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?

The Breast Brigade

The Breast Brigade
Mothers who breastfeed are more likely to stave off breast cancer! Breastfed babies have higher IQs! No eczema! No allergies! No wind!!

Have you met the Breast Brigade? If you haven't had the pleasure already here is a small snippet into their colourful, albeit slightly restricted banter.

As if expectant mothers don't have quite enough to  worry about, at some point in the latter stages of pregnancy some midwife, NCT teacher or nurse may drop the B Word. Of course we have all thought about it. Breastfeeding is the final part of pregnancy, the happy ending to a beautiful birth. We have watched as during the last 9 months of pregnancy, alongside our swelling bellies our lovely bunch of coconuts became watermelons. We have even seen little squirts of colostrum appear out of our newly darkened nipples. So we know these bad boys have a use, and now the Breastfeeding cheer team are telling us that without breast milk our babies will most likely develop asthma!

The phenomenon of baby making escapes few. For 9 whole months our little ones grow inside us, living off the nutrients our bodies provide them. They develop on a weekly basis until one day they are ready to meet us.

During our pregnancies childbirth is our main fixation, or at least a large one. We stress and plot to find the best scenario for us with information from professionals feeding our eager trains of thought. On the one side weighing in with government sponsorship yet still underfunded, is the midwifery community on Team Natural Birth. On the other side sit The Consultants, a far more scientific party looking at labour in a clinical light.

Team Natural Birth (TNB) will inform us that all low risk mamas go straight to the birth centre. They will tell you that home births can be wonderful and that water is the way.

The Consultants  (TC) arm expectant mothers with facts. Shower us with sonograms, talk about scary stuff such as babies being too big to push out.

Both are well meaning in their fighting corners and ultimately neither really have much sway on what actually happens from the moment the baby decides they are ready to begin the journey out of that amazingly comfortable womb into the big wide world.  Personally, if I were bobbing along in a pool of 37 degree comfortable water, being fed on demand without having to even tell anyone your hungry AND doing all that whilst not having to have your nappy changed.... I don't think I would be in a hurry to leave. That being said we all do it and for our poor mothers it is quite the ordeal.

So once your little one decides it's time to flee their first nest it doesn't really matter who won the pre match.  What happens in labour stays in labour. If an earth mother who has done nothing but plan for active birth with TNB suddenly starts screaming for the drugs.... Well you get that anaesthetist in the room and pronto. Similarly if Miss I want the Drugs starts her labour in a bath and decides gas and air are far too much fun, you will let that woman get her kicks from the laughing gas.

It is all very well  changing plans for  labour but what happens when your little bundle of lanugo is out?
Please enter from stage right, The Breast Brigade.

From the moment the lovely little poppet joins the party the stress is on!

We are encouraged to hold our newborn close to our chest for "skin to skin" time, keeps your baby warm and helps to regulate their breathing. By the way, very new mum, this is a great time to put your new bundle of joy to your breast. Just pop him/her there and let them try to latch on.

Hang on... Where did everyone go? Suddenly whilst trying desperately to feed your little squirmy baby; take time to be with your new family and recover from whatever horrors you experienced during childbirth... The blooming TNB midwife has rushed out the room!!!

Without so much as a "perhaps you may want to put a nappy on her" TNB swiftly disappear. And then what?

It's fight or flight for the first time mum. All your instincts tell you to preserve with the breast, but how? Your baby conveniently forgot to read the breastfeeding manual during her train ride out of womb central. She didn't get the "how to latch" memo. Suddenly you are feeling like the worst mother in the world for not being able to do the one thing all of TNB have told you to do.

Oh dear, looks like half of Britain are set to be asthma sufferers with terribly low IQs.

So here I am, 3 weeks on and still waiting for the wonder of breastfeeding to kick in. Sure, there are moments I feel like the luckiest woman alive, being able to feed my daughter from my breast, but that typically is preceded by "oh god how can she be hungry again?" Followed by a painful intake of breath as I watch her latch on to my already tired and sorry for itself nipple.

Breastfeeding, whatever the gurus may tell you, is hard work. For women with all size and shape breasts it's tough going. Those of us with a, erm, larger bust, tend to suffer a little more but it's all the same in the end.

Babies weren't born with intensive latching training and mummies can never prepare for the onslaught of emotions coupled with feeding challenges.

If you, like me, feel like the worst mother in the world because your little one just doesn't seem to get it... Don't worry you are not alone.
I'm sticking with it for now but I doubt it will be for long.

Yes babies who are breastfed tend to get all the wonderful benefits from the milky miracle but guess what? Babies on formula sleep longer!!!!