Poppy Lots Of Teeth

I discovered that Pops has a top molar to go with two bottom molars by her putting my finger in her mouth and clamping down. Ouch.

Speaking of teeth, here's this amazing picture of a child's skull before the adult teeth have grown through. No wonder teething hurts!

How One Became Two

I thought I'd posted something similar to this already. I can't find it, if I did. I've just realise the benefit of useful, informative post titles though. I wrote this tonight as a response to a friend's worries about increasing her family. Names have been changed, but nothing else has been.

As you may/may not remember my start with Pix was very similar to how I think yours was with YourBaby. It was a stressful, traumatic labour which I didn't physically recover from the aftermath of for over a month. More like 6 weeks. I was in a LOT of pain from various different things which admittedly weren't all as a result of giving birth. Emotionally I was a bit of a wreck too - I'd have flashbacks and panic attacks about the labour. 
By the time I was physically healed a lot of emotional damage had been done because (and I do admit I'm not very good at being altruistic, not the best trait in a parent) it was 6 weeks of, frankly, wishing Pix wasn't around so I could feel better and not hurt. All the mess surrounding feeding him added to the - I wouldn't say bonding issues, but the feeling as though the love for him was something that had to grow rather than something that was innate and natural and there from the beginning, you know?
By the time Pix was about 9 months I started feeling calm about being a parent. Well, not calm, but calmer! I enjoyed it. I endured the first 9 months, I think. There were good bits, don't get me wrong, but I felt like I was coming out of a shell shocked daze. I put it down to him being mobile then, but who knows? He wasn't a high needs baby but he needed more than I realised (well duh, he was a baby). I definitely didn't want more babies. I genuinely didn't think I'd be able to get through the trauma of it all again, that it would definitely break me. I remember telling people that I wasn't one of 'those' parents who said never, ever again only to go on to having 3 more kids.
Inevitably - and I just checked, it was when Pix was 1 year, 8 months and 2 days old - the seed of doubt sprouted and I started to consider that there may be more babies in our future. I don't know what triggered it, really. Hormones, biological clock, seeing how awe-sam No1 had become? Who knows, But when that little voice started there wasn't really much I could do, you know? There were a hundred reasons why No2 was a Really Bad Idea but an 8lb idea was bigger than those. We talked about ways we could have a baby but not go through all that again, talked about adoption, talked about going straight to an elective section, not breaking my back the week before...
I spoke to my GP about a referral to the [hospital] birth trauma centre which was (at the time) about to open. I started preparing by coming off medication which needed to be out of my system for 6 months and very vaguely thought about how I wouldn't be in the same position during labour/post labour again. This is a massive TMI but I started getting panic attacks again when it came to the, um, conception bit of having another baby because I knew it wasn't recreational but procreational (OMG, I didn't even know that was a real word) but I went with the very mature response of absolutely, definitely not thinking about it at all thankyouverymuch. Then I put my head in the sand for 6 months until I got the BFP.
I spent the next, ooh, 10 months shitting myself. Literally, sometimes. Oh God, that was a joke. I spent a very, very long time feeling sick from anxiety about what I'd got myself in to. Before the month was out I'd written a list called 'Things To Shit Myself About' to raise at my booking in appointment, who referred me to [Head of Midwifery] to have the debriefing session you had. There was a lot more sand/head interfacing; there was a LOT of wailing at people who had BTDT. Knowing that people had come out of similar situations and stayed relatively normal was a help. But, you know, mostly the head/sand.
I know you've not asked for more and I'm sorry if I'm stepping over the line now, but having Pops healed me. I was prepared for the worst to happen but I took control of what I thought might go wrong - booking [my doula], having a home birth, refusing to go to [hospital] in an emergency, refusing anything but an epi, making sure the people who were going to be there knew what state I was likely to be in. Knowing I was likely to be unable to speak but that people who had been primed to intervene gave me the reassurance that I'd be able to let go and let myself do what I needed to do. I think you're probably there, in some ways. You know the birth that you want, you know how it'll happen and you have more support prepared to help you get it. If YourHusband is anything like MyHusband then he knew last time but was so busy crapping himself about it all that he didn't feel as though he could intervene as much as I felt necessary. Also because it was such a brand new experience that he didn't know for sure that I even wanted him to intervene. You know that what happens in labour is unpredictable and no matter how much you plan and prepare your body might do something different but that works both ways. What happened last time may not happen this time. And actually, both of my labours were very similar physiologically - both went back to back during labour, contractions never got established etc. Yet because of my environment they were handled in massively different ways! Also, from getting to know [Supervisor of Midwives] and the MSLC I truly believe that [hospital] has turned around in the care they give. They're very much about supporting women and there wasn't that vibe 4 years ago, and I'm positive if you ended up in hospital and [SoM] was there she'd get involved to help you.
As for your concerns post-labour, well, again, you can't predict what will happen. Pops was a dream baby. Was it a more AP approach I took that did it, or was that just her? I don't know, but the entire thing couldn't have been more different. You might have an easy baby, you might have a challenging baby but you WILL cope. You're strong, and capable, you have support, you know what to expect. I love having 2. They're fascinating together, they're funny, they're massively different in personality. I'm SO glad I didn't let my fear hold me back, and it so, so could have. The fear nearly broke me but Pops healed me 

