A quick follow up from the last blog

Getting sent flowers RULES!  Definitely a nice way to brighten someones day

Given the response I had to my last post I thought I'd better clarify:

I am ok.

I hadn't realised how the last post may read to friends and whanau.  Then a few days ago Murray told me it was like a wake up call for him.  He'd known things were hard, but didn't know they were that hard.  Although everything in that post is very true it wasn't meant in any way as a cry for help.  I am extremely lucky and have a lot of support.*  Thank you all so much for being so supportive and helpful for our family during this time.  It really is appreciated.  My main reason for being so frank in that post was to illustrate to (or remind) folk how hard it is in those early weeks - especially when there is a toddler in tow.  And that if you are one of those people who are struggling to cope it's ok to struggle.  In fact, I think it's quite normal.

I want to applaud those I know who are doing it without the level of support I have.  I want to give a shout out to those who do it without partners or without extended families or both - they are my heroes.  I don't know how you do this when you can't just pass the baby over to someone else for a bit.  I manage because I know that when Murray gets home from work, I'll get a break.  For many other people there is never a break.

And now I am writing this I want to acknowledge that things are hard for parents from all walks of life.  Regardless of how much or how little we earn, sleep deprivation, loss of a sense of self and parental guilt can affect us all.  The arrival of baby number two has made me really appreciate how hard it is being a parent.  Particularly for those parents of bigger families, of unwell children or whom are unwell themselves.  I never truly realised until now the effort they put in.  And I want to publicly apologise for any judgement anyone has ever felt I've ever passed, consciously or not, on these parents.  If I did it was because I was ignorant and I am sorry.

Because parents need the support of other parents and their communities.  They are growing the next generation and that's an extremely important job.  If you are a parent yourself you'll know this, and support rather than judgement is what is needed to keep us all afloat in hard times.  It is so important.  And it really is a simple thing.

These days most of us don't exist in those little neighbourly microcosms where people are always on hand with advice and an extra pair of hands.  While the old fashioned, practical things are a great help (meals, help around the house, someone to hold the baby while you sleep) equally it's the little things that help.  Kind messages, smiles, hugs and flowers (thank you Miriam!) make a big difference.  Basically, any validation that you are doing ok really helps.  Yesterday I bought bras, and the lady fitting me told me I looked good for having a seven week old.  That made me feel great.  Much nicer than the well meaning lady at the Drs the other day who told me 'You are doing well, it's obviously taken it's toll'.  Just phrasing things well and acknowledging that despite appearances you are doing a good job really helps.

Because for me the times that are hardest are the times that people can't easily help with.  It's those days where randomly Abby just screams for hours on end and won't sleep.  That gap between 5pm and 6.30pm when I'm waiting for Murray to come home, and organising dinner, and Abby is cranky because it's just crankytime.  The nights where traffic is bad and I have to do bedtime alone.  The times that are unpredictable, and therefore almost impossible to get help with.  Nice thoughts from better times help get me through these trying ones.

And I am ok.

I am ok because (like pregnancy) this hard stuff doesn't last forever.  It may feel like it when you're in it, but it doesn't.  After a feeding frenzy over the weekend (6 week cluster feed) Abby is now sometimes calm.  She sometimes even coos and smiles.  Before the end of last week if she was awake and not feeding she was crying so this is a vast improvement.  Today she kinda laughed.  Things are getting better.

And in the meantime I am focused on the little things.  The great thing about having lived with any illness for a long period of time, mental or otherwise, is that you (usually) develop coping mechanisms that are useful in other parts of your life.  I am much better at looking after myself now as a 33 year old than I was as a 20 year old.  So I make sure I have time to relax in the bath and paint my nails at least once week.  I eat (dairy free) chocolate.  I read.  I go for walks with the pram.  I talk to friends.  I eat at least two pieces of fruit a day (new research shows this helps women combat depression, plus it's yum).  I write.  I appreciate the small things and allow small snippets of time for myself.  And I ask for help when I need it so I can stay ok.

I am just so fortunate to have so many people available to give me that help.  My biggest wish is that all parents have the same support that I do.

* And thanks to everyone who has offered even more help since the last post.  Again, I am so, so lucky!

On six weeks in with a newborn and a toddler

This is ridiculously hard.

It is difficult to understand why anyone would do this on purpose. This sort of age gap is only for the insane, the martyr or those with miraculously perfect children.

I am none of the above.  I would never choose this for myself or anyone else.

If Abby were a baby like Etta was it would be hard but ok.  But Abby is not.  Abby is a baby that cries most of the time.  Abby will only sleep for a period longer than 20 to 30 minutes if she is on someones person.  Abby is a baby that needs to be held on a certain angle.  Who will cry whilst held for up to three hours with only short breaks for breathing between bouts even though she has a clean nappy, a fully tummy and a loving family.  Who will scream while I am trying to get her to latch onto my boob and will forget how to latch because she is so upset.

Etta caught in a tiny moment of loving her sister

And there is nothing medically wrong with her.  I took her to the Drs.  I checked.  I was guiltily sad to hear that nothing was wrong - that there was no medical explanation for this behavior.  Apparently, this is just how some babies are.  It's hard to believe this and not convince yourself the problem is just cos you're a crap mother.  That having babies truly is like playing lotto.  That it's not all your fault you can't get your baby to simply not cry.*

And if you attempt to leave the house to escape the insanity that is your house because your baby cries all the time you are guaranteed to have at least one (usually several) people tell you that you need to feed your baby.  Because your baby is crying.  Because your baby cries almost all the time.  And if you have your baby in a pram, because you need your hands to, I don't know - pay for things, or maybe just feel like your own for a bit then if your baby is mine it will cry.  Because it's not being held by someone.  And then you kinda almost wish you'd never left the house because you feel the hot prick of tears at your eyes and you don't want to cry in public.  But you kinda do just to see if anyone asks if maybe you are hungry because you are crying.  Or says something nice.  But you don't cry because you know the truth is that just more people will stare at you because you look mad.  Like a mad, bad mother.

