On 'Nesting'

     A shelf!  It wasn't there before...  Easier to install than making a baby that's for sure!

I didn't do the whole 'nesting' thing when I was pregnant.  I felt like crap for most of my pregnancy.  I found out I was pregnant a week after having abdominal surgery, so early on in my pregnancy I couldn't even do many simple things.  And from five months in I had hip dysplasia, so cleaning like vacuuming and mopping weren't an option, let alone scrubbing floors, laying gardens or painting a baby's room.  The day before Etta was born I wiped down and tidied our coffee and tea shelves.  And earlier that week I picked up the carseat (thank goodness) and done a larger-than-normal grocery shop with help from my Mum.  That was my pregnancy 'nesting' spree.

And immediately after Etta was born I was recovering from another surgery.  So, again, 'nesting' wasn't really on the cards.  I had difficulty even managing the basics of looking after Etta - so anything requiring more energy than that was a no go.  And with her being a little early, from the outside looking in it would have seemed there was a lot to do.  There was a cot still in pieces.  There was no walking room in the 'baby' room.  Nothing was decorated.  Nothing was baby proofed.  But when we brought her home, we realised pretty quickly that none of that stuff really mattered.  We had a carseat to take her home in, we had a basinette for her to sleep in, we had nappies and clothes and food for us to eat - you honestly don't need to be much more organised than that*.

And while I recovered from surgery and got used to being a new Mum, that stuff still didn't matter.  But once I became comfortable in the role of stay-at-home-Mum and was no longer paranoid that my baby would die if I stopped watching her, I became super conscious of what needed doing around the house.  The nesting bug had finally arrived!  It had very little to do with the baby though.

Being home most of the time makes you hyper aware of the space you live in.  And given time and a little boredom, it was a no brainer that at some point I'd try to improve it.  Our kitchen finally got the extra shelves I've been meaning to put up for herbs and spices - they aren't installed well, but they're sturdy and they work.  Our TV has (finally) been centred.  Our window seat has been cleared of junk and soon I'll be installing hooks to put our hat collection up on the wall.  At some point in time, for possibly the first time in my life, my living room might not be cluttered.

Most parents would be fussing over the baby's room.  But for now, Etta sleeps in our room, so her room is only used for changing her and storage.  Most 'proper' nursery's make me want to puke.  We grew up in rentals, so even painting a room was not an option - if you had your own room, that was awesome.  And I've always avoided babies like the plague, so pastel painted baby centric spaces are completely unfamiliar territory to me.  Pastels?  Blaaagh!  White everything (outside of gallery space)?  Blaaagh!  Themed anything?  Are you kidding?  It's not for me.  Etta's room is getting new Hannah-treated (dyed and painted) curtains, and an edging supplied from my wallpaper collection.  Her room has a BUTTLOAD of fabulous, bright, child friendly artwork from fabulous artists in it.  It doesn't need anything else, besides which there's no rush - she isn't even going to be living in there for at least another three months.

 My main baby 'nesting' has been sorting her clothes as she grows into and out of things.  I've worked out that at this age babies need very little in the way of clothing.  All she needs is three sleep suits (changing into bed clothes are part of our bedtime routine), three pairs of leggings, three merinos, three or four day changes, some warm things, socks and hats.  We have a proper dresser for her, and were given so much clothing that both it, and her wardrobe was full!  I've culled it back to what we need and we've given/are giving the rest away.  Less clothes means washing/dressing/organising is so much easier, and I don't believe in treating babies like living dolls anyway, so it just seems sensible.  There is so much room in the dresser now that we have everything in the next size up in the bottom drawers so we can work out what we want from that lot when she grows into it, and will cull the rest.

The other thing I've culled are her toys...  We've selected a few age appropriate things to keep out.  All the excess (oversized) soft toys - including many I've made in my past life as a knitting/designer will go to live in a brightly coloured Tibetan tent given us by a friend, which is to be tidily suspended from her ceiling.**  But seriously, babies don't need much besides loving parents, and it's important for us that Etta learns values outside of consumerism and materiality.  And I don't want to spend my future days tripping over and picking up hundreds of unnecessary, seldom played with toys.

