This evening Little O said "Mama" for the very first time. I have my interview this week and it's the greatest good luck charm I've ever had. He's so cute when he says his Ms; he approaches them cautiously, as though he's warming up: "Aaaaa hhhhmmm mmmmaaaa". He likes to practice them in the car while we listen to music, and sometimes he even hums along and dances to the beat.
Tonight was the first time he really responded to me saying "Mama" to him though, because after copying me a few times and getting out a couple of "Mmmmaaa" sounds, he suddenly went "Mama", completely out of the blue. What a wonderful feeling, to hear your child say your name.
I was so happy I cried.
Tina.
Showing posts with label Joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joy. Show all posts
Monday, September 27, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!
I got an interview! Like Butterfly Charlie, I'm not going to say more about it just yet, but I'm pretty hopeful.
Now I just need to sort out a babysitter for Little O. Hope my husband bucks his ideas up a little and helps me find a solution...
Now I just need to sort out a babysitter for Little O. Hope my husband bucks his ideas up a little and helps me find a solution...
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Tantrums!
My sweet sweet baby has discovered he has an opinion. Wait, let me rephrase that: he has an OPINION!!
For a child who cannot talk, sign, or generally communicate to me what his needs and wants are, he sure is getting good at telling me anyway. He has entered a rather amusing phase in his life where tantrums are starting to play a significant role in his communication skills. We're not sure he'll ever be able to speak in the same way you and I do (well, not my little sister V - she and Little O may have a lot in common), but he's certainly finding his voice.
I was brushing my teeth this morning and put Little O on the bathroom counter so he could watch. He likes to play with the lotions and potions up there and it keeps him from scooting around on his backside outta the door and down the stairs. I gave him a packet of flossups to play with while I was occupied with a toothbrush, and he was very happy watching me and chewing on the plastic wrapping while he waited. Well, then I wanted to USE a flossup to floss my teeth with, which required me to extricate said item from small child. This did not go down well. He SCREAMED, went red in the face, burst into tears, and started whacking his thighs with tiny, bunched-up fists of infant fury. I found the whole thing terribly funny, especially as, as soon as I'd got out a flossup and given them back to him, he stopped his tantrum instantly and resumed chewing the corner of the packet.
Ah, I love Little O. The more 'normal' stuff he does, the prouder I am of him. It's just such a joy to see him achieve a goal he's really struggled with, as well as the other 'norrmal' development milestones like throwing temper tantrums. At this point I love everything he does, from the back-scooting to the tantrums. Ask me again in a month though and I may have changed my mind...
Tina.
For a child who cannot talk, sign, or generally communicate to me what his needs and wants are, he sure is getting good at telling me anyway. He has entered a rather amusing phase in his life where tantrums are starting to play a significant role in his communication skills. We're not sure he'll ever be able to speak in the same way you and I do (well, not my little sister V - she and Little O may have a lot in common), but he's certainly finding his voice.
I was brushing my teeth this morning and put Little O on the bathroom counter so he could watch. He likes to play with the lotions and potions up there and it keeps him from scooting around on his backside outta the door and down the stairs. I gave him a packet of flossups to play with while I was occupied with a toothbrush, and he was very happy watching me and chewing on the plastic wrapping while he waited. Well, then I wanted to USE a flossup to floss my teeth with, which required me to extricate said item from small child. This did not go down well. He SCREAMED, went red in the face, burst into tears, and started whacking his thighs with tiny, bunched-up fists of infant fury. I found the whole thing terribly funny, especially as, as soon as I'd got out a flossup and given them back to him, he stopped his tantrum instantly and resumed chewing the corner of the packet.
Ah, I love Little O. The more 'normal' stuff he does, the prouder I am of him. It's just such a joy to see him achieve a goal he's really struggled with, as well as the other 'norrmal' development milestones like throwing temper tantrums. At this point I love everything he does, from the back-scooting to the tantrums. Ask me again in a month though and I may have changed my mind...
Tina.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
News
I am a useless person.
Well, to be more accurate, I am a person who has worked full-time since her son was less than 10 weeks old, who devotes a minimum of two evenings a week to playing in and managing a band, and who has spent the last year or so buying and moving into a property. (A key worker property. Do you know how complicated that is??) What I actually am is a busy person.
And as such I have, since S's birth, written but two posts. Both about said birth. Surely I cannot really claim to be a contributor to this blog at all.
However, I feel I must at least post this: I found out yesterday that I am pregnant with our second baby. Congratulations to me, I feel.
(Do not confuse me with Tina at this point! She might be, whereas I definitely am!)
Anthea
Well, to be more accurate, I am a person who has worked full-time since her son was less than 10 weeks old, who devotes a minimum of two evenings a week to playing in and managing a band, and who has spent the last year or so buying and moving into a property. (A key worker property. Do you know how complicated that is??) What I actually am is a busy person.
And as such I have, since S's birth, written but two posts. Both about said birth. Surely I cannot really claim to be a contributor to this blog at all.
