So my darling daughter is now 9 months old. And I have to say, despite her sudden attachment to me and having to know where I am every second, she's really beginning to develop quite the little personality. She can now clap and will sit there and start randomly clapping before laughing her head off like her hands coming together is the funniest thing in the world. She will wave bye-bye if someone else does. She LOVES her touchy-feely books and knocking over her tower of stacking cups. And boy can she babble. When she's in a great mood, she's all da-da and na-na and ba-ba. Rarely do I get a happy 'mama', that's reserved for grizzling cos she wants mummy to make whatever is wrong better again.
She's got the rolling thing down to an art, which means we better have everything we need for a nappy change beforehand (I change her on the sofa because I have a tendency to get tendonitis in my knee from kneeling on the floor) otherwise she'll gleefully test your reflexes by attempting to pitch herself sideways off the edge of the sofa the moment she thinks you're not paying attention.
However now that she can get herself onto her tummy, you'd expect for her to start playing around with the crawling thing. And she is, kind of. She's one of those kids who is AWESOME at pushing herself backwards with her arms. But of course that leads to screams of frustration as the object she was trying to grab is suddenly even further away than it was before. She just can't seem to grasp the idea that she needs to push off with her knees - she keeps trying to get up on her toes and push off with her feet. And this is despite myself and her daddy demonstrating and even helping her get up onto her knees. As soon as she tries to move, her knees slide out from under her and she winds up back on her tummy, whining in frustration.
If I stand her up in front of the couch however and let her lean on it, she can stay standing and has excellent balance. Which leads me to believe that she may just skip the crawling thing and go straight to cruising along the furniture, because she seems so much happier and comfortable on her feet than she does on her tummy. I'm going to keep trying to provide opportunities for her to crawl, but I'm equally going to let her stand against the chairs and couches to practice her standing/walking.
For the most part, aside from the clingyness, she's a happy, playful, squirmy, ticklish, fun little girl. When hubby brings her to me before he has to go to work in the morning she'll play a silly little game where she rolls onto her stomach on my bed before flinging herself back onto her back and giggling. It's moment's like this I'll treasure when she gets too big for that sort of silliness.
Oh and she LOVES music and loves to dance with her daddy. And by dance I mean he sets her on his hip and then sways back and forth with her. It makes her laugh and she gets so excited by it. Not to mention when he finishes work for the day and walks into the living room, her eyes light up and she lets out an excited "Da-da!". She loves her daddy. And I suppose she loves me too, even though sometimes I feel a little smothered by her love and need for me.
But then, that's what being a mummy is all about.
Dinner time for the darling girl. Mashed potato and beef bolagnaise. Yummy. Hopefully most of it winds up IN her mouth rather than around it. It's adorable she wants to feed herself, but her hand-eye coordination is still a little spotty at times. Still, it's giving me ample fodder for her 21st birthday photo board.
Sneaky mummy, signing off.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Let It Go
Let's face it. Let It Go is probably the most annoying song currently in existence. It's been copied, parodied and just straight played to hell and back. If you haven't heard of it, consider yourself lucky.
Having said that though, despite mothers (and fathers) everywhere wanting to resurrect Disney and kill him again for his company unleashing this upon the world, it's actually a pretty good song. Listen to it. It's all about taking everything bad that's happened in the past, all the attitudes that one could consider 'toxic' "Don't let them in, don't let them see," (cos hey, repression ALWAYS works...not) and just, slamming the door on them.
Ok yeah I know, easier said than done. Whether we like it or not, our pasts are an intimate part of who we are. It's what's helped shape us, what's brought us to whatever point we're at in our lives. And that's all well and good, but lately I've come to realize that there are parts of my past that I really really need to let go of. Because instead of shaping me, instead of pushing me forward, they're trying to trap me in the same old cycle, keep me locked in the old status quo.
I'm looking at you, Inner Voice.
You know who you are. You've been a constant companion of mine since my teenage years, helping me to steer clear of danger and stay on the responsible, respectable path (with a few minor exceptions in the few times I ignored you). You're the champion worrier who keeps me in line by envisioning the worst case scenarios in graphic detail, for every possible outcome. You're the one who convinces me that things are too hard and why don't I go do something easier instead? Like playing a game. You're the one who whispers dark thoughts in my mind about how I'm selfish for wanting time to myself.
And it just has to stop.
Enough is enough. I am not that girl any more. Yeah sure, some parts of her are still here and probably always will be (the night-owl tendencies, the vivid imagination and love of anime spring to mind here). But I'm a grown woman now with a child of my own. How can I raise her without rigid expectations if I cannot escape the ones that seem to have wound themselves around my life and even now stifle and choke my ambition with fear. Fear of failure, fear that I just won't be good enough.
