Splats and Bum Wiggles

So what have we learned this week? Other than that I am rubbish at keeping my promises to post, obviously. 

1) That Mr Pop is not a good game for narcoleptics!  Little Prince has renamed it Mr Splat.
Basically, Princess Mummy got all overexcited when she saw this game.  At the Castle where I grew up, I was the champion Mr Pop player! I'd spend ages putting those little face pieces in, desperate to beat the clock before the game POPS up and flings the tiny missiles back at you.  Well now it's a splat-in-a-box. Because every time Mr Pop pops up, Princess Mummy falls down.

2) That 3D movies are NOT suitable for this particular narcoleptic! For similar reasons to Mr Pop but without the shrapnel.
Prince Daddy and Princess Mummy went to Big Town last week to see the new Mazerunner film (reviews here) 
I don't have much of an opinion of the film as yet because - without spoilers - there are a few jumpy bits which made Princess Mummy go Splat and Prince Daddy had to rescue me from face-planting my own nachos! 
We'll try to see it again- fully dosed on meds and in 2D this time and I'll let you know how that goes!

3) That as well as Princess Mummy's fabulous good looks and gung-ho attitude to most anything, Little Thug has also inherited Princess Mummy's smart mouth and inability to resist the last word. Which while he's a cute little 18 month old is kinda funny but I can see his elder years being a battle of wills. - I just hope that Prince Daddy and I can walk the line between discipline and not crushing his spirit. Wish us luck with that! 

4) And finally, that Little Prince is responding so well to his new medication for ADHD.  He's focused in school which is improving his work but,  more importantly, boosting his confidence no end. A lot of the emotional issues ended with the change of meds although they weren't listed as side effects.
So Prince Daddy and I can enjoy our Little Prince without him bouncing around like Tigger on Speed. And best of all,  Little Prince says he doesn't feel any different but "They stop my bum wiggling on its own."

And no one likes an independently wiggly bum!

Merely Youthful High-Jinks

So. In April I announced that my "maternity leave" -from my hobby!- was over and I would begin to blog once again.

Well you know what they say about the road to Hell.

Little Prince's personal issues came to a bit of a head and he was ultimately diagnosed with ADHD. Which achieved very little beyond extending my personal last nerve.  It now takes Little Prince a little longer to get on it.

Little Thug is coming on in leaps and bounds and is in danger of surpassing all of us.  At 18 months old he has worked out that, in order to win an argument with either me or Prince Daddy, he simply has to ask "why?" to every response until one of our heads explodes.

In other news, I accidentally became the face of Narcolepsy in North Wales through what was literally a series of unfortunate events.  This has tailed off and will be over completely on 13th August when the last article I interviewed for will be released by Real People Magazine.  Thereby destroying my anonymity and proving that I am a "Real Person".

So I will leave you all with a little anecdote about how badly I tolerate medication. You know cocodamol? You buy it over the counter in small doses of 8mg codeine to 500mg of paracetamol.  Well I took a single one of these tablets with a single paracetamol. Literally the lowest dose you can self administer.  After a traumatic dental appointment, I needed something to counter the pain. 

Well! Next time I'll just shoot myself with the Humiliation Blaster instead of giving Prince Daddy the ammunition.

Within an hour of taking the tablet I apparently appeared a little drunk. I argue that. Waltzing Prince Daddy down the street of a major city is merely light hearted high-jinks. As is foxtrotting with a charming older gentleman although I do concede that agreeing to elope with him *may* have been a tad unusual.

After some light shopping, I declined to carry the proffered bags from an assistant in a very upmarket 99p store telling him that I couldn't possibly carry shopping bags because I was too busy with my day job of being pretty.

After this, Prince Daddy suggested a nice bus home. I insisted upon a window seat in order to "photosynthesise".  As I was photosynthesising, an older woman who clearly had not been party to my earlier shenanigans, sat next to me whilst I was basking and tried to start a conversation. Apparently I very politely told her I couldn't talk right now cos I was photosynthesising and turned back to the window.

I was also declaring myself to be awe-mazing. Cos I was too good to be just awesome or amazing.

Sadly, when I came down from this "trip" I felt neither awesome nor amazing.

Maybe I'll stick with just paracetamol from now on.

Hope you all have an "awemazing" week and I promise to TRY to blog again soon.

Breaking Radio Silence

I'm Baaaa-aack!

 

Finally life has settled down at the castle, and I'm taking the chance to reconnect with the outside world. 

 

The last year has been hard.  And I don't just mean "having a baby" hard. I mean - having a Lactose Intolerant baby and an older child being diagnosed with behavioural problems and a recurrence of Cataplexies and redefining our roles in a marriage - hard. 

 

So I could do the world's longest Blog post about my year - in which case we'd all be asleep - or take a leaf out of the "surviving having a child with ADHD" books and address things as they come up.  Guess which one I'm going for?

 

So for now I'll leave you with a snapshot of my week as told to The Coven. (A group of the closest, most supportive friends in the world)

 

**********

 

I'm so ashamed. We've got on bus on way home from The Big City and I put my hand into Little Thug's pram. There's 4 things in there that we haven't paid for!!! Oh the shame!  

And they're all from different shops. Prince Daddy's been giving him stuff to keep him quiet and they've ended up in the footmuff by his feet! I've never stolen in my life before! I said I'd call the shops and pay for em but Prince Daddy reckons not to bother.

 

I'm mortified!  Feel like bloody Fagin taking the stolen goods off the kids!

 

3 HOURS LATER....

 

So I phoned the £shop earlier to pay for Little Thug's stolen cap.  It wasn't a great success.

 

The man laughed at me. So I told him I wasn't gonna pay after all but he could reduce his stock by 1 Mickey Mouse cap!

Then he got nasty and went from laughing at me for phoning to pay £1 to saying he'd call the police and have me traced by my phone number.

So I told him I was glad I'd thought to withold my number and hung up. Then shat myself for the next 2 hours til common sense kicked in.

I didn't even bother with calling Pxxxx, Wxxxx or the other £ shop. So today we "stole" a Mickey Mouse cap, Mickey Mouse sunglasses, a toddlers drinking cup and a packet of origami paper!

