Baby is 24 weeks old, we are approaching half year of our existence together and this relationship is definitely not fading. I am one big proud mother.
Speaking of mothering, I am still recovering from a visit of my mother. We didn't spend so much time together since I left home many many years ago, I time my visit at parents' place carefully, a weekend is more than enough. Mother came for a week because of baby - she never visited me in any places I lived no matter how far or close I went. We are not close, we didn't have a great relationship to start with. She brought me up but she never understood me, never tried. I never realized what she wanted from me, I just knew I wasn't the way she thought I should be.
I only started to feel as a valuable daughter once I settled with husband. That is what she always wanted: me settled with a good man. She lives a very isolated life, married for a long time, my father and her grew very dependent on one another over the years, but I wonder if they are together because they really want to. I was always proud of my independence and my achievements, she couldn't understand it. So I settled, she could understand me better, she was happy. Then I was finally married - good. Then there was my first pregnancy - even better. I miscarried and paradoxically the person I wanted to call first was my mother even though she never helped me in any of my crisis before. But after the loss of a baby she understood, it is women thing, the time we need one another. I couldn't get pregnant for a long time and the feeling of connection and approval faded again. She couldn't understand that I wanted a child but didn't insist on having one, in my opinion life was still worth living even without being a mother, she thought I should have go for medical assistance few months after the miscarriage. I don't know if it is a generation thing or if women in general tend to blame themselves but all the time she assumed my miscarriage happened because of something I have done and I wasn't getting pregnant because something was wrong with me.
Once she found out about my second pregnancy she was happy as never before and so proud. And now she is the happiest grandmother, so happy that she even made her first big trip overseas by a plane. That is the power of my baby.
So there she was suddenly in my home very out of her element. She is used to rule her little world, dad pretty much complies with the rules she creates (he wasn't allowed to come with her as her kingdom must be well looked after and a week is too long to leave it unattended) and suddenly she is here, I am the lady of the house and I don't rule, I exist. I leave husband to do his own thing, I don't plan meals in advance, I don't do things the way she does. We do trips and I breastfeed in public which shocks her, we are showing her England and the culture and she keeps explaining to me how she does things and clearly can not understand that it will not change my (or whole of England) ways. She expected me to still feel weak from childbirth (she had kids in her twenties, everyone did back then so I am a geriatric mother in her eyes, no matter how healthy and strong I obviously am), spending time at home, so our itinerary shocks her but she becomes a very keen tourist and observer. She makes me so proud!
There is a woman who, long ago, chose to be unhappy. She seems to look for the negatives on everything. I was constantly told how I should arrange the house and the garden, how the food could be cooked differently, how I should feed, bath and care for baby, my wardrobe was one big disapproval, too. She didn't want to see that the way we are and do things suit our family, that the way we deal with baby clearly works for us all. Maybe she suffered from the 'passing on knowledge symptom' but we never did that so why to start now?
She kept talking about her many many illnesses and issues, health problems are big part of her life. She collects illnesses like people collect stamps, she even seems disappointed when she doesn't have something that other people she knows have. She assumed I know most or all of her diagnoses since she mentioned them in the past but I lost count long ago. So I fed her all the things that were supposed to potentially kill her and yet nothing have happened. She clearly can digest garlic, dairy, strawberries and nuts and she clearly survives without exact meal times, checking of blood pressure three times a day and all kinds of herbal teas. But she did bring half of pharmacy with her, even the special pills case with compartments for each day of the week. She held to it like people hold to good luck charms. Long car drives didn't make her uncomfortable and she doesn't suffer from insomnia because I could hear her snoring every night. Observing my mother, a stranger in a way, made me think that happiness is our own choice. No matter how hard life is we make the choice how we deal with what comes our way. I deal with troubles when they approach me. She looks for them and sometimes goes out of her way to find them. Why is she like this I will never know.
So husband and I listened to her lists of possible improvements which will never happen and we heard how she does things or how she did things when I was a baby. We tried our best to accommodate her, to make her first big trip special and at the end we took her to the airport, and she was visibly twitching to be back in her own little world, to rule again. We were looking forward being our own little unit again with all the chaos that suits us. She saw her first grandchild and it made her very happy. Me and her didn't get any closer, didn't gain any understanding of one another which was to be expected and I am fine with it. I don't know if she is because we don't discuss feelings in our family - she knows exactly how we feel and explains it to us - one of the reason I left our family home early and traveled far...
Oh dear, I hope that the saying about women becoming replicas of their mothers is not true..... On the other hand, if I had a great mum who was my best friend, I would probably not be so keen to go, see the world, be adventurous, live life to the full, be independent. I might have wanted to stay close to her and everything would be different. So whether she wanted or not she made me who I am and there is a good chance that she is secretly proud of it.
Tuesday, 1 October 2013
Tuesday, 27 August 2013
Nappy here, nappy there, nappy everywhere
My life evolves around nappies. Do they need change/wash/ collect/ fold/ put on/ take off... Nappies. I like my terry nappies. I mainly use basic terry nappies, sometimes a muslin square or a bamboo nappy. We learned how to fold them so they sit comfortably, I wash them every 2 - 3 days, they dry easily, especially since we got our outdoor drier (the best thing we ever bought, seriously), they are perfect. My friends believe they are high maintenance but they are not. There is lots of laundry to do when we have a baby anyway, so the extra load every couple of days is nothing special. Some people asked me if baby suffers from nappy rash and I can say that so far we had no problems at all. Not even in the hot weather that we had this year. Years ago, when paper nappies were not a mainstream thing, when babies had nappy rash mothers were advised to use fabric nappies for a while. Nowadays thanks to powerful marketing it is the opposite: old fashion nappies are believed to cause it. Well, they don't, they are great and I feel good about consuming less, saving the environment and saving money. Having a baby is quite expensive anyway, however easy I am trying to make it.
