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. 

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!