However, I feel I must at least post this: I found out yesterday that I am pregnant with our second baby. Congratulations to me, I feel.
(Do not confuse me with Tina at this point! She might be, whereas I definitely am!)
Anthea
Monday, February 15, 2010
Part 2
Right, where was I?
At about 12.00pm I asked to get back into the bath. (Midwife: "That's a good idea, it can really help to speed things along". So why aren't there rows of baths instead of beds on maternity wards then?) I had actually wanted a water birth but, as I say, I don't think anyone bothered to look at my birth plan, and I was too frightened to speak up. Anyway, I got into the bath, dragging my Entonox cylinder with me, and promptly relaxed and calmed down. I continued to doze off between contractions, with the Entonox mouthpiece falling out of my mouth! Before long, though, I thought, "this baby's coming." I gesiculated wildly at the midwife's pull-cord to get my husband to summon her, but he didn't know what I was pointing at and thought I wanted something from my pile of clothes on the windowsill! I finally gasped "midwife!" and he got her.
I was taken back to my bed to be examined, whereupon my waters broke. I was 7cm dilated and preparations were made to take me down to the labour ward. At this point the 'show' appeared (the mucus plug in the cervix which keeps everything sealed up for 9 months). I spotted it on the bed and asked what it was (I wanted to be sure). "Oh, that's the show," said the midwife, and threw a sheet over it. "You weren't supposed to see that." Why the hell not? "It's ok, I made it," I managed to say. The staff commented that I still had a sense of humour - which was true but that wasn't the point. It had been inside me for all that time and I wanted to see it, to be aware of everything that had and was still happening to me. Why did they feel the need to keep it hidden? Is there honestly still a belief that these natural female bodily functions and secretions are shameful and dirty? I was put in a wheelchair and taken to the labour ward - but not before a little wait because there was a hospital tour for expectant mothers taking place and, the state I was in, I don't think they wanted me to frighten them! I'm not sure what I think about this. I mean, I was about to give birth, surely my needs should have been top of the list, but it is good that they wanted to give the expectant mothers a positive impression of what they're about to endure (however misleading that may be).
So then. Onto the second stage, or 'active labour'. I had originally decided not to have an epidural as I didn't fancy the side-effects (loss of bladder control, lasting numbness that would have to wear off, etc) but at this stage I changed my mind and decided I wanted one. However, the staff said that I was doing so well and things were moving on at such a pace that I would probably get on without one. I began pushing with the contractions, and stopped taking the Entonox (no pain relief at all! I am a hardass.). This carried on for nearly two hours, during which time I repeatedly requested an epidural and was repeatedly told (very nicely, though) that it would probably not be worth it. However, before long I was shouting "I don't care if you have to keep your quotas down or whatever, I wanted an epidural and YOU wouldn't give me one!" In retrospect, I'm pleased that I made it through without one, but it's myself I'm pleased with, not the staff. They should have given me what I wanted. I was given fluids in an IV in my left hand, and I remember informng them that I give blood from my right, and that they might have more luck finding a vein there!
What nobody knew at this stage was that the baby's cord was wrapped three times around the neck, which was why the baby wasn't making progress down the birth canal. A (male) obsetrician appeared at this point (to be honest, plenty of people were in and out of that room over those few hours, and I could not tell you how many or who the majority of them were. My mind was elsewhere) and he said that they were going to 'give the baby a hand' getting out, since progress had stalled and the baby's heartbeat had slowed. Whatever my feelings on interventions during birth were prior to this, this was brilliant news. As I was moaning and complaining about the pain, a midwife said, "it's 3.00pm. Your baby will be born by 10 past". The best thing I had heard all day.
The end of the bed came away, my head went back, the stirrups appeared and up went my legs. I was given four injections of local anaesthetic and an episiotomy (cut thorught the perenium) was perfomed. Yes, it's an absolute cariacature of childbirth, and it was quite a bloodbath (and have I mentioned the shit yet? Yes, I shat myself while I was pushing. And couldn't care less). A suction cup (ventouse) was attached to the baby's head, and with a few more pushes and contractions, the head was out. I asked why I couldn't hear the baby. I still don't understand why babies don't cry as soon as their head's born! A couple more contractions and pushes and my husband cried "It's a boy! Oh, it's S------!" and my brand new son was born.
He was a huge baby - 9lb 4oz, I shortly learned - and he had shat himself too, and was grey from the birth goo and the effect of the birth on his circulation. They plonked him on my tummy and the first thing I saw was this enormous, round, grey baby bum with a brown anus! Nice! I didn't even see his face until minutes later, when the cord had been cut and he'd been wrapped in a blanket. Next time, I'm going to insist that all that can wait until I've seen my baby's face and kissed it. Nor did I see the placenta, which I really wanted a look at (see 'the show', above). In all honesty, my prevailing feeling at that point was relief and gladness at the pregnancy, labour and birth being over, rather than joy or excitement at meeting S. That sounds awful, but in my defence, I had had virtually no sleep, there was no food in my system, I had never experienced pain like it, and I was rather out of it from the Entonox. And I doubt I'm the first new mother to have felt like that! giving birth was simultaneously the best and worst experience of my life, although I would not come to see it as the best for little while. Predictably, the first thing I said was, "I'm never doing that again!" The midwives all laughed and said, "they all say that," so I pointed to my husband and said, "well, you're having the next one then!" And I meant it.