And when explosive nappy emergency comes, no nappy will prevent it. Poo will get everywhere...
I had three so called s**t emergencies last week:
No1 - Baby was lying on its bouncy chair while I took a load of washed nappies out to dry. Baby was quiet and I thought proudly how my dear baby is growing. Only last week my escape to the garden to put the washing to dry was met with screams from the house. I finished outside, came in and saw a very happy baby on the chair. A suspiciously happy baby if you ask me. Baby lifted its leg and then I saw it: mustardy poo was overflowing from the nappy onto the nappy pants, dress, leg and even the chair. Baby looked very proud indeed. So I untangled it from the chair and holding it away from me hoping nothing more will spill I quickly moved upstairs and started the cleaning process. All that baby was wearing plus the towel it was lying on plus the chair cover needed to go for a wash (didn't I just finish a load? How am I supposed to be eco-friendly and wash only when I have got a full load? Well it was a full one, full of s**t I mean....). When I returned upstairs I found my child lying naked on the plastic changing mat swimming in wee. I didn't expect that. Where is all the waste coming from? So I quickly fetched a clean towel, wiped the still very happy baby and prepared a bath.
No 2 - Baby lies on the changing mat, this time on a towel. I take its clothes off to wash and change it for the day. I go to the closet to pick up an outfit, muse about how beautiful day we have and before I can pick anything I hear a familiar farting sound. I turn around to see my baby pooing happily on the edge of the mat. If it moved a centimeter it would shoot onto the carpet - lucky me. I quickly run to the baby so I prevent it from swimming in its poo or putting its hand in it - very lucky and I saved one nappy! So here we go, lets run a bath..
No 3 - What is better on a beautiful bank holiday weekend than a picnic? We are enjoying a possibly last summer picnic with our friends, sitting on a blanket near a river, sunbathing, I am breastfeeding, embodiment of an earth mother herself. Baby feeds nicely, then it farts once, twice.. It doesn't sound too suspicious so I don't want to disturb the feed. Moments later I want to adjust baby's position and as I slide my hand down I feel something warm on my fingers. I lift my hand and see the familiar mustardy consistency on my fingers. 'S**t emergency!' I call to my husband who has got a beer in his hand which he is unable/unwilling to put down and risk spilling so it takes all four of us to get the baby of my lap, spread out the changing mat and start the recovery mission. While we fuss around, the passing by dog walkers seem very amused, some of them probably congratulating themselves that they decided to have a dog instead of a baby and thus prevented their brains from melting because how difficult can it be to change a nappy? How difficult indeed....
Just to be clear: most of my nappy changes are very smooth and uneventful occasions. To be so lucky three days in a row is hopefully only a coincidence.
And when explosive nappy emergency comes, no nappy will prevent it. Poo will get everywhere...
I had three so called s**t emergencies last week:
No1 - Baby was lying on its bouncy chair while I took a load of washed nappies out to dry. Baby was quiet and I thought proudly how my dear baby is growing. Only last week my escape to the garden to put the washing to dry was met with screams from the house. I finished outside, came in and saw a very happy baby on the chair. A suspiciously happy baby if you ask me. Baby lifted its leg and then I saw it: mustardy poo was overflowing from the nappy onto the nappy pants, dress, leg and even the chair. Baby looked very proud indeed. So I untangled it from the chair and holding it away from me hoping nothing more will spill I quickly moved upstairs and started the cleaning process. All that baby was wearing plus the towel it was lying on plus the chair cover needed to go for a wash (didn't I just finish a load? How am I supposed to be eco-friendly and wash only when I have got a full load? Well it was a full one, full of s**t I mean....). When I returned upstairs I found my child lying naked on the plastic changing mat swimming in wee. I didn't expect that. Where is all the waste coming from? So I quickly fetched a clean towel, wiped the still very happy baby and prepared a bath.
No 2 - Baby lies on the changing mat, this time on a towel. I take its clothes off to wash and change it for the day. I go to the closet to pick up an outfit, muse about how beautiful day we have and before I can pick anything I hear a familiar farting sound. I turn around to see my baby pooing happily on the edge of the mat. If it moved a centimeter it would shoot onto the carpet - lucky me. I quickly run to the baby so I prevent it from swimming in its poo or putting its hand in it - very lucky and I saved one nappy! So here we go, lets run a bath..
No 3 - What is better on a beautiful bank holiday weekend than a picnic? We are enjoying a possibly last summer picnic with our friends, sitting on a blanket near a river, sunbathing, I am breastfeeding, embodiment of an earth mother herself. Baby feeds nicely, then it farts once, twice.. It doesn't sound too suspicious so I don't want to disturb the feed. Moments later I want to adjust baby's position and as I slide my hand down I feel something warm on my fingers. I lift my hand and see the familiar mustardy consistency on my fingers. 'S**t emergency!' I call to my husband who has got a beer in his hand which he is unable/unwilling to put down and risk spilling so it takes all four of us to get the baby of my lap, spread out the changing mat and start the recovery mission. While we fuss around, the passing by dog walkers seem very amused, some of them probably congratulating themselves that they decided to have a dog instead of a baby and thus prevented their brains from melting because how difficult can it be to change a nappy? How difficult indeed....
