One year ago…

The Dude turned one last week! He is growing and changing faster than ever and seems to have come so far in just the last month alone. New skills include clapping, which he just randomly did one morning. He woke up, immediately sat up in bed and just started clapping! He seems to do it a lot in bed for some reason.

He has also began waving but like the clapping, he doesn’t do it on demand. In fact that’s a theme that has been running through everything; he never imitates. I read Dr Sears’ The Baby Book and it went on about how babies learn by copying, so you stick your tongue out and they do it back. I’ve been poking my tongue out at this baby for nine months now and never once has he done it back! Oh he’s had plenty of tongue poking practice, it’s not like he has a tongue tie or can’t do it, but it’s never on command or in response. Same goes for anything else, waving, clapping, making noises, he just looks at us like, “go for your life, man, but I’ll do that when I feel like it thanks!”

Some words are definitely coming out. He knows mama and dada, numnums (our word for food) and I’m convinced he says zeh-zeh (his version of his name, Izzy). He also says “ohhhh”, to which I always reply, “what’s occurring?” (Gavin and Stacey anyone?).

He adores music, any kind, from hiphop to classical to rock to dance to the little jingles that emanate repeatedly from various toys. He dances, it’s so cute, bounces up and down while sitting, standing and even in the ergo. I’m not that surprised, given the musical appreciation and raw talent running rampant in both my and Mr Chewbacca’s families, but I’m secretly very chuffed. I will do my best not to impose my shit on him or force him to embrace anything just so I can live vicariously, but I would love it if the Dude ended up doing something with music. I hugely regret not learning piano as a kid. So does Mr Chewbacca in fact. Anyway, his latest favourite is the classic Chili Peppers “Give it Away”. He likes it when I sing the “oh yeeeeeah” bit.

We’ve had so many changes this last month. Dude grew another centimetre so he’s now at 79, and he put on 600g so he’s now 11.5kg. That puts him in the 75th percentile for weight and the 90th percentile for height. He’s eating more, and I’m allowing more variety, so he now has peanut butter on toast, more variety of fruit and veg and the odd tidbit from our plates. I even gave him a little of the pasta from a homemade lasagne today and he loved it. I know he’s keen to eat everything we eat but I believe it takes time to introduce such variety. So it’s just little bits at a time for now.

My dad bought the Dude a stroller for his birthday and I was thrilled to discover he actually loves it! He falls asleep in it and everything, which is a massive contrast to how he was months ago when he screamed after ten minutes. Lucky, because he’s getting too heavy to carry for any length of time. He’s been on my back now for about an hour and I can feel it.

We went out without the Dude for the very first time since he was born. It was a few days before his birthday. We got a breast pump, and I pumped a couple of bottles of milk. Urgh, hate it, so hard, don’t know how some women do it full time! I think they must have firmer, perkier, smaller boobs. Anyway, moving on… We left the Dude at home with my aunt for the evening while we went to a friend’s wedding. It was hard! I had such anxiety when I first left home without him, and I just kept checking my phone every five minutes. It was great though, to just relax with friends. We got home around 11:30 and Dude was asleep, although he woke soon after we arrived. He’d refused the bottle entirely! I think the milk wasn’t fresh enough. Anyway, it was a success and although I wouldn’t do it all the time, it’s good to know it’s possible.

We had a little party for him on Sunday. It went really well, considering neither of us has ever hosted a party for twenty odd people before. I am so disorganised. I like planning but don’t like actually scheduling the work and sticking to the schedule. So given I made all the food, I think we did okay. The cake was a serious disappointment, to me anyway. It looked alright, as I did a hundreds and thousands cover up job, but it was nothing compared to what I’d planned. I just didn’t prepare properly and guessed a lot, which is always bad.

Anyway, despite the mould-coloured slightly curdled icing hiding under those tiny coloured spheres, it tasted pretty yummy. The kids wolfed it down and went for seconds. Dude was given a piece but was more interested in the plate at first, then started mashing it into the table and floor, then finally tried to eat some.

He was really the highlight of the day for me. He fell asleep on my back for half an hour or so before people started arriving and then he just socialised! He loved having.everyone in the house, other kids to play with, so much stuff to do. There was really only one point where he seemed to get tired, probably three or four o’clock, and a good friend who was at his birth offered to carry him round in the ergo. That was great. He didn’t sleep but he chilled out, and then just kept going. Once everyone had gone about 6:30-7, he suddenly realised he was beyond tired and screamed the house down while we quickly got him ready for bed. Nothing out of the ordinary there, he does that more nights than not.

Speaking of sleep, I can’t say it’s great but it could be a lot worse. He goes down between 6 and 7, and then wakes two or three times before we go to bed at 10:30 or so. Sounds awful! But it’s not that bad. At least when we do come to bed he’ll often sleep through, or only wake once. He usually wakes around 6:30-7am, although has been known to sleep in for no particular reason. His itchy skin is what interrupts sleep. I wish I could say we’ve sorted his eczema but it’s still an issue. It’s not totally out of control but it’s not being well-managed. We can’t afford the Graham’s cream any more and I still don’t know the cause of it. I thought it might have been a zinc deficiency but I’ve been giving him a supplement for about a month now and I’m not seeing a massive difference. I thought maybe it might have been healing just the other day but I’m not sure. I’ve just upped his dosage as I realised I read the label wrong, so we’ll see, it might help.

I must finish now and turn off my phone as the light is distracting for him as I try and get him to sleep. He’s now sitting up in his cot playing very seriously with some stuffed toys and a blanket. He’s in the ‘pick it up, throw it down’ stage. Pick up the blanket, thrown it down, pick it up, put it down, all the while with great focus and effort. You’d never know he’s dead tired…

Nearly 10 months (actually nearly 11 months)

Very nearly!  He’s going to be 10 months tomorrow, holy shizzle!  Currently he is sitting in my lap watching me type, about to pounce, so this post will take a while but… yep, there he goes, he wants that mouse!

***

Well, that first bit was drafted nearly a month ago – yeesh, has it been that long? So this post is the “nearly 11 months” lumped in with the previous one. He’s going to be 11 months on Monday!

So, what’s happened since 9 months? So much! He is really mobile now and very vocal. The crawling is still an odd sort of crab-like variation of the cross-crawl, so his left leg is dragged under his body a bit and his right goes out at the side to plant his foot flat.  He’s very fast though, and occasionally he’ll crawl a bit on all fours, with both feet flat, or alternatively he’ll crawl normally once or twice. I’ve been taking him to see a chiropractor to see if we can sort out his crawling, and it has helped a lot, but I very much doubt he’ll ever do a normal cross-crawl permanently before he walks.  He stands very well now, and will let go and stand unassisted for a few seconds at a time, smiling to himself in triumph.  His motor skills are good, and he can grab really tiny things between finger and thumb as well as larger things with both hands.  Recently he acquired a rugby ball and has been throwing it around and chasing after it, it’s very cute.  I remember about a month ago he discovered that his little soccer type ball makes a ‘boing’ noise when you throw it, and he was absolutely delighted!  He’s had that ball since he was about four months, but he only just discovered the noise is associated with throwing the ball.  It’s nice to see these little discoveries.  He gets into every drawer and cupboard at his level to the extent that we’ve had to finally do some baby-proofing. I think I’ve probably bought every type of baby-proofing lock/latch/device on the market and we still haven’t gotten around to installing them all.  So he opens the drawers and pulls out the wooden spoons and turkey baster and clingfilm and all sorts of random stuff.  He’s also started putting things in places, so I’ve found his rugby ball has been deposited back into his toybox and random toys or his sippy cup have ended up in the bottom drawer in the kitchen.  He unpacks the plastics cupboard on a daily basis.  It’s all about emptying things at the moment, so if there are smaller containers or lids or other items in a larger container, his mission is accomplished as soon as it has been tipped out on the floor.  I take him outside with me when I hang up washing and he sits at my feet and tips the pegs out of the plastic bucket. Endless entertainment!

