Mother's Day for the UnMothered

March is here yet again and with it comes all sorts of wonders. The start of longer days, the odd ray of sunshine after months of cold blustery weather. The equinox. And Mother's Day. 

Mother's Day. Just another day for most people. You buy a card, maybe some flowers or chocolates. Book a restaurant or have your mother for lunch. Before you know it, it is Monday all over again and the week begins.

For a few of us however, it just doesn't work like that. For some of us as soon as Christmas is over we have to keep our guard up. We know that any day an eager card shop will pop open their displays, or a florist will start their TV campaign. Mother's Day. One of the worst days of our year. The day that we need to stay away from shops, restaurants and worst of all, social media.

I am not saying this because I am the official Scrooge of Mother's Day. On the contrary there is no Bah! Humbug! from me. I am merely representing those of us who have to watch as the world reminds us that we do not have a mother.

I read a wonderful article by Ruth Margalit once about us, the "un-mothered". A term which I feel truly describes my world. Loosing my mother in my late twenties meant missing out on so much, and so much more that I have yet to miss. Each miraculous milestone, every hideous hardship I muddle through without the one person I crave more than anything.

Mother's Day is just another horrendous day without her. One which I shunned and avoided like the plague, until now.

This year I joined a new sorority. The UnMothered Mothers.

Not only do I need to avoid crying at each tacky Mother's Day sign, now I need to embrace it so that my daughter can share this special time with her Mommy. My sister cleverly calls this the bittersweet. So much of having babies without mothers is bittersweet, but Mother's Day is the darkest of chocolate with the tangiest of lemons of it all.

So what do we do on Mothering Sunday, us the UnMothered? 

We graciously accept the amount of trouble our wonderful other halves have gone to for us. We smile and enjoy our gorgeous babies. We acknowledge that like so much in our lives, this is just something else we need to get on board with, because we cannot cry to our mommies about the injustice.

"What are you getting your mother?" the adverts cry out. "Why not treat her to something special?" I am told. "Flowers say it all" is probably one of my favourites. Flowers that remind me of all the incredible times we had together, weddings, parties, large family gatherings... And the flowers that will be flooding the cemetery next week. 

With a heavy heart and a happy soul I will wake up early on Mother's Day to see my baby smile as she presents me with a little gift that her daddy has spent much time deliberating over. Something sweet and sentimental that doesn't make me cry in sadness at the absence of my own mother. I'll venture out into the Wild West that is London on Mother's Day so that my little family can spoil me. Averting my eyes at all the generations of mothers and daughters celebrating together. Then I will return home, put my beautiful baby down for her nap and go see my mommy. Leave my gorgeous daughter with her daddy while I trudge down to the cemetery and when she wakes up she will do what I wish she would do with me but can't. She will go give her paternal grandma her little present accompanied by sloppy kisses. All the while I will be hiding out at my dad's house, wishing things were different. 

They say time heals all wounds and in many ways that is correct. Each year after her passing it does become a little easier, but every step is also riddled with difficulty. 

This year will be the first I face as the UnMothered Mother, maybe next year I will have the hang of it. In the meantime I will put on my game face and enjoy my little miracle.

To all the UnMothered, I salute you. 

The Curious Incident of the Baby in the Night

Everyone knows that old tale of schadenfreude. The minute you announce anything that is going well with your baby is the same minute your baby decides to flip that good fortune on its head and act like a little monster. With this knowledge I never once boasted about my little angel's sleeping habits. People would look over with a smirk and ask "so... How's she sleeping?" And I would nod slowly and say "well, for now. I am lucky." This would be followed by a probe "how many times does she feed at night?" To which I would reply "at the moment, she doesn't." Almost always this would be met with an annoyed look and curt response from hopeful parents who expected 3-4 night feeds from my baby, as they had years before.

So life plodded on, disappointing those after a good laugh and little G amazing us everyday with her ability to sleep through the night. She even managed to crack jet lag in just 2 days and revert back to sleeping 7-7. That was until she hit 5.5 months old.