It's time to let you go. Consider this your final eviction notice.
Cos you know what? Yeah, sometimes things aren't easy. And hey, I can't be perfect all the time, who can? And yeah, sometimes I am going to fail, and it is going to suck. But I can't grow as person with you constantly looming over my shoulder and whispering in my ear. Because each failure is a learning opportunity to figure out how to do things better. Perfection is overrated and to be completely honest, totally unachievable because honestly? What the hell IS perfect? And adversity builds character.
My husband gave me a quote tonight which I felt was rather apt:
"What's the difference between a master and a beginner? The master has failed more times than the beginner has even tried."
It's time for me to become the master of my own life. It's time for me to shut you out, slam the door on your nay-saying and start damn trying. And if fail? Well I'll deal with that when the time comes.
It's time for me to let go. I don't know where this path will take me, but if I don't take that first step I'll never have the chance to find out.
So leave me alone. I've got a novel to write for Nanowrimo and I'm already a week behind.
"It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small
And the fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all
Up here in the cold thin air I finally can breathe
I know I left a life behind but I'm too relieved to grieve."
Having said that though, despite mothers (and fathers) everywhere wanting to resurrect Disney and kill him again for his company unleashing this upon the world, it's actually a pretty good song. Listen to it. It's all about taking everything bad that's happened in the past, all the attitudes that one could consider 'toxic' "Don't let them in, don't let them see," (cos hey, repression ALWAYS works...not) and just, slamming the door on them.
Ok yeah I know, easier said than done. Whether we like it or not, our pasts are an intimate part of who we are. It's what's helped shape us, what's brought us to whatever point we're at in our lives. And that's all well and good, but lately I've come to realize that there are parts of my past that I really really need to let go of. Because instead of shaping me, instead of pushing me forward, they're trying to trap me in the same old cycle, keep me locked in the old status quo.
I'm looking at you, Inner Voice.
You know who you are. You've been a constant companion of mine since my teenage years, helping me to steer clear of danger and stay on the responsible, respectable path (with a few minor exceptions in the few times I ignored you). You're the champion worrier who keeps me in line by envisioning the worst case scenarios in graphic detail, for every possible outcome. You're the one who convinces me that things are too hard and why don't I go do something easier instead? Like playing a game. You're the one who whispers dark thoughts in my mind about how I'm selfish for wanting time to myself.
And it just has to stop.
Enough is enough. I am not that girl any more. Yeah sure, some parts of her are still here and probably always will be (the night-owl tendencies, the vivid imagination and love of anime spring to mind here). But I'm a grown woman now with a child of my own. How can I raise her without rigid expectations if I cannot escape the ones that seem to have wound themselves around my life and even now stifle and choke my ambition with fear. Fear of failure, fear that I just won't be good enough.
It's time to let you go. Consider this your final eviction notice.
Cos you know what? Yeah, sometimes things aren't easy. And hey, I can't be perfect all the time, who can? And yeah, sometimes I am going to fail, and it is going to suck. But I can't grow as person with you constantly looming over my shoulder and whispering in my ear. Because each failure is a learning opportunity to figure out how to do things better. Perfection is overrated and to be completely honest, totally unachievable because honestly? What the hell IS perfect? And adversity builds character.
My husband gave me a quote tonight which I felt was rather apt:
"What's the difference between a master and a beginner? The master has failed more times than the beginner has even tried."
It's time for me to become the master of my own life. It's time for me to shut you out, slam the door on your nay-saying and start damn trying. And if fail? Well I'll deal with that when the time comes.
It's time for me to let go. I don't know where this path will take me, but if I don't take that first step I'll never have the chance to find out.
So leave me alone. I've got a novel to write for Nanowrimo and I'm already a week behind.
"It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small
And the fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all
Up here in the cold thin air I finally can breathe
I know I left a life behind but I'm too relieved to grieve."
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Rolling and Teething and Sleep Regression...Oh my...
I've found that when I talk to other parents and ask them when their precious one started sleeping through the night, I will get a vast range of answers. Some lucky souls had babies who started sleeping in 5hr stretches at 5 weeks of age. Others lament that their darling had trouble sleeping right into toddlerhood.
My daughter was a strange one. Initially she would only sleep for a maximum of 3 hours at a time in her bassinet, but if she was co-sleeping with me in my bed she would sleep 6 hours overnight. As she got older we gently nudged her out of our bed and into her own full-time. And that was ok, she still wasn't the greatest napper, but she would sleep for 2-3 hours at a stretch, particularly if she had a good feed beforehand. And overnight she eventually stretched to 8-9 hours. Which was awesome.
