We got you 2019!

Last year was amazing. I created life. I’m feeling the best I’ve ever felt despite sleepless nights and the challenges motherhood presents. As 2019 loads, here’s what I’m hoping for…

Mum’s the word!

I want to be the best mum I can be. I’m fairly new to this gig but so far have managed to keep a tiny human alive and thriving. I want to continue in that quest to raise a healthy and happy boy.

Have a little patience…

It’s a thing that is in short supply when you’re a mother, especially a new one. You find yourself with a shorter fuse thanks to lack of or broken sleep, the never-ending list of tasks, the annoying habits of your hubby etc. I want to be more patient in 2019.

Smile darn ya, smile!

It’s the prettiest thing you own. I catch myself in a perma-frown most of the time. It feels good to smile, to laugh. I studiously avoid people’s gaze when I’m out and about, unless I have a full face of makeup. But, smiling is contagious. You’ll brighten up someone’s day by exchanging a smile and maybe even your own. That said, I definitely smile more now that Sonny is around.

Eat cleaner, drink greener.

Most of us will make a resolution to eat better and cut down on the booze. I want to eat better, not just for me but so I’m fit and healthy for my son. I also need to cut back on the adult grape juice, for my liver and clarity of mind.

Money’s too tight to mention.

We’re all chasing more money, for the opportunities it affords. I need to be better with my finances. I’ve never been frugal and yet somehow I’ve ended up marrying a financial advisor! I’m an impulsive creature and can’t resist online shopping for clothes and accessories. That has been dramatically curbed now I have a baby and now, I’m buying outfits and accessories for him. Oh, a lotto win would be nice.

Be more organised

Hands up – I’m not blessed with organisational skills. That’s not to say I can’t get my shit together when I need to. I’ve adapted to becoming a mother and the challenges that presents. What I’m really struggling with now is keeping up with the housework. I grimace when I see the tower of dirty laundry every morning. I groan at the constant dishes, constant sterilising Sonny’s bottles and eating apparatus. Damn, it’s hard. But I know I just need to figure out a system in my head and I’ll be fine… any tips would be welcome!

Feel the fear but do it anyway.

I think you become more fearless as you grow older. You care much less about what people think and become more comfortable with who you are. I want to chase my dreams this year. I’m feeling strong, happy and focused. This is going to be my year.

What are your hopes and dreams for 2019? Let me know in the comments below.

A very happy and prosperous New Year from Sonny and me. 

Dx

Something’s gotta give, mama!

I overheard an exhausted mother utter this while having my morning Americano in a local cafe while Sonny squirmed and floundered in his buggy. She was sat just across from me, unloading to a pregnant friend. Don’t judge me, I know ear-wigging is a bit naughty but I just couldn’t help myself. We’ve all done it, right? She lamented that she’d got the kids ready this morning while her husband scrolled through the news on his phone. This is normal, for her husband. Even though she was justified in complaining, she still tried to explain it away. She even said, “it’s routine, I’m used to it now.” I felt really sad for her and then I realised that this attitude still prevails in the 21st century.

A lot is expected of women, true. We’re traditionally the homemakers, the life givers, the child raisers, all the while in many cases, holding down a part-time or full-time job. Damn, it’s not easy. I’m on maternity leave with the clock counting down to my return to work. I’m adjusting to my new role as mother okay, I hope, but it’s a full-time job looking after a baby while keeping on top of the laundry, the dishes, the bottle cleaning, tidying, cleaning etc.

An average day goes like this:

  • Get up and quick shower.
  • Feed Sonny.
  • Change nappy and get him dressed (sometimes several times if the poo train comes to town).
  • Coffee.
  • Entertain/soothe Sonny.
  • Attempt to do some writing.
  • Change nappy.
  • Try and put Sonny down for a nap. It’s hard to know whether he wants to play or sleep!
  • Put on a wash.
  • Fold and put away dry clothes
  • Feed cat.
  • Make lunch for hubby.
  • Feed Sonny.
  • Wash up dishes.
  • General tidy.
  • Put on another wash.
  • Take Sonny for a walk/get fresh air before my head explodes.
  • Supermarket for baby stuff.
  • Wash and steralise bottles (several times throughout day).
  • Entertain and or soothe Sonny.
  • Do a bit of writing.
  • Bath time (I might as well be getting a bath too).
  • Get Sonny ready for bed.
  • Feed Sonny.
  • Ah shit, he’s not for sleeping.
  • Dishes.
  • Prepare bottles for during the night/morning.
  • Bed.

