What Mothers Do

…especially when it looks like nothing

In the first few weeks of the Little Prince’s life, when my life revolved mostly around sitting on the sofa (feeding, changing, being a comfortable resting place), my husband, being a good man that he is, bought me a book which was supposed to make me “feel better”. Not that I was feeling bad or anything, or at least, not that I realised. The book was one of those motivational scraps, you know the kind. The kind that I passionately detest.

The title was What Mothers Do – especially when it looks like nothing. Written by Naomi Stadlen.

Initially I just wanted to shove the whole 258 pages back into mu beloved husband's… bottom. But then the baby started crying, the world became crazy again and the thought was delayed until it eventually vanished. The life took its course. The book, pushed aside, eventually disappeared somewhere and for a long time I completely forgot about it. That was until last Monday, when (eight months later) I was doing some cleaning and found the book perched in the gap between the sofa and a bookshelf.

I picked it up wanting to bin it straight away but then, having a few spare minutes while my husband took the rest of the family out, I opened the book on a random page and started reading.

What a little gem it was!

Simply written, undemanding and relevant. I could relate to so many situations. It even made me laugh few times. The book talks about all the feelings I had had and keep having. Being lost, uncertain and lonely. Lacking sleep and support. Being exhausted and yet feeling guilty about neglecting so many chores. Thinking I must be doing something wrong…

The greatest thing about this book? It confirms that all the above feelings are completly normal. Not only that, it glorifies us mothers for getting through this with the persistence and angelic patience. There is no advise of how to do things better, proving that what You do must be wrong. There is no magic formula, no rule, no way of doing things. Motherhood is just that. Guilt, tiredness, endless time on the sofa. Getting to know that precious little darling to the point where every prod of a finger means pages of information. Just plough on and you will soon get where other mothers, whose stories are the reason of your imaginary incompetence, are. This book is pricelessly reassuring, making the motherhood and the chaos around normal! Enjoyable even! Definitely less stressful.

Routine, pattern, baby sleeping at night, it all comes… later. The first few months of the baby's life are absolutely mad, crazy and there is nothing you can do about it.  

I do recommend reading the book, if you have time, I really do. I also recommend this book to your partners. Hopefully after reading the countless testimonies they’ll not have to play the guessing game anymore. They will understand exactly what you are trying to tell them.

Baby On Plane

There is one thing that used to annoy me more than anything else in the world. Babies on plane. Nightmare! Having my seat contaminated with a baby, within a proximity of less than four rows, used to send shivers down my spine. I accept a lot on planes, peanuts, cold hotdogs, rude staff, drunks and snorers… snakes even – anything but a baby.

It does not matter where the baby is sat, as soon as you sit down, they find a way to interrupt your journey. The kicking, the dribbling, the staring, accompanied by screams and cries and a bunch of stupid questions, are all very carefully designed arms of mass destruction. And they are all directed at YOU.

What can you do? You can roll your eyes. You can give the Mother a disapproving look, or consult quietly with other passengers. Nothing helps. You can complain to the stewardess, although... just one look at her warns you off. She is ignoring you, turning away every time you want to speak to her. You know that she knows what you are about to do. She can too hear the baby. Oh yes, everybody can. But what do you want her to do about it? Risk an argument with another customer? Put the baby in the toilet and lock the door? Swap places with you?

And so the bullying continues and murderous thoughts start forming in your head. Within half an hour your imagination takes you to dark and sinful places. Every technique, every minute, every move carefully planned and accounted for. First the Mother, then the baby.

Oh, the Mother! She is the worst! How rude and inconsiderate? Just sitting there doing absolutely nothing. Bluntly ignoring your pain and discomfort. Useless woman, fat and brainless. If it was your child, it would not behave like this. You would know exactly what to do. You would show her, this dirty scrap of humanity. What a waste. Not even a word, not a shush.

…

The boarding pass in my hand is burning my fingers… Mother and infant, seat 7A. My hands are trembling and I almost shit myself. I go through every scenario, they are all black. He will cry, I am certain. He will be tired, His ears will pop, He will be scared. His distress raising my own anxieties. My stress, increasing His, the tension and trauma feeding of each other. The whole plane is going to hate us.