Then we hit 4 months of age and EVERYTHING seemed to go to hell in a hand-basket. All of a sudden, my little angel who had been such a good sleeper started refusing to go down for naps, crying the moment I popped her into her bassinet. And she started wanting night feeds again, at precisely 4am. Which led to a very tired, very frustrated mummy because she was hell to get back down after that feed. And then still wanting to get up at 7am.
So after finding myself at the very end of my rope, with fatigue causing me to start resenting this beautiful baby girl of mine, I started trawling the internet for possible explanations and solutions for this latest development.
And from what I could garner from medical and pediatric sites was that my daughter had hit the dreaded 4 month sleep regression. This was where she no longer fell asleep as easily as she used to because her sleep now has more distinct stages reminiscent of adult sleep. And because she was used to being near me to fall asleep, it meant when she woke up, she was looking for me to help her get back to sleep again and when she couldn't, she'd wake up fully. Plus to compound this, she also started teething so she wasn't a very happy camper when she was awake.
The teething eventually settled down, but the sleeping got worse, to the point where she wouldn't stay down for more than 20mins. Which of course led to her being grizzly and overtired by the end of the night. And of course the cycle would just continue again the next day, with there being absolutely nothing I could do about it. Or so it seemed.
Reading blog articles by other mums, I eventually happened across the Sleep Sense Program by Dana Obleman. And what it is, is a series of techniques that you can use to 'sleep train' your child. And by sleep train, they mean teaching your child that sleep is a safe and wonderful thing, as well as giving them the tools they need to be able to settle themselves in the instance when they wake during the night.
The biggest thing for me was establishing a bedtime routine. Up until that point I had been waiting until my lovely daughter had been showing tired signs and then trying to get her to go to bed. But her biggest problem with that method was that she had no real way of differentiating this end of day sleep with any other nap. So she'd wake up 2 or 3 hours later. I put together a simple routine that involved a bath, getting into pajamas and then a bottle, followed by being put down in her big cot (instead of in the bassinet). The reason I started using the cot was because I wanted to create an association between it and sleep, the theory being that once that association was established, it would be easier to get her to nap in there as well. I also introduced a new sleep prop - a blankie - to replace me.
The first three nights were hard. I had to sit in the room and wait for her to fall asleep, softly reassuring her if she cried. It wasn't a cry-it-out method by any stretch of the imagination because I was sitting there listening to her cry. And for the most part, it was really just grizzling, on the couple of occasions where she got really upset, I would pick her up and cuddle her, reassuring her that she was safe and loved, before putting her back down to try again. And eventually she would sleep. For 6-7 hours, instead of 2-3.
On the 4th night, I popped her down in the cot, handed her her blankie and she immediately rolled onto her side, snuggled into it and closed her eyes. She didn't even so much as grizzle. And within minutes she was sound asleep. I've been following this routine ever since and now she starts rubbing her eyes the moment she gets in the bath. Bedtime varies depending on how well she naps during the day and when her last nap is. If she's napped well her bedtime is between 6-7pm. If she hasn't napped well I bring her bedtime forward to between 5-6pm. And it seems to have worked. She's even started dropping the 4am feeds (hallelujah!) and sleeps right through till about 7am. Yes, occasionally she'll wake up and grizzle a bit but I've learned to leave her for about 10 minutes and usually within 5 minutes or so she'll have put herself back to sleep. She'll only keep grizzling if she's REALLY awake and REALLY hungry. In which case I get up, give her a bottle and then pop her back to bed. And once again she'll go straight back to sleep until 7am.
So I guess I'm just really fortunate because I found something that works for my daughter. She obviously likes having the consistency and predictability of her bedtime routine because she knows that bath is followed by getting into her pj's and then a bottle. And then bed. Leaving me precious time in the evening to catch up on other things. Like writing. And video games.
Hey we all need a hobby.
My daughter was a strange one. Initially she would only sleep for a maximum of 3 hours at a time in her bassinet, but if she was co-sleeping with me in my bed she would sleep 6 hours overnight. As she got older we gently nudged her out of our bed and into her own full-time. And that was ok, she still wasn't the greatest napper, but she would sleep for 2-3 hours at a stretch, particularly if she had a good feed beforehand. And overnight she eventually stretched to 8-9 hours. Which was awesome.
Then we hit 4 months of age and EVERYTHING seemed to go to hell in a hand-basket. All of a sudden, my little angel who had been such a good sleeper started refusing to go down for naps, crying the moment I popped her into her bassinet. And she started wanting night feeds again, at precisely 4am. Which led to a very tired, very frustrated mummy because she was hell to get back down after that feed. And then still wanting to get up at 7am.
So after finding myself at the very end of my rope, with fatigue causing me to start resenting this beautiful baby girl of mine, I started trawling the internet for possible explanations and solutions for this latest development.