The above is subject to change obviously and some days are smoother than others. It depends on the boss. My beloved does help, of course. Maybe I feel that I should be doing the lion’s share because I’m not working… wait a minute. I can’t imagine juggling life once I return to work. Working mums are superhuman. Fact.

All said and done, motherhood is wildly rewarding. Sonny is getting more fun by the day. He’s mastering sitting up, rolling and babbling in the cutest way. It makes me turn to jelly. He bloody better not say “dada” first which it’s looking like more and more each day. I know I’ve it easier than a lot of mums out there. If you’re one of them or by some amazing coincidence the woman I overheard this morning (sorry!), slow down and take a breather – something’s gotta give or you’ll break. You’re doing amazing. More than that, you’re a wonder woman. I salute you.

Speaking of super humans, meet Super Sonny One Sock!

Mind the bump

I was in the shower earlier (ah the luxury!) and my hand lingered over my soft, still slightly protruding tummy as the suds dripped over it. I absentmindedly stroked it and then realised that I missed my bump. “Seriously?” I thought.

My pregnancy was straightforward, thankfully. I did find it tough towards the end. It was a hot summer and as much as I love the sun, it became a source of extreme discomfort. I went nine days overdue. Two sweeps and nature taking its course and I was in labour. It was hard. The pain was in my back the entire time. I was sobbing as my contractions began. That was nothing. I’ll not labour the point… heh, but it was bloody tough. I was completely unprepared for the pain, despite reading hypnobirthing books in the sun, when I could stand it. I thought I had a difficult labour. My midwife thought it was easy. I was affronted. After being in labour all night, I was told at 8am that I had about two hours of pushing to go. “Never again,” I thought. When my beautiful Sonny was born, I issued my husband with a stark warning. In the first few weeks, getting no sleep, I swore to myself, “never again”. Don’t get me wrong, I adore being a mum and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. But, could I seriously be getting broody for another one?! I think it’s the hormones. There’s no way we consider it at the moment. Plus, I’m nearing my forties. But, it’s crazy how you can do a complete 180Β°.

Becoming a mum changes you so drastically as a person. But it has made me a better one, at least I hope. I’m no longer preoccupied with my own internal dialogue. Sonny comes first. Always. I’ve found my purpose. I don’t know if I’ll have another baby. Time will tell. I thank my lucky stars I have Sonny. He’s enough, more than enough, he’s everything. Always. 

Baby gone… how The Cry is about every new parents’ nightmare

*Contains spoilers.*

“Of all the things that can happen to a person, there are a few things that could be worse, can you think of any? There are none. And the whole world, they want to look at someone that it’s happened to. Everyone wants to judge, look for clues so maybe it won’t happen to them.” Joanna.

I watched The Cry on catch up after my husband recommended it. Yes, you read right. My husband, who’s usually scathing of TV dramas said “it was quite good. I want to see what happens next.” Hell, me too. I’m completely breathless after the first episode. The Cry is a four-part psychological drama about a young mother Joanna (Jenna Coleman) who slowly unravels after the birth of her first child to a man who cheated on his wife to be with her. She receives little support from her now fiance Alistair (Ewen Leslie), who nudges her in the middle of the night to attend to their screaming infant, and sleeps through a long haul flight from Glasgow to Melbourne while an exhausted Joanna paces the aisle, while dispassionate passengers throw her ugly comments, “maybe you should feed your baby”, one man growls. Even a prissy flight attendant tells her to keep her tiny baby quiet. Once they land, Alistair bemoans over being jet lagged, while a bristling Joanna goes to get him a coffee.

