Thursday, 27 June 2013

From a Mother to a Son (1)

Dear Son,

You have no idea how you have fundamentally changed two lives so dramatically.

Your primary means of communication seems to be screaming and crying, such noise to come from such a small body, its incredible!

Your Daddy and Mummy are completely in love with you and how quickly you are getting to grips with how to wrap us around your little delicate finger to your every whim.

Today you are 9 weeks and 5 days old.

You are flirting with all the ladies- but only occasionally with your Mummy- and have made lots of baby friends who it seems you are starting to recognise and are making new gurgles and giggles and squeaks and shrieks at. And them with you!

Its the most beautiful thing to watch.

When you fall asleep in my arms my heart over flows at those long peaceful lashes and I marvel that you are here at all.

What is it you dream of baby boy? When you whimper and cry or a slow steady smile creeps across that innocent face.

You have fought for space in me and while this meant a week in hospital on pain relief for me you won.

And when it came to making your arrival you took your own sweet time.

12 days late and 25 hours worth of co-operation between us and the wonderful team at Edinburgh Royal to get you here. And boy did you make your arrival known- a broken collar bone, through no choice of any of us (the Edinburgh team, me, your Daddy or you) and a couple of nights in Baby Spa. Or as it is known to the experts - High Dependency.

Your farts are something else though.

Where is this coming from?! Your timing is to the highest of comedic standards- for example very loudly during a seriously sad and momentous moment in Baby Cinema movie which even made Mummy's friend laugh because it was so loud. She made no comment about the smell that slowly arose from your peachy wee bum moments later, but I am sure a wee tear appeared in the corner of her eye (possibly not laughter related).

There is not one thing your Daddy and I wont do for you; to keep you safe and secure and happy, so that you grow into a confident young man that makes us proud every day and is a joy for us and others to know...  you might be there already.

We will do this every day of your life little one. This will not change, I promise. We will always be there for you.

You are my angel.

Love Always
Your Mummy

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

One of my favourite things by Son

I like buses.

My current set of hot wheels doubles as my pram and moses basket. Mummy says this is a fantastic and clever idea.

I don't think it is.

I like to sleep in my moses basket and get confused when Mummy wraps me up and puts me in bed.

If we are going on an adventure there is no way I am going to sleep through it. Those Sleep Ninja's can forget it.

But I get really cross at the idea time might be getting wasted and I might not be achieving by being put to my bed in the morning or middle of the day. Mummy says I get this from Daddy.

While I am getting good at holding my head up and can stand (with a bit of help from Mummy & Daddy) I can only really wave my arms around and scream and cry. So I do all three as loudly as I can to fight the sleep ninjas and make sure Mummy knows about my displeasure about being in my bed but outside at the same time- what is she after, Sleeps or not Sleeps?

The problem is Mummy doesn't always get me on the bus when I am doing battle. She walks to the next stop and the next one and the one after that until I "calm down" or the Sleep Ninja's get me. Damn her.

Once I am on the bus though its ace.

If I time it properly and start the screaming and crying routine when we are on the bus and it is moving then Mummy is very quick to lift me out and let me look around.

I am BRILLIANT at holding my head up and keeping my legs straight for AGES!!

It is great.

My favourite thing No. 1.

I like best of all to stare at old ladies.

Beyond what Mummy says is "socially acceptable". Apparently once they have said how nice I look and what lovely big eyes I have I should move onto the next pensioner or cuddle into Mummy and pretend to be shy. I think they can say more to Mummy about how wonderful I am.

So I keep staring.

I like the colourful seats. My favourite bus has red, blue and brown tartan seats. That is a lot of colour to look at.

I like it when Mummy sits me so I am facing forward and can look out of the front window. Its like being in Baby Cinema but better because there are cars, lights, trees, people getting on and people getting off.

There is so much to look at.

It's definitely the best.

Friday, 21 June 2013

Feed me Seymour, Feed me NOW!!

Son and I ventured into work today to introduce him to all the kind friends and colleagues who had signed cards and spent time shopping for many lovely gifts for him (and his Mummy).

I am currently living my life in a series of 2 hour chunks. This is key to how the rest of our day panned out!

At 11am he'd been fed and was sleeping in the car seat and I figured that we had till 1pm before it would be time to find a quiet corner and feed, burp, mop up the throw up, soothe and settle Son. We were going to be in the office from 12-2pm. Lunch with Husband and then a tour around some familiar faces.

We didn't make it up to the team until 1pm so I already knew that I was on borrowed time and warned the smiling faces that we might have to make an abrupt exit. We unfortunately lost some time when he threw his 11am feed all over my top. . . so an emergency replacement had to be picked up on route to the office. We made it into the office for 12:30pm and after lunch we were with the team at 1pm. . .