And from what I could garner from medical and pediatric sites was that my daughter had hit the dreaded 4 month sleep regression. This was where she no longer fell asleep as easily as she used to because her sleep now has more distinct stages reminiscent of adult sleep. And because she was used to being near me to fall asleep, it meant when she woke up, she was looking for me to help her get back to sleep again and when she couldn't, she'd wake up fully. Plus to compound this, she also started teething so she wasn't a very happy camper when she was awake.
The teething eventually settled down, but the sleeping got worse, to the point where she wouldn't stay down for more than 20mins. Which of course led to her being grizzly and overtired by the end of the night. And of course the cycle would just continue again the next day, with there being absolutely nothing I could do about it. Or so it seemed.
Reading blog articles by other mums, I eventually happened across the Sleep Sense Program by Dana Obleman. And what it is, is a series of techniques that you can use to 'sleep train' your child. And by sleep train, they mean teaching your child that sleep is a safe and wonderful thing, as well as giving them the tools they need to be able to settle themselves in the instance when they wake during the night.
The biggest thing for me was establishing a bedtime routine. Up until that point I had been waiting until my lovely daughter had been showing tired signs and then trying to get her to go to bed. But her biggest problem with that method was that she had no real way of differentiating this end of day sleep with any other nap. So she'd wake up 2 or 3 hours later. I put together a simple routine that involved a bath, getting into pajamas and then a bottle, followed by being put down in her big cot (instead of in the bassinet). The reason I started using the cot was because I wanted to create an association between it and sleep, the theory being that once that association was established, it would be easier to get her to nap in there as well. I also introduced a new sleep prop - a blankie - to replace me.
The first three nights were hard. I had to sit in the room and wait for her to fall asleep, softly reassuring her if she cried. It wasn't a cry-it-out method by any stretch of the imagination because I was sitting there listening to her cry. And for the most part, it was really just grizzling, on the couple of occasions where she got really upset, I would pick her up and cuddle her, reassuring her that she was safe and loved, before putting her back down to try again. And eventually she would sleep. For 6-7 hours, instead of 2-3.
On the 4th night, I popped her down in the cot, handed her her blankie and she immediately rolled onto her side, snuggled into it and closed her eyes. She didn't even so much as grizzle. And within minutes she was sound asleep. I've been following this routine ever since and now she starts rubbing her eyes the moment she gets in the bath. Bedtime varies depending on how well she naps during the day and when her last nap is. If she's napped well her bedtime is between 6-7pm. If she hasn't napped well I bring her bedtime forward to between 5-6pm. And it seems to have worked. She's even started dropping the 4am feeds (hallelujah!) and sleeps right through till about 7am. Yes, occasionally she'll wake up and grizzle a bit but I've learned to leave her for about 10 minutes and usually within 5 minutes or so she'll have put herself back to sleep. She'll only keep grizzling if she's REALLY awake and REALLY hungry. In which case I get up, give her a bottle and then pop her back to bed. And once again she'll go straight back to sleep until 7am.
So I guess I'm just really fortunate because I found something that works for my daughter. She obviously likes having the consistency and predictability of her bedtime routine because she knows that bath is followed by getting into her pj's and then a bottle. And then bed. Leaving me precious time in the evening to catch up on other things. Like writing. And video games.
Hey we all need a hobby.
Monday, July 7, 2014
My hard-learned truth about breastfeeding.
Breast is best. That's the motto drilled into all expectant mothers by health professionals, midwives and the teachers at their antenatal classes. It is the perfect food for this beautiful new life that you have strived and strained to bring into the world. Not only is it rich in nutrition, it also provides antibodies to kick-start the little one's immune system and of course promotes bonding between mother and infant.
But no one ever tells you just how hard breastfeeding actually is. Unlike lower mammals such as cats and dogs, nursing and breastfeeding are not innate and instinctive. It is something both mother and baby have to learn together. And sometimes, something just doesn't click on either end and leads to a huge morass of problems.
When my daughter was first born, I brought her to my breast and allowed her to suckle. Because she is my first child, I could not tell you if her latch was good or if it was a good quality feed. All I know is that she sucked and sucked and eventually fell asleep. I then handed her to her daddy for cuddles so I could get cleaned up.
It was only when I got to the maternity ward and she wanted her next feed that I figured out that something wasn't quite right. She wasn't latching well and I was beginning to experience pain. A nurse tried to help me get her to latch - didn't work. A lactation consultant was called in - all she did was show me a poster on correct latching technique - like I hadn't seen the exact same thing in my antenatal class. Things just got worse and eventually I wound up hand-expressing my colostrum into a small plastic cup before going onto a pump to ensure my supply stayed up. When it came to feeding time, I used a syringe.