And I know this will not last forever and that things can change.  But I also know this works both ways.  Since my darling big girl turned two it's like some sort of naughty switch went on.  She no longer listens.  Not to me, or anyone else.  She suddenly talks in gibberish a lot of the time.  Her tantrums are increasingly aimed toward me and Abby.  She has slapped, kicked and bit me on purpose and regularly tries to sneaky-kick her sister.  I totally understand that she is upset as her entire life has been turned upside down by this small, crying thing.  And this is not helped by the normal developmental changes she is going through at this age.  What I don't understand is how families survive this stage.

And I don't understand how people sleep train their subsequent children.  It was hard enough with just one baby let alone with a toddler in tow.  I don't even know where to start.  I am grateful that Etta at least understands that when Abby is crying she needs her Mummy and is ok with me rushing her bedtime routines on the occasions where I'm going it alone and therefore have to put the baby down.  But I can't see how people manage to put sleep routines in place for their newborns who don't want to sleep.  How in the fuck do you find 20 minutes to peacefully pat your baby to sleep in their crib?  I mean, without a toddler screaming at you and shaking said crib and dragging blankets off your baby.**  I can't even give Abby a feed most of the time without having to interrupt it to stop her sister from imploding the universe ie: pulling all of Murray's Eurogames out of the boxes and scattering them to the ether.

And when I do get the will-not-sleep-not-on-people baby to sleep in her bed (a rare but treasured event) I have to guard the room like mad because Etta will just bang on the door and scream.  Because even though Abby sleeping equals me having more one on one time for Etta, Etta doesn't understand that.  And she hates closed doors.  And toddlers are irrational, crazy, giant headed tiny people.

Seriously.  Most days I feel a lot like I'm at the beginning of the 12 Step program.  Every day I count the hours (sometimes minutes) until help, or my partner will be home so I'm not alone in this insanity that is my current state of Mummydom.  You can probably hear me muttering God grant me the serenity... under my breath at any given time of the day (or night) and I'm not remotely religious.  I simultaneously must suppress urges to get absolutely rollicking drunk just to escape things for a few hours, instead replacing 'hammered' with 'clean' and taking those few moments where I'm not holding a baby or placating a toddler to shower or (on rare occasions) bathe.

And I have help.  I have help almost every day.  Not all day, but for at least an hour or two.  And I have one whole day a week from 9 - 5 without Etta.  And I have one or two days a week where Mum is here from pretty much 9 - 5 (and sometimes longer).  And I have a partner who, whilst out 11 1/2 hours for work on weekdays (because that's just life in Auckland) is a super hands on Daddy on the weekends.  And it's still this hard.  During the week Murray and I only have usually 15 minutes to an hour of being together and awake and not being screamed at.***  So most of the important conversations you normally have, and regular life events get missed because there just isn't time.  At the moment it's purely about survival for both of us.  And while we each try and support the other, for sanity's sake we also each have to put our own needs first.  After that of the screaming child (cos if their needs are met they might stop screaming for five minutes so we can pee or eat).

How do single parents do this?  How do people with families in other countries (or other parts of the country) do this?  These parents need medals (or maybe something more useful, like sleep) cos seriously - how the fuck do they survive it alone?  How do toddlers not get scurvy from surviving on toast and cereal?  How do subsequent children survive without being accidentally killed by their elder sibling?****

These things are the true miracles of parenting two under two (or a six week old and a two year old).

(image stolen from a friends Facebook page - completely accurate depiction)

* And she doesn't have reflux or silent reflux - I don't think so anyway.  She's gaining weight and not spilly although gets sore lower tummy stuff.  I've taken dairy out of my diet and it's helped with this immensely, but not with the having to be held all the time thing.  Next step is checking out osteopathy (once I've magically had a chance to talk to Murray about it, but who knows when that will happen).

** Or destroying the rest of the house if you shut them out of the room.  Or attempting to break down the door.  Both of which Etta has done when I have attempted this.  Mostly just while I'm attempting to feed Abby.

*** We spend most of it watching MKR and taking turns eating as too shell shocked to do much else.

**** And how do women manage to buy well fitting bras?  I mean, whilst juggling a crying newborn and a toddler who needs a leash and having to get specialty maternity bras cos Farmers doesn't seem to go much beyond an E cup and my F cup doth runneth over.  How do they manage to leave the house in clothes that fit well and don't make them look like a homeless person?  How do they manage to bend over to put shoes on whilst holding a baby?  So many questions!!!

Fourth attempt at blogging...

So this attempt I will keep things short and simple.

So much has happened in the last month.  In that slow way that life unfurls, not in the way that every day brings a party although I feel as sleep deprived as if that were the case.  I've had so much to write about but no brain, or time.  Well, I've had time, but all spare time has been for the most part dedicated to sleeping.  Well, attempting to at least.  Whilst other blog writings remain unfinished (not fitting my pants*, coping with the successful creative lives of my peers, general life catch up) we have recently hit some milestones I'd love to write about.

On Sunday Abby turned one month old.

