Tuesday 31 December 2013

Top 5 things I learnt last year

Well, it's the start of a new year, and that calls for a quick post.

Little Bean, it's been a hell of a journey. I say that quite literally, not gonna lie, but it's starting to become more fun now and I can even see (I can't believe I'm saying this), why people have more than one kid.

You said WHAT now?!


I learnt a heck of a lot last year, and find myself quite changed upon reflection. So I figured it would be prudent to record the five top changes and/or things I learnt during the course of last year - 2013.



  • Before I had a baby, I was very afraid of vomit. Even the word would make me gag. The sight of babies drooling, spitting up, runny noses, or simply even the sound of someone gagging would be enough to set me off on a gag fest of my own. Now, I am regularly spat up on, vomited on multiple times a day, pooped on weekly (if I'm lucky) and frequently witness to epic projectiles, yet miraculously, I don't feel the slightest gag kick in anymore. WIN.




  • Somehow, and I have no idea how this happens, you can actually get used to sleeping for just 2-3 hours at a time. Not just get used to it, but actually function on it. 

  • You can have morning sickness and never actually be sick. You just feel like you are about to ALL the time. NB - if you are feeling like you are about to vomit, make sure you don't head for an alarmed exit. This is very embarrassing.





  • Labour isn't the bit you should be scared about. Who knew. Although I'm not saying it wasn't scary. It's just that I didn't have time to think about how scary it was, and then it was all over. Also, episiotomy's are HUGE cuts, not little snips like I imagined. I see you squirming!

  • Being open is incredibly important. Not only can it mean that you get the help you actually need, but in doing so you open up other people to share their experiences, and can bring people together. This has happened within my immediate and extended family through this blog. It's a shame it took so long and that people don't talk openly more, but without it, and the support that came with it, I don't know that I would have been as successful at getting through this year.


 2013 was the year of massive changes and overwhelming challenges. I challenged myself to face my anxiety head on, to perform live, to write songs, to become a better teacher, to become a mum. I started writing about all these things and my journey towards becoming a better me as a way to show others that they too can do it because I know I'm not the only 'anxious' person out there who wants more in their life.  I also didn't want my daughter to have a mum who limited herself. As a result of me documenting my journey, I have become more confident in myself, I have met new people and been privileged enough to have friends and strangers share their very personal stories with me. I faced two of my biggest fears last year and came through with greater understanding of who I am and who I can be and just how much I am truly capable of achieving. 

This year, is dedicated to my daughter. My goal is to keep writing, to get better at it, and to finish some of the novels I have started during my life and perhaps even get published somewhere. I am doing this for her, to show her that I can finish things, that I can see them through, and that it doesn't matter what other people think, as long as you are happy and content in yourself.

Happy 2014 everyone. 


Friday 27 December 2013

Baby Proof Fence

As Little Bean begins to figure out that she can move herself around, I begin to notice the veritable death trap my house is. Granted, at the moment she can only push herself round in circles, but it wont be long before those circles become horizontal across floor movement, which in no time will become vertical grabbing motions.

And so, I have begun to baby proof.

Luckily for me, I have a friend with a one year old who sometimes visits. These have become exercises in 'how fast can I move everything higher than 1m above ground level', now executed with almost military precision. I say almost because on christmas day I had done an excellent job of clearing all the surfaces of everything. My house looked pristine and very, very safe for children. That was until said one year old arrived, and promptly headed straight for the plate of nibbles I had festively placed on the coffee table.

I have never seen a scorched almond vanish so quickly.

Needless to say, this one year old was in no hurry to spit out such a delectable treat, and so ensued a somewhat farcical series of 'spit it out love', 'don't run with food in your mouth' and 'it's ok, if we need to I know how to do the heimlich manouvere' (which of course I did, years ago. I'm not convinced I could have performed it now, and I'm not even sure that you are supposed to do it on a one year old).

Lesson learnt. Scorched almonds are not safe for children.

I also hold out little hope that we will have a christmas tree next year. Apparently all those shiny decorations are simply too good to resist.

To everyone who gave me warehouse vouchers for christmas. Little Bean and I thank you. They have been spent on latches for cupboards, safety cabels to stop flat screen tvs tipping over, plastic floor mats for under high chairs, electric socket protectors and cute things to stop doors slamming on fingers. We also have a new entertainment unit thanks to Trademe, which ensures that the spaghetti junction of cables required to keep our lounge running, are all safely tucked out of toddler's reach.

Now I just need to figure out where to put all our liquor...

Friday 20 December 2013

A Christmas Letter

Dear Little Bean,

This will be your first Christmas ever, and we are so excited. We haven't got you a present, as we don't think you'd really care, and we should probably save that money for a high chair as you are growing and learning SO fast, that we almost can't keep up!

This time last year you were a thought in my head, an idea that sparked such excitement in me that I was already starting to dream about you. I knew you were there before I even found out I was pregnant because I dreamt about you. I asked you what we should call my mum, and you said "Nana Ali." In my dream I said 'A-, That's a great name," and when I rang Nana Ali the next day to tell her, she said "that's funny, 'cos that's the exact name I came up with yesterday."

We've had a rough start you and I. I wish I could do the beginning of your life all over again and make it better for both of us. I would tell the delivery theatre doctors to leave you be, to not take you away from me the minute you were born. I would hold you and tell them to leave you alone. I would figure out a way to stay by your side in the NICU ward, and I wouldn't let them tell me to not stroke your tiny hand. but I can't. So instead I am focussing on making your future the best that I can.

I wish I could protect you from all that world is going to throw at you. I wish I could keep you hidden from it's horrors forever. I wish that I could guarantee that you will never have to feel the pain of a school yard fist, or the sting of a bullying remark, or the tears of a broken heart. I pray that you don't feel the same anxiety I did as a teenager and I hope that I can be the role model you need me to be in order to become strong enough to deal with life's struggles. But I can't promise any of that. All I can do is promise that I will be there with you for it all. I will catch you when you fall and I will always pick you back up. I only hope I can give you the life you deserve.

Little Bean, you have changed me in ways I can't even describe. I used to be anxious all the time about what people thought of me, about death and pain, about me failing. But that changed the moment you were born. I still worry about what people think of me, but I care less about it. I don't freak out about performing because I want to show you that I am not scared and neither should you be. I fear death only because I am worried about what will happen to you if I am not around, and rather than worried that I will fail and embarrass myself, I worry that I will fail you most of all.

This christmas you are nearly 4 months old.  You smile and coo, and are about to laugh any day now. You are just learning to roll over and to grasp at toys. You still wake 2-3 times a night and you don't like to sleep during the day. You love bath time and you love singing with me and Daddy. I don't know what the future holds for us, but I do know that I will love you for every single second of it. Probably you won't read this letter for many, many years, but when you do, believe me when I say that all this will still be true.

Love,
Mummy


Learning

Recently a blog has been circulating my Facebook circle, regarding what are good presents for childless people to buy for their friends kids, and what are not. As I read it, I found myself nodding my head at every single item...both because I had received these items and understood why not to give them, and also (strangely) because only months ago, I myself had gifted these exact items to friends with all the best of intentions.

CRAZY!

