I feel like I contradict myself whenever I write anything on here. Not so long ago I was spouting on about how I was going to trust my instincts, and then last week I go to a class at Plunket about sleeping and crying, and somehow manage to forget everything I thought I knew about my views on sleep training and go ahead and try to sleep train Zephyr. In my defence I was very tired and the thought of a Zephyr that could be put down for a nap instantly, like magic, by just putting him down for a nap seemed like a dream (it still does). But what I didn't realise is that it is, really, just a dream for me with this baby, as he is Zephyr and not some other baby.
So, anyway, I tried to do that whole thing where you settle them, then leave the room, listen to them howl for three minutes, attempt to settle them again, leave the room, feel awful...and so it goes on until someone gives in. It could be seen to have been working for a couple of days, as we were at least doing less rocking and coaxing than before, but really he was just passing out exhausted rather than learning to self soothe.
Perhaps it works for some babies, but all it did for us was drive us to a point on the third day where Zephyr was not settling whether I was in the room or not, even if I picked him up. So, nerves torn to shreds by crying baby, I went to the spare room and sat and looked at my wedding album and tried to harden my heart. He stopped crying after about ten minutes. I went in to check on him - he had thrown up all over his blankets, but yes, he was asleep.
At what cost, I wondered? Do I want to break this child in like a horse? Does he need to cry so much he vomits in order for me to have any easier job of getting him to take some rest? I felt physically ill. The look on his sleeping face was one of shock. I read some articles (should have done this before hand, I see now) about sleep training and realised that what he done was disassociated himself from what was a very stressful situation. The vomit was a result of the power of his crying, and the sleep was a result of the stress. I wasn't going to do it anymore. I cleaned him up (he slept through this) and waited in the living room feeling like a monster, for him to wake so I could cuddle him. I got his toys all lined up in a circle on the mat so he could play when he woke, after a nice feed to full that now empty stomach. I got a towel and facecloth ready so we could have a bath together, a favourite activity we usually only share on weekends.
I could blame misinformation from the slightly old-fashioned Plunket nurse on this harrowing experience - which, by the way, took us back about two weeks in Zephyr's sleep patterns as he became more distrustful of being left alone in the room; suddenly he was waking just after he fell asleep and needed us there for a good fifteen minutes after he shut his eyes; we had made it worse - but what has made me so susceptible to the views of others? I find that aside from the days when I have had plenty of sleep (ha), I feel uncertain about what I am doing with this kid. Maybe I should have read more books about parenting and less books about birthing, seeing as the birth didn't exactly go as planned. Maybe I should stop talking to anyone about their babies, but then I think I would go slightly mad (der). Maybe I should just relax.
All in all, Zephyr is a happy baby who loves activity and interaction. He smiles at anyone, from the supermarket check out operator to the baby in the mirror. He has just started to laugh, which is outrageously cute. And he doesn't seem to have any pressing health issues. The problem with this baby game is that the first time you play, you're doing it for real, with another human life. A practice round would have been nice, but then again, the population would probably be dwindling if that was a possibility, once people realised just how little sleep you really get when you have a baby.
So with last week relegated to the 'oops' basket, we continue on, learning and trying to find a stance we are all comfortable with.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Performing magic
Lately, we have been having trouble sleeping. (Well, I have no trouble sleeping at all, in fact I could sleep right now, anytime really, but I am trying to be compassionate here). We have been up approximately every three hours with insatiable hunger for Mother's Milk. It doesn't seem to matter what we do; we eat all day to see if that makes us less hungry at night: no; we eat every three hours to make sure we are hungry enough at each feed: no difference; we get lots of naps in so we are not overtired when it comes to bedtime: still the same; we stay up longer to get us plenty tired for bedtime: definitely not, and not worth the trouble.
It seems I just have a growing boy on my hands, and being his only food source, there is nothing I can do but wait it out. And suffer. There is a slight positive to being this tired. My body has started to do some pretty interesting things. Sometimes the world feels as though it is rocking slightly; sometimes my eyes create patterns in the plain fabric of the curtains; I can see the atmosphere, like I am watching grainy footage from an old movie. But these psychedelic moments are overshadowed by an overwhelming longing to sleeeeeep. Oh, to sleep. I keep thinking of when I was a teenager and I used to get up after midday in the weekends. Imagine.
Despite the sleep deprivation, at 3.5 months, Zephyr is nothing short of delightful. He has become the king of smiles. His smile is wide and gummy and packs a lot of emotion. He smiles, and then he smiles wider, and then he smiles even wider, and then, sometimes, he throws in a little laugh. He smiles at strangers in the supermarket; he smiles at his grandparents, with much positive reinforcement; he smiles at me while taking a quick pause during his feeds and manages to wake me from my stupor, where I smile back, in spite of the fact that it is 4am and I supposed to be avoiding eye contact.
Part of the delight to be gained from this growing bundle of joy is that he is now at an age where he can watch and listen and react to his surroundings. While pushing Zephyr in his brand new stroller the other day (never has there been such a proud and excited 3-month old to have a buggy!) I spied a dandelion in full fluffy seed and just waiting to be strewn into the breeze. I stopped and plucked it and walked into the baby's view, took a deep breath, and...fairies, everywhere, flying all around his face and sticking to his jacket and blanky. His eyes widened and he smiled. This was a smile of wonder.
I realised then that in spite of not having slept more than a few hours at a time in over three months, I held a new sense of power, perhaps worth the Z deprivation. I am now a magician. I am the holder of the key to all the tricks of the world. I can click my fingers, I can clap my hands, I can splash the water in the bath, I can catch a ball, I can crunch an apple, I can tickle, I can blow fairies from a dandelion. I am magical.
It seems I just have a growing boy on my hands, and being his only food source, there is nothing I can do but wait it out. And suffer. There is a slight positive to being this tired. My body has started to do some pretty interesting things. Sometimes the world feels as though it is rocking slightly; sometimes my eyes create patterns in the plain fabric of the curtains; I can see the atmosphere, like I am watching grainy footage from an old movie. But these psychedelic moments are overshadowed by an overwhelming longing to sleeeeeep. Oh, to sleep. I keep thinking of when I was a teenager and I used to get up after midday in the weekends. Imagine.
Despite the sleep deprivation, at 3.5 months, Zephyr is nothing short of delightful. He has become the king of smiles. His smile is wide and gummy and packs a lot of emotion. He smiles, and then he smiles wider, and then he smiles even wider, and then, sometimes, he throws in a little laugh. He smiles at strangers in the supermarket; he smiles at his grandparents, with much positive reinforcement; he smiles at me while taking a quick pause during his feeds and manages to wake me from my stupor, where I smile back, in spite of the fact that it is 4am and I supposed to be avoiding eye contact.
Part of the delight to be gained from this growing bundle of joy is that he is now at an age where he can watch and listen and react to his surroundings. While pushing Zephyr in his brand new stroller the other day (never has there been such a proud and excited 3-month old to have a buggy!) I spied a dandelion in full fluffy seed and just waiting to be strewn into the breeze. I stopped and plucked it and walked into the baby's view, took a deep breath, and...fairies, everywhere, flying all around his face and sticking to his jacket and blanky. His eyes widened and he smiled. This was a smile of wonder.
I realised then that in spite of not having slept more than a few hours at a time in over three months, I held a new sense of power, perhaps worth the Z deprivation. I am now a magician. I am the holder of the key to all the tricks of the world. I can click my fingers, I can clap my hands, I can splash the water in the bath, I can catch a ball, I can crunch an apple, I can tickle, I can blow fairies from a dandelion. I am magical.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
In confidence
The week before last I was struck by an array of ailments, all in a matter of days. I had a snuffling, dripping, weeping cold; a case of my annual and unexplained roof-of-the-mouth abscess; and then a migraine which lasted for a very long morning and caused me to see only from my left eye, while the right one was impaired by a psychedelic, swirling arc of rainbow lights. Sounds cooler than it is.
I'm not listing my complaints here for no reason, but to explain that sometimes, more often than the stubbornly independent woman in me wishes to admit, I need my mother. And that was definitely one of those weeks. Being alone with a baby during the day when you have a nose like a tap is not fun, nor is trying to change a nappy when you can only see from one eye.
Living away from the city where our families are means that independence is not only allowed, but enforced. Other new mothers tell me I am lucky to have the freedom to spend the day with my baby without being obliged to feed him and pass him on, "like a cow" as one friend put it. So the upside is the extended babymoon we are being allowed, where we can bond with our baby without interruption, and figure him out without (however well-meaning) advice.
Of course (and I'm not just saying this because they are probably reading this...love you all!) we didn't move to Queenstown to be away from our families. We moved here for the lifestyle and environment, the beauty of the mountains and the freshness of the air. And I appreciate these things every time I step outside, from the deer that are speckled on the farmland at the end of the road, to the lake and its changing colours as the light grows and fades each day. Right now I am in love with the autumn leaves and all the red and purple berries that have appeared in all the trees, and the perfect storybook toadstools that grow beneath them.
But aside from this, working my way through problems with our little baby, however short-lived they may be, I do appreciate the fact that I have the space to figure them out for myself when I need to. Maybe the baby is taking too long to fall asleep at night and we're spending hours rocking him, or he wants to feed hourly in the afternoon. Whenever I share one of these problems, be it with a family member, friend, or professional (such a Plunket nurse), I find that their views on the topic leave me doubting myself. I change my stance on the solution, all the while feeling that it is not quite right, and almost always return to my original ideas later, having found that I was instinctively doing the right thing by me and my baby in the first place.
There have been exceptions of course, and advice from those who have been there is often welcome when I'm struggling. But I find I am gaining the confidence to trust myself as a parent and do what I feel is right from the beginning, instead of following the advice of books, websites and other parents.