24 HOURS LATER AFTER LOTS OF QUERIES ABOUT HOW I AM...

 

I'm ok now. With our grand shoplifting spree of......£3.75

 

I'm starting to see the funny side now.  Prince Daddy was cracking up when I was sitting in Wxxxx Café telling the bloke that I wasn't paying him his pound cos he was rude and anyway I'd just spent it on coffee.

 

**********

 

The whole experience was mortifying and not one to be repeated.  And ultimately cost more than the value of the goods we "stole" as I made a £10 donation to the NSPCC in Little Thug's name to appease my conscience.  But on the flip side, at least I've had a half interesting story to tell you all. 

A Whole New World

Well, Prince Daddy has taken both Little Princes out to Ninjas so I'm grabbing my chance to blog while I can. 

The Littlest Prince has turned life at the castle upside down, given it a good shake and put it back together inside out.  We knew we were lucky to have a "good" baby with Little Prince - slept well, ate well, grew.  Littlest Prince is doing none of the above.  Although he is drinking milk like it's going out of fashion, he isn't gaining weight as he should be and so our Health Visitor has recommended changing him onto Lactose Free milk as she suspects he may be intolerant.

 

She's weighing him again on Friday so we'll see if he's done giving us scares.  At birth he decided that breathing and keeping his heart beating wasn't quite for him and so pooped in his waters and gave up.  So as I was being sewn up after an emergency caesarean, he was rushed to Intensive Care at the Special Care Baby Unit.  I didn't meet him until he was over 24 hours old.

 

Prince Daddy took Little Prince in to meet the Littlest Prince in the evening.  He is now totally smitten with his baby brother and is thrilled to have met him before even me.

 

Little Prince spent last night reading The Gruffalo to Littlest Prince.  It was Little Prince's favourite story as a baby and he insisted on finding his book to read to Littlest Prince.  Strange how these things come back to you-both Little Prince and I could recite it from memory, having read it on many, many bus journeys, every night at bedtime and as an afternoon filler before a nap.

 

The Littlest Prince worships his big brother and gives him all his best smiles and is even-at 10 weeks-trying to laugh.

 

Narcolepsy and Newborns aren't the easiest combination to handle.  Prince Daddy and I are ships that pass in the night as we alternate looking after Littlest Prince and sleeping.  My planned naps are more important than ever with a new baby to be responsible for; and as a night worker, Prince Daddy needs at least 7 hours unbroken sleep in order to be of use to his boss.  And so we are playing Pass the Baby as children play Pass the Parcel but as you unwrap the nappy layer, the prizes aren't nearly as nice.

I made another tiny person!

I made a tiny person! He is small-ish and very grumpy! I was going to put out a blog post tonight but he's just woken up - AGAIN!
So I'm going to settle him to sleep and blog tomorrow when Prince Daddy takes the newest Little Prince out for a few hours.

Elephant Length Pregnancy? Or Just Having an Elephant?

So we've had a hectic few weeks at the Mummy Household.  And all on behalf of the Littlest Prince.

Our local hospital should just give us a bed and let us sleep in - we've been in at least twice a week for various things over the last few weeks.

 

Due to Princess Mummy being overweight at the start of the pregnancy and not gaining any weight during (both of which has annoyed my doctor- just can't win!) extra baby growth scans were scheduled at 28 and 34 weeks.

 

At the 28 week scan, Littlest Prince was supposed to weigh around 2lbs- a little under would be ok.  After a lot of muttering about "generous sizes" and checking the measurements twice, the sonographer told us that our Littlest Prince would weigh in at around 4lbs or a little over!!!

 

At the look of horror on my face (I've got to birth him!) she told us kindly that a low birth weight was more concerning and that he would probably cope very well with an early delivery with very little intervention if any.  She also, on finding out that my midwife and obstetrician appointments clashed, told me to keep the obstetrician and miss the midwife so that inspired me with confidence.

 

The obstetrician gave a low whistle looking at the scan (nice) and told me she wanted to repeat the Glucose Tolerance Test because a baby this big suggested Gestational Diabetes.

 

Anyway, much to-ing and fro-ing and tests and results confirm that, yes, I DO have gestational diabetes and on Friday was issued with my own personal blood sugar monitor and testing log.  Which was a very exciting gadget til she showed me how to jab my own finger with the pokey pin shooter (technical term) then I lost interest and decided I didn't want to play.

 

So I test blood sugar 4 times a day - before breakfast for a fasting reading, then an hour after each meal which has to be planned carefully to suit sugars and carbohydrate levels.

 

As of Monday, I think I'll be summoned back in because even my fasting levels are very high and so my post meal levels are astronomical, despite following the diet plan to the letter.

 

Oh, and according to the midwife I'm already measuring at 39 weeks which explains why I'm now confined to a wheelchair to get around instead of long walks (hard to accept at first but the freedom is dizzying) and why my liver is struggling which makes me itch ALL the time!

 

At least with the GD they are looking at bringing my due date forward to mid-to late January instead of February so now at least, the end is in sight!

My Narcolepsy and Me

When people hear I have narcolepsy, their first response is usually "oh that falling asleep thing".  And to make life easier, I tend to say " yeah that's it".  But Narcolepsy, like so many other things in life, is rarely that simple.

 

Everyone has seen the "funny" pictures and memes on the internet, the videos on YouTube. People with Narcolepsy falling down.  I'm as guilty as anyone of perpetuating the myth that Narcolepsy is a funny illness that just means sleeping a bit more.

 

So here's my attempt to put the record straight and explain my Narcolepsy and how it affects me.

 

I do fall down asleep.  Let's all get that laugh over with.  This, in my case, is known as Cataplexy and in most cases is linked to my emotions.  Imagine being afraid to laugh, to cry.  Even pride or shock are triggers for me.  I cannot watch a horror film or a comedy without having someone to supervise me.

 

When Cataplexy attacks, I can suffer a number of symptoms from the mild - head bobbing, slurred speech - to the major. A complete loss of muscle tone.  A puppet with the strings being cut.  And all the time, I'm awake inside and aware. 