Abby has been a very different newborn to Etta so we've gone through a bit of a learning curve.  While Etta was a dream wee baby sleepwise (until hitting sleep regression around 12 weeks) Abby is the kind of baby who almost only sleeps 'on' people.  This doesn't make for great sleep for me.  She is also a very good eater.  She is regularly gaining 300 - 500 grams a week because she feeds as much as she can.  She feeds to the point she makes herself overtired and screams and can't latch and I have to pop her in the sling and walk around until she falls asleep.  And while Etta needed silence to sleep, Abby is the opposite.  Constant, talking, bustling noise helps get her to sleep which has made sleeping overnight tricky.  It is getting better though.

In the first few weeks I was so desperate for sleep I was crying and begging Murray to just hold her and walk around so I could sleep for just one hour.  I have ended up regularly (safely) co-sleeping as it's the only way for both of us to get sleep at this stage.  While this makes me anxious, the anxiety trumps the zero sleep.  And things are getting better.  There are two times of day we can (currently) fairly religiously get her to sleep in her bed and that's better than not at all.

The good thing about subsequent new baby times is that you know things will get better.  So while this is hard, I know that it will not be like this forever.

If I knew then what I know now... Despite the difficulties I am so much more relaxed this second time around.  I am not convinced every second of every day that Abby will die if I don't do X Y Z.  I am less anal about tracking sleeps, breastfeeding and nappy changes.  I feel confident about my ability to be a parent.  I wish I could have felt like this with Etta so I could enjoy that quiet time at home with her that I seldom get with Abby.  It's nice to just sit on the couch breastfeeding and watching crappy TV and not thinking about anything bar how lovely and warm your baby is.  It's the first time I've ever actually understood why some people think baby's are cute.** 

On Monday Etta turned two years old. 

Etta has coped pretty well with the whole gaining a sibling thing.  Sure, she has jealous patches which make Abby's extensive need to feed tricky, but on the whole she's very sweet and understanding.  We've tried to keep her routine as normal as possible, and her days fairly full so she doesn't feel bored at home with boring Mummy, or resentful of my time with Abby.

And I could be wrong, but it feels like when Abby gets a bit bigger Etta will accept her as a person a bit more.  At the moment she's just kind of a 'thing' that takes up Mummy's time.  Etta smirks at her inability to sit up.  She puts her fingers in her ears when Abby cries.  She sneakily pats her body with her feet sometimes.  Once Abby's a little more interesting I'm sure this will change.  Maybe.

Etta decided to start using the potty (sometimes) two days after we got home from hospital.  Because of the timing we haven't pushed this instead letting her use the potty when she wants and applauding her for doing so successfully.  We have not shown her knickers yet.  I'm gonna wait until she's more ready (and I'm more ready).  As is, we've had a few breastfeeding sessions on the bathroom floor while Etta sits on the potty waiting for something to happen.

Etta is one of the funniest people I know.  She has an amazing sense of comic timing (has done from very young) and knows people will watch her if she does funny things.  She's a very sweet girl, but equally throws amazingly epic tantrums.  She hates wearing clothes and I have much Mummy guilt over not making her wear socks (too hard).  Her favourite colour is yellow and she loves owls, robots, pies, rice bubbles, Minions, Russian Dolls, drawing, singing and dancing.  She is impossible to feed vegetables to (except for some reason, cauliflower).  She is just wonderful and while sometimes she can make being a parent of a newbie hard (like this morning where she was screaming at the top of her lungs because she didn't want Abby to sleep, but Abby was actually asleep in her bed for a change) I still feel so lucky to be her Mum.

To help keep everyone sane, Etta now has stuff on almost every day.  She's just started Playcentre visits with my Mum so will be going Monday mornings to our local from 9.30am - 12.30pm.  And after we're over Winter, Abby and I will go with her on a Friday.  On Tuesdays she spends the day with her Nana and Poppa (instituted before Abby arrived so she doesn't feel 'kicked out' for the day).  Wednesday mornings her Nana takes her to swimming.  Some Thursdays she goes to our local story time and on Friday's my Mum visits to help out and she gets quality time with 'Ella' (what Etta calls Mum instead of 'Grandma') and with me - depending on what is most needed.  When Mum is here she also holds Abby during Etta's nap time so I can get some sleep.


Now Abby has awakened from her sling sleep and is screaming her face off, I'll leave things there.  I don't want to lose another post to the unfinished pile.  We are so lucky to have the help we do to survive this tricky but amazing time growing these two little people.

* This topic now being obsolete as now, thanks to Abby's amazing eating skills combined with my breastfeeding prowess, I do fit my pants despite existing on copious amounts of sugar, cheese and chocolate.

** This does not mean I find babies cute.  This does not mean we will have more babies.  Half the reason I am coping so well with the crazy times is because I know it's the last of the crazy times.  Quite permanent birth control measures are on the horizon.

And then a baby (additional info)

Wow!  Just re-read my last blog post and realised all the bits I missed and things that make little sense.  Not beating myself up as wrote it in that insanity that is the first week post baby but thought I'd catch you up on some things:

1) The reason I mentioned the 'accidents' is because I think they were my labour indicators.  My body was just so over being pregnant it decided to stop.  I'm super glad.  I was over being pregnant, and knew the likelihood was that my baby was big enough (given my large measurements) to be born so feel no guilt about that.

2) I may have aided baby coming when it did if you believe in old wives tales.  I had been eating induction cookies.  In part because I found the recipe and it looked amazing.  In part because I really wanted the baby to come and I was over it.  The cookies were fucking amazing.  I shared them with friends and family.  Seriously, they are tasty.  I made mine slightly spicier than the recipe (a little extra cayenne) and they were fab.