After all, while he does fall asleep nicely to a white noise wave soundtrack, as advised by both friends and many a baby website, who could have told me that my baby would fall asleep just as well to the soulful sounds of Cat Power?
I'm not listing my complaints here for no reason, but to explain that sometimes, more often than the stubbornly independent woman in me wishes to admit, I need my mother. And that was definitely one of those weeks. Being alone with a baby during the day when you have a nose like a tap is not fun, nor is trying to change a nappy when you can only see from one eye.
Living away from the city where our families are means that independence is not only allowed, but enforced. Other new mothers tell me I am lucky to have the freedom to spend the day with my baby without being obliged to feed him and pass him on, "like a cow" as one friend put it. So the upside is the extended babymoon we are being allowed, where we can bond with our baby without interruption, and figure him out without (however well-meaning) advice.
Of course (and I'm not just saying this because they are probably reading this...love you all!) we didn't move to Queenstown to be away from our families. We moved here for the lifestyle and environment, the beauty of the mountains and the freshness of the air. And I appreciate these things every time I step outside, from the deer that are speckled on the farmland at the end of the road, to the lake and its changing colours as the light grows and fades each day. Right now I am in love with the autumn leaves and all the red and purple berries that have appeared in all the trees, and the perfect storybook toadstools that grow beneath them.
But aside from this, working my way through problems with our little baby, however short-lived they may be, I do appreciate the fact that I have the space to figure them out for myself when I need to. Maybe the baby is taking too long to fall asleep at night and we're spending hours rocking him, or he wants to feed hourly in the afternoon. Whenever I share one of these problems, be it with a family member, friend, or professional (such a Plunket nurse), I find that their views on the topic leave me doubting myself. I change my stance on the solution, all the while feeling that it is not quite right, and almost always return to my original ideas later, having found that I was instinctively doing the right thing by me and my baby in the first place.
There have been exceptions of course, and advice from those who have been there is often welcome when I'm struggling. But I find I am gaining the confidence to trust myself as a parent and do what I feel is right from the beginning, instead of following the advice of books, websites and other parents.
After all, while he does fall asleep nicely to a white noise wave soundtrack, as advised by both friends and many a baby website, who could have told me that my baby would fall asleep just as well to the soulful sounds of Cat Power?
Friday, April 29, 2011
Becoming my parents
I grew up to the sound of National Radio. All through my childhood, my dad woke at some predawn hour and switched on the radio in the kitchen while he made us porridge for breakfast and thick slab vogel sandwiches for lunch (oh my god I sound old) and the sounds carried through to my room. The four tones, three short and one long, that precede the news on the hour; the weather report spoken by the same voice with the same order of placenames each day (Northland, Auckland, Waikato and the Coromandel Peninsula, scattered showers clearing in the evening...); the radio plays and short stories read by enthusiastically dramatic voices.
Add to that Bob Dylan, Ella Fitzgerald, Van Morrison, Cat Stevens, Paul Simon, and a solid amount of classical music, and you have the sounds of my childhood.
Like most children, I grew up chortling at a good deal of what my parents did. National Radio? It's just people talking. Classical music? Borrr-ing! But like most people in their late twenties and early thirties, my parents' habits have started to become my own.
I don't have much time for reading at the moment. I don't have much time for feeding my brain. I haven't read a newspaper in a long time, although I have read the odd BBC article on my fancy smartphone, a gift from a friend that has proved sanity-saving when breastfeeding takes up a good chunk of the day.
I tried TV. Have you watched daytime television lately? At first I found it amusingly terrible, but now it's just terrible. It's all hype (Tyra), dirtbags (Jeremy Kyle), weird kids shows (H2O Just Add Water) and awful makeover scenarios for the home and body (60 Minute Makeover and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy).
So I looked up the frequency for National Radio and found my housebound mind both nourished and calmed by the string of shows emanating from the stereo. There was no blast of advertising; short stories were read, giving me that old inspired feeling I had almost forgotten; and they even played some fairly modern music. What's more, the consistency of the voices seemed to make Zephyr sleep longer. His nap stretched for two hours and I was left feeling pleasantly surprised by the absence of distaste that becoming my parents left with me.
I thought I would take it one step further. I downloaded an album off Itunes: Mozart for Mother and Baby. I played it for Zephyr's next nap and found myself relaxing as I settled him to sleep, rather than fretting about how long it might take. He, consequently, fell asleep easily and slept blissfully to the sounds of Piano Concerto No. 20 in D. I was sold.
So I guess this is how it starts. Zephyr is going to grow up, like I did, despising the boring radio and the boring sleepy music I play for him, and then, in thirty years time, the cycle will begin again.
Add to that Bob Dylan, Ella Fitzgerald, Van Morrison, Cat Stevens, Paul Simon, and a solid amount of classical music, and you have the sounds of my childhood.
Like most children, I grew up chortling at a good deal of what my parents did. National Radio? It's just people talking. Classical music? Borrr-ing! But like most people in their late twenties and early thirties, my parents' habits have started to become my own.
I don't have much time for reading at the moment. I don't have much time for feeding my brain. I haven't read a newspaper in a long time, although I have read the odd BBC article on my fancy smartphone, a gift from a friend that has proved sanity-saving when breastfeeding takes up a good chunk of the day.
I tried TV. Have you watched daytime television lately? At first I found it amusingly terrible, but now it's just terrible. It's all hype (Tyra), dirtbags (Jeremy Kyle), weird kids shows (H2O Just Add Water) and awful makeover scenarios for the home and body (60 Minute Makeover and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy).
So I looked up the frequency for National Radio and found my housebound mind both nourished and calmed by the string of shows emanating from the stereo. There was no blast of advertising; short stories were read, giving me that old inspired feeling I had almost forgotten; and they even played some fairly modern music. What's more, the consistency of the voices seemed to make Zephyr sleep longer. His nap stretched for two hours and I was left feeling pleasantly surprised by the absence of distaste that becoming my parents left with me.
I thought I would take it one step further. I downloaded an album off Itunes: Mozart for Mother and Baby. I played it for Zephyr's next nap and found myself relaxing as I settled him to sleep, rather than fretting about how long it might take. He, consequently, fell asleep easily and slept blissfully to the sounds of Piano Concerto No. 20 in D. I was sold.
So I guess this is how it starts. Zephyr is going to grow up, like I did, despising the boring radio and the boring sleepy music I play for him, and then, in thirty years time, the cycle will begin again.
Monday, April 11, 2011
The never-ending education
Speaking with my best friend the other day, she remarked that when she read my blog about the birth, she was amazed at how much I knew. I told her that when you get pregnant, you naturally learn a lot about what's going on inside you, from being around midwives, executing paranoid google searches, and reading books given to you by well-meaning aunts.
Being in the presence of a growing baby pretty much 24 hours a day is a whole new education. This is immersion at its most intense. The most challenging thing about it so far is that it changes. You don't ever have it all figured out, because the baby is changing every day as he grows and develops. Just when I think I know his likes and dislikes, his sleeping patterns or his tendencies, he surprises me, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse.
I had come to the realisation that he wasn't ever going to like sitting in his bouncinette while I got little chores done around the house (in pregnancy I had this image of a happy baby chortling away while I baked a cake or did the dishes), because every time I tried to put him in there, he cried. Then the other day he sat in there for a good twenty minutes (this is a lifetime in baby hours), watching me quite happily while I put together my muesli.
At least I can never get bored!
Last week I wrote a note for a blog post idea: 'getting things done in tiny windows of time'. I was going to talk about how I had become quite adept at preparing for and executing small tasks in Zephyr's sleeping hours, however, since writing that note I have also changed. I have realised that trying to do too much while he sleeps has a negative effect on both of us. It means that while he's awake, I have an agenda. I'm thinking about how I will carry out the task, make the phone call, whatever it is, as soon as I can get him to sleep. I am picturing the laundry being hung out, the dishes being done, or the blog post being written, and I am not concentrating on the baby.
He knows, and he reacts accordingly. There are long periods of crying and I am at a loss as to what he wants. And I'm missing out. He's changing so fast (motherhood cliche, but it's true) and if I let all these little moments go by planning for stupid chores, I won't see how he's developing. I won't notice his changes and I won't see his cues. I won't notice that his feeds are getting shorter or longer, or that he needs naps sooner or later than he did before. So I have decided to slow right down. It seems to be working for both of us, but some days I find it difficult. There is some neat freak side of me that has trouble letting go.
Anyway, picture update...
And I better go rest before those chubby cheeks wake up.
Being in the presence of a growing baby pretty much 24 hours a day is a whole new education. This is immersion at its most intense. The most challenging thing about it so far is that it changes. You don't ever have it all figured out, because the baby is changing every day as he grows and develops. Just when I think I know his likes and dislikes, his sleeping patterns or his tendencies, he surprises me, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse.
I had come to the realisation that he wasn't ever going to like sitting in his bouncinette while I got little chores done around the house (in pregnancy I had this image of a happy baby chortling away while I baked a cake or did the dishes), because every time I tried to put him in there, he cried. Then the other day he sat in there for a good twenty minutes (this is a lifetime in baby hours), watching me quite happily while I put together my muesli.
At least I can never get bored!
Last week I wrote a note for a blog post idea: 'getting things done in tiny windows of time'. I was going to talk about how I had become quite adept at preparing for and executing small tasks in Zephyr's sleeping hours, however, since writing that note I have also changed. I have realised that trying to do too much while he sleeps has a negative effect on both of us. It means that while he's awake, I have an agenda. I'm thinking about how I will carry out the task, make the phone call, whatever it is, as soon as I can get him to sleep. I am picturing the laundry being hung out, the dishes being done, or the blog post being written, and I am not concentrating on the baby.
