Recently acquired skills

I have recently acquired a whole new skill set. It's been a steep learning curve.

The basic boring things like:

- changing a nappy quickly enough to prevent being peed or pooed on
- distracting an infant long enough to put a vest over his head
- holding a slippery infant well enough to prevent drowning (though there is room for improvement here as I've not yet done this alone)
- handling an infant gently enough single handed, while standing up to answer the door, to prevent projectile vomitting

And other things, like:

- eating spaghetti bolognese with one hand, left-handed
- eating soup without dribbling a single drop
- making a cup of tea with one hand
- going to the loo while holding a crying infant
- going to the loo while holding a sleeping infant without waking him up
- having a grown up conversation in five minutes flat, covering how our days have been, plans for the future, world events, and any emotional sticking points
- being concise (with reference to the above)
- ensuring ten things are all within a 30* angle from my right hand (for use during breastfeeding)
- eating food without dropping crumbs in my infants ear while breastfeeding him
- timing my meals so that he doesn't wake up just as I sit down (surprisingly difficult - they have mini sensors inside them to let them know it's waking up time when we're about to eat)
- putting a wash on, having breakfast, washing up, tidying the house, hanging out washing, replying to emails (etc.) within a half-hour window of sleep
- speed-eating (this doesn't yet apply to my tea drinking, sadly)
- speed-showering
- putting pants on while holding a fractious infant

I look forward to the next loads of tasks to learn...as yet unidentified.

Long overdue ponderings on labour and motherhood

I bled at thirty-six weeks and six days and went into labour at thirty-seven weeks. He was born the next day.

Nothing happened how I’d hoped. He was too early for a home birth, so I knew we’d be in hospital. The drive there was painful and scary and walking in the hospital to the labour ward was a slow journey, broken up by stationary moments in time when contractions broke through my movements and I clung onto my doula. We met the man upstairs, waiting for us, after he’d parked the car and brought the labour bags with him.

His memory of what happened is much clearer than mine, which is fogged by hormones and a lack of sleep and food for the two days of labour. We worked together, my man and I, with the support of our doula, for hours. He held me, kissed me, told me stories of the early days of our relationship when things got tough, a distraction from the present moment. He tried to feed me and give me drinks, but nothing stayed down.

Eventually, the labour not progressing, we went into theatre and our beautiful (if somewhat purple, misshapen and slimy) son was cut out of me. It felt traumatic. It wasn’t what I’d hoped for. My first thought, upon seeing his wrinkled little face, was that he didn’t look familiar. I suppose he felt so familiar inside me for so many months, that I somehow expected him to look familiar too.

After the c-section, I shook violently for what felt like hours, though I’ve no real concept of time during that period. I don’t remember our son being with me, and I longed for the contact with him. I needed him to be next to me, touching me, our bodies close. I needed to know he was safe and that was my only concern – that and feeling more and more desperate for sleep, with each night that seemed to pass me by.

The memory of his arrival fades with each day he grows bigger and stronger.

Before his birth I wanted someone to tell me that birth would be easy and painless; now I realise that would have been a lie. It was naïve of me to wish for that. The reality is that it hurts and it’s the hardest thing I ever did. The reality is – in line with my pre-labour wonderings – that it does compare to being horribly constipated, to having food poisoning and to participating in a triathlon all at once and, as with each of those trials, I was able to get through it – I did have it in me. That’s what I wish someone had told me – that it would be painful and tough, but that it wouldn’t more than I could handle and that I am more than capable of managing and coping with childbirth. I was afraid I didn’t have it in me, but I did.

I can recall moments that felt undignified, frightening, unbearable, but my man was with me and kept me strong. I don’t delve too deeply into those memories. I can also recall moments where I laughed and smiled; the many moments that made up the beautiful and precious hours in the birthing pool; and the moment I first saw my son’s face. That, for me, was a moment of conversion. I fell in love.