And the night before I went into labour we did have Indian food.  This wasn't to hurry the baby, but merely because it was our four year Civil Unionersary and we wanted to do something nice, but cheap (cos poor) so picked one of those dealio website deals at the closest restaurant in the cuisine we liked most and went for it.  We ended up at a place called Shor Bazaar in Lynfield which looked nice from their website but on arrival were a bit terrified (sandwiched between a KFC, a TAB and a Wendy's) but OMG it was awesome!  Although the deal was for a regular course, we ended up ordering starters and desserts and ate all things we'd never tried before - which is an achievement as I used to work in Indian restaurants and love and eat a LOT of Indian food.  I didn't order a spice level any higher than I normally would as wanted to enjoy the meal.  And no, I don't think eating curry made me go into labour.

3) Yes, I had a drug free birth (besides Panadol taken earlier that day for hip pain) but believe me, I was begging for drugs - there was just no time!  I had started going into transition before we even left for the hospital (hence my urgency) and because everything happened so fast I was not well pleased.  Because I could get into the water fairly quickly once at hospital though, I soon felt ok without drugs as had gotten over the shock of being in labour and found my groove.

4) I didn't realise or know how much blood I'd lost until a few days after having Abby.  I did know I was lying in a pool of my own blood, but had no idea how normal/abnormal that was as had never had a vaginal delivery before.  And I couldn't actually see how much blood there was - I just knew it was there.  I later found out I was very close to the amount of blood loss where you have to sound all the bells and whistles and get the Drs and people into the room - I am so glad I did not.  It was very nice having just me, Murray and Vanessa (my brilliant Midwife) in our little, private feeling delivery suite feeling awesome.

The only ill effects I noticed from this blood loss was that I was a bit shaky when I did get up for a shower (a couple of hours after having Abby), and was having some difficulty breathing (like when I was anaemic).  Luckily, I had a bag of treats and a few fistfuls of chocolate coated raisins and a cup of tea remedied this fairly quickly.

5) Murray freaked out a bit when Abby was born because she didn't cry (like on TV).  She was fine - it was just because of the delayed cord clamping.  She was also extremely chill for her first couple of days on this earth, and still is (touch wood) most of the time.  Whilst Murray had discussed cutting the cord, in the end he decided not to having done it with Etta and found it a little 'barbaric' after his last experience cutting the cord in the C Section, which we all decided was fair enough.

6) Abby was eleven days early - a week later exactly than Etta who was eighteen days early.  Abby weighed 7lb 8oz - Etta weighed 6lb 15oz - so had they been born at similar times I think they would have been similar weights.  However, Abby was/is SO FAT.  Like, she looks as though you could poke her tummy and she'd pop like a balloon.  Stark contrast to Etta who was a very skinny wee thing.  Abby is also super tall.  51cm at birth, and now 52cm just over a week on.

7) While we would have loved to go to the Helensville Birthing Units from Waitakere unfortunately, the inn was full.  April is a very popular month to give birth, so I wasn't surprised.  Retrospectively, it was great coming straight home as injected some normalcy into this whole thing for Etta.  She only had one night without Mummy and her routines haven't changed.  We figure the easier we can make the transition for her the easier she will make it for us.

8) We took a couple of days to name Abby as when she was born none of the names we'd had seemed quite right.  We did end up going back to a name we'd had in mind - one that Murray had chosen - but after we'd gotten to know her a bit better.  While Etta made her personality clear from before birth, Abby has been a little quieter so we needed a little time to get to know her better.  And while people grow into their monikers, they do have them for life (unless they hate it so much they change it) so it's nice to at least try to get it right.

9) I am so lucky to have had the Midwife I had.  I am glad that I trusted her decisions even in times I was a little anxious about them.  I am so grateful that I laboured under the current system (midwives) rather than the system my Mum laboured under (GP's).  There is no way a GP could have had the level of knowledge Vanessa had to get me comfortably through my pregnancy, labour and these early days with a new baby.  We are so, so lucky to have this in New Zealand.  I do think it's all about finding the right person for you, so if you are not happy, or at all uncomfortable with your Midwife, and have time do shop around.  It will make a trying time so much easier if you have the support that works for you and a good relationship with those giving it.  Especially if you are looking at having a VBAC.

10) I cannot express enough the difference between my emergency C Section and this natural labour.  Again, while I wasn't at all upset or anything by Etta's delivery, Abby's was just so much simpler even if her delivery was in some ways more hands on.  Recovering from a natural birth - even with a small tear and difficult delivery - has been so much faster and simpler than recovering from my C Section.  And with a full on toddler I was so grateful to have the opportunity for a natural birth.  Again, I was very low risk to try for a VBAC, so this choice will not be best for everyone.

For me even had this labour had resulted in another emergency C Section I would have been glad to have tried as because I had done the 'labour' thing before, this time I felt more comfortable with it - I wasn't at all scared.  And while labour is 'labour' and hard and sore, I managed to get to that place they talk about in hypnobirthing - mostly because I knew I would be ok, and I knew this was only for a short period of my life.

While Abby was not in the best of positions (head funny angle, shoulders around the wrong way, cord over shoulder) she was not face first or posterior which made for a much easier delivery.  While I'm sure it would have been possible to birth Etta naturally, it would have been very difficult and traumatic for both of us to have done so.  And while I am glad to have managed a natural birth this time (mostly so I am able to look after my busy toddler easier) I am so grateful to have had the option of a C Section with Etta.

and then a Baby!