He knows, and he reacts accordingly. There are long periods of crying and I am at a loss as to what he wants. And I'm missing out. He's changing so fast (motherhood cliche, but it's true) and if I let all these little moments go by planning for stupid chores, I won't see how he's developing. I won't notice his changes and I won't see his cues. I won't notice that his feeds are getting shorter or longer, or that he needs naps sooner or later than he did before. So I have decided to slow right down. It seems to be working for both of us, but some days I find it difficult. There is some neat freak side of me that has trouble letting go.
Anyway, picture update...
And I better go rest before those chubby cheeks wake up.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
First impressions
Zephyr is now three weeks old and we're pretty much past all that awful stuff I vented about last post. A brief update though: the hospital notes came and it seems we were definitely given too much Misoprostol. The doctor prescribed 25mg for each dose and the intern who administered the second dose gave me 50mg. So they definitely made a mistake. They are currently putting together a set of protocol for the use of the drug and they are sending this to us, so when we receive that and have time to look through it, we will go ahead with our complaints. I have written a letter to Dr H, which I will send then too.
Three weeks of Zephie goodness
Over the past week Zephyr has started to become more alert. He listens to me babble on about whatever I can think of to tell him and he looks closely at bright and contrasting objects. He pays a lot of attention to my black and white striped t shirt. He is growing a little too fast - already he is getting too big for his hammock.
Although I was warned, I didn't realise just how much time I would spend sitting with a baby attached to my breast. Breastfeeding takes up literally one quarter of my day and night. I am told it will get faster as he grows and becomes more adept at getting his fill, but for now it is quite a lesson in patience. This is at least enforced rest - I can't go cleaning the house while he is feeding - but it sometimes feels, especially late at night, as though he is draining the energy directly from me.
I don't mind though. I guess the hormones released when breastfeeding combined with lack of sleep cause me to feel blase about anything else that may have felt important before, like cleanliness. Or maybe it's just that his little face is so mesmerizing.
We have the odd difficult day, usually when I have neglected to take a nap and I'm not coping, but the majority of our days are pretty easy. Until recently I have been pretty much housebound, seeing as I wasn't supposed to drive a car for the first two weeks, but now me and Zephyr have started to make a few trips to the shops. I'm still getting used to the fact that everywhere I go, I have to factor in a baby. That may sound stupid, but when you're used to dashing into the gas station to pay for your petrol without a second thought for anyone else, it suddenly seems kind of complicated to fill up the tank. Do people leave their babies in the car? I can't quite bring myself to do that, even if it is for a moment.
Zephyr has taken over my brain, that much I know is true. When I'm watching TV I notice actors' facial expressions and movements that look like his. I notice my own position when I'm lying in bed taking a nap and realise it is not so different from his. When he sleeps for more than three hours during the day I start to miss him.
The other day I was talking on Skype to some friends. After the initial look at Zephyr, they asked me what else was new. This question had me stumped. Nothing else was new...I hadn't been doing anything else, aside from this monumental task of mothering. I felt a gap form between my new and old lives, my past and present personalities. Wow, I thought, I'm already there. I have nothing to say that doesn't involve my kid.
But, look, can you blame me?
Friday, March 11, 2011
The arrival of little Zephyr
Zephyr is the most beautiful, sweet, gorgeous little baby in the history of the world. Seriously, I'm pretty sure I'm not biased. After a few days of unsettled behaviour (expected when you get thrust out into the world from a nice comfy place before you are really ready), he has relaxed into home life and is feeding nicely, putting on weight, and we are loving him.
I feel that we were definitely ready for this, because we have coasted into the first week, happily exchanging sleep and whatever else it is that we used to do for the sweetness of hours spent gazing at his little face. At night when I go to bed I actually look forward to him waking up for his feeds. I love the milk-drunk look on his face when he lies back contented. I love his little hands grasping my fingers. I love the way he stares at me when he's awake, his little dark eyes all wide and serious. I love him.
However, this post is not going to be all sweetness and maternal love. I have to warn you that I am about to use this blog as both a record of what happened last week and a way to gain some personal closure. If you are either squeamish or pregnant, I suggest you don't read on from here.
Zephyr's Birth
We arrived at the hospital for our induction on Monday 28 February around 9.30am. I had been having contractions since around midnight the night before, but they were very mild, about half an hour apart and had not increased in intensity or frequency over that time. These runs of contractions had happened twice before that night, once on the preceding Saturday and once, more intensely, on the Wednesday, but both times the contractions had stopped and nothing more had progressed. I thought maybe this was third time lucky, so I was hoping that a small dose of the induction drug would be all it took to get this labour on the road.
We met Dr H, an American doctor who wasted no time in telling us that I was a good candidate to try Misoprostol, an induction drug used overseas but not commonly used in New Zealand. She arrived with four of her colleagues, including the midwife who would look after us that morning and a British doctor who just seemed to stand there and take notes. Misoprostol came in a tablet form that would be inserted vaginally that morning, then again at 3pm, then again at 7pm. She assured us that it was the same as the commonly used prostaglandin, but it worked faster (sometimes an induction can take up to three days), and that the team working that day were all experienced with the use of it, as they had all worked overseas where it was commonly given.
What she failed to mention is that there would likely be a shift change before things really kicked off, and that she herself wouldn't even be around that afternoon or evening.
Anyway, we asked a lot of questions, dubious about trying a drug that wasn't commonly used here. We called our midwife and she told us that if they say it's going to have the same effect, but work faster, we should go for it. So we said yes, we would do it. They then got us to sign something to say we were consenting to the Misoprostol, since it is not a licensed drug here.
So, the Misoprostol was administered and I was attached to a CTG machine for an hour to record contractions and the baby's heart rate. There were already some contractions at that point - as I mentioned, there had been contractions all night - but they were still pretty far apart. Baby's heart rate was hovering around the high 150/ 160 bpm. He was doing fine.
They detached me and we were left alone. We played a game of Scrabble, watched an episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia on the laptop, then, on the advice of the duty midwife, got up to go for a walk around the hospital grounds. We walked for around twenty minutes before I started to feel contractions more strongly. They were getting noticeably closer together and making me feel that I needed to be somewhere where I could sit down. I could still walk and talk through them, but they were definitely starting to make themselves known.
I was excited – it was working already! So we headed back to the hospital. By this time it was around 2pm. I am a bit hazy about whether they put me back on the monitor before they administered the second dose (we have requested the hospital records to check up on this stuff) but I do know this: The doctor who came in to give me the second dose was almost certainly inexperienced and was not one of “team” that Dr H had flouted as being on board with us for the duration of this induction. In fact, aside from the midwife, who we had for a few hours more before she changed shifts, we never saw those people again (except for Dr H when she was called back in, but I'll get to that).
This doctor, or intern, checked my cervix at the same time as administering the second dose of the drug. He was rough and seemed embarrassed by the procedure, and left quickly without telling us what would happen next. The midwife asked if I was okay – she seemed to be acknowledging that he had been a bit awkward and perhaps not followed hospital procedure. I wondered why he hadn't first checked my cervix and asked about any contractions I was having before he put the next lot in, but being a patient and not a medical expert, I did not question this. Plus, it was too late.
From there on in, things had apparently started to go quite badly. I was attached to the machine again and the midwife promised that I would not be left on it for more than twenty minutes (it was getting very uncomfortable to lie on the bed – I had spent so much time while pregnant preparing myself for these moments, and I was ready to move around the room, sit on a Swiss ball and put into practice the breathing techniques I had been teaching myself for the last few months, and lying on a hospital bed was not a part of any of this).
Over the next three to four hours, they refused to take me off the machine, but finally brought me a Swiss ball and allowed me to get off the bed. They also attached a drip as they said my muscles needed the hydration.
The drip was faulty and I spent a lot of time looking at it and trying to hold my arm at the right angle to get it to flow. The midwife knew it wasn't flowing properly, but didn't fix it. The wires from the machines meant I had to stay near them, and the very fact of being plugged into them caused me extra stress, as I couldn't help watching the contractions come and go and seeing how strong and close together they were getting.
While I believe I was doing really well at coping with the pain – breathing through the contractions and trying to keep my head in a positive space – the machines weren't helping. Neither were the staff, who kept telling me to wait just a few more minutes before they unplugged me. We were told they were waiting to see the baby's heart rate show more variance, as it was “too steady” and not reacting to the contractions. The logic behind this wasn't explained – we thought it was surely a good thing to have a steady heart rate, so took it as a positive and waited patiently for them to unplug me so we could get on with this labour and hopefully have a baby before morning.
They never unplugged me, except to go to the bathroom, which I was also needing to do quite regularly as the contractions became stronger and as the drip coursed through me, when it was working.
I have to take a moment here to acknowledge my husband who rubbed my back at all the right times and told me stories about how happy we were going to be when this was all over. He was amazing, and was not afraid to speak up when things started to look ridiculous.
Eventually, after a few painful hours attached to these stupid machines and with no one telling us what was really going on, we finally saw Dr H again. She had been called back in to the hospital to see what was happening. I have no recollection of this, but my husband says she looked at my notes and said quietly to herself, "It should have been 25 milligrams," or words to that effect. I remember that she seemed very concerned almost immediately upon viewing the ECG machine readings, but I was trying not to worry until she said something concrete.
She finally explained that the baby's heart rate should be reacting to the contractions. She explained that when you are in pain or distress you tend to stay still to conserve energy, and it seemed that this was what the baby was doing. She also said the contractions were too close together and too strong, and she wanted to give me something to make them slow down.
