Sleep depraved shambles

Here we are at week 10 and all still alive although my nipples are a shadow of their former selves.

Chicken is still a very good baby but juggling her needs with those of the Monkey is challenging. If I don't get them to synchronize their day naps I don't get a second to myself and that's exhausting and frustrating.

Breastfeeding is still so painful sometimes that I cry at the prospect of the next feed. I could be singlehandedly bankrolling the local chemist with my custom - thanks to my 2nd bout of mastitis I've bought more antibiotics there and have been hiring a breast pump to give my poor norks a rest.

I know that I should really give up but I still can't admit defeat just yet. This may be my last child and I really want to enjoy the breast feeding experience eventually. So I persist but it's got to the point where I don't know how much pain I should tolerate, my pain threshold is completely confused.

This week I ventured out for the first time with both kiddies sans car. Firstly I had Chicken in the ergo baby carrier and convinced Monkey to get in the new stroller. We only went to the park but that was an achievement since Monkey kept asking to get out and walk. I don't trust him to hold my hand and not run off into dangerous situations so I need him to be in the stroller. It was good to get out and wear him out doing something fun, plus I chatted to some other mums there.

I don't know if I looked quite as desperately harried, sleep-deprived, and adult-company-starved as I feel, but they were both mums of more than one, so hopefully they understood what it's like to leave the house without brushing your hair or even looking in the mirror. 

I continue to mourn the loss of my personal grooming. My hair is this ridiculously long, matted mane that I probably would have pined for once upon a time. It is so long through accident not design, I have not had the time or opportunity (nor the cash) to go to a hairdresser for so long. But it seems to just hang from my head like this big dead thing that gets knotty and becomes just another chore to detangle and to me it represents a lack of personal style. I am about 8 kgs overweight and that is not baby-fat, it's icecream-and-cake fat! I have been eating pretty badly since the birth and every day I think I'll start the diet tomorrow, but my will-power is so weakened by tiredness. I need energy boosts and they don't come easier than a sugar-hit! I try to remind myself what I'd say to any one of my friends in the same situation - be kind to yourself, appreciate the amazing feats your body has achieved, don't stress etc. But it's a total double-standard, I am my own worst critic and although I know I shouldn't compare myself to other people I find myself looking at other mums of babies and wondering how they look so much thinner and more composed - some of them even wear make-up!!! 

I want to set my daughter (and son of course) the example of self-love, so I repeat my mantra - enjoy life, there will always be tomorrow to diet! 

The scariest thing about parenthood I have decided is how much more vulnerable my heart is. I feel terrified at the thought of something happening to any of my beloved family members, husby included, and life seems so much more precious now. The weight of my responsibility to not only protect them from harm, but to stay healthy so that I can, adds to the stress of the daily grind. 

Motherhood - things I now know

Here I am, at the end of my first week alone as a mum of two tiny people. We all survived and I feel, as I’m sure many parents do, inordinately proud. Every little task I perform feels like a major achievement. Yesterday I cleaned the bathroom (Monkey “helped” me mop the floor), vac’d and mopped the floors and did 3 loads of laundry. I felt like a superwoman! And really, considering how little sleep I get, and that there is a small person basically trying to undo everything I do, it is pretty impressive.

I am going to say something controversial though. I hate breastfeeding. HATE it. I am so disappointed that my experience with it this time around has not been better, but I blame my children. They must be broken. They are missing some sort of mouth/boob compatibility gene or have not read the manual. Whatever, they clearly have no regard for my nipples. I think the nipple thrush has cleared up, but Chicken won’t open her little beak wide enough, and clamps down with the force of an industrial vice. It hurts. But I’m a stubborn old mule and I’m not ready to give up just yet. So I just curse and cry and suffer through the pain 5 times a day. She better appreciate it when she’s older. It’s OK, I’ll remind her often. In speeches. Like at her 21^st birthday party and her wedding.