And we're culling our things too.  I made Murray sort through his clothes the other day and get rid of everything he didn't fit or didn't wear.  It was a revelation to him - he's never done it.  He reckons he still had every pair of jeans he'd ever bought - not any more!  We have so much more room in the closet and he rediscovered a couple of items he didn't even know he had.  I try and do this myself every six months or so.

It's going to take some time but one day, maybe even this year our entire house will be decluttered.  I'm hoping we manage this before Etta learns how to walk, as the less stuff we have out, the less destruction will be left in her wake.  And the less random things about, the less likely she is going to be to choke on them.  I guess at the end of the day, it is all about the baby after all.  But as a new Mum pretty much everything in my life is...

* You don't really need the basinette either - you can easily sleep your baby in a box, or a drawer - check out the awesome pack new Mum's get in Finland from the government.

** This in itself, is the PERFECT small baby toy.  Brightly coloured, covered in mirrors and suspended from the ceiling, no baby could help but stare at it.

                                     Etta in our newly tidied window seat with friends.

On the end of PPL

                   Although being a Mum is cool, it's important to me to be more.

 Hello Blog.  I haven't seen you for awhile.  Pretty sure last time I posted I said I'd be likely posting more regularly.  I got that totally wrong.  One thing I've learned about babies is that as soon as you think you've got things sussed they go and change again.

So I'm just going to be quick and talk about what's on my mind today which is... money.  Money is  that boring something important you don't want to think about when you have a child.  A friend once said to me that babies cost barely anything.  In a way he's right.  Stuff for the baby does cost barely anything, but for many people (like us), having children costs the loss of an entire income - the 'average' wage in NZ is around $42,000 PA.  So for many families, the loss of an income is a significant one, and means a huge change in lifestyle.  My PPL finishes pretty soon, and we've decided I don't have to go back to work for the first year of Etta's life.  This is going to mean some big changes for us in the money department.

There are a few reasons why we've decided this. 

The most practical reason is that we can't store my expressed milk for long periods of time.  I have an excess of lipase in my milk, which means breast milk that normally would store for 2 - 3 days refrigerated only stores for around 12 hours (I'm lucky - a friend's only stores for about two).  Yes, we've checked our fridge seals and temperature.  Yes we've sterilised thoroughly.  Trust me, we've tested it (seriously, I mean graphs in Excel), and it's just my milk.  So Etta can't be without me for long periods without getting hungry.  So even working one day a week would not really be possible until she starts mixed feeding.  And I'm not giving her formula unless it's necessary.  And I don't think me working is necessary yet.

The other reason is that I don't actually earn a lot doing what I do (I earn under the 'average' NZ wage, but my earnings add the 'cream' to our lifestyle).  And if I were working during the week, we'd have to pay for childcare.  Our government makes out like they encourage Mum's back into work by providing 20 hours of free childcare.  What people without children may not know is that the free childcare doesn't kick in until that child is three years old.  So prior to that there is no government support for returning to work.  So returning to work is actually pretty hard for most new Mums.  We'd probably have to pay more than I make to put Etta into day-care - or close to it.  So it just doesn't seem like a smart option for us*.

The main reason though, is I don't want to go back to work.  Every week Etta is doing something new and it's awesome being able to be there to watch it unfold.  Murray looks forward to the weekend to see what Etta's learned over the week.  With working full time other than the weekends he's only really home during her cranky time and when she's asleep.  I'd hate for us to both be in that position.  How things are now I can at least tell him what cool things she's done during the day.  I am glad I can be there so I can really get to know her.  Having a child I've realised every child is different, and some of the ideals I had before having Etta may not fit her needs.  Spending every day with her helps me feel like I can be a more attuned parent, and can make decisions that better accommodate her.

And even though every week is different, I'm working out how to manage our time better so I can feel like more than just a Mum.  I'm baking.  I'm keeping on top of the cleaning.  I'm de-cluttering the house.  And I really, enjoy doing all of these things.  Small successes, like cleaning the bathroom, are easier for me to quantify than parenting successes, like getting a good latch when breast feeding.  They aren't more important, they're just easier to give evidence of.  It's like making art - at the end there's a physical thing to mark your effort.  I've always needed that to feel human.  And feeling good about myself helps me be a better, more present, Mum.