At this point I was tired of all the intervention and still felt like things were working, so surely we would be able to have a baby soon if they just left me alone. I asked a lot of questions about the medication she would be using to slow the labour. She seemed exasperated by my questions. She repeated this statement many times: “We don't need to shoot this baby out of you.” As if I was the one who wanted that.
That sentence has caused me many hours of sleepless anger since the ordeal. I wish I had told her that propelling my baby out of me was never my intention, and that I blamed her for the fact that we were in this mess. I had read so much about the 'cascade of intervention', where one medical procedure causes the need for another, and another. I had been warned so much about this and it was what had terrified me about having the induction in the first place, and now they wanted to give me a drug to counteract another drug, so I could see it was happening. I couldn't believe it.
I asked if it was possible to take a bath – I asked this a few times over the course of the night – as I knew that a warm bath could cause contractions to naturally regulate. Each time I asked I was ignored.
So, having no other option, we agreed to the medication, as it seemed to make sense to get these contractions further apart – there was almost no gap between them at all and they were very uncomfortable. And we were too deep in it at that point to stop.
The drugs used to slow the labour were called Nifedipine and Salbutamol. We had both, one when the other didn't seem to be working. Both made me shake uncontrollably and feel nauseous, and neither had the desired effect. The uterus had gone into hyper-stimulation, they said, and it didn't seem to be able to settle.
Dr H came in and offered me Pethidine, which I cannot believe, considering the fact that she was apparently worried about my baby's slowed heart rate and it is a known fact that Pethidine causes baby's heart rates to slow within the womb. She said it would calm me down and help me rest as I was only 1cm dilated at that point and still had about ten hours to go. I felt that the way Dr H was speaking to me was very condescending. She seemed to be accustomed to patients who didn't have any knowledge of the drugs they were being offered. She didn't actually offer me Pethidine straight up, she offered me "a little shot".
I refused the Pethidine. We called the midwife and asked her what we should do. She said to ask for a sleeping pill if I wanted to get some rest, so I did that and was given one. We felt pleased that they were still talking about the birth being possible, even if it was in ten hours time, and we turned out some lights and tried to settle in for some rest, difficult when the staff wouldn't stop walking in to check the progress on the monitors. In fact, Dr H turned the lights back on almost immediately. It seemed our feelings and my comfort were no longer a factor, if they had ever been.
Next up, my waters broke. I think it was about midnight by then. I was lying on the bed, unhappily, and the current midwife (we had been through about four by that point) had just introduced herself and said she needed for me to lie down with the monitor on for a while. Up until then I had mostly been able to hover near the machines with a Swiss ball, which eased the pain greatly. I felt a big kick inside my belly and something started to trickle out. I told the midwife and she had a look and told me I was wrong, nothing was happening.
“Well, it is,” I said, “either that or I'm peeing my pants.” I tried to stand up and she finally got the machine unplugged. She saw what was going on and told me to run to the bathroom. I got there just in time for the full flood. I had no idea there would be that much liquid. The bad news was, it was stained green with meconium – the baby had literally shat itself inside me, that was how much fun he was having.
At this point I knew what was going to happen. Every time they left us alone (which was almost never) I tried to discuss it with my husband. They're going to suggest a C-section soon, I said, what are we going to do? We both knew we had no option. If we refused the C-section and our baby died...well, there is no need to finish that sentence.
We were reattached to the machine and the doctors started to point out drops in the baby's heart rate. We knew we were done for. I wasn't even listening to what they were saying any more, just waiting for Dr H to be brave enough to actually utter the words 'C-section', which she did.
We agreed to it – we had to – and suddenly the room was filled with people who were urgently preparing us for what was to me, a nightmarish outcome. We were so far from the idyllic birth experience I had envisioned and prepared for. I felt so low and empty. I tried to focus on the baby, but I was just so disappointed that it had gone that way. I was also still shaking from the drugs they had given me and only half conscious from the sleeping pill. Looking back, they shouldn't have allowed me to take a sleeping pill if they considered I was likely to be a candidate for a C-section in the next couple of hours. And they must have known.
The people who had invaded our room started to go about getting us ready to be taken upstairs to surgery. A woman was trying to get me to put on some tight stockings that prevent blood clots or something, but the finality of having to wear them caused me to burst into tears. My husband was being given a set of blue scrubs and we were told to sign here and here on some forms attached to clipboards. Some slightly sensitive nurse suggested they leave the room and give us a moment. I had a good cry for about two minutes before they were back. A nice, young British intern crouched in front of me while the socks were being fitted and the hospital gown being put on and explained that it was totally possible to give birth naturally after a Caesarean, and that I shouldn't worry or blame myself for what had happened. She was really understanding and I wish I had gotten her name.
I was told to get back on the bed and wheeled down the dark, empty hospital corridor to the elevators, and upstairs to the surgery room, where the anesthetists were waiting. These guys were a jolly lot, apparently having been woken up especially for our C-section and probably pretty stoked on the extra few thousand they were making that hour.
One of them happily explained to me that because of my low platelets - which he wasn't concerned about, he had seen much lower - there was a risk that the effects of the spinal injection they were about to administer would somehow reoccur in the next 24 hours, causing me to go numb again and then - and these were his actual words - "die an excruciating death". But, he added, it was very unlikely, he just wanted me to be aware of the possibility. I just stared at him. He seemed to think he was being funny.
In between contractions, they got me to sit on a bench and lean down as they administered the spinal anesthetic. It sent electric shocks down my legs, which then went numb. They did the whole 'one, two, three, lift' thing and got me onto a bed, which was then wheeled into another room. There was quite an amiable conversation going on between all the doctors and anesthetists in there as they prepared me for the surgery. I felt completely detached from the scene and started crying again. I remember hearing Dr H say, "Oh, how sad, she's crying on the operating table for the birth of her baby." I hated her at that moment.
My husband stroked my hair and talked to me about how the baby would be here soon. When Zephyr was pulled out, I heard him cry and that made me happy. I was smiling as I watched through a little gap in the curtain they had raised in front of me and saw my husband weighing the baby and cutting the cord with the doctors. Zephyr looked really big to me and I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. He was brought to me wrapped in about eight towels and the three of us were taken to recovery, where Zephyr was unwrapped and placed on my chest and we tried to get him to feed. I don't really remember if he did or not. 
We spent a few days recovering at Lumsden Maternity unit, which was invaluable. When I arrived there, I was a complete mess. The duty nurse at Invercargill had given me a bunch of pills for the drive, including something called Tramadol, which caused me to hallucinate. I wasn't coping with anything. I couldn't even brush my teeth. The midwife at Lumsden put me straight to bed and taught the new daddy a few pointers about settling a new baby. Zephyr was brought in to me around midnight to feed. I felt a lot better then and we managed to get some colostrum into him.
A week on, the intensity of my emotions is fading, but I still feel very angry. I lie awake each night, wasting precious sleep time thinking these points over:
1.) Why were we offered a non-standard drug while lying on a hospital bed ready for a standard induction, with no opportunity to research it?
2.) Why did my midwife not suggest we opt for the usual drug instead, seeing as we had no idea of the effects of this one?
3.) Why did my midwife not come down to Invercargill to be our spokesperson when things started to go wrong?
4.) Why did Dr H not stay with me for the whole process and oversee the induction like she promised? She should have overseen the administration of the second dose, as I believe that was the key error – I hadn't needed the second dose.
5.) Everybody else who was involved in the birth came back to visit us and check on me in the twenty four hours following, except Dr H. I feel that I have a lot to say to her.
6.) I have guilt that my baby went through such terrible distress before entering this world. I feel that I should have listened to my instincts and not gone through with the induction.
7.) I am angry that we were given so many mixed messages. For instance, the original doctor who told us we need to induce said that if my platelets dropped below 80, no anesthetist would give me a spinal or epidural should we need one in an emergency. My platelets were 78 on the day of the induction and the anesthetist seemed to have no problem giving me the injection. The need for the anesthetic was caused by the induction, so it is a circular argument. I feel that without inducing, we could have had a normal birth. I don't think the platelets were as much of an issue as the doctors made out.
8.) I am angry that I am now recovering from major surgery. I can't drive a car for two weeks, I can't vacuum. It hurts to get out of bed. I have a permanent scar. For about four days my feet were swollen to about four times their usual size. This all makes me angry, and anger is not good for a new mother or her baby.
9.) I fear for next time. I was so well prepared for this birth, but I never prepared myself for a Caesarean. Perhaps that was stupid, but I thought it wouldn't happen to me. I don't want it to happen again, but I feel that the possibility for the experience of birth is now out of my control. I have heard quoted that you should be focussed on having a baby, not having a birth experience, and that is all very well, but I wanted a birth experience too. I am a woman and I am made for it. I think I deserve it.
But. They got my baby out and he is safe and healthy and doing really well. He put on 200 grams in the past three days! He is going to be a lovely chubby little thing soon (he is already lovely, of course). And I am grateful for that. I am grateful that I have a baby when a lot of people can't get pregnant – I bet those people wouldn't care how their baby came to them. I don't think the C-section itself was unwarranted. It was necessary. But I still don't think the induction needed to happen, and I think it was very poorly managed on the day. I hope that by writing this down, I am getting it out of my system and making room for more love for Zephyr.
I also hope that we can see to it that something is done to help prevent this from happening to anyone else. I'm going to stop there and try to shake this all off before Zephyr wakes up for his next feed.
Positive mother love post next time. :-)
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Reality
So these past few weeks have mostly been filled with niceness, good pregnancy hormones, yoga, meditation, healthy eating, all that good stuff. I guess it's only fair that now that we're at the end, a little bit of negativity has had the chance to sneak in.