So I am by no means an expert, but here are a few things I have learnt that seem worthy of passing on:

• The hardest lesson I have learnt was to DO NOTHING.  Babies will cry – and you don’t always have to DO SOMETHING to stop it. This revelation was such a long time coming with my first child – I ended up eventually going through the pain of “control-crying” which is the extreme version of DO NOTHING - and I still find myself resisting it. There is that mothering instinct that means I cannot stand to hear my babies cry and I feel responsible to DO SOMETHING to ease their distress. But I remind myself that it is actually important to allow them to settle themselves sometimes (as long there is nothing actually wrong with them, like being hungry or wet etc). Doing nothing when your baby is crying seems inherently wrong but by constantly cuddling, rocking or soothing the baby I think they come to depend on it. In any case, it becomes out of your control when it’s your 2^nd child – there is so much to do that by the time I get free to check on my crying babe she has often settled herself – woo hoo!

• Everything always seems better in the morning.  At 1, 2, or 3 or even 4am I have been sitting on the sofa crying while my baby fails to latch properly, or pacing the floor patting her back, shhhhhhing, trying not to trip over with tiredness, everything seems so much more dramatic. I begin to wonder if Chicken has colic, or croup, or reflux, or that she is failing to thrive, and I consider all sorts of extreme measures… like taping her dummy to her face to keep it in… But once day breaks - even though getting up then seems harder than ever – after the coffee takes hold, I realise she is fine, I am fine, and we will all be fine. And following on from that point:

• Find time/a way to take a shower every day. This was another epiphany for me. It would sound like a basic human right, I know, but not for a mother of a newborn. I went for more than 24 hours without a shower and when you have sticky toddler fingers all over you, and you’re being drooled on and sneezed on and spewed on all day, a hot shower is HEAVEN. So I felt like a new woman after having one and I resolved to ensure I manage a shower in the first half of the day, every day. Even when I get spewed on almost instantly afterwards, I still feel better for having had that hot water rush over my face. 

• Breakfast television is SO bad it’s almost good. And the hosts are invariably, female: over-coiffured airheads, male: dumb but funny. I love watching the male hosts pretend to be interested in the latest fashion trends, tummy controlling shapewear and age-defying make-up. The best ones manage to do it with a cheeky, tongue in cheek irony  - as in “How fascinating?!”

That is enough words of wisdom for this post. I’m off to take a shower.

Preggers no more!!

We made it! Both baby and I survived the birth intact and are now fit and well. The relief I felt as soon as she was out was overwhelming. And it is so nice not to be waiting anymore!

Having a c-section is quite surreal, and more than a little bit scary, but overall I rate the experience as a thousand times preferable to my vaginal birth one. The anaesthetist we had was awesome, he was chatting away with us in the prep and had a wicked sense of humour, so it really helped eased our tension. Then throughout the op he was keeping me informed but also distracting me with tales of how he was doing tequila shots with my OB the night before – ridiculous, as my OB is this lovely, quiet, Church-going soul who probably doesn’t touch alcohol. It was all over in a couple of hours and apart from being intensely itchy from the anaesthetic for 24 hours afterwards, I felt pretty good.

Upon arriving home I ensured I had the catch-up feast of soft/smelly cheeses, salamis and port. And seeing as I no longer have a night/day division in my life, only grabbing snatches of sleep where I can, I figure it’s fair game to drink wine anytime, so long as it’s post feeding the baby.

Chicken (my nickname for baby girl) is a dream baby really. She had a couple of really unsettled nights in hospital, and since I’ve been home out of 3 weeks she’s only had one bad one in terms of sleeplessness, so the odds are pretty good.

On the other hand, I’ve had mastitis and then nipple thrush as a result of the antibiotic treatment, which progressed to ductal thrush, which is as painful as it sounds. This breastfeeding malarkey is really not as easy as it looks. I’ve been mainlining the Panadol and coffee.

My mother-in-law was brilliant, looking after the Monkey while we were in hospital and keeping him happy since we’ve been home. But she left yesterday so now I face the daunting prospect of managing alone!  She was keeping on top of the cleaning, cooking and laundry so god only knows how badly things will fall apart, but most of all I am dreading when the Monkey realises she is not coming back (so far he hasn’t really noticed, but it’s only a matter of time). It will break my heart to see him pine for her.