…

So, dear fellow passenger, if it happens that I am on your plane, with my baby, and His crying is driving you insane, just think how I feel. Just think, that not only my ears are aching, my head wants to explode, my nerves are on ends but also my heart is breaking, because my baby is unhappy and suffering. And when you will get off in two hours’ time, I will spend the next eighteen years apologising for His behaviour. I am not asking for you to understand, or to sympathise. I am simply asking for you to trust me that I am doing my best. And if you absolutely must turn around to give me a dirty look, give me a smile instead. I will try so much harder.

Mother Goes on Holiday

Ho, ho, holiday. Hoo, hoo, hooray!

Awaiting holiday is the best feeling EVER! No sex (or shower, no matter how great) can possibly compare. The anticipation, the planning, the excitement. Ohhh, just bring it on! The travel, the adventure, the change. And that amazing feeling of relaxation. Stress-less freedom from every day routines. HO-LI-DAY here we come!

I get into a holiday mood like a slug into a beer trap. Greedily, fast and careless about the consequences. I am easily drowned in the promises of something amazing. And although normally I seek an adventure, this time I’ll settle for some lazy mornings and putting my feet up (occasionally).

Just around the corner, the promise of the holiday is only one packing away.

The packing. A jumper for staying in, an outfit for going out. A scarf to accessorise, trousers, underwear and toiletries. Bag packed.

The travel cot for the little one. The nappies, the wet wipes and the changing mat. The blankets and the sleeping bag. Clothes (a set for each day), bibs (hundreds), toys (just scoop them all into a bag). Pyjamas. Some more clothes, just in case. The rocker, the walker and the door swing. The sun hat, the fat hat. Maybe another jumper? Bottles of medicine and tubs of creams. Breakfasts, lunches, dinners, snacks. The beaker cups. The pram and the rain cover. The sling and the back pack carrier just in case. The this, the that, the amount of stuff directly correlated to the deterioration of my mental state.

Once the boot of the car is kicked closed with passion, the promise of the holiday is just one journey away.

Fun of travelling. Loud music, open windows, wind smacked excited faces. Forget it all! Traveling Mother will have none of that. Peace and quiet, right temperature and the twinkling stars in the name of the sleeping baby. Long and boring drive to hell, but the promise of the holiday is just at the end of the road.

Finally we arrive. I salivate like a bulldog dreaming about a glass of red, chilling in the garden and loosing myself in the tranquillity of the cottage… The promise of the holiday is just one unpacking away.

The travel cot, the blankets, the nappies, the toys. The clothes, the meals, the bibs and the cups. The rocker, the walker and the hanging swing. With the bored baby crying, the superhero Mother splits herself into five to achieve her simple goals. My sanity is kept only by the promise of the cold beer awaiting once the baby is finally asleep.

While stressed and exhausted the Mother alternates between setting up and feeding the baby, her co-holidaying buddies get out of Her way, straight to the pub around the corner. They deserve it, it’s their holiday.

I hear them come back at two am, just after the Mother had put the baby to sleep for the third time. They are talking and laughing and for a split second I consider joining the fun. But the heavy eyelids refuse to open and the sleepy legs don’t want to move. With the last of my consciousness I realise how naïve I was, how premature were my hopes, the promises misleading.

This is as good as it gets. Between now and the next time His cry awakes me, this is my holiday and I need to make the most of it.

So the Mother goes to sleep, because in few hours she is back on duty.

The Twin Love Equation

My friend has recently got pregnant. It’s a wonderful news!!! I am really happy for her, especially that last week the scan revealed not one, but two hearts beating in her womb.

I always wanted to have twins. One pregnancy, one birth giving, one time of nappies and crying. One teething. Double fun and reward at the old age. I'd wanted to have twins a lot, but that was before I fell in love with my little prince.

This is what I am thinking. I love my little boy with all my heart. He gets 100% of love I am able to produce. So, if I had twins, would I be able to love them both the same? Where would the love for the second one come from? Would I have to share my 100% of love between them? Each baby could only get 50%. What if they were triplets? Do the portions get smaller? By the time we get to four, each baby is receiving only a quarter of what my little man is getting at the moment.

Unless, of course, I got it all wrong.

