How a baby really changes your life

When you first announce you are pregnant, the first thing your friends already blessed with children tell you – apart from to warn you about the sleepless nights – is that this single event will change your life. In a good way, of course. They always tag that last bit onto the end in hasty addition.

And yes, having a child is totally life-changing. Your whole world completely changes orbit to revolve around this small, dependant human-being. You feel a shadow of your former self, as you forego work, sleep, and even showering and brushing your hair some days, to tend to your child’s every need. You stow away your heels and skinny jeans, and your mascara, and embrace the Wurzel Gummidge look. As you approach the 3 month mark, and you finally feel as though you can clutch at some former hobbies once more (I mean, getting out for a run again, for example, and meeting up with your friends for a child-free night involving wine) you realise that as well as changing your life, actually parenthood has changed you beyond all recognition …

Having a baby makes you a qualified Supernanny. In your head. I bumped into a neighbour the other day, who looked a bit bedraggled. Upon quizzing, it turned out their six-month old daughter wasn’t sleeping more than about half an hour at a time. “Perhaps she’s teething”, I heard myself say. ‘What?’, snapped my internal monologue, ‘How the hell would you know? In your last blog, you were moaning that other parents throw unwanted advice at you. Hypocrite. You’re not even qualified to know about the symptoms of teething. But just you wait … ha ha ha’. My internal monologue’s a bit snippy lately, if you hadn’t guessed.

I feel I’ve gone a bit mad. Or at the very least, regressed to my own childhood, because I now hum nursery rhymes all day long. (Even when I’m not with the baby). The most annoying thing is when I catch myself humming Christmas songs (it’s June!) because apparently I don’t know enough nursery rhymes yet. The tune to ‘Good King Wenceslas’ is a recurrent one of late.

Having a baby changes your relationship with your other half too. You find yourself sniping about who has had less sleep, and keeping secret logs of who has changed the most nappies. You also really look forward to that time of day when they walk in from work, and you can hand them the baby, and say,’Here, hold her, I need to go for a number 2′ or words to that effect. [See my last post about some things I won't do one-handed]. That’s not an everyday occurrence by the way. It happened once.

You become an extreme version of yourself. Sometimes even an unrecognisable opposite. I heard myself telling my husband the other day that I would be so grateful if Allegra could just sleep until 5am, which would feel like a lie-in. 5am?! In whose world is 5am ever a lie-in? Clearly this is extreme sleep-deprivation talking. I am not a morning person. Not even close. I am the sort of person who likes to hibernate over winter. 5am terrifies the living daylights out of me. Or at least I think it used to …

So there we are. Not so much a life-changed, as a person transformed. For the better (there’s that hasty addition we parents are so good at!) because I think I have learnt to appreciate the simpler things in life: a morning smile from my little one; a sunny day where we won’t get wet or cold having a walk; an unbroken four hours of sleep. Sometimes I’m not sure I even recognise myself in the mirror any more. But maybe that’s more to do with the Wurzel Gummidge hair.

Juggling a baby (and other one-handed circus tricks)

Since having a baby, I’ve learned to do a lot of stuff one-handed. And I don’t just mean writing this blog post, while bouncing my 3 month old on my lap. I mean all kinds of stuff.

I have, for example, acquired a real skill in buttering toast with one-hand, while holding the baby in the other. It’s pretty tough. You have to make sure the toast is hot, and the butter soft, otherwise you end up cutting chunks out of your toast, and the worktop ends up covered in crumbs. We’ve had a lot of trial and error, identifying the optimum conditions for one-handed toast buttering. The thing is, my little one seems to have a knack for identifying the sound of the toaster popping, or the kettle boiling, and chooses these moments to decide she wants me. NOW. And she doesn’t just want me to sit her on my lap. She likes to be straight, leaning on my chest looking over my shoulder, while we walk around the house looking at things. She has, in essence, acquired my nature of being nosy. And at first it meant I couldn’t eat breakfast when I wanted, or drink a hot cup of tea, but we have had time to perfect our one-handed juggling act so now we are multi-talented.