Minty....fresh?

It's perhaps indicative of my state of mind why I didn't put two and two together to make the answer to why Pops has had a bad tummy and skin complaints... It was, in fact, only when I stumbled across a post in a forum of mine that I discovered that peppermint tea can sometimes cause diarrhea  and skin irritation in nursing babies. Peppermint tea is what I've started drinking by the bucketload for the past few weeks.

Head, meet desk.

How on earth it didn't enter my head that there may be a connection when her brother has an allergic reaction to mint I don't know, but since I stopped the tea her problems have begin to, er, dry up. I'm sure it wasn't the cause as the timing's wrong but early indicators show that there's a link. Unfortunately, that leaves me without a hot drink of choice!


ETA: I've reintroduced a couple of peppermint teas into my diet and so far so ok. On second thoughts I don't think it was that after all, but I'm not taking chances!

Dermatographic urticaria, or, why my child is weird

Poppet is in week four of a bout of diarrhoea (woo, spelled right the first time, get me!). Tests show she doesn't have a bug, so it's probably some sort of viral thing. It's not pleasant, but she's fine. What's interesting to note is that the last few days she's been really reactive to touch. If you pick her up, or hold her, or she knocks herself, or anything really she gets bright red marks. It rather looks as though she has dermatographic urticaria - a small scratch to her arm flared up in a big welt. The font of knowledge wikipedia says it can occur post virally. Am I meant to notify the doctor of this?

Good grief, but can none of my children be normal in the health stakes?

Sleep Training: Stage Four

I've just put Pops down for her nap, which is the commencement of stage four of our sleep training. Because....the cot is in Pixie's room! A day of naps in his room followed by them rooming in tonight. Yikes.

Stage three went really well. She now has her last milk during the story, we all say goodnight and as Daddy and Pixie leave the room she goes into her cot wide awake. There's sometimes a bit of grousing but  it's rarely all out crying and not for more than a few minutes. That might change tonight when she knows someone else is in the room with her (especially as Pixie has a tendency to chant 'shh' at her if she cries), but, well, we'll sort it.

Best of all we get to go back into our ACTUAL bed. Amazeballs. Although I'll miss watching films in bed ;)

Third Stage of Sleep Training

Last night was night 7 of the sleep training regime. We've been taking a slowly, slowly, catchy monkey approach and made minor changes for 3 nights before introducing the next stage.

Night 1-3 - Introduced the '10 minute' rule of not going in to her, and even then only for a cuddle.
Night 4-6 - Began putting her to bed awake after her last feed instead of waiting for her to feed to sleep
Night 7-10 - Bring last feed forward slightly it's during story time, then putting her into the cot awake and all leave the room together (usually the boys leave and I stay to give a last feed in the dark and quiet)

I really expected this change to cause problems as she NEVER gets put to bed at night like that, it's always been just me and her for a final feed. But I turned the light off, gave her a cuddle, sang the going to bed song, and popped her in. There was maybe a minute of babbling, no crying at all, and that was that until SIX AM! Not a single peep from her.