And I'm staying home because financially we (kinda) can.

Kinda being the operative word.  We can pay our mortgage.  We can put gas in the car to get Murray to work and back.  We can buy groceries.  We still have savings.  But we will no longer have the kind of flexibility that two incomes has afforded us - like being able to have takeaways when I'm too tired to cook, or not stressing too much about Christmas.  Murray's never lived without that kind of flexibility, so although I'd really love to be a stay at home Mum for longer, I feel it would be unfair to ask that of him.  I also included Broadband and 'real' (although limited) coffee as 'necessities' in our budget to ensure his life isn't completely miserable...

And we still have a lot of flexibility, because we can still determine 'luxuries' like internet, coffee and insurance 'necessities'.  For many families this is inconceivable.  Many families can't do this without having to compromise on things like paying rent, buying groceries or getting new shoes for the kids.  On one income we will still be better off financially than many two income families, which is why KidsCan is also still budgeted as a 'necessity'.  It's important to remember how fortunate we are - and it's important to make sure Etta knows this, especially in the over-commodified world of today where 'necessities' and 'luxuries' seem to get mixed up all the time. 

So instead of blogging, I've been spending the last few weeks doing my best to review our budget, and doing the things around the house that we won't be able to do when there's no extra money floating around.  Like putting new shelves up in our kitchen.  And installing a wall heater (to save on power) and sorting out Etta's room.  Don't tell Murray, but I am actually slightly excited about things getting tighter as it's a good challenge.

I like working out how I can save $5 here and there, and how if I spend $10 less on grocery shopping, we might be able to get a treat, like a cheap bottle of wine.  I signed Etta and I up to my old agency (film and TV work) so we can do Mum/baby stuff when it comes up.  Unlike what people assume, there's not much money in it, but even extra not-much money is going to be a big help.  I like doing surveys online for Farmers vouchers to help out at Christmas.  I like working out whether anything we don't like is worth the hassle of putting on Trademe (I suck at posting things...)  And even though I hate dealing with IRD, and we're eligible for almost nothing, I am glad we've (finally) applied for the tax credits thing.  Even an extra $5 or $10 a week will come in handy, and it seems silly to ignore free money.

I guess this is all because it makes me feel useful.  I know that being a Mum is invaluable, but having never been financially reliant on another person, it's very scary having a job that doesn't actually put food on the table.  Feeling like I can contribute financially (in a way) by cleverly managing our funds is really important in how I view myself.  It re-establishes my sense of self, and of purpose outside of being Etta's Mum.  And it's much more fun than cleaning the bathroom, or blogging, apparently.

* Unless of course Mum is at home going mental with a baby, in which case, I'd say it's completely logical and a sensible thing to do.  I really like staying at home with Etta.  I'd be happy if we never had to go out.  Maybe that makes me mental...

On the C Section

                                        Check out those badass staples!

A C Section was the last way I was hoping to have a baby.  This is not because of all the claptrap around not bonding with your baby, or because I wanted to experience a natural birth (although I did), but because it's major surgery.  I didn't want to be recovering from major surgery when I'd just become a parent.  I've had minor abdominal surgeries with no children to look after and that was hard enough.  But being well aware that you have very little control over what happens in birth, I had prepared myself for the possibility beforehand.  So when the Dr said 'I'm sorry but you have to have a Caesarian Section' I really wasn't fussed.  Which is good, because I couldn't have delivered her any other way.

Having as much necessary information as possible has always helped make me feel calmer, particularly around medical issues.  So while I was pregnant I watched a range of different deliveries  so I had some idea of what I was in for no matter what happened.  Despite really wanting a natural labour, I was aware this might not be an option.  So I not only watched regular natural and water births, but also an epidural and C Section.  I am so glad that I did!  Although I'm usually not a chicken with medical procedures, epidural has always freaked me a bit - needle in spine always just seemed wrong.  So I'm glad I'd randomly had a thorough discussion with my midwife about my fears at the appointment just prior to my labour.  Despite this fear, there were several points in labour where I was begging for an epidural...