Just to be clear: most of my nappy changes are very smooth and uneventful occasions. To be so lucky three days in a row is hopefully only a coincidence.
Tuesday, 20 August 2013
The Art of Survival
Having baby made me a survivor. First I survived labour. I had a nice pregnancy, felt very prepared for my baby to be born, wasn't afraid and waited and waited and waited.... And then came the induction, the labour itself, the doctors and forceps and the biggest pain ever. But with it came great happiness and I survived.
Then I went on surviving not sleeping, constant breast feeding, cracked nipples, frustrated baby, growth spurts, mastitis, thrush, sore back, sore hips, sore everything and my new life, the new role, the new me - very much not me, just extension of the baby.
During last month I survived visits of my father in law, visit of my mother (that's the biggest surprise of all: that she came and that I survived it) and my husband and I are still surviving teething with second wave of non-sleeping.
We built up some sort of routine, baby slept much better but then came the tooth, and the next one... So we have got a light sleeper who hates day time naps, feeds a lot and grows teeth sooner than usual. And we (I) have to cope with it. I am in survival mode for most of this year. I am finding it difficult to put my thoughts and experiences into sentences. Baby isn't very happy about sharing me with my computer and writing. I carry on trying my best.
Husband and I bicker much more, we are both busy. I am full time mother, he is busy at work plus helping around. I didn't cook a meal since early April - evenings are about feeding for the night. But we do eat by the dining table again, as a family, with baby on his or my lap overseeing us. Our baby loves to socialize. Last weekend we hosted a barbeque and baby went from one arms to the next, bathing in affection. 'Does baby ever cry?' People asked me, jealous if they were mums of young kids themselves.
'Just come over when I am home alone, you will see.'
Baby cries when I try to put it down for a nap or for a sleep that it obviously needs. It cries when left alone while I am doing some home work or dare to visit bathroom. Baby knows what it wants and how to demand it. And I am getting better and better at surviving. Baby is a great personality and makes me immensely proud and happy, but there are moments when I wonder how do I manage and how will I manage, how much longer can I go on like this? But then again, lets see how far we came already. I am clearly better at surviving than I thought!!!!
Then I went on surviving not sleeping, constant breast feeding, cracked nipples, frustrated baby, growth spurts, mastitis, thrush, sore back, sore hips, sore everything and my new life, the new role, the new me - very much not me, just extension of the baby.
During last month I survived visits of my father in law, visit of my mother (that's the biggest surprise of all: that she came and that I survived it) and my husband and I are still surviving teething with second wave of non-sleeping.
We built up some sort of routine, baby slept much better but then came the tooth, and the next one... So we have got a light sleeper who hates day time naps, feeds a lot and grows teeth sooner than usual. And we (I) have to cope with it. I am in survival mode for most of this year. I am finding it difficult to put my thoughts and experiences into sentences. Baby isn't very happy about sharing me with my computer and writing. I carry on trying my best.
Husband and I bicker much more, we are both busy. I am full time mother, he is busy at work plus helping around. I didn't cook a meal since early April - evenings are about feeding for the night. But we do eat by the dining table again, as a family, with baby on his or my lap overseeing us. Our baby loves to socialize. Last weekend we hosted a barbeque and baby went from one arms to the next, bathing in affection. 'Does baby ever cry?' People asked me, jealous if they were mums of young kids themselves.
'Just come over when I am home alone, you will see.'
Baby cries when I try to put it down for a nap or for a sleep that it obviously needs. It cries when left alone while I am doing some home work or dare to visit bathroom. Baby knows what it wants and how to demand it. And I am getting better and better at surviving. Baby is a great personality and makes me immensely proud and happy, but there are moments when I wonder how do I manage and how will I manage, how much longer can I go on like this? But then again, lets see how far we came already. I am clearly better at surviving than I thought!!!!
Monday, 22 July 2013
The Art of Napping
My baby is having a day time nap! It happens once every couple of weeks - like a full moon. What to do with myself? Have a nap as I should myself? Do my hair or nails - finally! Write a blog? Make a cup of tea and follow twitter feed about royal baby? Oh, Kate, my thoughts are with you. Hope it will go well and you will enjoy motherhood. Hope you will not feel cheated that nobody warned you about all the things that happen once the baby arrives.
Baby fell a sleep at 1.30, I put it in the cot and started fixing my hair. It was the first time I would have nice wavy locks in about 5 months. I thought what color will I paint my toes. It will be second time I painted them in about 6 months.
At 1.50 there is a massive scream coming out of the cot. Baby just realized it was having the nap and got pissed off with itself for allowing it and with me for supporting the ridiculous idea. Baby hates naps! It fights off the night sleep for as long as it can, too. Husband and I hope that our baby is a genius in waiting as we read that very clever people need less sleep than the rest of us.