 

Bathing is a major pitfall for me.  How many readers enjoy a long soak in the bath? Maybe taking in a book and a glass of wine?  I've lost count of the number of times I've nearly drowned.  Taking a bath, and hearing a car door slam outside.  Or a cat fight in the street.  Or even a dog barking if I'm relaxed enough.  Each of these can be enough to trigger a Cataplexy attack which is a loss of consciousness - although inside I'm awake and screaming.  Imagine feeling the water going up your nose and into your mouth and not being able to do anything.  The more scared and panicked you become, the more impossible it is to move and the more you can feel yourself breathing in the water.

 

The only reason that I'm still here and blogging is Prince Daddy.  He has pulled me from the water, drained my lungs.  He knows what is likely to trigger an attack and the most likely effect it will have on me. 

 

I cannot drink as even a small amount of alcohol makes me incredibly drunk incredibly quickly.  So that glass of wine is out.  I also sober up very quickly, finishing a night out as though I had not drunk anything at all.  Some say this is a side effect of the medication, some say it is my metabolism.  All I know for sure is that alcohol stops my medication from working for days ahead and so drinking becomes more trouble than it's worth. 

 

Although Narcolepsy is commonly known as a "sleep thing", it is classed as a Sleep Disorder because although sleep is a feature of Narcolepsy, the quality of the sleep is very poor and not necessarily restful.  From the moment I go to sleep, I dream.  And I dream until I wake.  Non-Narcoleptics cycle through a number of stages of sleep including deep sleep which allows rest.  I do not.  And the hormone your body releases in order to paralyse you and prevent you from acting your dreams is not always there.  So I regularly act out my dreams.

 

When my body does release the paralysing hormone, it does not always dissipate as it is supposed to, meaning I can "wake", be still stuck in a dream, and unable to move or speak.  As a child these were known as Night Terrors-a precursor to Narcolepsy, if we had only been told.

 

Because my body does not always distinguish between sleep and wake, I lapse into sleep during waking hours - not always realising.  I recently blogged about hallucinating a cat.  This is one, more humorous example.  Some of the hallucinations are more scary.  Having a pet made it easier to tell truth from fantasy.  If the cat reacted, it was real. If the cat ignored it, then I was probably confronting my own dream.

 

This doesn't even touch on the dangers of Automatic Behaviour.  The wandering off, the waking up, realising I've lost 10 minutes or more of my life and done things/been places I had no intentions of.

 

The limiting that comes with having to plan a life around Planned Naps in order to limit the amount of Cataplexy attacks that may come later. 

 

Next time I'll blog about Narcolepsy and Family.  About the effect Narcolepsy has on Prince Daddy and Little Prince.  And on the people around me.

 

I just hope this helps others to understand.

Feline imaginary

The primary topic of conversation this week has been whether or not my hallucinations have moved up a level from small crawling critters to bigger walking critters.  To explain, I suspect I may have hallucinated a cat! 

As you do.

I was watching tv on Monday night and was suddenly aware that there was a cat on the sofa sitting next to me.  Not odd unless you bear in mind that the Mummy clan no longer have a cat after Little Prince became very allergic and suffered horribly around our puss.  Yes, we'd had the cat longer but I suspect Little Prince might have been a touch harder to rehome.

So, Monday, I may have closed my eyes for just a moment.  Barely a second really, in fact, not so much closed them as rested them.  Yes, I rested my eyes. That's what I did.  When I opened them there was a cat sitting next to me, looking at me. I looked at it then it got off the couch and took itself outside via the open back door and into the rain. 

So there are a few arguments for against the cat being real.  In the pro column, cats are reasonably common where we live.  The back door was open and it was raining.  So it's not against the realms of possibility that a cat took refuge from the rain. 

In the "Princess Mummy's a nut job" column, the sofa wasn't wet or warm where the cat had sat, the cat appeared to voluntarily leave into the rain, and Little Prince had no ill effects the next day when a guide dog in school left us in no doubt as to his allergy.;  

So we may never truly know.  Royal Dr O (Princess Mummy's narcolepsy doctor) is in the pro-hallucination column.  He's actually surprised that I haven't upgraded from crawly bugs before.

Prince Daddy wants to know if I'll now be catching small animals under crockery for him to dispose of -that disappear when he arrives to do his Daddy duty.

The answer - mayyybeee.  I'll keep you informed.

Narcoleptic Nightmares

I spoke too soon.  I know I did.  I even said I was speaking too soon in my last post.  But I did it and this week I have paid.  And paid.  And paid.

 

I have not had an easy week this week.  Every night I've woken up from the worst nightmares.  Cold sweats, the lot.  And trust me, a Narcoleptic Nightmare is scary.  We can't always tell real from fantasy - which isn't as much fun as you might think.  In fact, there should be an age limit, a really tall height bar and, hell, a maturity test before you're allowed to wander through my subconscious.  It's got to the point now where I'm actually a little afraid to sleep and when I actually do sleep, I act out my dreams and wake as tired as I went to bed.

 

As a result my days have been as bad as my nights.  I've been running slower and laggier than a 1980s PC.  Seriously, anything that needs doing? Ask Prince Daddy cos Princess Mummy is just not functioning. 

 

Another fun side effect of severe sleep deprivation is the increase in periods of automatic behaviour.  For non-narcoleptics, that means my brain is taking a 5-20 minute siesta without telling the rest of me.  So I carry on doing whatever I was doing before sleep.  Saturday, that something was eating grapes.  So I carried on eating grapes - until I'd eaten damn near the whole pound! I also missed a big chunk of what I was trying to watch on TV and was as sick as a dog.  (Eating a pound of grapes in a sitting will do that to you!)

 

Last night I had my first full night's sleep in over a week.  Woke up this morning feeling tip-top.  Took Little Prince to school - all of a 5 minute walk away and continued to prove my fineness by having a splat in Tesco.  So, one good night's sleep does NOT conquer all!