I've already told you what actually happened in the C Section.  To recap - once the epidural is working, the baby is delivered quickly, it is the fixing up afterward that takes time.  It doesn't hurt, although you can still feel sensations, and I didn't find it scary at all.  The staff were warm and wonderful.  Basically it was far less traumatic for me than the unsuccessful pushing and running around of medical staff prior.

It seemed expected that new Mum's who've had emergency Caesars will be traumatised by it.  Every single hospital type person I had contact with said 'Just because you've had one this time doesn't mean you can't have a natural birth next time.'  I honestly didn't give a shit.  If it weren't for the C Section and it were ye olden times, Etta and I would have died, or my vagina would have been horribly, irreversibly mangled.  I think those outcomes are just a tad more traumatic than the recovery, some of the possible negative outcomes, or any old wives tales associated with C Sections.

I think the expected trauma is at least partly to blame on the whole 'You will have trouble bonding with your baby if you have a C Section' thing - which I reckon is total bollocks.  I have nothing to compare this bonding thing to having not had a natural labour, but I can tell you that as soon as Etta heard my voice in theatre she stopped crying.  Your baby knows who you are regardless of how they arrive in this world.  They have to listen to you harping on the entire time you are pregnant - they have no choice.*  And most midwifes and obstetricians know how important bonding is.  As soon as it was possible Etta was put on my chest and had a boob in her mouth.  I'm not even sure how that happened.  Skin to skin seems to be standard practice in all delivery methods, including C Sections.  And although there are other things not ideal about C Section, like a large increase in the incidence of allergies, allergies in my humble opinion, are a much healthier option than death.

I can understand where that perception of not bonding comes from though.  The first night and the first few days were absolutely the toughest because I couldn't pick her up.  I felt absolutely useless having to rely on others to do things for me.  And because Murray was brilliant I felt like a total failure as a parent.  I spent a good chunk of the first few weeks crying because I felt inadequate.  I'm sure this is a pretty normal way to feel as a new mum, but it was definitely exacerbated by my inability to do things due to having a Caesar.

The other thing I felt which I wasn't expecting is jealousy.  I felt extremely jealous of Murray.  I was jealous of how he could do everything for Etta while I couldn't.  The only thing that truly helped this was the fact that I could breastfeed.  At least I felt like I was contributing something important.  I don't know how much worse I would have felt had I not been able to do that, and I feel sad for the many women who want to and can't.  And when I was well enough to change and dress her, I was sure I was doing it all wrong.  I was sure that Murray would do a better job because he already had three days more experience than I had, which being someone who was never really keen on small babies, was zero.

And I know it's silly but I still kinda feel this way.  It is great that Murray is such a fantastic Dad, I always knew he would be.  But my feelings of inadequacy are not helped by people constantly telling me how close Etta and Murray clearly are, while reiterating the old wives tale that daughters are always closer to their fathers than their mothers.  Why anyone would think that is a nice thing to say to a new Mum is ridiculous.  It feels like they're actually saying 'Your baby obviously prefers her Dad to you'.  It'd make much more sense to just say 'Murray is a great Dad' or 'Murray seems to be taking this parenting thing in his stride'.  Or even better: 'You two are great parents' or 'You both look like you're doing a fabulous job'.  Sometimes women need to be told that they're actually doing a good job.  Especially inexperienced new Mums with no prior experience with babies and a known history of mental health issues...**

In terms of the physical recovery it's been rougher than other surgeries I've had which is to be expected - it's a big cut!  The thing that's been hardest to get used to is the topical pain.  I'm really used to that feeling of your muscles knitting back together, which I've also had with the C Section, but the actual scar area is really sore.  This will just be because it covers such a large area.  I've had to breastfeed Etta in the football hold as I can't have her anywhere near my stomach.  And I'm still wearing my giant Nana knickers - they have been a lifesaver.  Because it's not just the scar area that hurts to touch, but the area above.  It just feels really bruised, which makes sense when you think about it.  Up until recently even going for a short drive was painful.  I have to say I took pain relief for much longer than I was prescribed it -  it really is a six week recovery.

