Category: How did I get here?

Model

With the hormonal glow from having just had a baby, it’s perfectly understandable that you are now fully aware that your baby is the most beautiful baby that ever existed. More beautiful than Helen of Troy, your baby couldn’t just launch a 1000 ships, their beauty is such that they could bring peace on earth. Or was that just me?

Before having David, I couldn’t really see the beauty of babies – This could have stemmed from my desperately wanting one and so choosing not to look too closely at anyone else’s in case I was overcome by a wave of jealousy, stole said baby and headed out for a life on the run.

However, now all babies look gorgeous to me but mine – well he was the most gorgeous.

It is in that wave of post-natal euphoria that the photographers descend. Firstly at the hospital itself! I’m overcome with emotion already, I don’t know how to feed properly, there is a beautiful baby next to me that makes me weep and a stranger is telling me that he is beautiful and would I like to buy the 400 photo package or the cheaper 20 package with Perspex coasters, fridge magnets and key rings. The fact that our fridge was built-in and so the magnets would not work brought me back into reality and I opted for a few very lovely (but still pretty expensive) photos.

I was still convinced as he grew that David was the most beautiful child ever so when I saw an opening for child models at about 3 months, I thought why not! Let’s get him working now before he even realises it, earn him a fortune and he can relax as he gets older with university fees paid and a house deposit ready to go. So apparently, the first thing we had to do was get some professional photos taken – this was with a photographer 100 miles away. Not a problem, my baby boy is going to blow them away in the Baby Boden catalogue. We paid for the (pretty expensive) photos, got some copies and they said they would send the photos off to the agency who would be in touch.

He’s 6 in a couple of weeks and I’m still waiting!

To be fair, he’s still absolutely gorgeous but he would have been a rubbish model. He knocked his front teeth out when he was three and it takes me about an hour to get him changed, and that’s just one outfit.

The Miracle of Life

I was wondering what to write about today and couldn’t decide between the miracle of life (which includes embarrassing information about David) or the difficulties of transition. However, yesterday David said I had a big tummy because I eat too much chocolate so he’s getting the embarrassing stuff.

Children do say the most amazing and unexpected things. I am overweight and I accept that children are honest and note these things and comment on them, not intending to cause any upset but just because that’s the way things are.

What I did not expect is David’s obsession with marks and blemishes on my body. I have a charm bracelet that digs in and leaves marks when I sleep so that often, in the mornings, David will check my wrist to see if I am blemished. If I’ve been leaning on something or my leg has been pressed against a table, he will come and have a good long look to check that the mark is fading. I thought this was all sweet and lovely but now he has progressed to my armpits!! If I’m wearing a short sleeve, he will check underneath and make an objection if there are hairs there. Now, I’m of an age and make-up that the very fact I have hair growing is a joy. I just wish it was on my head.

The reason I am sharing this with you is that not long ago, in a crowded restaurant, before I realised what was happening, David had lifted my sleeve up, stuck his head under my arm and in a loud voice said “Uggh mummy, that’s disgusting.” Mortifying to me, amusing to all the other tables around us.

“How does this link into the miracle of life?” I hear you mumble. Well, I originally set up the blog as a sort of diary for David and I was never sure if I would put in the true miracle of his creation or save it to embarrass him and his father at a later date but the armpit comment has decided me.

As you know, if you have read the earlier posts, David was born via IUI using an egg from a donor and his father’s sperm. His father was particularly proud of the motility of his sperm – all ten eggs were fertilised (as he still proceeds to tell me proudly). However, that particular collection of sperm (so David in his most basic form), nearly didn’t make it. His daddy dropped him in the toilet! He and his fellow wrigglers (and the open pot they were in) were fortunately rescued and handed over to the scientists. Imagine if the angle it had tipped at had been a few degrees more! The miracle of life!

an illustration of fertilization

Babies & Supermarkets

I feel that I am an intelligent and capable woman but when it came to managing normal household chores and a baby, I often turned into an incoherent mess.

The first time I went supermarket shopping on my own I hadn’t thought about the potential difficulties.