Many a time I had been told that I would find feeding her solids would help G to sleep. I had heard this so often and with such conviction I had begun to smile and nod as if this was a problem for me. What no one ever told me was that once she was on solids she may begin to sleep badly. 

I started weaning her at 22 weeks and my little lady took to solid food like a duck to water. Like her mother before her she found solid food the missing piece of her puzzle and boy did she guzzle. She loved her carrots, pears, sweet potatoes and salmon. She ate purée and led her own weaning with cucumber sticks and toast soldiers. She delighted in banana despite it constipating her and appeared to enjoy drinking water from a sippy cup. She also stopped sleeping through the night. 

Baffled as ever by our baby, the Hubster and I did what any first time parents would do. We gave her calpol. We turned the heating up. We turned the heating down. We cuddled her. We took her temperature. We gave her teething granules. We gave her water. We fed her. We took her temperature again. We turned Euan the sodding Dream Sheep on again and again and again. 

We assumed it was teething. Then we were absolutely sure it was the start of a cold before deciding it was definitely too cold in the house. Finally we convinced ourselves that it was a growth spurt. 

What I never even considered was that poor little G may be having a couple of digestion issues. I had read the books, you see. I knew not to feed her anything adventurous too close to bedtime. I had started with lunch, progressed to breakfast and finally after seeing our health visitor, dinner. There was no way the food could be making her restless at night... Was there?

The answer is of course, who blooming knows? Until my darling little angel can tell me what's wrong I am afraid that the Hubster and I will continue to run through every possible ailment under the sun before finally attributing her night time waking to tiny elves or ghosts. 

What I am absolutely certain of however, is that she slept right through the night until those solid smelly poos started. It is either a very strange coincidence or something that someone should be telling us!

The good news? After 2 weeks of random wake ups and baby G talking to herself at all hours of the night, she finally went back to sleeping well. 

Well, until she got a frigging throat infection. But that story is definitely one for another day!

Fly baby, fly

I knew flying to Florida with my 16 week old little angel would be a challenge. In preparation for our great adventure I took to Twitter and eagerly sought advice from the experts. Armed with fabulous tips from other well travelled parents I packed toys a plenty, 6 spare babygros, 6 clean Muslins, a change of clothes for myself and enough nappies to put Boots out of business.

It was less than 1 hour into the 10 hour flight when my daughter showed me what she was made of and off to the loo we went. In the smallest cubicle known to man, equipped with an equally tiny change table I performed major nappy surgery. She had really won the jackpot with that poo. It was everywhere. All up her back, down her legs and remarkably under her armpits. It was only once I had fully changed her that I realised she had managed to get me too. Having carried her to the loo I was also covered in baby poo. It was nappy 1, me 0 and there were 9 more hours to go on the flight alone.

Luckily we were sitting next to a lovely woman who proudly told me of her 5 children and 9 grandchildren. With 25 years experience as a nursery teacher a little crying here and there was not going to phase her. Her daughter is still breastfeeding, I was told, so no need to worry about struggling to cover up.

She watched with bemusement as I reached into my Mary Poppins-esque bag and retrieved toy after toy; blankets; clean vests; Muslins and fresh nappies. She even had the decency not to laugh at me when I tried to rock the sky cot in order to help my bubba sleep.

My little lady really did very well. She fed during take off and landing and miraculously didn't scream. She smiled and cooed at the airline staff and made friends with another baby. She even giggled at the person next to us. What I didn't factor into my meticulous planning, was that she was so over stimulated by the new sounds, sights and oh yes smells of the airplane, she had no intention of sleeping. 

So my little Madamoiselle stayed up. She stayed up so long that she was so far gone past tiredness she didn't know whether she was awake or asleep. We walked up and down the plane. And then down and up the plane. We walked and walked for so long my legs started to ache. Finally I saw her little eyes start to close and foolishly took refuge on a spare seat. Of course as soon as my bum hit the tiny seat, she started wailing! It felt like the never ending story.

After several hours walking and rocking, I managed to get her to sleep in the sky cot, a small box like contraption attached to a pull out table. Hurrah! Of course once she nodded off the seat belt sign appeared and I had to get her up again! I could feel the airplane gods laughing at me.

