​Yesterday I snapped and shouted at Lily. And why? Because she needed her Mama.
It’s been a couple of rough nights for us lately. After weaning just before Christmas, something miraculous happened. Lily started sleeping through the night. We started sleeping through the night. Everyone got some sleep for a change, and I cautiously optimistically thought we had the worst bits over.
 
Then it started. For every nap, for every bedtime, she needs to be held tightly in our arms. Which is OK. I cherish the closeness, the intimacy. However, about 20-30 minutes after I leave, she wakes up and cries for Mama. She needs to be held again to fall asleep again, she can’t settle herself, not even one fucking time.
 
So at the moment it feels like there is no reprieve, no respite, no refuge. It’s constant, constant need to cater to her, constantly shooting worried looks at the monitor, praying she’ll sleep for another five minutes so you can get some shit done. It feels like it doesn’t end.
 
So, yesterday, I snapped. After five-thousand times of “it’s alright, Mama is here”, I snapped. My husband wasn’t home, so there was just conquer, no divide. I had set up for a night in bed with her, but when she’d fallen asleep, I got up to brush my teeth, toilet, drink, and so on. On the toilet – always – I heard her cry and so I ended up in bed, thirsty, full bladder, fully annoyed – I mean I cannot even pee and drink, for fuck’s sake. Then she screamed at me, relentless, angry I wasn’t there, angry I left her.
As I was trying to soothe her, all the bullshit comments you hear from strangers and your own inner voice rose like a screeching crescendo…
You should have sleep-trained her.
It’s your fault if you make her dependent on you.
This shouldn’t happen at this stage anymore.
Maybe if she slept in her own room, she could sleep better.
How on earth will you do it with two children?
She’s just spoilt, she needs to learn she can’t always have her way.
…
And I broke.
First, I released my anger at my own incapacities on her and shouted at her and put her roughly down into her bed. Then I just broke down and cried like a baby myself. She went calm but then cried “Mama, Mama”, as if in shock what was happening, but the flood gates had opened. I only thought: I. Can’t. Do. This. Anymore.
We fell asleep arm in arm, both crying. Not ideal. And I’ve been feeling terribly guilty ever since.
 
So why am I telling you this? To gain sympathy? To hear I’m not a bad mother? Or even for masochistic reasons because I want to lure out the beast of social media to rear its ugly head at me, saying: “You’re horrible”, “your child belongs to social services”, “you need to work on your own emotions.” (#gentleparenting #screamingscarsthemforlife #badparenting #yousuck).
 
It’s neither of those reasons. I am sharing this because, quite simply, it’s true. And the truth is a sighting almost as rare in social media as a unicorn, I feel. There is a flood of well-curated pictures in which we smile, capture a “good moment” (#lovemydaughter #shesthebestintheworld #lovebeingamum #mylifeisawesome)
 
And while all of these moments are true, too, they are not the whole picture. Sometimes I am tired of being a mum. Sometimes I wish I could watch a Netflix show without anxiously looking at the baby monitor. Sometimes I wish I could read two hours in the afternoon like I used to.
 
And I know that’s selfish inasmuch that I’ve had plenty of evenings like that (and if you don’t have children, cherish the boredom of a chill-out night on your sofa). I chose this and I must make it work – every day, even on the bad days. And I wish I was the perfect mother who is always calm and an incessant source of benevolence, cocoa and cuddles. I wish I was like Connie’s mum, sometimes.
 
But I’m not because, I guess, I am…human. After the fifth sleepless night, grinding through fifty tantrums each day where you nodded patiently and kissed their ouchies, it was one too much.
 
Snap.
 
I swear to myself it will never happen again. I know it will. Many times. Hundreds and thousands of times. And I will feel guilty. Every. Single. Time.
 
But you know the funny thing. While I was lying in bed, heaving from guilt, my insides churning at the thought of having shouted at her, she was peacefully asleep in my arms.
 
The next morning when I showered her with apologies, she wasn’t interested in them. She was too busy cuddling into the nook of my neck and smiling at me.
 
She’d forgiven me the moment I put her into my arms. The crack that shook our bond was healed within moments of it happening.
 
So, the hope I have is that if she can forgive me so easily, maybe I can learn to forgive myself, too.
 