I parked in a normal parking spot and then realised why you need the parent and child parking. I couldn’t get the baby carrier out of the door. I had to repark. Next step was what on earth do you do with the shopping as you go round. First time I decided to limit the shopping and balanced a basket on one arm. This seemed to work but we were missing a lot of shopping. On my second and subsequent trips I pulled the trolly whilst pushing the pushchair or pushed the trolly whilst pulling the pushchair. It was very cumbersome, and I could take out a whole aisle of people, but I was starting to feel impressed with my steering capabilities when I ran into a friend and discovered that I was an idiot. Of course! You can put the baby carrier into the trolly! I tried to pretend that I knew that and I was just doing the ridiculous two vehicle shopping because I had sooo much to buy that day. I think she saw through me.

There is so much you don’t know as a first-time mother that even the easiest tasks can become huge hurdles. I read recently about The Mum Ribbon Movement suggested by Anna Mathur where mums tie a ribbon to their pram/pushchair or changing bag and it says:

– I am open to you offering me some kind words or support
– I’m here if you need some kind words or support

It is a wonderful idea and is gaining lots of followers. I only wish it had been around 5 years ago.

The Instagram link is here:  ANNA MATHUR ~ Psychotherapist ~ Author ~ Mother on Instagram: “Grab a ribbon and share the square! The ribbon says: – I am open to you offering me some kind words or support – I’m here if you need…”

miniature of shopping cart with sweet strawberry

Sleep

David slept through the night from three months. This is not something you should ever share with fellow parents of three month olds. 

We did nothing special. It is highly possible that he did wake up and we were so tired that we just slept through it, but it stuck. We listened to our friends talk about the nightmares they were suffering with sleep issues and felt extremely sympathetic but couldn’t really empathise. Some of them did not have a full night’s sleep for two years! 

However, things started to get weird, and we started to feel less smug. 

When we first converted David’s cot into a single bed, he would listen to his bedtime stories in the bed and then once we had left, would take himself out of bed and sleep on the floor next to his bedroom door. We decided that allowing this to continue till adolescence was probably not good parenting, so we started a multi-step plan. First, we set up the travel cot in his room to move him away from the door. This was like a teepee and he eventually crawled in, but he was still basically sleeping on the floor. We next had to butcher the travel cot so that it would go over the top of the single bed and he finally slept off the floor. 

The next step was to remove the butchered tent like cover and this we successfully did by moving house. A little drastic but it worked as we got him a bunk bed and he sleeps on the bottom, near the floor. 

As David has got older, our 12 hours of peace and quiet has been eroded from both ends. David comes in to see us as soon as the sun is up. To help, we purchased a clock that changes colour to show him when it is time to get up. David very kindly comes in to inform us that it hasn’t changed colour yet. He does understand the concept of lie ins and will remind us of whose turn it is to get up and pander to his every need. “Mummy, it’s your turn. It was daddy yesterday.” At bedtime, David has recently been unable to go to sleep unless I am in the room with him. I can hear wise parents everywhere shouting, “No! Don’t start that!”  

Too late! Maybe we are (sorry – I am) pandering too much but that’s okay because it won’t be that long before he is a smelly, teenage boy who will not want me anywhere near his bedroom and as long as he needs me to help him sleep, I will be there. 

Baby-led Weaning

Finally got round to this. As an introduction to the topic and information on my own food background, I should mention that I have no great awareness of nutrition, healthy eating etc and that I was brought up on a meat and two veg diet with regular access to what was called the ‘chocolate cupboard’. Also, one thing that I only recently discovered was unique to my mother’s preparation of school lunches is the ‘defrosting sandwich lunch’. Mum would take a whole loaf and make cheese sandwiches. The cheese sandwiches would go back in the loaf bag, and it would be placed in the freezer. Then, in the morning, we would chip off a frozen cheese sandwich for our lunch bags. During the summer this was great as it would keep the chocolate wafer from melting. During the winter, not so great. Nobody wants a frozen cheese sandwich for lunch. 