Amazeballs.

I mean, 7am would be better, but... ;)

Hopefully the next two nights will go as well as last night, and then we'll move the cot into Pixie's room (again!). I'm undecided whether to go straight to leave them both in the room together as she falls asleep, or have 3 nights of him leaving the room for another story and then coming in while she's asleep.

I think because we're habit breaking, the very slowly routine changing is working really well for us. Sure, it takes longer, but it's not so much of a change in one go.

How's your sleep been?

Sleep Training An 8 Month Old: Continued

We're on night 4 of sleep training and we're still camped out on the airbed!

Night 2 we had exactly the same plan. It was favourable when she didn't wake at the recently expected 10pm-ish, so that was nice. She didn't stir til 2am-ish when I think she'd have gone back to sleep except it turns out the not unsubstantial amount of noise an airbed makes when you roll over, could be heard in her (our!) room. I think our noise woke her up just a bit too much so I went to give her a cuddle and after a couple of minutes more crying she went back to sleep. There were a few more stirs but nothing of any consequence, although they increased in quantity from 6am til getting up time (6.50am, still a vast improvement on 5am!).

Night 3 brought a disagreement between me and the hubby. He thought there was no stirring until early morning, I beg to differ*! Regardless of who was right (me, obvs), nobody went up to her so it mustn't have been anything of any note. Slightly earlier wake up this morning of 6am, although when you've had nearly a full night's sleep that'll do, donkey.

Tonight (night 4!) I ended up putting her into her cot while she was still awake (normally we feed to sleep) and I expected a long, long screaming fit. BUT, 3 minutes later she was asleep. Hurrah! I suspect there might be an unsettled night ahead of us but she needs to be able to go into her cot awake so that she can share a bedroom with Pixie. We'll work on that - she goes in her cot awake for naps so there's no reason why she can't.





*In the interest of transparency it's only fair I point out that I just asked him if he had thought there hadn't been any awakenings and he said no, he wasn't sure which is why he'd asked me. So I was definitely right ;)

Sleep Training an 8 month Old

I know sleep training isn't for everyone, and the way we do it might make some people raise their eyebrows but there we have it. When you spend a proportion of your night in tears because the baby's awake for the 6th time, or because you've spent half an hour sitting up with her until she falls dead asleep only for her eyes to spring open and the wailing start again the minute you try to transfer her to bed, well, something has to change. So now the month long hammering of cold-development splurge-teething we've had which has totally kicked our sleep patterns is over, we've decided to go for sleep training again.

We've previously tried a softly-softly approach to sleep training. Back when she was younger I had to get her to adjust to going to nap on her own without being fed to sleep and we also used the core night method with some success overnight (as we knew she could go longer than she was at the time without feeding in the night). Because of this, we knew that the more gentle approaches to sleep training such as pick up-put down,   or the gentle withdrawal didn't work - our returning presence made things worse (we found this with Pixie too).

We know from past experience that Pops won't settle back to sleep in the same room as us; she knows we're there and she's damn well going to keep going til she gets that cuddle and feed. Which is why last night found me and my husband on an airbed in the front room. Glamping! At the 11th hour (literally! We'd just turned the lights off to go to sleep) we decided that as well as letting her learn to self-settle again we'd take the opportunity to night wean as well. We had 4 glorious nights of no waking from 7pm-6am either side of our camping trip a month ago and she eats 3 meals a day plus snacks (as well as nursing) so we're confident she's getting enough day time calories. Almost as soon as we decided that, she woke up. We let her cry for 10 minutes, then her daddy went up to give her a cuddle. She cried for another 10 minutes after he put her back to bed so I went in for a cuddle. And then, joy of joys, she went to sleep about 5 minutes later! I was totally expecting it to carry on for about 3 hours.

