This week I've been lucky enough to catch up with friends, old and new.
First, Thing Two and I went down to the south coast to meet up with some girls I went to school with. I know, I know, I shouldn't call us girls any more being, as we are, mostly wives and mothers and if not knocking on the door of 40 then certainly walking up the path to that scary milestone. But to my mind we will always be girls; nervous in our neat green uniforms on the first day of school, or bolshy in our DMs in sixth form.
It was a beautiful day and we sat in J's garden eating lunch and watching her gorgeous daughters play. We chatted about babies (J and C are both pregnant for the third and second time respectively), about work, about everything and nothing. And we laughed a lot. And I thought how lucky I am to be friends with these amazing women. G is single and glamorous, and something terribly important for a multinational oil company, while J is a hippy earth mother who works at a university and whose partner boxed up spiders (in separate boxes "in case they didn't get on") and took them with the family when they moved house last month. They're different as they could possibly be, but they're impossibly fond of one another.
I know that whatever I need; reassurance, a laugh, practical help or just a large glass of wine, they will always provide. And I am hugely grateful for that.
Also last week we caught up with some of my newest friends; the women I met at NCT antenatal classes when I was pregnant with Thing One. They are wonderful. Our older children are almost exactly the same age obviously and that is something that has proved so valuable over the last three years. Whether it was baby worries ("he's done ten poos today, is that normal?") or toddler tantrums and pre-school applications, we've gone through everything at the same time.
These women also taught me a lot about myself. I am often guilty of reverse snobbery. On paper I'd have assumed we had nothing in common; they are all fiercely successful career women with City husbands. But in reality, we bonded fast, ditched the other members of the group almost as quickly, and will, I hope, be friends forever.
So really I just wanted to let it be known that I am massively thankful for all the women in my life. You're all lifesaving superstars. With love. x
Friday 13 August 2010
Monday 2 August 2010
Thoughts on breastfeeding - beware I am very passionate about this!
Thing Two is now six months old. He's a happy, contented gorgeous little boy and I'm very proud of him. I'm also proud that I've managed to breastfeed him all this time.
When Thing One was born, I was determined to breastfeed. I'd been to my NCT breastfeeding class and read all the right stuff. What no one had told me, however, was how bloody difficult it was. He was a c-section baby and his nose was very blocked with mucus. So when he latched on, he couldn't breathe, he panicked and pushed me away. In hospital I begged for help, but the midwives were busy (and mean) and ignored me. They thought I was worried my boob was blocking his nose, but that wasn't what I meant. At home, he still wasn't feeding. I rang the midwives for help; no one came. Eventually one midwife told me I could get saline drops to clear his nose, but I'd have to get them prescribed by a doctor and as it was bank holiday weekend, I'd have to wait another few days. By the time I discovered we could buy the drops from Boots for less than £2, it was too late. Thing One was badly dehydrated, my milk had dried up and he was admitted to hospital where he was fed through a tube down his nose.
It was horrible.
Knowing what I know now, I think if he'd had some formula in hospital, he'd have been stronger and able to suck better from the breast. The midwives offered me formula but didn't explain he'd have had it from a sippy cup (in fact, I didn't find this out until eight months later!) and I thought he wouldn't be able to suck from a bottle either.
Anyway, when I was pregnant with Thing Two, I wanted to try breastfeeding again, but I was more realistic this time. I armed myself with bottles and a couple of cartons of formula, just in case.
But six months on, I've not opened the formula. I can't say it's been a breeze - the first few weeks of agonising cracked nipples and non-stop feeding weren't much fun. It's been hard being the only one who can feed him and there have been a couple of times when I've wanted to go out alone for more than three hours. But compared with endless sterilising and making up feeds, and cramming the changing bag with little pots of formula and bottles of boiled water, it's been easy.
I also love the fact that breastfeeding forces me to sit down for a cuddle regularly. My favourite time of the day is the bedtime feed when a sleepy Thing Two and I snuggle up on our bed for a feed without the distractions of Thing One!
But, despite all this, I HATE HATE HATE the pro-breastfeeding lobby. The self-styled 'lactivists' (even the word makes me want to puke). I know how hard breastfeeding can be and I'd never judge anyone for giving up (though I do think everyone should try if they can -it's so much easier!). I hate all the misinformation ("it doesn't hurt if you're doing it properly" - er, yeah it does. At first) and scaremongering ("if you give your baby any formula you'll ruin your milk supply" - rubbish, sometimes babies just need a bit of a boost). And I hate the fact that it's so dependent on the help you get. My midwives this time round (at the PRU hospital in Farnborough) were absolutely brilliant. I'm sure I've lasted this long because of the help they gave me in those first days.
And now I have to stop, as I left the room for a minute, to put Thing Two down for his nap, and Thing One used the time I was away to pull all the keys off my laptop. So typing proving tricky, and I must go.