What if the equation is not division but multiplication? What if a Mother is able to love each of the babies as much as I love my single one. 100% of love per head. That would mean a set of twins would get 200% of love. 300% if there were triplets. This is twice/three times as much as I love my baby now.

Suddenly my 100% of love seems somehow… insignificant.

In comparison to twins, who get 100% of love each, the love I am giving to my baby is only 50%. It is even less with triplets and, by the time we get to four babies, my love is only 25% of what their mother is able to produce. This means I could actually be loving my baby 4 times more.

Could I double the 50% of love my baby is getting, compared to a set of twins, to make it a 100%? And then, if I had twins, would I have to share the new 100% between them? Or will I be producing the bigger 100% for each baby? In which case I am back to a bigger and better 200% per the set of twins.

And so the story goes...
 

Let’s Talk About Sex

Three months ago I pushed my baby’s head, the size of a hand-ball, through my vagina. The push tore me apart. The pain was excruciating. My muscles contracted and stretched in an unusual way. The stretch so damaging I will never be able to hold my pee again. Ten stiches held my bits together.

How long will it be, before I want something shoved back in that hole again?

Giving birth is underrated. It is done too often. With excellent rates of survival, the respect for the act has been lost in its frequency. When you give birth to a kidney stone, the size of a nut, it is a big deal, but make the stone a hundred times bigger and it goes unnoticed. Let's get this straight.The fact that so many women give birth every day does NOT make it less painful; or… easier to recover from.

And although they’ve been there, they saw it all, they felt your pain, they held your hand and now they tell their friends; the fact is this: Men recover quicker from childbirth, than Women.

“You are so sexy.” They say three months after the birth.

Fat, with vomit down your shirt, saggy bottoms barely covering your arse. Unconscious, tired, with dark circles under your eyes. Walking into walls. Scarecrow hair, dragon’s breath, setting fire to all things pretty.  

“You are so sexy.” They say when you’ve been up since five.

With the baby in your hands, constantly feeding, administering medicine, nursing to sleep, wiping bottom, worrying, shouting, losing patience. Playing, farting, laughing, reaching, holding, changing, nursing, wiping bottom, losing patience. Always for Him, never for yourself.

“You are so sexy.” They say looking down your top.

Your breasts engorged, their pain not for fun. They have a purpose now, serve a higher end. They are taken, protected, reserved. Not theirs. Not a sexual statement anymore. Distant past, near future (I hope). Hide, hide, do not tempt. Undress in the dark, wear a potato bag, cover yourself.

“You are so sexy.” They say in the dark.

The night fell two hours ago. You crawl into bed, unconscious, craving the warm duvet, the concave of the pillow. Muscles stretched, weightless. Peace. You drift beyond this world. Happy. Stressed. Sleep Mother, sleep. The baby will wake you soon.

“You are so sexy.” They demand.

Pretend you’re not there. Close your eyes tightly wishing it away, for another six months. Sleep, sleep.

“You are so sexy.” It's right next to you, closing in. There is only one way. The quicker you deal with it ,the quicker you can go back to sleep. You’re a Mother, you’re a Wife.

I Am in Love with My Baby

It is here finally. So true, so strong, so simple and effortless. Nothing in return, this is it. My love for my baby. Oh, how powerful are the feelings in my head! His single smile worth every effort. His beautiful smile…

The love has found me now. I can say it, whisper it, shout it to the world. I LOVE my baby! There are no expectations, just happiness to spend time together. To hold Him and care for Him. Complete and unconditional. Love. Everything about Him is perfect. He is clever, funny and handsome. I could go on forever. Intelligent… His little feet kick about with pleasure. A true sportsman.

Our relationship is simple. He demands, I supply. Often based on trial and error, we find our way. His curiosity increasing daily, adding to the challenge. I am still learning.

At night He wakes me but I’ve learned to cherish the sleepy minutes in the dark. Just Him and me. Together. The day will come when He will not need me anymore and I already miss Him.

Do not grow little baby, stay mine forever.

Sylvia's Choice

A few weeks ago I was listening to a Jeremy Vine’s show. One of the topics was women’s sterilisation. The main guest was a girl that is trying to get sterilised on the NHS. Let’s pretend her name is Sylvia.

