Thursday, 14 July 2016

My Pregnancy And Birth Story: Part T

Every birthday I reminisce about the days my babies were born. It always amazes me how after all the time that has passed and how busy and hectic it was at the time, that the memories are still so clear to me. In honour of Tommys third birthday, I'm thinking about how he made his entrance into the world, and laughing at how naive I was thinking that once the labour was over, I'd done the hard bit. He was sent to test me, no doubt about it. 

So firstly, let me paint a picture of the night I found out I was pregnant, we had been to a family Halloween party and I was dressed as a vampire. Not just a bin liner cape and plastic fangs-the full shabang. Red contact lenses, a corset and all. I'd had a fair few ciders, we got home from the party and for no apparent reason AT ALL, I decided to do a pregnancy test. I had one in the cupboard anyway, but I'd had no inkling what the result would be at all. I don't even know why I did it! But surely enough, a line came up straight away, and I was 100% pregnant and still about 80% vampire. And I just sat, slightly swaying, staring at the pregnancy test and whispering "fuck" over and over to myself for a good five minutes. 

I would pay good money to have some kind of recollection of joshs face when I staggered into the room (a bedraggled, tipsy Halloween mess) and handed him a positive pregnancy test. 

My beastly bump 3 days before my due date

I had little to no sickness, but suffered with vertigo a lot. My pregnancy was straight forward, no complications, at 20 weeks we found out we were having a baby boy, and I weighed the same when I gave birth as I did at booking in-despite my monstrous bump. Bonus.

My labour started on my due date, but progressed overnight and took me to "officially" one day past my due date.
I was coping well with contractions, and at approximately 11am they were 6-7 minutes apart. Josh was at work and had called to see how I was getting on (he had left me a couple of hours previous in the early stages), and although I insisted we had time and not to rush, his instinct told him he needed to be at home, so he came to be with me. 
He arrived home about half an hour later, and arranged for the children to be collected from school, and his dad came to pick Esmée up, I was pottering about the house, went to the toilet and when I emptied my bladder-I have literally never felt pressure like it. Baring in mind this baby had been so low down for weeks now, it had felt like he was already in between my legs, I didn't see how he could feel any lower unless his arrival was imminent, so I knew it was time to go to the hospital. 

The whole way there in between contractions I was convincing myself they were going to send me home-I was too calm to be in full blown labour. I thought I was still in the early stages, so you can imagine my surprise when the midwife told me I was 6cm dilated! They ran the pool straight away and I went to the room that I would give birth in. 

I had an amazing student midwife-the dame cannot be said for the midwife that was with her. I have seen a lot of midwives in the past 10 years, and I have never come across one who has had less of a caring nature. She ruined my birthing experience just from her cold prescence. 
I would later make a formal complaint about her and she would be given disciplinary action for the way she treated me. She took away the opportunity for me to have a pleasant happy birth with her sternness, she refused me gas and air when I was in the pool-something I knew I could have, and although I argued with her and she did give it-I shouldn't have had to put up a fight for my own birth. She was sneaking behind me to look with the mirror in the pool while I was pushing and barely said anything at all. Not the most welcoming given the circumstances that she was about to be a part of one of the most important parts of my life. 
The urge to push came by about 2pm, and after pushing for an hour I got out of the pool. It was at this point I knew my baby was going to be bigger than my previous babies-I could feel the weight and the pressure of him on my pelvic bone. I got out of the pool to get into a better position, where I knelt upright on the bed, and with a few pushes, at 3.37pm, my beautiful boy was born into the world and I brought him up onto my chest. All 9lb 10oz of him. 

He didn't have a name, my husband had annoyingly told us we didn't need to think too hard of one, and although I had the name George set in my mind, Josh suggested naming him after our brothers, and Thomas Ryan Daniel seemed perfect. A week or so later I would be glad I didn't call him George, as Prince George was born!

