A little home of our ow(e)n!

I am having a glass of wine! Owen has gone to sleep and won’t want feeding till at least 12.30 so I’ve a good two and a half hours for the alcohol to leave my system. I haven’t dared to have one up till now  because I never knew if he’d wake early and want a feed. But now he’s pretty regular, and only wakes at 12.30, 4.30 and 7.30. I’m hoping that the 4.30 feed will start getting later and eventually he’ll go through without it. But I’m guessing that this will be a while yet! Some people give a bottle of formula at the midnight feed so that the baby will sleep longer – this seems wrong to me. I don’t want to do this except as a final last resort if I’m desperate. At the moment, I’m happy doing the nightfeeds so I’ll continue. I’m so happy that we’ve finally sussed the breastfeeding, I couldn’t possibly start him on formula!

Went into town today, just me and Owen. Went to the Abbey to discuss life insurance, then went on into town, bought some little books for Owen and then took a walk down the prom and on the pier. It was a fantastically sunny day, really warm and spring-like. It was beautiful and I felt really happy and peaceful. Owen was peaceful too, he was alert and looking around him, but quite happy and cosy in his buggy. I was going to walk down to the flat but didn’t have time. That flat will be my home soon! I can’t wait, a little home of our own, for me and my son. We are going to be so happy there, I just know it!

Moses no more!

A first today – Owen is sleeping in his cot! I built it earlier today, and popped him in it thinking that he’d absolutely hate it and scream. But he pretty much went straight to sleep and has been sleeping all evening! My little man looks totally dwarfed in there, though, compared to how he looked in the Moses basket – he almost filled that!

So it’s Moses no more. I feel a bit sad. It means my little one is not so little and is growing up so fast. It reminded me that I have to savour every moment of Owen’s babyhood, before it disappears and I’m left wondering where the time went.

I’m going to bed now, I’ll lie and watch him for a while, he’s so beautiful and peaceful when he’s sleeping.

One piercing shriek and it’s over.

Today I am giving thanks. To whom, I’m not sure. I don’t believe in god, but I am thanking someone for my baby and his health. Today Owen had his first immunisations. It was very straightforward. I sat with my sweet little trusting boy on my knee, his trousers round his ankles, and two grim-faced nurses descended on us from either direction and stuck two needles in his little pudgy thighs. Ouch. His face went red, then purple, and a piercing shriek rose in his throat (the same piercing shriek I had heard twice before when sitting in the waiting room) and then he calmed down and just sat there looking a little bemused with a sticky plaster on each thigh. So did I, to be honest. Well, without the sticky plaster obviously. But I was a little in shock. The nurse had to remind me to go!

But for me and Owen, living here in England it is as easy as that. Protection against killer diseases involves the least amount of inconvenience. One piercing shriek, and it’s over. I am watching a programme about poor children in India, who have to travel for hundreds of miles to get hospital treatment, and then might not even get it. I feel like I want to put my arms around all those little children, it makes me want to cry. That’s what becoming a parent does to you. It makes you want to be the mother to all children. Of course, you feel the most special and binding love towards your own child, but this love extends itself out to all small, vulnerable beings everywhere. It is human empathy working at its strongest and best.  It even works to strengthen the bond between myself and my own child. The horrible plight of other poor children makes me want to hold mine even closer, love him better, give him more, protect him from harm at any cost. I read an awful story today about a man who killed his five month old baby because he was jealous that his wife paid the baby more attention than him. I had Owen on my lap at the time and I had to hug and kiss him, even though it woke him up. I couldn’t believe that anyone would be capable of such a thing.

He is sleeping now, in his moses basket, in the bedroom. I just crept in to check on him and he’s sleeping peacefully. He was fine immediately after the injections, in fact he was really hyperactive for a while on his baby gym! But then he suddenly got very fretful and cried inconsolably for ages, that sort of tremulous, agonised wailing that makes your heart break. He had been fed and had his nappy changed so I thought maybe he was feeling some pain or discomfort from the jabs so I gave him a spoonful of Calpol – the first thing that has passed his lips except breast milk since the first week of his life (he had a little sugar water to help when the canula was put in his hand). He really wasn’t sure about it, but managed to get it all down, and did eventually quieten down and slept on my lap happily for an hour or so.

I’m relieved that the first jabs are over though, and that he has coped with them pretty well all in all - now I’m crossing my fingers and toes!