When Thing One was born, I was determined to breastfeed. I'd been to my NCT breastfeeding class and read all the right stuff. What no one had told me, however, was how bloody difficult it was. He was a c-section baby and his nose was very blocked with mucus. So when he latched on, he couldn't breathe, he panicked and pushed me away. In hospital I begged for help, but the midwives were busy (and mean) and ignored me. They thought I was worried my boob was blocking his nose, but that wasn't what I meant. At home, he still wasn't feeding. I rang the midwives for help; no one came. Eventually one midwife told me I could get saline drops to clear his nose, but I'd have to get them prescribed by a doctor and as it was bank holiday weekend, I'd have to wait another few days. By the time I discovered we could buy the drops from Boots for less than £2, it was too late. Thing One was badly dehydrated, my milk had dried up and he was admitted to hospital where he was fed through a tube down his nose.
It was horrible.
Knowing what I know now, I think if he'd had some formula in hospital, he'd have been stronger and able to suck better from the breast. The midwives offered me formula but didn't explain he'd have had it from a sippy cup (in fact, I didn't find this out until eight months later!) and I thought he wouldn't be able to suck from a bottle either.
Anyway, when I was pregnant with Thing Two, I wanted to try breastfeeding again, but I was more realistic this time. I armed myself with bottles and a couple of cartons of formula, just in case.
But six months on, I've not opened the formula. I can't say it's been a breeze - the first few weeks of agonising cracked nipples and non-stop feeding weren't much fun. It's been hard being the only one who can feed him and there have been a couple of times when I've wanted to go out alone for more than three hours. But compared with endless sterilising and making up feeds, and cramming the changing bag with little pots of formula and bottles of boiled water, it's been easy.
I also love the fact that breastfeeding forces me to sit down for a cuddle regularly. My favourite time of the day is the bedtime feed when a sleepy Thing Two and I snuggle up on our bed for a feed without the distractions of Thing One!
But, despite all this, I HATE HATE HATE the pro-breastfeeding lobby. The self-styled 'lactivists' (even the word makes me want to puke). I know how hard breastfeeding can be and I'd never judge anyone for giving up (though I do think everyone should try if they can -it's so much easier!). I hate all the misinformation ("it doesn't hurt if you're doing it properly" - er, yeah it does. At first) and scaremongering ("if you give your baby any formula you'll ruin your milk supply" - rubbish, sometimes babies just need a bit of a boost). And I hate the fact that it's so dependent on the help you get. My midwives this time round (at the PRU hospital in Farnborough) were absolutely brilliant. I'm sure I've lasted this long because of the help they gave me in those first days.
And now I have to stop, as I left the room for a minute, to put Thing Two down for his nap, and Thing One used the time I was away to pull all the keys off my laptop. So typing proving tricky, and I must go.
Thursday 29 July 2010
Search and destroy!
Yesterday, I went for a walk with Thing One (we call our three-year-old son Thing One because of his love of The Cat in the Hat by Dr Seuss. His baby brother is Thing Two). The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day.
As we walked we saw a big Cabbage White butterfly fluttering in a front garden. Thing One stopped, his little face lit up with wonder.
"Look Mummy!" he shouted. "A buffertye!"
He looked so sweet, gazing at the butterfly and trying hard to get the word right, that my heart ached with love for him.
Then he picked up a stick.
"Let's kill it!" he yelled. "Aaaaaaaargh!"
And so welcome to the world of a three-year-old boy. Destruction, mainly.
We can spend an hour putting together his (very complicated, by the way, although somehow Daddy finds it easy) train set. Then I'll turn my back for a second and it's in pieces once more. Even his favourite toys don't escape. As I write, Buzz Lightyear is lying at my feet, facedown on the carpet, his helmet discarded and his wings wobbly. He even takes apart his lunch; peeling the pastry from sausage rolls and the filling from sandwiches.
I guess it's part of learning how the world works. He wants to know how things fit together so he takes them apart. Violently.
It's interesting also, that possibly it's a gender thing. Men seem to have a primal urge to take things to pieces and apparently it starts early. I, on the other hand, would rather things stayed as they are.
I guess it's just another thing to get used to, living as I do, with one man and two little boys. And so I resign myself to picking up bits of train track. It'll be worth it in the end when Thing One and Thing Two are older and can mend stuff!
As we walked we saw a big Cabbage White butterfly fluttering in a front garden. Thing One stopped, his little face lit up with wonder.
"Look Mummy!" he shouted. "A buffertye!"
He looked so sweet, gazing at the butterfly and trying hard to get the word right, that my heart ached with love for him.
Then he picked up a stick.
"Let's kill it!" he yelled. "Aaaaaaaargh!"
And so welcome to the world of a three-year-old boy. Destruction, mainly.
We can spend an hour putting together his (very complicated, by the way, although somehow Daddy finds it easy) train set. Then I'll turn my back for a second and it's in pieces once more. Even his favourite toys don't escape. As I write, Buzz Lightyear is lying at my feet, facedown on the carpet, his helmet discarded and his wings wobbly. He even takes apart his lunch; peeling the pastry from sausage rolls and the filling from sandwiches.
I guess it's part of learning how the world works. He wants to know how things fit together so he takes them apart. Violently.
It's interesting also, that possibly it's a gender thing. Men seem to have a primal urge to take things to pieces and apparently it starts early. I, on the other hand, would rather things stayed as they are.
I guess it's just another thing to get used to, living as I do, with one man and two little boys. And so I resign myself to picking up bits of train track. It'll be worth it in the end when Thing One and Thing Two are older and can mend stuff!
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