This week, just before the six week mark, I'm starting to feel human again.  While it's still sore to touch, I am not taking Panadol on a daily basis any more.  I managed to mop the bathroom and kitchen floors and it didn't write the rest of my day off.  I'm still wearing Nana knickers, but I am now wearing regular pants rather than maternity pants or pyjamas.  I am less tired and am able to do more normal household stuff than I could a few weeks ago.  It's brilliant.
 And I am not at all worried about the scar.  It is MUCH better than I thought it would be.  I mean, it's pretty big, but it's very clean.  I've really enjoyed showing it to people once I got the staples out, and I thought having staples in my stomach was pretty cool.  I guess I'm still a bit like a seven year old - I like having big scars.  And to be honest I have another surgical scar from several minor surgeries which is much more heinous.  I do not feel at all physically disfigured by the C Section, and no-one should.  It's a pretty standard procedure and the people who do them really know what they're doing.

While I would still never have an elective C Section, I do think C Sections are given an undeserved bad rep.  I was grateful that our antenatal lady didn't paint too terrible a picture of it, but know of others who did not fare so well.  There is nothing wrong with having a C Section.  Not managing a natural birth does not make you a failure.  Having a C Section will not stop you from bonding with your baby.  Rather than harming your child, an emergency C Section usually saves the life of your child, and possibly you too.  While I found the recovery difficult, not everyone will.  And for many the 'trauma' of recovery can outweigh the 'trauma' of trying for a natural birth after having had a C Section.  And while I will never describe anything as a 'badge of honour' (blergh!) C Section scars most definitely are bad ass.  Getting pretty much cut in half is cool dagnabbit!

* Unless they are deaf.  And if they are deaf they can feel your talking in utero and will probably still know it is you if you are holding them.

** In saying this, Dad's definitely need praise too.  I have a feeling that most parents returning to work soon after the birth might also feel similarly, both Mum's and Dad's.

The thing that pisses both me and Murray off around this praise thing the most is that only praising the Dad is kind of like praising a man for doing housework - it is expected that a woman will do it so they don't require praise, but if a man does it, wow, that's really something.  If we want true gender equality we need to treat both parents the same.  This means expecting Dad's to be fantastic at hands on parenting as much as we expect Mum's to.  Which means equal praise and equal expectations.

On Choosing a Name

                                                          Etta in her boxing pose

I've found it difficult to write over the last few weeks so thought I'd write a fluff piece so that I don't forget how to write!

Stuff we considered when deciding on names were normal things like:

1) Will our family disown us for using this name?
2) Does the name remind us of anyone we don't like?
3) Will our child be able to have a grown up job (if they so choose) when they grow up, or will this name make that difficult?
4) Will their initials spell a bad word or abbreviation (like VPL)?
5) Will there be five other kids in our kids class with the same name?
6) How can you tease the kid about their name?

Kids get teased about their names no matter what they are, and no matter how average the teasing is, many kids are traumatised by this (Murray was traumatised by people singing 'Murrily, murrily, murrily murrily life is but a dream' - so lame).  At least if you've thought of the nicknames already, you've got an idea of what you're in for (Etta the bedwetter and Etta Lee from Italy is what we've got so far.  Thanks Jonathan Catt for providing us with the latter).

Thinking up baby names was one of the most fun things about pregnancy.  Murray and I would play the 'what should we name our baby' game, usually in the car.  This mostly consisted of him naming streets, or signs we'd driven past. 'Let's name her Militonia.  Or how about Cron?  Maybe BP?'  Murray also really liked a bunch of quite traditional German names.  Murray would have loved to name her Greta.  Sadly for Murray there was a 'beauty' on Beauty and the Geek Australia called Greta who had buck teeth and was dumb as a post.  Many others went the same way.  We ended up with a shortlist of about three potential first names and a long list of maybe middle names.

We didn't want to name our baby before she was born.  For starters, what if she was a boy?*  But also what if she didn't fit the moniker we'd fixated on?  I know lots of people do this and good on them, but it just wasn't what I wanted.  In the end though, I did technically name her before she was born.  I named her during labour.  After a long time of being able to see her hair, and then her hair getting 'sucked' back up again a little voice in my head said 'Dammit Etta!  Stop being so stubborn!'  She had made her personality so apparent during birth that it was definitely an ok time to name her.  Poor Murray though.  Who's going to argue with a woman in labour about, well, anything?  Luckily it was his favourite name from our shortlist so there was no need.

