Daily life

Shaun and I have been working on a new schedule for the week. It's been two months since we moved to Brighton and we've been experiencing the transition as much as Seb has. When we first arrived, Shaun was still working out his last week in London. Seb was in a new house which he clearly loved, but daddy wasn't here which he seemed to not like so much going on his reaction when Shaun finally did finish work. Those first few nights when Shaun would leave Seb and I to sleep in his room at University were met with screaming and tears. We decided that we should perhaps make evenings (dinner/bath/bed) a priority. So the routine is that Shaun arrives about 5pm, stays until Seb goes to sleep or a bit later, usually leaving around 8pm. Then Shaun spends the entire weekend with us. But as Shaun's coursework becomes more intensive, and those return trips on the bus are a huge waste of time, we are looking at longer weekends and less home in the evening time. I think Seb will be OK with it. It's a hard balance, but as I said to a new friend, it's not that much different to a traditional couple who's daddy works long hours, sometimes returning home after bedtime. The only difference it the middle of the night wakings. Seb has a rotten cold at the moment, he wakes from coughing or not being able to breathe easily. So, he comes in to bed with me. If he wakes up too much, he starts wondering where daddy is. I say daddy is at school, but what does that mean when daddy is here sometimes and not others?

Lemonade

It was three years ago today that I experienced one of the most devastating events a woman can: miscarriage. I was 39 years old and it was my first pregnancy. It was a miracle. I had lost hope that I was even able to get pregnant, and there it was - the words PREGNANT on a Clear Blue test. At 9 weeks - considered an early miscarriage - I had gone through two months of morning sickness and feeling awful. What an insult to suddenly find myself at St Thomas' ultrasound department with the sonographer saying that she couldn't find a heartbeat and that maybe it was too early - I should come back the next day. I went home discouraged and knew that it was over. I called my mom and she told me I was being negative. I told a few friends and they said, it might not be over, these things happen. No one wanted this to be the end. But, by Monday night I was doubled over in pain losing tons of blood. Shaun had been on the phone with the hospital and eventually an ambulance arrived. I was given gas and air to cope with the pain. Wheeled into an empty ward with a lovely midwife who made both Shaun and I feel very comfortable. The care that night was perfect. I was kept in overnight until I could be scanned to make sure everything was gone by the next day. The hospital was cold and felt even more so now that it was just me and Shaun. Our love had made a baby, and the baby died. My future had gone along with my hope. Shaun made a few phone calls throughout the day covering my classes and letting people know. He eventually left the hospital and went to tell his parents who had not known that I was pregnant at all. This was a whole other story! In the afternoon I was released and I traveled home alone by taxi. Shaun was at my flat when I arrived home. Nothing but sadness and emptiness for weeks that followed. The emotional nosedive was bigger than anything I had ever experienced. I cried and typed and cried and typed for days. It was a long process, and in retrospect, I don't think I fully recovered for a long long time after.

Today, however, the anniversary of that dark day, I am grateful for my son who was born just under a year later. I am grateful to Shaun for sticking by me and to my body for (so far!)  holding two pregnancies. I don't feel so sad anymore. If that little babe had been born on the 21st June 2009 as expected, I wouldn't know Sebastian or be anxiously awaiting the arrival of his brother Charlie.

First post

I'm called dreamymummy because I used to have a little independent record label called Dreamy Records. I spent my early 20s devoted to indie music and eventually started my own company so I could release records I liked. The label lasted from 1998 - 2005. It was a labour of love and I became known in small indie circles as Dreamy Tracy.

After my years in the heartbreaking music industry, I made a smooth transition into teaching yoga. Dreamy Yoga never really worked.... The name I was given in India was a Sanskrit word meaning "the female aspect of om". A swami of Eupropean descent flippantly referred to me as Miss Universe. Well, that's cute and all, but the domain name was already registered, so I became just yogamiss. Ten years of teaching and nearly 15 years of personal practice later, I am mother to Sebastian and pregnant with another little boy.

I have a few email addresses. yogamiss, yogamum, dreamytracy. I am all of these. Ultimately, for now, I am dreamymummy. I had to be really. Yoga is the union of all things or the yoking of realities. Becoming a mother, although there is an element of illusion that mothers are all seeing all knowing all all all, my experience is that motherhood is total chaos. I am definintely not united in my mind body and spirit on a regular basis. It does happen occasionally. There are perfect moments when everything feels so right and I've managed to do my duty remaining calm and in flow, but its rare. I dream of becoming that mummy sometimes.

I've started a blog.

Who on earth would want to read about my crazy adventures?

Let me re-phrase that.

Who on earth would I want to share my personal point of view with?

I don't know.

I guess the idea that I might eventually write something vaguely worth reading is some inspiration. At the moment, I barely have time to paint my toenails once a month let alone write a blog. That's motherhood for you.