Arriving at Miami international airport with an overtired and yet surprisingly perky little girl, I was delighted, as well as bedraggled, to find that they have completely revamped the customs process. Despite it still being a 40 minute walk from the plane to customs, it is now much easier to get through passport control. The only real challenge was waiting for our buggy which took its very sweet time to arrive.

We were finally on the home stretch. Exhausted and feeling like I had run a marathon we stopped our rental car a few minutes outside Miami International in a small side road and I fed my little baby, changed her and encouraged her to finally nap during our last leg of the trip.

Having left the house at 7:45am we had travelled in total for 19 hours. My beautiful little 16 week old angel slept for a grand total of 5 hours during that time. 

We arrived at our destination with spit up on my top, in my hair and on the inside of my trouser leg. A small splodge of baby poo had somehow made it's way surreptitiously onto the outside of my daughters babygro, I'm still not sure how. We were a mess. But we were here. Finally in Florida where the sun was waiting for us and the weather was going to be warm!

Flying with a baby wasn't too bad, despite my yearning for the days when all I had to think about was whether I had my noise cancelling headset, it wasn't the nightmare I had expected. It was full on but in a way just a new challenge in the wonderful world of parenting. 

That being said I have a few tips I would love to pass on to any parents travelling with a very young baby. Who knows maybe my pearls of wisdom may come in handy one day...

1) Pack enough essentials to last the entire journey and then some. I bought old toys for familiarity, new toys for amusement. My daughter is breastfed but a bottle joined us. She's a thumb sucker and yet took a dummy for the first time mid flight.

2) Consider every possible situation - good and bad.

3) Take care when wiping bottoms, an extra layer of bum cream wouldn't go amiss. For some reason the air conditioning did nothing good for nappy rash.

4) Bring extra clothes for you as well. Trust me. 

5) A baby carrier is a great idea. Walking up and down the plane can really take its toll on your back.

6) Take plenty of food for yourself. You will most likely not eat the tray provided. Cereal bars were my saviour and a sandwich for the other end of the journey.

7) Feeding during take off and landing can prevent little ears from hurting.

8) Keep your hand santizer easily accessible. 

9) If using a sky cot pack plenty of blankets to make it comfortable.

And finally...

10) Throw all your organisation out the window and just go with it. Even the most well behaved, routine led baby will have you running circles around them. The long haul flight is their domain. The sooner we realise that the better.

A Tale of a Tiny Tongue Tie

The week before giving birth to my now gorgeous girl I spent the afternoon with friends who had just had their second child. As we cooed over the handsome lad my friend mentioned that when I gave birth we should immediately get the midwife to check our little one for tongue tie. Tongue tie, as I was told, can affect feeding so it was a pretty serious miss.

I should come clean at this point. At 38 weeks pregnant, with back pain causing me sleepless nights; stretch marks weaving their way around my swollen belly and boobs the size of a small country, the last thing I gave much thought to was tied tongues. There. I admit it. My head was firmly planted up my own rather large bottom. Shortly after finishing the discussion and moving onto how many disposable pairs of pants I had, I completely forgot the conversation.

Luckily my dear hubster, unaffected by varicose veins in places no one should have them, kept the conversation in mind. As we held our beautiful baby girl in our arms he asked our midwife to check for the illicit tied tongue. We were assured she had seen our little girl's tongue and it was not tied. I still didn't even ask what it was.

You may have read in previous posts that breast feeding and I did not take to each other very quickly. Armed with more than an ample bosom to start with, child bearing did nothing to help the situation. My baby couldn't quite fit her tiny mouth anywhere near my huge boob and I winced in pain anytime she came close to feeding. 

It didn't help that our princess was sent back to hospital with jaundice at 2 days old. Feeding became harder and I ended up doing a bizarre mix of breast feeding, expressing and topping up with formula every 2 hours. 

Feeding was not getting any easier. I put it down to the size of my huge bazookas. I watched in awe as other babies latched on perfectly to their mommies requiring only a small amount of guidance and no hand holding once they were on. That was not the deal I had struck! 