To update from last week's post, I met with the Anaesthetist at the hospital.  He was quite excited that I was his first Narcolepsy sufferer in 30 years of practice.  Vaguely disturbing.  He had, however, thoroughly researched Narcolepsy, Cataplexy, and their effects on Pregnancy and Labour.  He is quite happy for me to try for a normal birth which was good news as some people in my Narcolepsy group reported that their consultants etc had pushed for a caesarean section under the heading of "better safe than sorry." 

I don't know if I should be happy or scared that, as my obstetric team have no experience of Narcolepsy, they are happy for me to make all the decisions and call all the shots.  So much responsibility on my little - nonmedical - shoulders.  Still, I assume that if anything was to go wrong, or I were to suggest anything outrightly dangerous, they'd step in.  Right?  Right? Um.....

Sex? Yes Please!

Princess Mummy has had her 20 week scan and everything is going great guns.  The Nugget has been checked and has 10 fingers, 10 toes, 2 matching arms, 2 matching legs, a beautifully functioning heart, spine etc.  Oh, and a Willy!!!

The Nugget is now officially to be known as the Littlest Prince. 

So much for this bump "feeling" female! (although I was hoping for a brother for Little Prince.)   We have dithered somewhat on names - the first name we chose we weren't completely sold on and, when the radiographer told us we were the seventh person with that baby name that week, we felt that the Littlest Prince couldn't possibly be one of the crowd.  So we went to our backup name.  Which was also the name of Queen Nanna's dog which passed away 2 years ago.  So; back to the drawing board. 

 

Out came the Modern Book of Baby Names - offering such gems as Ethelred, Cuthbert, and Mehitabel.  But seeing as we do love our Littlest Prince, we went with something more traditional and less likely to get him beaten up in the playground.  We asked Little Prince for his choice of names, but rejected Optimus, Ratchet, and Ultra Magnus for the same reason Mehitabel didn't make the cut.  Although Prince Daddy maintains that Optimus might well be the coolest kid in the playground.

At risk of speaking too soon, this pregnancy - narcolepsy aside - has gone like a dream.  The worst I felt was doing the drugs withdrawal thing which passed (eventually).  Since then, I have cruised through - although a lot of credit should go to Prince Daddy who has gone over and above the call of duty in terms of housework/supervision etc whilst Princess Mummy has reclined on the sofa indulging her cravings for salt. 

Which makes my non-existent weight gain a bit of a mystery.  As I now weigh LESS than I did at the start of the pregnancy, my consultant is insisting extra scans are the way forward.  Although it's a little hard to put all my faith in him at the moment.

When my midwife told me she wanted me to see the Medical Conditions Consultant because of the narcolepsy, I was a bit nervous.  More nervous when he told me he'd NEVER had a patient with narcolepsy and proceeded to google it in front of me.  Tomorrow I'm meeting the head consultant who, I hope, knows a little something about the condition, otherwise I'm taking myself and bump off to Narcolepsy Clinic and having the baby there!!!

Finally Feeling Real

So I've now hit the 20 week mark and am finally starting to feel like this pregnancy is a real thing that is really going to happen. 

 

From the first day I found out, I was afraid that November might repeat itself and that I would lose my last chance to be a mother for the second time.  Prince Daddy and I agreed that, no matter what happened, this would be our last attempt.  Losing our baby once was so very hard; if it happened again we wouldn't risk going through the pain for a third time.

 

Plus, being pregnant and suffering narcolepsy is hard!  The moment it was confirmed, I had to stop taking my Modafinil and Clomipramine.  Like, dead stop.  Cold turkey.  And boy it was not a good time!!! Sweats, chills, hallucinations, you name them I suffered them and am determined never to do that again! When my GP said it would be like the withdrawal from cocaine, I thought she was exaggerating.  If she was right, I've just found yet another reason not to play with recreational drugs.

 

Now I'm officially half way through my pregnancy and I'm hoping to find the second half a bit more bearable.  Although I still can't take any of my meds - the lack of which I'm really feeling - I know I'm on the home stretch and I have a finite period of time left that I just need to get through. 

 

Princess Mummy is looking proper pregnant now! I have a ginormous bump and can feel The Nugget moving inside.  From flutters and bubbles, this week we have graduated to full kicks and wiggles which are unmistakeable and are helping me, finally, to truly feel like this is a real thing which is happening to me! 

 

I thought the 12 week scan would be enough to help me accept this was real, but, although I could see the scan and knew the baby was there, I suppose some sense of self preservation stopped me getting attached.  Now, however, I cant wait til our 20 week scan.  Which is Tuesday.  In 3 days time I get to meet our Nugget and find out if we're having a Nugget or a Nuggette.

Little Prince was adamant we weren't allowed to find the sex of the baby - until he realised that once we have a gender, we can go about picking a name.  Now he can't wait to know if he's having a brother or a sister.  He's already (using the tried and true method of asking me 10 minutes before the alarm went off) got me to agree that as soon as I have the scan, he can have the picture to take to school to show his class.  

So, to sign off on a prediction: I have a feeling that this baby will be a girl.  When asked what we want, Little Prince always answers "A Transformer".  Prince Daddy and me say a boy would be easier so that he and Little Prince can share a bedroom.  But this bump, for lack of a better word, feels female. 

So when I blog again on Tuesday, I'll either be very smug or be typing here with egg on my face.  Who knows?

From Rags to... Well, More Rags

This week I have been mostly buying maternity clothes.  Or, more accurately, trying to buy maternity clothes.  Being on a limited budget, and knowing I would only have to wear them for a few months, I resolved not to overspend and to buy only from the High Street. 

Well, it was an experience to say the least.  A sad, disappointing, disheartening experience.  Having hauled my ever-expanding self up to the bus stop in the heat, rode to the Shopping Park, I confidently expected to wander nonchalantly in, scoop up half a dozen tee-shirts and a similar number of pants and be away.

HA!  I never thought I'd call myself naïve before.  Did you know all the big shops - Next, New Look, George, Tesco have all moved to selling online?  And online ONLY!  In fairness, New Look had 2 stands of clothes-8 "arms", and that was it.