You could wipe the tension off of my forehead. You see during the day Son can go from 0 to 100 in terms of fury over an empty or suspected empty stomach and its very much a case of find a space and plug him in ASAP. At night though I seem to be able to get to him before he is awake enough to realise he is starving and we fill him and and settle him down again with very little throw up and his eyes remain shut through out.

He was, as is becoming a bit of a pattern these days, a wee saint sensing my tension he behaves impeccably!

Smiles and giggles and batting the lashes for all the girls. A right wee charmer.

When The Boss arrived I introduced Son and prayed quietly that he wouldn't fart really loudly (and smellily) in front of him or projectile puke at his suit. He did however accept Boss' compliments graciously but was not prepared to grip his finger. Well you can only ask so much of an 8 week old.

Having met my team we went to find Husband and say hello and thank you to his team (it is by chance rather than design that Husband and I work for the same company, in the same office, on the same floor, in the same wing and in eye line of each other- we do not and will not work together, by design!). He met 2 of Husbands work colleagues before losing his cool.

Doing our Usain Bolt impressions we (Son and I) sprinted for the exit*, the lift and into a baby changing disabled loo. For a feed.

Welcome to my rant.

1. Disabled loos should have lids, shouldn't they?! I had to sit on a toilet seat with no lid and feed Son. Not very relaxing in this context in another, where my jeans and pants are around my ankles and I am in there for entirely different purposes, I know this to be a more relaxing proposition.

2. Baby changing rooms, while spacious, should always have a toilet in there. In a near by shopping centre I popped into the Baby Change room where we had a more challenging post feed experience but I will come onto that in a moment.
     If I need the loo what am I meant to do with Son and his Wicked Wheels?! Leave him parked outside the cubicle and tend to my own needs?! I'm think not, lord knows what trouble he might get into. So I have used the disabled loos and brought him in with me and we have sat awkwardly, while he looks at me curiously and I try not to look at him until we can both get out of there tout suite.

Later on today we killed some time at the aforementioned shopping centre before picking Husband up and heading for home during which time we had to tend to another feed. This one ended in a series of throw ups**, and I am not ashamed to say that by the time we'd finished I was in this locked Baby Change room in my under wear pacing around with a crying baby over my shoulder. Thats right I am not ashamed I just dont care.

As long as Son is calming down and feeding and I am not getting hot, flustered and stressed and that we are not doing this in the middle of a shop but in the privacy of a large locked room then where's the harm?!

The weather has been pretty muggy so off with the new top pre-feed.  I have already kicked off my pumps to cool my feet and hopefully cool down for this feeding session.

We sit down and feed.

Puke all over my Jeans- off with the jeans,

Now in my under-roos. Son is puking left right and centre. In an effort to keep track and not step my my bear feet into any of the wet freshly consumed boob juice I dropped a tissue over each little liquid parcel he threw over my shoulder.

He drifted off and I sat back down to ease off my back.

Sleep when your baby sleeps. This is the advice I hear time and time again. It is advice I am sick of to be honest. It only really works if you are at home or know when your child is about to drop off and can arrange to be at home for this reason.

We have no sense of any pattern of routine of behaviour during the day to be able to facilitate the latter. And neither Son or I are prepared to be held hostage in the flat by the sleep monsters. Me - praying they'll take him quickly and Him fighting them off with a rage. This afternoon he fought them and ultimately lost but not before he tried to pelt them with puke.

So I tried closing my eyes.

That's right this afternoon I was perched uncomfortably on a chair in an M&S Baby Change (one of the better changing facilities I have come across) in my underwear holding Son over my shoulder with my eyes closed trying to catch some z's.

It doesn't happen.
1. I am concerned about drifting off and dropping Son. A fear I have even when I am awake.
2. The chair is uncomfortable making sleep impossible.
3. The lights flick between bright and dim- presumably to prevent exhausted parents doing exactly what I was attempting.

We are both shattered but we make it to the end of the day without falling apart too much***and both being told either how well we look (me, despite the bags under my eyes) or gorgeous we are (him). We get home with smiles on all our faces. It is the weekend and we are all happy and together for 2 days before the week begins again!

*I know how frustrating it is to be in an office environment when someone brings in a baby which starts to scream and cry. Worse still if you are on an audio and trying to speak. Having been there myself, and grumbled about it, I am determined that we respect the fact this is an office and any sign of screaming or crying we exit. Quickly.

**The throwing up Son has been doing isn't too much of a concern as I don't think hes throwing up the whole feed and isn't running a temperature etc. We're on weight monitoring though to make sure he's getting big week by week! 