Sylvia is 29. She is a career oriented high achiever that is certain that she will never want to have children. Not now, not EVER!!! She is currently on the pill but finds it such a hardship to swallow it EVERY day. She has asked her GP on four different occasions to prescribe the sterilisation procedure but was refused… mercilessly. The rules for female sterilisation in UK are completely discretionary and depend on the doctor. Most likely, however, it is to be prescribed to women who are above thirty years old and have had children before. 

Listening to Sylvia pisses me off. First off all: why is this transmitted on a national radio? Do we not have any more pressing issues to discuss? I admit the situation sounds familiar. The pregnancy and breastfeeding were not my idea of fun at 29. And if you told me I was ever going to be a mother I would LOL straight into your face. But did I ever publicly look for sympathy? No, because here’s an interesting fact – nobody gives a monkey.

Taking a pill is not difficult, thousands of us do it. We are just very lucky that it is free in this country. But if you don’t trust the pill (or yourself) get a coil (effective for 5 years but can be taken out anytime), or an implant (3 years effectiveness and you don’t even get periods), or a vaginal ring. There are so many choices before you decide on an invasive (often irreversible) procedure that still has 1 in 200 failure rate. Just man up, do your research and don’t brag about it.

Then there is Sylvia’s attitude. Opinionated and fast spoken, well-rehearsed youth that “knows it all”. She KNOWS. For CERTAIN.  The doctors are stupid, everybody else is stupid. I am just about to change the channel when Sylvia (intentionally or not) slips an interesting life fact: her own mum was sterilised at a young age, before she had any children. Now, this is intriguing. So where did Sylvia come from? I listen carefully and finally it makes sense. After she’d changed her mind about NOT wanting to have children, Sylvia’s mum had a reversal procedure done. Now, isn’t it just a bit too much to make a statement?

Is it possible that history repeats itself?

Who’s that girl?

I used to be many things. I used to be an accountant, a work colleague, a photographer, a traveller, a reader. I used to be able to hold an interesting conversation, look presentable, have time for friends. I used to know what is happening in the world, have my views and opinions.

So what on earth has happened to me!?

Nowadays I thrive on burps and belches, and look forward to poops in the nappy. Today my biggest  challenge is to find an outfit to put on in the morning. (Not my outfit, oh no! I wear the same jumper every day. I am talking about the “little monkey” body suits for my son.) There is an extra person attached to me all the time and one of my arms has transformed into a vacuum cleaner. I respond to all cries, shouts, pitches and laughs, dropping everything and anything I am in the process of doing. My little prince has taken over my life and at two months old He’s got me completely re-trained. As a Mother. I am His pillow and His punch bag. I can’t remember what it’s like not to have back ache.

When my husband comes back from work, he asks me about my day. I hate those questions. It is deeply embarrassing when the biggest achievement of your day is dinner served on time. Not burned... When he tells me about exciting new deals and challenges at work, I desperately try to make the midwife’s visit exciting. Oh yes, we talked about nipples. While he puts a nice clean shirt on every morning, I realise that mine permanently smells of vomit.

 

The most frightening of all is when he asks me an opinion. To avoid the answer I stuff my mouth with so much food that I can’t talk anymore. Which doesn’t really  matter because, whether I talk or not, I am a conversation killer.

However, naively or not, I still refuse to believe that having a child has changed me. I am sure that the things that used to define me have not disappeared. Hopefully they are just hiding in the shadows of the changing environment. And, even if it feels like I have donated my brain to the child, I hope that one day I will be able to spell “coleegue” again.

Hail the Mighty Cabbage

Here is an unkind equation: Breastfeeding = Pain. At least at the beginning, when your breasts do not know how to manage the amount of food they are producing. They get full and, YES, this can hurt. Your breasts get to the size of a melon, so hard you could hit a nail with them, so heavy that you need to hold them when turn in bed, so full that they spray milk in all directions when you lift your bra. Don’t mention the time when the milk ducts get clogged. Ouch!!!