But OMG both kidlets are actually sleeping at the moment so gonna go have a shower – more updates to come.

Twas the night before Friday and all through the house....

Not a creature was stirring - except the rats under the kitchen floor, my unborn baby who seemed to be having a "soon-to-be-leaving-let's-trash-the-place" party in my womb, and my son who decided 5.30am was a good time to get up.

Oh yeah, I had a great night.  I was almost certain at one point that I was going into labour, that must've been about 2.30am. After the pain subsided and I waited an hour for more to come - never have I wished for pain so fervently! - I realised with enormous disappointment it was a false alarm and managed to get back to sleep, only to be woken by the rats in the kitchen floor. I actually thought my son had woken and was playing in his playroom, that's how loud they were. 

Rats FREAK me out. We had them all over the kitchen once and it was my worst nightmare - I mean vermin are not like pigeons, or even cockroaches, they don't scare when you come into the room. They look you in the eye unbudgingly as if to say, "yeah, this is my loaf of bread now, whatchu gonna do about it?" It terrifies me. So I'm lying in bed freaking out about the prospect of them getting in again, with a toddler who is now unbound by baby gates and a newborn due any minute. And then said toddler decides it's time to "wake up mummy", "I don't like sleepytime" and climbs on my head. 

Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

On another note - I have to share this blog post which resonates with me so much. 

Being Mumma Enough

1 week to go!!!!

The countdown is on. I was thinking last night how sad it is that I seem to have wished away so much of the last 11 months - yesterday was exactly 11 months since I gave birth to my angel baby Benjamin. I so wanted to go into labour yesterday to mark that milestone, and even thought I was after cramps and back-ache all night, but sadly it wasn't to be. I am still a hippo with a bun in the oven. But I feel sure this bun should be cooked by now!!!

If you don't count the two months between losing Benjamin and falling pregnant again, I have been on this rollercoaster of expectancy for the last 16 months - that's over a year to be sharing my body with another (or 14 mths if you want to be pedantic).

I am so looking forward to having my body back, but I know that doesn't happen straight away, in fact it can take almost a year with breastfeeding and recovery etc. But boy is that first glass of wine going to go down a treat!!!

Its the nausea and reflux that's killing me now - I get these frantic bouts of ravenous hunger where I just can't eat enough or fast enough, but then within an hour it all comes back to haunt me... I am so looking forward to enjoying food properly again (and without guilt).

Plus, I can handle the huge belly and an ass that's so big it almost reaches my knees, but this double chin is depressing.

Groomed bush and wine, these are a few of my favourite things....

On a lighter note – in preparation for D-day I just got a wax – finally, after I don’t know how many months. A lot. So I literally feel lighter! I am gorilla no more, and now the doc and his team won’t be horrified when I’m lying on the table half-naked ready to be cut open!

I wasn’t really bothered about it until I was at a friend’s baby shower and the other ladies (all childless and/or single) were laughing about the bush that you tend to see in birthing videos and I realised that that would be me. I used to be so conscious of good grooming and I really miss having the time to care! But seeing as I haven’t been able to see my V-JJ for months now, caring about it’s appearance has been easy to forget. But I do miss being able to see it. And my feet.

So because these things are heavily dominating my imagination at the moment, here is a list of things I have been missing being pregnant for more than a year (ignoring the 2 months between pregnancies – I was in grieving so they don’t really count anyway).

