B, you're 15 months old and I already feel like you're growing up too quickly. You're a proper little person now. You know what you want and sometimes get frustrated that you can't say the words or aren't big enough to get it yourself. You have an amazing sense of humour and are always playing tricks on Daddy and me.
Even though I can see how much you've grown in such a short space of time, I'm sure I've grown up just as much over the past year or so. You've taught me so many lessons, here are just a few of them, that I hope to be able to teach you in return.
Guilt is a silly feeling and shouldn't be tolerated.
There are quite a few things that I have to do to make sure you're clean, or that you have enough sleep that you absolutely hate me doing. I have to do them because those things (particularly the sleep one) are so much more important than what you think of me at that particular time. I feel so guilty while I'm doing them but then they work and you wake up all smiles and I know it was worth it.
Other people's opinions do NOT count
Advice is always welcome but really, truly it's what you know yourself that matters.
FOMO doesn't work here anymore
Fear of missing out strikes most days when you're a Mum but there's nothing you can do about it. Whether we've missed out on baby music because you've decided to nap, or I've missed out on a night out because we couldn't get a baby sitter. When I look what I get to do, with you, instead I know which I'd prefer.
Falling apart is not an option
When you have no responsibilities it's easy to wallow in self-pity and both Daddy and I have had plenty of excuses for a meltdown over the past couple of years, but now you're here, you need two parents who can sing 'I went to the animal fair' without blubbing or punching the wall.
Wine is evil
I will always enjoy a glass of wine or two- but I really need to learn that two is my limit. Now that I get three-glass-hangovers I can't possibly get up at 6.30 and watch Cbeebies after polishing off a bottle.
Showing posts with label Birth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Birth. Show all posts
Sunday, 27 April 2014
Wednesday, 6 March 2013
B is for... Baby Massage
This might prove to be a bit of a rave review but I'll try my best to keep it balanced.
B and I went to Baby Massage in Brighton last week and we were pleasantly surprised. OK, we absolutely LOVED it.
B normally hates being messed with, nappy changes turn into a bit of a wrestling match (and I usually come off worse). He also, normally, hates being put down for longer than 10 minutes unless he's asleep. However at baby massage he spent 45 minutes on a changing mat being stroked nearly the whole time. The gestures obviously worked as he gurgles and cooed throughout.
For anyone who has no idea what baby massage is all about (as I didn't really) he's a short introduction: It's pretty much what it says on the tin- you massage your baby. It involves baby-friendly massage techniques designed to relax, soothe and encourage good sleeping patterns, improve digestion.
I was hugely sceptical before we went, that a bit of a back rub could sort out common baby afflictions and I have to say that as B isn't a sicky baby and has no trouble going to number twos I haven't noticed much of a change- but he really enjoyed the class.
We went to Lucy's Angels baby massage, which takes place at Yoga Mammas in Brighton. The class is fun, full of lovely mummies and babies and doesn't take itself too seriously. There's nothing worse than a yoga teacher or massage therapist trying to convert you to Buddhism- that doesn't happen here.
Lucy is great and helps put mum's at ease- she understood that the first few times you go somewhere unfamiliar with your baby you can have awful stressful visions that they won't stop crying and then poo everywhere. Like all the girls who run classes at Yoga Mammas she made us feel very welcome and you can tell she genuinely loves babies and mummies too.
Find out more here: http://www.lucysangels.co.uk/
B and I went to Baby Massage in Brighton last week and we were pleasantly surprised. OK, we absolutely LOVED it.
B normally hates being messed with, nappy changes turn into a bit of a wrestling match (and I usually come off worse). He also, normally, hates being put down for longer than 10 minutes unless he's asleep. However at baby massage he spent 45 minutes on a changing mat being stroked nearly the whole time. The gestures obviously worked as he gurgles and cooed throughout.
For anyone who has no idea what baby massage is all about (as I didn't really) he's a short introduction: It's pretty much what it says on the tin- you massage your baby. It involves baby-friendly massage techniques designed to relax, soothe and encourage good sleeping patterns, improve digestion.
I was hugely sceptical before we went, that a bit of a back rub could sort out common baby afflictions and I have to say that as B isn't a sicky baby and has no trouble going to number twos I haven't noticed much of a change- but he really enjoyed the class.
We went to Lucy's Angels baby massage, which takes place at Yoga Mammas in Brighton. The class is fun, full of lovely mummies and babies and doesn't take itself too seriously. There's nothing worse than a yoga teacher or massage therapist trying to convert you to Buddhism- that doesn't happen here.