Etta is named after one of mine (and my parents) favourite blues singers Etta James.  While Murray's 'go to' for finding baby names was street signs, mine was my CD collection (yes, I still have one of those).  I was sad to see both Dusty and Dinah go by the wayside, but I agreed with Murray that they both sounded a bit too much like dog names (sorry Dusty and Dinah but they kinda do).  And Etta felt like it just had more gumption.  Etta James was not only amazing back in the 60's, but is still alive and performing now.  She's a strong, stubborn woman with staying power.  When our Etta got stuck but showed no distress in making her way into the world it must have been clear to my pain addled brain that this name fit her just right.

And there are other reasons it fits well too.  Etta is a small name.  Our Etta is a small girl.  Etta's a bit of a different name in NZ.  We're a little bit different for NZ (boardgames > rugby...)  Etta's an old fashioned name.  In some ways we're quite old fashioned folk (I knit and cook and Murray goes to work).  Etta's a little bit 'country'.  I'm a whole lot country - hell, I'm Hannah-May! And the names meanings seem to fit too.  From America, it means 'little one' - and being almost three weeks early and stumpy like her Mum, she was.  If we're taking the meaning from the original roots (Germanic), it means 'ruler of the hearth', and even though we don't actually have a hearth, Etta most certainly is the ruler of our home currently (particularly the heater).

After crafting a long list of middle names that referenced family members, we ended up giving her two 'joke' middle names.  My favourite of our thought out middle names (Bethany) sadly just didn't fit with Etta** Neither did some of my other favourite 'family' names (Vera) - the surname 'Lee' ruins many a good name as it has the magical ability to turn names into adverbs (verily).  We didn't think of her middle names until the day after she was born, and then we slept on them to be sure before letting folk know.

I was particularly unsure about Jemima because I know my Mother hates that name.  Her hatred of that name is how it came to be discussed.  When Mum was pregnant with my brother my Dad said he would be Jim one way or the other.  So if he was a girl he would be Jemima.  My Mum hated the name and so brought it up around her Mum and Nana in a sneaky play to get them to back her in not using the name.  But Nana liked the name: 'It's a family name dear.  We have a great Aunt Jemima and she smoked a corn cob pipe'.  I told this story to Murray during the car name game.  Then we realised we both quite genuinely liked it - the story just improved it.  It would have been bad to name a kid Jemima in the 80's, but with Playschool long gone, that's no longer an issue.  Murray also liked it because it also means we've craftily used Etta James's name in full.*** I think Mum will forgive us.

I was quite sold on Jemima already, but felt that Etta's full name needed something else.  This was because we're probably only going to do this whole baby thing once, so it'd be nice to get as many names in (without being ridiculous) as we could.  When Murray's workmates found out we were pregnant and that things were ok, they were over the moon.  They nicknamed our unborn baby 'Celly' due to Murray's close working relationship with Excel, alongside knowing that I was spreadsheeting Etta's movements throughout the pregnancy.  It was even joked that she was conceived via spreadsheet - which in many ways is kinda true.  Unlike Jemima, Sally was never on any list, but when it came down to naming her, it just seemed to fit.  Thank you First Assistance for assisting us with naming our baby! 

Without Sally, her initials would incidentally be identical to her Nana's (Murray's Mum's).  And without Sally her whole name wouldn't sound like a skipping rhyme: E-tta Sa-lly Je-mi-ma Lee.
And sounding like a skipping rhyme is another important thing to consider when naming a baby - well, it is for us.  Her first initial is also shared with her Ella (my Mum), which is nice.  And most importantly, her first initial is also the first letter in EXTEND, which is perfect for the child of a couple who walked down the aisle to the Bubble Bobble song.  We totally clocked this baby naming business.

* Due to me being adamant in early pregnancy that Etta was a boy we came up with a FABULOUS boys name.  There was only one we both liked, and if we ever have a boy, he may have very little choice but to live with being called Ulysses Samuel MacGyver Lee.  Not worried about putting that out there for people to steal, cos in all honesty, who's gonna steal that?