PS. I also give thanks to whoever is listening that my cold is finally dissipating! Thank you thank you thank you, whoever you are!

Flesh-eating killer lurgy

 Well the last few days have been sheer hell! Owen recovered from his cold very quickly, but mine has developed into some kind of flesh-eating killer lurgy that has invaded my brain and started mass-producing snot. I know, I know. Childbirth is more painful. Probably. But it doesn’t last for four flipping days, does it? My head feels like it’s about to give birth to an oversized snot baby. I have blown my nose so much that all my tubes are red raw and the bit between my nose and top lip was bleeding earlier! I have not dealt well with this cold, as you can probably tell!

My lurgy started kicking in big time on Friday night at Owen’s second party, John’s grandson Reece’s birthday do. We had been to Swanbourne Lake in the day, and I was a bit tired but decided to make an appearance at the party. While we were there, Owen started to grizzle and cry so I took him off for a feed in the other room, he fed for AGES and I started to feel very cold-ridden at this point. He then wanted more, so I must have fed for half an hour at least, and felt rotten by the end of it (although Owen was smiling and chattering away by this time!) so went home. Felt very rough that night and Owen was waking often and taking small amounts.

Saturday, I felt okay in the morning and progressively felt rougher through the day. Owen was feeding almost constantly, too! Breastfeeding positions are the worst for a bunged up nose, it just seems to make it worse. Plus Owen startles whenever I sniff (which is often!) and yanks my nipple so hard I think he’s going to bite it off! Ouchhhhh….  Saturday night was a write-off, I think I probably kept Owen awake for a change actually! I was totally zombified on Sunday and annoying had to cancel a trip over to Brighton to see Kelly and Zoe. I snuffled miserably around the house all day, then Rob and Em came over in the evening for Sunday dinner. His Royal ‘O’ness very kindly allowed me to finish my dinner for a change! Sunday night – more of the same. Pretty much a repeat of Saturday night. Monday morning, argh.

I kind of had a bit of a meltdown on Monday lunchtime. When you have felt so crap for so long, and it isn’t getting any better, in fact seems to be getting worse, it is just not funny anymore. I collapsed into a mess of snot, tears and ‘woe-is-me’ wailings. I eventually phoned the doctor and made an emergency appointment, and had a second meltdown in the surgery. The doctor passed me a tissue and diagnosed me with…… the common cold. Surprise surprise. I am hopeless when ill. I hate being ill and always think I have something much worse. Like nose cancer, or sinus prolapse, or something.

Anyway, he did prescribe me some antibiotics (although he said they probably wouldn’t do anything since a common cold is viral) and some nice knockout painkillers that apparently would make both me and baby sleepy. Although I wasn’t much keen on the thought of pumping drugs into Owen via my breastmilk, the doc said it was absolutely fine and actually I was seriously in need of sleep so I took some of these that night and miracle of miracles, I took one before I went to sleep and it knocked me out totally! Didn’t wake till the next feed, then took another and again I went to sleep easily. I can see how people get hooked on tranquilisers, after sleepless nights a knockout pill is fab! I don’t think Owen was particularly affected though, after the 3.30 feed he was more energetic than I’ve ever seen him at that time of night, bashing the hell out of the hanging toys! I’m going to try and post a little video of him doing it, it’s so funny to watch!

Today I’ve been up and down. This afternoon went for a walk down town to try and clear my head, which worked pretty well for a while but I’m sitting here now feeling pretty bunged up again, and my sinuses are literally buzzing and throbbing again, I am going to take some more painkillers when I go to bed so I can get some decent sleep. Aaaaargh. I can’t wait for this damn cold to go away. I will be eternally grateful. I will spend five minutes every morning giving thanks that I no longer have it. Honestly, I really will.

Snot, more snot, and aspirational devices

Owen gets friendly with a polar bear. Should I be encouraging this or not?!

Owen has a cold. He is very bunged up, my poor little man! Last night he was snorting and snuffling terribly all night, I had to bring him back into the bed with me because he was so restless in his Moses basket, and kept whacking the sides of it with his fists. It was horribly frustrating to watch him -  of course he can’t blow his nose to get rid of the snot, and I found out today that babies can’t breathe through their mouths either, so they really do suffer. I am suffering with him, but my cold seems to be mainly a nasty sore throat and sneezing. But I didn’t really sleep last night, I lay and watched my little one struggling to breathe. He kept turning his head and looking at me, as if to say ‘mum, can’t you DO something about this snot?!’ and of course I couldn’t and it was the longest night ever, I have to say.