Apparently I only swore once and only told my husband to shut up once - less than on a normal day!
I've been writing this as much for me as for anyone else to read it. While women the world over give birth every minute, I have done it but once, and it was the experience of my life. Nothing else comes close. Every woman's birth story is unique and I'm glad I've now got mine on record. Having said that, it's true that nature causes you to forget the pain, so despite this being a pretty accurate account, I know something is missing. We all know that if any mother had an accurate memory of giving birth, she would never put herself through it again! I've got a lot more to tell about the first days and months of S's life, and hope I can continue to write on here a little more often. But now it's teatime.
Anthea
At about 12.00pm I asked to get back into the bath. (Midwife: "That's a good idea, it can really help to speed things along". So why aren't there rows of baths instead of beds on maternity wards then?) I had actually wanted a water birth but, as I say, I don't think anyone bothered to look at my birth plan, and I was too frightened to speak up. Anyway, I got into the bath, dragging my Entonox cylinder with me, and promptly relaxed and calmed down. I continued to doze off between contractions, with the Entonox mouthpiece falling out of my mouth! Before long, though, I thought, "this baby's coming." I gesiculated wildly at the midwife's pull-cord to get my husband to summon her, but he didn't know what I was pointing at and thought I wanted something from my pile of clothes on the windowsill! I finally gasped "midwife!" and he got her.
I was taken back to my bed to be examined, whereupon my waters broke. I was 7cm dilated and preparations were made to take me down to the labour ward. At this point the 'show' appeared (the mucus plug in the cervix which keeps everything sealed up for 9 months). I spotted it on the bed and asked what it was (I wanted to be sure). "Oh, that's the show," said the midwife, and threw a sheet over it. "You weren't supposed to see that." Why the hell not? "It's ok, I made it," I managed to say. The staff commented that I still had a sense of humour - which was true but that wasn't the point. It had been inside me for all that time and I wanted to see it, to be aware of everything that had and was still happening to me. Why did they feel the need to keep it hidden? Is there honestly still a belief that these natural female bodily functions and secretions are shameful and dirty? I was put in a wheelchair and taken to the labour ward - but not before a little wait because there was a hospital tour for expectant mothers taking place and, the state I was in, I don't think they wanted me to frighten them! I'm not sure what I think about this. I mean, I was about to give birth, surely my needs should have been top of the list, but it is good that they wanted to give the expectant mothers a positive impression of what they're about to endure (however misleading that may be).
So then. Onto the second stage, or 'active labour'. I had originally decided not to have an epidural as I didn't fancy the side-effects (loss of bladder control, lasting numbness that would have to wear off, etc) but at this stage I changed my mind and decided I wanted one. However, the staff said that I was doing so well and things were moving on at such a pace that I would probably get on without one. I began pushing with the contractions, and stopped taking the Entonox (no pain relief at all! I am a hardass.). This carried on for nearly two hours, during which time I repeatedly requested an epidural and was repeatedly told (very nicely, though) that it would probably not be worth it. However, before long I was shouting "I don't care if you have to keep your quotas down or whatever, I wanted an epidural and YOU wouldn't give me one!" In retrospect, I'm pleased that I made it through without one, but it's myself I'm pleased with, not the staff. They should have given me what I wanted. I was given fluids in an IV in my left hand, and I remember informng them that I give blood from my right, and that they might have more luck finding a vein there!
What nobody knew at this stage was that the baby's cord was wrapped three times around the neck, which was why the baby wasn't making progress down the birth canal. A (male) obsetrician appeared at this point (to be honest, plenty of people were in and out of that room over those few hours, and I could not tell you how many or who the majority of them were. My mind was elsewhere) and he said that they were going to 'give the baby a hand' getting out, since progress had stalled and the baby's heartbeat had slowed. Whatever my feelings on interventions during birth were prior to this, this was brilliant news. As I was moaning and complaining about the pain, a midwife said, "it's 3.00pm. Your baby will be born by 10 past". The best thing I had heard all day.
The end of the bed came away, my head went back, the stirrups appeared and up went my legs. I was given four injections of local anaesthetic and an episiotomy (cut thorught the perenium) was perfomed. Yes, it's an absolute cariacature of childbirth, and it was quite a bloodbath (and have I mentioned the shit yet? Yes, I shat myself while I was pushing. And couldn't care less). A suction cup (ventouse) was attached to the baby's head, and with a few more pushes and contractions, the head was out. I asked why I couldn't hear the baby. I still don't understand why babies don't cry as soon as their head's born! A couple more contractions and pushes and my husband cried "It's a boy! Oh, it's S------!" and my brand new son was born.