She woke a lot in the night. At least 6, although I was too bleary to count. But each time she cried for less than 10 minutes. I got up to feed her at 6.50am because frankly my boobs would have exploded if I hadn't! First morning she's not been up and at 'em at 5am, WOOP! (My husband is probably wooping louder tbh, as it's him that's got up at that ridiculous time. Hurrah for him!)

I reckon there's going to be a few more nights on the airbed ahead of us, but early indicators seem favourable. Click for continued success please, as our sanity depends on it!

When enough is enough is enough

I haven't posted for a while. Mostly because there's only so many times you can say 'still not sleeping'. But she's not. Every day her nightly sleeping patterns get worse, and worse, and worse. I'd say they couldn't get any worse, but I'm pretty sure she'd find a way, just to spite me.

I sent a text earlier saying 'I can't do this, I've had enough.' but what choice do I have? This is it until she changes. If she changes. What I wouldn't do to go out on the piss for a night. Have a full night's sleep. Go to the loo without juggling baby, pre-schooler and dog. Christ, even go to a full day of back-to-back meetings at work! I'm ashamed to admit I've fleetingly pondered returning to work early just so I can catch a break. It's relentless and I'm close to my wit's end which is crossing over into every other aspect of my life too. I'm >< close to deleting all my internet accounts, locking the door, and not moving for the next year.

If anyone says 'this too shall pass' I'm going tor each through your internet and rip your teeth out. Just so you know.

Isn't It Meant To Get Easier?

Life is meant to get easier with a baby as they get older, according to the hordes of moms who have been there and done that.

Why is it in this household things are getting harder?

Probably the biggest cause of this is the fact Pops has stopped sleeping 12 hours a night with only one quick feed after about 10 hours, to waking every hour or two every night. I'm pretty sure you're meant to get more sleep as they get older rather than  less.

But, to be fair, the nightly wake ups don't impact on the washing that seems to multiply as soon as you look at it (where do people hang their washing to dry? It's ridiculous!); the kitchen that's less a bombsite and more an explosion in a shit factory; the piles of stuff everywhere... Where Pixie is now old enough to sit and watch TV (*clutches pearls*) on his own, or play at 'I'm Fireman Sam and I'm putting out fires!', Pops is very much like her brother was and doesn't like being left to her own devices, doesn't like toys and isn't very impressed if you try and play with her. All of which mean it's pretty difficult to pop off and get things done. More was done when she was tiny and in a sling! Also, since the multiple chicken pox fiasco, we've relied on her dummy far too much (as in - every minute she's awake, pretty much) which is causing its own problems.

Things need to change and we need to get back to where we were but at this moment in time I don't really know where to start.


This post brought to you by one stream of consciousness and 18 dummy replacements.

Kindness

I realised today what one of Pix's biggest character strengths is: kindness. It doesn't seem much, does it? It's not a big word. But if it weren't for kindness, wouldn't life be so much harder?

Here's a selection of the heart-wrenching kindness he does:

• At a playdate this morning the owner of a toy till wanted to play with her toy all by herself. Fair enough, it's her toy! She got upset, as 3 year olds do, and before he was asked he was holding out the part that he was playing with so she could have it. No prompting at all, just did it.
• When Pops cries (which is pretty often at the moment, bloody teeth!) he runs to find her a dummy, or a toy, or the musical mobile - anything he thinks might stop her crying. How sweet is that? He also says "awwwwwwww, Pops, don't cry, be happy!" <3
• ...and on the subject of being happy, I had a chat with him about doing what mommy and daddy say because otherwise we'll be sad. I must have hammered it home the next time he didn't do what I asked because after we had words he asked me if I was happy. I told him that no, I was sad that he wasn't doing what I asked. He asked me if a kiss would make me happy, so I said yes but only if he also did what I was asking. Now whenever we have a clash of wills he says "don't be sad mommy, I give you kiss to be happy!" Little swine, how can you be cross with that? ;)
• When was of his little friends was crying over something hugely important to her toddler life, he went and gave her an awkward cuddle and encouraged her to forget her woes by going to play with him.

