Changes changes changes

As Baby Girl OC has moved into the second 6 months of her first year I cannot believe how quickly she is growing and changing before our eyes. All of sudden I feel I can’t quite keep up! Not just because she’s my little baby that’s turning into a big baby and will soon enough be a toddler, but also because I realise that time has snuck up on me and my postnatal progress too.

There was something that changed on me before I expecting it and that was for bubby to stop breastfeeding. When I had her I had no major expectations around being able to breastfeed her. I knew I wanted to breastfeed and that it was my preference, but I had prepared myself in case the situation should arise where I couldn’t do so. Luckily I got my wish and we settled into breastfeeding just fine.

I had always said if we successfully breastfed that I would do so until she was a year old. At 6 months she had to start daycare and I returned to work a couple of weeks later. My supply had actually dropped a fair amount and so it seemed totally feasible to drop down to morning and possibly evening feeds and the rest of the day she would get formula supplied by her daycare. However, 2 weeks later, not long after her first two teeth came through, she was messing around more than usual on the boob. She didn’t even really feed. A couple of days later I gave up the fight. She hasn’t looked back, she was clearly ready to move on… she’s never once indicated she wanted or needed it since. For a day or so, I felt strange… but I really tried very hard not to let it get to me. I was proud of the 6 months we’d done and happy that she was happy. That was all that mattered.

I didn’t realise quite how deflated my boobs would become once my milk went away though. At first I just figured I was just used to having my pregnant and milk heavy boobs. But no, the continues to deflate like a balloon a week after the party finished. It’s quite sad. I tried on a push up bra and my boobs just kind of wobbled uselessly around in them like some soggy old dishclothes in a washing machine. Ahhh boobs. I miss you.

Yes. Sadly, one of the other things I knew would change was my body, but I wasn’t aware to what extent.

In the third trimester of pregnancy I realised I was getting BIG… and I also had to stop training. I was finding that with long days of work and commuting I was too exhausted to also fit in training. I don’t regret that decision. By the time I was about 35 weeks I was struggling to walk up my driveway (it is really steep) or down the road to the bus stop. But that decision undoubtedly affected my fitness or lack thereof. What also didn’t help was my ‘no food is off limits’  – I guess I felt that after years of watching what I eat, this was my chance to not give a monkeys for a few weeks.

And also, I was like… REALLY hungry.

Although, another reason my body changed is because I chose not to do any running from the minute I found out I was pregnant. I know some people run in pregnancy but I am in my mid-thirties and I had wanted to be pregnant for some time – we weren’t actively trying for more than about three months, but we hadn’t ‘not tried’ for ages prior. I didn’t want to jeopardise anything in those delicate early weeks, and by the time I reached the second trimester I was having huge pain in my hips and pelvis. This passed by the later end of the second trimester but by then I felt too big and it had been many months since my last run. Prior to that I would run 4-5 times a week.

I continued to get a lot of pain from one hip in particular and by the time I had baby girl I knew my body was pretty buggered. I had a good pregnancy, but it definitely took its toll on my body. My legs, which had been like tree trunks for 3-4 months (with massive fluid retention), returned to normal, but I had to get to the physio for my hip and abs (just two fingers of separation which isn’t too bad).

And a big wobbly spare tyre around my waist.

Soooo….

I knew when I returned to training it was not going to be an easy journey.

Moreover, trying to work out when to do things for myself is difficult enough. I run a bookclub and just about manage to read the book each month. I go to bed really early because my days are FULL ON.

You see, I think by the time you reach my age you know who you are and what works for you from a motivational perspective. Or you know what WON’T work anyways. For example, I know that I don’t (ok… rarely ever) turn up to any training that happens in the evening. I HAVE to train in the morning, the minute I get up, before I have the chance to make excuses or get weighed down by all the other things I have to do. What’s more, it totally sets me up for the day. Ok, it also usually means I find it hard to get up and down out of my seat, and/or run for the bus, but MENTALLY speaking… it sorts me the heck out.

So that’s all well and good but I am with my baby girl in the mornings so how do I train? Mr OC goes to work for 6am so I am with her in the morning and he collects her from daycare in the evening. Then once a week I am off work with her, and once a week he is off work with her. So that leaves the weekends and the day he is off spare for me to train. As such… I eventually gave myself a kick up the bum and said to myself – it IS do-able, you CAN fit it in, there ARE options and ways to do these things. You’ve simply got to just bloody do it.

Start. Somewhere.

And this followed weeks of agonising over whether I went to the gym at lunch (tried a weeks’ free trial – hated it. Prefer being outdoors). You see the gym never worked for me on its own as a training mechanisms before so I figured that trying to start something new or that hadn’t worked in the past was possibly the worst way to get back into my fitness regime. I realised I’d have to go back to the thing that worked best, the familiar and successful methods I’d used in the past.

So I contacted my old trainer and she slotted me in and by the end of the week I was doing 2 days a week. This is a great place to start!

And don’t get me wrong. I was nervous heading back. I knew I was out of shape. What I hadn’t anticipated was how uncoordinated I’d be. And how it would take me a few weeks to just remember how some simple moves and postures. Or to understand and follow instructions that previously were like second nature. I felt like a complete fool in the first boxing session I did. It didn’t help that I had to bring Little Miss OC with me to that session as Mr OC works some Saturdays. I kept stuffing up the routines and asking my partner what we were supposed to be doing. And then I would have to break off to get to bubby as she was upset or trying to eat mud or something….