My sister in law was not sympathetic. She simply said “cabbage leaves”. Just wash them, roll them to soften and slap them under your bra before it gets any worse. Hearing this I am thanking the gods that we live in the twenty first century. Otherwise this poor girl would be burned alive for heresy and witchcraft. Surely, cabbage leaves are not a medicine and cannot remedy anything? Except maybe mild hunger. The fact that none of the midwifes mentioned it only proves my point.

But then I go to the doctor and, in passing conversation, mention my engorged milk dispensers. He says simply “cabbage leaves”. Put them on before it gets any more serious. Straight from the doctor’s office I run to the local shop and get a nice round white cabbage. I wash the leaves, soften them with a roller and slap them on, under my bra. With this I massage, and keep feeding the baby from the affected breast. Within a few hours my breasts are back to soft kittens and the pain is gone. I repeat the cabbage treatment every time my breasts feel uncomfortably engorged or the milk ducts get clogged. Although there is no medical proof to support cabbage leaves in my bra, I thank the grandma that first stuffed them in. I am just glad it wasn't rhubarb.

Memories of a happy childhood

Being a mother makes me think obsessively about the relationship I want to have with my little boy. Though He is too small to recall the events of His current life, He will eventually have His first memories and I want them to be good ones. This makes me think a lot about my own childhood and the memories in my head.   

Mine was not an unhappy childhood. Could I say it was a happy one? Probably, although part of me does not want to admit it freely. There are some memories that, I have no doubt, are a true reflection of what happened in the past. Some, however, are foggy and need interpretation. For this reason I am swamped with questions. Are the pictures in my head made out of real memories or did I choose the memories to fit the pictures? What is the real effect of my selective consciousness on the perception of my own childhood? How many people can openly, without hesitation, say their childhood was a happy one?

Does “happy” for one person mean “happy” for another?

I shared my feelings with a friend. She has children of her own. Two boys aged nine and six. She tries her best to be a good mother. She reads books and learns from others, trying to better the rigid methods our parents inherited from their own. Good childhood memories for her two sons are high up on her priorities list. Recently the whole family went on holiday. They spent two weeks in Spain. The whole holiday was planned for the kids to have a nice time and good fun. On the way back from the airport my friend filled with fond memories happily asked the boys what was their favourite thing out of all the holiday. They unanimously shouted “Hot dogs on the plane!”. Obviously this surprised my friend. They’d had lots of fun and laughs during the two week period but for the boys the hot dogs were worth memorising. It was only when she asked them specifically if they’d liked jumping in the pool, building sand castles on the beach, going on the slides in the water park and swimming with dolphins, that the boys shouted YES to every forgotten attraction.

Yesterday, I asked another friend if she had a “happy childhood”. She answered “no”. I asked about her first childhood memory. She told me a story about two little girls playing outside after dinner. They were about five and six. Their mother was sitting in the chair watching them play. Suddenly the mother stood up and with the big sigh of a victim said: “I suppose I will have to do the dishes myself.” She said it in a tone that left the girls feeling guilty and disciplined, but not knowing why. Mummy was disappointed in them, that much they knew.

This little moment left a big imprint on my friend’s memory. It shaped her perception and in later years magnified her mother’s needy character. Did the mother ever realise how much this moment meant to her daughter and her future feelings? Would she do anything different if she did? Part of me wants to defend the mother. Maybe my friend was just too picky, choosing this event out of many others where the mother was the perfect parent?

Both stories, and my own experiences, make me think how much of our childhood memories are true to what really happened? Do we choose what we remember, or do our memories choose us? Can one traumatic memory turn even the best childhood upside down?

Parents are only humans and can’t be on their best behaviour all of the time. Sometimes they’ll be caught off guard. In that case can they influence what their children remember? Can they ensure that the child remembers the good things that happen often instead of an odd bad thing that happened once?

My son’s happy memories are my main goal as a mother. In the future I want Him to be able to say without hesitation “I had a happy childhood.” I want it to be my gift for Him. But I am petrified of the task ahead of me.

Language Barrier

Three weeks after the birth I am still in emotional distress. The baby I hold in my hands is fully dependent on me. I care for Him and I like Him a lot but my deeper feelings towards Him are still confusing. It is hard to say "I love you" when you don't know a person and they do not love you back. Do I love my baby purely because He is mine? Regardless of His character and traits? Or do I love Him for being Him? And if that’s the case when will He be Him?  

