What is love?

School journey... Five days in Swanage with 40+ kids aged 9 to 10. Some friends say I deserve a medal, wine or donations in honour of a fallen soldier teacher- what have I taken away from it? The feeling that I am not ready to be a parent. Serious self doubt has hit me after this trip and for starts, this is not my first school journey! I went away with Year 4 with my last school and took Year 6 to France in the June of this year. 

There really is nothing better than a school journey. On the one hand, it is a very intense bonding session with other people's children where you come back drained, unable to form sentences and ill. On the other, you get to show the children a different side to their teachers- a side where you are not constantly moaning about the lack of reading they have completed, the times tables they haven't learnt or the homework that has disappeared into thin air... One where they see you hanging upside down from monkey bars, drowning in ball pits, almost sliding arse over tit in the mud or dancing like a wild thing to the Harlem Shake.

So yes, the lack of confidence... I suppose this bit normally happens to people before they have a baby. The moment where just before giving birth, you think, "Holy crap, I don't want this to happen!" Or having brought the newborn home from the hospital, the onslaught of well wishers have disappeared and you think, "What on Earth do we do with this squawking heap of flesh that totally depends on us?!" Obviously, I haven't stolen any babies and my experience is from 8 to 11 year old children. Neither is it as if people generally get a lot of parenting practise before they have a child of their own as most are thrown in the deep end (although, it might make my job a little easier if they did...As my husband says, "#justsaying") After the last 5 days, I worry that I am too lazy to be a mum, not organised enough and a bit too grumpy.

I suppose that being a mum is a bit like being a teacher in that generally, you only remember the moments of sheer brilliance or laughing at when it went so wrong that you were waiting for an official to come and take away your licence for being an adult. The other normal bits kind of melt away into nothingness- the moments where two seconds later you can't remember why you were disappointed with their behaviour but you have to keep the grumpy face on for a bit longer or where a voice continuously grinds on you. There is always that moment when that irritation turns into hilarity, like when they make a silly song about where they're staying or about someone washing their wellies (*cue:"Wicked Welly Washer" going through my head for the rest of the day or "Land Yachts... Only £9.99... It's so cool... Buy it now!") The songs will remain in memory whereas the naughtiness becomes forgotten.

In other news, I am now 31 years old (odd years tend to be better than even years) and I went to Guys for allergy testing (I am now allergic to the world). They had the same home telephone number on file from when my Mum and Dad came for genetic testing. I received a letter from Guys this morning and there was a hint of panic on opening it (could it be about the PGD?) but it just turned out to be a list of stuff about my allergies and how I am to avoid eating any fresh fruit, veg or nuts, have pets or generally live. Bloody Guys. They are the root of all evil...

Why do I keep counting?

I am trying to look after myself at the moment, kind of start from scratch and undo some of the negativity that's been hanging around the air like a bad smell. One of the steps I have taken, is to start meditation to try to become more mindful and grounded. Only started yesterday so it's all very new but I have been using this app on my iPhone. It is only ten minutes everyday but today's meditation (that I completed on a bus home) had me completely zoned out. After arriving back at home (not on a cloud), I saw my Kundalini yoga video which I had bought after miscarriage number 4 to try to become a little more channeled and decided that after seven months, I was going to have a go. There were points where I couldn't stop giggling as Max found it utterly bizarre to have me on the floor and so kept sitting on me or put his nose right against mine, which when you are trying to concentrate, was hugely funny! I also had a knock at the door during the final exercise from the lovely Ocado man so once I put everything away, I went back to finish off before a knock at the door from P... So maybe I need to pick my yoga times a little better?

You needn't worry. I'm not going back to my crazy Catholic stage- the rosary beads and the charms disappeared at uni. Although, who didn't love that the storm last week was named St Jude? The patron saint of lost causes. Definitely one of those right now. I'm just trying to become more centred and focused as I have never been either of those things. I flit, I flee, I fly! Half a job here, half a job there.. a bit like my reproductive capabilities eh?! As a friend of P's once said when he first met me, "She's very smiley and fun but I wouldn't want to be there when the laughter stops!" I have clutched at religion as a support during the difficult times, after all, it's nice to have some kind of parental figure who, if you are the best you can possibly be, will take that pain away from you in the next life. I remember that when the Catholic phase was in full swing, someone brought up where miscarried babies go to and the priest said that they have instant acceptance into heaven as they are completely pure and when you die, you get to meet them all. Whilst I was teaching Buddhism to my class recently, I had a quick search to see what Buddhists believed about miscarriage and found that Jizo Bodhisattva is one of the most loved figures of Japanese Buddhism. Jizo is the protector of children, firemen, expectant mothers and travellers. Most of all, he is the protector of stillborn, miscarried or aborted infants as he hides them in his robes to protect them from demons and guides them towards salvation.

So where does that leave someone who feels that these are awfully nice stories but nothing more than a story? I think it's probably best to look to Aaron Freeman and his idea of why you want a physicist to speak at your funeral:
You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.
And at one point you'd hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.
And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.
And you'll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they'll be comforted to know your energy's still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you're just less orderly. Amen.
I like that. Whilst there is all this uncertainty and I could be making deals with a god to get me that elusive baby, along comes science and reason to remind me that I don't need to.

The letter that is being sent to my GP by Mr L came through the post on Saturday- there was an instant sinking feeling, that we won't get a go on the NHS. It reads:
Dear Wrong New Name of GP, 
I  was very sorry to hear that Sarah has had a further complete miscarriage at the start of September. As you know she has undergone genetic counselling at Guy's and St Thomas' for her balanced chromosomal translocation of chromosomes 9 and 18. She has now had five miscarriages.
Options that have previously been discussed with her have included adoption, egg donation and assisted conception with pre-implantation genetic diagnosis. having done research and given this some serious thought, she would like to proceed with assisted conception  with PGD on the basis of her chromosomal imbalance.
I would therefore be most grateful if you could refer her to the Greenwich and Bexley Commissioners to apply for funding for this treatment. I am unable to directly refer from this clinic. 
Many thanks,
With kind regards,
Yours sincerely,
Mr L
Just feeling a bit shit that we have had to get to this point. It's not as if it will definitely work either. A family member has offered us a loan if we get turned down for the funding but £9000 is a lot of money for no definite answer.

Urgh. Enough. Day three of the meditation tomorrow... Hopefully, I can reach that chilled point again.

Or there is that bottle of wine!