Category Archives: Being a Mummy

The House Is Falling To Bits

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As I sit here sipping sugary tea and nibbling (mostly) dry toast, it is day 8 of the hell that began last Thursday night with our trip to A&E with Adam puking blood.

It continued with Simon throwing up on Sunday and Adam cranky and pulling his ear.

It went further on Wednesday with Adam back at nursery but me at my biggest clients for meetings all day.

And then yesterday I woke up feeling achy and tired and with a headache. Simon had to go to work for Open Days, when the 6th Formers (7th years? What are they called now?!) come to see the University. So I was at home with an active 2 year old and find myself vomiting. Things compounded when said 2 year old was just falling asleep after lunch and I had to basically throw him into bed to go puke. Yeah. He didn’t sleep. Luckily Simon got home by 230 and I headed to bed. And spent the evening and part of the night throwing up.

And so the house is falling to bits.

You see, I have a schedule for cleaning. I hate cleaning, as most people do, so if I don’t put it into my phone with a reminder and a day to do it, it won’t get done. Or it will get done only on weekends which leaves no family time.

So I set a schedule. This past Monday I was suppose to clean the bathrooms, for example. Adam was home from nursery and, as I recall, napped for about 10 minutes, so that didn’t happen.

Wednesday I was suppose to change the beds, catch up on my laundry folding and hoover the bedrooms and hallway. I was at my client site all day.

Today, Friday, I should be running (toddler free!) errands and tidying and hoovering the front rooms and finishing laundry.

Instead, I’m sipping sweet tea, eating (mostly) dry toast and am about to head back to bed.

So the bathrooms need a wipe. The floors need a hoover.  And you can’t get into the spare bedroom for all the clothes piled up to be folded. We are almost out of nappies, I need to put 2 cheques into the bank, my finally repaired jeans need to be picked up from the tailor, we are nearly out of juice and milk. It’s Friday night so pudding and wine need to be bought.

Instead, I’m sipping sweet tea, eating (mostly) dry toast and am about to head back to bed.

Adam threw a major strop about going to nursery, I imagine because he basically didn’t see me from about 230 yesterday until 730 this morning and this whole week has been weird. So he’s been promised a trip to the museum on Sunday; a cross my heart, pinky swear, high five promise that I wouldn’t go back on if you held a gun to my head.

Oh and I think I have some emails to send for my biggest client.

So the house is falling to bits and I really should do something about some of this stuff.

Instead, I’m sipping sweet tea, eating (mostly) dry toast and am about to head back to bed.

My No Good, Very Bad Day…

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So yesterday Adam woke up at 545 after sleeping all night long without a peep! Ya!

And then as we were sitting and having milk and watching CBeeBies I started to feel headachy and nauseous, the nausea a sure sign a migraine was building. I reflected on what Simon might have on at work and, when he got up, asked him if he might stay home. He said it wasn’t a problem so I headed back to bed. I woke up about an hour later, still headachy and still nauseous and headed to take some migraleave and went back to bed.

When I woke up around 1130 I was right as rain. Whew! Dodged that bullet.

After lunch I had a nice long bath and then Adam and I played and Simon went to have a sleep. We like naps in this house!

At around 345, as we were settling in to watch some CBeeBies, Adam threw up. Violently. I yelled for Simon who came running and we began the clean up. Simon was looking at the vomit and I said ‘why are you inspecting it?!!’ and he said ‘It looks like blood!’ I said ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ and continued to clean up. I should have looked.

Adam was running no fever so we figured it was just a fluke, too much food, something a bit off or similar. And he was acting fine, dancing around, being himself And then he threw up again. I was in the kitchen when I heard him wretch and came over to where he was with Simon and there was blood going down his face. I panicked and went right to the phone and dialled 999.

As an aside, in the US when you dial 911, you are not asked what service you need. It’s on central dispatch centre. I know this because I rang them once when a child was hit by a car outside my apartment. Anyway, in the UK first you have to ask for the right service and then give that service all of your information. I was stunned they needed that. Can’t they trace by telephone?

In any case I threw on some clothes and was getting Adam re-dressed when the EMT’s showed up. It was less than 10 minutes and Simon and I were very impressed. It was two gentlemen and they were very nice, listening to what happened. They decided the best thing was to take Adam to Royal Children’s to be checked out. So we finished gathering our things and off we all went in the ambulance with no sirens, of course!