He was a huge baby - 9lb 4oz, I shortly learned - and he had shat himself too, and was grey from the birth goo and the effect of the birth on his circulation. They plonked him on my tummy and the first thing I saw was this enormous, round, grey baby bum with a brown anus! Nice! I didn't even see his face until minutes later, when the cord had been cut and he'd been wrapped in a blanket. Next time, I'm going to insist that all that can wait until I've seen my baby's face and kissed it. Nor did I see the placenta, which I really wanted a look at (see 'the show', above). In all honesty, my prevailing feeling at that point was relief and gladness at the pregnancy, labour and birth being over, rather than joy or excitement at meeting S. That sounds awful, but in my defence, I had had virtually no sleep, there was no food in my system, I had never experienced pain like it, and I was rather out of it from the Entonox. And I doubt I'm the first new mother to have felt like that! giving birth was simultaneously the best and worst experience of my life, although I would not come to see it as the best for little while. Predictably, the first thing I said was, "I'm never doing that again!" The midwives all laughed and said, "they all say that," so I pointed to my husband and said, "well, you're having the next one then!" And I meant it.
Apparently I only swore once and only told my husband to shut up once - less than on a normal day!
I've been writing this as much for me as for anyone else to read it. While women the world over give birth every minute, I have done it but once, and it was the experience of my life. Nothing else comes close. Every woman's birth story is unique and I'm glad I've now got mine on record. Having said that, it's true that nature causes you to forget the pain, so despite this being a pretty accurate account, I know something is missing. We all know that if any mother had an accurate memory of giving birth, she would never put herself through it again! I've got a lot more to tell about the first days and months of S's life, and hope I can continue to write on here a little more often. But now it's teatime.
Anthea
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Part 1 of many
OK, I've finally found 5 minutes to sit down and write something on here for the first time in about 8 months!
The birth of my baby seems like as good a place to start as any.
After two weeks of curries, 'romantic nights', long walks, membrane sweeps (if you have to ask...) and abject boredom, baby was showing no signs of making an appearance. In fact, the head was partly engaged and then went back up again! I had to be induced. I walked to the hospital on the Friday night and had prostoglandins (synthetic hormones) injected up me - nice. Normally, this method of induction takes about 6 hours to work and is not successful first time round for first time mothers, so the plan was that I would have it done at bedtime, sleep, and then they'd have another go in the morning which was much more likely to work.
So. My husband stayed with me while the induction took place, then got me settled and went home to get some sleep himself. Unbeknownst to him, the hormones took effect very quickly and my labour began at about 1.00am. It felt like back pain, but after a while a midwife confirmed that the pains were settling into fairly regular contractions. I was alone on the ward, in the dark, with a skeleton weekend staff whom I barely saw. Not how I'd pictured my labour. No-one asked me about my birth plan, I was too intimidated to ask for help with my TENS machine (so didn't use it in the end) and had no-one to rub my back or coach me through the pains. At 3.00am I decided I wanted to phone my husband and get him to come in so approached the front desk and informed the woman (don't know if she was a midwife, nurse or receptionist) that there would soon be a man arriving and she would need to let him in. "Why?" she asked (!!!???!) "Because I'm in pain and I want my husband to help me through it," I replied (!!!!!!!) "I'm afraid visiting hours are between 8.00am and 8.00pm," she informed me. Fucking hell. So I spent the rest of the night without pain relief (I wanted massage and the TENS machine), labouring alone in the dark, and fairly scared since this was my first time. I do plan to have another baby, and if the same thing happens again, I shall shout and scream and stamp my foot until I am allowed to have my husband with me. I mean, if we'd turned up at midnight with me having gone into labour spontaneously, would they have sent him away and told him to come back at 8.00am? I think not. The more I look back on this, the more outraged I am. I'm thinking of officially complaining. Any thoughts?
Anyway. I did take a bath after this in a huge double tub. I found it highly effective - in fact, although I'm usually happier on dry land and a bit scared of water, I had really enjoyed baths and swimming throughout my pregnancy - in terms of pain relief and calming me down. At 7.00am I rang my husband. He answered the phone and apparently I sounded really down (not surprising, considering the night I'd had!). He took this to mean that I was annoyed that the induction hadn't worked, when it was quite the opposite! "See you in an hour," I said, but 15 minutes later I the pains were getting worse so I rang him and told him to come straight there, to hell with their visiting hours. At 7.30 he arrived and was again informed of the visiting hours. "Is that going to be a problem?" he demanded, and they grudgingly let him in.
From then until about lunchtime is a bit hazy now. I walked around for pain relief and vomited on another bed ("You must really stay near your bed!" I was curtly told - minutes before another midwife recommended I try walking around!). I used Entonox (gas and air) for pain relief, which I loved. My husband massaged my back for what seemed to him like hours on end. I can't really remember much more than this as I was quite high on Entonox and had had virtually no sleep during the night so kept dozing off between contractions.
Right, baby is now demanding milk so I will return shortly with the next instalment!
Anthea
The birth of my baby seems like as good a place to start as any.