As I spent many a night in her dimly lit nursery feeding, I did what any parent would do. I consulted Google. Typing my symptoms into the trusty search engine I was welcomed by mothers who had the same problems as me with a simple solution... Tongue tie. The words seemed to jump out at me and pull and my already sore nipples. I learned that tongue tied babies have a tight piece of skin between the bottom of their tongue and the floor of their mouth. According to the NHS it affects only 3-10% and of babies, mostly boys. In my NCT class, 3 out of 9 babies were tongue tied, 2 of which were girls. 

I read articles from mothers who like me had babies who had difficulty latching on, slipped off the breast whilst feeding, were rather gassy and fell asleep whilst feeding. These mothers also had painful nipples and also felt so frustrated. 

There was one problem though. My daughter didn't have a tongue tie. 

I asked my midwife for another check for tongue tie. She looked in my baby's mouth and declared that she had a little mouth and little tongue, other than that was fine. She even sent a breast feeding adviser round to help with the latch.

Disappointed that it was just something I was doing wrong I took a deep breath and painfully placed my hungry lady back on the nipple. 

The breast feeding advisor advised that my latch looked good, but the problems were probably due to my very large boobs. She mentioned that perhaps a nipple shield might help. 

At the end of week three I saw blood in my baby's mouth during a feed. Panicking and crying in pain the breast feeding helpline was called (what a waste of time that was!) the Lansinoh was applied in full force and those nipple shields came out.

If anyone has ever successfully used nipple shields please let me know how. After 10 minutes of trying my best I stopped fumbling and gave up. 

I just had to get to 6 weeks. That's what everyone said. Just to be safe,  I asked the doctor one final time about this tongue tie business. For the third time I was told there was no problem. I just had to make it to 6 weeks. 

I got to 6 weeks and called a lactation consultant. 

Within two minutes of arriving and listening to my tales of woe she stuck her (clean) finger in my little lady's mouth and said those 5 magical words: she has a tongue tie.

Hurrah! I almost wept with happiness, I was not going crazy! There was a problem after all and no amount of small petite boobies would fix it!

The lovely lactation consultant helped me to reposition the little one to help her latch better.

Then she informed me of my options. The NHS could refer me to the Royal Free hospital for the tongue tie clinic. There is a specialist at the Portland Hospital for a private consultation, or there are lactation consultants who could come to my house and snip the tongue tie there and then.

At this stage of euphoria knowing that my little one wasn't repelled by my breast, I didn't mind too much what happened next. I felt that given she was an otherwise healthy and happy baby perhaps there was no need to get the tongue snipped. After all it may not cause any other issues other than breast feeding. 

I consulted the hubster who went on a tirade against the midwives and doctor who had missed the little tie. Unhappy with our luck so far he put his foot down and requested that we take her to the hospital for a consultation.

As the weeks passed waiting for our appointment something magical happened. Feeding became easier. Cluster feeding disappeared and my baby seemed happier at the breast. We learned to make it work for us. 

Just to be safe I kept that appointment. 

On 4th October I announced to the hubster that I had been wrong. I should never have waited to snip that poor little tongue. After weeks of happy breasted mornings I had woken with one massive boob. I had been uncomfortable when she was feeding the previous day and had attributed it to her growth spurt. I assumed she was feeding more effectively and my nips were bearing the brunt of it. I had a burning sensation in the bigger boob and upon inspection I spotted something white on the nipple. 

Like any typically neurotic mother my mind instantly jumped to conclusions. Her growth spurt had triggered a hungrier baby which in turn frustrated her as her tongue prevented her from getting enough food. This must have caused a bad latch and hey presto! I definitely had thrush. On a Saturday. With no doctors surgery open.

Panicking I called a tongue tie divider. A card carrying member of the breast brigade she told me I wasn't feeding my daughter enough and the thrush was due to the bottle of expressed milk she had before bed. I'm sure that woman helps plenty of people, but I am not one of them.

Luckily my lactation consultant was happy to help. Instantly she diagnosed me with a blocked duct and coached me on how to fix the painful problem. I won't bore you with horrible details but suffices to say that a wet flannel, hot shower and a breast pump later... I was fixed.