So despite being the time when a woman's body changes most; when her whole form expands in different directions and in different amounts, she is expected to go online, buy clothes that will fit her old body, then pay to have them delivered.  Then, in case pregnancy isn't stressful enough, she has to go through the faff of returning them and ordering again-in a size she hopes will fit - and pay all over again for delivery.

NICE!  It's not like they should be trying to keep our business as we'll soon have little (yet fast growing)  bundles of joy to clothe - as well as needing more new clothes ourselves!

Pregnant not ill!

So here's another post midnight Blog for you all.  Shh!  Don't tell Prince Daddy or I'll get told off.  Again.  You know the way men say (quietly) "She's pregnant, not ill,"  Well, I wish someone would tell Prince Daddy that.  Being looked after is quite nice for about a day and a half, then I have the urge to club him over the head with something unpleasant - like a Lego Gandalf!

 

To be fair, there are women everywhere yelling "Shut up and enjoy it" at their computer screens.  Women who aren't spoiled rotten every day - but I'm not one of them and even though I know I'm coming off as bossy, irritable and ungrateful, I just cant sit on the couch with my feet up drinking tea for the rest of time.

 

There's been a fair bit of upheaval in the Mummy Household in the last two weeks.  The Welsh Assembly Government, bless their souls, approved the funding for our bathroom conversion into a shower room.  We originally requested a simple shower riser over the bath allowing me to shower unsupervised.  In a bath I tend to drift to sleep and drown.  They sent out their "people" who said no.  They thought a wet room would be more suitable.  Less for me to hit my head on as I fall down.  Oh, and a downstairs toilet so I didn't have to wake Prince Daddy to warn him I was planning on peeing when he was sleeping off a night shift.  I still need someone on hand while I shower, but at least they don't have to be in the same room any more and I don't have to announce my bodily functions in case they lead to a splat on the stairs.

 

Prince Daddy was in his element.  We had a houseful of builders who'd all been briefed on Narcolepsy With Cataplexy and all supported him in his theory that pregnant women who are prone to falling down shouldn't be allowed to wander around.  My favourite builder D, even made the tea when Prince Daddy wasn't around!

 

I've been truly fortunate in terms of pregnancy symptoms.  After the fortnight of hell that was Medication Withdrawal, I've been pretty much ok.  Some morning sickness - not bad but at the worst possible time.  I missed my best friend's son's birthday party today.  From about an hour before we needed to leave until just before the end, I was awful.  Since then, fine (feeling nauseous doesn't count)  Tomorrow there's a Family Christening the Mummy Clan should attend.  I have 2 bags ready to take.  My pretty handbag, and a sicky bag with paper bags/wetwipes etc in for the car journey. 

 

Wish me luck!!!

The best - and worst - days of my life.

It's ten past eleven at night - a time when all good narcoleptics should be in bed and sleeping.  A time when I  am normally in bed and sleeping.  But tonight, I am sitting, pecking out letters on a keyboard, munching on indigestion tablets as though they are sweets.

 

Every time I try to sleep, restless legs kick in - quite literally as far as poor Prince Daddy is concerned.  Not that he is bothered.  Sleeping the sleep of the Night Worker on a Day Off, he keeps trying to tuck me in, ignoring that my arms are flailing also.

 

The cause of the whole restless legs is my new little hitchhiker.  Yes, there is a new Little Prince or Princess on the way.  And this pregnancy is SO different from that of November last year.

 

At just 6 weeks pregnant, Princess Mummy (ME!) has the full set of pregnancy symptoms.  In the last week, I have had tummy cramps, sore boobies, bloating, and of course, indigestion.  And today, the morning sickness has kicked in - thoroughly!

 

When we first found out about the pregnancy, we visited our GP.  The advice she gave was to stop all of the narcolepsy medication immediately.  She was very pleased about my pregnancy symptoms - strong symptoms this early suggest a good rise in baby making hormones etc, especially bearing in mind that I was symptom free last time. 

 

Dr S had to look up my meds as she has no experience with narcolepsy.  The modafinil was simple enough. Do not take, no way, no how.  Clomipramine is not quite as simple.  Do not take, no way, no how BUT you will feel like poo while your body withdraws from the drug.  The words Dr S used were "the worst flu of your life for the next few weeks".

 

She really wasn't kidding.  I cannot stay awake from one hour to the next.  Every joint in my body hurts.  Although I don't have the headache/sore throat etc of flu, I feel as though I'm just getting over the worst bug EVER!  In theory though, as the Clomipramine passes through my system, I should get over the worst and enjoy the pregnancy although I will still have to balance the narcolepsy.

 

Yesterday, I met with Dr O - Grand High Chief of narcolepsy in Liverpool and was very depressed to find that the only thing he could do is impress upon me the need to nap regularly as there are NO meds at all that are safe to use during pregnancy.  He told Prince Daddy that I would be worse than useless for pretty much the next 7 months.  I'm  not to climb stairs alone, not go out alone unless I want to go back to A&E and pick out my plaster cast colours in advance.  Basically, I'm to be treated like china.  Which is just what I've spent the last week trying to convince Prince Daddy NOT to do.   Sigh.

Sports Day and Other News

Little Prince's School held their annual sports day last week.  As he is still in the infant section, they don't do formal sports but have 35 stations around the school field where the kids rotate round and do little events.  Such as the rugby "try", the bunny hop, shooting basketball hoops etc.  It was a joyful shambles. Half of the younger kids kept wandering off and having to be rounded up by the leaders.  The older kids had set up the events and the "jumps" etc were spaced too far apart for the miniatures to jump in one leap.  The queue system fell apart quite early on as all the kids wanted to have a go and sundry calls of "Jo-fish" and "Welly-ottt" were heard. A lot. 

 

The whole day was an incredible success.  The day was well supervised and the teachers and children gave their all.  Parents and kids had a great time and winners were declared by house colour.  The only formal race that was run with winners was the 60 metre race which was run in heats.  Even though Little Prince was spectacularly bad at all of the events bar the bunny hop, he had a great time and everybody was upset when 3 o'clock came round and hometime was declared.  Little Prince's sports day was so different from the sports days of Princess Mummy's youth.  Maybe it was the fact that it was an afternoon instead of the whole day.  Maybe it was that the event was planned for May instead of mid-July, or maybe it was because the teachers were so enthusiastic and engaged that the kids couldn't help but be sucked in. 