Before having David, my only knowledge of how babies ate was from the remaining Heinz apple sauce food jars in our cellar and a vague recollection of Farley’s rusks. Having just about mastered the breast-feeding/formula combo when I finished the breast-feeding part at about three months, I was determined to be super well informed when it came to the next step. I bought handbooks, recipe books, read lots of online information and joined Facebook groups. I decided that for us, baby-led weaning (BLW) was the way to go. The NHS have a useful information page: Your baby’s first solid foods – NHS (www.nhs.uk) 

Once David hit six months and was meeting all the suggested requirements for BLW, we started feeding him small amounts of our food at dinner time. This meant that he was in charge of what he ate, how fast he ate and how much he ate. There are many different studies that say BLW can help prevent later obesity as children are more in touch with their hunger and are better able to recognise fullness and that BLW helps to make them less picky eaters as they grow up. However, there are just as many studies that say this is not true. For us, it was simply the easiest and most relaxed way of introducing David to food. I won’t lie, I was exceptionally nervous and worried that David was going to choke to death on the very first thing I fed him, but it turned out fine.  

My fear of grapes continues to this day; the knowledge that the shape of a grape could create a vacuum in a child’s throat that would make them impossible to remove in a choking situation. David is five now and I still cut them into small pieces. My health and safety (paranoia) training has clearly been passed on. If David has a whole grape from somewhere, he brings it to me and shows me that he has bitten it in two!  

I found it fascinating that as a baby, David wanted to try every different flavour and would eat lots of fruit and vegetables. I thought I was doing amazingly. However, as he has got older, his interest in vegetables has waned and it seems that the idea of BLW making children less picky eaters later has not worked for us! The best way we have found to keep him eating at least some vegetables is the ‘magical powers’ of broccoli and asparagus. Who knew that when eating a green vegetable you would be able to turn your parents into an animal of your choice! The confusion on a neighbouring restaurant table when my husband starts quacking is an easy sacrifice to ensure David has his five-a-day. 

Weight, food, gestational diabetes and all that jazz

I am a comfort eater and am easily swayed by a chocolate bar. I kept the weight pretty much at bay when I was younger and my most natural dress size was probably a 14 though I desperately wanted to be a 12. How things change!! I pine now to be a size 16. Unfortunately comfort eating because I couldn’t have a child and was working ridiculous hours in a super stressful job meant that was never going to be. I am however excellent at faddy dieting for at least two weeks.

Becoming pregnant as a geriatric mother put some extra strains upon my body besides my death wish unhealthy eating. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes (incidentally I was absolutely famished during that test!). My understanding of food had to take a steep learning curve. I had a special wireless machine that measured my blood sugar from pricking my finger twice a day and sent the numbers to the diabetic nurse. I wasn’t doing well at keeping it below the expected figure and when she checked in, it turns out Shreddies aren’t a healthy choice. Who knew cereal had sugars in. probably everyone except me but my awareness of the different types of food was raised considerably.

I also had gall stones which meant that I was avoiding fatty foods for fear of the crippling pain that would typically ensue after a tub of pringles and a packet of dips. When you can’t eat sugars and fatty foods are no good either, your food choices become very limited. As a result, when I was weighed at 8 months pregnant, I was the lightest I had been in years! Thank you David.

This gratitude was to be short lived however because it turned out that following the pregnancy, I developed hypothyroidism. (This is the one where your thyroid is under active), so with that and the menopause, and my insatiable desire for mint chocolate, the weight came back and I have now been diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. Last check I was back in the pre-diabetic scores but as ever I’m up and down with the weight. My desire to see David through to 40 means I have to conquer this and I will.

I have just realised how much I have gone on about me. When I sat down to write, I was going to talk about baby-led weaning. I will talk about that in the next post but to keep you engaged, here is a picture of David with his first green bean:

Nappies

Our experience with nappies started at the NCT sessions where we were given a doll and a nappy. At exactly that point, my husband said that he had to nip to the loo. He came back 10 minutes later with a coffee and an explanation that he didn’t think he’d be able to do nappies.

I reassured him that he would be doing nappies and that no he wouldn’t enjoy it, but he would be making me and his child happy.

As a geriatric mummy, I come from a generation before disposable nappies and grew up in a house with a cupboard full of terry towelling squares that my mother had used on all four of us. I loved the idea of not contributing to the millions of used disposable nappies so I informed my husband, that not only would he be changing nappies, but he would be washing them too.