***Mainly me freaking out about his throwing up and him freaking out that he's not getting fed quickly enough. Breast Feeding on demand is like being at the mercy of a power crazed lunatic! 

Wednesday, 12 June 2013


I am braving the world of exclusive breast feeding.

Which does not mean that I am part of an exclusive club but rather that I've become a the human equivalent of Daisy the cow- whose primary function its to feed directly (via pluggin in Son) or indirectly (by plugging myself into the wall) pump enough milk to grow this tiny human baby boy.

I am not sure how long we were going to last because to begin with it's not been easy.

For any new Mummies out there or about to become new Mummies- do not feel pressured to do this and if you do decide to go down this road then don't get upset or worried if it doesn't work and you need to formula feed.

The key in all of this is that baby puts on weight and Mummy isn't in a permanent state of meltdown.

So what follows is purely my own experiences and I am not advocating one or another in terms of bulking up the tots. Do what is right for you.

Phew glad I got that disclaimer out of the way at the start!

The first 3/4 weeks of this has not been easy my any stretch of the nipple. Son seemed to know what he was doing, the issue lay with me. Getting it right and I almost didn't feel a thing. Getting it wrong and what do you know- its like getting your nipple slammed in a door. Repeatedly.

Cracked nipples.

What feels like bruising.

In short, agony like I have never experienced- in fact I would almost go the whole hog with an extreme waxing and find it less painful.

So I in an effort to swing the balance into consistent pain free feeds I went to a couple of breast feeding clinics and we have cracked it, pardon the pun, pain free with the help of some fantastic mid wives and new positions for baby and Mummy. Now I can pop him on the boob anytime however I am not sure we can go public yet.

Son was a big boy when he was born. He has a big appetite...

He gulps at the breast and at the bottle.
He squeaks at both.
He pulls himself off. Both. And cries as soon as he's parted from either.
He gasps and splutters at both.
He pulls away from the breast but keeps a firm grip of the nipple. He has a very solid bite. We both squeak when this happens.

Neither bottle or breast are going anywhere. We want to feed him. We want to build him up and help him grow.

So why does he insist on doing the My-Parents-Dont-Love-Me-And-They-Are-Constantly-Starving-Me routine?

The beauty of his feeding technique it that it allows for maximum ingestion of air resulting in spectacular bouts of wind- be it from either end. Huge loud man burps and farts that make his mothers (and fathers) eyes water.

I have no idea what to say should anyone remark on the noise and smell that my now 7 week old son produces. I think it would be far easier to take the blame myself because who could possibly believe that this tiny creature is capable of such smelly outputs??

Wednesday, 5 June 2013

Changing Challenges

On Tuesday after a tough session fighting the sleeps Son and I went into town to do a spot of shopping we were jointly tested with a feeding session vs. getting the bus home.

So, as a new Mummy I decided to take a stand or rather "go for it" and change Sons nappy, in the hope of a dirty one, and feed him. The alternative would have been to get the bus and sit for 20 minutes while he screamed in hunger and discomfort. Clearly not an option.

After battling with the pram through a heavy set of doors I popped into a well known American coffee shop bought a bottle of water in order to use their changing facilities guilt free. . .

What I didn't anticipate in this master plan was the homeless man who followed me in and who went - with his trolly of stuff- straight into the changing facilities I was about to use. So I waited, patiently, desperately needing the loo myself and anticipating the increasing restlessness of Son which in full blown scream mode can be difficult for even his obsessed mother to cope with.

He* left, presumably to explore what else the coffee shop had to offer, he certainly didn't get a cuppa while I was there- and also left his trolly. Blocking the ability for me to park my pram out of the way of the other customers. Or even try to bring it into the changing room with me. Argh.

I stormed ineffectively out of the coffee shop (hard to have a good storm when you are pushing a pram, carrying a changing bag and trying to one handed open a couple of heavy doors) and round the corner to a Pizza based restaurant and very cheekily ask to use their facilities without buying an actual meal. I was directed to the disabled loos. Had she said not unless I bought a meal, I might have started shouting about rights sat on the floor and popped a boob out right there and then!

There was no changing table but I wasn't about to come back out and point this out to the waitress.

Son was an angel, I quickly set him on the floor and changed him at lightening speed (it was a pee day and not a poop day!) then popped him on the boob. During which time, clearly relaxed he trumped and farted away while slurping and gulping and squeaking away at the boob.

His trumps are very grown up. By grown up I mean Adult like, to the point where I had visions of us leaving this toilet to be confronted by an actual disabled person waiting to get in and trying to explain that the lingering odour was not me but my 6 week old son and that no I wasn't disabled but this is where they had suggested I change my sons nappy. . . .

Thankfully no-one was there so we made a hasty exit!

*The homeless guy not Son.