Once there we were taken straight into triage, thanks to coming in by ambulance. The Triage nurse did the normal checks and said it would be about 45 minutes and if he threw up again, tell her. I changed his nappy, putting the pad they give you for urine collection into it. And we sat down.

Once again, Adam seemed fine, playing with some of the toys there. And then he wasn’t. And then he barfed. It was all clear liquid with no blood, but Simon went and told the triage nurse and we held onto the pan he had used to vomit in. A little got on his clothes but I decided to wait to change him as it had been hard to tell how much blood before as it had soaked into clothes and Daddy!

It was about 45 minutes when we were called back and then waited about 2o minutes more. Why do they do that? Why call you back if you’re just going to sit in an empty cubicle? Why not let the child continue to play until there is truly a doctor ready?

In any case another 15 – 20 minute wait and a doctor came in and took Adam’s history. Now Adam was born at the Royal and has been to their A&E 3 times now. Shouldn’t they have his history?!?

In any case, the doctor then felt his tummy, listened to his heart and lungs and looked in his ears and throat. As usual, Adam was fine until I put him on the exam table. I am really beginning to think he remembers, from 3 weeks old, when they had to hold him down and cut his foot for a blood test and he associates it with that damn table!

The doctor said his tummy was lovely and soft (lovely? 🙂 ) but his ears and throat were red. They wanted to test a urine sample (pee kid!) and his blood sugar (not sure why, forgot to ask) and see if he could keep some dioralyte down but she didn’t think it was anything more than an infection.

Once he had finally peed, and kept down the dioralyte we were out of there fairly quickly with some amoxicillian and the instruction that he’d probably throw up more but if there was no blood don’t worry, the blood was probably from a tear in his throat. Okay then.

So we headed home. Once there we tried to get him to have some toast, no go, and gave him some more dioralyte. He had a bath and his first does of antibiotics and, on the doctor’s advice, we tried some milk. Puke before he even had a sip.

So we cleaned up and tucked him into bed.

The next few hours he was very restless and then I heard little feet in the hall and retching. More puke, but wasn’t he clever to get out of bed first!

I got myself ready to bed and snuggled in next to him. At about 130 I hear ‘Mummy, water?’ So I hand him the water bottle I keep next to the bed. About 30 minutes later, puke. In bed.

Get Simon up, get us cleaned and the bed changed. Adam was fully awake by then so I brought him into the front room and gave him some more dioralyte. He started falling asleep and so we went back to bed.

Man, this is getting long.

Let me sum up:

Fine all night after 2a. Puked again after more antibiotics. Hmmmm. Rang GP, said to stop antib’s until fever was down (did I mention he now had a fever?) and vomiting and diarrhoea (did I mention the 4 totally liquid poos?) under control.

And he’s been fine since. Fever, yes, but bland food and juice is staying down.

Oh and I got to get my haircut, but not have my anniversary lunch. So it was, all in all, a decent, if puke and poo filled day.

Things, As A Mother, I Know Nothing About And Never Will

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If breast feeding makes you hungrier than being pregnant. Breast feeding didn’t work for me. I do know, however, the being pregnant made me starving.

What it’s like to hold your baby immediately after birth. Both of my arms had IVs in them, one with saline, one with glucose/insulin with them stretched out like Christ on the Cross on those board things, so Simon held him for the first 20 minutes of his life while they stitched me up and unplugged me.

How to care for an umbilical stump. Adam’s was cut off by SCBU staff so they could put a line into his belly button. I do know, however, that cutting the stump off creates a slight outie.

If raising girls is easier or harder than raising boys. I will only ever have a boy. I do know, however, that my brother and sister in law have 2  very  different girls.

Baby and Toddler groups. Everyone said I should go. I said no, I have nothing in common with those 20somethings except that we have children. Now, however, it’s a moot point because Adam gets plenty of interaction at nursery and I can continue to be a misanthrope.

What do you, as a mother, know nothing about and never will?

 

Feet Up Friday (or Crack for Lunch)

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So today was my first truly free Friday since Adam has started going to nursery 3 days a week. The other Fridays I have had to catch up on work or go out or do some other thing rather than just relaxing, which is the point of him going 3 days a week now. So I can have a day to rest.

So what did I do?

Simon gets up with Adam on Fridays anyway, so I slept until 730.

Then I got Adam and Simon out the door at about 815.