Lucy is great and helps put mum's at ease- she understood that the first few times you go somewhere unfamiliar with your baby you can have awful stressful visions that they won't stop crying and then poo everywhere. Like all the girls who run classes at Yoga Mammas she made us feel very welcome and you can tell she genuinely loves babies and mummies too.
Find out more here: http://www.lucysangels.co.uk/
Wednesday, 20 February 2013
B is for...Breastfeeding
Before Baby B was born, I was adamant about three things:
1, I would exclusively breastfeed
2, A disposable nappy would not touch my baby's body
3, We would NOT give him a dummy. EVER
I have given in on every single one of these resolutions but this particular post is about breastfeeding; to explain why, despite the fact that I probably live in the most pro-breastfeeding part of the country I found the whole process excruciating.
Straight after Baby B was born, I was helped to breastfeeding by the lovely midwife who delivered him. We were transferred to the maternity ward and I tried to breastfeed him a few times, but he only took tiny amounts then fell asleep on my breast. I had been up for two days and had just been through a very physical natural labour. I didn't know where the midwives' station was and I didn't want to leave my baby to go and find help. I was too exhausted to think to press the call bell.
After being on the maternity ward all afternoon, we were finally seen by a midwife at about seven in the evening. I explained that I'd like some breastfeeding support as I'd been struggling and she very helpfully said the following:
"Well, you've missed about four feeds now, haven't you. I know he looks peaceful, but it can be very difficult to tell the difference between a content baby and one with dangerously low blood sugar."
This put the fear of God into me and I unsuccessfully tried to feed B until J had to go home- no visitors on the labour ward after nine. Shortly after that another midwife came in and told me it was 'very important' I didn't move my shoulder as I could 'seriously hurt myself' and that I should 'squash the baby's head' onto my breast. Surprisingly this also didn't work. At midnight another midwife showed me a technique that did actually work.
This worked at proper intervals until we were home the next evening. Then at 7pm baby B started to feed and wouldn't stop until 4am the next morning. I was in agony. We had to call my in-laws at 3.30am and ask them to go the 24 hour Tesco to buy us some formula.
I couldn't breastfeed again until the following day because of the pain in my nipples. It seems that collostrum wasn't enough for my enormous baby. When my milk came in, I tried t mixed feed but B just seemed to prefer the bottle and I found the process of getting my boob out and being rejected horrible- particularly with all the hormones.
I'm aware that breast is viewed as best because it's natural but considering that my baby was only born safely because of synthetic hormones- natural isn't always the way to go. Sometimes western medicine and artificial help are the best cause of action.
A few weeks later, somebody in my NCT class told me they'd had the same problems breastfeeding, but they'd persevered for a few days. When they were routinely visited by a midwife, she told them that their son was dehydrated and malnourished and to take him the children's hospital straightaway. They are now happily breastfeeding but I'm glad that my baby didn't have to go through that.
Breastfeeding is great when it works and when it's the only option but where formula is available and affordable we really do have a choice to make.
1, I would exclusively breastfeed
2, A disposable nappy would not touch my baby's body
3, We would NOT give him a dummy. EVER
I have given in on every single one of these resolutions but this particular post is about breastfeeding; to explain why, despite the fact that I probably live in the most pro-breastfeeding part of the country I found the whole process excruciating.
Straight after Baby B was born, I was helped to breastfeeding by the lovely midwife who delivered him. We were transferred to the maternity ward and I tried to breastfeed him a few times, but he only took tiny amounts then fell asleep on my breast. I had been up for two days and had just been through a very physical natural labour. I didn't know where the midwives' station was and I didn't want to leave my baby to go and find help. I was too exhausted to think to press the call bell.
After being on the maternity ward all afternoon, we were finally seen by a midwife at about seven in the evening. I explained that I'd like some breastfeeding support as I'd been struggling and she very helpfully said the following:
"Well, you've missed about four feeds now, haven't you. I know he looks peaceful, but it can be very difficult to tell the difference between a content baby and one with dangerously low blood sugar."
This put the fear of God into me and I unsuccessfully tried to feed B until J had to go home- no visitors on the labour ward after nine. Shortly after that another midwife came in and told me it was 'very important' I didn't move my shoulder as I could 'seriously hurt myself' and that I should 'squash the baby's head' onto my breast. Surprisingly this also didn't work. At midnight another midwife showed me a technique that did actually work.
This worked at proper intervals until we were home the next evening. Then at 7pm baby B started to feed and wouldn't stop until 4am the next morning. I was in agony. We had to call my in-laws at 3.30am and ask them to go the 24 hour Tesco to buy us some formula.