Monday, 3 June 2013

The Adventures of Son

I am 6 weeks old.

I love sleeping on my Nanna and getting fed and cuddles from my Great Faither*.

I love surprising Mummy and Daddy with poops. I like to hang onto the poos and unleash them when they least suspect.

Feeding is one of my favourite things. I like to see how stretchy Mummies nipples are by my throwing my head back and keeping hold of her nipple. She is always talking about nipple-etti-ket. No idea what that is all about?!

I hate wind. It is rough. Burping is awful, I have to scream and cry - I think it helps the bubbles come out. My Mummy and Daddy would like to track down the creator of it and kill them. In many creative ways. 

Mummy and I are into Baby Sabbotage. When there are older babies in the vicinity (several months not weeks) I like to act up and to be super baby. The older ones sometimes get the grumps because their Mummies are so taken by my tiny-ness. Occasionally Mummy says I ruin it when I start to scream/cry.

I love to make noise. As I've gotten bigger and older I can reach different ranges. Mummy says that I sound like a cross between Mariah Carey and the lead singer of a thrash metal type of band. Daddy is going to get some ear plugs so that he can cuddle, soothe and bounce me into sleep without feeling like an inmate at Guttanamo Bay. That sounds like a beach. But even when I sleep I like to make sure that Mummy and Daddy know I am there so I purr. I like to be a little ball of noise. 

Sometimes I like silence. It gets Mummy and Daddy to me super quick. Daddy says he can put Usain Bolt to shame.

I hate the Sleeps. They try to sneak up on me like evil ninjas and so if I scream and cry and go rigid then they can be fought off. Only for a wee while... they are still defeating me. Which is annoying. I think Mummy and Daddy are on their side though because of the shushing, bouncing and rocking they do while I am doing battle. Its really undermining. I hate them for it too. Although I dont hate Nanna, she can do it all day long I feel all nice and warm and cuddly and safe and then I forget to fight the Sleeps. 

Swinging and throwing my legs and arms around is ace. During a feed (they are so often that we don't really have a breakfast, lunch or dinner- its more like constant nipple time according to Mummy) I like to see if I can swing my top leg onto her arm so I throw it around, it helps with the nipple thing I mentioned earlier in feeding.

I've been really rocking to the 2 hour cycle thing but now I feel like mixing it up and tonight I have been sleeps for 3 hours now- Mummy has been busy blogging. Mummy knows a feed is due. She doesn't know when but it is due soon. 

Because its night I will go from sleeps to screams with some degree of warning. During the day though I like to go from sleeps to screams with zero warning. It keeps her on her toes, she needs that especially on distrupted sleeps. Will she go to bed or wait up. . . 

There are loads of other things I enjoy but I am going to have to wait to see what they are ... I am only 6 weeks old after all!

* My Mummies Grampa, or Gramps, was called Faither by her Mummy, to that end he is now a Great Faither.  My Nanna is my Daddy's Mummy and her Husband is my Grand-Dad. Mummies Granny is also my Granny, at 80 (plus, shhh) she doesnt feel old enough to be a Great Granny so is happy to stick at Granny. Follow all that??

Mummy Madness

It has been a long time since I blogged - not sure if any of you will remember this little slice of crazy but she's still here and its just gotten a bit more crazy.

I am officially a Mummy.

I am 6 weeks and counting into Motherhood and the steepest learning curve I could have ever anticipated. Although perhaps I am more like 9 months and 6 weeks plus into this adventure.

He is possibly the most handsome little man ever created to grace the streets of Edinburgh.


Both Husband and I have been on some intense experiences from the day one. Its a real rollercoaster but we are truely loving it - despite signing myself up as Mummy Sabbator, but more of that later.

I am fast getting used to being puked on. Keeping my hair tied up and out of range, having the washing machine on permanently to keep my bras clean, having warm baby puke run down my cleavage. . .

If I have no dignity then neither does my son. I will happily pick him up and sniff his bum and am getting crafty at peaking into the side of his nappy to establish whether it needs changing without stripping him down.

I am loving the return of those forbidden fruits. More specifically wine, cheese and runny eggs.

It is on this last note that I would not have gotten through these early weeks without the support, encouragement or shared mania of my Runny Eggers aka the NCT group who have the misfortune of having me in their collective.

Husband has been Phenomenol throughout it all. The pregnancy, the NCT classes, the labour, the child birth, the recovery and these early weeks as we find our feet. Son regularly likes to change the rules and keep us on our toes - I wouldnt have the sanity to do it if it weren't for Husband.

I cant promise the following blog updates will make much sense or even have decent spelling but what I am fast discovering is that spelling doesn't really matter as long as the point your attempting to make is coherent. . .  in fairness the spelling issue might make this difficult!