I calmed the pissed of baby and had to feed again. Growing spurt? Day feeds are not even an hour apart. Could be growing spurt, could be comfort (brace yourself duchess... but you will probably have plenty of helping hands around). The disturbed night sleep might indicate a growing spurt, too, as baby rewards busy days with some good night sleep, but not in the last two days.
Anyway, baby felt asleep again at the end of the feed, so I am waiting if it is another mistake in waiting or if I am in for a real treat. My hair is in rollers and I am going for french manicure on my toes! Yes! I still wouldn't dare to paint my hands, though. Apparently Beyonce had mani-pedi and her hair done for labor. I saw a documentary about her and was fascinated with her mother making sure her rollers were holding while she was in a hospital bed. Really??? Is Kate's hairdresser present now?
I scrambled my sweaty locks into a bun while pushing and puffing and didn't even dream about matching nail color, I gave up painting my toenails weeks before my due date due to discomfort.
Baby's asleep for half an hour, twitching occasionally. Am I in for a treat? I will only know too late. I am so glad I don't have to run around in the heat with a pram, trying to entertain baby! Will I be able to finish this post and paint the white tips on my toes?
Babies don't come with manuals and I can not plan my days. I am not sure how much time I will have for myself today but I am very sure I will not spend the time doing house work. Husband doesn't have to know, but he will be suspicious - if he notices my toenails and my nice hair of course. Men are wonderfully clueless when it comes to these things. Luckily, he wouldn't notice that I cleaned the windows, too, so I can skip the home work and pamper myself.
Baby does allow me to do the chores if it is in a good mood and allowed to watch and I am keeping contact while working. I put baby on a vibrating chair which offers good views, put it on a floor where it can see me and go on with cleaning while maintaining eye contact and bursting into songs and dance occasionally. If it works, I can clean the house like that. Sometimes I have to hoover with baby in a sling which is a good workout. Considering that I stopped loosing weight I take it as a bonus workout. Because working out is one thing baby doesn't like at all. When I try to exercise baby is not having any of it, even if I try the eye contact and entertainment going on. Strange. Clean my home but forget about doing something for yourself only, mother! Yes, I could exercise right now, but sitting down with a cup of tea and a computer is somehow much more exciting. Let me go on with the french toenails now.... I almost forgot how to do it and my nail polishes seem quite dry. I wonder why.
Baby fell a sleep at 1.30, I put it in the cot and started fixing my hair. It was the first time I would have nice wavy locks in about 5 months. I thought what color will I paint my toes. It will be second time I painted them in about 6 months.
At 1.50 there is a massive scream coming out of the cot. Baby just realized it was having the nap and got pissed off with itself for allowing it and with me for supporting the ridiculous idea. Baby hates naps! It fights off the night sleep for as long as it can, too. Husband and I hope that our baby is a genius in waiting as we read that very clever people need less sleep than the rest of us.
I calmed the pissed of baby and had to feed again. Growing spurt? Day feeds are not even an hour apart. Could be growing spurt, could be comfort (brace yourself duchess... but you will probably have plenty of helping hands around). The disturbed night sleep might indicate a growing spurt, too, as baby rewards busy days with some good night sleep, but not in the last two days.
Anyway, baby felt asleep again at the end of the feed, so I am waiting if it is another mistake in waiting or if I am in for a real treat. My hair is in rollers and I am going for french manicure on my toes! Yes! I still wouldn't dare to paint my hands, though. Apparently Beyonce had mani-pedi and her hair done for labor. I saw a documentary about her and was fascinated with her mother making sure her rollers were holding while she was in a hospital bed. Really??? Is Kate's hairdresser present now?
I scrambled my sweaty locks into a bun while pushing and puffing and didn't even dream about matching nail color, I gave up painting my toenails weeks before my due date due to discomfort.
Baby's asleep for half an hour, twitching occasionally. Am I in for a treat? I will only know too late. I am so glad I don't have to run around in the heat with a pram, trying to entertain baby! Will I be able to finish this post and paint the white tips on my toes?
Babies don't come with manuals and I can not plan my days. I am not sure how much time I will have for myself today but I am very sure I will not spend the time doing house work. Husband doesn't have to know, but he will be suspicious - if he notices my toenails and my nice hair of course. Men are wonderfully clueless when it comes to these things. Luckily, he wouldn't notice that I cleaned the windows, too, so I can skip the home work and pamper myself.
Baby does allow me to do the chores if it is in a good mood and allowed to watch and I am keeping contact while working. I put baby on a vibrating chair which offers good views, put it on a floor where it can see me and go on with cleaning while maintaining eye contact and bursting into songs and dance occasionally. If it works, I can clean the house like that. Sometimes I have to hoover with baby in a sling which is a good workout. Considering that I stopped loosing weight I take it as a bonus workout. Because working out is one thing baby doesn't like at all. When I try to exercise baby is not having any of it, even if I try the eye contact and entertainment going on. Strange. Clean my home but forget about doing something for yourself only, mother! Yes, I could exercise right now, but sitting down with a cup of tea and a computer is somehow much more exciting. Let me go on with the french toenails now.... I almost forgot how to do it and my nail polishes seem quite dry. I wonder why.
Saturday, 13 July 2013
The First Quarter
Baby is three months old, a quarter of a year - that's how long I am a mum. Before that I was pregnant, so 2013 is all about the new me. I am a new person.