As we are now in the final two weeks of the year 2013, I find myself reflecting back on what an intense year it has been for our little family, and at the same time, suddenly realising just how much I have changed and learnt during the course of it.

So, in typical me fashion, I figured I'd blog about it!

The 2013 List of Things I Learnt About...


...BABY CLOTHES
The cuter the outfit, the less likely it is to be worn.

This goes for both baby and mum. Cute cotton baby dresses with frilly bits and gorgeous buttons that go UP THE BACK??? May look to-die-for on the rack, and believe me, you would rather die than attempt to put that on a baby and then have them wear it for a day. They end up under their armpits for the most part, nappies on display all day, buttons up the back are a nightmare to do on a baby that can't even sit up yet, let alone undoing them for the numerous changes you WILL have to endure because of spit up, leaking nappies, or just general wetness. Give me a onesie that has domes ONLY on the crotch, and is made of jersey fabric any day over a dress. Shove some cute pants over it, put on some socks and tuck those pants into the socks and you're set!


...PREGNANCY
It Sucks.

Even now, I am often confronted by Mums' who say things like 'don't you wish you could be pregnant again, just so you can have a break?'
Honestly? No. No, I do not. Pregnancy was painful, gross, tiring and just awful in every way. There was literally nothing I enjoyed about being pregnant. But there is plenty I like about being a Mum.



...CHILDBIRTH
Was a breeze compared to what came after.

You recall how I spent all that time freaking out about labour during the year? Well, mummies, I have learnt my lesson. Labour was awful, excruciating and terrifying, but at least it was definitely going to end, and with the epidural, I even managed to escape it for a while. The weeks immediately after giving birth are far, far worse. Physically, mentally, and emotionally extreme. In fact, I would do labour all over again if it meant I was spared those first few weeks....well the lack of sleep bits anyway. Which incidentally, is the majority of it.


...THE MUMMY CLUB CONSPIRACY
Those happy mums and gorgeous photos of happy families on facebook - It's only a glimpse of reality.

Sure, that status may say they are 'so in love', and that picture of the smiling baby is 'so adorable'. But that's only half the truth. Yes, they love the baby, but that doesn't mean they always like the baby. You try 'liking' a crying baby at 3am when you have literally done everything you can think of to calm them, and you haven't slept in 20 hours. Most parents only post the good times. Which in turn adds to the general opinion of childless people that babies are always awesome, and being a parent is easy.


...SLEEP
I can survive on much less than I ever thought possible.
I remember the days where I got 8 hours.....IN A ROW!! 
*Cue manic laughter*
I have nothing more to say on that topic.


...MY BABY
Is the most awesome thing that has ever happened to me. EVER.
Sure, I don't get much sleep, and I usually am only guessing at what she is wanting. But recently she has started having these awesome baby conversations with me, and smiling these amazing smiles. I think she really likes me! Which makes my heart glow brighter. I never get tired of her smiles, and I am so excited to know what her laugh sounds like, wether she's left or right handed, what her favourite food is, what song does she like the most, what does she sound like when she talks.....The future is a veritable feast of new discoveries and I can't wait.


Wednesday 11 December 2013

My Bald Baby

My Baby Girl has a lot of hair.

Super Cute Little Bean


Good. Now that that's out of the way I feel I can move on with my life.

Me in Paris

No!

Apparently I CAN NOT move on with my life, no more than I can claim that the above photo was taken in Sweet Paris. Nope, not until I have been alerted to the unusual amount of hair on her head by, oh I don't know, how 'bout

Every.

Single. 

Person.


Here are some things people have suggested I say, as a way to make it more interesting for myself.

Typical interaction.
Stranger/acquaintance: "Look at all that hair!"
Me: "Yes, she does have rather a lot."


Suggested interactions.

Stranger/acquaintance: "Look at all that hair!"
Me: "It's a wig."

Stranger/acquaintance: "Look at all that hair!"
Me: "Yeah, can't wait for it to get a bit longer so I can cut it into a mullet to match her daddy. At least, we think that's her daddy, the other guy was bald so..."

Stranger/acquaintance: "Look at all that hair!"
Me: "Really? Oh, now that you mention it..."

Stranger/acquaintance: "Look at all that hair!"
Me: "What? OMG I took the wrong baby AGAIN!"

What I enact in my head.

Stranger/acquaintance: "Look at all that hair!"
Me: *cue manic laughter and something synonymous with a stabbing motion*


So yes, my 13 week old Little Bean looks like a tiny adult already, and receives an awful lot of attention. I've managed to master the art of keeping moving and nodding politely whilst muttering said curse under my breath, but some women (and yes it is almost always women) are un-seemingly persistent. Apparently blind to the unfriendly (and often downright hostile) body language, and deaf to the not so subtle tones of 'leave me alone'. 

And so ends, the entry of the Little Bean with lots of hair and the *cough* semi insane mother.









Monday 25 November 2013

It Takes a Village

Firstly, I am not writing this post to garner sympathy from my friends and family. I have not decided to write this to look strong, or weak, or to impress on anyone that I need praise or encouragement.  I am not writing this as a way of asking for help without actually asking. When I need help, I do ask. I am simply writing this because that's what I need to do. I am writing this because I know that I am not the only mother out there feeling like this, and putting my thoughts and feelings into words is how I process things. It makes the world clearer for me and it makes me calm.

Secondly, this post is likely to be a little Too-Much-Info for some readers, particularly if you know me, are male, or are made uncomfortable by people being too open about physical things.

So, probably that is all of you. 

Finally, this post is long. But I make no apologies. 

If you are still reading, then consider yourself warned. I'm no longer embarrassed about this stuff, so if you are, and you meet me, then you will feel awkward, but I won't care less.

It Takes a Village


When you have a baby, you very quickly get over being embarrassed or conservative about many things. The words breasts, nipples and poo suddenly become as frequently used as the words coffee, chocolate and sleep. As a breastfeeding mum, you have to get over the weirdness of pulling your boobs out anywhere and everywhere because if you didn't, you would never leave your bedroom, and neither would your baby. As a mum with a new baby, you find yourself being asked by perfect strangers about breastfeeding. Are you breastfeeding? How's it going? Why are you doing/not doing A/B/C? As though it is somehow their business, and it isn't weird to be discussing your nipples with your hairdresser. And if, like me, anything is out of the normal, then be prepared to explain it to everyone.

I am having to use nipple shields to feed my baby. Now to me, the fact that I am breastfeeding her at all is a miracle. I have inverted nipples - the worst my lactation consultant has ever seen apparently - and this means that there is nothing for baby to latch onto. The shields give her the ability to latch, and therefore the ability to feed. Getting this going was a mission and I almost gave up completely at week 2, 3 and 6.  In fact, a number of midwives, psychologists and even my lactation consultant actually suggested that perhaps I should consider switching to formula to avoid becoming incredibly overwhelmed and depressed. However, I am notoriously stubborn. If my mum could do it, so could I. By week 7, I went for 24 hours without using a bottle of formula, expressed milk or pumping and I was absolutely elated! 

Since then I've been relatively successful, only feeding her formula a handful of times when she was out with her Dad, or on the one night that I went out with my friends. Success! I am incredibly proud of this achievement, as I was convinced it was going to be impossible for me to breastfeed at all, yet here I am. Of course, whenever I pull out the shields, everyone wants to know why. So the secret shame I harboured for most of my life, is now known to all and sundry. 

