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.

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.

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!

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