Yep… it hasn’t been easy on my body or my mind but I’m sticking at it. Because every time I see an old pic of myself I don’t see what I looked like as much as someone who was less anxious, more positive – exercise really helps my mind go to a good place. And regular, routine training keeps me in a healthy place physically and mentally.
Before I got quite fit I was often sick with colds. These colds nearly always turned to sinusitis. These bouts all but disappeared for the 3 years prior to having Baby girl. And a decent run of killer sinus trouble – the kind where your head feels like it might pop and your eyes hurt behind the socket… for days on end – really cemented the need to be strong and fit again.

But it’s a journey. It’s not going to be an easy one, and I will stumble my way through it, most likely. What’s more, it’s weird and emotional adjusting to a different body and a different mind with which to achieve the things I want. But I have goals and I am lining up to kick them and it all feels pretty darn nice.

Now follows some motivational pictures of me when I used to run a lot. Haha!

What changes did you find hard as you approached the end of your first year after pregnancy?

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Switching off

Is it me or does it suddenly get much harder to read the news when you’re a mum?

Or read a book.

Or watch a film.

And I don’t mean because the small humans prevent us from doing so…

Though that is also an issue.

It’s more that since I’ve had baby girl OC, and even prior to that, when I was pregnant with her, I have suddenly found anything involving small children or babies, or even a mother daughter/father daughter relationship more gut wrenching than ever before.

It all started when we were re-watching all of Game of Thrones. You know how Craster kills off all the babies who are not girls – or rather he leaves them to the White Walkers as a sacrifice so that they leave him be, and he can continue to have sex with his daughters, keeping only the girl babies (for more sexy times) and getting rid of the boy babies who, of course, would be a threat to his nice little set-up. You didn’t know this? Ok, well so you don’t think I’ve finally lost the plot, you can read about this guy here:

http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Craster

Anyway, the point is, there are two scenes which involve leaving a crying newborn baby in the cold, snowy and dark forest, all alone. Never has a tiny baby looked so defenceless – so innocent and undeserving of the cruel world into which it’s been born. Never has tv been so upsetting.

Until the scene with Walda Bolton (nee Frey) when she and her newborn baby (the heir to the Bolton empire) are torn to pieces by rabid dogs that evil Ramsey Bolton sets on them.

It’s honestly a great show.

Really.

But that was just the start. That was when I suddenly realised I couldn’t even physically bring myself to watch these scenes (that I’d actually seen before), but that now forced me to walk out the room and try to hold my shit together.

Unfortunately reality doesn’t give me much of a break either. A couple of months ago it was the story of the baby whose life was tragically taken in the pedestrian/car accident in Melbourne. And in the last week we have had to read about the mother who tried to kill her sons in the Murray River. It’s all so heartbreaking.

Honestly, I now can’t go near an article or book if it is going to take about child abuse. I always knew my mum was unable to read or watch anything that had that in the storyline and I always felt she was very sensitive. I understood her feelings, but it didn’t affect me like it did her.

And now I am totally on the same page. It sucks really that I had to become a parent to be able to truly feel a strong adversity to these atrocities, but at the same time it plainly just sucks (understatement of the century) that these things can possibly happen to innocent children. They of all people should be free from such monstrous goings-on. Once you’re a parent, if you weren’t already massively upset about these things you probably will be before long.

Last night I was chatting with one of my best mates whose son is 3.5 months older than Little Miss OC, she was saying she was watching a documentary on Dunblane but had had to turn it off. She wouldn’t even tell me what channel it was on. And she was right to do so. We would have both had nightmares if we had watched it.

Which got me to thinking. Surely the worst pain anyone can feel is to be a parent that loses a child? There is no measure of grief. But never has it been so clear to me what it is to love so unconditionally. To feel like a being is an extension of you. To know that what hurts that child hurts you. And if anything were to happen to her that it doesn’t even bear thinking of.

I have a friend who lost her daughter when she was about two years old. It is something for which you cannot really comfort her. Words and actions might show love and support to her and her family… but we have talked about how that grief doesn’t ever go away. It’s been ten years since the little girl passed but this year it affected me more than it has in the past – I felt even more helpless to take away pain for my friend, and I felt so upset in my commemoration of this tiny life lost. I knew it wasn’t about me, but as we let balloons into the sky for her, as is done each year, I couldn’t help but look at my lovely little girl and feel like my heart might explode in just considering what we were for there that day.

And apparently there’s no escaping from the tragedies of the world in a good book. Or at least, not in the ones I’ve recently been reading. We read The Light Between Oceans for Bookclub the month before lost. I’d already read it as a non-mum years ago but my now-mum friend read it and said “It’s not really the easiest read for new mums is it?!” And she’s right. The last month it was Big Little Lies. Now, this book is meant to be quite light-hearted but I still found it hard when Jane’s son Ziggy was crying and saying none of his kindergarten friends would play with him. Urgh. Ok ok. I get it. Kids are the greatest. Can you stop tugging at my heart please? And then this month, well Hannah Kent… you marvelled us all with Burial Rites and so I chose your new book The Good People. Poor unknowing me. It’s only mostly about a little handicapped boy in 1825 in rural Ireland where there was very poor understanding of things like Cerebal Palsy or any such affliction. This book damn near broke me. I shed some tears. It didn’t, in the end, take away from my enjoyment. But I sure felt some strong urges to hide it under my pillow at times.