Then I put a load of wash on and set the burnt out pot to boil with some vinegar. Still isn’t completely unburnt. 🙁

Then I had breakfast and an entire cup of hot coffee (only mothers and fathers of small children will appreciate how wonderful that is).

Then I played my game for a bit. It’s a video game.

Then I went back to bed. And read. And read some more. And then I slept until 11. And then I read some more.

And then I had a bath. And read some more.

Then I got out of the bath and had crack, aka Stove Top Stuffing, for lunch followed by the rest of a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food. Yes, really.

And now I am writing this blog post.

I still have an hour and about 45 minutes until I have to leave to get Adam.

I think I’ll go have a nap.

It’s Been a Nostalgic Few Days

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It started yesterday when I decided to read through my blog from the post saying I was pregnant until Adam came home from hospital at 9 days old.

I knew today was the day a friend of mine was coming to help me haul all of Adam’s baby stuff; his cot, his Amby cradle, his jumper and his two bouncy seats, to a consignment shop for selling. And for the most part, I was okay with that. In fact, I was glad to get the storage space back.

But at the same time, it’s the end of an era. Adam is 100% not a baby any more. And I am 100% not going to have any more babies.

So I read back the announcement and the weekly newsletters I wrote to him. And everyone’s comments to my bump pictures! Man was I huge by the end!

And before my friend got here I took some pictures: –

His jumper, play matt, bouncy chair.

His cot and amby in pieces and in a bag.

And so, everything is gone. And I’ve got a half a closet more space.

And a small tear in my eye.

 

I Love My Friends. Fact.

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So last night I logged on to this site to write an update when it told me I had a comment to moderate.

Comments on this site are moderated to try and stop SPAM. The first time a person comments, it has to be moderated. After that, provided you use the same name, the comment posts automatically right after you write it.

And my rule is all comments, except for SPAM and some guy who wanted to use my blog for his political agenda, get approved.

Even the one last night.

It was a comment on my newsletter to Adam for his 25th month. It enquired as to whether Adam had been ill so much because he wasn’t breastfed. O_o

Really? If you read my blog enough to know Adam wasn’t breastfed you surely know that: –

  1. I didn’t have any milk.
  2. I felt guilty as hell about it for awhile.
  3. I moved on from the guilt, eventually.

So what was the point of your comment? No idea. Especially as Adam is nearly 26 months and way past the breast. Even if I had breastfed, I most likely would have stopped by now. Let the cow lactate! 🙂

I Tweeted about the comment and this is why I love my friends. At least 5 posted comments on the same blog entry tell the person to, basically, fuck off. And many many more posted support on the Facebook and Twitter feeds.

Not one of them understood the point of the comment. Almost all of them told the poster they were ignorant and rude.

The person who commented has not returned to defend their comment or even comment some more, that I can see, on any other post. Just that one.

So, Sam, if that is your name. Come back and defend your ignorance.

Or better yet, don’t.

As you have nothing worthwhile to add to my conversation with the world.

 

 

Lord*, Give Me Strength

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There are two things that Adam has/does that can be considered babyish. He still uses a dummy and he still drinks 3 bottles of milk a day.

The dummies will be tackled in about another 6 months when Simon and I think he will be able to understand why he can’t have them or at least be bribed with a toy if he ‘sends his dummies to the babies through Santa’.

The bottles on the other hand…

Milk is the only thing he drinks from a bottle. And only at home. Everything else, and at daycare, he drinks out of a sippy cup or an open beaker. With no problems or issues.

But at home he would rather not have milk than drink it from anything than a bottle. And if you knew my son and his love of milk you would understand just how much he wants that milk in a bottle and not a sippy cup. He just loves snuggling in with Mummy or Daddy and having those bottles. And it is such a source of comfort to him.

This morning we got up and, as agreed with Simon last night, I put his milk in a sippy cup. He sipped not a sip.

And so I am trying to be strong. Intellectually I know he doesn’t need the milk. He eats a wide variety of foods, including plenty of cheese for his dairy. And I know he will drink the milk from the sippy cup eventually as this isn’t the first time we’ve tried this, although not with his morning bottle. I’ve been trying to get him to drink his after lunch milk from a cup for ages.

I also know I don’t want to make him give up his before bed bottle. We both love our pre-sleep cuddle and I would miss it.