I took the Dude to an anthroposophical doctor, mainly for his eczema, and we formulated a plan of attack.  I got him an anthroposophical medicine (like homepathic only more refined) which he has three times daily, plus some calcium compound morning and night, to help his teeth.  In addition, if it’s an imbalance in the gut, I’ve given him a course of probiotics daily in his porridge.  I’ve got the most amazing cream, made by Graham’s, with colloidal oatmeal as the active ingredient, as well as some other creams like goats milk and rescue remedy.  I haven’t really been eating much dairy, not drunk milk in a long time, and I think that’s helped both me and him.  So his skin has improved amazingly, it’s such a relief!  It’s still itchy unfortunately, but it’s under control now, which is great.  And of course taking to the chiropractor regularly has had an impact I’m sure.

Another big milestone was reached a few weeks ago.  He had his first fever!  It was due to teething, his eighth tooth coming through, and it only got to 38.2, but still, I was impressed.  I could see his body just going through the motions, so efficiently processing, the fever just doing its job.  For a whole day he didn’t really want to play and just fed and whinged and slept and cried and whinged and was generally annoying, but because he was so hot I could easily forgive him.  I knew it wouldn’t last long, so I just gave him homepathics and fed him when he wanted and spent a lot of time lying down with him.  At first I was resentful that Mr Chewbacca went out (it was a Saturday night, St Patrick’s Day, good friend’s birthday and other good friend doing World’s Greatest Shave), but later I was very glad as he was too drunk to be woken when Dude woke and cried three times during the night.  In fact at one point Dude was crying loudly right next to Mr Chewbacca’s face and he didn’t even stir.  It was annoying at one point when Mr Chewbacca decided to snore loudly, just as Dude was drifting back off to sleep, so I had one hand on Dude and was hitting Mr Chewbacca in the face, holding his nose and twisting his head from side to side with the other.  Now I know what you’re thinking, who co-sleeps with a drunkard, right?  Yeah, probably technically against the guidelines, but I seriously didn’t think he was affected, he seemed fine when he came home, and the Dude sleeps next to me anyway.  He has been so dead tired recently, not getting enough sleep, due partly to his own crazy body clock but also to the fact that Dude is waking up earlier. Anyway, the fever was gone less than 24 hours later and when we woke the next morning, everything seemed back to normal and the tooth had come through.

And yes, the inevitable has happened, no more sleeping in for us, Dude is getting up early like normal kids!  He is waking around 7 these days, and I’m trying to get him in bed by 7 at night as I know he’ll sleep 12 hours given the opportunity, but it’s been a real chore to get him to sleep recently.  The feeding to sleep is getting really tiresome, mainly because the majority of the time he doesn’t really want it, but it’s the only way he can go to sleep.  He squirms around, makes grunting noises and is always too full.  So then he turns over and comes off the boob, and then sits up and chats and crawls into his cot and all over me, going everywhere head first as he is so dead tired his head just wants to make him lie down.  He fights sleep til the bitter end! Some nights this week it’s taken me well over an hour to get him down.  But the good news is, once he’s down, he (touch wood!!) hasn’t been waking, or has been going a good couple of hours before waking.  And when he does wake and go in to get him back down again, he goes down again very fast, definitely ready to be asleep.  So things are shifting, vaguely closer to normal/happy.

He suddenly wants to eat a lot more, which is great. I’m doing a fair bit of spoon-feeding, mainly because the baby-led solids are so difficult to do without totally trashing the floor.  I still give him chunks of food, rice cakes, fruit and veg, other snacks and things, but I’ve been cooking up just simple pasta and two vegies and freezing it in portions.  He’s also been having some millet porridge for breakfast which he’s been eating all of for just the last week or so, since his big fever transition. I’m getting a bit more lax with what I let him eat, so he has had the teensiest taste of my yoghurt, which he loved, and I usually give him a couple of crusts of my morning toast, if he’s awake when I’m eating it, which he also loves.  I figure if there’s a trace of butter or vegemite on it, it’s not really bad, and it’s good that he gets used to more variety in taste.  I made some humous the other week and put a little too much garlic in it, but I let him try some and he really liked it, I was so surprised!  I still haven’t given him any meat or cheese or egg or other types of full on protein, mainly because I don’t think his body really needs to deal with foods that complex yet, but I would like to give him some actual protein, so I’ve bought some chick peas and lentils and will work out what to do with them at some point.

The other big thing that’s happened with the Dude recently is that the holes in his teeth (have I mentioned them before?) have gotten bigger and then just a week ago he chipped one!  The enamel/structure of those teeth is obviously compromised and I’m suspecting that’s the cause of the decay more than anything, as the chip just goes straight into the spot of decay.  The fact that the spots are slap bang in the centre of each front tooth says to me there’s something weak about their structure as well.  I wondered whether all my prenatal nutrition had done something bad to them, and I shuddered thinking all that icecream and chocolate and dodgy food I ate when pregnant might have had an effect.  Not to say I didn’t eat healthily most of the time – if anything I ate healthier when pregnant than any other time in my life, mainly because anything with acid or dairy or sugar gave me shocking reflux and I had these bizarre cravings for steamed vegies and salads, especially in the first trimester.  So yeah, it’s hard to believe something as simple as nutrition could be the only contributing factor to his teeth being compromised. When he chipped it, we realised it was time to find a dentist.  Mr Chewbacca was saying just take him the first place you can find, although preferably a children’s dentist.  I, in typical fashion, secretly sought out a holistic dentist and booked him in.  As luck would have it, they had an appointment on the Monday, which was the soonest we could get him into a regular dentist anyway.

So on Monday, despite having no money at all, I took the Dude along to this holistic dentist in Neutral Bay.  I didn’t know what to expect, but I’d read up online so I was hoping for the best. I knew they’d say my feeding him to sleep was a bad thing as the milk would be staying on the teeth all night and breastmilk does have lots of sugar in it.  We saw the loveliest female dentist who he took a shine to (he rarely doesn’t take a shine to people though) and she did agree with me about the feeding to sleep.  She said there’s not a lot to be done as it’s impossible to get him to keep his mouth open and keep still for enough time for her to drill away the decay and seal off what’s left of his teeth.  She gave me a referral to a paediatric dentist but warned me that although they are great, they are mainstream, and will probably recommend a general anaesthetic to do the drilling and stuff.  She said she personally wouldn’t subject her children to that at this age, and I said I doubt I would allow it either.  She said the decay is quite soft and probably going to get worse.  There were a raft of questions about other influences, vaccinations, nutrition, the pregnancy, the birth, illnesses, medications, but of course I haven’t done any bad stuff in respect to all that.  Needless to say she was impressed!  I will take him back there in about six months, as she said he should be able to sit still enough by then for her to do something, if needed.

Just as we were finishing up, another male dentist walked past and she called him in to ask his opinion.  Turns out this guy is something of an expert in holistic dentistry and been around for quite a long time.  I connected with him immediately.  He was serious but kind, and he immediately began to do some cranial stuff to Dude who is used to all that by now.  He asked me a few questions about the pregnancy, specifically how my relationship was during that time.  I said fine, if anything, better than at any other time.  So he asked me if I’d had any other stresses during early pregnancy.  And then it dawned on me. I had the most stressful job of my life in the first trimester, and experienced probably one of the most traumatic, emotional situations of my life at work.  It still upsets me now when I think about it.  He asked if I’d been treated for that, and I looked at him like he had two heads. Treated? What kind of treatment would you recommend?  Homepathics, kinesiology, he said.  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t considered this before.  The first trimester and early second is when much of the tooth formation takes place apparently, so those stresses could have really affected things.  The good news is that his adult teeth will be great as they are being formed now, so whatever we’re doing now will be instrumental in forming his adult teeth.

Anyway, I’ve decided to seriously look into the treatment. The dentist recommended someone and as soon as we can afford it, I’ll make an appointment.  As I was waiting to pay, the male dentist made a point of coming up to me. He said out of the blue how strong Dude’s energy is, and mine too, and that I should get back into meditation as when I calm down, he will.  Wise words.  Just got to find the time!

