Pink & Blue Mummyland

Pink and blue parenting through pink and blue moods….

Mummy Land?

on October 14, 2015

I’ve been thinking recently that despite my blog being called Pink and Blue Mummyland, I’ve written far more about my life being affected by my pink and blue moods than I have about being a mum. I’m not sure why this is, seeing as most of my life the last seven years, and certainly the lifetime of this blog, has been spent caring for small people. Maybe it’s because I have lots of parenty friends to share the mummying  with, whereas the bipolar stays private enough that having an outlet is valuable to me. Maybe it’s because so much of parenting seems mundane on a day to day basis. I’m not sure, but one thing is certain – if I don’t at least mention parenting every once in a while, I should probably change the name of my blog, and seeing as it’s one of the few witty things about it, I’m fairly keen to keep it!

When I started blogging, neither MicroBob nor MiniMe were at school. I was very much still a stay at home mum – home being the operative word. In the early diagnosis days, when the depression was at its most debilitating, getting up was as much as I could do, and I spent long days sat on the floor watching whilst they entertained themselves (I like to think that’s why they play so well together, but I’m not sure I can take any credit for anything that happened in those years).

MiniMe and MicroBob

MiniMe and MicroBob

For a long time, the diagnosis filled most of my thoughts. Every day was spent either waiting for the depression to lift, desperately wanting the highs to carry on, or constantly watching for what my mood might do next. Everything else was incidental.

Recently I’ve noticed a change. The bipolar, as much as it is still a major part of my life, has become incidental, whilst raising the children has pushed itself front and centre. Most of my thoughts each day now concern them, not the ilness. My moods are finally taking a back seat to my children.

The trouble is, the fear hasn’t improved – it’s still as present as it’s ever been. It’s just pointing in a different direction. Most days involve some kind of fear with regards to them – am I doing this parenting thing right? Are they getting what they need? How much should I go into school to make sure they are learning enough? Should I be pushing them to achieve or helping them learn just to be?

And yet, I think the scariest fears have a foot in both camps, children first and foremost, but still bending back towards the bipolar – what if I’ve missed spotting things they need due to being so unwell? What if I haven’t noticed how they feel? And – the big one – what if I’ve somehow infected them with this hideous disease? Which ones going to have it? Will I notice it? And will they keep it from me the way I keep it from my own mother, leaving me impotent to help?

There’s been a big argument recently about whether people like me should say they have bipolar, or ‘I am bipolar’. Personally I interchange, depending on who I’m talking to. But one thing is certain as far as I’m concerned. I may have children, but I am a mum – bipolar or not.

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