** Bethany referenced my maternal Aunts Beth and Anne who don't have any children, and could be shortened to 'Betty', Murray's maternal Grandmother's name.  Thought I did well with that one!

*** Technically not quite true.  Etta James was actually born Jamesetta, but this was altered to fit and hey, I think Etta James sounds better.

On the first few days at Waitakere

                                                       Etta at just a few hours old

It's been tricky getting used to being home alone with a little wee baby.  Finding time to do simple things like go to the toilet and sleep have taken priority, which means fun things, like writing blog posts, are done little block by block if and when I can find time.  But there's a lot I want to write, so will do my best to do it as I can and as best I can. 

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

The reason why Caesarian Section was always my worst case scenario for labour was because of the recovery.  Having had minor abdominal surgeries before I had some idea of what I would be in for.  I knew I wouldn't be able to lift things, or do most things around the house.  I knew that I would be tired and in pain during what would already be a trialling time.  But knowing this didn't prepare me for how it felt not to even be able to pick up my new baby.

I was put on a pain pump (pethadine), and being used to how post surgery pain works, preemptively took just enough regular pain relief to keep the pain from creeping up without getting too spaced out.  The idea of being high with a new baby has never appealed to me.  Murray was pretty much kicked out of the hospital as soon as I got to my room - not even an hour and a half after our first child was born and I'd had major surgery.  I understand why Waitakere is so strict (so women and babies can get proper rest) but considering I had a room to myself it seemed unnecessary and a bit mean.  Being left alone with a new baby when you can't even sit up without help is scary, even with Midwifes available on call.

Because I couldn't move much, or pick Etta up, for the entire time I was at Waitakere I was reliant on Midwives and Murray to do everything for her.  If I wanted to feed her I had to phone for them to come, pick her up out of her little plastic bed, and bring her to me.  If she needed a change, they had to do it.  If she was crying I did my best to soothe her with my voice.  The first night with her I didn't sleep as was terrified she'd die.  She made this weird wheezing noise so I paged the midwife - apparently a totally normal baby noise.  Normal baby noises are terrifying to new mums.

Around 11am the next day they took out my catheter and I tried standing up for the first time.  This was more painful than with previous surgeries I've had, but was manageable.  What I desperately wanted more than anything was a shower.  After labour and surgery you feel pretty gross.  And even though surgery is carried out in a sterile environment, you always find dye, blood and weird bits of tape residue everywhere afterward*.  I was grateful for the shower chair and Murray who made showering possible.  I was so glad I'd packed a very decent toiletry bag with all the things I need to feel 'normal' - shampoo, conditioner, face wash, moisturiser, eye cream, mouth wash, sleep mask - it's not vanity, it's all about comfort.   And after that shower and sort out I felt like a half decent human.  I also managed to pee for the first time.  This was tender due to having had a catheter, but I'm sure probably much less tender than had I managed a totally natural birth (according to what was said at antenatal classes).

Shortly after my shower lunch arrived.  We had packed some snacks for labour, so I had eaten a small amount since, but after a long labour and surgery I was absolutely famished.  Waitakere clearly didn't have my dietary requirements on file so lunch was a regular cheese and salad sandwich.  I did not care.  It tasted fantastic.  I hadn't eaten anything that substantial in almost 24 hours.  And it was a fricken cheese sandwich.  Who can say no to a free cheese sandwich ever?  Let alone during a time of desperation**.

Because with a C Section you can have up to 48 hours before transferring from hospital to the Birthing Units, both the hospital and I concurred it would be best to stay two nights at Waitakere as they could monitor my recovery and pain management better and we'd still have time to get to Helensville.  The first day Etta's Ella (my Mum), Nana and Poppa (Murray's folks) and Great Grandma (my Grandma) came to meet her.  I felt more prepared for visitors than I thought I would, and visitors definitely helped make hospital time a bit less boring.  In saying that, it's the least boring hospital time I've ever had because this time I had something other than me to focus on - our new little family.