Which is why, as I am now forced to consider mixed feeding in order to regain my sanity, I am feeling incredibly, overwhelmingly conflicted.

Last night I lost it.
I had a complete meltdown. I felt so angry and so frustrated and at my wits end in every sense of the word. I couldn't think straight, I could barely see straight. After 11 weeks of being woken every 1-3 hours for feeding, I'm finally wondering if all those people weren't right from the start. Clearly I am not able to hack the sleep deprivation that goes hand in hand with exclusively breastfeeding. I am angry with my husband for being able to go to work, for going for an hour run once a week, for not being able to find the debit card which was in my bag, for letting her fall asleep on him every night, even though I do that during the day, for not being home with me during the day to help me. I can see how people get the point of wanting to shake their babies, as though that is somehow going to snap them into consciousness and make them realise that if they just went to sleep, everything would be easier.

Which of course, is ridiculous.
She's just 11 weeks old. She is only crying because she is so overtired she can't fall asleep anymore. And he needs to go to work, otherwise we wouldn't be able to afford to live, eat or do anything remotely fun. His runs aren't a way for him to make me feel more isolated, they are helping keep him sane. Which is a good thing. At least one of us needs to be.

I know that all I need to do is say the word, and I too could go have some time to myself. Only, at the moment I feel that this is impossible because I am exclusively breastfeeding. I can't leave her in case she gets hungry, I can't have a few hours in the afternoon or evening where I go out because if she has a bottle of formula, it will mess up my supply.

And so here I am, considering mixed feeding and feeling guilty about it because 'breast is best', and 'formula isn't natural' and 'why aren't you breast feeding your baby?'
But what about 'happy wife, happy life', and 'baby needs a coherent mum' and 'don't be a mombie' and 'sleep deprivation is your biggest trigger for depression'?

It takes a village to raise a child. Baby A deserves to have a mum who isn't crying constantly, or wanting to hit her father, or feeling hard done by and exhausted. She deserves to feel loved, to be happy and see happy. I can't do that alone. If giving her a bottle of formula once or twice a day and sharing the feeds so that I can get an hour more sleep is what it takes to remain sane, how is that any worse than her Dad spending 2 hours less time with her so that he can go for a run maintain his sanity?

It takes a village to keep the parents sane. To give them time to find themselves again, to spend time together, and to exit the baby haze once in a while. It takes a village to look out for them and make sure they are ok. Last night J rang me at 10pm after I text her saying I wanted to walk out. It took 20 minutes, but she managed to calm me down enough to want to apologise to my husband. This morning, A has come round after reading the text I sent her last night, to help me get some rest and to vent a bit. She is currently in the nursery trying to settle Baby A for the third time. In the weekend my whole family arrived out of nowhere, and suddenly my house was clean, and I was able to go get my hair done and have some down time. My parents even left dinner in the fridge so we didn't have to cook that night. I only wish we lived closer to some family so that we could remain saner for longer.
I guess I have to work at building my own village family in order to make up for the fact that we live so far from our real ones. And this pressure on mums about breast feeding needs to end. Yes, it's wonderful and it is the best food for baby, but the mum's need looking after too. It takes a village to remind a Mum to do that. And all too often, in this age of being constantly connected, we are left alone.






Sunday 17 November 2013

Growing Up Catholic

One of the, dare I say, many unfortunate by-products of growing up Catholic, is that you feel guilty about everything. You feel a constant need to confess.

All the time.

It NEVER GOES AWAY!

When you become a parent, you also feel guilty. All of the time.

It

DOES

NOT

STOP!


So when you combine the two, you end up with a guilt overload. It's like crashing two atoms together and creating your own guilt universe. Everything you don't do perfectly becomes a catastrophe, everything you think and want for yourself is a terribly selfish thing, and you feel like you should simply go to your room and hide, or beg for forgiveness, or cry, or say sorry, or do all of those all at the same time!

Today is one of those days where I would give almost anything for someone to take my daughter for the day, simply so I can sleep for longer than 2 hours at a stretch and regain a sense of sanity. But even the fact that I am thinking that makes me feel like a horrible mother. No, a horrible PERSON, akin to a hun, or Stalin, or Sauron, or Darth Vader.

Thinking these thoughts makes me feel...

..Guilty.


These days where I wished this disappeared for a while, but now have returned with a vengeance. I'm really not sure why. Perhaps it's because my shoulders and back are aching from looking down at and holding a feeding baby for hours a day. Maybe it's because I'm so run down, I feel like I have been on the brink of having the flu for two weeks now and am waking up in-between night feeds with headaches and runny noises. Or perhaps it's to do with the increasing episodes of Mummy guilt over things I'm doing wrong, and encroaching anxiety as I realise how I truly could not cope if something unspeakable did happen.

At ten weeks, these are some valuable lessons I have learnt.

  1. Cutting baby fingernails is a next to impossible and extremely dangerous endeavour. Best to mitten up their little hands or bite the nails while they are feeding. But even that can lead to disaster and screaming and GUILT.
  2. The old wives tale (and popular opinion on 'the natural parent' facebook page and numerous mummy forums online) that breast milk will cure sticky eye (and all manner of other ailments) is a lie. In fact, it can make them much, much worse and you will end up feeling extreme GUILT when you do go to the doctor and they ask if that is what you have done. 
  3. Going to the doctor is free for under 5's, even after hours. I feel GUILTY that I waited till sunday to take her, when I should have taken her on friday. I should have been more proactive.
  4. Don't pick a baby up with one hand. This can lead to falling babies, babies knocking heads on things, screaming babies and extreme GUILT for you.
  5. Babies don't always let you know when they need a new nappy. You have to remember to check and change them. If you don't remember and suddenly it's been 6 hours and when you do check they are really in need of a new one, guess what, you will feel very GUILTY!
  6. Always have a cloth over your shoulder. Ironically, I don't have one there right now. Failing to do this wont make you feel guilty. It will just make you more washing.
  7. Babies need to be entertained. They need "stimulation". They need it from you. If you are however, only getting about 5 hours maximum of broken sleep each night, then you will feel GUILTY for not being enthusiastic about this, and instead wishing that your baby would just go to sleep.
So, here I am, feeling like I am a horrendously lazy mother. Clearly I don't care or love my child enough because all I want to do is sleep. I don't want to spend the next hour repeating silly baby noises and poking her nose and forcing myself to smile and laugh because it makes her smile back occasionally. I want to sleep. 
And so here I am. Typing this. Feeling overwhelmingly

...Guilty.

Saturday 9 November 2013

This Too, Shall Pass

Two days after Miss A was born,  I suddenly realised that I had made a really big mistake. I wasn't meant to be a mother. I wasn't cut out for dealing with a new born. I didn't feel that overwhelming rush of love that everyone talks about, instead, when I looked at her, all I felt was fear. Fear that my life was over. Fear that I wasn't up to the task. Fear that I had let her down already, that I would be a disappointment to her, that I would never feel the love that I was supposed to feel - had EXPECTED to feel for this tiny, brand new human.