As tired and wretched as she feels, the worst is yet to come. As they make their way to their beautiful beach-view apartment, they stop at a shop for supplies. Alistair goes in, only to be joined in a few minutes by Joanna, who inexplicably has left their baby in its car seat. My hackles rise. “The baby!” I cry inwardly. Surely she will have locked the car though? No. The pair return to the car, Joanna grimly observing a few tins in the carrier bags. Then, Alistair makes the horrifying discovery that their little baby is gone. He runs shrieking down the empty road, while a dazed Joanna searches the car, the magnitude of the situation not really hitting. Then, she feebly shouts “help!”, her cries slowly reaching reaching a painful crescendo, “help!”. It’s utterly gut-wrenching. My hand reaches for my three-month old son’s chubby leg (the same age as Noah) and I feel a cold shiver. It’s horrible luck. There’s no doubt many a devoted mother has released her grip of a buggy to run after an errant older child in a store, or nipped into the house for something with the baby strapped in the car seat in an unlocked car. But, there’s more to it. We see Joanna in the opening scenes preparing for a court appearance. Her sanity is being questioned. There are witnesses lambasting her for losing it on the red eye flight to Melbourne. Surely she wouldn’t have harmed her baby son? There’s also Alistair’s aggrieved ex, the reason he’s taking his family to Australia – to get custody of their young daughter. Could she have something to do with it? And even more odd, at what appears to be a TV appearance to make a plea for their missing son, Alistair whispers matter-of- factly in Joanna’s ear, “do you think you’ll cry?”

Aside from the unimaginable pain of a child going missing, we see Joanna coming apart at the seams before Noah goes missing, with his incessant crying. Although I’ve just been a mum for over three months myself, I judge her, when she falls asleep with her baby on her chest on the sofa. I judge her for keeping her baby in another room with a monitor on. And what do I know? I’m hardly an expert. It’s not just me though, she bumps into a pristine mum on the street who comments that her baby is probably too warm. Even my hubby remarked, “oh, I wouldn’t do that, and did you see when she fell asleep on the bed leaving her baby in the other room?” It’s awful that we’re so quick to judge, as Joanna tells her psychologist in the opening scenes.

It’s a harrowing watch whether or not you’re a parent. I’ll watch the next episode with my husband, as we hold our baby close.

The Cry is on BBC One on Sunday at 9pm.

Image courtesy of BBC Pictures.

 

Chatty mums, bum slapping and hogging a green and yellow tractor – my experience of my first ever mums and tots group

Today I brought Sonny to a mums and tots group at a local church. It’s a rite of passage for a new mum. For me, it was a bit like the first day of school. I joined the procession of buggies into the church hall and, not knowing anyone, sat alone like the new girl. I busied myself with my baby, lifting up toys, (he was taken with a green and yellow tractor), and was soon approached by a friendly woman, who welcomed me to the group. Conversation flowed as I bounced my baby on my lap. When her toddler commanded her attention, another smiling woman introduced herself and we were soon exchanging stories on our respective career paths. Ninety minutes flew by.

Admittedly, the group did more for me than my 14-week-old son who bobbed his head, taking in the bright colours of the toys and the squeals, laughter and chatter of the young children. While every moment is precious, I’m looking forward to when he can interact with other babies and play on the toys. I did, however, plop his bottom on a tractor and placed his tiny fingers around the steering wheel. We were approached by a gorgeous toddler who reached out to signal that he wanted a go. Now, it’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with playground politics so I quickly lifted Sonny off as the child commandeered it. I didn’t think much of it until the same youngster approached a second time to take the above mentioned green and yellow tractor. This time, I didn’t give up the toy. My son’s fingers were tightly clasped to the plastic toy and I too added my grip. The child gave me a steely stare but I held on, softly saying “no”. The little one gave up, running into the arms of his carer. I looked up, wondering if anyone had witnessed the stand off. Nobody had. I felt a little bad for a second, only to be overwhelmed with feelings of protectiveness towards my baby. What will he do if a kid does this to him when he goes to nursery? Will he allow the toy to be taken from him or will he hold his own? I hope the latter.