 

In other news, Princess Mummy has started Weight Watchers.  Last April I climbed on the scales and the numbers went up, and up, and up.  So, when Prince Daddy broke his leg, and I had to take care of him, I was thrilled to see the weight drop off.  But then it stopped.  Then it crept back on again.  And so, finally, I took matters into my own hands and dragged my sorry bum to WeightWatchers. 

 

Honest to Goodness, I've never eaten so much food in my entire life.  Instead of the whole "eat less, move more" mantra, I've found myself eating better.  Tonnes of food, but better quality.  And 3 meals a day!  I haven't eaten 3 meals a day since I was 18 and moved out of Queen Mummy's house. 

 

Being in WW has caused me to reconsider how I treat food.  Prince Daddy has always said that my relationship with food is downright unhealthy.  And now I'm starting to see what he means.  Apparently one meal a day is not healthy.  Ok, one meal and a giant bar of chocolate. 

 

Yesterday, for example, I ate 2 poached eggs on toast, a baked potato, pasta in cheese and tomato sauce, mini biscuits, a banana, and some grapes.  And still, at first week's weigh in, I lost 3 1/2lbs.  How does that even work? 

 

I'll keep you informed whether it works again this week.  Keep everything crossed for Wednesday's Weigh In.

Stockholm Syndrome - Induced by a Professional

I'm living in a dictatorship and sadly, I don't seem to be top dog.  This is not how my life was supposed to happen.  I was gonna be large and in charge and run my house like a military operation.  Iron fist in a velvet glove and all that.  Except real life isn't as easy as the fantasy.  And motherhood isn't as easy as Queen Mummy makes it look.  So, really, it's all her fault for doing it too well.

 

Anyway, the despot in question is 4 foot tall and 3ish stone. And totally without mercy.  Seriously.  A career in Gitmo is in his future.

 

I think I might have developed Stockholm Syndrome.  Little Prince has been testing the theories in his the Sleep Deprivation / Rewards for Good Behaviour portion of his "Dictatorship For Beginners" book.

 

Granted, he has a head start running the sleep deprivation ruse on a narcoleptic but there you go.  Every day for the last week, I have been woken between an hour and an hour and a half before the alarm.  With kisses and cuddles.  Little Prince has a lot on his mind and needs answers.  Now.

 

So the big questions of the week are as follows:

 

What does snail poo look like?

 

Why don't snake's willies fall off when they slither on the floor?

 

Why do penguins "wobble" instead of walk?

 

(The answers, by the way, are white strings, they're tucked inside the snake until they need to be used, and because their legs are short and their bums are big.)

 

After the most recent wakeup, Prince Daddy and Princess Mummy held a summit meeting.  We decided to explain to Little Prince that Princess Mummy needs unbroken blocks of sleep.  That waking me up is ok if it's important, but other things can wait til alarm time. 

 

Little Prince listened, took it in, gave me tons of kisses and cuddles and it all seemed to work.  Four clear nights.  Until this morning.  At ten past six a small shadow slipped into the room and between the covers. 

 

"Mummyyyy...?"  (kiss)

 

"Grugh!"

 

"Mummy, its important.  I can't sleep and I need to talk to you." (kiss, kiss)

 

"Grugh!"

 

"Mummy!  Why aren't hearts heart shaped?" (kiss)

 

"WHAT?!"

 

"Mummy." (kiss) "Just google it for me and then you can sleep."

 

Fail!

And That's Why I'm Not Batman...

So, to happier thoughts.  This week has been, to quote Little Prince "Splattastic!"  Prince Daddy, as usual, has been the primary source, although Queen Mummy may have caused a splat of her own due to a combination of her famous (notorious) driving and a pheasant with suicidal intentions.

 

On Wednesday, Prince Daddy woke full of the joys and the delusions.  "I'm Batman" were his first, second, third etc. sentences of the day.  After the 37th declaration, I began to doubt the veracity of his claim.  Batman is known for being a little more discreet about being Batman.  Little Prince, also a non-believer began announcing the same.  Not wishing to be left out of the Spartacus situation which was brewing, after brushing my teeth, I leapt into the bedroom announcing "I'm Batman!"  Unfortunately, I fell over a towel, forgot to breathe and went Splat, toothbrush in hand. 

 

Batman AKA Prince Daddy, leapt into action, put me in the recovery position, and whispered lovingly into my ear "and that's why you're not Batman."  

 

So, the big question of Wednesday is how come I lose all muscle tone and cannot respond, yet wake STILL clutching my toothbrush like a life belt?

 

***

 

Saturday, again was very much Splat centric.  One thing people without Narcolepsy don't realise is how every aspect of your life can be affected.  As we don't yet have a shower, Prince Daddy has to be on hand to supervise me bathing as I tend to drift off to sleep and sink.  This is actually scarier than it sounds.  Earlier this year, a car backfiring gave me such a fright that I went Splat, sank and could actually feel myself breathing in water and starting to drown.  Unfortunately, the terror that goes with that experience caused me to be unable to respond and it's a vicious circle.  Had Prince Daddy not been on hand to fish me out and make me breathe, there would have been no more Blog!

 

Unfortunately, Prince Daddy's presence causes as many splats as it prevents.  Sitting on the toilet seat, next to the bath, I am a captive audience for his silly, offbeat and hilarious sense of humour.  And we all know what happens when I laugh.  The same thing as when I cry, scream, get overexcited or orgasm.  Yes, you read that right.  Orgasm.  Prince Daddy likes to joke that he's the only man in the world who sees it as a compliment when his wife falls asleep in the middle of sex!

 

So after a 3 splat bath (due to his humour gutter-brains) we walked into the town centre to take in the market.  Explaining Narcolepsy with Cataplexy to someone new is something I actually don't mind doing.  I'd rather people understood than passed judgement on me as "mental", "loopy", "drunk", "bipolar" etc.  All names I have been called, and all, obviously, little understood conditions.

