Things Can Only Get Better

I almost didn't post a Silent Sunday picture last week.

Why?

Because the picture I posted didn't sum up my week at all. That picture says I had a lovely week enjoying the sunshine with my daughter when, in reality, this wasn't the case.

However, I didn't have a picture of sick, snot, phlegm, coughing, crying, tantrums, house looking like it had been burgled and me looking like I'd been dragged through a hedge backwards.

That was my week...and that was the week before too.

The serene picture you see of MC was taken on Saturday afternoon on a meet up with the inlaws. I can assure you the scene off camera wasn't the same but I'll blog about that another day.

I shouldn't be moaning.

I know so many people who have a tough time constantly. People with really poorly children, people with children with special needs and others. I know I'm lucky. I have two (usually) healthy kids, a nice house, a fantastic husband and so on.

Yes, I have a lot to be thankful for.

I'm the first to admit that.

However, things just got on top of me.

Even though TC is an amazing sleeper for someone who only turned 2 months old on Monday it has been MC who had been keeping us awake.

Last week we ended up at the local hospital with her at 10.30pm one night as she was that bad with her coughing.

I have to admit, whilst she was ill I crumbled. Lack of sleep and her constant demands because of how poorly she was got to me.

Since I had TC I've been quite strong - only having a touch of baby blues on day 5 after the birth. Last week I think it all caught up with me.

I fell behind with my freelance work and I started to panic.

I felt like I was sinking.

The sun was shining and I couldn't get out in it because of the kids. Everyone seemed to be out and about and I was stuck in feeling pretty miserable.

I neglected my blog, I neglected my blogging friends, I neglected my work, I neglected the housework, I neglected my friends.

More importantly I neglected ME.

I think as mother's we always put our families above everything else but if we aren't functioning properly then our families actually suffer more.

This week both kids are fit and healthy (although MC is still coughing at night a bit), I've managed to catch up a little with my freelance work, I have plans to catch up with friends and I've taken a few hours out to go and get my hair done and sit out in the sun a little.

This week is like night and day compared to last.

So next time I feel like I'm sinking I'm going to make sure I try and get some time to myself and remember that things can only get better.

Taken 30th May 2012

Bring Me A Dream (My 2nd Birth Story)

Most of my regular readers will already know from Mini Cheddar's Birth Story and other posts that I had a her by caesarean section. You will also know from my more recent post that I took the decision to have a repeat caesarean to bring my baby boy into the world recently.

My boy.

I'll never tire of saying that. I'm completely in love with him and he's an adorable addition to our family.

His 'blog' name will be Tiny Ched (a play on Tiny Ted) from now on thanks to my Mum and also the lovely Annwen from Ramblings Of A Suburban Mummy.

This is his birth story...

I'd had well over a month to prepare myself for my c-section date. Having had a previous caesarean section you would think I would have taken it all in my stride. I didn't. I was unbelievably nervous and anxious - moreso than last time.

Matt and I arrived at the hospital before 8am on Wednesday 28th March (my parents were looking after MC) and were shown to the waiting room. We were still there 40 minutes later (not good for my nerves) when Matt decided to go find someone to ask what was happening. Just then we were called down to our room.

The midwife explained that there was an emergency section taking place and so the 2 planned sections would be delayed. I hoped I would be the first one called through but my chances were slim as the other planned one was a lady who had been admitted overnight.

I was starving! Fasting from midnight when pregnant is not good and I was ravenous. It hadn't been helped by a quick stop at McDonalds for Matt enroute to the hospital (it was my idea so he had something to keep him going).

The midwife returned and told me I was going to be the second elective so I wouldn't be having my section until at least lunchtime.

I was crushed.

A moment later the anaesthetist came into the room to introduce himself. I told him I was ravenous and he said that they would put a fluid drip into my arm to help get something into me. He disappeared and then returned later with a cannula which he inserted into my arm. Then said "Well, you're up - they've moved you forward".

I had no time to think before the room was filled with medical staff introducing themselves. They were all lovely and friendly and were cracking jokes to try and put me at ease. Then I walked across the hallway and into theatre.

Seeing them write my name on the board brought all the memories of MC's birth flooding back to me.

I started to cry.

Our family was about to become 4.

I was about to meet my baby boy.

Two female surgeons had delivered MC and my little boy was to be delivered by two men. One of which was the top consultant who was absolutely fantastic.

I'd been apprehensive that, after the amazing experience of MC's birth, this birth wouldn't be the birth I'd hoped for.

I was wrong.

Fresh out the womb -
the first time I held hands with my baby boy

It was better.

The medical team were just amazing.

I actually felt Tiny Ched being born. I felt him being pulled out of me - something which I hadn't felt with MC's birth. It was incredible.

When he entered the world he certainly made his presence known. He screamed and screamed. Something that MC didn't do (she just poo'ed!).