The conversion didn’t fully happen then. It happened over a series of many moments and, I imagine, will continue to happen over many moments in his life as he grows older. When they took him away to special care for severe jaundice my heart tugged closer to him; when I first saw him in his light phototherapy cot in special care, I realised I would always fight for my baby and would be willing to give my life or take another’s to protect him; when he cries inconsolably, my heart breaks for him; when he first smiled at me and every time he has smiled at me since, my heart overflows with love for him and the sleepless nights, the lack of space, the absence of time to write – all those seem worth it in that moment. Of course, there are also moments when I want to give him to someone else for a few hours, to give me a break, but, I realise as I type this and it surprises me: I never want to give him back.

I’m not like those mums who only ever wanted a baby and who think having a baby is the ultimate fulfilment in life. I don’t want my entire life to revolve around childcare and stories of what 'Alfie' did yesterday. Despite this, although sometimes my reaction to others asking “Isn’t motherhood wonderful?” is sometimes slightly offkey and less than enthusiastic, I can say with absolute honesty that I love my son more than anything in the world, more than I thought possible, and I am glad he’s in my life. He is more precious to me than I could understand before and while, yes, I want my life to be one that fulfils me outside of motherhood, being his mama will always be something that is of the utmost importance to me.

The joy of earplugs

I wore two earplugs last night and I feel like I've just returned from a spa.

I didn't feel able to wear any at first, wanting to learn his habits and trust in his abilities to not choke on vomit and to keep breathing all night. Then I tried one earplug, just to dampen the sound of his nocturnal groanings a touch. Two is blissful in comparison.

I slept so much more, not waking for minor fusses, letting him fall asleep again with no intervention. I woke only for hunger sounds. Though he did wake me screaming once and was still fast asleep. He quietened again, but this kept happening, so I lifted him out of his basket, and his eyes sprang open like one of those dolls, and he was ravenously hungry.

He continues to amuse, astonish and entertain me, especially the hour he decided he wanted to play in the middle of the night and treated me to a stream of giggles and gurgles. Who could not delight in such innocent joy?

Minor guilt

Boy has been great of late, apart from three hours yesterday afternoon where I wanted to lock him in a soundproof room...then he did a humongous burp and was fine. I felt terrible and instantly fell in love with him again!

The range of emotions a tiny scrap of a human can conjure is quite phenomenol. A lesson in patience and a harsh (and sometimes kind and gentle) mirror to my soul.

Sleep ramblings

Last night I tried to wake the man to pass me the crying baby on his side of the bed, but he just muttered something about pipework. Crying baby was not hungry and promptly fell asleep on me. Still being a relatively new mum, I panicked and tried to discuss times of last feeds. I realised I would get nowhere with him, when he explained that the pipework was in at least two different locations.

I suppose it's an improvement on his nocturnal wanderings to check for "activity outside the door", informing me there were no sleeping babies on the landing; or his knife and fork request when I asked him to change a nappy.

He's a fantastic father and really very helpful, most of the time. Just not very good at middle-of-the-night waking up. Sleeps too deeply. I'm going to have to resign myself to that bit always being my job. I should be thankful that his deep sleep allows him to be an early riser so he can do the early shift.

I wonder what all this pipework was...?

As an aside, baby boy slept almost six hours before feeding. They said he might be sleepy after his jabs and clearly he was. Fed like an animal fresh out of hibernation all afternoon, so I guess he had enough resources to take him through the night.

Right...time for the man's early shift to start. Baby boy has a stinky nappy. :-)

Inconsolable baby

For the first time since his birth we had an inconsolable baby. An hour of crying. It was terribly distressing. We tried a warm bath which made it worse. We changed him. I tried feeding him. Nothing worked.

In desperation, we searched the internet. Success. It turns out that a hairdryer consoles an inconsolable baby. Or, slightly more environmentally friendly, an eight hour recording of white noise.

Autumn

Autumnal sunshine in the sky, in the leaves and in my heart.

Vomit

Baby boy just vomited into my bra. Only a little. Probably drank too quickly or too much. Yesterday, it was down his sleeve. He's getting good at vomiting into small spaces rather than over everything.