#18monthsregression #18monthtoddler #parenting #blogger #parentblogger #mumblogger #motherhoodunplugged

Weaning, apart from birth stories and sleeping habits, is probably one of the most discussed topics among mothers - or at least in my circles. When to do it, how to do it, go cold turkey or gently wean over months, which feeding session to kick first, etc. etc. 

Generally, as with most things kids-related, I think the "right" way depends greatly on many circumstances and the temper of your child. A dear friend of mine knew her daughter was an either/or person, so cold turkey it was - and it worked splendidly. Lily and I had a more gradual approach, but I was surprised how quickly and smoothly it actually happened in the end. 

Before I delve into the nitty-gritty bits of our weaning story, there is something I have to get off my (now milk-less) chest first. When I got pregnant again, most women I talked to behaved as if this NEEDED to mean I stop breastfeeding. As if these were clearly co-related things. My mum always stopped breastfeeding when she fell pregnant with her next child and a friend of mine also put it quite clearly that a new pregnancy meant quitting breastfeeding her previous child. 

I hope you all slid into the New Year well and will have a splendid 2022. I am fairly sure we will have. Come April, we'll move into a new, bigger flat, and in May we will welcome Lily's little brother into our family. 

But before we delve into the new year, a little look on what's been going on in the past weeks. Just before Christmas, Lily and I stopped breastfeeding, which was equally sad and wonderful. I will write a more detailed post on our weaning methods in the next days. 
On December, 11th, hand in hand with weaning, Lily also finally started walking and is now running through the apartment like a little whirlwind. I am really happy she's up on her feet now, as, first, going outside in the snow is so much easier now, and, second, I can finally put dresses on her, yay! 

Just before Christmas, on the 22nd, we found out our little second miracle will be a little boy, which put me straight in a frenzy because I was dead-determined to become a girl mum. Having been raised with two sisters and almost exclusively female cousins, I just sat there, thinking, What the fuck do I do with a boy? I did, however, get over my little panic attack quite quickly and am now looking forward very much to welcoming him into the world. 

It isn't always easy for me to blend out the noise from the outside. Lily is inching towards 17 months now and she sleeps in our bed, and only falls asleep with one of us present.
 
Sometimes I question whether it is necessary to "make it so hard" on us, when other mothers just walk out, close the door and their kids fall asleep in their cots, in their own rooms.
 
Sometimes I feel frustrated because she needs us - predominantly me - so much. Sometimes I am impatient and even take my frustration out on Lily when falling asleep takes more than an hour and I have to lie still next to her, pretending to be asleep, so she calms down.
 
Sometimes I just want to leave the room and let her scream because I am overwhelmed and mostly angry at myself that I cannot muster the eternal patience I envisioned myself to have as a mother. Or that I messed up the sleep patterns and she's just slipped out of the sleep window and I know I have to wait another 45 minutes before she will settle.
 
Sometimes I curse that she cannot play around happily in her cot next to our bed and gently fall asleep herself, but that we need to be there.
 
What I then usually start when I begin doubting the path we have chosen to pursue with her, is the "beshoulding". "It should be easier", "she should be able to fall asleep by herself", "I should be able to spend the evening with my husband instead of lying stupidly in the bed for an hour with her", "we should try out other things", etc. etc.
 
I've been reflecting a lot on these frustrating moments lately, and have found a method that works for me - definitely not all the time - but which eases the task a little: I see the time we spend together as a gift, rather than a duty.

I follow a woman on Instagram who does Mummy Wednesdays, which means she asks her followers which topics they want to share their opinions and beliefs on. One woman suggested the question: "How can we tell other mothers that what they're doing is wrong", to which she got the very loaded answer that why would you tell someone they're doing it wrong and not just show sisterly (or rather motherly) support, and that she (the influencer), for sure, wouldn't choose that as a topic. 

This exchange hasn't let go of me. While I do appreciate the fact that it's not nice nor helpful to give unasked advice to mothers (recently an old woman said, "oh isn't it time for gloves" when she saw Lily in the stroller, and I could barely bite back the response, "well, isn't it time you fell into a grave".), I still feel we have reached a point where everything anyone does or says needs to be supported and embraced. Criticising someone has become the anti-Christ move of our society - and I wonder whether that is partly because we're such an enabled and coddled generation. 