Brushing my hair, putting laundry in the machine and out on the line, walking the dog and picking up her poop; we are multi-skilled in one-handedness. I’m even going to put it out there and say going to the loo (only for a wee). Come on, we’ve all done it. And even if you haven’t, you’ve at least thought about it, right?

It is getting easier to put her down now while I do things, as she gets a bit older, and gains a bit of independence (and an interest in the bright characters dangling over her play mat or her bouncing chair), but I think one-handed juggling is a skill I’ll always need. If anything, it’s given me a good workout for my arms. Who needs a kettle-bell when you have a baby?

One thing I can’t do one-handed though is eat paella. At least not without making a huge mess down my white top. Don’t try this at home folks.

Can’t nap, won’t nap

People are full of advice when you have a baby. They just can’t help themselves. It’s as if, as they go through parenthood themselves, they pack everything they learn inside their heads, at first neatly, and then as time goes on, into every spare orifice until they can’t function normally anymore, and they’re fit to burst, so that as soon as someone else has a baby, they want to offload it as quickly as possible, so they load it into a metaphorical machine gun, and fire it at you, mercilessly, round after round, loudly, until your head spins. Every parent does this. And the worst thing is that most of it is conflicting. Particularly where sleep is concerned.

Nap when your baby naps. Let your baby nap as much as possible. Sleep begets sleep. Don’t let your baby sleep too much, or she won’t sleep well at night. Don’t let her nap after 3:30. Make sure she’s not awake longer than an hour at a time. Make sure she naps in her cot. Wake her up after a 45 minute nap. Don’t put her in her own room yet. Don’t let her fall asleep on you. Do whatever you can to make her fall asleep. Babies love being rocked to sleep and hearing your heartbeat. Drive her round the block if she won’t sleep.

Drive yourself round the bend with all this advice.

And while we’re on this subject, why is the first question anybody asks is, “How is she sleeping?” What purpose does this question serve, apart from to make me feel like a failed mother when I mutter, in response, that, unlike yours who was no doubt sleeping through at six weeks, she’s still waking for several night feeds, and that she cries with frustration sometimes because she’s tired and hasn’t figured out that she can fall asleep to make herself feel better. What answer do people actually want to hear? And why is everyone so fixated on how my baby’s sleeping?

I know people mean well, but I’ve quickly come to the conclusion that every baby’s different and that what works for one, won’t necessarily work for another. This is why we’ve now ditched Gina Ford, and are letting Allegra demand feed and fall into her own nighttime routine. And guess what, she’s now sleeping a solid seven hour stretch. Albeit she still has us up for a feed around 2am, but she’s getting there. However, daytime naps are still proving challenging. And as my only chance to catch forty winks myself to make up for the night awakenings, I’d really like to crack them.

So to those asking how my baby’s sleeping, I shall tell them she sleep like most ten weeks old: erratically. We have some good nights and some not so good nights. But she’s a baby, and I’m sure she will fall into her own routine soon. And to the advice givers who tell me to nap when my baby naps, I ask this: What do you do if your baby won’t nap? If she screams for three hours at a time because she resists sleep? What if the only time she’ll fall asleep during the day is when she’s in her pushchair while you’re out walking the dog? What if it’s when she’s being driven somewhere in the car? That’s a pretty dangerous place for me to fall asleep. This morning, I’ve sat with her for almost two hours as she lay in her cot, resisting sleep again, in between frustrated, cranky bouts of crying, with some screaming thrown in too for good measure.

I’m now typing this one-handed, cup of tea in the other, while I walk around the kitchen with her in a sling. Guess what – she’s now sound asleep and snoring. But as for my nap …

Six week highs and lows

The six week mark is full of milestones, so they say.

Six weeks is supposed to be when baby starts to be more alert during the day, when baby learns to support her own head a little better, when many parents first start to see the first recognisable smiles. Your daughter’s first smile will make you weep tears of joy, although you wont quite be convinced if it’s a ‘real’ reaction to anything apart from the concentration of filling her nappy. But either way, it is a truly beautiful moment.

Six weeks is when Gina Ford says she should drop her 2am feed. She hasn’t. She is however now sleeping until about 3:30, so she’s definitely making progress. Getting her to go back to sleep after a night-time feed – or even nap during the day – is still however very difficult.