Nearly 9 months

Well, we’ve really hit some milestones this month. The main one is crawling! Yes, the Dude is on the move. And now he rarely overbalances when sitting which is a relief as we were getting sick of having to prop pillows around him. His crawling is a little one-sided as he usually puts his right foot flat and then drags his left underneath but he is capable of normal style as I’ve seen him do it. He makes his way around the new house with speed and efficiency.

Food is going well. I can’t say he’s that interested in actually swallowing food yet, he clearly doesn’t see it as required and is really just playing and experimenting now which is fine. I do give him one evening meal via spoon feeding but I think I may start to change that because it just doesn’t make sense. He is happy to take pureed food off a spoon but I don’t think this is necessary. I think when he is ready to ingest food he will so there’s no need for mushing things up and spoon feeding. I’ve been giving him the stuff out of the packet, organic with nothing bad in it, but many of the ones that are recommended for age six months and up have meat in them! And dairy… And there’s no way in hell I’m giving him either of those for as long as I possibly can, preferably until he’s at least 2. He just doesn’t need either and they will do more harm than good.

I feel kind of slack that I’m not making him food but it’s a bit of a hassle. Well for someone like me it is as I am not that coordinated with meals. I should steam or roast more vegies for him but I just don’t manage it. And I know what the baby-led weaning book says, that baby can just eat what everyone else eats but I disagree on two fronts. One, we have too much spice and seasoning in our food which I think is inappropriate for someone who is developing his taste buds and two, we have meat, dairy, nightshades, citrus etc and I don’t think any of those foods are suitable for his new digestion. He requires none of that for nutrition as he’s getting all his vitamins and minerals through breastmilk. I’ve given him vegies out of my stirfry or risotto which is fine and I’m not paranoid about him trying new things. I just don’t want his body to have to work too hard at digesting complex and toxic foods yet. Plenty of time for that later.

It was nice to go to the homebirth mothers’ group this week after a lengthy break over the holidays. All the babies have grown and changed so much! The Dude crawled around and totally fitted in with all the other kids, cruising around exploring. He definitely hasn’t inherited my shyness. Which is great actually because I think being shy made things harder for me. It’s amazing to see how big the Dude is compared to others! He isn’t chunky, quite slender actually, like daddy, but very tall and solid. He’s just so there, so present, which is the feeling I’ve had about him since he was born. There was never anything frail about him, he didn’t ever have that weak, semi-transparent look that some babies have, where you can see they’re not quite here physically yet. If anything, the Dude is desperate to be more present, and very angry and frustrated that he can’t do all the same stuff as everyone because, well, he’s a baby! It’s like he’s got some big things to achieve and he just wants to get stuck in!

He fell off the bed twice since we moved to Fibroland, once because we hadn’t put his cot up yet and the second time he was sleeping alone and I didn’t know he was awake and he just crawled off trying to come and find me. So we sorted his sidecart cot and invested in baby monitors. Just the basic kind, so I can hear as soon as he wakes. It’s been awesome, I can relax and not worry. In the other place we didn’t have a problem because it was so small. And he wasn’t crawling, or at least he’d only been crawling a week when we left.

Still no sign of him migrating to his cot for sleep. I wish I could say that cosleeping has been a conscious choice and we love it etc but the fact is that I’d be so happy and sleep so much better if he slept in his cot. Our new bed is so comfy and not squeaky like the old one but it’s so annoying to not be able to move into a comfy position because it will wake him or there isn’t enough room. In addition, I miss bedtime with husband. There are times when it’s the three of us snuggled up and it’s lovely but eventually I just want to have some space to spread out and relax. And cosleeping hasn’t had a positive effect on our sex life. I won’t go into any more detail but suffice it to say, it sucks. And all my fellow natural cosleeping parents just don’t get it! In fact neither do the mainstream conservative ones! The former group are like, ‘oh isn’t it great, you have to be more inventive and have sex all over the house and you always know your baby is safe by your side and you can feed without getting up, bla bla bla…’. Yeah, fabulous, if you have a baby who stays asleep for more than 20 minutes without you and your boobs in his face! I never liked having my breasts touched much to begin with, and now they get manhandled 24/7! Yeah, I don’t really enjoy breastfeeding. Not to say I’d stop, as Dude would be even more difficult! But I just don’t like it that much. I think it’s because I’m touch sensitive. Nipples are for the enjoyment of others, simple as that.

The latter group, mainstream parents, are all like, ‘oh my god, he sleeps in your bed? Oh I could never sleep well, I’d be worried I’d squash him’. Yeah, that’s how I felt too, until I had a child that screamed the house down unless he was either being carried around in a sling or feeding next to me in bed. People don’t get it. They all have normal children. They think their babies are high needs because they have to feed to sleep. But they wait for them to sleep then they put them in bed. And they don’t wake up. For a couple of hours anyway. The Dude will ALWAYS wake when being carried to bed asleep. Always. And he wakes when I get up too soon. And sometimes I’ve been lying with him for over an hour, he seems perfectly sound asleep, I creep out, and five minutes later he’s screaming. So it isn’t ever possible to rock him to sleep and then put him down. It has happened maybe three times that we’ve managed to put him in his cot and he’s stayed asleep but every time he’s woken after ten minutes or so. So although it is annoying, cosleeping means we all sleep reasonably soundly most nights. There’s really nothing wrong with the Dude, he is just very aware and very sensitive. Which is what Mr Chewbacca and I are both like so not surprising.

Size wise I’m not sure how we’re going but last time I measured he was 76cm tall and 10.1kg. So he’s still massive. We’re predicting he’s going to be 6’5″. Sometimes he stretches out and his body is just so long! He is pulling himself up to standing on just about everything and thinks he’s awesome when he does it, it’s very cute. Being so tall he can reach virtually anything on the coffee table. He loves all the most dangerous and inappropriate things: electrical cords, the garbage bin, the toilet, the oven when it’s hot, the mop… The list is endless! I try not to leave things around that could be dangerous, not because I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself but more because I don’t want to be saying no and stopping him from exploring.

After that massive complaining rant about the Dude not sleeping, he’s actually been asleep for an hour by himself now… A sign of things to come perhaps.

Nearly 6 months

Can it really be six months since I felt that weird little trickle and leaked all over the bathroom floor? Six months since I had a full night’s sleep? Since I met this gorgeous little boy and thought, who are you?  Next week really does mark six months since the Dude’s arrival (although he was technically here before, making his presence and personality known by kicking the hell out of me and hiccuping at every chance).  He still kicks a lot but hiccups a normal amount these days.  He says words, although they’re not in English I don’t think.  So far, his favourite words are ‘ngeng’ and ‘geh’.  I think ngeng means ‘I want stuff’ and geh means ‘so, what’s happening?’  He has recently taken to whacking himself over and over, especially when stimulated or excited.  He rolls both ways quite easily, although I don’t think he realises yet that he is actually able to roll whenever he likes, so he still gets frustrated on his tummy and I have to turn him over.  When on his tummy he is gathering his legs under him and sticking his bum in the air, gripping onto the floor with his toes, all obviously in the lead up to crawling.  He’s been growing like crazy and it well and truly right at the top of the scale in terms of length, weight and head circumference.  We weighed him at about 5 months and he was 8.9kg!  That’s heavier than my friend’s 8 month old… yeah.

The eczema has been interesting.  I’m pretty sure my eating dairy aggravates it, especially things like milk and cheese and icecream.  So I’ve been trying to stick to the dairy-free diet, which isn’t that difficult, although my constant need to eat junk doesn’t help.  I notice if I eat any dairy (apart from good yoghurt) the Dude will sometimes throw up a bit after a feed or sometimes even between feeds, so I’m sure it makes him a bit refluxy.  The eczema has changed and I think gotten a little worse but is really plateauing at the moment, with a big concentration round his neck and under his chin, and some on his wrists and ankles that’s nowhere near as bad.  Sometimes it appears on his tummy and in his belly button, but just as red patches, not really dry or scaly.  I’ve tried a variety of things, from Hope’s Relief cream which is nice and natural but not as effective as I expected, to coconut oil which is a decent moisturiser but really doesn’t last too long.  Recently I put some paw paw ointment on which has been awesome, although not necessarily good to get rid of any itch.  Some nights he just wakes every couple of hours and feeds feverishly and scratches his chest and neck constantly, sometimes until he gets frustrated and cries, and other times I hold his hands and stop him working himself up into a scratching frenzy.