Excuse the bad photos - we totally forgot the camera with all the rush but here is our new, bigger family.

So after what felt like a really long pregnancy, but was actually not very long at all, we got to meet that very active person who was living inside me at 11.34pm on Friday night.

In the days preceding labour I had two accidents. 

Wednesday was the only day I had home alone with Etta.  That morning she had been quite tantrummy, so despite being sore decided it best for us both to venture out on the bus to Henderson.  This went very well until just before home time where I tripped backward over one of those electric cable pole things that was inconveniently sticking out of the footpath in a bus stop.  Thankfully I fell onto the cushion of my butt, and besides being embarrassed, shaken and glad the pram didn't roll into the busy thoroughfare, pretty much unscathed.*

On Thursday after hanging out some washing Etta (unsurprisingly) decided she wanted some more outside play time.  Me, not being someone who likes to waste time, decided I could maybe pull some of the overgrown grass off the footpath so Etta would stop injuring herself attempting to wade through that jungle.  I got a few pavers uncovered when I experienced some of the sharpest pain I ever randomly had. 

The whole of the left side of my abdomen was on fire - it hurt to walk and breathe.  I called my Midwife to check it out and it was just muscular, but still ridiculously sore.  I had a fun time coercing Etta into the safety of inside the house without picking her up (as couldn't) and then she pooed at exactly the least convenient moment ever - the most painful nappy change of my life.  I couldn't rest or get myself better so had Etta's Nana come and get her early (she was gonna hang with her later anyway as it was Murray and my 4th Civil Union Anniversary) so I could rest.  After 15 minutes of being able to actually sit down with a wheat pack on my side I felt like a fully functional human again.**  Which was great as meant we could go out and celebrate our anniversary with some amazingly good curry (and still be home for bed by 9pm).

Phew!  Then on Friday I just felt crampy and generally crappy.  But having felt like that many days over the last few weeks I didn't think anything of it.  Mum was over to help out with Etta and we had a pretty relaxed day.  We got another grocery shop done and had a little tidy.  I had home-made pizza premade in the freezer so we had that for dinner.  All was pretty normal really apart from having smashed my body in the two days before and being much more uncoordinated than usual.

Now before I share the nitty gritty of labour I want to preface it by saying:
1) I bitch and moan but I actually had a complications free pregnancy
2) I am generally (besides my guts and brain) a very healthy person
3) My last emergency C Section was due to baby's positioning
4) I have an extremely supportive Midwife that I have a great relationship with

What I'm trying to say is, I was really very low risk for anything going badly wrong with a VBAC.

Now I can continue.

Straight after large pizza dinner while sitting on the couch I felt and heard a 'pop'.  I was pretty sure my waters had broken, but after mad dash to the bathroom there was only a little discharge.  After a second little 'flow' thingee I put my incontinence pants on as knew something was up but wasn't really sure as it was completely different from the dam bust that was my waters with Etta.  Then the contractions started.

That was a shock.

With Etta I had a 17 hour labour which started with fairly mild contractions following my waters breaking (very obviously) - so I didn't experience strong contractions until after almost 7 hours of smaller ones building up.  This time it was just strong contractions lasting 1 - 2 minutes 3 - 5 minutes apart straight off the bat.  I got Murray to call our Midwife to let her know, and my Mum to come to our place.  This was for sure labour, and despite wanting to labour at home as long as possible, I felt we were pretty much there - this was more consistent than my contractions ever were when I was in labour with Etta.  Despite being advised to re-examine things when Mum arrived after half an hour I was like nope, hospital now.***

I was right.  We were 5cm dilated when we arrived at Waitakere and I was not happy.  I was begging for drugs but needed a little fetal monitoring before we could do anything.  The bath had been running before we got there and my fab Midwife did the monitoring and internal exam ASAP when we arrived and for as little time as possible - I think probably less than 20 minutes.  I didn't have an IV inserted - I didn't even think about it as was going into transition.  As soon as possible I hopped into the birthing pool (it wasn't full enough yet) and continued labouring there.

Oh dear lord I love birthing pools!  It took me a little bit, but I managed to get into a far more zen state than I had with Etta.  I just breathed through the contractions kneeling in the bath resting my chin on top of the bath and told myself this wouldn't take long - this wasn't forever and did the whole 'each contraction brings me closer to my baby' bollocks (secretly followed by the 'I just need to get through this and I won't be pregnant ever again' mantra).  And it helped.  I was seriously only in the pool about half an hour when I started feeling the urge to push and had the go ahead to go for it.

It would be lovely if I could tell you it was like all those labours where they're like 'and I did three big pushes and then we had a baby', but that wasn't the case.  The pushing part of this labour was as long as the previous part, so it was hard slog.  We pushed in the bath for about half an hour, then decided to move positions to see if we could get some more stuff going on.  So moved to the bed and did like a rested squat pushing thing.  This did get some movement happening, but again, it was slow, so then we moved into that awful position people are in in the movies.  This was initially uncomfortable, but was obviously progressing things so I just focused on the job at hand.

There was a period of worry.  With Etta we got to 'the corner' and she just kept slipping back.  When we got to that point this time it seemed like it might happen again - only it didn't.  While this baby slipped back a little both Murray and my Midwife reassured me pretty much every push was getting a little more traction which helped keep me on track.  My Midwife said we were so progressed this baby was going to be a vaginal delivery no matter what so I did what I could to make that happen.