A friend informed me that I wouldn’t keep it up. I laughed and smugly said that he might have struggled, but we would be fine. Unfortunately, he was right! We were defeated by the fact that it was impossible to get them dry quick enough. I had nappies on every radiator in the winter but in the end I gave up. I felt very guilt and still very aware of our environmental footprint. We were fortunate enough to be able to afford a brand that were biodegradable.

I still stand by the fact that financially and environmentally, real nappies are the way to go. Check your local area for nappy libraries as well. This is the website for the UK Nappy Network: Find a library – UK Nappy Network Since we have stopped using nappies, I’ve since discovered you can buy heated drying racks which would have solved our problem.

My husband (who I have just realised has never been referred to as a ‘Geriatric Daddy’) was a pro within a week.

Granny???

I have been called grandmother a few times now and although I knew that this might happen, it still hurts.

The first time, I was with my husband and we were just getting David (about 6 months at this time) out of the car. An older couple were walking past and said something along the lines of “It’s tough having to look after the grandchildren!”

I was instantly defensive and proclaimed in a loud voice to the world that he was mine! My husband just glanced quizzically at me and said nothing.

The second time. I was again with my husband and some people passing by commented on us being the grandparents. I immediately leapt in again and assured them that he was mine and I was absolutely young enough to have a baby. Again, my husband said nothing and that’s when it hit me. It only happened when I was with him!!!

I decided not to leave him for a younger model but took on board his views which were pretty much along the line of ‘What’s it got to do with them and why do they feel they have the right to comment?’ (except with more sweary words)

He was right. I know I’m old enough to be David’s grandmother but that doesn’t mean that I am not also the perfect age to be his mother.

To NCT or not to NCT

If you haven’t heard about NCT, it’s the National Childbirth Trust. You pay for several sessions later in your pregnancy to prepare you for birth and the early days of parenting.

I say Do it! Do it! Do it!

This is not necessarily for the course itself. I did get a few good pointers out of it, but as my delivery was always going to be a caesarean, I really learned how potentially painful and exhausting the whole birthing process was going to be for my fellow class mates.

The reason to do it is for those fellow classmates.

Mine were a fabulous group of people who I now call friends. Through the early days of feeding at 3 am and not knowing how to deal with colic to sharing first day of school photos, our WhatsApp group has been a huge lifeline. I remember a friend of mine had her first child in 1999 and her companions during night feeds were the residents of the Big Brother House. How grateful am I that technology has moved on so much, so fast. I never felt alone as there was always someone else available on the other end of the chat.

So do it, sign up to NCT (or other similar groups) to meet people who are going through all the same firsts as you and will understand, sympathise, share discoveries and advice and be friends for life.

I need(ed) my mummy

I don’t believe it matters how old you are; being a first time mum (or dad) is scary. We failed on the practicalities from the beginning! The nurses on the ward wouldn’t let us go until they had fixed the fastenings in the baby car seat.

No matter how much you read before hand, that first night away from the doctors, nurses and sensible people who know about babies is absolutely terrifying and what made it far worse for me was the gaping hole where my mum should have been.

My mum passed away in a busy hospital ward with my sister and I holding her hands the Saturday night before David was born. When I went in for my caesarean on the Wednesday, I was grieving and scared. I can’t remember much about the delivery but I do remember the surgeon saying afterwards that she hoped the safe delivery of my boy would help. It did help. I was distracted and full of those positive hormones whose name I forget. However, my body was not coping so well and I was not producing enough milk.

Dried flowers from a bouquet sent to me after David was born. They were from my mummy.

The health visitor came for the routine check up three days later. David had lost more than 10% of his birth weight and I was a sobbing mess. She sent my husband and I to the community maternity centre where I sobbed and mourned for two days and nights while the fabulous midwives made me tea and toast and taught me how to pump, feed and subsidise my breast milk. If my mum had been here, then she would have been with me at home. she could have shown me how to do the things I learnt from the midwives. She could have reassured me that I was doing okay.

David is now 5 and I still feel that loss. Every time he reached a milestone, every time he did something that made me laugh, every proud and happy moment (as well as the scary ones) I want to share them with my mum but I can’t and so I continue to grieve. At times I have felt hugely angry at her which I am sure is normal but feels a bit unfair.

I talk about her and my dad to David. They would have loved him.