After two weeks of curries, 'romantic nights', long walks, membrane sweeps (if you have to ask...) and abject boredom, baby was showing no signs of making an appearance. In fact, the head was partly engaged and then went back up again! I had to be induced. I walked to the hospital on the Friday night and had prostoglandins (synthetic hormones) injected up me - nice. Normally, this method of induction takes about 6 hours to work and is not successful first time round for first time mothers, so the plan was that I would have it done at bedtime, sleep, and then they'd have another go in the morning which was much more likely to work.
So. My husband stayed with me while the induction took place, then got me settled and went home to get some sleep himself. Unbeknownst to him, the hormones took effect very quickly and my labour began at about 1.00am. It felt like back pain, but after a while a midwife confirmed that the pains were settling into fairly regular contractions. I was alone on the ward, in the dark, with a skeleton weekend staff whom I barely saw. Not how I'd pictured my labour. No-one asked me about my birth plan, I was too intimidated to ask for help with my TENS machine (so didn't use it in the end) and had no-one to rub my back or coach me through the pains. At 3.00am I decided I wanted to phone my husband and get him to come in so approached the front desk and informed the woman (don't know if she was a midwife, nurse or receptionist) that there would soon be a man arriving and she would need to let him in. "Why?" she asked (!!!???!) "Because I'm in pain and I want my husband to help me through it," I replied (!!!!!!!) "I'm afraid visiting hours are between 8.00am and 8.00pm," she informed me. Fucking hell. So I spent the rest of the night without pain relief (I wanted massage and the TENS machine), labouring alone in the dark, and fairly scared since this was my first time. I do plan to have another baby, and if the same thing happens again, I shall shout and scream and stamp my foot until I am allowed to have my husband with me. I mean, if we'd turned up at midnight with me having gone into labour spontaneously, would they have sent him away and told him to come back at 8.00am? I think not. The more I look back on this, the more outraged I am. I'm thinking of officially complaining. Any thoughts?
Anyway. I did take a bath after this in a huge double tub. I found it highly effective - in fact, although I'm usually happier on dry land and a bit scared of water, I had really enjoyed baths and swimming throughout my pregnancy - in terms of pain relief and calming me down. At 7.00am I rang my husband. He answered the phone and apparently I sounded really down (not surprising, considering the night I'd had!). He took this to mean that I was annoyed that the induction hadn't worked, when it was quite the opposite! "See you in an hour," I said, but 15 minutes later I the pains were getting worse so I rang him and told him to come straight there, to hell with their visiting hours. At 7.30 he arrived and was again informed of the visiting hours. "Is that going to be a problem?" he demanded, and they grudgingly let him in.
From then until about lunchtime is a bit hazy now. I walked around for pain relief and vomited on another bed ("You must really stay near your bed!" I was curtly told - minutes before another midwife recommended I try walking around!). I used Entonox (gas and air) for pain relief, which I loved. My husband massaged my back for what seemed to him like hours on end. I can't really remember much more than this as I was quite high on Entonox and had had virtually no sleep during the night so kept dozing off between contractions.
Right, baby is now demanding milk so I will return shortly with the next instalment!
Anthea
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Unexpected challenges
There are some typical things about being a new mother I've found very challenging, such as getting enough sleep and trying to cope with tiredness when that isn't possible, but I've also discovered parenting Owen has some rather unexpected challenges too:
1. Keeping up with laundry is sooooo hard sometimes. Owen's reflux means he changes outfits at least four times a day, and we get through burp cloths and blankets like you wouldn't believe. I can usually attribute the mood I'm in as to whether we have clean burp cloths or not, as I feel a thousand times happier knowing there's a clean stack somewhere.
2. The bickering and constant arguments with my husband. Mike and I have always had a fiery relationship and fighting for us meant we got to make up afterwards, but these days we spend more time bickering and sniping at each other than smiling and laughing. We still talk, but it's always either about Owen or how one of us is failing at some aspect of the housework, and it can be completely exhausting at times.
3. One thing not every parent has to endure is the feeding routine we have with Owen. Feeding him with a pump every four hours, followed by at least an hour and a half of continuous, hand-held venting, is monotonous and time-consuming. I've said it before and I'll say it again, but if he ate from a bottle or the breast and didn't have reflux, I'd have so much time on my hands I wouldn't know what to do with it.
4. I wrote in my last post about how I've found it difficult accepting my new title in life. I'm still finding that hard.
5. Keeping the house clutter-free. This is SO tricky! Mike and I have a policy of doing at least ten minutes of tidying-up and/or cleaning every evening so that the chores don't build up too much before the weekend, but the CLUTTER! I spent time last week purchasing a couple of wheely carts with drawers to organise Owen's medical supplies and the kitchen is now a lot neater, but the rest of the house just gets overwhelming sometimes. How does a small boy generate so much mess?! Between dirty laundry (there are those burp cloths again), small toys, feeding supplies and the crap Mike and I seem determined to litter the living room carpet with (currently new kitchen brochures and bill stubs), I can count on one hand the amount of square feet of tidy space I can see from here.