In the morning I was wiping his wee nose and I saw some blood in the snot – aaargh – my brain went into panic mode – HIS BRAIN IS BLEEDING! Call 999! Okay, so I exaggerate, but my heart did stop for a minute. Blood has that effect, doesn’t it. It was actually only a little tiny bit, like you get sometimes after a hard blowing session. But I was freaked out and phoned the doctor, hoping for an instant cure for baby cold. He explained that this was not possible, and that like the rest of the population I would have to just wait for it to clear up, but in the meantime I could try saline nose drops to loosen it up a bit. Saline nose drops? What exactly is pouring salt water up his nose going to achieve? And who is the unlucky person who is going to have to try to get the salt water up the nose in the first place? Not the doctor…

I couldn’t pick the prescription up till 5pm so decided to go into town and buy as many cold remedies as I could lay my hands on. It was a perfectly balmy spring day, sunny and mild. I went mad and bought a beach frock and sunglasses. Well, it is almost summer isn’t it? And I had lost my sunglasses the week before. I then bought up Boots entire stock of Calpol-based products. And a scary looking thing called an aspirator, for suctioning snot out of baby noses.

Evening – I decided to give the saline nose drops and aspirator a go. This was much harder than I had anticipated, and I had anticipated it being pretty damn hard. It doesn’t actually say in the instructions that you need at least three people to perform a successful nasal aspiration on an uncooperative wriggly piglet. Mum helped the first time, holding him down while I attempted to first pour saline up his nose and then stick a hefty great tube up it and suction out snot. We did managed to drag a big stringy bogey out of one nostril, which I then had to hoik up with a tissue… snot has this really annoying way of not wanting to leave the nose… Owen, meanwhile, was not a happy bunny and tried his level best to kick me in the boobs. But he didn’t scream at all, bless him - probably because it’s hard to scream with an aspirator stuck up one nostril.

Grizzly baby, sad mum.

Mum and John have gone up to stay with friends on a canal boat, and Owen and I are on our own for a couple of days. Today has been fine, although Owen has been a bit grizzly at times. It feels a little strange, having the house to ourselves. Owen had his six week check at the doctors this morning at 10am though, so we were up at 7am to get the morning routine out of the way before heading off to the surgery. It was a gorgeous day again today, really spring-like and sunny.

We saw a health visitor first, and Owen got weighed and measured. He is now 11lb 10oz, which is fantastic, he is gigantic! Then we saw the doctor, who asked about Owen’s health and mine, and then unfortunately asked about the father, and I surprised myself by bursting into tears! I was completely unable to speak for a minute or so, and then managed to explain the situation between sobs. I don’t know why I broke down like that – I’ve been asked about the father before and not got emotional, not even felt sad or anything. Maybe I haven’t dealt with this yet, totally. I’ve had a couple of moments today, actually. Maybe I’m due on my period - I haven’t had a period since the birth.

Will I ever be able to completely erase the sadness? I don’t exactly feel sad for myself or for the fact that he walked away from me, I feel sad for Owen. For my son, who won’t have the love of his father. He has cut us off completely, which is quite unusual I think – most fathers do want to have contact with their child, even if they don’t want contact with the mother. Most men feel some kind of emotional attachment to their child. He clearly does not. Why not? Does he not feel even curiosity? I can’t believe that anyone would have no interest at all in their son. When I met him, and in those brief weeks that I knew him, I thought that he was a decent person, a nice person. A warm person. But now I think I was totally taken in by him. He wasn’t interested in me, he never wanted to have a relationship with me. He used me, and then when I fell pregnant he cut me off quicker than you can say big fat positive pregnancy test. I emailed him telling him about Owen’s birth and sent pictures. No response. Is that a nice person, a warm person? I don’t think so.

Well there is one thing I know. It really, truly, is his loss. Every single time I look at my little darling I am amazed at how much I love him, and every day it gets stronger and bigger and better. That’s what he’s missing out on. Unconditional love. Pure love. To go through life never knowing that feeling, that’s his loss.

One day, maybe he will regret this decision. I doubt it, though. Perhaps its best though, for him, if he erases it from his mind. Because to realise too late that you have missed out on such a life-changing, beautiful experience, that must be a terrible, terrible thing.