Even though my LOVE dilemma continues, I do not feel like a bad mother anymore, because I know I am trying hard. However I also understand how someone else could. The trick is to remember you are doing all you can to start this little life in the most comfortable way. You feed Him and comfort Him and change His nappy. You get up at night without complaining. You feel like a zombie, you look like a zombie and you are probably turning into a zombie. But it is all right. You are a mother now.

He doesn’t need much and He doesn’t give much. He doesn’t cuddle, He doesn’t smile, He doesn’t look lovingly into my eyes. He would go with anyone if I let Him. I am the slave and He is the master. If something is not how He wants, He will soon let me (and the whole street) know.

A baby’s cry is a powerful weapon. It does not only break my heart, pierces my ears and makes me feel helpless and guilty. It makes me stressed. And angry. Why, why, WHY does baby’s cry get into you so much? The worst is at night, when everyone else is sleeping blissfully. It can drive you to the edge and the images in your head get a bit scary. A few nights ago I was so tired that my resistance to my crying baby dropped to a minimal level. I was on the verge of patience and shouted “shut up” into His little face. Instantly I felt bad and stupid. My hands were shaking and I apologised. He only cried more.

It took me a while to understand. I mean REALLY understand. My poor baby is trying to communicate with me in a language in which we are both just beginners. Hypothetically His cry means “I am hungry, mummy” but I change His nappy instead. If He stopped crying then He would still be hungry. He needs to let me know I am on the wrong track. The more I try, the more I understand. I will never say “Shut up” to Him again. I will let Him teach me.

A date with a new born

Spending the first two weeks at home with the little new born baby can be a shock. Having just done that I wish somebody had warned me before. There should be red flashing signs given to mothers, and fathers, to ensure they know what is coming. Although it passes quickly, and can be hardly remembered, those first few weeks can have a tremendous effect on your (and the baby’s) wellbeing.

Nappies and crying are the most obvious, and talked about, side effects of having a baby. But there are many more, emotional and physical, issues that are rather enigmatic. The mystery around them makes you think you are the only woman dealing with them. You are either being punished or something has gone terribly wrong. The doubts convert into confusion and loneliness follows quickly.

It helps if you share your experiences with other mothers. Quickly you will find solutions for some of the problems, be assured they are only temporary, and, most importantly, you will not feel alone anymore. As for me…

Emotionally I had expected myself to change. Stop being me and become… a mother. Just like that. But it did not happen. I am still the same person, with the same hobbies and interests and the same light attitude to life. The difference is the little fellow I need to feed and care for. He is the change, not me. I am still to discover what being a mum means. I suppose I will learn, hopefully fast.

LOVE. I mentioned in the last blog about love at first sight. Two weeks into the life of my little one and I am still waiting for it to hit me. I mean, I like Him and would protect Him with all I’ve got, but LOVE? At first I was worried, but now I know it’s not just me. Lucky are mothers that experience LOVE in the first three weeks after childbirth?

Physical matters that affect your body, can greatly upset the emotional side. The list below is by no means exclusive.

1) Stiches. They hurt. When they swell after exercise, which is barely walking, they swell and hurt even more. There also might be an itch, like thrush, but a hundred times worse.

2) Control of your bladder. There is none. If you think you will have to pee in two minutes start marching to the toilet now. When your pee is ready it is too late.

3) Constipation. Let me just say that constipation after giving birth is like no other. Buy a spatula and dig in.

4) Haemorrhoids. They are not nice and you will get them if you are getting constipated.

5) Tiredness. Babies cry, it’s a fact, and you have to sort it out. Babies cannot tell day from night and they don’t really care. They cry whenever and this is the only way they communicate for the first few months. They cannot say “I love you” and “thanks for your efforts” so don’t expect it. You are there to respond to their basic needs and get nothing in return. However they will (hopefully) love you for it later.

6) Weakness of the body. Walking can be really exhausting and the insides of your thighs could be in pain. Long walks and exercise will also cause the swelling of the stiches, but we already mentioned this in two above.

7) Pregnancy belly. For about a week or two you still look heavily pregnant.