ONE thing could be added to the long section of: why did nobody tell me? - my general shocks about motherhood. After the overload of information regarding pregnancy and labour I still feel like I am left in the dark. Last week I found out that mastitis can come back even to people like me with good established breastfeeding. My baby feeds well and grows like magic. And we can now be one of the smug parents who announce that their child sleeps through the night. Well, most nights, we had some issues probably due to the hot weather. But for many nights in the last 3 weeks my baby would fall a sleep between 10 and 11 and sleep till about 5. Miracle. I can not describe how I felt when it happened the first night. And sometimes baby can even add an extra nap between 6 and 9 but again, it can change due to the hot weather or general mood.
So I would wake up around 5 with heavy lactating breasts and wet top. And then, last Friday - on a very hot day - I woke up with fever, feeling achy and with tender left breast. I knew straight away what was going on, I had the same symptoms when baby was 2 weeks old and we were still learning how to breastfeed properly. But now baby feeds like a dream, there are no issues with latching, no stress. Yet thanks to the long sleep my body needs to adjust and clearly it didn't adjust straight away. I would expect it to happen in the first days not after few weeks of sleep. So what am I to do? I can not wake up without my baby waking me. I could express extra milk during the day (if there was any, we feed a lot during the day though) but how can a woman who haven't slept in moths wake up without a baby being hungry?
I did manage to put myself together. Luckily it was weekend and husband had to step up and help a lot. He wasn't very happy about it, he hoped to watch all of the sports and do some gardening but he was asked to do the changing and entertaining and walks plus the cooking and tiding up. I realized how much I actually do in the day. He assumed baby will be interested in sitting on his lap watching Top Gear while he has a beer. Well, not really Daddy!
I am fine again and hope that mastitis is gone for good. We are enjoying the summer and as I listen to the great expectations of the royal baby, I think about the past three months and I am glad they are over. I am glad my baby is getting bigger and its needs are changing. I am still pretty busy but I have got a clue, I am not afraid of handling the baby, I know how to feed, change and bath and my baby is finally used to the big world and enjoys exploring it. Newborns are cute and so innocent but they are very hard work. Sure, Kate will have enough people around for help and support, but she will also have to get used to herself, her new body and new persona. Three months after the birth I feel I am getting in touch with my new body and new me. I will not go back to pre-baby me, but I fell like a person again and I have a great sense of achievement. I am busy, but finally not too busy to notice I am happy.
ONE thing could be added to the long section of: why did nobody tell me? - my general shocks about motherhood. After the overload of information regarding pregnancy and labour I still feel like I am left in the dark. Last week I found out that mastitis can come back even to people like me with good established breastfeeding. My baby feeds well and grows like magic. And we can now be one of the smug parents who announce that their child sleeps through the night. Well, most nights, we had some issues probably due to the hot weather. But for many nights in the last 3 weeks my baby would fall a sleep between 10 and 11 and sleep till about 5. Miracle. I can not describe how I felt when it happened the first night. And sometimes baby can even add an extra nap between 6 and 9 but again, it can change due to the hot weather or general mood.
So I would wake up around 5 with heavy lactating breasts and wet top. And then, last Friday - on a very hot day - I woke up with fever, feeling achy and with tender left breast. I knew straight away what was going on, I had the same symptoms when baby was 2 weeks old and we were still learning how to breastfeed properly. But now baby feeds like a dream, there are no issues with latching, no stress. Yet thanks to the long sleep my body needs to adjust and clearly it didn't adjust straight away. I would expect it to happen in the first days not after few weeks of sleep. So what am I to do? I can not wake up without my baby waking me. I could express extra milk during the day (if there was any, we feed a lot during the day though) but how can a woman who haven't slept in moths wake up without a baby being hungry?
I did manage to put myself together. Luckily it was weekend and husband had to step up and help a lot. He wasn't very happy about it, he hoped to watch all of the sports and do some gardening but he was asked to do the changing and entertaining and walks plus the cooking and tiding up. I realized how much I actually do in the day. He assumed baby will be interested in sitting on his lap watching Top Gear while he has a beer. Well, not really Daddy!
I am fine again and hope that mastitis is gone for good. We are enjoying the summer and as I listen to the great expectations of the royal baby, I think about the past three months and I am glad they are over. I am glad my baby is getting bigger and its needs are changing. I am still pretty busy but I have got a clue, I am not afraid of handling the baby, I know how to feed, change and bath and my baby is finally used to the big world and enjoys exploring it. Newborns are cute and so innocent but they are very hard work. Sure, Kate will have enough people around for help and support, but she will also have to get used to herself, her new body and new persona. Three months after the birth I feel I am getting in touch with my new body and new me. I will not go back to pre-baby me, but I fell like a person again and I have a great sense of achievement. I am busy, but finally not too busy to notice I am happy.
Thursday, 20 June 2013
Officially.... The Worst Mother....Ever!!!!!
'Don't beat yourself up love, it happened to all of us. You're not the first and not the last, believe me.' The nurse at children s' A&E was friendly, sympathetic and put me at ease. My baby was at ease already, watching intently the new place and procedures. The nurse examined my baby and took us to a separated booth because we didn't yet have our immunizations. There, I could breathe again while waiting for the doctor.