We are still co-sleeping, which, to be honest, isn’t the greatest thing in the world.  I would never want him in a bed in another room, don’t get me wrong, and it’s great knowing he’s right there and safe next to me, but our bed isn’t really big enough even though it’s a queen size, as he rolls to get the boobie and ends up taking up a third of it to himself.  And he kicks me in the stomach, wriggling and writhing, grabbing my top, pushing the boob away when he actually wants it.  He’s no good at getting it for himself really.  And he wakes so easily when we stir, it’s quite frustrating.  There are only rare times when he’s really deeply asleep and won’t stir.  His cot is side-carted alongside but he has never slept in it.  It’s just not logistically possible to get him to sleep in it, I’d end up being up all night and he wouldn’t get enough sleep.  He so very rarely falls asleep in my arms these days, and it’s usually only because he’s exhausted.  Even then, if I dare to move he wakes, it’s as simple as that.  I don’t think I’ve ever successfully put him down to sleep.  Actually I think that’s not true, I’ve done it, but it was before he was 8 weeks old, before he’d sleep through the night, when I couldn’t feed him lying down.  I don’t miss those nights!

Breastfeeding is still going well.  He is obviously thriving on my milk, of which there continues to be an abundance, and he feeds to sleep every night and some naps, unless I put him to sleep on me in the ergo which means standing almost permanently.  And now he’s about 9kg he gets heavy!  I can’t say I enjoy breastfeeding any more than I did to begin with, it is what it is, just part of the process and I’m glad it’s so straight forward for me (relatively speaking) and will do it until he seems like he doesn’t need it any more.  Just quietly, I hope that’s sooner rather than later!

The biggest milestone of late is the arrival of teeth!  Two of them in fact, about a week ago, one poking through one day and the second the next, at the bottom.  They are very sharp!  His teething symptoms have gone down a bit I guess, he certainly doesn’t have the one red cheek any more, but he is still irritable much of the time.  Some days he’s okay, others he just has bad days and I can’t really work out why.  He is just really nervy and full on and demanding but doesn’t really know what he wants.  Like his dad!  Infuriating sometimes!  I was reading SouleMama’s blog just this morning and she wrote about her littlest one who is a few days younger than the Dude – oh how different!  I’m kind of jealous actually, as he little one will suck her thumb and put herself to sleep on the couch with all sorts of noise going on around her!  Oh what joy that would be!  Currently I’m listening to the Dude getting louder and louder in his cot… the mobile (second one we’ve bought) just doesn’t cut it, and he soon gets bored and angry.  He is interested in dummies but won’t really just lie there and suck it, he has to hold it and then he pulls it out of his mouth, examines it, then puts it in sideways and chews on the plastic, then gets sick of it and throws it away.  So still a no go.  Speaking of which, I better go and get him before he gets too upset.  He’s already had a two hour sleep this morning and it’s only midday but apparently that wasn’t sufficient!!  Ho hum…

Nearly four months

So the Dude will be four months old on Friday.  How time flies!  He is extremely cute, getting a lot bigger.  I was reading the latest from The Feminist Breeder yesterday, and was reminded yet again how different babies really are.  Among other things in her first post back since the August hiatus, she mentions that her little girl (who is about 3 weeks older than the Dude) began rolling over at 3 months.  Really?!  Wow!  I was kind of shocked actually because the Dude is nearly four months and still hasn’t rolled over.  I haven’t paid much attention to what it says about when babies are meant to do certain things, but it really made me think about how different babies can be and how all that stuff about milestones really means nothing.  Actually, to be honest, I initially began to worry – why isn’t he rolling over, why isn’t he reaching this crucial developmental stage, is there something wrong with him?  Yeah, apparently that’s what mums do, worry.  In terms of muscle strength, he’s got it all, and then some.  He can easily roll from his back to his side and back again, and I’m sure he’s got the muscles to roll right over, but he just doesn’t do it, doesn’t have the motor skills yet I guess.  Typical boy, bit behind the girls.  On the other hand, TFB also said her little one has grown 4 inches since birth.  Really?  At first that sounded like a lot, but then I converted it to centimetres and realised the Dude has grown more than double that since birth!  17cm and counting in fact.  Which, if my calculations are correct (2.5 centimetres equals one inch?) is roughly equivalent to 10 inches.  Freaking massive!  So I’ve decided all his energy is going into growing lengthways and he’s not had a chance to learn about rolling yet.  It’ll come, in time.

On the other hand, despite not rolling, he is definitely roly poly, a real little chunk.  Actually really bloody heavy!  I haven’t had him weighed since his 6 week check up with the midwife, where he was 5.5 kilos I think, but I’m banking on him being at least 7kg now, probably more.  He is very solid!  And boy does he like to sit up!  Of course he’s nowhere near doing it for real in terms of his balance and motor skills, but he gets so angry if he’s put in a semi-reclining position, and he strains to pull himself up to sitting, and actually manages it a lot.  I can no longer leave him for a second propped up in the corner of the couch, because he pulls himself up and then goes forward onto his face and tries to go head first off the edge of the couch!  He also loves to ‘stand’ – ie. be held under the arms and bear weight on his legs.  The look on his face is one of real triumph, so smug, like, ‘oh yeah, look at me!’

He’s also begun to have some really full on conversations with us.  He does this thing with his eyes as he chats where he scrunches them up, it’s so cute.  And his grabbing is getting really good.  I can now leave a toy within reach and he’ll grab it for himself.  He still gets frustrated very easily, and often tends to protest about something before it’s even happened yet.  It reminds me of the type of kid who, when mum says, ‘okay, how about we go and do….’ and before she even finishes explaining the plan, starts saying, ‘no, I don’t want to do that!’  He shouts and protests just because.  It’s cute, but I’m sure it’ll get to a point where he’s big enough to understand that shouting isn’t always the way, especially when you don’t really know what you want!

Did I update on the osteo? Well if not, the outcome wasn’t great.  He couldn’t finish the adjustment because the Dude had a meltdown!  The guy was like, ‘does he always do this?’ and I had to say, yeah, he does!  He reckoned he was in pain with his digestion and gave me instructions on going wheat and dairy free.  I had resisted up until that point, but thought, hey, maybe he is sensitive.  So I tried it.  And actually managed to avoid wheat and dairy, it was amazing, as I’ve never stuck to any kind of diet for more than about 48 hours before.  I’m convinced it hasn’t made that much of an impact and I realised later when the Dude fell asleep within about five minutes of being in the ergo after the osteo appointment that he was really just tired and I’d timed the visit totally wrong.  Since going dairy and wheat free we really haven’t had any proper meltdowns where he just gets distraught and I sit and let him cry in my arms, but at the same time I’ve begun a routine around sleeping.  I’ve started putting him to bed earlier, like by 7pm, sometimes earlier, and he’s having a bath every night, fresh outfit, then bed.  He hates being changed, but I’m sure he’ll get used to it.  The bath is going really well, he really relaxes and kicks around and makes little noises.

Anyway I’m still sticking more or less to the diet, and it’s definitely reduced the amount of mucus in my system and possibly in the Dude’s as well.  He’s definitely not intolerant, but I think he’s just like any normal person – too much dairy or bread and he doesn’t digest as well.  I also stopped taking all my supplements at night and I think that’s made a difference to him.  I take the odd bit of olive leaf extract in the morning, but I’m not taking anything else and he seems much less vomity than before.  Of course he still vomits but he’s full on, it’s what he does, and he drinks too much milk, but what are you gonna do?  As with everything else, the old adage still applies: this too shall pass.

Baby goes to a wedding

So we took the I man on his first big outing last night – to a friend’s wedding.  I wasn’t sure how long I’d last with him, but I did really want to go and was thrilled that he’d come five days early so he was a month old for the wedding – ie. old enough to go.  I had been worried about noise early on, but in the last week or so have really gotten over that, as I realise he likes background noise.