He was born with a mild birth defect, that I will go into at a later date, but the oh-so-lovely midwife only stated "the doctors are coming to see him, there's something wrong with your baby", with no support, no explanation and a million thoughts going round in my head and the 40 minute wait for them doctors was soul destroying. But the doctors came and reassured us and now at age 3, after numerous surgeries, he seems to be on the mend. 

Tommy came into our world and turned it upside down from the start. He has grown to be strong minded, funny, clever, loving, stubborn and quite frankly a small whirlwind and we wouldn't change him for the world. Well most of the time.

L, x 

Wednesday, 13 July 2016

Becoming a mum again.... To snails

Things seem to happen in life when you least expect them, this time was no different. 

It's no secret that my almost-three-year-old is a little bit obsessed with all mini beasts, we bought him a little bug box to keep his new found friends to look at during the day and say goodbye to on a night when we released them. 

Yes, that is a worm. Gip

I would like to clarify I am NOT a lover of bugs. They creep me out. I wouldn't ever harm them, I teach the kids to never kill spiders. But the thought of them slimy, creepy, crawly, spiky... Uhh it makes me shudder. But of course with all things mum, you grit your teeth and smile and pretend everything is ok- along as they enjoy these disgusting things (much like when they shit in the bath and find it borderline hilarious/terrifying-but that's a different story). 

So anyway, our story begins on Father's Day. We had been out for the day, and as usual Tommy was searching in the garden as we were all scrambling into the house and out of the rain.

He came in with a snail, standard. He put the snail in his little box, and didn't want me to shut the lid, something I normally protest a little, but he had been good and I didn't want to trigger a potential meltdown at 6pm on a Sunday night, and thought "what's the worst that could happen from letting him have some time investigating his new little friend?"
Well a few weeks later I would be eating my own words. 

Little did I know, Tommy and his little pal became bonded really quickly. Sharing a meal, a bath, and very nearly a bed all in their first day together!
Luckily I managed to talk him out of co sleeping with the snail, but he begged me kicking and screaming not to say goodbye. So I promised he would still be here in the morning. Ffs. 

So, kids in bed, snail in very tiny bug box, me and my husband looked at each other and asked "what the fuck should we do now?"- he wasn't going to let it go. 
If you've ever met Tommy, you will know he is, what we like to call 'spirited'. He knows what he wants. Who was I to take it away from him? It was Sunday night, no shops were open and I had promised my boy his snail would be here in the morning. Alive. 

So at this point I thanked my lucky stars that someone really clever thought up the idea of Amazon Prime Now; Online shopping delivered to your door within two hours. Actually genius. So we had a house and a set up for BB8 by 11pm, and woke up with a very happy little boy. 

We researched how to keep them, and to be honest I got a bit attached (though I still can't touch them), and treat them to some moss and a cuttlefish bone. 

He often brings in more snails as he finds them in the garden, and one of the older ones he brought in, who he named Darth Vader, started acting strange one day. Good old Google informed me she (he? They're hermaphrodites didn't ya know), was burrowing to make a nest... Yep. She was having babies. What the fuck are we going to do with what Google informed us would be upto 100 snail eggs?!?

In all honesty, the kids have loved learning about them and seeing the eggs Darth Vader laid so kindly in a little viewing corner in the tank. They're just about hatching now, and when they're old enough we will take them to the local nature reserve and release them, though we will keep BB8 of course!

Tommy is a wild one and is a whirlwind most of the time, but he really loves caring for the snails. He helps clean the tank out, he puts the food in their food dish and even baths them (which they love by the way-yes, honestly). He is so gentle with them, which is amazing to see. As crazy as it seems, the snails have brought out a different side to him, and I'm so glad my instinct was to let him keep them as he is doing a really good job helping care for them. 

Even if Darth Vader has just laid another 100+ eggs-It's all learning, right? I've just ordered a second tank for the snail babies, who knows, maybe I'll learn to love them? I think it's kind of cool we have pet snails. Until we lose one in the house. Then I will lose my shit. 

Lucy x