A few musical genes

Owen farts and finds it hilarious.

Today, Owen and I had our second visit to the Parenting Support Group at the local surgery. This involves a group of mums sitting round in a room, with their babies lying on a big mat in the middle. The other babies are all older than Owen by quite a long chalk, and they are HUGE. They all lie there gurgling, playing with toys, crying and vomiting. Owen is teeny compared to these monster babies. He just lies there asleep. Sometimes he opens one eye and gives the monster baby next to him a withering newborn scowl. He farts quite a lot, very stinky farts. All the mums in close vicinity surreptitiously check their baby’s bums. I know for a fact that it’s Owen, farting. I even know the difference between an Owen fart and an Owen poo. His farts smell rubbery and pungent. His poos smell sickly sweet, or banana-yoghurty. Nice!

Although he spends most of the time at the clinic either asleep or scowling ferociously, actually he’s just started doing proper cheesy grins and even sort of laughing, as in the pic above. It’s lovely when he does a real smile, we sit facing each other for ages and just smile and laugh at each other! He has much better eye contact now, too, although he still goes into glazed stare mode quite often and just gazes over my shoulder or off to one side, as if he can see things I can’t see. Maybe he can. Never underestimate the power of baby vision, I say. Owen sometimes looks like he KNOWS things.

This afternoon I popped Owen on a blanket on the floor, lying in between my legs and played some guitar and sang to him, he really seemed to like it and kept eye contact with me the whole time, it was brilliant! He is  bound to be musical, there’s music on both sides, his father is musical, his grandmother on that side was a pianist and his great-grandmother an opera singer. On my side, well I am vaguely musical, and his grandfather is a choirmaster. So there’s got to be a few musical genes floating around in his DNA!

Stubborn, uncompromising streaks.

I want to have a bit of a moan today. I am finding it a bit stressful at my mums. Not really because of how we are getting on – we are actually managing to get on okay, bar the occasional moment. In that sense it has been much less stressful than I thought it would be. I thought we’d be killing each other after a couple of weeks! But we’ve survived. I can’t ask for more than that, really. Both mum and I are fairly feisty, argumentative people. Neither of us are the kind of person to let things lie, we’ll always have to have the last word! I’ve inherited her stubborn, uncompromising streak.

No, the thing I am finding more stressful is the way mum and John are with each other. One of the things I thought about raising Owen as a single mum was that at the very least he wouldn’t have to cope with marital problems, rows, stress between mum and dad. Now I find myself in the middle of a cold war between my mother and her partner.

Mum and John have been together for years. Maybe even longer now than mum and dad were together. They’ve always argued, to a certain extent. There have been some moments when I think they came close to splitting up. During one of those moments a few years ago, mum bought the flat near the seafront, the one I am going to be living in, and she moved in there for a few months during a temporary separation. She moved back in with John when it looked like things were starting to get better between them. Well that was a long time ago… as far as I can see things are just as bad as they ever were. Mum has even said as much to me. Everything John says, mum rubbishes. Everything mum says, John rubbishes. Sometimes they appear to deliberately misunderstand each other, so that they can be aggrieved. Sometimes they even seem to enjoy it.

The thing I don’t get is this. Why, if they irritate each other so much, if they dislike each other’s company so much (and they must – if they like each other, they have a very funny way of showing it!) why do they stay together? Is it, indeed, that they do enjoy this perpetual in-fighting? Is it just a normal thing to happen after 20 years of living together? Do all long term couples reach this state of stalemate?

If that’s the case, I’m happy I never married, or stayed with anyone long enough to reach that point. Maybe that’s the reason that I have never managed to settle down with one person, do the whole marriage/house/kids thing – because I can’t live like that. If someone winds me up, I will tolerate it to an extent, after which I will say no thanks, and walk out. I’ve walked out of several long term relationships, because I don’t have the ability to put up with shit. Is that a failing on my part? Or is it a strength? Or is it just a characteristic, neither a good thing or a bad, just the way I am? Whichever way, does it mean that I am destined never to find a life partner?

And the other thing that bothers me – will Owen inherit the same stubborn, uncompromising streak as I have inherited from mum and be also destined never to find true love, or find himself in a perpetual cold war with his partner? But does true love really ever last a lifetime? Doesn’t it just sour, fade, reach a quiet, resentful stalemate? Am I just old, bitter and twisted?