8) Breastfeeding. OMG! You are encouraged and it is good for the baby and yourself. But be prepared for a bit of getting used to it. The first three weeks are agonising for the nipples. Your breasts will also be engorged which can be painful. No wonder many of us give up before it gets better. (Try cabbage leaves, unassuming but great.) It takes about two/three weeks for your nipples to get used to the constant attention. After that there is no better feeling in the whole world! So if it hurts and you are thinking of giving up, stick with it, it will soon get better.

9) Did I miss anything?...

10) Recovery. It will come. In six weeks you will start feeling like a human being again. One day you'll wake up and know the worst is behind you. You are on the way to recovery.

And always REMEMBER you are not alone...

Childbirth Uncovered

I read somewhere that childbirth is “The only date you’ll fall in love at first sight”.

Let me tell you about childbirth.

Unless you are very, very lucky and none of the below applies to you, your childbirth will be probably the hardest thing you will ever have to do. It will shock you physically and mentally. It is not pretty, it is not easy and it is definitely not romantic. You just need to get through it.  

Getting to the hospital is a first hurdle. If your water’s broken, get on the phone with the hospital/Birthing Centre. They will probably not believe you. They will ask you to put a maternity pad between your legs and go for a walk. They will wait another hour to invite you in. Then they ask for the maternity pad and sniff it to confirm your water’s broken.

You will not be invited to stay in the Birthing Centre if your contractions are not the right strength and frequency. It does not matter whether it is your first time, or how nervous you are, you are on your own and you need to go back home. And for many hours this might be completely ok. Until the real deal starts.

When the pain starts the timing of the contractions is the first question asked when you phone the Birthing Centre. If your timings are not as recommended (2 minutes every 1 minute) it is hard to get anybody’s attention. You are encouraged to stay at home for as long as possible, until the contractions get to the right timing. It is a box ticking exercise for the midwives.

You, on the other hand, might feel completely different. The contractions might not do as they are told but the pain is real. It is NOT a period pain. It is thousands time stronger. It is like nothing else you have ever experienced. Imagine, you are pushing out a baby!

When you are at that stage just tell the Birthing Centre you are coming, whatever your contractions are doing. They have all the equipment to help you with the pain, try to use it. When the pain gets really strong swinging on the rope like a monkey is the last thing you want to do. At that stage all you want is the pain killers. However, if you are already in labour, it is too late for them as well….

Gas and air is not to be underestimated! It is delicious.

The midwives are invaluable in the whole experience. Although they can be cold to start with, they guide you through the process with confidence. But beware, they expect you to know what is happening and what you are supposed to be doing. It is tough for first time mums. Don’t be surprised if the midwifes do not entirely  believe what you tell them. They look for certain signs but if your labour is unusual, the signs might not be there. Giving birth is the most overwhelming and shocking experience but you need to help your midwife.

The pain and exhaustion can change us into monsters. You swear, you poop, there is blood. Hopefully your partner is understanding and not too sensitive. Compared with the progress humanity has made in other areas of today’s world, childbirth is prehistoric!

I am not sure how many women fall in love with their child at first sight. I didn’t. And I felt horrible. Now I realise it is ok but I just wish somebody had told me before. We all talk about men needing time to adjust and bond with the new born but of us women it is expected instantly.

Relax, although in your head you are failing the first motherly obligation, to love at first sight, it is only a low percentage of super women that do. The rest of us are just humans. Don’t let this bother you and don't let it be the beginning of post natal depression. It is perfectly normal, give yourself time to love your baby.

Childbirth Choices

Not going to work makes me think more about the forthcoming childbirth. To say that I am scared is an understatement. Not scared of what's coming, but scared of not knowing what's coming.

A few weeks ago my midwife asked me what type of childbirth I would like to have? My immediate response was: "Easy" and "Painless". Very unoriginal, I know, but those were the first words that came to mind. From the look on her face I realised she meant something different. But how was I supposed to know?

To avoid the pain I chose to have a caesarean. Happy with my answer, sure it met her expectations, I was told I do not qualify. Well, this confused me again. Then I was told my option, my ONLY option, is a natural childbirth (unless something goes wrong then the choice will be made for me). So I was given a choice under the false pretence only to find out there was no choice at all!