So, it seems, I’m way too sensitive, and new motherhood has merely put me at further risk. I could be brought to uncontrollable tears and yes I might occasionally be able to blame hormones or sleep deprivation. But the main cause of my newfound inability to cope with anything involving small children coming to any harm is down to that gorgeous little human known as my daughter. And I’m cool with that. Even if I have to stop reading the news and half of the tv shows.

What IWD means to me

 

Today is March 8th – International Women’s Day. I don’t think of myself as particularly feminist and yet I felt compelled to write something this year. And I don’t think that women’s rights have been at the forefront of my mind in ‘things I want to change in the world’.

Until recently.

I don’t know if it’s my age or the journey I’ve been on with pregnancy and new motherhood or that feminism seems (from where I’m sitting) to be becoming more and more commonly spoken of and with less of a negative spin. It’s probably a combination of all three. Plus I now have a daughter – so I feel concern over the world that I can help create for her.

If I were to pinpoint a time when I began finding more understanding of what it means to be a feminist it would probably be in pregnancy.

But let’s look a little further back than that. When I started my job I was the only female in my office. And coincidentally the eldest. We were a small office and I found that over the first couple of months my preference for organisation and cleanliness saw me doing little things like making sure the tea towels in the kitchen were laundered.

I soon realised my mistake as I started to be seen as the person who would take sole responsibility for such things. I was (affectionately I suppose) referred to as the mother hen. But what does that actually say? I’m pecking everyone into order? I’m mothering everyone. I think the connotation is double sided.

Over time we have more women in our office and over time I’ve learnt to respectfully encourage others to also to help with buying the office groceries (now mostly looked after by one of the guys in our team) – we don’t have anyone who actually looks after all these things so we have to share the load. And these days I think we do it well.

Similarly when I became pregnant I realised I was going to be the first in our Australian team to be pregnant, the first to take maternity leave. The first to deal with all the ‘interesting’ aspects of pregnancy – sitting uncomfortably, nausea, not lifting things, swollen feet/legs, hormones (hormones, and more hormones), fatigue and waddling around as I turned into the size of a house. And that wasn’t even mentioning the need to be absent to get to antenatal appointments and scans galore. Part of me felt like there were going to be no issues as everyone would be very understanding but part of me felt that all of these things wouldn’t work in my favour to be taken seriously as a manager at my level. Or that none of these things would help in understanding that I am equal to my male colleagues. I’m clearly not!

And this wondering was simply that – nothing outwardly said or done – just me attaching a stigma to myself, doubting my position… and all based on what I believed society had taught me to understand about the role of women and women in the workplace.

I continued to do this in the last month, in my return to work from maternity leave. I feel I am fighting really hard to prove I’m as good if not better at my job now. I don’t want there to be room for a doubt that because I have my brain on my daughter – did I sterilise her bottle or remember to pack her sun hat for daycare? I need to work on those slides this weekend so I need to remember to make sure Mr OC isn’t working on Sunday afternoon. I need to cook up some veggies for her dinners for the next few nights when I get home. I have to leave early to pick her up as hubby is held up or sick etc etc…

And I want to prove I don’t have to be in the office five days a week to do an excellent job. Because I’m simply amazing.

Simply exhausted more like.

But I don’t want to slip. I don’t want to leave an inch of room to be referred to in a way where it’s “well that’s ok, we don’t expect you to do that because you’re a mum/ you’re a woman so you are never going to be fully committed to your job in the way a man is”.

Is that right? I don’t know.

Or should I be saying – this is being a  woman? I can do it all. And maybe that is why we should be paid more than men. Not less.

What I do know is I’m trying to get to grips with the importance of feminism.

I was shocked and disgusted to hear that daycare workers (a predominantly female industry) were left with no option but to strike on IWD over low pay. These Cert III qualified educators are not paid as much as a Cert III qualified electrician. Why?! Why are we not paying them more?! The job they do is vital. They are being mum, dad, teacher and role model. The are nurturing and teaching our children while we go and do something else. To me they’re invaluable.

And this is another example of how poorly we support the post-natal path. Not only is it commonplace, around the globe, to offer poor paternity leave schemes and payments, making it very hard for parents to NOT return to work (regardless of their own wishes) and yet, we do a crap job of supporting the systems that enable these parents to be able to go back to the workplace – the child carers. It’s ridiculous.

Wasn’t it Joe Hockey who made the outrageous comment that if you want to afford a house in Sydney’s stupid housing market then all you need to do is make sure you get a ‘good job’.

Well, Mr Hockey, I would suggest these early childhood educators have a good job. And yet, they will not be able to afford a house in this market now or anytime in the future if things continue this way. And the same could be said for our nurses (and whole host of other jobs I am sure I’ve missed). All these people who we simply cannot function without as a society are working the longest hours, making the most difference to our future (our children, our health… ) and yet getting paid pittance for it.