Cue a huge meltdown in hospital because breastfeeding is so heavily emphasized that to a new mother it becomes synonymous with your success (or failure) as a mother. Or at least that's how it felt to me in my own head. Most of the nurses were wonderfully supportive and told me that things would probably improve once I got home and once my actual milk came in to push out my flat nipples. But due to fatigue and hormones, I just felt awful and spent three or four hours in tears.
Things didn't improve at home. Despite my best efforts, latching was still hard and when she DID latch, I was in pain.
And then at her 2-week check it was discovered that my daughter had lost 15% of her birth weight instead of putting weight on. She was pink and healthy though which meant she was only just getting enough milk to sustain her and keep her hydrated. Cue another meltdown at this implied failure at being a mum. Another lactation consultant was brought in and she diagnosed a tongue-tie as the problem with my daughter's latch. Her tongue was so tightly attached to the floor of her mouth that she couldn't stick her tongue out past her lips. Fortunately we were able to have it clipped that same day and while I noticed an immediate improvement in her latch, the damage to my nipples was extensive - they were both cracked and bleeding. In order to heal them, I had to feed my daughter on the least-worst side and pump the other side, applying lanolin to them after each feed.
I was optimistic and thought that things would improve from there. My daughter was finally gaining weight and seemed to be happier overall.
But then things took a really big backward step. At her 6 week check it was found that she wasn't losing weight, but neither was she gaining. And she wasn't sleeping. She would feed at the breast and fall asleep and then I'd put her down to sleep and 10-20 minutes later she would be awake again and screaming for more food.
Emotionally I was at the end of my rope. I had no time for myself, was barely eating and at that point I couldn't even remember the last time I had showered, let alone washed my hair. Simply because I no longer had the time to do those things as my baby was simply taking up every second of my time.
It was at this point that my midwife suggested I supplement with formula. After yet another crying jag at my failure, I tearfully agreed to let my husband go out and get a tin of formula. Upon his return we made up a bottle according to the instructions and feeding guide and gave it to her. She had no problems taking the bottle and gulped it down like she was starving. She finished the entire bottle, burped, and then went to sleep. For 3 whole hours. Because she finally had a full belly and felt sated and content. And I got to go and soak in my bathtub. The first bath I'd had since she'd been born.
It was at this point I realized that even though 'Breast is Best', if it just wasn't working, then what was the point of putting myself through all that emotional agony and heartache? Furthermore, if I continued the way I was, I would actually be doing my daughter more harm than good. Because clearly something just wasn't working in our breastfeeding relationship and she wasn't getting what she needed. And if I continued this struggle, she wouldn't be able to grow, and she really would fail to thrive.
So despite even the tin of formula telling me that breast milk is the ideal food, I have finally managed to make peace with myself. I am not a failure as a mum. Because now my daughter is getting what she needs. She is putting on weight and is a happy and social baby who loves to smile at people. She is right on the cusp of learning to roll over and has recently started sleeping through the night (with the exception of last night lol). Formula hasn't done her any harm and she still breastfeeds a couple of times per day to help her settle before a nap. I'm also still pumping and expressing milk in order to freeze it. When she starts solid foods in a few months, I'll be able to use this saved milk to make baby rice and baby custard so she is still getting all the benefits of my milk.
I have not failed. I have redefined what success is.
And when I see my baby smile, I consider that my success.
But no one ever tells you just how hard breastfeeding actually is. Unlike lower mammals such as cats and dogs, nursing and breastfeeding are not innate and instinctive. It is something both mother and baby have to learn together. And sometimes, something just doesn't click on either end and leads to a huge morass of problems.
When my daughter was first born, I brought her to my breast and allowed her to suckle. Because she is my first child, I could not tell you if her latch was good or if it was a good quality feed. All I know is that she sucked and sucked and eventually fell asleep. I then handed her to her daddy for cuddles so I could get cleaned up.
It was only when I got to the maternity ward and she wanted her next feed that I figured out that something wasn't quite right. She wasn't latching well and I was beginning to experience pain. A nurse tried to help me get her to latch - didn't work. A lactation consultant was called in - all she did was show me a poster on correct latching technique - like I hadn't seen the exact same thing in my antenatal class. Things just got worse and eventually I wound up hand-expressing my colostrum into a small plastic cup before going onto a pump to ensure my supply stayed up. When it came to feeding time, I used a syringe.
Cue a huge meltdown in hospital because breastfeeding is so heavily emphasized that to a new mother it becomes synonymous with your success (or failure) as a mother. Or at least that's how it felt to me in my own head. Most of the nurses were wonderfully supportive and told me that things would probably improve once I got home and once my actual milk came in to push out my flat nipples. But due to fatigue and hormones, I just felt awful and spent three or four hours in tears.