So I was strong. And Adam had a crap morning. Tripping over his own feet twice, ending in tears. Once while holding his cup of OJ. So OJ on the floor, crying, cranky baby.

Then Simon got up (Sundays he gets to lie in. I get Saturdays). And I told him about our morning. And he said ‘Give him some milk in a bottle. I bet that will help.” So I did. And it did.

And I will continue to do so. Despite the judgement of others. Despite my own lack of strength in the matter.

I doubt he will drink milk out of a bottle at Uni. But so what if he does???

*Okay, so I don’t actually believe in the Lord referenced in my title, but it sounded good and I do believe in a higher power.

Feeling Like A Fraud

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I was once part of a discussion on Mumsnet regarding when we all felt like mothers. My answer was that it was the moment they took Adam away from me to put him in an incubator in SCBU. All I wanted was to be with my baby and I couldn’t, least of all because my spinal block hadn’t worn off and I couldn’t feel anything from the waist down, never mind get up and walk.

But that’s not entirely true. Because I still have many moments, nearly every day, when I feel like a fraud. That I want to see who is standing behind me when someone calls me ‘Mummy’. Even when that someone is me.

I felt it at least once today, when Adam and I were playing with his new garbage truck, one of many vehicle related gifts Grandma gave him while she was here, and I said to him ‘Hand that to Mummy.’ And I had a moment of ‘Wait. Who? Hand it to who?!?’

I’ve written before about never having a ‘OMG I’m the Mummy’ over the top freak out moment, a la Jamie in the old US sitcom Mad About You. But I seem to have small moments of it through out the day.

Another example is one day when I went to pick Adam up from daycare and half of his class were in the garden and the rest were inside so the nursery staff outside shouted through the window ‘Adam’s Mummy is here!’ I honestly had to stop myself from turning around to see who was behind me.

I liken this feeling to a moment I had, albeit once, after my brother had his first daughter. I was driving somewhere, idly thinking, as you do, and it suddenly hit me; ‘OMG my brother is a father!!!!’ I mentioned to him and he said ‘Yeah, I have that thought a lot!’

11 and half years on I haven’t asked him if he still has that thought or not. If I am going to have these ‘OMG I’m a Mummy!’ thoughts for the rest of my life or if they pass.

I think I’ll ask him. J? You reading this? Do you still have those moments?!?!

The Weirdest Things Fill Me With Pride…

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Until recently there was some concern that Adam had a speech delay. He was barely speaking, although babbling incessantly, and I was starting to get worried.

And then he approached two and started adding new words daily. And started using 2 words together like ‘Hi Daddy!’ and ‘Night Night Daddy!’ (yeah, we’re still lacking some Mummy!!). He still doesn’t talk much around strangers, including at nursery, who say ‘he’s quiet but fun!’, but he talks a lot at home.

And then he says things that make my heart swell with pride. Stupid things. Things that would make other people would look at me like this: O_o

Yesterday, for example, it was picking up his pacifier, showing it to me and saying ‘Dummy.’ Then he nodded and put it back down.

I thought I was going to cry.

I still might at the memory.

I am adoring watching him grow and learn and understand. He still has so much to learn. Numbers and colours and words and writing. Maths and science and drawing.

But there is so much he already knows. Where to put the trash. Which bin his dirty clothes go into. How to step out of trousers (so long as he holds on!).

And how to wear Mummy’s trainers:

Mummy’s Sick Day

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What’s that you say? Mummy’s don’t get sick days?

Usually true. But this Mummy has been feeling horrid for at least a week. Missed sleep, stress of ill boy, stress of an emergency with a client (which is thisclose to being resolved, thank god) and, as of this afternoon, a low lever fever led to me saying to Simon ‘I’m taking to my bed on Thursday.’

And I did.

This, of course, was only made possible by three factors. Factor one: Adam at daycare. Factor two: Simon off work on holiday and able to get Adam to and from said daycare. Factor three: the ability to ignore my to do list, which is still as long as my arm and growing all the time.

So I got up with my boys as usual. And the second they were out the door I was back in bed. And there I stayed. Slept. Read some stuff on my phone. Actually did about 5 minutes of work dealing with said clients said emergency. Ate lunch in bed. Slept some more.

I’m still not feeling great and will try to have an early night. But I would feel worse if I had pushed myself, my spoons were so low already.

So Mummy had a sick day.

And feels a bit better for it.