I am now just four days overdue, but we're having some issues. I have low platelets, which are the thingys that cause your blood to clot. Mine have dropped from 174 in November, to 119 in January, to 104 last week...to 99 at yesterday's count. The normal range for platelets is 150-450, so I am pretty far below normal right now (this statement could also relate to the state of my emotional stability). I had an appointment at the Invercargill Hospital yesterday and the obstetrician there wanted to induce labour immediately based on the platelets and also a slight rise in blood pressure, which I am pretty sure happened the moment I walked into the hospital.
We were pretty shocked by the idea of inducing right there and then and asked if waiting until Monday would be okay. This was after he threw out a few choice words, like "risk to your health and baby's" and "chance of fetal distress", etc etc. He threw a minor tantrum, then agreed that Monday would be okay if I kept an eye on my health and watched out for headaches and visual disturbances that could mean that I was about to get pre-eclampsia (this risk due to the increase in blood pressure).
So, we're having a baby on Monday. In the meantime, we're trying everything in the books to get things going before then, but to be honest, it is starting to feel a bit exhausting. If it wasn't for the platelets issue, I would be happy to just let nature run its course and wait to the baby and my body to be ready for this birth, but the professionals say there is risk, and I should trust them.
I have two days to:
A.) Induce labour naturally/ relax and hope it happens
and
B.) Get myself into a mind-state where the idea of induction doesn't freak me out quite so much. Everyone keeps saying once the birth is over, it's just a tiny window of time in the far-reaching spectrum of parenthood, but right now I am finding it difficult to see past that window, to the place where the baby lies in my arms.
I am trying though.
So, I'm going to be a mother in two days! That is amazing, right? Right? Okay.
Next post, expect possible gory birth story and probably a lot of soppy baby lovey stuff. Goo goo gaga.
I am now just four days overdue, but we're having some issues. I have low platelets, which are the thingys that cause your blood to clot. Mine have dropped from 174 in November, to 119 in January, to 104 last week...to 99 at yesterday's count. The normal range for platelets is 150-450, so I am pretty far below normal right now (this statement could also relate to the state of my emotional stability). I had an appointment at the Invercargill Hospital yesterday and the obstetrician there wanted to induce labour immediately based on the platelets and also a slight rise in blood pressure, which I am pretty sure happened the moment I walked into the hospital.
We were pretty shocked by the idea of inducing right there and then and asked if waiting until Monday would be okay. This was after he threw out a few choice words, like "risk to your health and baby's" and "chance of fetal distress", etc etc. He threw a minor tantrum, then agreed that Monday would be okay if I kept an eye on my health and watched out for headaches and visual disturbances that could mean that I was about to get pre-eclampsia (this risk due to the increase in blood pressure).
So, we're having a baby on Monday. In the meantime, we're trying everything in the books to get things going before then, but to be honest, it is starting to feel a bit exhausting. If it wasn't for the platelets issue, I would be happy to just let nature run its course and wait to the baby and my body to be ready for this birth, but the professionals say there is risk, and I should trust them.
I have two days to:
A.) Induce labour naturally/ relax and hope it happens
and
B.) Get myself into a mind-state where the idea of induction doesn't freak me out quite so much. Everyone keeps saying once the birth is over, it's just a tiny window of time in the far-reaching spectrum of parenthood, but right now I am finding it difficult to see past that window, to the place where the baby lies in my arms.
I am trying though.
So, I'm going to be a mother in two days! That is amazing, right? Right? Okay.
Next post, expect possible gory birth story and probably a lot of soppy baby lovey stuff. Goo goo gaga.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Tomorrow, tomorrow
Dear Baby,
Maths says you are supposed to arrive tomorrow, but since you haven't learned maths yet, I'm pretty sure you are still a few days away. You seem pretty comfy in there, apart from when you stretch your feet out under my ribs and squirm. I guess it's pretty squashy.
You will be pleased to find, I think, that there is plenty of room out here to stretch. Vast amounts actually, especially for a small person. However, I don't want to freak you out, I will stay close. You don't have to go anywhere without me until you want to. In fact, it won't really be that different out here except maybe the sounds will be a little clearer. There will be plenty of comfort and warmth and good smells and tastes.
I thought you were coming on Saturday night, when all those practice contractions were squishing us. You seemed to have a lot to say that evening, lots of rolling around. Were you thinking about it? It's okay if you chickened out. Soon though, yeah?
I have started to receive lots of messages from people waiting to hear about you. You don't know any of them yet, but you're already famous. I keep seeing things I know you'll be interested in, like ducks and flowers and bugs. I'll tell you about those later. There really is a lot to see and do.
In the meantime, gather your strength Baby. That's what I'm doing. There'll be just a little hurdle, then we can play.
Love Mama
Maths says you are supposed to arrive tomorrow, but since you haven't learned maths yet, I'm pretty sure you are still a few days away. You seem pretty comfy in there, apart from when you stretch your feet out under my ribs and squirm. I guess it's pretty squashy.
You will be pleased to find, I think, that there is plenty of room out here to stretch. Vast amounts actually, especially for a small person. However, I don't want to freak you out, I will stay close. You don't have to go anywhere without me until you want to. In fact, it won't really be that different out here except maybe the sounds will be a little clearer. There will be plenty of comfort and warmth and good smells and tastes.
I thought you were coming on Saturday night, when all those practice contractions were squishing us. You seemed to have a lot to say that evening, lots of rolling around. Were you thinking about it? It's okay if you chickened out. Soon though, yeah?
I have started to receive lots of messages from people waiting to hear about you. You don't know any of them yet, but you're already famous. I keep seeing things I know you'll be interested in, like ducks and flowers and bugs. I'll tell you about those later. There really is a lot to see and do.
In the meantime, gather your strength Baby. That's what I'm doing. There'll be just a little hurdle, then we can play.
Love Mama
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Pregnant chicks
When you think pregnant chicks, what do you see? A pair of puffy ankles holding up a slightly off-balance (physically and emotionally) woman ticking off a strange to-do list of potentially unnecessary household chores and cooking tasks, in between snacking and napping?
This week, I have become that woman.
Exhibit A: On Monday I filled two large jars, one with homemade muesli, one with stewed apples. I have never made either of these before, but now we have at least two months' worth of both.
Ex. B: Yesterday I took two naps, one at about midday, one at 4pm, each lasting around 45 minutes. When my husband got home from work at 5.30, I felt so exhausted that I actually burst into tears while eating dinner.
Ex. C: I cleaned the fridge.
Ex. D: Each night I have been making double of everything and then labeling the leftovers and freezing it. I know this is sensible as there won't be much time to cook after baby gets here, but I don't think I have ever frozen a meal before in my life.
Ex. E: Yesterday I went to the post office to try to send my manuscript away. The process of obtaining the right stamps and envelopes proved to be overwhelming. I came home with an envelope that the m/s won't fit in and not enough stamps to send it. I was also supposed to send my sister her birthday present, which always comes with a Pinky bar (she lives in the USA and Pinkys are her favourite). I ate the Pinky the night before, remembered that I had forgotten to replace it as I got to the counter. No Pinky for sister. Sorry sister.
Ex. F: I've been wearing jandals pretty much all summer, but yesterday I went to put on my favourite sneakers, the same ones I wore for pretty much the whole time we lived in Canada. They don't fit.
Talk about cliched behavior. After last night's outburst, I have decided to try to do absolutely nothing today and see if that makes me feel a bit more sane. I'll keep you posted.
This week, I have become that woman.
Exhibit A: On Monday I filled two large jars, one with homemade muesli, one with stewed apples. I have never made either of these before, but now we have at least two months' worth of both.
Ex. B: Yesterday I took two naps, one at about midday, one at 4pm, each lasting around 45 minutes. When my husband got home from work at 5.30, I felt so exhausted that I actually burst into tears while eating dinner.
Ex. C: I cleaned the fridge.
Ex. D: Each night I have been making double of everything and then labeling the leftovers and freezing it. I know this is sensible as there won't be much time to cook after baby gets here, but I don't think I have ever frozen a meal before in my life.
Ex. E: Yesterday I went to the post office to try to send my manuscript away. The process of obtaining the right stamps and envelopes proved to be overwhelming. I came home with an envelope that the m/s won't fit in and not enough stamps to send it. I was also supposed to send my sister her birthday present, which always comes with a Pinky bar (she lives in the USA and Pinkys are her favourite). I ate the Pinky the night before, remembered that I had forgotten to replace it as I got to the counter. No Pinky for sister. Sorry sister.
Ex. F: I've been wearing jandals pretty much all summer, but yesterday I went to put on my favourite sneakers, the same ones I wore for pretty much the whole time we lived in Canada. They don't fit.
Talk about cliched behavior. After last night's outburst, I have decided to try to do absolutely nothing today and see if that makes me feel a bit more sane. I'll keep you posted.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Ready!
Just in case you thought we weren't before, now we are really getting serious. There is a week until our due date and the baby now has places in our house where only he can sit and sleep and lie. Perhaps a lot of soon-to-be parents would have sorted these things out sooner and already experienced these moments of realisation - that there is really going to be a baby in this house soon - but anyway, here we are. Better just-in-time than never.
There is a car seat in the car, securely fastened in by the kind lady at Plunket Queenstown, and ready for a journey south to the maternity centre.
There is a baby hammock in the lounge, already made up with sheets and a mattress protector (because I couldn't help myself), ready and hanging in the living room. It came with a stand, but we also plan to add a couple of hooks around the house. Our room has been rearranged so that the hammock will be able to hang above the bed (the bed itself had to move so that it was below the structural beam) for easy 4am feeding.
Apparently these hammocks make new babies feel more settled and comfortable because they envelope the little guys in a warm, soft and ever-moving, womb-like cocoon. They also can't flip onto their stomachs (ever tried to flip onto your stomach in a hammock?) so they are safe too from asphyxiation.