Things didn't improve at home. Despite my best efforts, latching was still hard and when she DID latch, I was in pain.
And then at her 2-week check it was discovered that my daughter had lost 15% of her birth weight instead of putting weight on. She was pink and healthy though which meant she was only just getting enough milk to sustain her and keep her hydrated. Cue another meltdown at this implied failure at being a mum. Another lactation consultant was brought in and she diagnosed a tongue-tie as the problem with my daughter's latch. Her tongue was so tightly attached to the floor of her mouth that she couldn't stick her tongue out past her lips. Fortunately we were able to have it clipped that same day and while I noticed an immediate improvement in her latch, the damage to my nipples was extensive - they were both cracked and bleeding. In order to heal them, I had to feed my daughter on the least-worst side and pump the other side, applying lanolin to them after each feed.
I was optimistic and thought that things would improve from there. My daughter was finally gaining weight and seemed to be happier overall.
But then things took a really big backward step. At her 6 week check it was found that she wasn't losing weight, but neither was she gaining. And she wasn't sleeping. She would feed at the breast and fall asleep and then I'd put her down to sleep and 10-20 minutes later she would be awake again and screaming for more food.
Emotionally I was at the end of my rope. I had no time for myself, was barely eating and at that point I couldn't even remember the last time I had showered, let alone washed my hair. Simply because I no longer had the time to do those things as my baby was simply taking up every second of my time.
It was at this point that my midwife suggested I supplement with formula. After yet another crying jag at my failure, I tearfully agreed to let my husband go out and get a tin of formula. Upon his return we made up a bottle according to the instructions and feeding guide and gave it to her. She had no problems taking the bottle and gulped it down like she was starving. She finished the entire bottle, burped, and then went to sleep. For 3 whole hours. Because she finally had a full belly and felt sated and content. And I got to go and soak in my bathtub. The first bath I'd had since she'd been born.
It was at this point I realized that even though 'Breast is Best', if it just wasn't working, then what was the point of putting myself through all that emotional agony and heartache? Furthermore, if I continued the way I was, I would actually be doing my daughter more harm than good. Because clearly something just wasn't working in our breastfeeding relationship and she wasn't getting what she needed. And if I continued this struggle, she wouldn't be able to grow, and she really would fail to thrive.
So despite even the tin of formula telling me that breast milk is the ideal food, I have finally managed to make peace with myself. I am not a failure as a mum. Because now my daughter is getting what she needs. She is putting on weight and is a happy and social baby who loves to smile at people. She is right on the cusp of learning to roll over and has recently started sleeping through the night (with the exception of last night lol). Formula hasn't done her any harm and she still breastfeeds a couple of times per day to help her settle before a nap. I'm also still pumping and expressing milk in order to freeze it. When she starts solid foods in a few months, I'll be able to use this saved milk to make baby rice and baby custard so she is still getting all the benefits of my milk.
I have not failed. I have redefined what success is.
And when I see my baby smile, I consider that my success.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Some things just aren't in the book.
I am a new mum. My daughter is 12 weeks old. And I will say this now, so there can't be any doubt. I love her with all my heart. She is a gorgeous, smiley ball of adorable who is right on the cusp of laughing for the first time. She's also discovered that kicking in the bath makes splashes, which is fun!
I also want to say that she was a planned pregnancy. I thought I was ready for kids. And when I discovered I was pregnant, I began reading everything I could, watching my diet and weight gain like a hawk and of course signing up for an antenatal class so that I would be as prepared as possible for this next stage of my life.
But here's the first truth that no one ever tells you: You are never prepared.
I understand and appreciate that every single parent's journey is unique and that everyone has different experiences. But there will always be similarities - it's what unites us in the bonds of parenthood. But these are my experiences and a few reflections on what I wish I'd known before starting this journey.
I have to admit, aside from a couple of minor, easily dealt with complications, I had pretty much a textbook pregnancy. My weight gain was steady and my scans were good. My midwife was amazing and wonderfully supportive. Even my labor started off textbook perfect. Just before 4pm on the 9th of April I heard a strange popping noise, kind of like the sound you get when you snap chewing gum. This was immediately followed by a gush of fluid that made me feel like I had suddenly peed myself. I called my midwife who confirmed that yes this was most likely my waters breaking, please keep her informed of my progress. Contractions started about 30 minutes later.
I labored at home until 10:30pm when the contractions finally got too much for me to handle. So as previously discussed with my midwife, I headed up to the hospital birthing suites. And it was basically at this point that my labor experience took a sharp turn off the pages of that textbook. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure that the textbook got thrown out the window entirely.
Truth of labor #1: Birth plans are great but don't expect them to stick.