Anyway, I’ve gone on for longer than I meant to and my bus is about to arrive in the city… I’m not taking a day off work today as many women will. But for my best girl friends and their daughters, my nieces, my stepdaughter, my daughter and for the future of the human race today and on going I will be bold for change.

Month 3 – the end of the fourth trimester

I remember in month three the feeling that if I kept going, with determination, I would soon graduate from my initiation course in motherhood. It is almost like a light and the end of the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel isn’t a tunnel because it’s being a new mum and that would be a bit of a gloomy metaphor. But nevertheless it’s a place where you definitely feel like things are another step easier. A step further along the pathway of learning about being a mum to that baby… and being a mum, period.

By the end of the  second month she’d had a huge growth spurt, she’d had a clingy phase and a developmental leap (google Wonder Weeks) and we lived to tell the tale. As we entered month three my confidence had grown even more. I had taken bubby into the city to my office to see my work friends. I had taken her to the hairdressers with me. So the next month was going to be even easier. Right?

Well yeah it kind of was.

One of the main things that had happened during month two, was that as a caesarean section mumma I had now waited out my 6 weeks and could drive again. My abdominals were slowly started to come back to life (albeit a life very far removed from the life before… picture a soggy sack of potatoes and you kind of get the idea), and I was no longer on painkillers. This meant that I was beginning to ‘do’ normal (ha!) life again.

It also meant that I was beginning to go places on my own with bubby in the car. The only trouble with that was that it meant having to deal with crazy car baby on my own. For the first four or so months of Baby OC’s life you just couldn’t take her anywhere in the car without her crying. Or rarely ever. The trick was to get going somewhere quickly, and to choose the route with the least traffic lights. Once you were ten minutes into the journey she would be asleep. And if you kept your journey time to under ninety minutes she would probably be fine – she might wake but the motion would send her back to sleep. But woe betide you if you hit traffic. She’d be awake within five minutes… and then the grizzling would start. And then this would scale up a notch to whimpering. And then full blown crying. And finally hysterics. Which on odd occasions would cry into sleep, but most times would just end in you giving up and pulling over to feed or just cry a bit yourself.

Oh, and never, never ever, take the child out in the car between 3-6pm. Just nope.

Ahhh I don’t miss the tension of car journeys back in those days. But I didn’t let it stop me – I was free! So I started visiting friends and family an hour or ninety minutes’ drive away and just tried to get through it the best I could. The trick was to feed before we left (and clean nappy), then hop in the car, get out of the area via the least traffic lights, keep the car in motion as much as possible, and ten minutes later a baby would sleep peacefully in the back.

But many, many good things started happening too. First up she started sometimes sleeping through at night. The witching hour of 4-6pm wasn’t so witchy and a bottle of formula at that time was really doing the trick for us all. And she actually started noticing and interacting with her toys which meant it was easier to leave her lying on her baby mat for a bit.

By this time too, the newborn clothes are all gone. So you get a whole new set of clothes and outfits to try. You might actually bother dressing baby in something other than a babygrow which I found so much fun.

Other fun things started happening with more frequency too. Like Baby OC started noticing her voice a little. She would coo to herself. She started to wake up without crying and instead would lie in her bassinet and just ooh and ahh to herself. This made me fall in love with her a whole chunk more. I think that’s what I fondly remember about this phase – it was beginning to occur to me that I was actually enjoying things – that this little girl was going to develop her own little personality. I started to understand that she and I would see and do so much together and I was so glad I had all that to look forward to. I realised it was going to be an exciting journey, and that all the hard slog of a newborn was going to be totally worth it.

I’m trying to be really honest about the newborn phase, by the way. I know some people relish those early days and weeks, and that they just love all the cuddling and holding. For me, I found it quite overwhelming to be so totally depended on. And don’t get me wrong, so many people would tell me how relaxed I looked and how I was taking it all in my stride. But on the outside while I was handling things…. on the inside I was almost certainly having a minor meltdown for the umpteenth time that day.

I can remember one particular stand out occasion that was possibly the worst ‘outside’ meltdown that baby girl ever had.I was undergoing a lot of physio to help with some hip problems that pregnancy had exacerbated, and also the strengthening of my abdominals. Most times I put these appointments in for times Mr OC wasn’t working but this one day he had to work and I’d missed my two previous appointments so I just decided to take her with me. On any other day, she would have no doubt been fine, but that day for no particular reason it just wasn’t meant to be. She fell asleep in the ten minute drive over to the physio, and didn’t take kindly to being woken up at the other end. And it just spiralled from there. She was inconsolable – wouldn’t even feed. She went up a notch, then another, then another until she was just hysterical and nothing could calm her. This went on for the entire (fretful) appointment. I don’t remember a thing my physio told me, god love her. I couldn’t focus on anything. Except the damn screaming. And my physio tried to help (while I had acupuncture needles in my hip she went off with the pram and tried to rock her to sleep) but nothing worked. Finally, at the end of the appointment, as I went to the counter to pay and book in again, there was the next client there waiting – a lovely young mum – and my physio said to her “[name] do you remember these days” (or words to that affect). And the lady just said “Here let me hold for a minute while you settle up” and took her from my arms. Well, bugger me, that child just stopped. Just like that.