It still took time.  It got to the point where I could see the baby's head too (via a mirror) and was so like 'it MUST be going to be some time in the next few pushes!' and it still wasn't.  Eventually it got to the point where the baby was out to the eyebrows and then team Murray/Midwife were like 'just give it all the weetbix you've got!' so I figured something might happen.

In the birthing videos and movies I've seen this is the part where the Mum gives a really epic screamy push and the head slowly pops out, and then the body kinda slithers out like a worm - so that's kinda what I thought would happen.  It didn't.  The baby's head came out on a slight angle, and then her shoulders were around the wrong way and her cord was looped over one shoulder and was being compressed.  So my Midwife did some serious crazy quick handwork (whilst also trying to keep a thumb on a vaginal tear that was just opening up and dealing with a woman with a head coming out of her vagina), which, while it took some time and was quite scary (and fucking sore) from where I was sitting was the magic that got us a healthy baby in the end.

So out she popped covered in vernix and slime and slopped onto my chest and promptly shat meconium everywhere.  She was soooo ugly!  She was quite battered from the birth with a fair few bruises and an actually black nose and very cold from the shoulder/cord issues.  We waited for the cord to stop pulsing, but were on a bit of a timer as my Midwife wanted the placenta out quickly as I was bleeding quite a bit and she wasn't sure how bad the tear I'd had was.  So we did have some delay on clamping, but then all systems go with an injection to bring out the placenta (like birthing a giant steak - simple compared to what came prior) so she could make sure I was ok.

I was.  I didn't need any stitches.  When I saw the bloodbath a while later I could understand the concern, and I could understand why Murray had moved to the head end of things.  He has subsequently said the manipulations required down there to get our new one born was the goriest thing he'd ever seen, and basically I have props for life for going through that.  I was fine though.  I had my new baby and was no longer pregnant and it only took about four hours to get through that whole thing!

And then we had some chill time in the delivery suite.  Because it was all so fast, none of the other hospital staff had any idea we'd even had a baby.  At some point out in the corridor we heard a nurse ask our Midwife how progressed I was, and she was like 'we had a baby about an hour ago'.  It was really nice.  Whilst I was totally happy with Etta's birth, this was a very different experience.  I guess it felt more personal - I don't really know how else to put it.  It was just us three (and our baby) for all the things you don't really want other people to see.  Nothing was medicalised.  I had one needle prick.  The only drugs I had had were Panadol, and within a couple of hours I was walking around and had a shower and peed and it was quite surreal.

I was home proper after about 13 hours after going in to hospital.

There is much more to say about this, but I will continue on another day.  Our toddler is playing with Mum outside in the sun, Murray's gone out to have some well deserved time to himself and our new little girl, Abby, is just waking up after a deliciously long nap.

*It did make my bad hip a bit worse, so from then until post labour I had a bit of a limp and was a bit sore.  

** The BIG difference between being pregnant with children, and being pregnant without.  The big difference between life with and without children in general!

*** Again, our fantastic neighbour saved the day as our stop gap.  Sooo lucky to have the neighbours we have.

38 weeks...

This is the most pregnant I've ever been and I truly wasn't expecting to make it this far.  Almost every day last week I kept thinking 'this will be the day!' after having been very sure I was having contractions last Monday night.  Well it turns out I wasn't and none of those days were.  I'm just in a constant state of Braxton Hicks and lower back pain that is only tempered by hot baths, wheat packs and bad TV.

This is so different from my first pregnancy.  Last time I had similar symptoms for three days and then my waters broke and (eventually) out came a baby.  I was glad to have a midwife friend tell me it's quite normal for subsequent pregnancies to experience the 'end of days' stuff for longer.  Since then I've pretty much acclimatised myself to just being mega pregnant for potentially a lot longer than expected.  And since I've done that I've started feeling much better about it.

So I have organised so I have some help with Etta almost every day as I am just not physically able to keep up with her.  My hips are really bad so I have difficulty moving and no longer find it easy to get to the bus stop to go for an outing.  I am tired all the time so I'm not the
Achieving great hairdressing feats whilst uberpreg

most fun parent in the world.  Basically a day at home with Mum involves kids TV or Minions and Daddy Gru, stories, playdough, blocks or drawing.  If I'm really energetic we'll kick a ball around in the hallway and have a pillow fight on the bed.  And Etta is way more of an outdoors kid than that so she gets frustrated, which is fair enough!   Hence queuing fun additional family members to take her out to the park, or ride her car up the driveway, or chase birds with.

She is also a bit more full on than usual because she knows that the baby is coming and she is scared.  She's very clingy and we've had some difficult bedtimes, nap-times and over-night-times as well as some EPIC tantrums.  Mum experienced one of her full force ones last week and was a little in shock.  A full on Etta tantrum can involve throwing, hitting, screaming, crying, smashing her head against stuff and can last up to an hour.  These happen due to any number of random things; closing a door, giving her the wrong spoon, turning Peppa Pig on, turning Peppa Pig off - usual story.  There is no comforting her until she is ready to be comforted and that can take time.  She is simultaneously interested in and angry at the baby.  She is keen to cuddle my tummy, and talk about where the baby goes in the new pram, and the bubba bed, but she has also tried to hit the baby because it makes Mummy sore.  We have a lot of quiet cuddle time at the moment.

I've also hit upon that awful thing that is constipation.  I managed to mostly avoid it last time, and had avoided it up until recently because (I think) of the iron injections keeping me super regular.  Now they've stopped (because my levels are much more normal thank you magic butt stab) so has any kind of 'regularity'.  I tried my usual home remedies - eating licorice and prunes and drinking an abundance of lemon water but alas, to no avail.  And when I went to find my laxatives I realised that in my effervescent cleaning spree I had gotten rid of all expired medications, of which these were one.  Thankfully, a friend came to my aid yesterday and dropped something off that has actually worked.  So I will be feeling better soon (but also very glad Etta is at her Nana and Poppa's today as I am currently a bit of a state).