She also offered wise words on the tongue tie. Desperate as I was to help my daughter to feed, she seemed to be doing quite well. So instead of rushing to pay £160 for someone to cut the tongue, why not wait for my appointment and see what they say? Reassured that my daughter didn't have thrush and was feeding enough, I decided to take her advice.

The midwives at the hospital poked around in my baby's mouth and came put with an unclear answer. Visually the tongue tie wasn't too bad, but functionality was poor. She appeared to be feeding well but had been compensating. She could very well be fine but she could struggle with weaning.  There was no clear answer. At 14 weeks the procedure would be more traumatic than it would have been for an 8 week old, but if I waited any longer she would need anaesthetic. 

We hummed and hawed over it but ultimately decided to go ahead.

Horrible as it was to watch I think we made the right choice. My little love was very distraught, far more so than with her jabs. But I'm still glad we did it.

Tongue tie can go unnoticed by midwives and doctors, this really was a case of mommy knows best. I knew there was something wrong with her feeding and just kept trying to figure it out. Why midwives don't check their mouths in hospital is beyond me, my advice for any new parent is to make sure they do. It's not a huge problem and can be solved very quickly, but my goodness it can hurt your poor nipples!

The little lady is much better now, she has even stuck her tongue out at me! 

It Sucks!

Breastfeeding mothers clutch at their tender nipples during the first few weeks and wonder whether they will ever get any respite. Bottle fed babies show such an aptitude for sucking that their parents feel it would only be right to allow them to do it for longer. Even the staunchest anti dummy-ites out there have sat up many a sleepless night questioning their choices because put simply - babies love to suck. Babies seem to have forgotten to read the manual that amongst other things, told them how to self soothe. They love to suck and appear content (finally!) when they are merrily sucking on a bruised boob or bottle test. After feeding they just can't settle without a little something something, surely they need help? Can a dummy be your answer?

Parents often wonder whether they need a dummy. Will their little ones eventually find their little thumbs? And what do we do when they need to be weaned off their dummies or thumbs? 

The pacifier culture in America appears to be more entrenched than this side of the pond. A good friend of mine was told by her (American) mother that she was mad not to use one with her newborn and being the good daughter she is, promptly offered a dummy. Not for nothing, her little girl is the most chilled baby in our friendship circle. I'm not sure I have ever heard her cry for longer than a few seconds. She's put herself to sleep since day one with her dummy and can pretty much nod off anywhere. My little darling on the other hand has been in a love hate relationship with her thumb since she was born. Each time her thumb let her down we had to deal with the fallout. It was like helping a love sick teenager through a breakup.

I couldn't help but question during one of my many sleepless nights, why the dummy was so popular amongst the yanks but still viewed with caution over here. Is it our stiff upper lip that can't quite grasp the dummy? Or perhaps dummies are just as accepted in the UK but the sheer volume of babies in the U.S. make it seem like they are on the up there.

Of course I turned to my very good friend Web Based Research. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) babies up to 1 year old should use dummies at bedtime and nap time. They found that dummies reduced the risk of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). Clearly this is something new parents would be delighted to hear! 

Although when asking my friends over the other side of the Atlantic if they knew about this, I was shocked to hear most had no clue at all. If I were a dummy manufacturer, this would be my main advertising point. It would probably the only feature of my advert.

Actually the main reason for dummy usage amongst my American pals is exactly the same as my British friends. Dummies, quite literally, pacify our babies! We coo and ahh over little loves as they make sucky noises in their sleep. We giggle as our little ones hungrily forage for their fingers or thumbs to suck. But no mother delights as they desperately look for their nipple for the umpteenth time that hour. Let's face it, something needs to stop that baby sucking!!

That shrill sound of our babies crying for no apparent reason makes even the calmest of parents cringe. Babies are born with a sucking reflex. Sadly they didn't get the memo that they don't need to cry when they can't. 

What should new parents do? Wait for a thumb to magically make friends with their baby's mouth? Offer a dummy and pray it makes a difference? Or just ride it out? 