What happened? Basically, I have been an absolute idiot, that is what happened. I had a perfect day with baby, we were doing great, and in the late afternoon I wanted to go for a quick walk and buy some bread and milk... So I put baby in the pram and take the pram out. We have few steps at the front of our house and I learned already how to take the pram down safely with the baby in it (in the first weeks I would take the pram down first, then bring the baby; bit fussy and demanding plus complicated upon return when baby usually cries and when taken in the house expects a feed immediately, not being put away and me leaving to sort the pram...).
So normally, I will take the pram out the front door, turn it so it is facing to the side, away from the stairs and keep my hand on the handle while reaching for the door to close and lock. Simple, normal, I did it like that without thinking day after day.
Why didn't I do the same this time? Why did I loose my guard? Why did I not use my brain? I honestly can not tell. Maybe having such a good day made me too confident, made me to forget. Maybe my stupidity took over.
I let the pram face the stairs. I let go of the handle as I reached for the door. For a second the pram stood freely. Then it started to move. Slowly and swiftly it went down the stair and I watched as it felt on its side and my baby rolled out of it and ended on the edge of the stair and rolled onto the next where it stayed hanging. My darling baby looked so small, helpless and precious, all I could do was to watch as it happened. I noticed how tiny my baby really is. It sort of curled itself into a ball and for a moment I thought: it is over. I killed my baby, I lost the most precious thing in the world, the dearest being to me and it is all my fault.
Baby started screaming almost immediately and I rushed down and took baby in my arms. Baby seemed shocked, surprised and cried but there was nothing visibly wrong. I cried out loud for my husband and rushed back to the door. Husband could hear me and knew something was really wrong as this wasn't my usual voice. We took baby home, husband picked the pram and to my great surprise he was calm, encouraging and wasn't angry with me in the slightest. I must admit that if it was him who have done it, I would probably not be as nice to him. It just showed me how great person he is, no matter how frustrated I can get with husband sometimes, he is the best partner I can wish for and he is able to love me and support me when I almost killed his baby.
I knew straight away we have to go to the hospital and husband agreed but wanted to go inside first and make sure baby is fine. There was nothing, no bruise, no cut, baby was just upset, looking at me with a shock in its eyes and crying again. I am sure it could feel the panic in me. I picked red book and changing bag, we got the car seat ready and left for hospital. I sat at the back with baby, holding its hand, looking intently for any signs of head injury, thinking about internal bleeding, concussion, and about social services taking our baby away from us. I started to shake and the episode kept playing over and over again in my head.
We waited at the A&E and as I said the nurse was sympathetic and didn't find anything wrong. But according to the protocol we needed to be checked by a doctor, then a pediatrician who would decide what will happen afterwards. So there were three sets of people who asked me what happened, three sets of people plus a pediatric nurse who listened to the story of my stupidity and idiocy. They didn't seem judgmental at all. They all probably saw worse cases then us. But it couldn't make me feel any better. I have done some stupid things in my life, but I never felt so horrible. How could I let my baby down like this? How could I be so careless towards the person I love most in the whole world?
It was a long evening. Baby seemed more and more like normal itself as the surprise washed over, it seemed amused by all the fuss around. Every doctor and nurse considered our baby healthy and fine. Every one of them asked if baby was strapped in the pram and I always had to answer: no.
I always assumed that safety straps in the pram are there to be used when the baby is mobile, to prevent it from falling out of the pram. I didn't realize they are there to prevent my baby from me!
We returned home with instructions on what to look for and a phone number to the children's ward. Baby was fine, I was sleeping lightly, making sure baby is sleeping, anxiously waiting if it will wake up for its night feed as usually.
Nothing happened, night was quiet, baby didn't develop any complications, not a slightest bruise. Baby doesn't even remember what happened a week ago. I was the one left traumatized. The fall is burned in my memory, it keeps coming back. I still feel incredibly guilty. It took me four days to brave a trip out with the pram and I wanted husband to be there and see that I behave responsibly. He didn't really understand why I insist on that, he was busy with other things, for a change he seemed to me like absolute ass, and the anger helped me to get down the stairs swiftly and walk all of the emotions off. Parenting is a challenge, but I never realized how much of a challenge it can be. I learned my lesson, baby is always strapped in and the pram (a little bit scratched now) is never left facing the stairs or without me holding it. Husband has something to hold upon me, to remind me when I seem to be too righteous, the episode is slowly becoming a little legend we can share between us with a smile. We were lucky. Babies are much tougher than they seem to be, a midwife told me that after my baby was born and she was very right. However, it is not an excuse for us, we shouldn't loose our guard while taking care of them.
Why do I write this? To remind all new parents to be really careful, it takes a second for an accident to happen. And, paradoxically, I feel an urge to talk it through, get this episode of my chest and somehow it is easier to share it with random strangers on the net than with my mother (oh she would be crossed with me for doing that to her only grandchild!) or friends. People will probably judge me, but they are strangers, they will not remind me about it or pass the story on to other people to prove how bad a mother I am. Nobody can make me feel worse than I already feel. My baby is fine and doing great, it is all that matters to me anyway.
What happened? Basically, I have been an absolute idiot, that is what happened. I had a perfect day with baby, we were doing great, and in the late afternoon I wanted to go for a quick walk and buy some bread and milk... So I put baby in the pram and take the pram out. We have few steps at the front of our house and I learned already how to take the pram down safely with the baby in it (in the first weeks I would take the pram down first, then bring the baby; bit fussy and demanding plus complicated upon return when baby usually cries and when taken in the house expects a feed immediately, not being put away and me leaving to sort the pram...).