Tomorrow, she will be 9 weeks old, and last week, I took a rare moment of quiet, to read through this entire blog from the start. I realised how far I have come, how far we have come, and how much I have changed. Before Miss A was born, I was bored. A lot.  I was anxious about things which I had far too much time to think about, and I generally spent my days pondering the future, or remembering the past. I have not been bored even once, since she was born. I've been frustrated, tired, overwhelmed, scared and elated, but I have not been bored. I am far less anxious now about life than I can remember being in a long time, perhaps this is because I haven't got the time to over-think, to plan out the worst possible scenario or let anticipation take over. Or perhaps it's because suddenly, I realise how precious each moment is. Each sleepless night is the only one I get with her. Every tired morning and exhausted afternoon are only fleeting moments in her life, and nothing lasts. I am spending far less time dreaming of, or worrying about the future, rather, I am suddenly realising how precious each moment with her is.

Everyone keeps saying: 'it's only temporary',

'this too shall pass', 

and 

'it's just a phase'. 

Sayings (I assume) meant to help parents envisage a light at the end of a tunnel when everything becomes too overwhelming. But they also serve as stark reminders that everything is only temporary, that this will pass, and that once it's gone, it won't come back.

How far I've come since the start of this year. How much I have learned. I am most definitely a different person from what I was, my daughter has changed me in ways I never dreamed. I am more patient, far calmer, and somehow more in control of how I react to situations. That's not to say that on the inside I am not freaking out and completely losing it, but outwardly, I am able to maintain my composure, at least for a while.  I have a friend who is in their third trimester, and I suddenly find myself a source of advice, an experienced 'parent', who apparently looks like they've "got this parenting thing down", to outsiders. I certainly don't feel that way! It seems ridiculous that I'm offering advice at all!








Saturday 2 November 2013

The Parent App

Night-time feeding, soothing, changing and rocking, gives one far too much time to think about different takes on your situation. Take for instance, this gem which has been plaguing my brain for the past week. I think it could be a winner for the app market personally!

The Parent App



If you need help to give your life an overhaul, The Parent App is the greatest App you will ever download. It will give you fulfilment, challenge you, puzzle you, and give you endless hours of entertainment and joy on a scale no one can describe and which no other app can provide. If you want to change your life, and you've been looking for an easy way to do it quickly, this is the App you've been looking for! Finding Candy Crush too easy? This app can guarantee to keep you constantly on your toes! The goal is simple. Stop the baby from crying. Keep the baby from dying. There are no other rules. Simpler to play than Plants vs Zombies, and rewards you with more than just sunshine!

Reviews:

Kelly780 
*****
Best Feeling Ever
"This app is amazing, getting it is the best thing I ever did. Waking up to it is the best feeling ever!"

JohnJay9
***
Some Bugs
"There are some fairly minor bugs to sort out, but overall, this App really changed my life for the better."

Iceberg20567
*
"This app destroyed my life."



Please take the time to read the terms and conditions before committing to purchase.

Terms and Conditions
By committing to purchase you are stating that you have read these terms and conditions. 
The Parent App requires access to your entire life. Your calendar, your family, your friends, your job, your social life, your house, your ability to leave your house, your ability to travel, your ability to sleep, your ability to watch a movie uninterrupted, your ability to eat a meal with both hands, your ability to rinse the conditioner out of your hair, your ability bath, your desire to have sex, your mental stability and your notion of personal space and ability to spend time alone.

Warning  
This game has two rules which need to be met constantly in order to keep it from destroying your entire existence. There are many right ways to achieve these goals, however only one will apply at any given time. The correct solutions are programmed to change at random, and without warning. This app will run constantly, and once installed will take priority over every other app you are attempting to run at any given time. It cannot be deleted or uninstalled. It cannot be exchanged or returned for a refund. It will run 24 hours a day, 7 days a week from the moment you activate it, and is set to demand your attention frequently, at random, and mostly at your most inconvenient moment. By clicking "I Accept", you are stating that you have read, understood and agree to all the above. We accept no responsibility for any harm or mental distress brought about by this app. 



Good thing no one ever reads the T&C'S!




Wednesday 23 October 2013

Sharenting and Conspiracy theories

Sharenting
Combination of two words; parenting and sharing.

When parents share too much of their children's information, pictures and private moments online, mostly on Facebook.
1.That Mom is way overboard with her sharenting on Facebook.

2.Everyone is going to know everything about that poor kid because his/her parents aren't careful with their sharenting.
Reference: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Sharenting

In the days before Baby (hereafter known as BB), I swore I'd never be one of those Parents who Sharent. I was adamant I didn't want my baby plastered all over the internet until she was old enough to decide if she even wanted her photo there in the first place. BB I was often amused and equally bemused by the photos and updates others would post about their kids. Regularly thinking 'why?', and telling myself with much confidence, that I would not put my facebook friends through the same daily wall trailing ordeal. BB I was never going to be that person.

Yet here I am. 
Being that person.
Because finally, I get it.

I can't help myself.  Facebook is a place to spread news about your life, your highs and lows, achievements and failures, and at the moment, they are ALL directly related to Baby, whom I will hereafter call Miss A. Everything I do, think, feel or dream about is about her. Miss A is my life. BB weekends were time off, sleep ins and movie nights. Now they are two days where I have help. Where I can potentially achieve something that I've been trying to get to all week. BB I thought about career paths, performing, BB I sang daily. Now my thoughts are about when I will next grab some sleep. How I will eat my next meal. If I have time to have a shower, or should I take her in with me. Why is she crying? Is she too hot, too cold, hungry, tired, windy? Does she want a pacifier? What time did she last eat? Is she about to sleep properly? How long has she slept for? Baby. Baby. BABY. BABY!

BB I wondered frequently why no one ever talked about labour, pregnancy, having babies. I wondered why I was a 27 year old Female who knew next to nothing about what to expect. Wondering how I managed to get to this stage in my life and still be so ignorant. 

Now I know.

The survival of the human race depends on our knowing NOTHING IN ADVANCE.


It's the worlds biggest conspiracy. A secret kept for thousands of years by everyone who has a child, in an effort to keep others from knowing the truth. In a selfish attempt to bring more people into the fold to commiserate with and wonder "WHAT HAVE WE DONE?", "I WANT MY LIFE BACK", "WE'VE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE!" Because pregnancy is a breeze compared to the first 3 weeks after birth. Those weeks are a blur or tears, pain, extreme sleep deprivation and horrible fears that you aren't meant to be a parent after all. Those weeks make you wonder, what have we done?

But then, they smile.

Miss A has started smiling.
Not often yet, but she has. I finally felt the Heart Glow that everyone talks about. I realised what it's all about. That's why no one talks about it. 

Because if people knew how hard it is, and how the one thing that makes it all worth it is a simple smile. They wouldn't have kids. They wouldn't go through all that hell. They wouldn't feel the heart glow. Because they wouldn't be able to comprehend, how something so small can make all that hell worth it. 

Wednesday 16 October 2013

Making Yogurt at 2am

How did I come to be making the yogurt up at 2am? I wonder this myself, as I stand in the light of the fridge shaking the bottle waiting for the kettle to boil. In the lounge, Baby is wide awake in her bassinet, apparently unaware that 2am is not an ideal time for such wakefulness. But she is content to be so, she is fed, changed, swaddled, quiet. Just incredibly awake.