Man oh man. I couldn’t decide whether I was fuming or just so relieved. I settled on the latter and took her off for a long drive, followed by a walk by the ocean in her carrier. She slept the whole time.

So yeah. I have already spoken about mourning my ‘old life’ lost, but I think that as you come to the end of the fourth trimester, you start to glimpse where those elements of your life are going to come back, even though it will be in a slightly altered form. And if she did go nuts, then she went nuts. Normally feeding solved it. On the odd occasion (I can count on one hand) it was just hysterics and no stopping her!

And I think getting out and about and visiting people was my way of getting a bit of me back. Not to mention the fact, I’m a big advocate for keeping yourself out of the house for part of the day, every day, when baby is so young. It’s very easy to find it too hard to get out the door, but every day I made sure to try. Except one day a week which would be our sofa day. On that day, whatever happened, happened. I couldn’t have allowed myself to be trapped in the house. I think it would have slowly killed me.

 

 

Month 2 with a newborn

If you read my last blog you’ll know that I’m working my way through my experiences in the first six months of my baby girl’s life. I am just starting back at work and she has just started daycare, so things are sort of getting a routine about them… life will never be normal again, don’t get me wrong… but I like a bit of order amongst the chaos and there is definitely more order now. And certainly some free hours for me whilst she trials daycare and before I head back to the office… so what better time to get back into the blog. 

One thing I forgot to mention in my last blog was this weird feeling I had about basically just wishing Baby OC was back in my womb. Not because I didn’t want her, or didn’t love her – but because I felt bad that she would basically be so overwhelmed by this new world when her world for nine previous months had been so much less complex and all she was used to. I remember playing her womb sounds to try to get her to sleep when I wanted her to sleep – and, like everything, it worked like a dream the first few times but then things changed. Like they always change, and then change again, and again… just when you think you know how to solve something.

Anyway, these womb sounds made me cry the first time  – obviously because I was really hormonal, yet, I just felt sad that she was no longer in her safe place and that she probably really missed it.

And, similarly, when my mum left after two weeks, to fly back to the UK, I felt sick to my stomach – partly because I was going to miss her so much as she’d been with us solidly for a month, but also I was unsure how I’d cope on my own with bub and trying to get things done at home. I had been in a safe place and I knew the tough bit was coming but it doesn’t make it easier. I also had Mr OC’s mum around too – which was nice. But deep down I wanted to be able to cope on my own. I wanted to get  to grips with things. I wanted to take control again.

Month 2

Although we’re still in the fourth trimester (the transition period for baby between womb and outside world where they are adapting to the new lifestyle), I felt braver, stronger (physically and mentally), and also started to see a few rewards instead of constantly feeling like a milk machine whose heart is completely lost to a small being that can only love you back in a most basic way.

Some people love that helplessness of the newborn baby. I found it hard. I found I was looking forward to her developing  a smile and interacting with me. So when that started to happen in month two I felt like the hard slog of the first six weeks was finally totally worth it.

By month two you’re starting to get the hang of things that are back up plans when it’s just all ‘nope, baby doesn’t want to do that’ – because let’s face it, you’re no longer in charge: your child is. For example, I would learn that on the days she didn’t want to be put on the floor, or in her bouncer , or the pram, or her bassinet or anywhere except on me to just go with it. I’d do what I could with her in a baby sling/wrap (advice to all new parents – get one. In fact, get two for when one’s in the wash), and when she slept I let her sleep on me and just chilled out with a book or watching TV. It was the days I’d be fighting to get things done that hurt more. If I was able to drop it and just accept that she was having a developmental leap or a day when she needed more physical contact then that’s OK.

I think that was the main lesson of month two – acceptance. Acceptance that just when I think I know what she wants or how to handle a situation, she’ll change. Acceptance that it’s OK if things don’t get done in the order we used to do them in… if at all. Acceptance that if I just relax a bit, everything will be OK.

And it was.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still learning that I can’t just leave the house. I can guarantee you even if you’re super organised there will be a pooey nappy just as you’re about to walk out the door!

The other thing that started happening in month 2 was that we started to realise Little Miss OC was never going to take a dummy. Which at the time used to drive me scatty. I’d constantly wish she would in her unsettled periods or when she just wanted to get on the boob for comfort alone so I’d be tied to her for hours on end and exhausted as result. But to be honest it turned out to be a good thing in the end as I now don’t have to worry about weaning her off it!

I also started expressing my morning milk and Daddy would give a bottle in the evening which meant I could be free to do dinner and have a break after a long day and he got bonding time. We had also read that my milk would be better quality in the morning and overnight so it was nice for her to have that milk and might help settle her in the evening. It sometimes worked… eventually around 2-3 months we switched to a bottle of formula before bed which definitely worked!

For the first six weeks of her life she didn’t much like baths so we would just shower her with us. Which in hindsight is so strange because she is such a waterbaby now. And this is exactly what I mean about how everything changes all the time. 

Month two they are still in this precarious fourth trimester but confidence grows on your part as a parent and also you start to see rewards for the hard slog. You will also start to see them grow out of their first clothes and realised how quickly this time is going to fly by. Precious moments to be savoured mixed with moments of feeling completely helpless as they still won’t settle for the night! It all passes… 

Heigh ho, heigh ho…

… it’s off to work I go. 