Then the midwife asked whether I would like to visit the local Birthing Centre. The purpose of the visit was to decide whether I liked it and wanted to give birth there. Again, I ask for the choices but they are limited. It is either the Birthing Centre or the hospital. So what are the differences? The Birthing Centre is led by the midwives. There are private rooms with private bathrooms, tv and birthing pools should you choose to have a water birth. They look more like hotel rooms than a hospital and there are no restricted visiting hours.

What about the hospital? First of all you stay on the ward. Neither private room nor bathroom, no TV, but for those interested, restricted visiting hours from 14.00 to 18.00. Let's not forget being kept in for days before the paperwork gets round the system to finally discharge you. Weighing the above, I just wonder, why would anyone decide to have a hospital birth? The choice is so obvious that the question seemed, yet again, rhetorical. Especially when I was told that, unless there were complications, I would be sent to the Birthing Centre anyway.

I bet Insurance has got something to do with it all.

Knowing that I am going to give birth naturally I decided to investigate what I need to know.

From conversations with other mothers one thing became certain - you quickly forget the pain. Which is excellent news, but what about the pain while it lasts? What is it like? There is no conclusive answer. The descriptions I manage to gather include: a strong punch in the stomach, extreme period pains, very bad stomach cramps. Close but not close enough. Is it because none of them remember... Or is it just not that bad?

There are off course pain killers to help tackle the problem: breathing techniques, gas and air, pethidine or diamorphine. I must admit, the first one, does not convince me at all. I think I will stick to painkillers, thank you very much. Then there is epidural but we are not allowed to talk about it in the Birthing Centre. Epidural can only be administered in the hospital. There is that false sense of choice again.

So the question is: are we better to make decisions as to where and how to give birth to our children or, considering our inexperience in the matter, is it better to leave the decision making to the experts? Are we really being "asked" to make our choice or are we merely meant to feel like we are?

Maternity!!!

My first day of maternity leave! Of course I am happy!

12 months off. How off will they be? First pregnancy, I have no idea what to expect.

I have plans. Great plans for the next 12 months. Nice schedules for the mornings and the afternoons. Lunches and coffees with  my friends, online courses, books... Loads of plans. Lovely, lovely plans - none of them includes the baby. Did I just simply choose to forget about Him? Oh yes, by the way, the baby is a He. Either that or it is a three legged girl (please don't let it be a three legged anything:).

Not only I know the sex but I also know He has got all the toes and fingers. I saw them on the scan. Clear 10 little white lines saying "fingers", another 10 saying "toes". So with perfect toes and fingers, how did I not include the baby in my plans?

Will He actually be a bother?

So far maternity leave has been the only thing on my mind. The baby is still invisible. It makes me feel like I am a bad mother a little bit. No prenatal classes, no books. Although I did grab a few leaflets from the midwife's office last time I was in and read them in a restaurant between the starter and the main.
 

It sounds as if I am not interested. The truth is that it is difficult to get interested in something that does not exist yet. I mean I can't touch Him or smell Him. And something can still go horribly wrong. I don't want to exceed my expectations.
 

Leaving work behind I am excited, scared, nervous, happy. Excited and happy are easy to explain. No more work for 12 months, no more bosses, no more report writing, no more getting up early, no more sitting at the desk, no more traffic, no more performance reviews! Simply FREEDOM!
 

But allowing yourself to be happy is not cool, and questions constantly appear in my head:
 

Will I find the little nipper stimulating enough?
 

Will I get bored?
 

Will I need conversation?
 

Will I go NUTS?
 

Will I have patience?
 

Another slightly worrying thing is the disposability of my...self. The total replaceability of my mind and body. Although I am excited I am leaving work behind, I am nervous that I am so easily replaced. All the "good lucks" are said lightly and I get presents and flowers. Is anybody going to miss me? Is the company going to fall apart because I am not there? Are they just really happy to see me go? What will I find on my return? It is different when you leave the company entirely, you are not worried about the mess you leave behind. Prospects of the new future does not let you cloud the happiness of leaving the present. This time you are leaving to actually come back at a later time. Will it feel old, new or somewhere in between?
 

Anyway looking into the nearest future now - happy!