I wanted a water birth. I love baths and nothing makes me feel better after a long, stressful day than a good 1 hour or more in a tub full of steaming hot water with a good book. (Of course that was pre-baby. These day I'm lucky to get 20 minutes in the shower!). So I thought being able to soak in water while laboring would help me cope with the pain and get through it using nothing but the gas as a painkiller.
But as part of standard procedure at the birthing suites, they need to strap you into a monitor to record the strength and frequency of the contractions, along with the baby's heart-rate. The idea is to get a baseline set of vitals to compare against later in labor. Unfortunately though, the machine wasn't picking up my contractions properly so I never left the bed again. I did get the gas though, so that was at least something.
Truth of labor #2: Hospital births put you at greater risk of unwanted interventions.
Now I'm not saying don't have a hospital birth. I'm glad I did and will probably do so again if I get crazy enough to want to have another child. My only problem with hospital births are the surgical registrars. I know they are there in the birthing wards to serve a very important purpose. They are there in case things go horribly horribly wrong and intervention becomes a matter of life or death for either the mother or the baby. My main problem with them is the fact that they are far too quick to assume things are going horribly horribly wrong.
During one point of my labor (don't ask me when because I'd lost ALL sense of time by then) my baby's heart-rate dropped suddenly. The registrar jumped in and TOLD me that it was a sign that my contractions weren't strong enough to bring the baby down and so they were going to put me on an oxytocin drip to speed things up. And because the oxytocin was going to make the contractions even more intense than what I was currently experiencing, they were going to put a spinal anesthetic in. And then she went on to say that if that wasn't successful, they were going to take me down to surgery for an emergency c-section. My midwife, being a beacon of calm and common sense suggested that I try changing positions. As soon as I was up on my knees, the baby's heart-rate went back up and things started progressing again as gravity began giving me a hand.
Then towards the end of the labor, there was yet another drop in heart-rate. Apparently my poor baby had a little bit of swelling in her head and had gotten stuck near the end of the birth canal. The registrar jumps in again saying that she's going to take me down to theatre, put a spinal in and then attempt to lift the baby out with forceps. Then if the attempt with forceps was unsuccessful, they'd go straight to c-section. I had told my midwife before all this began that I wanted to avoid a c-section unless it was a DIRE emergency and that I did NOT like the idea of forceps AT ALL. Once the registrar left the room to find the consultant to get the ball rolling, my midwife told the hospital midwife that the baby was right there and that if they gave me an episiotomy, she'd be out with one push. They numbed me up with local, did the episiotomy and yeah, ok it was three pushes but she still came out, and she came out screaming. So instead of a huge gaping wound that would have taken six weeks to heal, I had a tiny cut 'down there' that took ten days to heal and I got to bond with my baby straight away as she was placed on my stomach.
As a downside, I had to spend the next two days in hospital. Not because of the baby, she was perfectly fine. But because after the delivery was totally over, when I stood up to go have a shower, I damn near fainted. And after I got out of the shower and they took my vitals, my heart-rate was sitting at around 140 beats per minute. Which is nearly double its usual.
It turned out that I had lost a bit more blood during the labor than they had anticipated. Not enough to warrant a transfusion, but enough to require constant monitoring and me drinking like a camel to try and trick my body into thinking there was still enough fluid in there. I wasn't allowed to go home until my heart-rate was back under 100 beats per minute. Which took two days.
But those were the hard truths I learned about the process of labor. Not from the books, not from the classes, but just through my own experience. I got off relatively lightly. All up, my labor was just 13.5 hours. One of the women who was in my antenatal class had a 50 hour labor. But I do wish I'd know those two truths beforehand. Because that way I wouldn't have felt such a keen disappointment when my entire birth plan turned to custard. That way I would have expected the registrars and their jumpiness, because them assuming things are going wrong just make you feel even more stressed in what is already a VERY stressful, very painful, very messy situation.
So that was my labor and delivery. My next post (when I have braced myself enough emotionally to write it) will be able the hardest truths I've learned so far: the truth about breastfeeding.
Till next time.
I also want to say that she was a planned pregnancy. I thought I was ready for kids. And when I discovered I was pregnant, I began reading everything I could, watching my diet and weight gain like a hawk and of course signing up for an antenatal class so that I would be as prepared as possible for this next stage of my life.
But here's the first truth that no one ever tells you: You are never prepared.
I understand and appreciate that every single parent's journey is unique and that everyone has different experiences. But there will always be similarities - it's what unites us in the bonds of parenthood. But these are my experiences and a few reflections on what I wish I'd known before starting this journey.