I didn't manage to sleep the second night either.  At around 1am I had nearly drifted off when I felt my heart rate suddenly increase.  I got such a fright that I called the Midwife to check me out in case it was a drug reaction.  My stats were completely fine.  I started bawling when she told me that -  I was sure something had to be wrong with me.   She asked me when I last slept - it hadn't been since I went into labour, almost 48 hours ago.  I was just physically and mentally exhausted.  Used to being told off for not sleeping at hospital, I apologised for the fuss.  I'm not a good sleeper at the best of times (I also can't pee in bedpans, not matter how full of urine I am), and hospital, even peaceful room-to-self hospital, doesn't help.  This Midwife was wonderful.  She brought me a cup of tea and a muffin (which I fed to Murray later - cheese sandwich in desperate times was understandable, a muffin as well is just crazy)  and checked when Murray was due back so he could watch Etta while I had a sleep.  It was so nice to have someone be so understanding.  I'm sure Midwife's are more used to new Mum's having trouble sleeping, but it was very helpful nonetheless.

So because I'd previously told Murray not to come in until 9am so he could have a proper rest, I called him at an ungodly hour and told him he needed to come in at 7am because I needed the rest more.  I played Sudoku and watched the clock until he arrived.  Then I managed two blissful hours of sleep.  Not much, but when you've not slept for more than two days it feels almost like a full nights sleep.

Not long after I woke up we were told that (thankfully) there was a room available at the Helensville Birthing Units for us.  How the birthing units work is that you book in advance, but it is still dependant on Mummy-volume as to whether you can stay or not.  I was so thankful there was space for us.  I still couldn't look after Etta properly, and although Murray would have looked after us I really wasn't ready to go home yet.  We were discharged around 2pm after Etta passed her hearing test and I had another wonderful shower.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

I have never felt as helpless as I did in the days immediately following Etta's birth.  Being reliant on others to care for what will be the biggest responsibility I'll ever have was heartbreaking for me.  I didn't change a single meconium nappy.  I didn't get to wrap her, or tuck her into her plastic hospital crib.  Sounds like a very weird thing to think about, but I didn't even personally verify her gender until she was four days old.  On the first night when she whimpered all I could do was talk to her and call the Midwife.  And I hardly held Etta except when I was feeding her, as I was too chicken to call the Midwife's just because I wanted a cuddle.  Being someone who never holds babies, wanting to hold a baby for fun, even your own baby, seemed like an excessive reason to bell a Midwife.

I'm not going to tell you how becoming a parent changes you, because I got sick of people telling me this.  I won't tell you how it'll make you feel because I hated being told how I'd feel.  When people say 'You will feel like X' and then you actually feel like K, it can make you feel like there's something wrong with you, even when you know that's absolute bollocks.  

I never felt an overwhelming rush of 'love', but I do love Etta.  I know this because what I mostly feel is terrified.  I wouldn't feel like this if I didn't love her.  I didn't sleep the first night because I was scared she'd die.  Murray feels the same way - we have both checked that she's still breathing many, many times.  Although I read plenty about labour, pregnancy and even parenting, I read nothing practical about babies as I've never been remotely interested in them.  I know this means babies should have been mostly what I read about, but with pregnancy brain things not of interest (babies) were way harder to read about than things of interest (neuroscience and gender theory).  Etta is the first newborn I've ever wanted to hold, or kiss, or have anything much to do with really.  And now she's here I'm terrified I will break her due to total ignorance, even though I know basic baby first aid stuff (baby first aid is WAY easier than grown up first aid).

I still feel like myself, but it's like a shell-shocked version of me.  Interacting with people outside of hospital/birthing units in the first few days felt like communicating with people on some other planet.  Also, hormones are a bitch.  I spent, and still spend a lot of time crying - over important and unimportant things.  Over news items with ducks in them, and cheesy children's books.

And because I've been working on this post for two weeks now I'm going to cap it there.  Next up I'll probably write about C Section recovery and post pregnancy body stuff.  Stay turned for some time in the future where I've had more than two hours sleep...

* Nearly three weeks on I'm still finding stuff I've missed.

** Besides the lovely vegans of course.  And most Coeliac's I know.  And the lactose intolerant.  I know there's a sizeable list, but you know what I mean.  Cheese is awesome!