I’m in the midst of writing the follow up months after the first month to the sixth month but I wanted to pen a quick blog. I feel like today is such a momentous day. I’m full of emotion.

I’m sat on my usual bus to work. I was walking to the bus stop at the end of my road having driven Baby OC to daycare. Everything went to plan. It’s been so hot that we have all had very little sleep for the last few nights but apart from that all was as hoped. 

It’s not her first day, she’s been a few times and she really does love it. She sleeps better there, she eats well (they tell me every time I pick her up how much she ate and what a good eater she is) and she sometimes seems downright excited to be there. So I don’t have to worry about that, right? Try telling yourself that as you drop your child off. I find myself looking so hard at her – is she sad, is she thinking “oh no not this place again”?

And it doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilt. I feel guilty that someone is looking after my baby. I feel guilty that I had to get ready this morning instead of stopping to play with her. I feel guilty that when I am on my own it’s actually quite nice and I enjoy it. 

As I sat at the bus stop in the ridiculous morning heat, I realised the last time I sat here she was in my tummy. That when she was in my tummy she went everywhere with me. And now I feel a chunk of me is missing. 

I feel nostalgic about being pregnant. I feel how strange it must have been to have neither pregnancy nor my daughter in the world – what did I do? What were my days for? And yet, that’s partly why I’m heading back to work – other than financial aspects, I need something other than being a mum in my life. 

When you become a mum your previous you becomes buried beneath the nurturer, the carer, the provider of food, the entertainer. But she’s still in there somewhere and for me she was quietly asking if there was space for her in my life again. And I consented, yes there was. 

I admire any mum who can stay at home and be everything to their child. I admire any mother who can let a little bit of their soul get left behind every day when they drop off their kid and head off to work. Neither are easy. 

It’s going to be tiring and hard adjusting to sleepless nights and long days. Adjusting to the fact that when I get back from my commute I’m going to only have an hour of time at the maximum with my baby girl before she is off to bed. And in that time I’m going to be running around getting dinner and sorting laundry. Adjusting to the fact that instead of doing my day job in five working days a week I will have to be way more productive and do it all in four days instead. Adjusting to letting go of the reins and letting the carers at daycare and her daddy take some of the load. 

It’s going to be an interesting time. Wish me luck. 

Six months later… the story of the first month

Hello everyone. Did you miss me?

I’ve been kind of busy doing this mum thing and believe it or not, our little Jellybean is almost 6 months old. Yep. It’s six months since I last was blogging… moaning away about how I was over pregnancy and just wanted to meet our baby girl. And just a few days later along she came. Baby OC.

The last 6 months have been a rollercoaster. Where do I even start? I think if I could sum it up I’d put it like this: Motherhood is THE Hardest. Job. In the world.

Also… the MOST. Rewarding. Job. In the world.

I’m going to try and break it down month by month in a summary of the experiences and emotions I’ve had. This first blog will feature Month 1.

Month 1  – 

Labour was long… and, I’m not going to lie, painful. Those of you who haven’t done it, shouldn’t let that put you off – there is also a feeling of great empowerment and amazement that comes with it. The first part of my labour was exactly as I’d wanted – natural, relaxed and I can recall most of it. The second part was excruciating, fearful, foggy and seemed to last a lifetime. I’ll try and do a blog devoted to the birth story another time – but suffice to say I ended up in emergency C Section – which looking back I’m quite sad about but at the time I was totally fine with. When they decided I had to go into surgery I was just impatient for it all to be over and hold my baby girl.So when she eventually came out I felt like the happiest person on the planet.

Admittedly I also felt like the most drugged out of their head person…

In those initial days we felt elated. It was the most amazing thing that had happened to us – you feel like you’re the only people to have ever experienced this feeling while at the same time also knowing you’ve joined the club of people who can ONLY know how this feels as they’ve also had their own children.

You really feel the love in those early days – between husband and wife for this amazing creature you created, between family for this new addition, between friends who are so happy for you. We had so many special people visit to meet her and while some people say having guests in those initial days is hard work, I felt totally the opposite: a) it’s a welcome distraction when you’re having a tough day  – someone else will hold the baby for a few minutes. And b) it makes you feel extra special.

And in the early days the sleep deprivation matters not. Firstly because you’re still on a natural, biologically invented for the occasion, high. Secondly, because you are both on parental leave.

By the end of the first week I remember Mr OC having cabin fever and me starting to cry because I couldn’t have  cuddles with Maxy (one of our cats) that I used to have. The overwhelming change to your life starts to become noticeable in the smallest and shittiest of ways. And it’s at that point that you often get those “Shit, what did I do” feelings as it dawns on you all the things you have lost in gaining a beautiful baby. Namely for me, my freedom, my body which (despite having evacuated the small human that had taken over it for the last 9 months) was still feeling the effects pregnancy and of course, birth. You bleed and bleed and bleed. Your boobs hurt and all you are is basically a cow to your baby – a milk machine sponsored by ‘No Sleep Inc.’