In no particular order (well except for Wine, that is definitely number 1):

• Wine – no explanation needed. I need it. Soon.
• Food – not any food in particular - although of course blue cheese, brie and salamis will be first on the post-baby menu – but just to enjoy eating food without feeling sick and bloated afterwards. To eat without the fear of reflux and nausea, and to enjoy the taste – pregnancy does weird things to my taste buds.
• Flexibility – to sleep on my back, to bend down easily, to feel strong and mobile again! I hate this feeling that everything is weak and broken.
• Sex – yep, it’s been more than a year really since the sex has been any good, that is, without a huge belly in the way of things. Plus TTC sex is the worst kind of sex, there is just way too much pressure when you’re wondering if each time is going to be the jackpot!
• Wine – did I mention this one?
• Energy – to be able to chase my toddler around again. I feel so guilty but I am the worst playmate at the moment, I dread getting down on the floor with him cos I know it’ll be so hard to get up again.
• Nice skin, nails and hair – I know I’ll have to wait ages for this one, as the worst is yet to come. My hair will practically all fall out post-birth and I’ll get that horrible baby fuzz regrowth. When I was pregnant with H I had great nails, they seemed to grow faster and stronger, but this pregnancy my nails have been TERRIBLE, they split and crack and the cuticles are non-existent.
• Kissing my husby – we’ve been sick tag-team for weeks now so it’s been like a permanent quarantine.  And germs aside, we’re just so busy with work and toddler-wrangling plus the belly gets in the way, romance is so very dead. I am aware this will not change with the arrival of a new baby, just lamenting it anyway!!
• Wine. 

2 weeks 2 go!

Just over 2 weeks til D-day (or B day I spose)!

I’m so excited, nervous and scared – I feel almost bi-polar, my emotions flux from high to low so much.  I go from dreading it to wishing it was happening tomorrow.

I’ve got so many reasons to be scared. I know so many beautiful, smart, healthy women who have lost their babies at this same stage of pregnancy I’m at now or even during childbirth. None of them deserved that tragedy – nobody does. But, like me, I’m sure none of them ever expected to suffer such unusually cruel and unfair loss.

I have been lucky enough to have one beautiful and healthy child, albeit through a birth that left me quite damaged physically and a little traumatised. But I also lost a baby - he may have only been 19 weeks old, but he was mine and growing in my body and I feel responsible for his fate. So now I am living in this weird limbo, so close to the end of a long, arduous pregnancy, the light at the end of the tunnel almost within reach, but with still so many risks and hurdles yet to overcome.

And I feel like I learn a new terrifying possibility every day. I had a PAL support meeting last week and in keeping with my split-personality at the moment, it was both unsettling and therapeutic. I went already in a fragile state, having had a couple of bad weeks with H waking twice a night and husby being away one week and then sick the next, I was just physically and mentally exhausted. So it was no surprise that I cried during the relaxation exercise. But when the organisers started reading out birth stories I was too taken aback to escape before the floods of tears began again.

Ever since the birth of my first son I have been unable to read birth stories, good or bad, and I avoid watching people give birth in TV shows or movies too. I feel so cheated by my birth experiences, like I did everything in my power to have the best experience and to give my baby the best entry to the world, and that I was let down in so many ways by things that were not in my control but that were influenced by my health care providers.

I considered making an official complaint in the months after H was born, but ultimately I decided it would not help in my healing process.  I saw a counsellor once but it really didn’t make any difference to my feelings. The PTS was not helped by the sleep deprivation, my son was a poor sleeper for the first seven months until we tried Tresillian methods, and I am acutely aware now that if this baby is the same the sleepless nights will not be over once she is born.

This PAL group has been a much better outlet and salve for my grief, both for the bungled birth experience I had with my first son and the tragic loss of my second son. I have felt supported, understood and maybe most importantly, cared about. But of course, the flipside is the fear I have for the other ladies and the concern that what has happened to them could now happen to me too.

I try to suppress the doubts and fears and be positive, but then I worry that if I don’t worry enough I might be tempting fate. I really just need to get this baby safely into my arms so I can relax!! I’m torn between wishing it would happen early and wanting to get through my son’s 2^nd birthday this week and make that as special as he deserves.

My darling toddler was testing my patience to the absolute max when thankfully my mother-in-law arrived like a guardian angel to fulfil his boisterous appetite for attention. She honestly couldn’t have come a moment too soon. And with husby finally back in good health we are almost ready to welcome our new baby to this family. I even started packing a hospital bag tonight!

So baby girl hang in there, stay well and know that in just a few more days we will be eagerly introducing you to our world and whatever the outcome, you will enrich it.