Watching my little one look for her thumb in desperation gave me hope that one day she would find it. My DH and I spent many a night praying that she would make the connection. At one point I considered putting an advert on match.com for her. "Wanted, one tiny thumb looking for love with a little mouth desperate to find its one true love." Yes - I was tired. 

I listened as my wonderful grandmother informed me that I needed to give my little girl a dummy. Without it, I found out, she would never be happy. That same grandmother - who had three children over 60 years ago - was not shy about letting me know I should give up breastfeeding too. According to her it wasn't worth the hassle. 

My sister also had two successful dummy tales. Babies who didn't need to be taught how to self soothe because their dummy did it for them. My little darling on the other hand, had no interest in falling asleep anywhere but my boob. 

I watched my angel desperately seeking her thumb and felt that if she only found it life would be so much better. 

I should be honest, things at that point were not a bed of roses. In fact a bed of any kind was something I wasn't seeing much of at all. Having spent the best part of 6 weeks letting my baby get rocked; fed; cuddled or walked to sleep I decided to try my hand at sleep training. It was not going well. Hours were spent shush patting til the cows came home. Money went straight into Euan the Sheep's pocket as he arrived at our house to gallantly save the day, one annoying tune at a time. I even stopped going out during her lunchtime nap in the hope that I could train her to sleep at home. 

The results were bleak. I was tired, irritable and fed up. She probably felt the same although was too polite to say "Mommy what the f**k are you doing?"

DH and I put a time limit on the thumb. We put a break clause in the thumb's lease of the mouth. If that pesky thumb hadn't found its way to our beautiful baby's mouth by the end of the month we were sending it packing and welcoming in Dame Dummy. 

Just the act of standing firm with the thumb made me felt better. We had a renewed sense of purpose as we prepared ourselves for Dame Dummy to move in. 

And then it happened. Quite unexpectedly, very much out of the blue. One evening our little lady had a little tummy upset. On her way to her bath she started crying and no amount of cuddling would calm her. It transpired that she was experiencing her first bout of diarrhoea. The poor lass was distraught, wailing and wailing away until something remarkable happened. In her angst she finally made her connection. The thumb actually found her mouth! A happy match was made in the bathroom. Quite outstanding really, poo dunnit! 

After that I would love to say it's been plain sailing but it would be a lie. As she has struggled to keep a hold of her little thumb I have questioned our decision to hold off the dummy usage time and time again. You can't pop a thumb back in their mouth and tempting as it may seem, you can't glue a thumb in so there is very little to do when they loose it. Although at least you don't need to sterilise a thumb. 

Many a night we have woken to the sounds of screams as she wakes hoping to find her thumb where she left it. Overcome with sadness that her thumb would leave her whilst she was sleeping, it was once again up to us to pick up the pieces. I considered yet again bringing in Dame Dummy to save the day.

Three weeks later I feel that we have made headway. Her thumb still pops out and she still gets disproportionately angry to find her palm instead of her thumb, but it's getting better. I often wake to that blissful sound of her sucking away, gently soothing herself back to sleep.

I have no idea how I will ever get her to stop sucking her thumb. As one who never quite found my own and apparently gave up looking quite early on, I have no experience here. Sadly their is no Thumb Fairy to help kids get over sucking their thumbs, although I hear the Dummy Fairy can be very strict about removing her dummies so maybe a Thumb Fairy will visit us after all.

For now I am not questioning what happens next. On the contrary for keeping my little lady calm I am considering buying her thumb a gift! Despite taking immense pleasure in the fact that I not only have a very happy little girl but I also didn't have to give her a dummy to make her happy, I haven't broken the news to my grandma. I think she would be more upset to find she was wrong than my little lady would be to find her thumb removed. 

Some victories, however large, are best left silent!

Frozen Peas out my Freezer

Frozen Peas out my Freezer

It was only a matter of time before it happened. I had been expecting something like it for quite a while. Really I was just a ticking time bomb. I had finally succumbed to the ailment of all new parents - exhaustion.