In the past five and half weeks, I have learnt that I invariably will choose to sleep rather than eat, unless I force myself to do otherwise. I have discovered that I can eat dinner using just my non-dominant hand, although steak proves a challenge. I have also found that it is by far easier to simply remain awake, than it is to allow yourself to start falling asleep and be woken ten minutes later when you are actually starting to relax. "Sleep when the baby sleep's" is great advice. However, you never can be sure when Baby is actually going to stay asleep, or for how long, or if you should take this opportunity to eat or shower rather than sleep as it might be 6 hours before the next chance you get to do so and in the meantime you remain covered in milk.

I have also learnt that The Ellen Show is on three times a day, so if I miss the first screening, I have two more chances to watch it. Today I managed on the third try. Just. (It's the small things).

I am thinking about all of this, in a weird fuzzy slideshow of images as the fridge starts to beep "I've been open too long". I realise the kettle has boiled. Baby is making contented snuffling noises in the lounge, the heat pump is making a racket, pretty sure it's broken, what am I doing standing here?

Oh yeah, making yogurt!

Close the fridge.

After four nights of roughly 2 to 4 hours of sleep and 3.30am starts, I had finally had a meltdown. Phoning my husband at work begging him to please come home early so I could go to bed. Baby wouldn't settle. Nothing that worked yesterday was working today. After last weeks high of 'I can do this motherhood thing', I had crashed into the depths of 'I need to get away from this' territory. Nothing was going well, feeding had become a nightmare after waking up with the third bout of mastitis I'd had in two weeks. I could write an entire blog post about the issues I'm having with feeding, but that's another story.

At least she's cute.

Lucky for me, I'm not a single mum, and my wonderful husband did manage to come home early. In bed by 4pm, asleep soon after. My boobs woke me up at 7, at which point I was forced to get up for their sake. Take Baby off Husband so that he can make dinner, "She's not slept yet" he tells me. I believe him. Back in bed by 8pm, Baby finally asleep, I'm asleep an hour later. Miraculously slept till 1am (boob alarm on overdrive by then). Send tired Husband to bed. 'Baby slept till midnight' he tells me. I'm impressed. A 4 hour stretch. I decide to sleep in the lounge so he can get unbroken sleep from now.

That's how I came to be here. Standing in the light of the fridge making yogurt at 2 in the morning. Having got enough sleep to feel vaguely functioning again, I finally achieve the task I've been meaning to do for 6 weeks now.

Win.



Friday 27 September 2013

Sleeping Like A Baby...

...is a very inaccurate metaphor.
Baby's do not sleep soundly. Nor do they sleep quietly, nor for long periods at a time.
In fact, new borns are really, freaking noisy sleepers. They sound like asthmatic hedgehogs dreaming of running, or snuffling, or possibly eating and drowning. Yes, at the same time.

Not only do they not sleep quietly, but they don't sleep for long. Maybe 4 hours in a stretch if you are lucky, and naughtily disobeying your midwifes strict instructions to feed them every 3 hours.

Looking after a baby is best summed up in one word.

Relentless.

For the first week of this ones life we were locked in a hospital where kind midwives would take her away in the middle of the night if my thoughts of "please can we give her back now," were becoming too obvious on my face. I didn't know who she was. I felt cheated out of that magical moment where your heart breaks when you first lay eyes on your baby. I kept waiting for it to happen.

For the second week, we were at home. Hubby and I putting in a valiant 'one night on one night off' team effort. Ourselves subsisting on meals made by friends, eaten in turns while the other comforted/fed/changed her. Stoically taking it in turns to have melt downs and question through exhausted tears our wisdom in taking this step, and our ability to actually keep ourselves alive, let alone one so dependant.

This week was week three. My motto has become "keep it together", played on repeat across the hours, which are now measured in feeds and sleeps and nappy changes. Hubby is now back at work, and we three have survived the first real week of the rest of our lives.

Our initial chance to bond with our daughter may have been interrupted by hospital incubators, IV lines and feeding tubes, but each day at home, I am getting to know her a little more. Each day I give her a few more kisses. Each day she feels a little bit more like she's my own, and a little less like a stranger. Each day we are keeping it together a little stronger, and becoming more of a family. Post natal depression hasn't got the best of me yet, and I intend to keep it that way.


Monday 16 September 2013

Coming, Ready Or Not

Last weekend, just 3 hours before my pregnancy app alerted me to the fact that I had made it to 37 weeks, my waters broke.

Little baby A was born 25 hours later at 4.44am after a prolonged labour, the details of which I wont go in to on here. I have written it down though. If you want to read that, let me know and I will send you a link. Rest assured, I have a new found love of epidurals, and managed to avoid a C section by one contraction. It was the single most overwhelming experience of my life so far.

She was taken to NICU just a few hours after being born, which was super hard, nothing really prepares you for the sight of your baby in an incubator all connected to tubes, drips and breathing apparatus. My heart broke, and that was the first meltdown.

She was in there for two days, having antibiotics to help sort her breathing out. Once she was finally out, I was told we could go home tomorrow, this was after night three where I had a complete meltdown at eleven at night, basically begging the midwives to let me go home right then and there. They tried valiantly to convince me that leaving right then was not a good idea. It was too dark, it wouldn't be good for the baby, my husband was at home asleep. But nothing would help me. I was sharing a room, which I hate, the curtained off section I was in had no sunlight or view of any kind, the other lady's baby wouldn't settle, so regardless of how well baby A was sleeping, I was not. The midwives told me that there was no reason we couldn't go home tomorrow. Baby was doing much better, all her bloods looked good, and the talk was that I would be going home tomorrow. With this stuck firmly in my mind, I nodded acquiescence to have them take Baby away for a few hours so I could attempt to sleep (not that she was the one keeping me up).

At five in the morning, I was woken gently by another midwife, "Jess," she asked, "Did Baby have a bump behind her ear earlier? Where the forcep mark is?"
I felt my anxiety rising instantly as I shook my head, "No, it wasn't swollen, it was fine."
"Ok," She sat down next to me.
"It looks like the forcep graze may have become infected and the baby doctors want to put her on a three day course of antibiotics." She was watching me very intently.
I felt like I was being sucked into a black hole. "So I can't go home?"
she shook her head. "No, she will need to be monitored here."

I was silent, but my breathing was erratic as I tried to fight back the next onslaught of tears and anxiety.
"What can we do to make it easier for you to be here?" She asked quietly.
I shook my head, I couldn't think beyond having to stay here, I couldn't see anything that would make it better.
"What if we were to find you your own room?"
I looked at her, "Is that possible?" It seemed impossible.
"We've been talking about it, and we are going to see what we can make happen."

This past week has been a blur of nights becoming days becoming nights again. I did get my own room in the hospital finally, and as soon as I did, my panic attacks diminished, my milk started to come in, and my overwhelming need to keep some form of control in a 2x3 meter space disappeared.

We are finally home now. It is making a huge difference. Slowly things are starting to become a bit of a routine, but the lack of sleep, and getting breastfeeding going is an endless, ongoing exercise in endurance.
Lets see what next week brings, although I don't know when that will be. I have no idea what day it is anymore. I'm not sure why I care about that. As though it somehow makes a difference.