Another social media example. Recently a few lifestyle/mummy influencers shared their views on media consumption with their kids. One woman strongly stated that her son sometimes watches TV all day and that's OK, because there are just such days. Inwardly, I cringed, because I simply don't think that's OK. Which doesn't mean I necessarily think she's a bad mother, or that the circumstances didn't allow for veering off the usual road; however, I do have a problem with having to say that this is OK. 

A lifestyle blog can cover a broad range of topics. Over the past year my life has changed so dramatically that I wasn't sure how to continue with this blog. Should it become a mummy blog? But what about the geeky stuff I like to write about? What about the provocative thoughts I sometimes feel like sharing? 

Me being unable how to proceed with this blog has resulted in quite a few subcategories - too many as I now feel, which is why I am deciding my life is as manifold as my interests. Maybe it will result in my main feed being a little cluttered - but so is life, isn't it? I am a mummy, a writer, a woman, someone with strong opinions, someone who loves to share beautiful things, someone who has diverse interests, so why not show everything I want to share? 

With that being said, I will keep the mummy section up for now to see how this new blog feeling goes, but I intend to share most of my content here on my main page. Skim and read through what you like, skip the rest (I won't be offended, no really, I'm serious). Maybe you're a writing mummy, too, and find the hotchpotch invigorating and inspiring, a little ally somewhere out in space who can relate to endless nights with teething baby while trying to find your muse amidst changing nappies, organising snacks and healthy meals, as well as mummy dates with others to retain a morsel of sanity. 

It's been roughly a year since we moved from Vienna to a picturesque village in one of Tyrol's many valleys. I am not a village-compatible person, I'm afraid. One year in, I have failed to start conversations with the folk, which I tell myself is because of corona - but I know the truth deep within. It's because it's almost impossible to "get in" to a Tyrolean village.

There are some bespoke customs, days, even daytimes you only understand when you've been "indoctrinated" with the folks' customs from very early on. Ways to speak, how to greet, whom to avoid, when to greet - every little piece of code the villagers are intrinsically aware of is a mountainous task to master for everyone looking in from the outside. Unspoken rules, rituals and customs rattle your everyday life, as you fail to grasp why the marching band is playing now at five am in front of your window. Why the children don their finest clothes, or who has mowed their lawn on a Sunday. 

I don't mean to be condescending or disrespectful - it's just like being thrown in a jungle without knowing the rules, without knowing how things are done. And with a very little radius for gossip to travel, you know your fail to grasp the village concept may be living room gossip in a day or two. 

I believe it's fair to say that the coronavirus hardly left anyone untouched. Whether it impacted you directly because you suffered from the disease or Long Covid, or even lost someone to the deadly virus; whether you've lost your job, your company closed, or you simply couldn't go to work for a few months, like my dad, for example. The impacts of the pandemic were global and, in many instances, harsh. Isolation, financial insecurity, health issues, resulting mental issues, and so on and so forth...it was surely not an easy time for most of us. 

And yet...I also want to look at the positive impacts the pandemic had on my life. This is a personal account and I don't mean to diminish the suffering others have experienced. It just occurred to me and my husband that, ultimately, we both benefitted more from the pandemic than we suffered. 

I am quite a restless person. It's difficult for me for things to stand still, my mind to quieten and to stay at home. Before I got pregnant and the pandemic hit, I used to be in a constant flutter, nervous to be still for too long, not wanting to deal with my issues, joy-threatening thoughts and future prospects. After finding out I was pregnant, a part of me worried about not being able to find calm and quieten my mind for the pregnancy and once the baby was here. I didn't want to be a mum who dragged her child everywhere because she couldn't be alone with her thoughts. 

In the course of my pregnancy, I did lots of things to quieten my mind - meditation, visualisation, breathing techniques, the works. However, what ultimately helped me was the enforced lockdown in March 2020 when the whole world, it seemed, came to a standstill. There were no aeroplanes, no cars, the village to which we'd just moved had become quiet - the only soundtrack composed by twittering birds, some ambling villagers and the odd tractor in the distance. Apart from the obvious benefits for the environment, this new setting was also incredibly healing for my own mind. There was no possibility of distraction - no bars, cafes, cinemas, shops, not even family gatherings. Everything was still. 