Before leaving, I brought Sonny to the baby changing room next to a row of toilets. As I bent over to get things from the bottom of the buggy, I felt small hands on my bottom. I stood up in surprise and saw it was a little boy. I giggled and quickly text my husband about the comedic incident. The last time that happened was many, many years ago in a crowded bar – and it wasn’t by a kid. It was entirely innocent of course but it certainly made me muse about my own little one and the kind of thing’s he’ll get up to when he’s on his feet.

I’m glad I went. It was good to meet other mums and it’s good to immerse yourself in the world of little people. Oh, you also get tea and cake, which is always good in my book.

What three months of motherhood have taught me.

I still need to pinch myself when I gaze at the tiny human dribbling, gurgling and robustly kicking his chubby legs close to me. I didn’t decide to start a family until my late thirties, so I’d worried that I’d left it too late. Although I’m certainly an older mother or ‘geriatric’ – an outdated term in the medical world – I don’t regret waiting until I felt ready.

I don’t regret waiting to start a family until I felt ready.

If you’re a new mum, an experienced one or a mummy-to-be. Here are some personal observations that I hope may help and/or amuse you.

Fed is best

Although I’d thought about how I’d feed my baby, I didn’t make a concrete decision. I’d consulted family, friends and colleagues to help me but as my tiny son was placed on my bare chest after a 12-hour labour, I still hadn’t decided. When the headmistress-style midwife who was (rightly) tough with me during the latter stages of labour (why aren’t you pushing Davina?!), asked me my decision, I’d expected to feel pressured to breastfeed but I didn’t. Still, I held my little boy close, hoping that nature would take its course. It didn’t. I don’t feel any guilt like many women do for not breastfeeding. I do feel judged though. At every medical appointment, I’m asked, ‘Do you feed him yourself?’. There’s a pause and I smile, saying ‘he’s bottle fed’. Then comes the nanosecond of judgement flickering across their face. My rebuke should be ‘well, he’s hardly feeding himself at 13 weeks!’ That said, I really admire women who do breastfeed and I imagine it to be a wonderful bonding experience. While some may think bottle feeding is an easy option, there’s no joy in constantly sterilising bottles and constantly changing formula and testing different bottles because your baby is suffering from painful wind.

So long Sandman!

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that new mums are sleep-deprived. My dear mum told me to get as much rest as possible before the little one arrived. Sadly, you can’t bank sleep and very soon you are coping on a few hours a night, if that. In the very early days, I was feeding my baby every hour and a half. In that first week, my zombie-like husband and I sleepwalked through feeds, nappy changing and bathing, communicating like Neanderthals. When my other half went back to work, I was petrified, wondering how I’d keep a small human being alive, especially when my track record with houseplants is so bad!

The good news is that you do cope. Maternal instincts kick in and somehow you just know what to do. Sleep deprivation is all consuming and debilitating. You are told that “it won’t last forever,” and of course, it doesn’t but it’s good to keep that in mind when you’re glassy-eyed in the wee, small hours. Then there’s the crying, the kind that is akin to a pneumatic drill, cracking your china-like, exhausted body. It’s horrible, but it’s because it’s the only way your baby can communicate and most often it’s because he or she needs food, changing, or they’re too hot, too cold or bored. Don’t take it personally! I have, and have on occasion joined in, but it’s better to troubleshoot while taking big, deep breaths. If you still can’t get to the crux of the issue yourself, get help. Don’t worry about being a paranoid first mum.