On the positive side of the super pregnant fence, I am now so huge the baby has no room.  That means it cannot smash me full force in the vagina.  This is good because that really hurt and if it were still smashing me like that after a week of thinking it was going to be born, I think I'd lose my fucking mind.  I mean, the baby is still moving and looking like a creepy alien in there, but its head is not hitting my cervix, so I'm good with that.  High five to you baby.  I just hope you can still fit out the door when the party's over.

Because I'm still pregnant and at home I've got a few more of the around-the-house jobs done.  Not the biggest one yet (getting our shed into a less death trappy state) - and our garden is a total jungle, but I can live with that.  And I get an extra pre-baby grocery shop in that I wasn't expecting which means even more pantry preparedness.*  This all feels pretty great, but now I'm at a bit of a loose end.  Maybe I'll actually get some proper rest time in before the baby gets here?  Maybe I'll even knit something for the new baby?  How novel!

This extra time has also, due to a random combination of events, given rise to a new business idea.  A plausible, within-my-particular-skill-set-and-interests, completely new business idea.  So my brain is going a million miles a minute on that and it's all very exciting.  I won't have time or brain room to actually start working on it properly until the new baby is here and our family's sanity has stabilised, but it's something else to look forward to and to play with in the meantime - a new place to stretch my creative muscle.  Watch this space**!

So yeah... super pregnancy does suck but I'm over it sucking.  So I'm doing the thing now that I didn't really did last time - slowing down.  I am still doing the basic, menial jobs of life (dishes, washing, cooking), but I am also reading, writing, thinking and making and enjoying my last windows of total one-on-one time with Etta.  So maybe I won't go completely mental at 39 weeks?  Maybe in another week's time I'll be in a truly zen like state resulting in a fabulously straight forward labour with no complications?  Here's hoping! 

* Yeah, I know it's lame the things I get excited about - but it means another shop of exciting and strange tinned meals that I can select myself!  And I can try those crazy Indian box meals to see if I want more.  Oh, the excitement this brings to my week!
 
** You'll have to watch for a while - but trust me, it'll be worth it.  It's a fabulous plan if I do say so myself and I'm definitely going to give it a real shot.  For those of you who already know Murray and mine's current future business plans I must state this is not at all related.  Sadly we will not have enough capital or time to launch that particular plan for quite some time.  As in, that's the 10+-years-plan or the we've-won-Lotto-plan.  This is the sometime-in-the-next-year-Hannah's-additional-'baby'-more-for-the-love-than-the-money-plan.

On Why Being Critical of Dads is Bad for Feminism

 

Etta having quality 'Dad' time (in the picture to the right he has purposefully dressed her crazy to irk stupid strangers).

So I'm partly ranting because it's Friday, I'm still pregnant, and I want this baby out (drinking ALL the raspberry leaf tea).  And Murray has Etta, thus facilitating the ability to rant.  But I'm also ranting because this subject needs ranting about.

I am constantly surprised by how, as soon as you are obviously fruiting a new human, your life and how you live it, becomes public domain.  As soon as it becomes apparent you will be responsible for a life other than your own you have apparently opted in to becoming a public punching bag.  You have no idea how often I've held my tongue when I really wanted to horrify the general speaking public by saying things like:

'Yep.  I'm pregnant and I'm totally hammered.'
'It's fine, I'm adopting it out.'
'Fuck off you judgmental cunt.'*

As a now parent I kinda get it.  Hormones and experience combine to make you care more about children and the world they live in than in pre-sprog times.  News articles including kids can affect me emotionally.  Sometimes so much so that I friend and I once felt compelled to send flowers to a certain new Mum that was in a high profile court case.  And I am much friendlier to strangers with kids or who are obviously pregnant because I feel that weird affinity that parenthood creates.

But I also know how it feels to be judged on the tiniest things, and how, particularly as a new parent, the smallest comments could make me feel like I was being smashed in the face by a hammer.

And I am angered when I see other parents (or non parents) doing it to my partner.  Or when he tells me this has happened.  Because on most occasions the particular criticism attributed to him is something that a stranger would probably never say to me.  And because this unnecessary criticism happens often.  Which leads me to believe that New Zealanders have little faith in the parenting ability of Dads.

Now this is messed up.  Our particular living situation is of the old fashioned variety; I stay home (I work part time) while Murray goes out to a very grown up job and earns the dollars.  We live like this because since the recession his job and income have been more stable than mine, and consequently he earns much more than I do.  Me going to work is something of a token effort to support our family and Murray, but in truth I work mostly to get out of the house and maintain my sanity.

So Murray's time at home as a Dad is more limited than mine.  Because of travel logistics, he is out of the house around 11 hours a day Monday to Friday which means that he usually gets about 1 to 1 1/2 hours of Etta time a day.  Which is not a lot.  This is not our preference - this is just life.  This limited time means not much time for being a hands on Daddy during the week.  But for over a year now Murray has looked after Etta for at least one full day on the weekend every week, and a couple of weeknights while I work.  He is a great Dad and a very capable parent.  But, much like in the workplace, less time based experience with a particular job can affect your confidence in your ability to perform that particular job.  So working Dads like Murray can be vulnerable to criticism.