He was born at 10.44am at 39+1 weeks and weighed a good 8lb 2oz.

His birth song? This was playing on the radio in the theatre the moment he was brought into the world. So I now have two amazing songs that I will always hold dear to my heart for the birth of my beautiful children.



Matt was incredible throughout the birth. He was constantly supporting me and I couldn't have gotten through it without him.

Tiny Ched was passed to me as soon as the cord was cut and we were able to have skin to skin to establish breastfeeding whilst I was stitched up.

MC and TC get to meet (I'm a bit emotional)

That afternoon my parents and parents-in-law brought Mini Cheddar to meet her new baby brother. They all waited in the cafe so Matt and I could introduce the two on our own. It was incredible. I knew straight away I was going to adore being a mummy to two children.

My recovery went well and the next day I was up, out of bed, showered and changed - all before 8am. I knew I wanted to go home that day but I wasn't sure they would let me as normally a c-section involves at least a 2 night stay but they were happy with my progress. I left the hospital just after 4pm that next day and they rest is history. I have arnica to thank for my speedy healing! I swear by it and I'm already driving again.

Tiny Ched will be 3 weeks old this coming Wednesday and it's like he's always been here. He's the world's most contented baby - he sleeps all day and all night. If only MC had been this easy!


He certainly lives up to his birth song.

He's a dream.

My boy

Post-Pregnancy Patter...He's Here!

So, our little baby boy arrived into the world at 10.44am on Wednesday 28th March.

I know I'm biased but he's beautiful.

Look...

So, that's the first secret out - I was expecting a boy!

The second thing I've kept to myself is that I was booked in for another c-section and I'd had my date scheduled since my last consultant appointment on 21st February. It wasn't a decision I took lightly but I knew it was the right one for me and I don't regret it for a single moment. I never thought it would be as good as the first experience with MC's birth but it was. In fact, it was better. I will report more on that soon.

So Baby E is here.

He needs a 'blog name'.

Mini Cheddar's name was born out of the fact some friends of mine call me 'Cheddar' or 'Ched' for short so it was natural we all had a laugh when I was pregnant with a 'Mini Cheddar'.  I had every intention of nicknaming this little one Babybel or BB for short but I'm not sure if it sounds a little girly? It's either that or Baby Ched. What do you think?

Baby E (as he will be known as for now) is a totally different baby to what MC was.  All he does is sleep. Honestly, you wouldn't even know he was here. Matt and I are getting good solid blocks of sleep each night - we are actually waking him for feeds or he'd sleep through the night. He just sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. I've never known a baby like it.

MC loves him very much as you can see from my Silent Sunday post yesterday. She's totally besotted and so gentle and caring with him.

So, this is a very quick update just to let you know how things are and to officially announce he's here.

I'm unbelievably happy. I have a new man in my life and he's the best.

I'm in love.

Pregnancy Patter - 16 Weeks And Still Sick

Yes, I know my bump is huge already
(At least MC's hand makes it look a little smaller)

It was about time I got around to blogging about my pregnancy. I didn't really take any photos of my bump (apart from a couple) when I was pregnant with Mini Cheddar so I have nothing to look back on.

I've decided this time it's going to be different. Now I have this blog to use as a diary too. I'm not going to blog about it every week but just when I have some news.

I was 16 weeks yesterday. The time I'm supposed to be 'blooming'.

Yeah right!

I'm off blogging again as I've been feeling a bit rubbish this week.

Yesterday I spent most of the day on the sofa, unable to move without feeling sick or my head pounding. I was that poorly that when one of my friends rang me to see how I was I started crying as I felt so sorry for myself. I honestly thought that I was over it but no, I don't know what my body is playing at but some days (thankfully most) I feel fine but then others I'm of no use to anyone.

Matt found me curled up on the sofa at 5.30pm yesterday, no dinner prepared, nothing. I didn't have the energy to interact with my daughter, let alone tidy the house and I felt awful about it all. Luckily I have a superb husband who, despite being out at meetings all day and driving a few hundred miles, came in and ran around the house like 'Super Dad', tidied up, sorted out Mini Cheddar and the dog, got me some water, nursed me and then...rang up Dominoes Pizza who delivered our dinner in 30 minutes. What a star!

Today is a totally different day. Today I feel remotely human again. I've done some freelance work, been to a play school meeting, been to see my midwife, done some more work, tidied up and organised dinner (left over pizza yes, but hey at least I thought about it!).

The trip to the community midwife went really well and, as this is my second baby, I don't have to go back until I'm 28 weeks. I have my 20 week scan at the hospital booked for the 15th November so looking forward to that. Matt wants to find out the sex of the baby but I'm not so keen. I guess it will be a last minute decision.