6. Leaving the house. As with any small baby, this is a challenge, but it was very unexpected nonetheless. Owen used to screeeeeam whenever we went in the car and he's got a lot better now, but he still throws up the minute we go over a bump and organising a time to actually get to an appointment is bloody hard to start with. I have stopped making appointments for the morning as the earliest feasible time I can get out without drama is 12.30pm, but it's so limiting and I do miss that freedom to just jump up and go.
7. The sheer boredom and loneliness of having a baby was very unexpected. I won't go into too much detail, but I believe they have really contributed to my post-partum depression. I try to get out as much as I can to visit friends or attend baby groups, but as I said before, leaving the house isn't always easy...
8. I think finding time to be myself without being Owen's Mama is kinda tricky, too. Don't get me wrong: I love my little one and the thought of everything we've been through with him and how at any minute things could have turned out very differently scares me half to death. But there existed a person before Owen Henri and when he's grown up and left the house that person will still be here. I just have to make sure I don't lose her in the meantime.
9. The guilt! Goodness me, this is a big one. I feel guilty ALL THE TIME. I feel guilty that I resent getting out of bed to attend to him; I feel guilty when he's asleep and I'm relaxing with a book instead of washing the dishes. I feel guilty that I don't sleep with my husband enough and when we do get down to business, I feel guilty that I'm not looking after Owen. I feel guilty when he spits-up (irrational, but true) and I feel guilty when I spend money on new clothes for him. I feel guilty that my body doesn't look the way it used to; I feel guilty that I indulge in cookies and ice cream when I should be eating grapes to shift these last few pounds. I feel guilty for disturbing him and taking him to all his medical appointments even though they're for his own benefit and I feel guilty if I cancel one because one of us simply isn't up to the challenge of fighting a medical institution that day. Most of all, I feel guilty that my body make Owen the way he is. I feel guilty that my egg gave him those crazy chromosomes and that my body pushed him out when he wasn't ready. I feel guilty that I couldn't breastfeed him and I feel guilty that I had to leave him at the hospital for so long. I feel guilty ALL THE TIME.
10. The last unexpected challenge I've found (although I'm sure I'll think of more before my next post) is how much love I have for this little boy. You may not see that as a challenge, but can you imaging having so much love in you that it breaks your heart? If we have one, how on earth will I find room to love another baby as much as Owen?
Tina.
1. Keeping up with laundry is sooooo hard sometimes. Owen's reflux means he changes outfits at least four times a day, and we get through burp cloths and blankets like you wouldn't believe. I can usually attribute the mood I'm in as to whether we have clean burp cloths or not, as I feel a thousand times happier knowing there's a clean stack somewhere.
2. The bickering and constant arguments with my husband. Mike and I have always had a fiery relationship and fighting for us meant we got to make up afterwards, but these days we spend more time bickering and sniping at each other than smiling and laughing. We still talk, but it's always either about Owen or how one of us is failing at some aspect of the housework, and it can be completely exhausting at times.
3. One thing not every parent has to endure is the feeding routine we have with Owen. Feeding him with a pump every four hours, followed by at least an hour and a half of continuous, hand-held venting, is monotonous and time-consuming. I've said it before and I'll say it again, but if he ate from a bottle or the breast and didn't have reflux, I'd have so much time on my hands I wouldn't know what to do with it.
4. I wrote in my last post about how I've found it difficult accepting my new title in life. I'm still finding that hard.
5. Keeping the house clutter-free. This is SO tricky! Mike and I have a policy of doing at least ten minutes of tidying-up and/or cleaning every evening so that the chores don't build up too much before the weekend, but the CLUTTER! I spent time last week purchasing a couple of wheely carts with drawers to organise Owen's medical supplies and the kitchen is now a lot neater, but the rest of the house just gets overwhelming sometimes. How does a small boy generate so much mess?! Between dirty laundry (there are those burp cloths again), small toys, feeding supplies and the crap Mike and I seem determined to litter the living room carpet with (currently new kitchen brochures and bill stubs), I can count on one hand the amount of square feet of tidy space I can see from here.
6. Leaving the house. As with any small baby, this is a challenge, but it was very unexpected nonetheless. Owen used to screeeeeam whenever we went in the car and he's got a lot better now, but he still throws up the minute we go over a bump and organising a time to actually get to an appointment is bloody hard to start with. I have stopped making appointments for the morning as the earliest feasible time I can get out without drama is 12.30pm, but it's so limiting and I do miss that freedom to just jump up and go.
7. The sheer boredom and loneliness of having a baby was very unexpected. I won't go into too much detail, but I believe they have really contributed to my post-partum depression. I try to get out as much as I can to visit friends or attend baby groups, but as I said before, leaving the house isn't always easy...
8. I think finding time to be myself without being Owen's Mama is kinda tricky, too. Don't get me wrong: I love my little one and the thought of everything we've been through with him and how at any minute things could have turned out very differently scares me half to death. But there existed a person before Owen Henri and when he's grown up and left the house that person will still be here. I just have to make sure I don't lose her in the meantime.