When Etta was first born, every word from strangers regarding my ability to care from her stung.  Even if meant well.  I had zero baby experience.  I had changed maybe three nappies in my life and none of the brown variety.  I had never dressed a baby and only twice held one under the age of about two weeks.  Babies terrified me.  At that stage Murray had much more experience in caregiving than I did having previously been a care worker for many years.  He had changed a LOT of (adult) nappies.  And due to my C Section, Murray actually did everything for Etta, besides breastfeed her, for the first week of her life.  And he did a great job.  So I was extremely insecure about my ability to parent.

I think at least some working Dads might feel similarly, purely because they have less of the day-to-day, one-on-one parenting time.  And to receive a bigger beat down on their ability to perform a job, one that they are probably performing perfectly well, sucks when all they are doing is caring for their offspring (you know, those tiny people they are equally responsible for).  Why would anyone want to be an involved parent if every little thing they do is viewed with public scrutiny?

See, I think it's fair that a member of the public say something if they encounter someone neglecting or injuring their child.  Like, if some kid was drowning in a fountain, or going into anaphylactic shock, or about to fall down an escalator, or being publicly whipped.  In those situations, it might be a good idea to say or do something.  However, the times the public have decided it necessary to verbally berate Murray's parenting skills have been predominantly about the following issues:

'Your child is not wearing enough clothes.'
'Your child is wearing too many clothes.'
'Your child is crying.'

I can't see how any of that information is particular helpful.  In the instance of today, it was apparently too hot for Etta to be wearing her hat - probably true.  But it's her 'monster' hat.  It is the first time she has ever shown any interest in wearing hats since she learned she could take them off.  She likes to wear it so it covers her eyes and pretends she's a monster.  It's fun.  And it solves a pending (Winter) dilemma.  Sure, anyone who does not know her will not be aware of this pertinent information.  But she wasn't dehydrated, or passing out, or even pink.  Why make any comment at all?

I think it's because the strangers think they are being 'helpful' to the Dad.  This assumption is extremely unhelpful.  It's the assumption that based purely on someones gender they are an unfit, or at least inexperienced, parent.  A friend told me that a stranger lady physically removed his son from his arms because he was crying.  Because she thought she would be better at handling the situation than he would.  To me it appears she assumed she was a more 'experienced' parent purely because of maybe her age, and because she didn't have a penis.  What she actually did was basically kidnapping, which in my mind is not something most 'experienced' parents (or sane persons) do.  It was extremely traumatic for both my friend and his son.
And she thought she was being helpful.

My gut feeling is also that maybe these strangers feel threatened by Dads.  It's like the bully in the workplace/playground scenario - finding minor fault with something to psyche out an opponent.  Are these stranger women scared of Dads?  Does seeing Dads be Dads remind them of how their Dads maybe weren't?  Or their partners?  Are they mad that their partners aren't more involved so take that anger out on unwitting stranger Dads?  Are they afraid they will lose their place in the world if  Dads are more involved parents?  Or do they think Dads being involved parents is inherently wrong?

What would actually be helpful for everyone would be if Dads were treated the same as Mums.  If it weren't assumed they were incompetent at parenting by dint of their cock.  If people didn't say 'Oh, your husband is such a great Dad' because they did an arbitrary parenting task without complaint.  If people assumed instead that Dads are quite capable of regular parenting tasks and it was normal for them to perform them.  If it were considered 'normal' to be a stay at home Dad.  If people didn't praise involved Dad parenting on the internet whilst assuming the worst of everyday mall Dads doing their thing.

I don't know if everyone quite understands this yet, but the whole point of Feminism is equality.  Equality is a balanced scale.  There are two sides to a scale.  In order for that scale to balance both sides need to weigh the same.  This means not only thinking about our actions/thoughts/words in terms of women, but also our actions/thoughts/words in terms of men.  For instance, if women want equity in the workplace, it means men need equity in the home.  The more equity men have at home (in a heterosexual model), the more support they can offer their partner to maintain their position in the workplace.  It's a two way street.  Until there is more governmental, financial and social support of Dads being valued on par with Mums as parents, we will not have equality.

And that sucks.  While I love being a stay at home parent and do think I'm the best at home option in our situation (because of mine and Murray's skill sets - nothing to do with boobs and dicks and bits) I wish there were more support for Murray as a parent out there in the world.  I wish that parental leave applied to both parents so both parents could get a handle on the most important job they'll ever have.  I wish there were change tables in all men's bathrooms.  I wish people didn't make fun of how Dads dress their kids**.

I don't wish these things solely because they will make my life better (although they would) but because they will make life better for our kids.  Imagine a world where kids could have two visible, involved parents without feeling different to their peers.  Where Dad's can look after their kids over the weekend (or even a Friday night) and not be considered 'pussy whipped' by their mates.
Imagine if it was ok to enjoy being a Dad?

* Just to make things clear, I've never been hammered when pregnant.  I'd just like to see the looks on judgy folks faces if I told them I was.  Like, you think it's bad I've decided to eat hummus and cheese? (even though unbeknownst to you I have researched this thoroughly and made an informed decision)  Well how about this?  BANG!  Foetal alcohol syndrome.  Suck on that rude stranger!

**I wish there wasn't some weird standard for that stuff in general.  We dress Etta in practical clothes that we can get onto her body with as little fuss as possible.  We dress her for play.  We do not dress her to colour co-ordinate outfits.  We dress her in things she likes.  We are great parents purely because we (mostly) get her to wear pants outside.  Because she hates pants and who can blame her?  If she had it her way she would be buck naked all year round.