I have been feeling the baby move for the past couple of weeks now, in fact I'm convinced it was after the MAD Blog Awards in London whilst I was in bed in my hotel room that I felt the first movements - must have been all the excitement! The midwife even said she saw the baby move when I was laid on the examining table. I got to listen to the baby's heartbeat today for the first time too - I remember this so well with Mini Cheddar and it would always get me really emotional.

So, that's it in a nutshell. I have to say I've felt a lot more sick this time than I did with MC and a lot more zapped of energy. The lovely people at mywaterbaby.com heard my moaning about sickness last week on Twitter and very kindly sent me a box of their folic acid hydration drink which arrived yesterday - perfect timing! It's early days yet but maybe that's why I am feeling much better today. Who knows? I will report back soon on my findings.

MC is loving the pregnancy so far (we told her at 12 weeks) and she regularly talks about her "baby in Mummy's tummy" and talks to the bump or puts her hand on it. She seems excited and keeps asking for "baby to come out now". Let's hope she's as excited when her new sibling enters the world.

24 weeks and counting.

Silent Sunday #35

Silent Sunday #10

The Ticking Clock

As I sit here at 3.40pm on a sunny Saturday afternoon this is my view. The only sound I can hear is the loud ticking of the clock above the ensuite door and the gentle breathing of my beautiful daughter in my arms.

The garish blue of the hospital walls and the clinical linen on the bed is a stark reminder of where we are and how quickly things can go downhill with a little one.

It's hard to believe that only a week ago we were celebrating her 2nd birthday in style and here we are with her hooked up to an iv drip to get fluids into her after a dire case of vommiting and diarrhoea - she couldn't even keep a thimble full of water down.

I have never felt so utterly helpless as I did last night. Her little body fighting against me, two doctors and two nurses as they tried in vain (no pun intended) to put the cannula into her hand to hook her up to the iv. It was the most awful moment of my life.

But this isn't a post to moan about how rough we've had it. As I pop down to the hospital cafe every now again to take a break and get a fix of caffiene, I'm reminded of how fragile our little ones lives are. I go past high dependency units and SCBU machines and it absolutely breaks my heart to think of those parents and children who have their lives literally hanging by a thread.

I've read blogs recently from parents with poorly children, children who spend most of their lives in and out of hospital and doctors surgeries and I can't even begin to imagine the pain and anguish they must have gone through. I've only had this hospital experience for the last 24 hours, so far, but it will be forever etched in my memory as the worst night of my life.

To all those parents and children who have suffered, are still suffering or will suffer in the future - you're in my thoughts.

Football Is Not A Funny Old Game

Photo credit: renjith krishnan

As I sit here typing furiously (and I mean furiously!) on my laptop I'm listening to my husband ringing clients and suppliers...

"Yeah, I fractured my ankle last night *laughs*"

I can only assume at this point they say "Oh no, poor you.  Is it painful?"

"Yeah it's pretty painful *laughs again*"

I'm sat here looking for the nearest blunt instrument to stab him with.

You may think I'm really mean and unsympathetic.  You'd be right on the lack of sympathy.  I have none for him.  But I'm certainly not mean.  He did it playing football. A sport which has hampered our lives previously but still he continues to play.

About 4 years ago he broke his wrist.  I was at the gym at the time and didn't have my phone with me so the first I knew about it was when I pulled up at our house to discover two blokes in football kits on my driveway waiting for me.  They'd driven my husband's car home as he'd been whisked off in an ambulance.

I ran into the house, fed the dog and dashed to A&E to discover him sitting in a wheelchair white as a sheet with what I can only describe as the most distorted arm ever.  Even looking at it made me feel sick.  He had to stay in hospital and have an operation where it was pinned.   He couldn't do much for months.

I asked him to stop playing football.  He didn't.

Last year he broke his leg.  He actually didn't end up in plaster as he went to the hospital and they said he'd not broken it and didn't even bother to give him an x-ray.  He was in agony for months with it until finally another hospital x-rayed it to discover he had infact broken it.  It was too late to plaster as the bone had already started to heal.

I asked him to stop playing football.  He didn't.

Then last night, I hear the key turn in the door and I wait for the sound of limping (I do this every week as he usually comes home with some small injury).  All I heard was "shit ow" from downstairs.  Then I heard him hobbling to get up the stairs.  "I think I've broken my ankle".  Great.

A phone call to my parents to babysit, a trip to A&E, x-ray, plaster, 4 hours later we are back home in bed.  He's going to be in plaster for 4-6 weeks and can't put any weight on it whatsoever.   That means him doing very little as he's on crutches.  He can't carry our daughter, he can't drive, he can't take a shower without my help, we can't be 'intimate' properly, he is pretty much incapable of doing anything.

I'm not going to bother to ask him to stop playing football.  I'm tired of this game.

The only joy I am going to glean from this is the fact that his mother will hit the roof when she finds out.

Every cloud.......