9. The guilt! Goodness me, this is a big one. I feel guilty ALL THE TIME. I feel guilty that I resent getting out of bed to attend to him; I feel guilty when he's asleep and I'm relaxing with a book instead of washing the dishes. I feel guilty that I don't sleep with my husband enough and when we do get down to business, I feel guilty that I'm not looking after Owen. I feel guilty when he spits-up (irrational, but true) and I feel guilty when I spend money on new clothes for him. I feel guilty that my body doesn't look the way it used to; I feel guilty that I indulge in cookies and ice cream when I should be eating grapes to shift these last few pounds. I feel guilty for disturbing him and taking him to all his medical appointments even though they're for his own benefit and I feel guilty if I cancel one because one of us simply isn't up to the challenge of fighting a medical institution that day. Most of all, I feel guilty that my body make Owen the way he is. I feel guilty that my egg gave him those crazy chromosomes and that my body pushed him out when he wasn't ready. I feel guilty that I couldn't breastfeed him and I feel guilty that I had to leave him at the hospital for so long. I feel guilty ALL THE TIME.
10. The last unexpected challenge I've found (although I'm sure I'll think of more before my next post) is how much love I have for this little boy. You may not see that as a challenge, but can you imaging having so much love in you that it breaks your heart? If we have one, how on earth will I find room to love another baby as much as Owen?
Tina.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
He's here!
Well, after waiting for so long, my son finally arrived a month ago. For our eagle-eyed readers, you will no doubt notice this meant he arrived five weeks early, at 35 wks gestation. So, before we get down to the nitty-gritty of my life with a newborn, here's a no-holds barred guide to my astonishing labour.
All FIFTY-FIVE hours of it, so strap in...
I woke up early on Friday morning (the 15th of May) and my hips were hurting really badly. I managed to get a few more hours sleep but when I struggled awake around 10am the pain was getting worse and it seemed to be coming and going. Idiot that I am, I started researching "pregnancy hip pain" on the internet and honestly thought that's all it was. It wasn't until about 12pm I realised that the pain was starting in my back, not my hips, so I researched "early labour signs" instead. It seemed to make sense but I still wasn't convinced, so I sent a message to my friend on Facebook asking her what HER contractions had felt like. She called me immediately from Seattle and ordered me to call my doctor. Which I did. And they told me to go to labour and delivery. So I called my husband at work and started timing my contractions. By the time he got home it was about 3pm and I'd been in labor for about five hours. The pain wasn't too bad but I was definitely uncomfortable so we zoomed up there and I got settled in at 5pm.
Except I didn't. Because around 10pm they sent me home with Tylenol 3 and told me to try and rest. I wasn't dilating but I was around 75% effaced. I duly went home, wasn't able to sleep, and phoned them in the morning to say the pain meds hadn't done anything and I wanted to come back in. So we went back around 9am and I was 1cm dilated and 100% effaced. They told me to go home again and gave me sleeping tablets, which knocked me out for about three hours but in the last hour I was waking up during the most painful part of the contraction then falling immediately asleep again! My husband said he had to talk me back to sleep each time, but I don't remember any of it.
Around 8pm on Saturday I was starting to REALLY hurt. I called the doctor and she told me to come back in, if only so they could help me get some rest. I'd now been in labor for around 34 hours and I was getting really tired. Because I was 35 weeks along they wouldn't stop my labour (too late for that) or speed it up (too early for that), so I basically had to go it alone. When I went back in I was about 2-3cm and 100% dilated, so they let me stay. I laboured all bloody night and demanded IV meds three times. I also got into the jacuzzi water tub, tried a birthing ball (didn't help AT ALL, completely overrated) and walked around a lot with my husband. Finally, some time around noon on Sunday I was dilated enough for an epidural, so they hooked me up and I slept a little bit. However, it only took properly on my right side, which meant I had to stay slanted to my left to assist gravity. This hurt my hip a lot and I was really uncomfortable, but at least the majority of the pain went away.
At around 2pm I was 7-8cm dilated so the LOVELY LOVELY doctor broke my waters. Almost immediately I began contracting like mad and opened up to 10cm in an hour. It hurt like a son of a bitch, to be frank, and I panicked quite a lot. However, at 4.25pm I was allowed to start pushing, and that was great because it gave me a focus again. My husband told me later that I went all Earth-Mother on them at this point because I rested quietly in between contractions and then focused hard on pushing instead of yelling like a banshee (which was my own, personal approach to labour pain prior to this). I pushed for almost an hour and Owen Henri was born at 5.12pm on Sunday, 17th May, weighing 5lb 14oz and measuring 19". Including pushing I was in labor for 55 hours. During pushing I breathlessly told the doctor that under no circumstances was she to give me an episiotomy, and she told me that she never does those anyway, which was so wonderful to hear. To be graphic, she "lubed" me up down there and massaged the area to give Owen's head more room. I pushed him out without a tear or a cut, which I attribute to both me AND her. She and the nurses were just great, and the atmosphere stayed so calm. I also didn't poo! Hurrah!