The midwives are all over you in these first few days, and while this is fun at first (I love to be the patient), this soon fades away when you’re suddenly under pressure to make your baby put on weight, produce this many wet nappies, ensure baby will latch on properly, reduce jaundice, oh and that’s all while you try to eat, sleep and recover from a major surgical procedure. And they’re all on the watch out for you getting PND (post natal depression) and they give you advice like “try to watch the news” or “sleep when the baby sleeps” but advice is coming at you from all angles in those early weeks and, man, it gets confusing.

The weird thing is, that newborns actually sleep LOTS – but this somehow doesn’t make those first few weeks any easier. Or not for me they didn’t. My prominent memories are struggling with hormones and learning to accept that my life had completely changed  – I come second and this tiny, helpless human is in charge.

For the first two weeks I had my mum here and I honestly don’t know how I’d have done it without her – especially having ended up in a Caesarean Section. I’m not one for shying away from what needs to be done but when you lose sensation in a part of your body, and you have a huge wound that needs to heal you pay attention when the doctors say, no lifting heavy things, no driving and generally take it easy for the first 6 weeks. 6 weeks! I remember one of the key things I was looking forward to at the end of my pregnancy was being able to get around normally again. Now, not only had I lost that, I couldn’t even drive! At least my legs and feet had shrunk back to normal size. Of course, my belly hadn’t. Still hasn’t. And my hip is still buggered from pregnancy. And my feet. Sigh.

Yet, every milestone – that first smile, the putting on of weight, the outgrowing those first babygrows – felt like an amazing step. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a lot of adjusting in those first few weeks, a lot of tears, a lot of lost sleep and anxiety. But there are also so many things that warm your heart to the very core of you. There’d have to be, or nature’s way would fail and you’d never have kids again. Seriously.

And I remember as she hit the 1 month mark that she started letting me put her down to sleep again. It was at that point I realised that nothing is permanent. She was happy to be put down when she first came out, and after she overcame her developmental milestones, she started to nap and be put down to sleep again. If I will take one thing, one note of advice into any future newborn baby dealings I have – it will be that you just keep trucking because just when you think you really, REALLY can’t take it anymore, things will suddenly change and get better. And something else will become your focus, and you will forget you were so hung up on wind, or colic, or naps, or putting baby down or whatever it might have been. Find a way to get through, get through it and come out the other side. Every time it’s feeling really bad repeat the mantra ‘This too shall pass’.

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Month 2 coming soon…

Waiting, waiting,waiting

So I’m officially overdue and everyone is officially making regular check ins either to see if they’ve won the baby pool or to make sure they’ve not missed me giving birth. Every time I have to tell someone “yep still pregnant” I feel like I’ve failed somehow.

Yesterday I was full of beans – positive energy was just bursting out of me. I just felt like nothing could stop me. I had the best time just having a good old boogie around the house to some of the cheesiest music I could find. Also went on the daily walk, followed by a round of acupuncture. But by nightfall I was still very pregnant. This morning I woke up just feeling despondent. 

And so all day it’s just been me on the verge of tears for no real reason. I’ve been out and about for the morning but spent the afternoon firmly planted in our recliner chair being waited on by mum and Mr OC. Oh and I had a good cry about not knowing what I wanted for dinner. 

I’m only 2 days overdue but it feels like eons. I’ve tried lots of baby inducing stuff. Tomorrow I’m off to buy some pineapple. And as I said to one of my best friends just before – just gotta keep on trucking! It seems silly that it’s getting me down, but I know it’s a common thing to feel, so I’m just going to do me some wallowing even though all the mums out there are screaming at me to enjoy it while it lasts. 

So, that’s how things stand. And here are some pics summing it up. 

Making it through the final stretch

Yippeeee  – I’m on maternity leave at last!!

So, lots of other mummas at this stage are fully launched into nesting (if they haven’t given birth already!) – me? I’m quite happy letting my husband and mum do the housework for me.

It’s an odd thing with me, the less I do, the less I actually feel like doing. Convincing myself to be productive is a hard task at the moment. Which is so strange for me – I don’t really DO lazy. But I’d say I’m bordering couch potato at the moment.

It doesn’t help that one way to motivate myself is exercise but even a 10 minute stroll (at a ridiculously snail like pace) is causing me grief.

Yet, it’s not like I’ve achieved nothing as I come to the end of my first week of maternity leave – I’ve caught up with several friends, baked muffins and brownies, cooked up soup and casserole, cleaned the house, kept up with the laundry, done the grocery shopping, and been to Centrelink – to name but a few things. I even had  a cold for a few days! But, there’s also been a lot of tv watching and several lay-ins… I’ve definitely been making sure I get the rest everyone keeps telling me I should be getting.

And, of course, everyone tells you to make the most of it. And I’m sure trying to, but when you can’t go too far or do too much that can be a little limiting. I guess I should make the most of being a couch potato – THAT I can do.

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You hear a lot of full term mummas bemoaning pregnancy and saying “I’m so over being pregnant”. I kind of feel that. But I’m not ‘over it’ per se… it’s more that I am over looking at myself in the mirror with this body. I’m over the fact that my body is not my own – it leaks, and it hurts, and trying to get comfortable is a marathon task. Not to mention getting out of horizontal position.