 

Prince Daddy was on form however.  In a shop talking to C and R whom we have known in passing for some time, Prince Daddy thought the way to explain Narcolepsy was:

 

"And watch what happens when I do this-RAAARRRGGHHHH!!!!"

 

Guess what I did? Yup!  

 

In his defence, Prince Daddy says that there was a 2-beat-count in his head between "this" and the roar that followed. 

 

I have forgiven him though -after guilt tripping him into buying me chocolate.  If I took every Splat to heart, I'd spend far too much time in a mood and not nearly enough having fun.  Besides, he did make me a flask of tea (so I don't risk scalding myself) and set up the DVD with The King and I, one of my favourite hokey musicals of all time while he slept ready for his night shift.

 

Shaaaalll weee dance? tra-la-la?

Time to Share the Sh*t

I haven't blogged for a long time, reckoning that the point of this blog is to be frothy, light entertainment, not to dump all my woes onto the reading public. 

Well, having read the blog of the excellent Angela Clarke http://angelaclarke.co.uk/today-is-not-a-good-day/, and having said (as I do each time) "I wish I could write like that",  I have decided it's time I blogged more regularly.  Bad news as well as good.  So, to update you all to the reasons why I have been off-blog.

 

In October last year, Prince Daddy and I had some amazing news.  A new Little Prince or Princess was on the way.  We decided not to tell Little Prince as we still had around 7 months to go.  Losing one Little Prince to spontaneous combustion was not how we hoped to welcome our new Little Prince/ss.  We cuddled our secret close and thrilled to think every time we caught each other's eye.

 

In November, the worst thing that could happen did.  Spontaneous abortion.  Miscarriage.  Failed Pregnancy.  So many words that just don't describe the almost physical kick to the guts that we experienced, both at the initial news stage and every time after that we saw a baby, a pregnant woman, or even children's toys.  In many ways, our discretion was rewarded.  We didn't have to explain to anyone why my tummy was only growing to comfort eating.  There was no one comparing pregnancy symptoms who had to be upset with the news.  However, the fact that we had told no one of the pregnancy meant that we also had no one to tell about the miscarriage.  The doctor had no comforting words, only that "this is nature's way of telling you the pregnancy wasn't viable".  She assured us that one miscarriage did not mean that any future pregnancy is at risk. 
 

I felt that I couldn't tell Queen Mummy about what had happened.  She would have been so hurt that I hadn't told her when I found out that I was pregnant although it was purely that I didn't want to steal my sister's thunder as her own baby was due a month or so later. After the miscarriage, I couldn't bear to tell either of them, to force them to confront the extreme mortality of babies, both unborn and brand new.

 

So Prince Daddy and I bottled up our feelings, clinging only to each other and leaning heavily on each other for support.  We made sure to talk about what had happened and how we felt, what we wanted to do for the future and what we would do should it be impossible to get pregnant again.  (It took us 2 years to conceive Little Prince and nearly 3 to conceive the baby now known between us as November-named for the month we lost him or her from our lives)

 

It has taken until now, April, 5 months later, that we feel that emotionally we are ready to start trying again and to talk about what we've been through.  I have finally told Queen Mummy what happened - she is very hurt I didn't talk to her at the time, but, I think, understands that I was trying to save her from the heartache at the time.

As we were getting over this particular ordeal, we had all the joys that come with finding a "lump".  After ignoring it for a month, which was decidedly NOT an appropriate response, I took my lump to the GP.  She gave me an urgent referral to our local hospital Cancer Unit.  Their idea of urgent is a little different from mine-it took 4 weeks to be allocated an appointment.  On the spot they sent me to have my "lump" scanned and on the basis of that, a biopsy was taken the same day.

Did you know that a biopsy takes 2 weeks?  Neither did I.  After the longest 2 weeks of my life, I was finally called and asked to attend the unit for my results.  Which, fortunately, were negative.  My lump is something commonly referred to as a "breast mouse".  A benign, small, mobile lump that is easily moved around. 

Although my lump must be monitored, I am aware of how very lucky I am, and how lucky the whole Mummy Clan is in general to be so healthy.  I give thanks each and every day to God for blessing us as he has.

And on days like today, when I am so tired I can barely walk, when I fall asleep walking home after dropping Little Prince at school, and when the worst that happens is that I spend the day dozing on the couch while Prince Daddy picks up the slack, I thank God that I have Prince Daddy and some amazing friends who love me as I am, narcolepsy and all, who think nothing of coming to see me - and not being offended when I spend most of the visit either sleeping openly, or in a looks-awake-but-is-actually-asleep-and-talking-rubbish state.

The Wanderer Returns

Hi All,

Apologies for the looooong delay in blogging - I'm a cra- um, rubbish blogger and I deserve to be flogged!!! (ooh, how very 50 shades!!!) or "blogged" as Prince Daddy has just said, reading over my shoulder.

Soo, a brief explanation of where I've been and what's happened to the Mummy Clan in the last 12 months. I believe I last left you with news of my broken fingers and broken foot. Well! Prince Daddy went one better just a fortnight later and incurred an injury of his very own.  On the Wednesday, he headed off to rugby practice as usual and, just 30 minutes later, Princess Mummy received a very apologetic call from the captain saying "we're sorry but Prince Daddy is being loaded into an ambulance cos we, um, might have dislocated his ankle. A little bit."

Although I don't remember what I actually said, (something along the lines of "I lent you my hubby and you broke him?!") apparently, he came off the phone in tears and when sympathised with by the men talking about shouting women, he said I had not shouted, and, upon returning the phone to Prince Daddy, whispered that his wife was "a bit scary."

Without a LittlePrinceSitter, I was left stranded at the castle, waiting for news of my darling Prince Daddy, which did not arrive until silly o'clock the next day when a nurse phoned to tell me that Prince Daddy was not the hardy Welshman I was promised on our wedding day, but a rather more fragile knock off version.  As advertised, he had dislocated the ankle, but in an effort to win the injury ratings game, he had also snapped the end of the bone and would be looking at weeks in hospital as well as multiple surgeries.