When he came out he didn't breathe for about five seconds so they suctioned him, but after that he was okay and put in the little bed warmer. He was born with hernias in his groin so after a little cuddle he was taken to the NICU and the rest of the story is far too long to type up here now...
I think the things I'll remember the most are the pain... ouchee... the duration... sigh... and my body's amazing abilities. I am still astounded I was able to labour for three days, and for most of it I was without pain relief because it was either too early, or it kept wearing off because everything took so long. I'll also remember the first time I saw Owen, and thinking how much he looked like his 3D ultrasound pictures! My husband was a rock during the entire event, and I didn't feel alone. It was lovely, however, to be in an environment surrounded by women helping other women. My normal doctor is a man, but as he wasn't on call that weekend it ended up being his female colleague who helped me deliver. All the nurses were female, as were the NICU staff. Now, normally I'm very anti- this type of thing and would have said something about destroying the walls surrounding birth by having male members of staff there, but you know what? I loved it. I loved being surrounded by other mothers and a doctor who didn't do episiotomies because she believes women don't need them. It felt really warm and comforting to be with all these other women, enjoying a shared experience with them.
Except I didn't. Because around 10pm they sent me home with Tylenol 3 and told me to try and rest. I wasn't dilating but I was around 75% effaced. I duly went home, wasn't able to sleep, and phoned them in the morning to say the pain meds hadn't done anything and I wanted to come back in. So we went back around 9am and I was 1cm dilated and 100% effaced. They told me to go home again and gave me sleeping tablets, which knocked me out for about three hours but in the last hour I was waking up during the most painful part of the contraction then falling immediately asleep again! My husband said he had to talk me back to sleep each time, but I don't remember any of it.
Around 8pm on Saturday I was starting to REALLY hurt. I called the doctor and she told me to come back in, if only so they could help me get some rest. I'd now been in labor for around 34 hours and I was getting really tired. Because I was 35 weeks along they wouldn't stop my labour (too late for that) or speed it up (too early for that), so I basically had to go it alone. When I went back in I was about 2-3cm and 100% dilated, so they let me stay. I laboured all bloody night and demanded IV meds three times. I also got into the jacuzzi water tub, tried a birthing ball (didn't help AT ALL, completely overrated) and walked around a lot with my husband. Finally, some time around noon on Sunday I was dilated enough for an epidural, so they hooked me up and I slept a little bit. However, it only took properly on my right side, which meant I had to stay slanted to my left to assist gravity. This hurt my hip a lot and I was really uncomfortable, but at least the majority of the pain went away.
At around 2pm I was 7-8cm dilated so the LOVELY LOVELY doctor broke my waters. Almost immediately I began contracting like mad and opened up to 10cm in an hour. It hurt like a son of a bitch, to be frank, and I panicked quite a lot. However, at 4.25pm I was allowed to start pushing, and that was great because it gave me a focus again. My husband told me later that I went all Earth-Mother on them at this point because I rested quietly in between contractions and then focused hard on pushing instead of yelling like a banshee (which was my own, personal approach to labour pain prior to this). I pushed for almost an hour and Owen Henri was born at 5.12pm on Sunday, 17th May, weighing 5lb 14oz and measuring 19". Including pushing I was in labor for 55 hours. During pushing I breathlessly told the doctor that under no circumstances was she to give me an episiotomy, and she told me that she never does those anyway, which was so wonderful to hear. To be graphic, she "lubed" me up down there and massaged the area to give Owen's head more room. I pushed him out without a tear or a cut, which I attribute to both me AND her. She and the nurses were just great, and the atmosphere stayed so calm. I also didn't poo! Hurrah!
When he came out he didn't breathe for about five seconds so they suctioned him, but after that he was okay and put in the little bed warmer. He was born with hernias in his groin so after a little cuddle he was taken to the NICU and the rest of the story is far too long to type up here now...
I think the things I'll remember the most are the pain... ouchee... the duration... sigh... and my body's amazing abilities. I am still astounded I was able to labour for three days, and for most of it I was without pain relief because it was either too early, or it kept wearing off because everything took so long. I'll also remember the first time I saw Owen, and thinking how much he looked like his 3D ultrasound pictures! My husband was a rock during the entire event, and I didn't feel alone. It was lovely, however, to be in an environment surrounded by women helping other women. My normal doctor is a man, but as he wasn't on call that weekend it ended up being his female colleague who helped me deliver. All the nurses were female, as were the NICU staff. Now, normally I'm very anti- this type of thing and would have said something about destroying the walls surrounding birth by having male members of staff there, but you know what? I loved it. I loved being surrounded by other mothers and a doctor who didn't do episiotomies because she believes women don't need them. It felt really warm and comforting to be with all these other women, enjoying a shared experience with them.
Labour was bloody hard work, but I will look back at it with nothing but proud, happy memories.
Which helps me forget the pain.
:)
Tina
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