In the meantime, Baby and I will continue to get to know eachother. I love it when she makes eye contact and holds your gaze. I love that she settles on me so easily and that I can calm her when others cannot. I've always been slightly afraid of babies, and now suddenly here is one that actually calms down on me, rather than crying even louder.


Wednesday 4 September 2013

Leaving Work - four weeks till due

I am now officially 36 weeks and 3 days pregnant. Which according to midwives and doctors (but not hypnobirthers) means that in 4 days, Baby will be 'full term'. Which means that she will no longer be considered premature if born now.

That seems crazy.
What's crazier is that there is an actual being which looks like a new born baby (or as Eric inTrue Blood would say "A tiny human") kicking up a storm in my belly. It's hard to imagine at times, as the shapes created by, and the intensity of the kicking/punching/rolling, is sometimes a little terrifying. I have been woken up by them a couple of times, it feels like she's trying to kick her way out of my stomach and burrow into the mattress. I have been assured this is probably not the case.

My maternity leave started this week, the weekend and last day of work was a bit of a weird mind trip. I love my work. I can't imagine not working. I have had my own income since I was 11. I have always worked and since leaving home have never been dependant on anyone. I feel that it wouldn't be so bad if I knew when I was going back. But the nature of my contract is that I won't be going back. My position wont be filled by someone on a fixed term maternity leave contract, whereby I can come back to it without any issue in a year. If I want to go back, I will have to hope there is an opening and apply for it along with everyone else.

Being part of a generation wherein women are expected to work, to have a career, to study, be smart and earn money, in an economy where one income is rarely enough to support a family, the new life just around the corner for me is a very scary and somewhat counterintuitive prospect. Give up everything I've studied and worked for, give up my income, halt my career path for an unspecified period of time, to stay home, look after a baby, keep the house, rely on my husband's income and.......and what?

There have been moments I have wondered if it wouldn't be a lot easier if gender roles were still a lot more specific. If we (girls) weren't expected to be everything, and do everything to be 'equal', if we could be considered successful and smart regardless of whether we were stay at home mums or career girls. I remember my Mum saying frequently that stay at home mums work harder than anyone else and she wished they could get paid. Before she had us kids, she was a career girl and good at it, I think that the change to being a Mum was probably a shock for her too. But she never really said it. She didn't get a job again until I was well into my teens. But then she stopped as quickly as she started, I think Dad didn't like the thought that he wasn't earning enough. Dad bought in the money, Mum looked after the house. I never questioned it.

I think of the early childhood memories I want to create for my daughter. How I don't want to put her in day care right away. How I don't want to have more children right away, because I want her to be the kid in the family for a decent amount of time, not the helper. That I want her to feel safe and loved by her family. How I desperately want to do right by her and how the closer she gets to arriving, the more I'm suddenly willing to sacrifice to make sure that she has the best possible life I can give her.

Then I remember how much I love my job, and I am at square one on the cognitive dissonance board once again.

It's only been three days on maternity leave, and I already have lost track of what day it is. I seem to be texting my midwife with questions at least twice a day with questions which I could probably google answers for, but would rather not freak myself out.

"Baby isn't moving as crazily as normal, should I be worried?" 
"Maybe, if you are worried, you could come in for a scan,  but then you'll be on the doctors radar, and if they get overly cautious they could try to induce you. See how it goes tonight."
"Is this increase in *insert bodily fluid here* normal, or am I going into labour?"
 "Is there blood? No? Then you are not in labour."
"I've got really painful period type cramps..."
"See above message" 
"My Husband has gastro, if I catch it will it hurt the baby?" 
"No, Baby will be fine. You'll be pretty miserable though."

Going to find the Dettol now. Husband sleeping in spare room. Hand sanitiser everywhere!
Yes, poor dear Husband has gotten sick. Which sucks for both of us. He feels rubbish, I feel rubbish for not feeling more enthusiastic about looking after him.
NB My midwife is actually really cool. Not like the above semi fictional replies might indicate.


Nesting has taken control of my psyche in a way I never anticipated!
Remember those drawers I started to paint? Here's what they look like now.



AMAZING!


Of course, after this success, my redecorating instincts could see no limits, and I proceeded to spend an afternoon recovering our boring dining chairs.
The dreary before chairs 
The amazing after chairs! Woot!


More time was spent establishing a hanging vege garden on the patio. Making four batches of muffins for the freezer. Making prepared slow cooker meals for the freezer. Washing all the baby clothes. Doing an epic clothing 'purge'. Trying to get rid of as much crap as possible from all random areas of the house.

By Monday I was tired, so I stopped.

Then Husband got sick.

Then it rained and hailed a bit.
Now I don't know what day it is anymore!
Probably isn't helpful that I haven't changed the calendars...

But I'm too scared to, because then it really WILL be September. 

I'm not mentally ready for this yet!



Wednesday 21 August 2013

On Men I Want To Punch In the Face - and some other stuff

So here I am again, for the second time this week, at home rather than at work, and feeling completely EXHAUSTED. My hormones have reached yet another level of crazy - although this week they seem to be aimed out our government instead of my Husband which is a relief. Still, my feelings of utter rage towards the PM's snarky-smug-rich-pasty-ruining-my-dreams-of-home-ownership face on the TV do leave us both concerned about the safety of our television.

I'm having some intense dreams, mostly about the state of the planet and the guilt I feel about bringing a new person into it, in it's current state of affairs. I even dreamt there was a public service announcement on the news saying that this generation of kids would be the last the earth would see because things had got so bad! Needless to say - GUILT TRIP! I am now looking into nappy recycling and installing a stand alone rain water tank and perhaps finding a way to collect our waste water for the garden and learning how to compost properly. Trying to plan my vege garden to be as effective as possible in the space we have, and even, perhaps, just being ready to go be survivalists in the bush.
Husband's not so keen on that one. Plus, as renters (he calmly points out), "probably installing a waste water collection system is not such a great idea." Husband says "we can do that when we own a house". 
"Own a house?!" Is my incredulous reply.

"At this rate the #$&*#??!!!! PM's snarky-smug face isn't going to let us own anything!!!!"


(It is a little infuriating, that two nearly 30 year olds with a total of 13 years of University education between them, who have impeccable credit ratings, have never failed a bond inspection or been in trouble with the law, who have both worked full time up till now with no kids, cannot foresee owning a house in the next five years, probably more.)
A lot of homeowners try to make me feel better by saying things like - but you don't have to pay rates, you aren't responsible for the upkeep of your house. True, but we also get inspected every three months, we can't own a dog, we can't paint or decorate, we can't put in the dream vege garden from my head, we are constantly planning to have to move, and we are paying more in rent, than we would be if we had a mortgage. I'm worried that our baby will draw on the walls. I am worried that something will break and it will be our fault. The amount of stress involved in a flat inspection is just not on. So yes, I still dream of owning my own house, despite our current house being a super awesome place to live.

Anyway, back to Baby.


I am flitting between calm belief that I can do this without problems, and then overwhelming anxiety that a) I will force us into an emergency birth by panicking and letting too much adrenalin and cortisol into my system. Or b) I will be a terrible mum. Or c) I have already ruined my baby's life by eating too much McDonalds whilst pregnant.