I couldn't breastfeed again until the following day because of the pain in my nipples. It seems that collostrum wasn't enough for my enormous baby. When my milk came in, I tried t mixed feed but B just seemed to prefer the bottle and I found the process of getting my boob out and being rejected horrible- particularly with all the hormones.
I'm aware that breast is viewed as best because it's natural but considering that my baby was only born safely because of synthetic hormones- natural isn't always the way to go. Sometimes western medicine and artificial help are the best cause of action.
A few weeks later, somebody in my NCT class told me they'd had the same problems breastfeeding, but they'd persevered for a few days. When they were routinely visited by a midwife, she told them that their son was dehydrated and malnourished and to take him the children's hospital straightaway. They are now happily breastfeeding but I'm glad that my baby didn't have to go through that.
Breastfeeding is great when it works and when it's the only option but where formula is available and affordable we really do have a choice to make.
Sunday, 27 January 2013
B is for...Birth
He's here, he's finally here!
Baby B was born on Monday 21st January at 10.32am after what turned out to be a rather traumatic labour.
After the total failure of the sweep on Thursday, I went in for an outpatient induction on Sunday 20th January at 11am. It had been snowing rather heavily all night and due to the fact my blood pressure was a little high, we ended up staying in hospital most of the day. They nearly wouldn't let us (Me, J and my mum) leave for fear we would be snowed in and I'd end up giving birth, unassisted, at home.
As I'd been having Braxton Hick since before Christmas, contractions didn't so much start as continue. When my water's broke at about 8pm on Sunday night, I wasn't entirely sure I was going into labour. I rang the labour ward, who told me to stick it out at home until the contractions became stronger.
I was prepared for a lengthy early labour at home, but this all changed when I went to the loo about 30 minutes later and saw my waters were brown: Meconium.
After calling the labour ward again and being told to come straight in, my mother in law picked us (the three of us) up and we all (the four of us) ended up in triage. I couldn't tell my mother in law to leave and she clearly had no intention of doing so. We are fairly close, so it wasn't too much of an issue and when things got going I wouldn't have cared if the entire England football team had walked in.
We go taken through to the labour ward, and introduced the most grumpy Northern Irish midwife. There was a lot of dicking about with monitors, because of the meconium. Apparently nobody had factored the roundness of a pregnant woman's bump into the design of the nodes and they kept slipped off, which seriously inhibited my labour positions. All yoga practice went out of the window as I lead on the bed and gritted my teeth.
After a few hours of fairly excruciating contractions it was clear that my cervix just wasn't dilating enough. The raspberry leaf tea, I'd been glugging down for six weeks had done absolutely bugger all to strengthen my womb and the midwife explained they'd need to bring in the big guns: syntocin.
At our antenatal class we'd heard all about syntocin and how horrible and painful it makes labour, so as soon as the word was on the tip of her tongue, another was on mine: epidural. I'd been pretty adamant throughout pregnancy that I didn't want an epidural or any opiates but nothing was like I'd imagined- it was far more clinical- and I couldn't centre myself to deal with the pain, in the way I'd hoped.
When the anaesthetist arrived the fun started. The midwife attempted to inser to cannula for the hormone drip into my left arm, then my right arm and then my left arm again. My mother pointed out, after the event, that she was using an absolutely massive needle and trying to insert it into and absolutely minuscule vein- the would be why that despite all the pain in my wrists (she tried there too) and my hands, she was getting nowhere.
The anaesthetist had a go and finally managed to get the needle in, after the same number of attempts. When she came to inserting the epidural into my back, everybody had to leave the room, except my husband who's job it was to hold me still. The anaesthetist explained, before the procedure, the if I moved in millimetre I stood a chance of becoming paralysed so I think J felt the pressure as somewhere between the me closing my eyes as the needle went in, and opening them again, he'd passed out.
I was left holding myself still as he was propped up against a radiator like a third world hostage. As the epidural set in and the pain subsided, the mothers left to get some sleep and J bunked down on the birthing mat. It was 3am and I was 2cm dilated.
The night passed in a blur of different healthcare professionals popping in an out and uncontrollable, adrenaline-induced shaking. I didn't sleep at all. I could feel something putting a lot of pressure on my lower back as the syntocin worked it's magic.
At 7am the Irish midwife examined me and explained that due to the amount of time that had passed and the dose of syntocin, I could expect to be about 5cm dilated. During the examination she told me I was actually fully dilated. I replied 'you what?' I couldn't believe it.
The mother's were called and I was told that, providing I was given the go ahead by the doctor, I could start the pushing stage at 9am. At this point I'd like to explain to you that a completely natural delivery is very rare following a hormone drip and an epidural.
