, I'm not detracting from people's suffering one bit (Brené will not allow comparative suffering) but what I'm saying is a fact. If you don't have young children at home, while you're trying to work at home, and let's add in another layer, TEACHING young children from home...You. Do. Not. Know. Responses from friends with no young children at home range from, 'oh dear, what's happening' to 'isn't the nanny taking care of him' to 'can't you just shut the door?'. I'll say it again. You. Have. No. Idea. And not enough people are talking about it and talking about the fact that we have JUST DONE AN ENTIRE YEAR OF THIS. There is nothing left in the tank. There are no nerves left to be shot. There is no higher level of anxiety to reach. We are operating on survival mode and getting told by our bosses to find a way to thrive. I'm sorry but are you actually kidding me? Are you living in a different pandemic to me? But the truth is that we are. I am very nearly reaching my limit and I'd say I'm a fairly strong, fairly resilient person. There hasn't been a time where I've given in and given up in my life before and that's having come through some fairly challenging mental health conditions; I didn't cave. But I'm about done here. At some point, you have to be adult enough to know your limits, to have confidence in yourself and to give ZERO fucks what the people you're working with think about you. I think I am there now at almost 40. My son comes first. Anyone who tries to tell me differently can go and examine their own priorities because mine are just entirely on course, thank you very much. My son will not be ok if I am not ok. And I am not ok. 

The straw that broke the clothes horse's back was entirely that. My work schedule is absolutely bananas Monday - Wednesday. And as soon as I'm not on a Zoom, there is Emilio needing me. Often when I'm on a Zoom, there is Emilio needing me. Because, you know what? He's 4. He's autistic. He's adopted. I am his world. And he has no frigging idea what the hell is going on because there I am yet there I am not. If you can figure out a way to explain that, be my bloody guest. Anyway, come Wednesday late avo, when I was done with work and my back was killing me and my mind was like an Etch a Sketch on speed and my body was weary and my shoulders were up around my ears, in came nanny and Emilio. And a stressful situation arose. I sent her home in a taxi as it is Semana Santa. On her way out, she told me there was a load of laundry in my machine, already washed. I looked puzzled. She does not do the laundry. On account of the fact that people fucking up my laundry makes me see red. I remember my Smug Married friends and I discussing the thing that drove them the most nuts about their partners a gazillion years ago when I had a partner, and mine was that he didn't hang the laundry on the clothes horse properly. It drove me INSANE. They could not believe this to be true. It. Is. Still. True. 

So. I had put on a load of laundry that morning. She had hung it up. Thank you. Then, for reasons unbeknownst to the rest of the rational thinking world, she put on TWO MORE LOADS OF LAUNDRY. This all became clear to me when I found Emilio jumping on his trampoline, gleefully, and seconds later the entire clothes horse collapsing. Why? Because there were a million trillion things hanging on it and he touched it as he jumped. Towels FOLDED and hanging on there. Bed sheets FOLDED and hanging on there. T-shirts just squashed up and layered up without a hope of them ever drying. WHYYYYYYYYY????????? And now a fucking broken clothes horse and another load of laundry in the machine which I'd clearly have to wash again and CLOTHES. ALL. OVER. THE. FLOOR!! To say I lost it is an understatement. I went around the house cursing under my breath, livid, backwards and forwards, just completely uncomprehending how someone could not have the forethought that perhaps 3 loads of laundry is too much when THERE IS NOWHERE TO HANG THE CLOTHES???? NO?????? 

Anyway, Emilio was behind me at one point, saying, 'sorry Mummy', at which point I went into a manic 'NOOOOO, DARRRRLLLINNNNGGGG, THERE'S NOTHING WRONG!!!!! IT'S NOT YOU!!!!!! LET'S RUN YOUR BATH, SHALL WE??????' And after he was in said bath, I went in my room and bawled my brains out. It was at this exact moment that I thought, 'I am not OK.'

I have continued to not be ok while trying to be ok and now dealing with nanny drama and lockdown for 4 days so stuck inside with my 4 year old who got up at 2.30am this morning. Actually. That was it. Up for the day. Show me anyone who could keep going like this, after a year of this, and not come tumbling down? 

There's no real end to this post. Just that I'm putting things in place to make sure we will be ok and that he and I are my very first priority. And that is exactly as it should be. Take care of yourselves. Even when that's impossible. 

xxxx