I have washed most of the baby stuff now, such cute clothes that I hope she fits. My new fear is that she will be 8 pounds of more, and not fit any of the cute new born stuff we have for her! The staff are running a sweepstake on the weight at school, which is kind of more than a little embarrassing.

Much as I love my job, and know that I will probably go crazy when maternity leave really starts, it's a bit of a relief to not have to be there sometimes. To have a break from feeling like a new breed of Hippo while I lug my laptop between classrooms, or go all the way to the photocopy room only to realise I've forgotten to bring the photocopying with me. On monday I found myself in the deputy principals office desperately trying not to become 'the crying pregnant woman', as I explained that I didn't think I'd be able to last until the end of next week, as the pain associated with walking (feet, back, hips, groin, sides, legs...pretty much everything), and the exhaustion of not sleeping longer than an hour at a time (night sweats, toilet, rolling over, nightmares), all combined with my overwhelming self guilt trip over my declining teaching standards as a result (lack of energy, lack of excitement, sitting down all the time) were all making things pretty near unbearable. He was super understanding and showed me that I can take time off whenever needed, and that everyone is in place to take over my classes from monday. Of course, I didn't mention about the douchebag male staff members making teasing comments (about my walk, my weight, my mood, the labour, the birth, my teaching) that make me want to cry. Of course, they think they are absolutely hilarious.

They are lucky I don't have the balls to actually punch them in the face.

Friday 16 August 2013

Insanity At 34 Weeks


Well, Miltown. I'd like to know what side effects you caused that meant you are no longer curing 88% of pregnant women of anxiety, insomnia and emotional upsets. Where were you last weekend when I had a complete meltdown and for some reason thought that locking my poor darling husband in the garage was the appropriate response to what had begun as a minor argument.

NB - my sister talked me into letting him out within 10 minutes via text. He had by that time, got a sleeping bag and made a bed in the back of the car. We'd both like to thank my sister for quickly texting some sense into me. I realise, that I can now expect that to be used against me for pretty much anything that pops up in the future. There is nothing ok about what I did.

I was temporarily Insane.
For an entire weekend.


That said, it is fair to say that things are heating up. At 34 weeks, I am now having night sweats. Which, let me tell you, are a little more intense than the average "I'm-too-hot-must-remove-some-covers" night sweats. These involve me waking up LITERALLY DRENCHED, having to change pyjamas, wipe off with a flannel, let the bed air out. By which time, I am wide awake and once again need to pee. When I get back the sheets are freezing and still damp, so I've recently taken to sleeping on a towel, but that only stops the bottom sheet getting wet. Somehow, my husband manages to sleep through all of this. I did wake him up once, to check that I wasn't imagining it, but it took him so long to awaken from his peaceful slumber, that there wasn't much left to see. The midwife says it's hormonal, and there are no tricks that she can recommend to help. But I already knew that, because by the time I asked her about it, I'd already well researched it on google.

Little Baby is now taking up so much room, I am worried about how much space can be left to occupy. She is kicking and rolling and punching up a storm, and has an uncanny knack of ensuring my bladder gets pummelled at least 3 times a class, twice when I'm driving, anytime I'm sitting somewhere very difficult to get up from. Which is giving those pelvic floor muscles little emergency incontinence 'drills'. "Are you ready? No? Well I don't care! WHACK!"



I'm managing my anxiety relatively ok, the hypnobirthing thinking and relaxation is most definitely helping. All the same, I am finding that if I am left alone for too long, I start thinking far too much, and start to panic a little....ok a lot, about labour and my ability to cope with sleep deprivation, to be a good mum, to be a good wife, to be able to let go of a lot of things and make friends with other mums. We are the first of our friends to have a baby, so it's a little daunting.





On the other hand, I've got all these plans for when Baby gets here. We are going to make an awesome potted Vege garden....or rather, I will, and the baby will be there in her bouncinet, carefully covered in baby safe sunscreen (which I bought this week). We will go for walks with her in the pram, and we will visit library story times, and play groups, and we will go to mums'n'bubs sessions at the movies when she's old enough and..and...and.....there is just SO MUCH FUN WE WILL HAVE!

Please don't be late Baby! I have no where left to grow, and I can't wait to hang out with you!





Thursday 8 August 2013

Baby Kickboxers, Bedtime Stories, Classes and Workouts

Baby is at 33 weeks now - and we are so close and yet still so far from meeting her. I read a blog yesterday about people getting told they were having a girl on four different occasions from four different scans, but the baby still came out a boy....so now Hubby and I are back to calling it 'It' for a while. 

Anyway, Baby is producing some epic kicks and rolls now. It's like having a tiny acrobat in my tummy, yet I never seem able to get Hubby to see or feel the really big moves. It's like a cruel trick, I alert him to what's happening, he eagerly looks or feels, and Baby stops. Just long enough for him to decide Baby doesn't like him, and for him to go away feeling glum. On the upside, we (I mean Husband) is reading 'The Faraway Tree' aloud each night for Baby to get used to his voice and 
(hopefully) to boost It's love of stories and general awesomeness. If nothing else, I'm rather enjoying being transported back to my own childhood each evening, although the stories seem rather a lot more scary than I remember, and I'm wondering if they aren't a source of my original anxiety issues - strong winds meaning bad things, getting trapped in strange places with no way out.......

But enough of that! I've decided that the third trimester is designed to force mothers to strengthen their arms in preparation of the impending Baby carrying duties. I sure feel like I am working out my biceps on a regular basis, pushing myself up out of bed, off couches, pulling myself out of the car, lifting myself out of the bath. Not just that, but the number of times I must wake up each night is certainly good training for living with a new born....otherwise what's the point?

I think I have everything ready now. My (expensive!) very awesome nappy bag arrived last week, and I already have it packed and ready to go with whatever Baby might need. I really just want It to arrive, so that I can see and hold and cuddle and just....be with It. I am really struggling to keep my head in the game at work, and not just because walking while carrying laptops and books and folders is now a super undesirable activity, but because the date of arrival is drawing ever closer and I just get too excited to worry about whether 'johnny' understands what a city state is, or if 'jane' really gets what I mean when I say 'four beats per bar' and she nods in agreement. But I'm doing my best, I try to get up and walk around the classroom as much as possible. I try to still think of and create interesting activities if I can. Next week is a giant choir festival which I unwittingly created last year, so once that is over, the countdown can really begin.

Hubby and I have all but abandoned out antenatal classes in favour of the hypnobirthing ones. Antenatal classes seem to focus on every possible bad outcome, all the pain relief available, all the medical interventions, and to be honest, they freaked me out. After hearing about the three stages of Labour over the course of 3 weeks, my anxiety had sky rocketed again and I was starting to have panic attacks when I was left alone for any amount of time. On the other hand, hypnobirthing focuses on the fact that birth is a normal process, it's happened for thousands of years, all over the world, to mothers in far less favourable conditions than ours. It teaches you that your body and the Baby know what to do, and that in order for that to happen best, the mother needs to be as relaxed as possible. We have another session tomorrow, and I'll write a post dedicated to it. Needless to say, if nothing else, it is definitely keeping me calm, positive and relaxed in the lead up to the delivery day. 

In the meantime, we are going to see The Conjuring tonight....and YES, I did check with my midwife, that that was ok. 