Over the weekend the baby sling I bought off Trademe arrived. We haven't bought a pushchair yet so the sling is an inexpensive way to carry him and still have arms free. I am only slightly ashamed to admit that I have already tested it out using a teddy bear.
So, yes, I think I can now say we are ready to meet you, little baby, whenever you are ready to meet us.
There is a car seat in the car, securely fastened in by the kind lady at Plunket Queenstown, and ready for a journey south to the maternity centre.
There is a baby hammock in the lounge, already made up with sheets and a mattress protector (because I couldn't help myself), ready and hanging in the living room. It came with a stand, but we also plan to add a couple of hooks around the house. Our room has been rearranged so that the hammock will be able to hang above the bed (the bed itself had to move so that it was below the structural beam) for easy 4am feeding.Apparently these hammocks make new babies feel more settled and comfortable because they envelope the little guys in a warm, soft and ever-moving, womb-like cocoon. They also can't flip onto their stomachs (ever tried to flip onto your stomach in a hammock?) so they are safe too from asphyxiation.
Over the weekend the baby sling I bought off Trademe arrived. We haven't bought a pushchair yet so the sling is an inexpensive way to carry him and still have arms free. I am only slightly ashamed to admit that I have already tested it out using a teddy bear.
So, yes, I think I can now say we are ready to meet you, little baby, whenever you are ready to meet us.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Belly shots
In a different life, that title would pertain to a very different type of post. In the world of pregnancy, it means photos of me and my belly, sans booze. These were skillfully taken by Maytyra Tiren, who hopefully doesn't mind me posting them on my blog. I've just picked two because they are taking forever to upload...but I'm sure you get the picture anyway!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Playing big girl games
Sometimes adulthood feels like a game invented to entertain us through our grown up years. I guess this is not an original thought - it's where terms like The Game of Life come from - but it has struck me lately that this is how people get through life happily, by choosing the game they like best and making that their life (provided they live in a society where the choice is possible).
So accountants like solving number puzzles, architects like drawing and working out spatial problems, writers like making up stories. All the stuff in between can be tedious, but in a way it is also like playing. Mowing the lawns using a noisy machine - you get results, a clean, cut section of grass to look at afterwards, a sense of achievement, plus your mind is momentarily busied by the task of pushing the mower around the square, of getting it done. I won't go so far as to say that doing dishes is anywhere near similar (I can't wait to live in a house with a dishwasher again) but cooking too is a creative outlet, if you have the time and energy to see it that way. And then you add relationships to enrich life socially and mentally, to have other minds to bounce ideas off and people to accompany you as you play.
Having a baby is the ultimate activity. I guess as we get older we need our pass-times to have some purpose, in order to feel as though something is being accomplished and changed by our being around on this Earth. That's perhaps why housewives don't feel a great deal of satisfaction, especially when the children are older and don't require so much care and attention. Bringing a baby into the world literally takes up your whole life, from what I have been told, and it has consequences. The child will change the world in some way, however small. What you do or don't do for him will have consequences in his life.
This baby has already taken over my body, but has yet to fill my hours. I am trying not to wait for him, but instead to use my time to cultivate grown-up thoughts and ideas, and do creative activities like making jewellery, writing stories and baking bread, as well as indulge in some hedonistic relaxation.
Problem is, he's so close now, he's taken over most of my thought processes...the idea that my body could send signals of his imminent arrival at any moment lends a slight risk factor to even the simple idea of going for a walk. I feel I should be mentally prepared and physically rested at all times, in case today is the day. And there are things that I should do, to negate any future regrets - things like get my manuscript sent away.
Okay, hang in there baby, your time will come.
So accountants like solving number puzzles, architects like drawing and working out spatial problems, writers like making up stories. All the stuff in between can be tedious, but in a way it is also like playing. Mowing the lawns using a noisy machine - you get results, a clean, cut section of grass to look at afterwards, a sense of achievement, plus your mind is momentarily busied by the task of pushing the mower around the square, of getting it done. I won't go so far as to say that doing dishes is anywhere near similar (I can't wait to live in a house with a dishwasher again) but cooking too is a creative outlet, if you have the time and energy to see it that way. And then you add relationships to enrich life socially and mentally, to have other minds to bounce ideas off and people to accompany you as you play.
Having a baby is the ultimate activity. I guess as we get older we need our pass-times to have some purpose, in order to feel as though something is being accomplished and changed by our being around on this Earth. That's perhaps why housewives don't feel a great deal of satisfaction, especially when the children are older and don't require so much care and attention. Bringing a baby into the world literally takes up your whole life, from what I have been told, and it has consequences. The child will change the world in some way, however small. What you do or don't do for him will have consequences in his life.
This baby has already taken over my body, but has yet to fill my hours. I am trying not to wait for him, but instead to use my time to cultivate grown-up thoughts and ideas, and do creative activities like making jewellery, writing stories and baking bread, as well as indulge in some hedonistic relaxation.
Problem is, he's so close now, he's taken over most of my thought processes...the idea that my body could send signals of his imminent arrival at any moment lends a slight risk factor to even the simple idea of going for a walk. I feel I should be mentally prepared and physically rested at all times, in case today is the day. And there are things that I should do, to negate any future regrets - things like get my manuscript sent away.
Okay, hang in there baby, your time will come.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Venting
Yesterday we went to Lumsden again. At this point the midwife visits are weekly, which is a bit tiring since it is a long drive, but I guess there are only two weeks left until my due date now so I won't be complaining for long! However, this is the second time I have driven the hour and a bit to get down there and then been kept waiting over an hour before they can see me. This time, there was actually no one there - apparently they had tried calling me all morning to change the appointment, interesting that they didn't try my mobile - but a nurse at the clinic next door got hold of someone for me, and eventually they came.
This made me wonder if we were making the right choice deciding to have the baby there. Are we going to show up in the depths of labour and find the doors locked because they couldn't find my mobile number to let me know they weren't going to be able to be there? It seemed a little unprofessional. It turned out well in the end though. First the nurse plied me with milo and chocolate coconut squares, then the midwife who came to meet me was extremely apologetic and, more importantly, seemed to be right on my wavelength as far as how I would like this birth to go.
Even so, the experience made me realise that a home birth is not so much of a drastic idea for a first baby as I had previously thought. It's a bit late for us to organise one now - I want a pool and I think finding one to rent and a space in our house to set it up would be a drama, not to mention the visiting family who will be here in a couple of weeks - but I can definitely see it on the cards for next time. Not having to leave home and upset what I am sure is going to be a fine balance of emotions during the labour would be great. I'm pretty sure no matter how chilled I manage to stay before we drive to Lumsden, the car ride is going to throw me off a bit. The first half hour includes a road that is officially called the Devil's Staircase. Yeah.
Anyway, as I get closer to the impending arrival I am aware that these posts are probably becoming not just more sparse, but perhaps also less poignant, so I will sign off... Hopefully next post I can put up some shots that were taken by a photographer in the back yard this week. She was offering a free photo shoot for mums to be, in order to build up her portfolio. I am pretty certain they are going to be very cheesy, but being that I am a lady of leisure at the moment and like free stuff, it was an opportunity I could not pass up.
This made me wonder if we were making the right choice deciding to have the baby there. Are we going to show up in the depths of labour and find the doors locked because they couldn't find my mobile number to let me know they weren't going to be able to be there? It seemed a little unprofessional. It turned out well in the end though. First the nurse plied me with milo and chocolate coconut squares, then the midwife who came to meet me was extremely apologetic and, more importantly, seemed to be right on my wavelength as far as how I would like this birth to go.
Even so, the experience made me realise that a home birth is not so much of a drastic idea for a first baby as I had previously thought. It's a bit late for us to organise one now - I want a pool and I think finding one to rent and a space in our house to set it up would be a drama, not to mention the visiting family who will be here in a couple of weeks - but I can definitely see it on the cards for next time. Not having to leave home and upset what I am sure is going to be a fine balance of emotions during the labour would be great. I'm pretty sure no matter how chilled I manage to stay before we drive to Lumsden, the car ride is going to throw me off a bit. The first half hour includes a road that is officially called the Devil's Staircase. Yeah.
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| The Devil's Staircase...perhaps not the best road for a labouring woman to travel |
Anyway, as I get closer to the impending arrival I am aware that these posts are probably becoming not just more sparse, but perhaps also less poignant, so I will sign off... Hopefully next post I can put up some shots that were taken by a photographer in the back yard this week. She was offering a free photo shoot for mums to be, in order to build up her portfolio. I am pretty certain they are going to be very cheesy, but being that I am a lady of leisure at the moment and like free stuff, it was an opportunity I could not pass up.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Getting learned
The belly is pretty dominant at this point, although strangely it's not getting in my way as much as it was a few weeks ago. I have rediscovered the ability to sleep...but maybe I speak too soon.
I was watching a DVD that came with a book I got out of the library - Happy Birth Day. It's very British, but has some interesting information and ideas about natural birth. The narrator pointed out that a lot of people don't put as much time into preparing for childbirth as they do into organising their weddings. She said this is due to the commonly held belief that childbirth can be taken care of by medical staff, whereas it will likely be a much more positive experience if you are well versed on what is going on inside you.
I thought about this...Our wedding was fun to organise and I know I bored a lot of people discussing the details of our plans (as perhaps I am doing in this blog right now?), but did I put more time into it than I am putting into birth planning?
As much as I experienced some emotional changes when I got married, the wedding itself didn't teach me much. It was pretty much just a party and celebration (although an awesome one at that!). Pregnancy and childbirth, on the other hand, is an educational experience. Unless you are studying to be a doctor or a midwife, it is unlikely you will read up on what goes on during this time, so when you are expecting your first child, there is a lot to learn.