So that covers where I have been-fulfilling my marital duties and taking care of Prince Daddy in his hours (or months) of need.

Strangely, having Prince Daddy incapacitated has done wonders for the Mummy clan-and not because I am some Kathy Bates in Misery kind of micromanager. (Although that may be part of it all). Having Prince Daddy laid up for the greater part of 6 months has meant that I have been forced to confront my narcolepsy and its limitations in a new way. As well as accepting the things that I cannot do, I have also learned that there are a number of things that I CAN do-with the right help. 

For example, although I cannot just get a bus or take a long journey on a whim, I have discovered that I CAN however take Little Prince to school on my own.  Something I would never have dreamed of doing before Prince Daddy's "little accident". I also learned the value of good friends. People who looked out for me on the way to and from school, who picked me up when I went splat, who phoned to see if I needed shopping and who simply came to sit with me when I had a bad day. 

To these people, who I will thank by name, breaking my own rules of anonymity, I must say thank you- for teaching me that admitting I need help and asking for it, are not signs of weakness, but of a great strength. To S, who gave me the gift of seeing her own weaknesses, hidden inside one of the strongest women I know. To M who ran innumerable errands, making out he was going shopping when he wouldn't have been if I hadn't needed that milk and cat food at eleven  o'clock at night. To my beautiful R who realised that I needed a wife, a friend, and someone to keep me on track, as well as being an emergency contact at school for when I was sleeping.  And to N who shared her pregnancy and all it's joys and trials, letting me give advice when it wasn't really needed but I needed to feel useful.

Prince Daddy has long referred to my friends and sisters as The Coven, but now, I feel that we are truly a sisterhood.  Yes M, even you.  This post has become a touch sappy, but without these amazing people, I would never have got through the last year. I would not have coped with single parenthood-however brief. Then I would not have written my children's stories.  Without them, and the encouragement of Prince Daddy, I would never have had the courage to submit them for publication, or felt the joy of seeing them in print.  And wouldn't be sitting here now, propped up against a surprisingly healthy Prince Daddy, typing away whilst Little Prince sleeps the sleep of the justly cheeky in his Thomas the Tank duvet.

Thank you all.  Princess Mummy, brought to you by The Coven haha.

An Update from the Battlefront

Well, what to tell you about first? We've had a lot going on at The Castle over the last few weeks.  The first being that Princess Mummy managed to break 2 of her fingers in a freak bus, um, carriage, accident.  That's right, a freak accident. It is very unusual, one might say freaky, for anyone to break her fingers waving her hands around on a bus, carriage, and hitting the pole that holds the bell.  Fortunately, we were due to disembark and so I pretending ringing the bell was on purpose, although the noise I made was truly inexplicable-in my defence, there were a number of Miniature Citizens of the Kingdom around and I did NOT want to sully their delicate ears with the words that originally tried to escape.

After being strapped up for a fortnight, I became somewhat frustrated with not being able to do much and removed the strapping.  FREEDOM! Unfortunately, the freedom went to my head and I decided to walk Little Prince to school. 

I was feeling truly proud of myself as I dropped Little Prince into the open arms of his teacher, then less proud as I realised I was lying in the middle of the road outside of school.  Whilst praying I did not get run over in front of the Miniatures, I tried frantically to recapture the previous few moments.  Eventually, I gave up on that, turning my attention to the more pressing issue of why Prince Daddy was lying next to me and why we seemed to have every adult in a 2 mile radius peering down at us and miming. 

It occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, the whole town had not gone mute, and maybe, Princess Mummy's hearing had packed up and left along with her dignity.  As I remembered my lost dignity, I started to clamber back up and was somewhat taken aback by the mushy sort of crunch my left foot made when put in contact with the ground. My hearing had obviously not gone far unlike my dignity which appeared to be on an extended vacation!

As the watching throng surged forward, with offers of help and lifts etc, I grabbed (the now upright) Prince Daddy's hand and started to hobble off into the sunset.  This was hampered by two major factors.  There is not much in the way of sunset at 9am in Wales and my left foot screamed out loudly using my voice every time I tried to put it to use.  After a sort of ungainly hobble home with Partner in Crime's Grown Up and Prince Daddy almost carrying me, I decided that it was perhaps time to visit the A&E and get my money's worth out of the NHS yet again.

Some time later, I swung out with a half-cast, crutches and the promise of a real cast the next day.  I also had a card from N, the Samaritan based at the hospital, tucked into my handbag.  I am amassing quite a collection of these from my A&E visits.  I guess when a woman turns up at hospital a fortnight after breaking 2 fingers with a new broken foot and bruises all up her legs and hips and a man who is not willing to leave her side, it is easy to leap to the wrong conclusion.  Poor Prince Daddy has been led away on flimsy pretexts by nurses so many times, that he must look guilty even though his conscience is clear. 

Thursday saw me return to the hospital and receive quite possibly the prettiest cast I have ever had on a broken limb (and Ive had a few!)  It was pink and when we got home, Prince Daddy pedicured my toes to match. I was a very high fashion Princess Mummy.

The cast was removed two days ago, although I have been advised to continue to use the crutches for a few weeks to come. 

On a happier note, the recent sunshine has gone to the heads of the Mummy Clan.  Yesterday was spent drawing pictures on the slabs outside the Castle with chalk.  We borrowed a token child from the neighbours so we didn't appear too odd but were delighted when he just wanted to eat his icelolly and watch us draw.  When we ran out of clean slabs and couldn't persuade Prince Daddy to clean and dry them so we could start again, we sat around and admired the beautiful business cards we have been sent by the lovely people at Vistaprint to promote the Blog.  Apparently this blog is now amassing enough of a readership to come to the notice of the Powers That Be and they are noticing us right back.  So if you enjoy reading about the dramas of life in the Castle, please feel free to share the blog address or even, if you know me personally, ask for cards to pass on to family and friends. 

And as always, comments, complaints, hints and tips are very well received and I love to hear from anyone who has enjoyed my mini rants.

xxx