Look! Baby is rolling over now!! ......oh wait, you missed it. :( 

I reckon, our baby will be THIS CUTE




Tuesday 30 July 2013

Being Informed


 Being Informed 

(aka societies distinct oversight in leaving women unprepared for pregnancy)

I am not convinced, that society has really moved on from the days when this add was acceptable. It seems that pregnancy is still a huge secret, something you only get to learn about if you actually enter into it's hallowed halls. How have we managed to get to a place, where we actively teach kids about puberty in schools, we give out our pre-adolescent girls 'sample packs' at age 9, we have baskets of condoms for the taking at many youth facilities, we see frequent and more graphic adds for tampons, liners and erectile disfunction, and don't even mention the amount of sex and female nudity we see in the movies. Oh yeah - and the laughable fake pregnancies and birth scenes which every now and then we are treated to. Yet still we are all allowed to enter adulthood and at some stage, our own pregnancy knowing very, very little about what 'being pregnant' actually entails.

Before I got pregnant, I knew precisely the following.
  • How to get pregnant.
  • That I'd get bigger and gain weight.
  • That morning sickness hit most women and was awful and could continue right through.
  • That labour hurt. A lot.
I may have had some vague notions surrounding things like stretch marks, practise contractions, that bleeding during pregnancy was bad and that pre-eclampsia was something I really didn't want. But in all honesty, that was it.

Before I got pregnant I was panicked about morning sickness, about the loss of control I'd have over my body and about the labour. 

Before I got pregnant, I knew nothing. And nothing is what I expected.

Re. Ality. Check.


My body is giving me so many surprises lately, that I don't think I can take anymore. I now have to wake up  and sit up, in order to roll over, as the weight of the baby makes my back click and and my hips scream STOP. I am having to learn all these 'secrets of pregnancy' at a super fast rate. Because NOBODY tells you about it before you get there. I had never heard of Colostrum or Breast Pads, or Maternity Pads, or Breast Pumps, or disposable hospital underwear before this year.  I didn't know that you would start leaking Colostrum before you'd even had the baby. I didn't know that your stomach stayed 'pregnant' after the baby was born. I didn't know that you'd bleed after giving birth, and most likely have to throw all your post-birth undies away. I didn't know about mucous plugs or 'bloody show' or the sacram or practise contractions, that it really hurts in the first trimester to sneeze or cough, that in the third trimester I'd get so huge I would actually need help getting in and out of the bed/bath/chair/car, be in constant pain and discomfort and want to sleep all the time.

Now that I am pregnant, I now understand why no-one really talks about it.
It's horrible. It's gross. It's uncomfortable and it's incredibly personal.
But that doesn't excuse the lack of knowledge non-mothers have about pregnancy and birth. If you don't understand the reality, you aren't fully informed. If you are not fully informed, how can you possibly be expected to make the right decision about anything. It's the reason we are going through pregnancies freaking out at every new twinge or 'leakage' that occurs, because we really don't know what is or isn't normal. It's akin to going to the airport with a suitcase of your favourite beach clothes, getting on a plane with no idea where you're going, spending the whole time dreaming about oceans and sand, then landing in Alaska with no return ticket and being greeted by a guide speaking a language you barely understand who tells you 'well, now you're here, this is how you survive.'

Before I got pregnant, I was adament that I'd have an epidural, gas, drugs, anything to get me through labour and out the other side, and more than likely was going to have an elective C-section in order to avoid it altogether. 

Since I've been pregnant, I have completely changed my mind about labour, I now want it to be as natural as possible, because now I'm aware of what actually goes along with having a c-section, drugs or an epidural. 

I can't wait to meet my daughter. But I want to meet her wide awake.

Thursday 25 July 2013

Morose Ghost Mover Step #1 - 5


I have taken action. I've been transferred to a fantastic outpatient unit called mothers and babies which specialises in mothers mental health (funny that!).  Tomorrow is the baby shower, and I'm super excited. I think it's because of the fact that three friends are organising it for me...and that is not something I've experienced before. Plus, my sister is flying down from shakey Wellington to be there and hang out before the baby gets here (SQUEEEE!) I talked to the midwife about maybe having to take maternity leave earlier, as getting around easilt is becoming quite an issue, I will talk to the deputy principal about my options next week. But mostly, I have been focusing on getting my head straight again. Thinking positively, being excited, and trying to relax a little. Here are the top three tips from today :)

Step 1

Keep ignoring mother in law's well meaning tips on keeping the house tidy with a new baby - or indeed at any time. Give husband a 'talking to' when he passes such advice on. I may not run a tidy house, but dammit, I will run a happy house.

Step 2

Run a bath. Do some Yoga. Read some more about Hypnobirthing. Do something to relax.
This is something that is certainly keeping me super calm and relaxed about the next few months and the labour, so I will be reviewing and talking about my experience with it as I go. So far....LOVING IT!


Step 3

Ignore the dishes.
Ignore the washing.
Paint some drawers in the sunshine!


They look FANTASTIC! Will finish them tomorrow when my sister is here to help me move them...probably shouldn't have moved them by myself today, but hey! Couldn't resist. I hope you like them as much as I do Baby, 'cos they are all for you!


Verdict: Morose Ghost Mover is so far being effective. Win.

Wednesday 24 July 2013

Morose Ghost

This, is a Morose Ghost:


This, is a Morose Me



My husband says we are currently very similar, Morose Ghost and I. 
Maybe that's because I no longer fit into my (once almost too big) favourite coat?


Or possibly my lack of shoe/sock putting on/off capability?


Or possibly the fact that I need this many pillows, arranged exactly like this in order to sleep even a little?


Or perhaps it's my cats frequent looks of disdain?


Either way, it's time for

MOROSE GHOST MOVER!

I'm off to look for them, I will let you know how I go!



Monday 22 July 2013

Baby Showers

I had never been to a baby shower before last weekend, when I attended a friends shower. It was sweet, and a nice group of friends all talking babies and making her feel super special. Plus, she looked amazing. Maybe that's why I'm suddenly feeling sad about my own shower, which is happening this weekend. There are a lot of people who can't make it, or who can't be there till later, plus my family all live in different cities and can't make it either.

I never had a hens night, or a 21st or really celebrated anything like that, so perhaps that's why this has taken on such importance in my head. I feel like it's a big deal, and I'm really excited about it.  I have this weird notion that it's a really important thing, and that people should be making an effort to be there. That might explain why people not being able to be there or having to be late is really upsetting to me. Either that, or I'm just uber emotional this week. Which is also true.

Baby is now grown to a point that I can feel 'bits' of it moving and sliding beneath my skin, rather than just general kicks and punches. It is a very cool feeling to feel what might be a foot or a hand or even a knee pressing against your hand as it rolls over or squirms.

I still have 5 weeks until my maternity leave starts, but this baby has become the most important thing in my mind and my life, and I can't imagine how I'm going to make it through those 5 weeks. Not just because of how much of my brain space thinking about it occupies, but because I am increasingly immobile, uncomfortable and emotional. Let alone, the distinct lack of anything work suitable to wear.

I hope that I am a good parent. That I don't become someone who lives vicariously through my daughter. I hope that I can let her follow her own path and do what she enjoys doing. I hope that I can show her patience and understanding. I hope that I can give her the life she deserves.