For me loosing my mind was a gradual process. Preggy brain was like a haze over my otherwise capable head. I fumbled over names when introducing people, laughed through presentations at work when I conveniently lost my train of thought mid sentence and simply blushed when I found myself at the till in Waitrose, trolley full of groceries and no purse.

When my lovely little lady arrived I was too blissfully happy to realise that a very active birth, coupled with sleepless pregnant nights filled with SPD I was already pretty knackered. DH and I congratulated each other on our chilled attitude toward parenting those first few days. Despite our precious princess being hauled back into hospital on day two because she was on the serious side of jaundice we were OK. Cool. Calm. Collected.

It was approximately 5 days until the fog of happy hormones lifted and I realised that after cooing and cuddling my little angel all that was left was pure venom to spit out of my mouth at my poor hubby. I wasn't the only one hissing. Shock set in as after 9 months of being kept in a protective bubble of love by him, my DH suddenly spat out his words at me!

We were officially entering the rite of passage that all new parents go through, sheer exhaustion parading around as hatred of each other. At one point we found ourselves red in the face, shouting at one another in full whispering tones so as not to wake the bubba in the middle of the night. The poor girl wasn't even awake for her feed yet and we were arguing about being tired!



Yes strange things happen when you are sleep deprived. CNN recently released an article confirming what we have long suspected. Lack of sleep really can shrink the size of our brains: http://edition.cnn.com/2014/09/04/health/no-sleep-brain-size/index.html

But all this aside, here we are, weeks after DD arrived and still enjoying every minute of her. More maternal than I could ever imagine i would be, I delight in each smile; marvel at her movements and happily clean up vomit from her mouth before even touching my own soggy shoulder.

Yet nothing can change the fact that I have found a new capacity for exhaustion. Many a night have I woken to feed her and sat, yawning in the dim lit nursery desperately counting the number of hours of precious sleep I have had that night. For those interested, anything over 4 was a miracle. Once I reached 5 I thought I could run a marathon the following day.
I have fond memories of the days I used an alarm clock. My alarm had a snooze button. Try telling a newborn that mommy needs another 10 minutes of sleep. I have now joined the ranks of parents who look on with jealousy as their friends complain how tired they are after having woken up at 9am on a Saturday. 9am is the new parents' sleep equivalent of an all you can eat  breakfast buffet to a hungover university student.

After 8 weeks of cleaning a dirty tiny bum, wiping spit up from a little mouth and feeding a hungry mini Madamoiselle all hours of the day, it finally happened. I opened up the fridge just the other morning to grab the milk and I saw them. All dressed up and nowhere to go but the bin. The vegetable of champion to parents, the superveg of the sleep deprived hungry mother, the one veggie that requires nothing more of me than removing them from their packaging and popping in the microwave for only a minute. The frozen peas. The sleep deprived, greasy haired, perpetually confused me had killed them.
The artist formerly known as the frozen peas had finally met their maker. Sad news people, the fridge is no place for frozen food.

Naturally my first thought was trying to salvage my trusted pals. I gave them a little squidge, hoping and praying they had at least some of their freeze left in them. Alas, it was game over for my frozen friends. Off to pea heaven they went and back to my coffee I fled.

I have managed to swallow the bitter pill of pea loss well. I have moved on to fresh asparagus, they don't seem to mind where I leave them as long as I eat them in the end.

The good news for future peas and other freezer goods is that DH and I are starting to step out of the tired tangle and beginning to get some sleep. So who knows, maybe one day I'll remember to freeze those peas after all.

Battle of the Boob

The Battle of the Boob - 2014

The battle of the boob - by far the most talked about challenge for women post birth.

Midwives prepare us in the months leading up to birth, reminding us of all the wonderful things our boobs can give to our unborn babies. We hear how we can provide our immunity to illnesses to our babies, prevent eczema, fend off breast cancer ourselves and best of all it is free! By the time we are in hospital most of us are already sold on this phenomenon, eager to give our little ones everything they need. The same midwives encourage us to get our babies to latch on shortly after birth, helping us and guiding our way. For a short time we are in the hospital bubble with midwives to check that we are still feeding and there to support us in doing so.