Anyway, Owen calls… I go!

Sleep is a thing of the past

Ouch. I’ve been grinding my teeth a lot recently and my jaw really aches. I don’t think I’ve been any more stressed out than usual, but my jaw says differently, I guess! I have to start actively trying not to grind. It’s a constant nagging thing at the moment.

Today Owen and I went to Brighton to meet Catherine for lunch and I had a severe case of baby brain. I forgot my purse so Catherine had to pay for the meal and also my parking… argh, what a divvy! Went to Wagamama. I had a bizarre chicken curry which was kind of like bits of chicken with some chip shop curry sauce poured on top, and salad on the side. I hardly touched it to be honest, I was too busy trying to get Owen to take a bottle of expressed. He was really funny, he clearly prefers breast to bottle now – he really didn’t know what to do with the teat. He rooted, then opened his mouth right up like a baby bird, like he does at the breast, so I put the bottle teat in, and he kept his mouth wide open! Eventually he cottoned on and closed it, and then slowly started sucking – but it was touch and go as to whether I’d have to breastfeed him, which I really didn’t want to do. I don’t think we are quite ready for that yet. I did breastfeed him at the mother and baby group the other day but that’s different. It’s not really in public, is it? I am just a bit anxious that Owen will fuss and fight at the breast, which won’t exactly be the calm, tactful feed I want – Owen can really let out a high-pitched shriek if he doesn’t manage to latch on in the first few tries. Everyone within 100 metres would have their eardrums rattled!

This weekend has been busy again. Yesterday we had the second Swimbabies lesson and Owen was brilliant – he didn’t cry once and really took it in his stride. He even swam three times underwater and didn’t cry. I had to try to take him underwater and I was too nervous to do it properly, the second time I did it, I think I went further underwater than he did! The instructor had to take over and show me how to do it, and he was really good, and I saw his eyes were open under the water when he was swimming along, the clever little sausage!

Anyway, he’s asleep now and I’m going to bed too, I’m knackered and need to get some extra hours sleep in! The night feeds are getting a little hectic at the moment – he is feeding at midnight, 3am, 5am and 7am and doesn’t really sleep between 3am and 7am. Sleep is a thing of the past!

Projectile poo, and other topics of conversation.

I am over-producing milk at the moment, and I think this is also accompanied by a very fast let-down. This is making life difficult for Owen, but I think it explains a lot of his behaviour at the breast. He tends to fuss a lot, breaks the latch, goes on and off, bites down on the nipple and gets very frustrated. He coughs and chokes soon after going on, and also recently has started bringing up quite a lot of milk after feeds. Yesterday I also noticed that his poo was greener than usual - normally it is bright yellow. Green poo is generally an indicator that the baby is not getting enough hind milk, which can happen when you overproduce, because the baby fills up on fore milk and never reaches the nutrient rich hind milk. God, listen to me. Am I obsessive? Is the colour of poo a viable topic of conversation, I wonder? Could I bring it up at mother and baby group? I certainly wouldn’t be able to talk about it on a date… not that I am thinking about dates, I’ve never ‘dated’ and right now it’s the last thing on my mind… I wouldn’t feel comfortable with bringing a man into Owen’s life quite yet.

So, back to poo/milk topics. I can’t believe, after having sorted all the initial problems getting Owen to latch on, now there is yet another problem to resolve! Apparently this over-production often sorts itself out after the first six weeks or so, and as the baby gets bigger he can deal with fast let-downs better. So all is not doom and despair, but I feel so sorry for my little man, having to deal with yet another barrier to just enjoying a good meal!

The other poo-related worry I have is that Owen tends to strain and cry when he is having a bowel movement. Not when he actually poos – that’s kind of a relief to him I think, particularly the projectile kind. Owen’s projectile poos are quite something to witness. They have a range of between 1 – 1.5 metres and he can aim them very accurately at the household item most difficult to clean yellow poo off. My clothes, usually, or the carpet. I keep finding little spots of yellow on things! But when he is trying to poo, that’s when he seems to have difficulty, my poor little love. I wish I could do something, but I can’t think what – he’s not constipated, he just doesn’t seem to like the feeling of bowel movements. Maybe I should ask the doctor about it. There’s one person at least who I can have a poo-related conversation with!

I am going to go to bed now, as part of my routine is going to bed an hour earlier myself!