So normally, I will take the pram out the front door, turn it so it is facing to the side, away from the stairs and keep my hand on the handle while reaching for the door to close and lock. Simple, normal, I did it like that without thinking day after day.
Why didn't I do the same this time? Why did I loose my guard? Why did I not use my brain? I honestly can not tell. Maybe having such a good day made me too confident, made me to forget. Maybe my stupidity took over.
I let the pram face the stairs. I let go of the handle as I reached for the door. For a second the pram stood freely. Then it started to move. Slowly and swiftly it went down the stair and I watched as it felt on its side and my baby rolled out of it and ended on the edge of the stair and rolled onto the next where it stayed hanging. My darling baby looked so small, helpless and precious, all I could do was to watch as it happened. I noticed how tiny my baby really is. It sort of curled itself into a ball and for a moment I thought: it is over. I killed my baby, I lost the most precious thing in the world, the dearest being to me and it is all my fault.
Baby started screaming almost immediately and I rushed down and took baby in my arms. Baby seemed shocked, surprised and cried but there was nothing visibly wrong. I cried out loud for my husband and rushed back to the door. Husband could hear me and knew something was really wrong as this wasn't my usual voice. We took baby home, husband picked the pram and to my great surprise he was calm, encouraging and wasn't angry with me in the slightest. I must admit that if it was him who have done it, I would probably not be as nice to him. It just showed me how great person he is, no matter how frustrated I can get with husband sometimes, he is the best partner I can wish for and he is able to love me and support me when I almost killed his baby.
I knew straight away we have to go to the hospital and husband agreed but wanted to go inside first and make sure baby is fine. There was nothing, no bruise, no cut, baby was just upset, looking at me with a shock in its eyes and crying again. I am sure it could feel the panic in me. I picked red book and changing bag, we got the car seat ready and left for hospital. I sat at the back with baby, holding its hand, looking intently for any signs of head injury, thinking about internal bleeding, concussion, and about social services taking our baby away from us. I started to shake and the episode kept playing over and over again in my head.
We waited at the A&E and as I said the nurse was sympathetic and didn't find anything wrong. But according to the protocol we needed to be checked by a doctor, then a pediatrician who would decide what will happen afterwards. So there were three sets of people who asked me what happened, three sets of people plus a pediatric nurse who listened to the story of my stupidity and idiocy. They didn't seem judgmental at all. They all probably saw worse cases then us. But it couldn't make me feel any better. I have done some stupid things in my life, but I never felt so horrible. How could I let my baby down like this? How could I be so careless towards the person I love most in the whole world?
It was a long evening. Baby seemed more and more like normal itself as the surprise washed over, it seemed amused by all the fuss around. Every doctor and nurse considered our baby healthy and fine. Every one of them asked if baby was strapped in the pram and I always had to answer: no.
I always assumed that safety straps in the pram are there to be used when the baby is mobile, to prevent it from falling out of the pram. I didn't realize they are there to prevent my baby from me!
We returned home with instructions on what to look for and a phone number to the children's ward. Baby was fine, I was sleeping lightly, making sure baby is sleeping, anxiously waiting if it will wake up for its night feed as usually.
Nothing happened, night was quiet, baby didn't develop any complications, not a slightest bruise. Baby doesn't even remember what happened a week ago. I was the one left traumatized. The fall is burned in my memory, it keeps coming back. I still feel incredibly guilty. It took me four days to brave a trip out with the pram and I wanted husband to be there and see that I behave responsibly. He didn't really understand why I insist on that, he was busy with other things, for a change he seemed to me like absolute ass, and the anger helped me to get down the stairs swiftly and walk all of the emotions off. Parenting is a challenge, but I never realized how much of a challenge it can be. I learned my lesson, baby is always strapped in and the pram (a little bit scratched now) is never left facing the stairs or without me holding it. Husband has something to hold upon me, to remind me when I seem to be too righteous, the episode is slowly becoming a little legend we can share between us with a smile. We were lucky. Babies are much tougher than they seem to be, a midwife told me that after my baby was born and she was very right. However, it is not an excuse for us, we shouldn't loose our guard while taking care of them.
Why do I write this? To remind all new parents to be really careful, it takes a second for an accident to happen. And, paradoxically, I feel an urge to talk it through, get this episode of my chest and somehow it is easier to share it with random strangers on the net than with my mother (oh she would be crossed with me for doing that to her only grandchild!) or friends. People will probably judge me, but they are strangers, they will not remind me about it or pass the story on to other people to prove how bad a mother I am. Nobody can make me feel worse than I already feel. My baby is fine and doing great, it is all that matters to me anyway.
Sunday, 9 June 2013
About my baby
As I am writing my frustrated parenting updates I talk about my baby. I don't specify the sex, mention its name and I am one of very few mothers who didn't update any cute baby photos anywhere - not in the blog, on my twitter, facebook, nowhere. Why is it?
I decided to share my thoughts and feelings online mainly thanks to my writing. It was my decision to go online and share my life with the world. My baby didn't choose any of this. So I decided it will be only fair not to involve the baby more than necessary. The important thing is: I am a mother of a beautiful and healthy baby. One day, when the baby is ready, it will have its own identity online. Until then I will mention the child in my posts, because it is impossible not to - I would have nothing to write about, my life at the moment is only about mothering, nothing else is going on. But this is still a blog about me - us.