I really hope that this is something that grows and grows within him. That he'll always be kind and thoughtful. That he'll always try and diffuse someone else's upset, but do so without taking it on himself. I hope he's the boy that shares his toys, the teenager that stands up to playground bullies and the man that will never let an injustice go unchallenged. 

Just so she doesn't feel left out, I have to mention Pops. She's probably a little young to have strengths and weaknesses yet, but she really enjoys being pretend-dropped and being bounced on the bed. She positively cackles with laughter.

Chalk It Up To A Good Day

It's probably fair to say that our TV has done more parenting this last week or two than I have. Between the quadruple dose of chicken pox we've had (only Ed has escaped!) and various other ailments, we've barely left the house and when we have it's been either with incredibly grumpy children, or to wide open spaces where we can't infect anyone. And to be honest, those wide open spaces have usually been Tesco for essentials as I've not been up to braving the chilly playgrounds what with all the razor blades in my throat, hammers in my head, chainsaws in my stomach and rabid dogs gnawing at my shoulder.

*ahem*

I decided to take advantage of the brightening weather today so, after a brief sojourn to be fed lunch at my husband's office, and a monster nap from Pops courtesy of Ashton & Parsons teething powder, I took them into the front yard (why yes, we do live in the north!) with a tub of jumbo chalks from Tesco.

That's actually half a pirate outfit he's wearing. I'd never clash horizontal and vertical stripes.

To the right of the tub you can just about make out my amazing mermaid of awesomeness.

Ah hell, see a close up. See! Awesome.

After covering all available floor space we went inside and I read a counting book to Pixie, had a bath with them all, then nursed Pops to sleep. I think I did more active parenting in those few hours than I have in the last few weeks.

Feeding. You're Doing It Wrong.

After a slightly tumultuous start to breastfeeding, Pops started feeding like a pro. The experience has been so much more enjoyable than with Pixie, with whom I exclusively pumped for around 5 months. It turns out feeding your baby isn't stressful and guilt-inducing and time-consuming and all-encompassing. Who knew?

Only, well, it's getting that way again. Pops seems to feed far too frequently than she 'ought' to. Like, every hour frequently. And she's not having a growth spurt - this is normal :/ I've kept explaining it away; "it's because she's little and sleeps through the night (hallelujah!), she needs to make up", "it's because she's poorly (double dose of chicken pox) and is comforting", "it's warmer today and she's thirsty", but in all honesty I think I'm just not reading her cues right. I think perhaps I was feeding her when she wasn't necessarily hungry which has started this whole vicious (one day I'll totally spell that right without the aid of a spellcheck) circle that she feeds so frequently she doesn't get the hindmilk so she gets hungrier sooner, gets gassy and has acidic poo and so wants comforting...

I'm not exactly from the Gina Ford school of baby-raising but as of today I'm putting her on a loose feeding schedule. Apart from very first thing in the morning and very last thing at night, there needs to be at least 2 hours before feeds. I had to do this with Pixie too at just a wee bit older than Pops is now. He was feeding about 18 times a day because he was having such a little amount due to his reflux. I remember it not being an enjoyable time - who likes telling someone they can't eat when they're hungry? Ok, apart from Gina Ford. 

Wish me luck!

Well...perhaps I'm not doing it that wrong.

"We're best friends. Best friends never fight."

I told Pixie on the phone that he had a new baby sister.

"Oh," he said, digesting the information for a moment. "I've watched the golf on the telly with Grandpa! They have sticks and balls and into the hole!" Touché.

In all honesty, I'd expected some jealousy from Pixie. However, whether it was the excitement of having a new sister, Christmas and seeing beloved grandparents more than usual that diverted any jealous tendencies, or if he wouldn't have shown them anyway, he took to Poppet like Woody (eventually) took to Buzz. Like Dora and Boots. Like Charlie and Lola. Like Batman and The Joker. Oh. Um.