It was a 2:30 ceremony and 6pm reception, up round Circular Quay and The Rocks, and we paid a stupid amount of money to park at the venue.  Of course, right on cue, dude wanted a feed just as the bride was getting out of the limo to walk into the ceremony, which was outside on a balcony.  It was pretty overcast and threatening rain, and in fact did rain as the ceremony drew to a close.  I just knew I couldn’t calm him for long enough, so I had to retreat round a corner and sat on a bench to feed him briefly.  It was a bit of a struggle, finding a dress that would fit my seemingly massive body (have I mentioned how much I hate how fat I am?!), let alone one that is suitable for feeding in, and then once I actually got the boob out and got him attached it began to rain!  And it was cold and windy, not the best environment for a young baby.  I finished feeding him and walked back to the ceremony just as they were being announced husband and wife – damn it, I missed it!

Once inside I settled in with a glass of champagne and a water, having already had an experimental glass of red wine a few days earlier which seemingly no adverse reaction from the little dude.  We found a nice comfy seat and he got a good feed, alongside another woman who was feeding her baby, a few months older than mine I think.  I just chilled out and watched the ferries coming in the Quay and marvelled at just how god damn ugly those buildings next to the Opera House really are – seriously NSW government, WTF?!

Eventually we were called for some photos, and the photographer went nuts over the little guy, we must have posed about 20 times!  He is a very beautiful baby though, if I do say so myself… soon after we all retreated to what we were assured was a ‘baby-friendly’ pub.  It turned out to be a rather large and warm ‘old man’ pub, pretty noisy with everyone talking at the tops of their voices, but the little dude slept in his pram the whole time, it was amazing!  Of course, as luck would have it, he woke just as we were leaving for the reception, which was about five minutes walk away, so I ended up carrying him most of the way.

We arrived at the fabulous venue, climbed the million stairs, and discovered a very pleasant extra room specially set aside for chilling out and baby/breastfeeding stuff.  I set to some marathon feeding and didn’t manage to really get into the reception room until after the starter had been and gone.  Luckily husband brought me my plate – seafood!!  Oh I can’t tell you how freaking amazing the oyster was, or the smoked salmon – I’d forgotten how much I missed all that stuff, yum!  Eventually I made it into the reception where we were served the main and the little guy slept in his pram the whole way through that, so I actually got to eat my meal in peace for once (delicious marinated barramundi, plus the mushrooms from the boys steaks, which they didn’t want).  Since having this baby I’ve never really been full, I’m constantly ever so slightly hungry.  So I just keep eating what’s there.  When the speeches began, and most people were a bit drunk, the little man awoke and wanted boobie.  I just couldn’t be bothered going to the room, and I wanted to hear the speeches (which went on a long time – never seen so many speeches at the one wedding).  So I just draped my scarf over my shoulder and discreetly latched the little man on and happily fed him as we listened to the speeches, it was great.

The rest of the night he slept on me, and husband, and at one point I relented and passed him to the best man who seemed somewhat less drunk than everyone else and I know he’s had a few kids and knows what he’s doing.  The baby didn’t wake up at all and husband and I got in a bit of dancing and even went outside for a very sneaky smoke!  I didn’t smoke a whole cigarette, just a few drags – again, so good, I really miss it!  But I’d never take it back up again, especially while feeding and just having babies, I wouldn’t want him exposed.  I held the little man for the rest of the night, alternating between the private room and the reception.  People were really trashed, and I didn’t like having him around them, but it was really harmless in the end.  It was great sitting quietly feeding him, listening to the ridiculously daggy ipod selection and watching the light show on the Opera House, the flames along the water and the ferries going back and forth under the bridge.  As much as I hate Sydney, that was quite cool.  I heard Toto’s Africa starting up in the reception room at one point and I just had to go out there as I knew everyone would be going crazy, especially husband and all his mates.  The little dude was chilled out but he looked like he might be waking up and I thought it was because it was so loud, but then a couple of songs later ‘woop, there it is’ or whatever it is, that hip hop from like 15 years ago started up, massive bass, and the little man just passed right out to that!

Eventually we go out of there about midnight, and although husband was a bit, let’s say ‘difficult’ on the way home and when we arrived, all in all it was a total success.  Husband was awesome during the day and evening really, looking after me and making sure I had what I needed.  It was just that tail end where he got a bit stupid, but that happens, and it all worked out in the end.  I don’t think the little man has suffered any adverse effects as a result of such a long, loud outing.  I don’t like driving with him, as he cried all the way home too last night, but it’s got to be done.  Again, I felt terrible that he was crying and I had to keep driving, but eventually he went quiet.  Although that made me feel even more guilty because I thought, ‘did we just make our baby cry it out?!  Oh no!’  I think he’s okay though.

Birth story: part 3

Continued from part 2…

I thought, surely the head must be visible after all this.  It seemed like so long that my body had been pushing, and R had even said that I should try pushing on top of the involuntary push, which was relatively satisfying.  It took a while to get the hang of the breathing and sounds needed to accompany a good push.  I was confused by R’s direction, because on the one hand she said ‘don’t hold your breath’ which made sense, but on the other hand she said, ‘don’t let the energy escape in your breath or noise,’ or something like that, it seemed that I couldn’t quite get it at first.  But when I did get it, I knew.

Finally the pain in my pelvis eased, but was quickly replaced by another debilitating pain, all around my waist.  R said this was the uterus fatiguing, which kind of made sense given I’d been having contractions for over 36 hours now.  I think there was a point here where I really became strong and focused.  Perhaps it was the pushing, or the fatigue of my amazing uterus that had been going for so long without a break, but I just knew how close I was and I wasn’t going to give up!

But why wasn’t R saying, ‘oh, look, there’s the head,’ or ‘you’re so close’.  Maybe she did say I was close.  I could see her shining her torch into the water but saying nothing, just helping me push when my body began pushing.  I can’t say I ever had an ‘urge’ to push as such, it was more that my body was already pushing, so I just did more on top.

I changed position to my knees, leaning forward over the edge of the pool, and Mr Chewbacca was there again.  I had renewed energy at this point for some reason, changing position was a lot quicker and easier than it had been before because I felt more in control and I knew I was making progress.  I pushed a bit in this position, and had the urge to be more upright, as I’d read is common as the baby is close to crowning.  R then suggested moving back to the semi-reclining position, which I wasn’t totally keen on because I liked the upright idea, but then I remembered that I didn’t see myself giving birth on all fours, it didn’t seem like me, and I liked the idea of baby just coming out in front of me.  I got the sense that me being back in that position was easier for R too because she was probably thinking about whether baby might need help breathing etc, given the GBS element.  Not that she’d ever have asked me to change position for her, I just had that thought.  I went back on my back and it felt right.

I was still feeling a little confused because no one had said they could see the head yet, but I was sure I could feel it right there!  Apparently the water was too murky to see that much, but R obviously knew it was there because soon she said to reach down and feel for the head.  I felt it, but wasn’t sure if it was the hair or the membranes still as it felt quite silky and smooth.  I really needed that motivation, especially as when I felt it I was surprised it wasn’t out more.  It felt like the width of the opening was about a centimetre, yet before I’d felt with my hand it seemed like five times that.  I kept going, really giving it everything and beyond what I thought was possible.  I pushed so hard, it was very empowering!  There was a moment of relief and pleasure just towards the end of each push.  I remember Mr Chewbacca saying to me I sounded like I was enjoying myself at one point (I wasn’t, but I guess the noises were similar and he was probably thinking of Orgasmic Birth.)  R said I should feel for the head again and this time it was about a quarter to a third out, or at least that’s what it felt like.  I could feel the hair, it was so close!  I’d felt it going in and out a few times, but this wasn’t disheartening as I knew the more it went in and out, then better I’d stretch and the less likely I’d tear.  I thought about all those people who breathe their babies out and couldn’t understand how that is possible – if I hadn’t pushed on top of my body’s involuntary pushes, I’d have been there another six hours at least!  It was so great to be pushing out this head, and it really wasn’t painful, especially compared to the pain of the contractions, pelvis and my waist.  I felt the perineum stretch so easily, it didn’t sting, no ring of fire or burning, just stretching like a piece of tight elastic.  It did sting at the front, and I was convinced I was tearing around my clitoris and urethra but I so didn’t care, I was almost there and that stinging was such normal, localised pain, it was nothing really.