And then we are out. Back at home it's a war zone. Nappies sprawled across the room, spit up everywhere, projectile poo flying across the room and the sounds of newborn cries filling the house. Mummies desperate to settle their little angels hope and pray they will latch. Daddies are there to support them in whatever way they can, having heard how support of breast feeding in those early days is necessary.

Luckily at some point the feeding seems to get a little easier. You get the hang of how to position yourself and your little one. You realise you don't need to eat every five minutes to survive the feed and most of all the baby is thriving. Fait complete, non?

Nope. Not even a little bit. Because just at that point your worst nightmare arrives - The Growth Spurt. The Growth Spurt comes in very early on when it is still pandemonium in your house and you have no idea what is going on. It is the 3 week Growth Spurt that is much more problematic for mums. The feeding never ends. When your baby isn't feeding they may be sleeping or needing a nappy change but the time in between seems so short it hardly feels worth it to get dressed. Breast pads are used, lasinoh is bought in bulk and ice packs are at the ready.

For me it was around this time that I noticed my very Dear Hubby (DH) loose faith in breast feeding. Having spent my entire pregnancy supporting me in every way possible and the first 3 weeks of baby's life championing my successes he suddenly seemed to find the whole process bizarre.

I watched in wonder as he started talking about the benefits of formula. I was amazed to hear that he was eager to implement bottles and I was saddened to realise that hubby wasn't "on my side". The feeling of failure was rife. All insecurities that I felt about my feeding were realised hearing them come out of DH mouth.

To say it brought a rift between us would be putting it mildly. After approximately 4 weeks of no sleep tempers were ripe for the loosing. We were happy to snap at each other over something as simple as what variety of pasta we would be eating that night. And yes, it was always pasta that could cook in under 10 minutes! To give us something real to argue over was nothing short of a god send.

So it started. The Battle of the Boob, 2014. As I struggled with my self confidence and abilities as a mother my DH struggled to understand why I wanted to make life harder for myself. As he sang from the bottle feeding hymn sheet I started to wonder why I was battling a booby at all.

Nipples bleeding, Breast pump to hand and a lactation consultant later I realised I had been right about my Dear Daughter (DD) all along. It was tongue tie that dunnit. She sadly struggled to get her little mouth to latch and it turns out I was fighting a war on two fronts.

Armed with yet another reason I shouldn't be breast feeding her DH seemed triumphant. He had won the Battle of the Boob, surely? Well yes in part. At this point - 6 weeks into DD's life I decided he could give her a formula bottle for her 11pm feed and I would rest up. Combination feeding began.
We watched in wonder as my little lady lapped up her night feed and didn't give two hoots it wasn't mommy's finest. I even slept better for a few days!

Then something strange happened. The 11pm feed became 12am, then 2am... And DH wasn't as excited about that feed anymore. For if he had to get up for work the next day he couldn't really be up at 2am for a feed, could the poor chap?

So back to mommy it was! I tried desperately to keep up the bottle feed but something else was happening to me..something unexpected and remarkable... I could breastfeed! Gone were the days I winced in pain as DD latched on. Bleeding nips were a thing of the past and oh my goodness I had said farewell to cluster feeding! Suddenly I was sad to say sienara to my time with DD at my breast, we were just getting the hang of it. Hubby may have won the battle but the war was far from taken. With a more relaxed mommy my baby seemed happier and chubbier, than ever.

It seemed all that was left to do was to have a final dig at the Hubster. Just to reiterate that he was wrong, nothing sinister, of course. I chose my time wisely. Waited until he was exhausted from a long day and ready to go to sleep. Retaliation and reward for all the nights he promised to do a night feed but conveniently couldn't wake up.

Fighting sleep he heard me calmly explain how upset and hurt I was he didn't fight on my team anymore and that I had finally won my own Battle of the Boob so didn't want to keep fighting his. There may have been a gentle reminder that despite not using formula I had managed, Hans Solo, to get DD into a 4 hour feeding routine. Take that Hubster!

With that we put the battle to bed.

Because after all, what is triumph without a healthy dose of guilt attached?