It was during this time that I first managed to quieten my mind. That the hectic little people in my head stopped dancing for once and I embraced being home. It is something I have returned to struggle with, but now that I know what it feels like, it is a place to return, not to find. 

Another factor in which the pandemic played into my hands was my choice of therapist. Shortly before I found out I was pregnant, I chose to see a psychotherapist. I was in a very low point in my life and didn't know how to be happy anymore. However, I started therapy in Vienna, and a few weeks after we decided to move to Tirol, in the west of Austria. Had it not been for the pandemic, I would have had to choose a different therapist, as therapists are usually not allowed to do online sessions. This may sound trivial, but for me the change of therapist would have meant starting from step one again. The almost two years of therapy have helped me incredibly to overcome some of my issues - or at least to name them so I can work on them. I am grateful that I could end the journey with the same therapist I started it with. 

​When Lily was born, life was almost back to normal. It was August, everything was open - and yet, there were strict Covid procedures at the hospitals. Regardless the severity of the situation, I have always criticised hospitals not letting husbands join the birth of their baby. I think it's cruel for both parents. As a birthing mother, you need support - from your husband or any other person you choose to take with you. As a father, you have the right to be present when your baby is born - pandemic yes or no. 

Thankfully, Jakob was allowed to attend the birth and could stay far longer than the allocated visiting hours; however, he was the only one allowed to visit. While I can understand that it was hard for my family to not see Lily in the first days, I cannot deny that it was a precious time, just the three of us in the hospital. Giving birth is quite overwhelming for most mothers, I assume (it certainly was for me), and the calm after the storm is a far more precious concept than I feel most consider. 

Lily's first six months were more or less spent in lockdown. I couldn't drag her to any classes or many outings, for which I am grateful. I know it sounds selfish to be thankful for a pandemic imposing on me the calm to stay at home with my little baby, but that's just how it was for me. My restless self, once more, could find the calm I probably wouldn't have mustered so well in normal times. Jakob, again, was working lots from home during Lily's first six months, which was great for the bond between them. Also, I had much more help with cooking, laundry and the general workings of the household. 

Finally, now that everything opens up again. I am grateful that I can appreciate the crowds and happenings much more. I feel I am in a better place to show Lily the wonders of the world because, due to the lockdowns, they are somewhat marvellous to me too again. ​

With people reeling over data security issues left, right and centre (are you annoyed with people using Signal, too?), it is worth reconsidering your data privacy settings and how you can protect your personal data better. Especially as a blogger and keen social medialist (is it a word??), I sometimes want to share a little on such topics; however, I had to learn these things the hard way, too, and am no expert. So, I am happy to share a guest post from TurnOnVPN here in which you find succinct and helpful tips to get your privacy data secured. 

Whether an individual everyday user or an enterprise, data security, and privacy should be important to you.
With every passing day comes some tech to reduce the level of privacy that we enjoy on the internet. It could be browser fingerprinting, IP address tracking, intelligent cookie tracking, hacker attempts, or something else. Now is a good time to learn how to take control back into your own hands.
 
Know Phishing Signs
Phishing attacks are the most successful social hacks because of how they leverage user trust to work.
Whenever you get a message, email or call from a supposed company that you are affiliated with, beware of giving out sensitive information. Instead, go to their official websites/pages and initiate a customer service request to know if they truly reached out. Avoid clicking on links in emails too. Instead, type the official company address in your web browser by yourself.
Speaking of web browsers…

In my lactation group the main topic, apart from bleeding nipples, is sleep. Every parent, it seems, struggles to get their offspring to fall asleep gently; napping terrorises the better half of the day, and we all know about the sleepless nights. 

​Why write this post here and not on the mummy page? you might ask. When you have a baby, sleep, invariably, becomes a topic, but I feel it is a massive issue with most people - children or not. And if we know that sleep is not only a topic for the smallest among us, is it possible that we, as parents, make it an issue, rather than it actually being one? 

I have a book about sleeping and babies in which it says that tribal African women were asked what "bed routine" they have with their children. They were puzzled by the question and simply said, "they sleep when they are tired." As a society we seem constantly tired. Everyone is tired, all the time. It seems none of us get any sleep - children or not - measured from the level of tiredness around. I also hear "I really should go to bed earlier more often" from many, many people - so what's keeping us?