I knew when the head was out, and everyone was oohing and aahing, standing around the bottom of the pool.  I think I waited for the next contraction before I pushed out the shoulders, and then the body slid out with a rush and everyone gasped and cheered and I heard J burst into tears, maybe S too, I’m not sure.  Someone said it was 7:57pm.  It was an intensely emotional moment.

R lifted him from the water and began unravelling the cord which was twice around his neck and once around his body.  I was so calm, and I helped pull it away and held him as he cried almost straight away.  His body was purplish, his head slightly paler, because of the cord, but he cried robustly and loudly, not because he was shocked or traumatised but because he needed to clear out stuff from his mouth and lungs.  I massaged his little hands as I remembered that might help stimulate him, not that he really needed it that much.  Someone had a warm towel which was put over him and immediately became wet but the bath was warm and I kept him semi-submerged.

As I looked at the baby and said hi for the first time, I realised it was a complete stranger.  I didn’t know this person, yet it was my child and had come out of me.  Mr C was overwhelmed of course, and we just looked at our baby and he said how proud he was of me and all sorts of other things, it was amazing.  I realised we didn’t know the sex – ‘shall we see what we’ve got?’ I said to Mr C before lifting the wet towel and seeing a little penis.  Mr C commented on his big testicles and I laughed and explained about the hormones.

It was extraordinary how quickly the atmosphere in the room changed, at that moment of birth, and how I suddenly came back into myself and it was like none of the previous hours of labour had even happened.  I talked to him and said how keen he was to be here, made lots of silly jokes about various noises he made, and I think he very quickly got hiccups, which he’d had throughout the last trimester, at least once a day in the last couple of months.

R pulled out a tube attached to the oxygen cylinder and asked Mr C to wave the end of it in front of bub’s nose, just to help him get the breathing thing down pat, although his Apgars were 9 and 9.  We could see that the top of his head had the imprint of the cervix on it, and also some lines that R said could be my ribs.  It was a this point we speculated he may have been breech and actually turned during labour, which would explain why it took so long from when the contractions ramped up.

I soon began to feel a dull pain in my tailbone, which got more uncomfortable and I mentioned it to R who said it was probably a contraction for the placenta.  She held the cord and said to push with the contraction, and a little bit of cord came out, plus some blood, and I think the big clot was out by then (it was huge, like a big blobby slab of liver!).  The pool was very dark with blood and fluids, but I felt totally fine, and R said the placenta had detached but was probably just sticking in the cervix and to be patient.  Shortly I had another contraction, but still no placenta.  I think it wasn’t until the third or fourth that I really pushed and out it came as R said, ‘remember it has no bones, it’s easy’.  She was right of course.

The placenta was huge!  R made almost double the amount of placenta pills from it as she would normally.  We looked at it, and it seemed very dark red, much darker than I remembered S’s had been.  I could see some calcification in it, and R carefully spread it out in a kidney dish and pulled out the membranes for everyone to see.  Mr C had a feel of the cord and posed for a photo pretending to eat the placenta.  It was so great that everyone was so fascinated, as R showed both sides and explained how it would have been attached to the wall of the uterus.  Mr C in particular found it really interesting I think, and yet again showed how awesomely non-squeamish he is.

By then the cord had stopped pulsating a while ago, and I said Mr C should cut it, so R put on the plastic clamp next to our boy’s future belly button and some scissor clamps a few inches beyond and Mr C cut it.  Our baby didn’t seem to mind that much, although he did happen to cry a bit around the time it was cut, but I’m not convinced he was too bothered by it being cut, he was more just a bit grumpy because the pool was cooling right down. That and just having been born were, you know, pissing him off just a little bit.

I was in the pool for about an hour after the birth, and was helped out and stepped across to the couch, pre-prepared with plastic sheets and towels.  I had warm towels covering me and baby, which was lovely, and I felt pretty good, not really light-headed, but definitely hungry.  It was then I remember how many times my tummy had rumbled during labour, even during the most intense contractions.  I drank some sickly sweet red grape juice for the sugar and ate some strawberries and orange, before my mum made me some eggs and I began to feel more on this planet.  It was kind of nice to have people getting things for me and not have to even reach for my glass of water.

My little boy began to suckle finally, as I’d offered him the breast in the pool but he was too busy crying and clearing out his lungs.  He yawned within moments of being born, and I thought it was because he was tired from that epic journey, but R said it’s more likely he’s doing it for the extra air, which makes sense, as that’s what yawning is after all.

We set about getting him dressed, and Mr C was on deck to put on his first nappy and outfit, which he was very nervous about but managed perfectly of course.  I reminded R we should weigh him first, and we did and he was 4kg exactly and measured 50cm long with big hands and feet.  His head was a nice 35cm, which is probably why I found the crowning part somewhat more manageable.

R examined me to find I had no tears, not even a graze, which was amazed at because I’d felt such stinging at the front.  J and S had to go, as it was about 10pm by now, so we said goodbye and soon R suggested I head to the shower and rinse off, then to bed, which had been prepared for leaks with a plastic sheet and towel under the sheet.  I sat down in the ridiculously small bath and used the hand shower to rinse myself.  The crazy big adult diaper thing R had brought was really weird, but did the job well.  I was finally tucked up in bed with my little boy and my amazing husband, the most incredible man in the world.  If the Dude turns out like his dad I will be so proud.  I don’t remember much about that first night, I don’t know if I slept or if Mr C slept, despite us both having little sleep over the previous 36 hours or more.  I still can’t believe I did it, I actually had my baby at home with no intervention, I stood my ground, I knew what was right, and I made it, perfectly.

If that wasn’t enough, read the postscript, aka what I learnt from this birth.

Birth story: part 2

Continued from part 1…

Then it was just me and my mum.  Until then I hadn’t been that aware of her presence, or at least only alongside that of my friends.  Everyone was doing their own thing to help, pouring hot water into the bath, getting my water, making each other teas and food and going out to the shops when needed, and I could hear all this going on in the background, but at this point everything seemed down and at a standstill.  I think it also felt empty because Mr Chewbacca was off on his walk, probably feeling exasperated and finding it hard to watch me and listen to me in so much pain.  I got the sense that my moaning was getting repetitive, it was not only tiring me out but it was draining on everyone else too.  Emotions were feeling stretched and everyone needed a break.

My mum was somehow next to me.  I don’t remember her coming there, she just was there.  At first it was a little annoying.  She has a very light touch and it can be a bit irritating, rather than Mr C’s firm, strong, confident touch which is reassuring.  And I’m oddly touch-sensitive too.  But then she did something I don’t think she’s ever done.  She began to tell me I could do it, and with each contraction she told me it was ‘a good one’.  She repeated the same things over and over, and in my head it was a bit annoying but I began to believe it after a while.  She made the noises with me, in a really steady way, and it was just the two of us, breathing and making noises and getting through it.  She was the only one still sticking by me, and she wasn’t going to let me get out of this and give up, she was going to see me through no matter what.  She’s never done this; she’s always let me get off scot free, give up halfway through, take the easy way out.

Mr Chewbacca came back from his walk and things had changed.  Everyone began to migrate back into the room, hanging around the edges watching and noticing the atmosphere changing.  I was only vaguely aware of this at the time, but everyone commented on it later and it made sense.

At a couple of points, I vomited pretty violently.  Most of it went on Mr C!  If it were me, I’d have been sick in response, but he took it all in his stride, didn’t even change his shirt apparently, just stayed with me.  A bit of vomit went in the pool, which I hated, but was too out of it to deal with.  And it wasn’t like there was a lot to throw up, mainly just water and some orange bits.  R of course was excited by this, recognising it as a sign of transition.  I’m not sure that it was, but things did change when it happened.