Two new midwife arrived and they were absolutely lovely. At 9am I started pushing and, after an hour and a half of J holding my left leg and my mother holding my right, Baby B was born.
He was, and is, utterly perfect was a button nose and a smattering of dark brown hair. He weighed colossal 9 lb 13, which explains the stitches. Despite the fact that labour and birth were nothing like I'd imagined, actually found delivering my son a thoroughly positive experience: and it definitely was an experience.
Baby B was born on Monday 21st January at 10.32am after what turned out to be a rather traumatic labour.
After the total failure of the sweep on Thursday, I went in for an outpatient induction on Sunday 20th January at 11am. It had been snowing rather heavily all night and due to the fact my blood pressure was a little high, we ended up staying in hospital most of the day. They nearly wouldn't let us (Me, J and my mum) leave for fear we would be snowed in and I'd end up giving birth, unassisted, at home.
As I'd been having Braxton Hick since before Christmas, contractions didn't so much start as continue. When my water's broke at about 8pm on Sunday night, I wasn't entirely sure I was going into labour. I rang the labour ward, who told me to stick it out at home until the contractions became stronger.
I was prepared for a lengthy early labour at home, but this all changed when I went to the loo about 30 minutes later and saw my waters were brown: Meconium.
After calling the labour ward again and being told to come straight in, my mother in law picked us (the three of us) up and we all (the four of us) ended up in triage. I couldn't tell my mother in law to leave and she clearly had no intention of doing so. We are fairly close, so it wasn't too much of an issue and when things got going I wouldn't have cared if the entire England football team had walked in.
We go taken through to the labour ward, and introduced the most grumpy Northern Irish midwife. There was a lot of dicking about with monitors, because of the meconium. Apparently nobody had factored the roundness of a pregnant woman's bump into the design of the nodes and they kept slipped off, which seriously inhibited my labour positions. All yoga practice went out of the window as I lead on the bed and gritted my teeth.
After a few hours of fairly excruciating contractions it was clear that my cervix just wasn't dilating enough. The raspberry leaf tea, I'd been glugging down for six weeks had done absolutely bugger all to strengthen my womb and the midwife explained they'd need to bring in the big guns: syntocin.
At our antenatal class we'd heard all about syntocin and how horrible and painful it makes labour, so as soon as the word was on the tip of her tongue, another was on mine: epidural. I'd been pretty adamant throughout pregnancy that I didn't want an epidural or any opiates but nothing was like I'd imagined- it was far more clinical- and I couldn't centre myself to deal with the pain, in the way I'd hoped.
When the anaesthetist arrived the fun started. The midwife attempted to inser to cannula for the hormone drip into my left arm, then my right arm and then my left arm again. My mother pointed out, after the event, that she was using an absolutely massive needle and trying to insert it into and absolutely minuscule vein- the would be why that despite all the pain in my wrists (she tried there too) and my hands, she was getting nowhere.
The anaesthetist had a go and finally managed to get the needle in, after the same number of attempts. When she came to inserting the epidural into my back, everybody had to leave the room, except my husband who's job it was to hold me still. The anaesthetist explained, before the procedure, the if I moved in millimetre I stood a chance of becoming paralysed so I think J felt the pressure as somewhere between the me closing my eyes as the needle went in, and opening them again, he'd passed out.
I was left holding myself still as he was propped up against a radiator like a third world hostage. As the epidural set in and the pain subsided, the mothers left to get some sleep and J bunked down on the birthing mat. It was 3am and I was 2cm dilated.
The night passed in a blur of different healthcare professionals popping in an out and uncontrollable, adrenaline-induced shaking. I didn't sleep at all. I could feel something putting a lot of pressure on my lower back as the syntocin worked it's magic.
At 7am the Irish midwife examined me and explained that due to the amount of time that had passed and the dose of syntocin, I could expect to be about 5cm dilated. During the examination she told me I was actually fully dilated. I replied 'you what?' I couldn't believe it.
The mother's were called and I was told that, providing I was given the go ahead by the doctor, I could start the pushing stage at 9am. At this point I'd like to explain to you that a completely natural delivery is very rare following a hormone drip and an epidural.
Two new midwife arrived and they were absolutely lovely. At 9am I started pushing and, after an hour and a half of J holding my left leg and my mother holding my right, Baby B was born.
He was, and is, utterly perfect was a button nose and a smattering of dark brown hair. He weighed colossal 9 lb 13, which explains the stitches. Despite the fact that labour and birth were nothing like I'd imagined, actually found delivering my son a thoroughly positive experience: and it definitely was an experience.
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