Another reality is that you’ll most likely start to resent your husband or partner, who’s cosy and comatose in bed while you do the early morning feeds, and the cat, who takes the opportunity to use me as a human water bottle as I sink into the sofa with my screaming bundle. When I eventually put down baby after he ravenously downs 6oz of milk in 15 minutes, I find it really difficult to get back to sleep. I freak if I can’t hear his breathing so I’m hovering over his Moses basket, with my hand on his chest, feeling it gently rising and falling. I wonder how my man manages to shut off to the world, while I fret and obsess, occasionally stirring him to tell him I can’t get our son settled, only for him to mumble and roll over. To be fair, he is a really great husband and a loving father. It makes my heart swell to see him holding our son close to his chest, or when I watch him chatting to him, not knowing that I’m watching. I do count my blessings, honest…

As for housework – don’t be silly! You might struggle with this if you’re ‘cleaning mad’ like the amazing Mrs Hinch or like me, clean when you can’t bear the mess anymore. You’ll wonder how you’ll ever manage being a mum, running a house and just generally dealing with day-to-day life. For the first six weeks, do the absolute minimum, like laundry, an inevitable task to keep up with a rapidly growing baby who likes to vomit over his new outfit, just as you’re about to leave the house. There are some days when just getting a shower and getting dressed is an achievement. Forget about makeup and getting your nails done. It’s rather liberating to go without makeup, I’ve found. There was a day when leaving the house without foundation would fill me with dread. Go easy on yourself, ask for help, and get out and meet a friend for a coffee. Don’t spend weeks indoors, fresh air will do you both the world of good.

Motherhood is completely life-changing and you’re constantly learning and evolving. It can be hard, but it’s really rewarding and there’s no feeling in the world as good when your beautiful baby smiles at you. It’s pure joy. I love being a mum.

Baby, one more time…

  • Don’t expect to know everything, motherhood is a massive learning curve.
  • Be kind to yourself, you’re doing an amazing job.
  • Always, always trust your gut. If something doesn’t feel right, speak your health visitor and/or GP.

Life is like a theme park – scream if you want to go faster…

I’m no adrenaline junkie. I’m the annoying one with a nervous disposition that is advised against going on high speed, boisterous rides at theme parks. I’m a self-diagnosed hypochondriac too, being anxious is part of my DNA. I guess you could say that it terrifies me to not be in control of my surroundings. That’s not to say I haven’t surprised myself. Giving birth is definitely my greatest physical achievement. Other than that, I’ve clung desperately to my much braver husband on a jet ski while he cruelly delighted in chasing wakes in San Diego. Against my better judgement, I’ve also paraglided, water-skied and floated in the salty sea in Spain (as a non-swimmer) and even went on a rollercoaster at Euro Disney. I had my eyes closed the entire time but at least I did it.

Like many other children, I loved ‘the amusements’ as they were so called in those halcyon days of childhood. I’d giddily jump from ride to ride with flushed cheeks, weak knees and a churning tummy. I threw up, of course, but that didn’t stop me. There were times I’d stagger of the ‘big’ rides and need to sit down, the colour drained from my face, and I’d have to wait until my heart stopped pounding and the world stopped spinning. This was all incredibly uncool, so I made a decision back then that fun fairs were probably not for me, not if I wanted to have any street cred at any rate.

However, at the weekend, I headed to Planet Fun with my husband, son and my brother, his wife and their little ones, one five months, one three and a half. I watched in awe as the older girl gleefully went from one ride to another with her dad. “Again!” she cried when she hopped off a ridiculously fast one, while her poor father was ashen-faced. As for me, I went on the Dodgems. For those three minutes, I felt like a child again and enjoyed the rush of simply just having fun. My adrenaline-junkie husband, who has jumped out of planes and bungee jumped decided to go on what could only be described as an instrument of torture. This monstrosity not only went upside down, but the car revolved manically whilst completing revolutions. Watching it was enough to make my insides churn. When he finally got off, my poor, green husband whispered, “that was not fun”. Will it stop him from getting on another terrifying ride in the future? Probably not.

In some ways, as you grow older, you feel less burdened by things that might have got to you a decade or two earlier. But in other ways, at least for me, you become more anxious about certain things. It’s good to know your limits, but like my little niece, it’s also brilliant to throw yourself at scary rides, and come out the other side, exhilarated and ready for more. In life, it’s OK to stick within your comfort zone, but it’s better to push yourself, go on the big scary ride. It might not be for you, but it will do your confidence the world of good. Adopt a child-like approach to life, feel the fear and do it anyway. I want my son to take chances, even if they don’t work out.Β  It’s the things you don’t do in life that you regret the most.