R wanted me to get out of the bath.  Things were happening, but not enough, it had been going on for way too long, even I knew this.  I wasn’t getting a break between contractions because, even though they were at least three minutes apart, I had this intense pain in the front of my pelvis.  R suggested this might be the last bit of cervical dilation happening while the baby’s head pushed against it.  Whatever it was, it was debilitating and never-ending.  The only thing that made it go away was a contraction, even more pain.  I remember being given different homeopathics and having peppermint oil waved under my nose to help stave off the vomiting. Or was it orange oil?

Apparently it was around 3pm that R finally got me out of the pool.  It felt like the most difficult thing I had ever done, working up the strength to move.  I’d talk myself out of it between contractions, then a contraction would hit and it’d be like, oh well, can’t move during a contraction.  Eventually I got out, and went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet.  There were a few contractions there, not pleasant, and I just felt like I was more uncomfortable, didn’t feel like the contractions were stronger as such.  But R was pleased with this, and when we came back to the pool she firmly said I should lie on the couch a bit first, which I was really unhappy about.  I stayed there for maybe two or three contractions but they were just unbearable, I remember saying I need to move now because I don’t think I can make it through another one here.  I don’t know what not making it through actually means, but I was adamant.  So I got up, but R still insisted I stay out of the pool, so I stood for a while, leaning on poor Mr C whose back was completely screwed by now.  But of course he gave me everything and let me do what I needed, continued to hold me up despite being in pain himself.  What a man!  I knew he’d be amazing, but it brings tears to my eyes every time I think of him and how committed he is to me, especially during the birth of our baby, just extraordinary.

I stood for longer than I thought I could, leaning on Mr C, and R said, ‘just stay there for two contractions, then you can get back in the pool’.  More than two passed, and I knew it, but I couldn’t summon the strength to say, hey, you’re trying to trick me!  Eventually when she said again, ‘just one more now,’ I said, ‘you already said that two contractions ago!’  So I went back in the pool which provided some relief.

I think standing up must have helped somehow, and I’m sort of hazy as to when the transition with my mum occurred, but eventually I began to feel my body push, and she was next to me when this happened.  It was overwhelming.  It reminds me of that movie Ghost, where the various spirits jump into the bodies of the living; it felt like something taking me over and my whole body convulsed.  The pushing felt so intense, but I was glad to feel it because I guessed it meant I’d reached the last part.  There was a still a fear that nothing was being achieved.  I expected to feel the baby moving down the birth canal, getting closer, but nothing, it just felt like my body was pushing against a rock that wouldn’t move.  I wondered briefly if my cervix was dilated, especially as R mentioned what the pain in my lower pelvis might be.  But I knew to trust in my body and that if it was pushing for me, it was ready, and it would do exactly what was needed.  I wondered if R could tell my body was pushing; I assumed she could actually, and was a little frustrated that she hadn’t said anything.  Reading back through the notes I can’t see any mention of it until I mentioned my body was pushing for me, which was quite a while after it began I think.

After a while of this pushing, and after I’d told R it was happening, she offered to check my dilation, just to see if I was progressing and if the cervix was actually out of the way.  She wrote in my notes that I’d declined several times but I don’t remember declining, I just remember being silent, and thinking to myself, what good is it?  Let it just happen.

Continued in part 3…

The pointy end

I’m writing this post purely for myself, to remember what it was like to be 38 weeks and 5 days pregnant with my first baby.

I’m still feeling good in general, not too tired, not in pain, not weird.  I don’t think I’ve had any contractions, or at least if I have I haven’t felt them.  I’ve had what I’d describe as various types of niggles and twinges, not consistent or lengthy enough to be considered contractions per se, but I think they are just signs my body is getting ready and baby is changing position to engage.  In the last couple of days baby has gone from moving crazily to being incredibly quiet and moving only very gently.  Gone are the big belly flops and twirls and spinning that baby has been doing since the beginning of the third trimester.

I still have reflux, on and off, but I’m so used to it now that although it’s uncomfortable I just kind of deal with it.  I haven’t taken a tum in ages.  I also still have swollen ankles, despite having discovered the magic of Spirulina, whose initial effect was to dramatically reduce the swelling.  I think it’s just because I’m getting so close to birth and my body is focused on that rather than keeping the fluid moving.  I’m heavy, I notice it whenever I stand up, and my pelvis aches, as does my tailbone occasionally and my lower back on and off.  It’s not really painful, it’s just noticeable, it’s just there from time to time.  Sleeping is hard because I have to keep changing positions from one side to the other and as much as I want to it’s not comfortable to lie on my back for any length of time.  I have been randomly waking in the middle of the night, getting up to go to the toilet because I’ve got nothing else to do, and then lying there waiting to go back to sleep.  It’s odd, I haven’t ever had broken sleep in my life except when really sick.

A week or so ago I had a positive test for Group B Strep which was initially a little off-putting and worrying, but I read up on it and realised there was no need to panic.  I thought long and hard about it, based on what I had read, and I decided a few things.  Even if the second swab, which I did last night, proves to be positive, I won’t have antibiotics at any point unless I am seriously running a fever and clearly have an infection that I can’t shake.  Their effect on me is so awful, instant thrush, and I can’t imagine the agony of thrush and recovering from birth, not to mention the fact that I’d be concerned for baby ending up with thrush on its face and then passing it to my nipples, could be absolutely disastrous!  In the UK, they don’t do the GBS test; instead they monitor mum and baby during birth, and offer antibiotics if there are risk factors.  Then they monitor baby after birth to see if any fever strikes, which they would do anyway.  The GBS test result is often ambiguous, or rather, it can show up one day and then be gone the next.  If I didn’t have any bacteria in my vagina, baby wouldn’t receive it during birth and the formation of gut flora would be seriously compromised, a huge issue in terms of digestion, and probably even worse for a new baby whose digestive system is being used for the first time really.  Lastly, I also realised why this positive test had occurred; to teach me to take my diet seriously!  I’ve been pretty good since the positive test came through, avoiding refined sugar almost entirely, which is a huge deal for me, as my diet is the one thing in my life I have problems controlling.  I’ve even cut right down on my bread intake, in order to avoid the yeast.  What I also realised is that this bacteria is me; I’ve always had high levels of bacteria in my system, high acidity.  I know this because as a child I always had thrush and spent many an hour sitting in a basin of salt water to soothe it.  I think the concentration of bacteria is normal for me, but it has been kicked out of balance due to my poor diet and indulgence in foods infused with refined sugar.  It’s been a great wake up call!

I still think the baby is a girl, although it’s been hard to work it out, and Mr Chewbacca is now saying he thinks it’s a boy.  Because it was so active and a few people had looked at me and said it was a boy I started to wonder.  I’ve thought it was a girl ever since that 13 week ultrasound when I saw its face it was like a miniature version of myself.  I’ve studied the 19 week ultrasound images and can’t see anything resembling a penis or a vagina, despite having looked up what ultrasound pics should look like for both sexes.

I’m almost totally prepared – birth pool and oxygen have been delivered, I have the hose and fitting, plastic sheets, Emergency Essence, apricot kernel oil, maternity pads, biodegradable wet wipes, cloth nappies… I’ve even washed all the baby clothes and re-folded them in their drawer in piles of ‘types’ (ie. all singlets together, all onesies together etc).  I’ve read all the books I wanted to - Michel Odent, Sarah J Buckley, Pam England, Ina May Gaskin and so many more than I didn’t have on my list but were lent to me by my midwife.

Speaking of the midwife, she asked me an interesting question at our appointment yesterday: what do you plan to do for pain relief?  I was slightly taken aback, I have to admit, because I’m having the baby at home, probably in a pool – I mean, there is no pain relief, or at least no real external intervention.  I just assumed that because I’m giving birth at home, we won’t think about the pain as real pain per se, it’s more about the psychology of birth and how I’ll turn off my brain that registers that pain and work with it to give birth smoothly and as I’m meant to.  I can’t ever imagine being in enough pain to want to have, say, an epidural.  The idea of someone sticking a thick needle in my spine in order to inject fluid that will numb my legs is far more frightening than being torn in two to allow a baby to pass through… I know, it probably sounds weird, but I only feel like this because I think of vaginal birth as natural, but an epidural as very unnatural.  So what happens naturally in birth is ‘right’, but what is caused by external intervention is ‘wrong’.  It’s just how I think of it, what works for me.