It can be daunting, and I could see why some women, especially ones with busier lifestyles than mine, could be tempted to just let it slide and leave it to the professionals. I'm trying to take the advice, which I have heard time and time again during this pregnancy, that the more you know about what's going on, the more you see it as a physiological occurrence rather than a medical one, the better you will feel about it when it happens. I can't be sure that my mind will be in a logical enough place to say "oh, this contraction is just widening my cervix, not to worry" when I am in tremendous pain, but I guess it's worth having that knowledge in the back of my head.
I read a quote on the weekend which I thought was worth remembering. It was in a list of positive birth affirmations (a bit like looking up love poems and quotes for your wedding invitations!). It said something along the lines of: This isn't more than I can cope with, because it is my body that is doing it. I'm going to try to remember that one when the time comes.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Saturday morning pancakes
I made blueberry pancakes for breakfast this morning with jam and yoghurt smeared all over them, and I'm already thinking about the (Ferg)burgers we are going to eat for dinner. Yes, I was right about the need to retract that statement about my healthy, fruit-loving baby - he wants food now, stodgy, sugary, fatty food. He wants chocolate and lollies and pizza and chips. He's trying to ruin me!
We went down to Lumsden yesterday for our check up. Both me and baby are doing well, measurements are all on track, blood pressure is good, nothing to worry about. As the midwife put it: There are absolutely no concerns about this baby. What a good boy! Now to quell my/his sugar cravings...
This morning while eating those delicious pancakes I wondered, as I have many times lately, where the baby will fit into the picture once he's on the outside. When my husband and I are sitting at the table eating our pancakes, where is the baby? Or will there be no more Saturday morning pancakes in our near future? I think there will be - they've been happening for eight years - so I guess our pancake ritual will just be adjusted to fit in another small figure.
I had the same thought while hanging out the washing the other day. Will I take the baby with me when I go out the back with the laundry basket? Will I wait until he's sleeping and run out there, peg it out quickly, all the while wondering if he's woken up? I am guessing long showers will quickly become a distant memory.
Yes, it's definitely going to be an adjustment having a tag-along with me all the time, but in a way I haven't felt as if I was alone for a while now. When we had just arrived back from Canada, I remember going for a walk with my ipod headphones on and feeling a faint twinge of guilt that I was listening to music that the baby couldn't hear. I haven't put on my headphones since - I feel like it would be some kind of betrayal.
At this point his hearing has improved to the point where a loud noise would probably startle him. I also read that if I shine a bright light at my belly, he will turn towards it. That's how thinly stretched the skin across my stomach is. My husband is talking about teaching him morse code with a torch tonight. I guess that's our evening sorted. After the burgers that is.
We went down to Lumsden yesterday for our check up. Both me and baby are doing well, measurements are all on track, blood pressure is good, nothing to worry about. As the midwife put it: There are absolutely no concerns about this baby. What a good boy! Now to quell my/his sugar cravings...
This morning while eating those delicious pancakes I wondered, as I have many times lately, where the baby will fit into the picture once he's on the outside. When my husband and I are sitting at the table eating our pancakes, where is the baby? Or will there be no more Saturday morning pancakes in our near future? I think there will be - they've been happening for eight years - so I guess our pancake ritual will just be adjusted to fit in another small figure.
I had the same thought while hanging out the washing the other day. Will I take the baby with me when I go out the back with the laundry basket? Will I wait until he's sleeping and run out there, peg it out quickly, all the while wondering if he's woken up? I am guessing long showers will quickly become a distant memory.
Yes, it's definitely going to be an adjustment having a tag-along with me all the time, but in a way I haven't felt as if I was alone for a while now. When we had just arrived back from Canada, I remember going for a walk with my ipod headphones on and feeling a faint twinge of guilt that I was listening to music that the baby couldn't hear. I haven't put on my headphones since - I feel like it would be some kind of betrayal.
At this point his hearing has improved to the point where a loud noise would probably startle him. I also read that if I shine a bright light at my belly, he will turn towards it. That's how thinly stretched the skin across my stomach is. My husband is talking about teaching him morse code with a torch tonight. I guess that's our evening sorted. After the burgers that is.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
The cut and cravings
It must be a strange thing for those women who know before time they are going to need a C-section for medical reasons. The pregnancy must have a different, more relaxed feel to it without the need to mentally prepare for birth. I realise that C-sections are not as easy as many people may think, but from the outside, it seems like it would be kind of a relief knowing you don't have a choice in the matter. At least the pain doesn't require the kind of mind-over-matter endurance feat that I gather childbirth necessitates.
As a woman in my preggo yoga class said last week (her C-section was booked for yesterday as she has a misshapen uterus): "I didn't choose this form of birth but I'm glad it choose me!"
Others may not agree. My cousin just went through a hellish-sounding Caesarean whereby the morphine didn't take hold properly. She hasn't yet been able to hold her baby due to the pain. Caesareans take about six weeks to recover from - they are major surgery.
At the moment, I am feeling pretty confident about childbirth. I have two older sisters who have each had two children without complications. Both birthed their second-borns without pain relief. I feel lucky to be getting a lot of rest and not working up until the birth, as I think all this time to myself is helping me to gain the mental strength I will need. Relaxation is good for us, I think.
The baby is definitely starting to feel cramped in there. His movements are like squirms now rather than kicks, and he seems to move around a lot after I eat, as if complaining that the food is taking up his space. As my husband put it after dinner last night, it must be a double edged sword - the baby wants the food (these are the weeks when they are concentrating on putting on that cute baby fat) but he also wants to be able to stretch his legs.
I feel my appetite increasing this week, to the point where I may have to retract my statement about not having any cravings. Yesterday I felt like pizza real bad - and not the healthy, wholemeal crust, spinach and tomato variety we usually make at home, but the really greasy, fatty, cheesy type you buy at somewhere like Dominos.
Today it's cookies. I think this afternoon may involve some baking...
As a woman in my preggo yoga class said last week (her C-section was booked for yesterday as she has a misshapen uterus): "I didn't choose this form of birth but I'm glad it choose me!"
Others may not agree. My cousin just went through a hellish-sounding Caesarean whereby the morphine didn't take hold properly. She hasn't yet been able to hold her baby due to the pain. Caesareans take about six weeks to recover from - they are major surgery.
At the moment, I am feeling pretty confident about childbirth. I have two older sisters who have each had two children without complications. Both birthed their second-borns without pain relief. I feel lucky to be getting a lot of rest and not working up until the birth, as I think all this time to myself is helping me to gain the mental strength I will need. Relaxation is good for us, I think.
The baby is definitely starting to feel cramped in there. His movements are like squirms now rather than kicks, and he seems to move around a lot after I eat, as if complaining that the food is taking up his space. As my husband put it after dinner last night, it must be a double edged sword - the baby wants the food (these are the weeks when they are concentrating on putting on that cute baby fat) but he also wants to be able to stretch his legs.
I feel my appetite increasing this week, to the point where I may have to retract my statement about not having any cravings. Yesterday I felt like pizza real bad - and not the healthy, wholemeal crust, spinach and tomato variety we usually make at home, but the really greasy, fatty, cheesy type you buy at somewhere like Dominos.
Today it's cookies. I think this afternoon may involve some baking...
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Advice
When you're pregnant, everyone has advice to give you. Every other woman who has ever birthed a baby has something to say, but I'm not here to rant about how annoying this is, just to say this: So far, pregnancy to me seems to be a very personal experience and something that no one else can relate to without resorting to cliche. Of course there are the obvious similarities between pregnancies - tiredness, swelling, the increased urge to urinate - but other than these physical manifestations, I think the emotional experience of pregnancy is different for everyone.
Saying that, if (and probably when) I become the been-there-done-that mother at the other end of the journey, I already know what my advice will be: Don't read too much, especially early on.
I figured this out in the first trimester when I was madly googling statistics and freaking out unnecessarily about miscarriage, to the point where any little twinge would send me hyperventilating. I knew this meant I wanted the baby badly, so that was a good thing, but it was also totally unnecessary. One in five babies miscarry! Arggh! I imagined a room with four other pregnant women in it, and me looking around and thinking, one of us has got to go. A horrible thought! There is no need to know these statistics. There is no need to know about what can go wrong, unless it does, in which case it is definitely sensible to find out why and how it happened.
But when things are going well, I would say don't read too much. Just think positive thoughts and let them emanate into your womb. Don't be afraid to imagine the baby early on. Don't be afraid to be happy.
Saying that, if (and probably when) I become the been-there-done-that mother at the other end of the journey, I already know what my advice will be: Don't read too much, especially early on.
I figured this out in the first trimester when I was madly googling statistics and freaking out unnecessarily about miscarriage, to the point where any little twinge would send me hyperventilating. I knew this meant I wanted the baby badly, so that was a good thing, but it was also totally unnecessary. One in five babies miscarry! Arggh! I imagined a room with four other pregnant women in it, and me looking around and thinking, one of us has got to go. A horrible thought! There is no need to know these statistics. There is no need to know about what can go wrong, unless it does, in which case it is definitely sensible to find out why and how it happened.
But when things are going well, I would say don't read too much. Just think positive thoughts and let them emanate into your womb. Don't be afraid to imagine the baby early on. Don't be afraid to be happy.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Practical prep
I just hung out a load of baby laundry. First time. It looks exceptionally cute on the line, but I feel a bit like a crazy person, like one of those old women you see pushing empty prams. Still, with five weeks to go and my energy dissipating daily, it is a sensible thing to be doing. Babies have sensitive skin, I have been told, so all the clothes and blankets and nappies need to be pre-washed. When it comes to the nappies, this also helps with absorbency, something I am sure I will be well-versed in a few weeks from now.