I have to admit, aside from a couple of minor, easily dealt with complications, I had pretty much a textbook pregnancy. My weight gain was steady and my scans were good. My midwife was amazing and wonderfully supportive. Even my labor started off textbook perfect. Just before 4pm on the 9th of April I heard a strange popping noise, kind of like the sound you get when you snap chewing gum. This was immediately followed by a gush of fluid that made me feel like I had suddenly peed myself. I called my midwife who confirmed that yes this was most likely my waters breaking, please keep her informed of my progress. Contractions started about 30 minutes later.
I labored at home until 10:30pm when the contractions finally got too much for me to handle. So as previously discussed with my midwife, I headed up to the hospital birthing suites. And it was basically at this point that my labor experience took a sharp turn off the pages of that textbook. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure that the textbook got thrown out the window entirely.
Truth of labor #1: Birth plans are great but don't expect them to stick.
I wanted a water birth. I love baths and nothing makes me feel better after a long, stressful day than a good 1 hour or more in a tub full of steaming hot water with a good book. (Of course that was pre-baby. These day I'm lucky to get 20 minutes in the shower!). So I thought being able to soak in water while laboring would help me cope with the pain and get through it using nothing but the gas as a painkiller.
But as part of standard procedure at the birthing suites, they need to strap you into a monitor to record the strength and frequency of the contractions, along with the baby's heart-rate. The idea is to get a baseline set of vitals to compare against later in labor. Unfortunately though, the machine wasn't picking up my contractions properly so I never left the bed again. I did get the gas though, so that was at least something.
Truth of labor #2: Hospital births put you at greater risk of unwanted interventions.
Now I'm not saying don't have a hospital birth. I'm glad I did and will probably do so again if I get crazy enough to want to have another child. My only problem with hospital births are the surgical registrars. I know they are there in the birthing wards to serve a very important purpose. They are there in case things go horribly horribly wrong and intervention becomes a matter of life or death for either the mother or the baby. My main problem with them is the fact that they are far too quick to assume things are going horribly horribly wrong.
During one point of my labor (don't ask me when because I'd lost ALL sense of time by then) my baby's heart-rate dropped suddenly. The registrar jumped in and TOLD me that it was a sign that my contractions weren't strong enough to bring the baby down and so they were going to put me on an oxytocin drip to speed things up. And because the oxytocin was going to make the contractions even more intense than what I was currently experiencing, they were going to put a spinal anesthetic in. And then she went on to say that if that wasn't successful, they were going to take me down to surgery for an emergency c-section. My midwife, being a beacon of calm and common sense suggested that I try changing positions. As soon as I was up on my knees, the baby's heart-rate went back up and things started progressing again as gravity began giving me a hand.
Then towards the end of the labor, there was yet another drop in heart-rate. Apparently my poor baby had a little bit of swelling in her head and had gotten stuck near the end of the birth canal. The registrar jumps in again saying that she's going to take me down to theatre, put a spinal in and then attempt to lift the baby out with forceps. Then if the attempt with forceps was unsuccessful, they'd go straight to c-section. I had told my midwife before all this began that I wanted to avoid a c-section unless it was a DIRE emergency and that I did NOT like the idea of forceps AT ALL. Once the registrar left the room to find the consultant to get the ball rolling, my midwife told the hospital midwife that the baby was right there and that if they gave me an episiotomy, she'd be out with one push. They numbed me up with local, did the episiotomy and yeah, ok it was three pushes but she still came out, and she came out screaming. So instead of a huge gaping wound that would have taken six weeks to heal, I had a tiny cut 'down there' that took ten days to heal and I got to bond with my baby straight away as she was placed on my stomach.
As a downside, I had to spend the next two days in hospital. Not because of the baby, she was perfectly fine. But because after the delivery was totally over, when I stood up to go have a shower, I damn near fainted. And after I got out of the shower and they took my vitals, my heart-rate was sitting at around 140 beats per minute. Which is nearly double its usual.
It turned out that I had lost a bit more blood during the labor than they had anticipated. Not enough to warrant a transfusion, but enough to require constant monitoring and me drinking like a camel to try and trick my body into thinking there was still enough fluid in there. I wasn't allowed to go home until my heart-rate was back under 100 beats per minute. Which took two days.
But those were the hard truths I learned about the process of labor. Not from the books, not from the classes, but just through my own experience. I got off relatively lightly. All up, my labor was just 13.5 hours. One of the women who was in my antenatal class had a 50 hour labor. But I do wish I'd know those two truths beforehand. Because that way I wouldn't have felt such a keen disappointment when my entire birth plan turned to custard. That way I would have expected the registrars and their jumpiness, because them assuming things are going wrong just make you feel even more stressed in what is already a VERY stressful, very painful, very messy situation.
So that was my labor and delivery. My next post (when I have braced myself enough emotionally to write it) will be able the hardest truths I've learned so far: the truth about breastfeeding.
Till next time.
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