I refer to my husband as 'husband' for the same reason. I can not not mention him when I write about my personal life, but again, it was my choice to blog, not his. If he wishes (and I so wish he did!) he can start his own online ranting blog and reveal himself. But he is too busy watching whatever instead - probably cricket or surfing.
Husband read my blog though and was quite surprised. Apparently I sound like a negative person, it isn't clear if I really enjoy motherhood. Also, I speak so much about myself and so little about the baby. Well why not? It is my blog and I want to let the world know how I feel as a mother. I could talk endlessly about the beauty of my baby's eyes, about the quiet moments we share, about the love I feel for my baby, about its absolute geniality and uniqueness. But this blog is me as a mother - tired, sometimes frustrated with the transition and the loss of individuality. Suddenly a normal thing like brushing my teeth and doing my hair feels like an enormously selfish thing to do. And I do miss being myself sometimes. When my baby demands constant attention, I do believe I would be much better mother if I could have a little bit time to myself, that's all. I am not sorry I have got a baby and I do not regret it, I am just sometimes overwhelmed and my blog allows me to say it and hope that some day someone will comment and say: you are not a horrible person for saying that, I can understand you.
But baby is growing. We passed the 8 weeks and 5 kilos in weight. And we are doing well. Mostly, there is the spark in baby's eyes, the interest in the world around, the recognition when husband or I approach, the search for my presence when a stranger holds my baby or when we are in an unknown place or situation. Baby started to smile around the third or fourth week but now baby smiles first, not to copy us, but to communicate. And it feels great, it is my reward for the tough first weeks. And now it doesn't feel as tough, now, although I am still sleep deprived and breastfeed a lot and have little chance to do anything else, I am certain I could do it again, I am much more confident. The confidence in me as a parent didn't arrive because people around me recognized my hard work or because my baby established a routine and I found myself again. The confidence came with the smiles, with the little steps of progress I notice day after day. Baby is different every time I look at it. When my baby smiles at me and knows it will be picked up and taken care of by me, when it looks at me with amusement and curiosity and trust, when it seems entirely happy, I know I managed to take care of my baby, I know that I helped my baby in the transition to the big wide world and that my baby sees this world as a good, safe and fun place. And although I am not done with mothering and there is lots of work ahead of us, I am confident in myself, I know that I can do it and I really enjoy it, it is a job that makes perfect sense to me and it is the most rewarding job ever.
I decided to share my thoughts and feelings online mainly thanks to my writing. It was my decision to go online and share my life with the world. My baby didn't choose any of this. So I decided it will be only fair not to involve the baby more than necessary. The important thing is: I am a mother of a beautiful and healthy baby. One day, when the baby is ready, it will have its own identity online. Until then I will mention the child in my posts, because it is impossible not to - I would have nothing to write about, my life at the moment is only about mothering, nothing else is going on. But this is still a blog about me - us.
I refer to my husband as 'husband' for the same reason. I can not not mention him when I write about my personal life, but again, it was my choice to blog, not his. If he wishes (and I so wish he did!) he can start his own online ranting blog and reveal himself. But he is too busy watching whatever instead - probably cricket or surfing.
Husband read my blog though and was quite surprised. Apparently I sound like a negative person, it isn't clear if I really enjoy motherhood. Also, I speak so much about myself and so little about the baby. Well why not? It is my blog and I want to let the world know how I feel as a mother. I could talk endlessly about the beauty of my baby's eyes, about the quiet moments we share, about the love I feel for my baby, about its absolute geniality and uniqueness. But this blog is me as a mother - tired, sometimes frustrated with the transition and the loss of individuality. Suddenly a normal thing like brushing my teeth and doing my hair feels like an enormously selfish thing to do. And I do miss being myself sometimes. When my baby demands constant attention, I do believe I would be much better mother if I could have a little bit time to myself, that's all. I am not sorry I have got a baby and I do not regret it, I am just sometimes overwhelmed and my blog allows me to say it and hope that some day someone will comment and say: you are not a horrible person for saying that, I can understand you.
But baby is growing. We passed the 8 weeks and 5 kilos in weight. And we are doing well. Mostly, there is the spark in baby's eyes, the interest in the world around, the recognition when husband or I approach, the search for my presence when a stranger holds my baby or when we are in an unknown place or situation. Baby started to smile around the third or fourth week but now baby smiles first, not to copy us, but to communicate. And it feels great, it is my reward for the tough first weeks. And now it doesn't feel as tough, now, although I am still sleep deprived and breastfeed a lot and have little chance to do anything else, I am certain I could do it again, I am much more confident. The confidence in me as a parent didn't arrive because people around me recognized my hard work or because my baby established a routine and I found myself again. The confidence came with the smiles, with the little steps of progress I notice day after day. Baby is different every time I look at it. When my baby smiles at me and knows it will be picked up and taken care of by me, when it looks at me with amusement and curiosity and trust, when it seems entirely happy, I know I managed to take care of my baby, I know that I helped my baby in the transition to the big wide world and that my baby sees this world as a good, safe and fun place. And although I am not done with mothering and there is lots of work ahead of us, I am confident in myself, I know that I can do it and I really enjoy it, it is a job that makes perfect sense to me and it is the most rewarding job ever.
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