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I’m over the 2 or 3 outfits I’m limited to. I’m over feeling so frumpy I might as well wear a big brown sack. I am over not being able to reach my bikini line, legs or toes. And I’m over not even being able to go out for a walk to feel a bit less like a giant lump – I can barely get to the top of my steep drive without having a small heart attack. And if I pushed through it and did an entire walk – even if it was a ten minute one round the block – I’d be sore for a day afterwards.

Honestly, just doing the cleaning yesterday for a couple of hours I had such sore glutes for the rest of the day and over night that it was reminiscent of a big squat session at boot camp! If only, it worked to reduce the size of my arse, which is currently big enough to have its own postcode.

But I’m not OVER the pregnancy – I love being pregnant. I feel like I’m wearing a badge of honour and I just love the incredible feeling of having my little girl squirming and kicking away in my belly. It’s just so precious.

And I love how I feel a heck of lot freer to eat to my heart’s content. Slightly ignoring the fact that I am now akin to a woolly mammoth.

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I don’t like the fact I just can’t bring myself to drink that glass of delicious Pinot Noir.

Ahhh, pregnancy… maybe it’s time for you to be done.

But you know what else? The closer it looms to my due date (now 6 days away) the more I know that the inevitable (i.e.getting this small human out of my body) is going to happen any day… Let me just say that again. Any. Freakin’. Day.

Oh shit.

Am I ready for this?! I’m ready for being a mum…  as I can be… I’m well aware it’s going to be a shock to the system and turn my world upside down in a most stupendous, sleep-deprived, lose-my-mind kind of way. And up until a few days ago I didn’t think I was too worried about the actual birth. I’ve always known it was a scary but inevitable part of the whole process, and in some ways I think I wanted to prepare for it and look on it as something life-altering, maybe the hardest thing I’ve done, but ultimately something that I would be so proud and glad to have experienced by the end, when our little girl is finally with us.

But now, I’m kind of feeling trepidation. The more that I wait for the birth to come, the more I dwell on it – because there’s now nothing else between me and it. My mum arrived in Australia yesterday and it’s so great having her here. But that means that there are no more ‘occasions’ to be had prior to baby girl coming into this world. She can actually come now and I’m so very keen to just have her here. If only I could do it without having to go through childbirth!

I really don’t want to feel that way about it either – I said I wouldn’t. I always wanted to greet it as a challenge to be overcome, a mountain to climb and then say “I did that!” So I want to get out of that headspace and into the bring it ON headspace.

One thing I know for sure. I HATE waiting. Whether it’s waiting for something you want, or something you are unsure of… it’s waiting… and I can’t stand it!

39 weeks

Time, slow down… time, hurry up!

I’m 36 weeks tomorrow people! I’m nearly freakin’ full term. When the heck did that happen??

And right now I’d say apart from all the ends left untied at work, and the fact I want my lovely mum to get here first, I’d gladly put this pregnancy thing to a halt and meet my baby girl.

But…

A couple of weeks ago I was quite on the fence about it.

I wanted time to go quicker as I was over being sore. Although, more than that, I was getting fed up of not being able to do the things I would normally do. We were trying to finish up some home renos and the nursery before the baby shower and the arrival of MIL for a few days. Mr OC, the poor guy, was basically at the mercy of my instructions to hang this crap there, and fix this crap to that, while I tried to race around after him, passing the right wrong tools or marking up walls with pencil and tape measure.

Even doing useless, stupid jobs like that I was completely exhausted!

And then when hubby’s out I’ll still try and move beds or furniture and then realise what a bad idea it was as I feel a big click somewhere in the region between my butt and my lower back.

Then there is the flip side when the time can’t go fast enough. As I look at the couple of weeks I have left of work and I get so excited that in a few days I won’t be in the same old routine I’ve been doing for years. Not to mention I’m counting down the days to when my own mumma arrives.

And yet, at that same time, I’m panicking a little because I have so much left to cover off at work before I head out the door. I’m supposed to be handing over to my assistant and it seems like an impossible task. How do you instruct someone all the ins and outs of how you do your job, how and why you’ve developed the processes you have, let alone pass along knowledge of how to develops the creatives that the job requires?

But when I was at antenatal class the week before last and we were practising putting on nappies and swaddling dolls I suddenly felt so desperate to hold our little girl for the first time and play with those little feet and hands that you can feel but can’t get to. It was such a strong yearning that it kind of shocked me.

Over the last few weeks I have definitely wished time to slow down because I know that all of a sudden I won’t be pregnant anymore, and I almost can’t remember what it feels like not to be pregnant or to have that special, invisible badge of honour that seems to come with it. I love being part of the pregnancy club. Plus I get feelings that I haven’t sung enough to her in the womb, or that I need to spend more time nurturing her in there.

But then I see a pic of my pre-pregnancy body and I think “heck yes, get my some of that please!”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit scared about what’s coming next. And I want more time to treasure feeling her moving around my tummy, and feeling that special feeling that you can only get from being a pregnant mumma.

But at the same time – it’ll be nice to be able to walk with speed to get somewhere. To get into the car, or bed, or up the driveway without feeling like some ancient elephant that is about to have a heart attack. It’d be nice to not feel like such a big frump. It’d be nice to see my bikini line. It’d be nice to remember that my legs weren’t always tree trunks and my ankles had quite good definition. It’d be really nice to feel asthough I actually am an attractive, fully operational human being and not just a carrier of a small life form.

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