I'm pretty sure he couldn't be more lovely with her. When she cries he runs to tell me (dude thinks I'm deaf, as well as stupid) "She wants feeding? You need to feed her?" (Santa also seemingly brought an Australian question intonation? Yep, it's pretty much as annoying as you think?). He lives for 'huggles and kisses' from her and thinks that when she touches him it's better even than an episode of Team Umizoomi. In return, she only has to look at him to start grinning and chuckling to herself. She adores to watch what he's doing. Sometimes they lie facing each other, staring into each others eyes - when they do that my heart bursts.

I was apprehensive about a second child joining us with the age gap we were giving them (2years 9months) as it's very similar to the gap my brother and I have (3years 2months 1week!) and frankly, we were shits to each other. I don't want that for my children. Who does? More so, I don't want to be that mom who's embarrassed to go anywhere with her kids because they fight and tell tales constantly. Sorry mom for making you that mom.

I hope as the years progress they'll always be best friends, always look out for each other. If she ever gets in trouble I hope she goes to her big brother for protection. I hope they look back on their childhood and remember laughter and love from each other.

*Time to fess up. The post's title is actually something Pixie said about one of his friends rather than his sister, but it's something that I hope they live by.

Lady Luck Is Born

At 1.30am on Christmas Eve morning, 2011, I woke up in labour with my second child.

I dozed for a couple of hours before waking again, this time with stronger contractions 9 minutes apart. My husband and I crept downstairs so as not to wake our elder child, where we pottered about making tea and contemplating what time we ought to call reinforcements. We decided to call my parents who had agreed to travel the 80 miles between us to look after our son pretty soon, so they could start readying herself for the trip. We also decided to wake our doula, Abbie, so she had a heads up that things were starting. As my last labour was 24h46m we didn't envisage anything exciting happening anytime soon.

Well, that was wrong! At about 4.10am my contractions jumped from roughly 9 minutes apart to 3-4 minutes apart. Hurried phone calls were made to my parents, Abbie and also the local midwife team. The midwife was the first to arrive, at 5.45am. She assessed me on my bed amidst chaos - toys from the playroom had been moved into our bedroom so the birth pool had room to be put up. They were meant to go into our son's room but at that time he was still fast asleep and we thought we'd have time to transfer them in.

At 7am my parents arrived and got Pixie up and dressed. He thought Christmas had come early being woken by Grandma and Grandpa! Abbie also arrived at that point and took over from my husband in pumping up and filling the pool. Far from the serene home birth I'd envisaged, the house was chaos at that point. I decided to get in the bath as the pain was getting a bit much; to be honest I also wanted a bit of peace and tranquillity. Even moving from the bedroom to the bathroom was agony, and after only 5 minutes in there I decided I needed gas & air. As the midwife brought it to me, Abbie called up to say the pool was ready, so I took a heave on the gas and staggered downstairs.

It was blessed relief to be in the pool. I'd tried a waterbirth with my first and it wasn't a pleasant experience - the water felt far too cold in such a big room in hospital - so I had been initially wary of being in water again, but this was heaven! Toasty and warm and like a cocoon. The G&A started doing its stuff and zoned me out from my surroundings. I vaguely listened to the CD that was put on (euphoric trance!) and to the chat around me.

After about an hour I started to feel the need to push. Or at least I thought I did! I doubted myself because I never felt it with my first. I also didn't know if I was supposed to tell anyone or just push! As the G&A had zoned me out so much it took several contractions to work up to being able to speak and tell that things were hotting up. Abbie came into her own here, and persuaded me to move from my sitting position to a kneeling position. If left to my own devices I wouldn't have - it hurt far too much to move!

At 8.46am, in a couple of pushes, the baby was born with membranes still intact. I'd been convinced it was a boy but when we were told she was a she it felt right, like I already knew. She was guided through my legs and I pulled her from the water. Coated in vernix and puffy from the delivery, she was the most beautiful thing I'd seen. She healed me in ways I can't even describe, mended the scars from my first born.

She came out in the caul, which I'm told is lucky. She feels lucky. I hope she's lucky.