Half of the women who were in my pre-natal classes have had their babies a couple of weeks before their due dates. This is kind of exciting. Although I know it doesn't by any stretch mean it will happen to me, it does mean that it could. We could have a little tag-along with us in three weeks, or even two. This also means it's time to pack the hospital bag, just in case.
We have decided to give birth at Lumsden Maternity, a small rural birthing centre about an hour from here, so if all goes well, I'm not packing for a hospital stay as such. So far, I know one woman who had planned to birth there, but twelve hours after her waters breaking, her labour hadn't progressed, so the nurses at Lumsden sent her to Invercargill Hospital and she had her baby there, but then went back to Lumsden for some post-natal R&R. I'm hoping things go to plan for us so we don't have to venture down to the hospital. I'm sure our son will thank us if his birth certificate doesn't say Invercargill on it! I am told that at Lumsden the midwives and nurses give plenty of one-on-one care to new parents, helping them bath, feed and change their babies and making sure the new family goes home familiar and comfortable with one another. To me this seems almost more important than the birth.
So, the hospital bag - another reason to do the laundry. There are a few different requirements for such a trip. There's going to be an extra person with us, someone who has until now not needed his own clothing. Baby needs clothes and nappies to go home in, and the weather must factor in that - a few warm things, a few cooler things, and of course something super cute for those first photos!
Then there's me. What do I want to give birth in? The only thing I can imagine wearing is a sarong, which I have taken to wrapping myself in island-style on hot days anyway. It seems a lot of women throw off the restrictions of clothing for birth, but without having experienced it, I can't tell if I will be comfortable getting all nakey. So, sarong, dressing gown, comfortable clothes. A change of clothes for the new daddy.
And then there's snacks. Labour is apparently a bit like a marathon, so I have bought isotonic drinks, protein and carbohydrate-rich muesli bars and a packet of jellybeans. I have rescue remedy and massage oils. Closer to the time I will throw in the ipod speakers and oil burner - I'm hoping happy music and nice smells will keep me from freaking out when it's time to hatch.
Before I got pregnant I would never have imagined that all these details go into having a baby, and I guess in a way they don't, seeing as without all this, the result would likely be the same. However, feeling prepared aids relaxation, and relaxation is what I need right now. I'm guessing there won't be much of it later on.
Plus, looking out at a clothesline of baby clothes is a sure way to replace anxiety and exhaustion with hopefulness and excitement, and positivity is key.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Countdown - on one hand!
It's Monday again and we are another week closer to the arrival of our baby boy. Just 5 weeks now! My dreams are becoming more vivid as the days pass, and sleep is becoming a bit easier too, possibly out of sheer exhaustion. Last night I dreamed that my husband was looking after the baby because I had to go to school. I was wearing my old EGGS school uniform and waiting for the bus in Newmarket, thinking to myself that this was bullshit, I shouldn't have to go to school when I have a small baby at home waiting for me. Then I suddenly realised - I've finished school! So I rang my husband and told him I was done with high school so I was coming home after all. It was quite a relief.
I think the appearance of my old school days in my dream world is due to my thoughts just before I went to sleep last night. I was calculating that it has been 12 years since high school finished. I wonder if that girl who spent the morning of the last day of school high on sleep deprivation, throwing toilet paper into trees around the school grounds and eggs at teachers' cars, as well as squirting water pistols at third formers, would be pleased with life now. She probably would have expected more. A house perhaps, a fancier car, some semblance of a real career, instead of a piecemeal one.
A house has become our next target, which, judging by our achievements to date, means it will happen and probably fairly soon. As I said in an earlier post, the pair of us tend to get our minds fixed on what we want and we achieve it pretty readily. I don't think a house is going to be any different, although to me right now it represents a new reality. We have not stayed in one place for longer than a year in the nine years we have been together. When we haven't been traveling, we have at least moved suburbs annually, trying out a new area. And we have always had plans of traveling, even when we were staying still. We still have a list of future destinations where we will likely try to travel to with a small baby (Japan is at the top of that list...I'm obsessed with the idea of Japan), but we are realistic that for now and for the next year at least, we are staying put.
Looking at a job website the other day, I noticed possible positions for my husband in Christchurch. Strangely, although I can't see us living there, the idea of moving filled me with excitement. Suddenly I was googling Akaroa and nearby areas where I thought we could settle. I was imagining cheaper land and houses due to the recent earthquakes (perhaps not the best reason to buy!). And then I thought to myself - wait, we have only been here three months. We really have to give situations a better chance to progress.
Buying a house would be a big step for us. It would mean staying in one place and making a real home. It would mean making purchases that are not just "for now" but forever...or nearly ever. And I guess this is really where we should be at, thinking long term, so that the little guy who likes to kick my ribs at night has some sense of stability in his life.
With the pregnancy, we have become more housebound and more interested in the idea of making a home. My husband has been trying his hand (very successfully!) at carpentry - his next project is a changing table for the baby. We have been talking about how nice it would be to have chickens and a goat in the back yard. I guess, like the title of this blog, we are finally getting all growsed up. And just in time too.
I think the appearance of my old school days in my dream world is due to my thoughts just before I went to sleep last night. I was calculating that it has been 12 years since high school finished. I wonder if that girl who spent the morning of the last day of school high on sleep deprivation, throwing toilet paper into trees around the school grounds and eggs at teachers' cars, as well as squirting water pistols at third formers, would be pleased with life now. She probably would have expected more. A house perhaps, a fancier car, some semblance of a real career, instead of a piecemeal one.
A house has become our next target, which, judging by our achievements to date, means it will happen and probably fairly soon. As I said in an earlier post, the pair of us tend to get our minds fixed on what we want and we achieve it pretty readily. I don't think a house is going to be any different, although to me right now it represents a new reality. We have not stayed in one place for longer than a year in the nine years we have been together. When we haven't been traveling, we have at least moved suburbs annually, trying out a new area. And we have always had plans of traveling, even when we were staying still. We still have a list of future destinations where we will likely try to travel to with a small baby (Japan is at the top of that list...I'm obsessed with the idea of Japan), but we are realistic that for now and for the next year at least, we are staying put.
Looking at a job website the other day, I noticed possible positions for my husband in Christchurch. Strangely, although I can't see us living there, the idea of moving filled me with excitement. Suddenly I was googling Akaroa and nearby areas where I thought we could settle. I was imagining cheaper land and houses due to the recent earthquakes (perhaps not the best reason to buy!). And then I thought to myself - wait, we have only been here three months. We really have to give situations a better chance to progress.
Buying a house would be a big step for us. It would mean staying in one place and making a real home. It would mean making purchases that are not just "for now" but forever...or nearly ever. And I guess this is really where we should be at, thinking long term, so that the little guy who likes to kick my ribs at night has some sense of stability in his life.
With the pregnancy, we have become more housebound and more interested in the idea of making a home. My husband has been trying his hand (very successfully!) at carpentry - his next project is a changing table for the baby. We have been talking about how nice it would be to have chickens and a goat in the back yard. I guess, like the title of this blog, we are finally getting all growsed up. And just in time too.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Sobriety
There are two questions I tend to get asked often about pregnancy. One is whether or not I've had any 'weird cravings' - disappointingly, no; he seems to be into fruit but I haven't combined any mustard and tofu with my apricots lately - and the other is whether I miss booze.
The obvious answer would be yes, but actually, not really. I guess when you can't have it, you don't really think about it. What I am amazed at is the amount of money that remains in our bank account (or used to, before I stopped working and the budget got super tight) now that there is only one of us drinking (and without a drinking buddy, he only indulges about once a week).
In Montreal in the days before the positive pregnancy test, we were drinking at least a bottle of wine most nights (and often the one litre bottles....oops!). How did we afford it? Who knows. In Revelstoke in October 2009, the dead month for jobs in a ski town, we were totally skint but somehow managed to be drunk pretty much the whole time.
I always knew we drank too much, in the back of my mind, but being pregnant has made me realise that we really did drink a lot more than most people. I guess when you get into a habit of enhancing any situation with alcohol (or social lube, as a past flatmate used to call it), it starts to feel a little dull when the booze isn't there. But conversely, when you spend nearly eight months NOT adding alcohol to any situation, it starts to seem a bit superfluous. There are a lot of movies I thought I had seen, but after watching them again, I realise I must have been drunk the first time, cos the plot is suddenly a lot easier to understand and I find I have not remembered how it ends.
All this is not to say that I won't be looking forward to a glass of wine after the baby is born, but just that pregnancy has perhaps alerted me to the possibility that alcohol could have been a smaller part of my life than it was for the past ten years.
Being sober at parties is weird though. There is something in that 'social lube' moniker. I feel I am a much more interesting person to talk to after a couple of drinks, a fact that has been proved by my recent stone-cold sober appearances at parties. I find the conversation doesn't flow from me quite so readily. I struggle to find interesting things to say - and when I do, I struggle to word them in the quick, witty manner that party talk requires. I tend to give up, hover near the people I know, feel a little awkward.
I'm also amazed at the amount of energy drunk people have. They dance and run around and seem to be constantly on the move. Is it the sugar or just the destruction of inhibitions that does it? I guess, both. Suddenly, the idea of staying up until 4am drinking seems insane. How quickly I forget!
Perhaps my new, slightly dulled personality at parties is also due to the fact that I have a lot on my mind, and none of it really relates to those around me. I don't want to become one of those people who can only talk about her kid, but that is quite likely where this is heading. I also don't want to be one of those disturbingly drunk party mums who everyone is amused but slightly disgusted by. My upcoming new role has already required some changes to my lifestyle, and no doubt there are more to come.
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