It’s true, I haven’t done the preparation I expected to do, like prenatal yoga and meditation.  I didn’t read the Hypnobirthing book or Calmbirth, and I don’t have specific techniques for breathing or noises or focusing or positioning that I plan to use.  I have read about so many different ways of doing things, and the way I see it, I’m really good at listening to my body and what it needs so I will do what it asks of me.  My pain threshold, or more precisely, my ability to deal with pain is pretty high; especially this kind of pain.  Of course I’ll also listen to what others say, especially the midwife, as her experience is really why I hired her.  I am also acutely aware of my family history in birth and that no woman on either side of my family has ever had a caesarean or a really complicated pregnancy or birth.  The worst to happen was stillborn babies or miscarriages, and there were always clear causes – alcohol, cigarettes, bad diet, advanced maternal age.  I also think babies come when it’s time, when they want to be here, and this one really desperately wants to be here.  I think it’s like its daddy, impatient, full of energy and desperate to connect!

My prediction for the birth date?  17 May.  This will be three days past my due date, and a full moon, so that’s when I’m expecting to at least have some movement.  I’ve thought for the last few days that things are happening because of the lack of movement and the deep ache in my pelvis, but I know I won’t go into labour before the 40 weeks.  I occasionally have odd ‘scared’ feelings, usually just after I get into bed with my husband.  I feel a little overwhelmed at what I’m about to go through and what might happen.  It’s purely fear of the unknown and it’s okay.  I just keep focusing on the fact that baby will arrive, eventually, it will come out and I will have a baby, one way or another.  So one day this will be over.  One day soon in fact.  I just hope it is the transforming and rewarding experience I have heard it is, and I hope I have the capacity to stay calm, tune into my body and my baby, and let them do their work.

Pregnancy and nesting

So I’m now 27 weeks along and feeling just fine. It’s certainly been an interesting ride so far.  Baby’s head is sitting firmly in my pelvis (not a pleasant feeling on the bladder) and feet and hands are moving almost constantly. Which is good, it’s what’s meant to be happening apparently. Despite being overweight, I’m healthy, blood pressure is normal, baby’s heart rate is normal and I feel good.  Being pregnant hasn’t been hard yet, but I suspect as I venture into this third trimester I’ll start to feel a bit heavy.

I’m having the baby at home, not in a hospital, which has been my wish from before I even wanted to be pregnant (or had someone to get me pregnant!) and I’m really excited about it all. At first I was a bit apprehensive about giving birth in our loungeroom, as we live in a tiny one bedroom flat under a big mansion, so it’s not like I can dedicate a room as the birthing room, and baby won’t have his or her own room (not that it’s needed anyway early on). We’d talked about moving out to somewhere with two bedrooms before baby arrived, and I thought this was the plan until a couple of months ago my husband mentioned casually how he’d been telling people I was having the baby in our lounge in our current flat.  I was surprised to hear this!  Turns out he’d worked it all out in his own head but had forgotten to mention it to me.  He said he thought it made sense – we live in one of the best suburbs in Sydney, right up on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  It’s so beautiful that tourists come here from everywhere just to walk around across the road from our house, and it’s the perfect place – calm, natural, quiet, awe-inspiring – to bring a baby into the world and for him or her to spend the first few months of life.  He commented yesterday that the lounge is such a peaceful room, not too bright but not too dark, large enough to fit a big pool in, wooden floors to help deal with any, erm, spills, and just a generally serene place, perfect for the arrival of our first baby.  I soon realised that he was right and that we didn’t need to move.

And that brings me to the nesting part of this post.  I still can’t get used to Sydney as my home.  I don’t want to, the truth be told.  I don’t want to be a part of this place.  It’s like it bores into my soul, or strips something out of me every time I drive through the city.  Just being in Sydney often makes me feel like my life is at an end!  I feel hopeless here.  We’ve made some lovely friends, good people, whose company I enjoy; but at some level it feels a bit like we’re trying too hard.  It’s like Jerry Seinfeld says, you get to a point in your life where you have your friends, and you don’t need or want any more; you’ve only got a certain number of ‘slots’ to fill and those are all filled.  I guess I’m also unique in this sense because I don’t ‘need’ friends as such, or at least I don’t have to socialise to feel complete.  Socialising for me is an effort.  Don’t get me wrong, I usually enjoy it once I’m doing it, but sometimes I just want me time, alone time.  My husband is the opposite, and although he loves doing his own thing or just spending time with me, he really needs lots of people around him and lots of stuff happening constantly.  He’s an extrovert and I’m an introvert, in the simplest sense.

I’m really over complaining about Sydney; I don’t like it, end of story, and I will never feel at home here.  I want to move to Melbourne.  At least the city has no negative affiliations for me, I can start fresh there, and I do have some good friends there who I’d like to see more often.  More than anything, it’s about starting fresh and settling down properly, instead of this forced ‘plonking’ I’ve done in Sydney.  I’m only here because husband wanted to come here, and I figured it wasn’t fair of me to make him move to a city that he, at the time, hated; he’s coming to live on the other side of the world with me, so I should at least give him the choice of city.  Oh how I wish I hadn’t relented!

I’ll never forget that moment I chose my Sydney fate.  We’d had a few drinks, more than a few really, having come from an annual rugby club dinner at the Houses of Parliament (London), and we were partying the night away at the after party which was on one of those permanently moored boats along the Embankment – Tattersall Castle?  Or was it Queen Mary or whatever that other one is called…? I can’t remember.  It was somewhere close to midnight, and we happened to coordinate our air (read: cigarette) breaks up on the deck outside.  I wore a cheap, black cocktail dress I’d bought off eBay for 30 pounds and I was hot and sweaty from dancing downstairs in the nightclub.

“Okay. Let’s go to Melbourne then.”  He looked at me with the most forlorn look on his face.  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and asked him to repeat it, which he did.  My reaction wasn’t what he or I expected; it was delayed, and not because I was utterly overjoyed at the prospect of moving to a city I’d wanted to live in for a good ten years.  I couldn’t handle allowing him to make that sacrifice for me, to move to a city that, four years prior, he’d experienced as cold, unfriendly, and generally boring, when he knew Sydney a little, and had found it so friendly, warm, sunny, full of fun and beaches and pubs and his favourite rugby.  I finally hugged him and said “thank you”.  But I couldn’t feel happy; I felt deflated, like it was a bit of an anti-climax.  And he was clearly miserable.

We went back downstairs and I told a friend from Melbourne that the decision had been made; needless to say she was very happy, as was her Kiwi boyfriend who was going to be moving down around the same time as us and knew no one in the city.

I really wish I’d ignored my man’s misery and ploughed ahead with the plan of Melbourne; but how would we have booked a wedding venue when neither of us really knew the city?  How could we have moved there any way?  We’d have had to organise every aspect of our wedding in the four months between arriving in January and getting married in April, and that’s ignoring the fact we’d need to find a place to live and get jobs.  Could it have been done?  I can’t answer that, because we never attempted it.  Maybe there’s a parallel universe somewhere with a version of me living in Melbourne, buying a house there, decorating a room for this baby, planting vegies in the garden, working as a freelance editor for some awesome publishing house… Or maybe that other version of me is just as miserable as this one, knowing that Australia is the wrong place to be.  Coming home has made me question why we ever did it, why we left London.  I know it was because I wanted to bring my children up and settle down somewhere more family-friendly, slower-paced, with better weather and more social freedom.  But that idealistic picture I had of Australia is slowly becoming eroded, as I realise more and more just how behind we are here, and how maybe being here doesn’t suit me as I thought.  Maybe that realisation I had at 18 that I was actually Australian and not European is being turned on its head, and once again I struggle with my cultural and social identity.  Time will tell…