Six weeks is roughly when your nightmares stop. For weeks you have dreamt bloody, terrifying nightmares when you do sleep. Many times you have awoken clutching a pillow or a blanket, in a state of panic when you realise it isn’t the baby, until you remember she is sleeping soundly in her cot.

Six weeks is when many parents confide they feel at an all-time low, in a haze of sleepless nights, hemmed in by loneliness. Six weeks is when people have stopped visiting; the initial frenzy of excited cuddles over (hot) cups of tea forgotten as visitors fade away, leaving you home alone with the baby. Six weeks is however the point at which you feel able to drive again after your surgery, and freedom has never tasted so sweet. Six weeks is when you also feel brave enough to venture out and visit various mother and baby groups, to escape your homemade prison cell, and compare notes with other mums about both baby’s sleeping and feeding habits, as well as those (still painfully fresh) memories of labour. Those scars will fade in time.

Some scars don’t heal as quickly. Six weeks is when you hoped you would be running again, but recovery from a C-section takes an agonising length of time. You’ve finally got over the fear of looking at your scar and you can stand up straight again without wincing at the irrational expectation that it will tear open again, but running still seems a pipe dream. You hope your postnatal check with the doctor brings good news about resuming your active lifestyle because you’re going to enter the ballot for next year’s London Marathon again anyway.

Six weeks is when you have learned to cope with cumulative fatigue. Your body gets so used to surviving on little sleep, that the occasional full night’s sleep leaves you feeling confused at how alert you feel. You actually load the dirty dishes into the dishwasher instead of the fridge, as your heightened alertness means your brain can function to its full capacity, so much so that you even feel able to write a blog.

Six weeks in is when it all starts to fall into place and feel normal. And for that you are truly thankful.

The awakenings

I used to think the nights were long. Now that I can tangibly measure them in one hour segments, during ‘the awakenings’, I’ve realised they are in fact very short; over in the blink of an eye.

Here’s a guide to the kind of night we’ve just had, which doesn’t reflect every night by the way -thankfully – which you won’t find in any parenting book:

22:00 Kiss husband goodnight, leaving your daughter in his capable hands for a dream feed and nappy change.
22:45 Awake briefly as husband shuffles into bed. ‘Stop bouncing’ you grumble, crossly. (It transpires in the morning that you had left his sleeping shorts under his pillow, which he couldn’t reach easily because his side of the bed is now pushed against the wall to make room for the cot, so he has to shuffle in from the foot end, trying not to step on the dog, while rooting around for them.)
00:00 Alarm on the sensor mat under the cot mattress sounds loudly. (This happens about 4 or 5 times a week. It’s set to be sensitive to detect for baby’s movement. Sometimes, when she’s sleeping very soundly, it goes off). You shoot up at the sound and graze your heel on the side of the bed as you rush to baby’s side, who is snoring quietly. Curse the alarm, and reset it.
00:05 Plump pillows. Ask husband what time it is.
00:10 Turn pillow over. It’s getting hot in here.
01:00 Awake to the sound of a very loud, explosive, trump emanating from the cot. Hear husband giggle to himself. Wonder to yourself what the resultant nappy will look like when she wakes you in a few hours time. Ask husband what time it is. Oh God, she’ll be wanting food in a couple of hours! Will yourself to sleep.
01:10 You have heartburn. Why does this happen every time you wake up in the early hours? You remember that the Rennies are in the other room, next to where you feed her. You can manage until then. Please go to sleep. Resolve to buy some more Rennies when you go to the supermarket on Thursday. And toothpaste. You need toothpaste. Stop it now. Really, go to sleep.
01:15 Why is it so hot? You’re sure this isn’t the summer duvet you thought you had found under the bed last week. Resolve to ask your husband in the morning to see if the summer duvet is in fact in the loft. Take off socks. Take off vest top. Plump pillow.
01:20 Throw one pillow on the floor. Try to think about nothing.
01:30 Pick pillow up again and put it over your head. It’s too bright. Where’s the light coming from? Open one eye. The room temperature gauge. Root around behind cot to switch it off. Accidentally unplug sensor mat alarm. Plug it back in. Unplug remaining plug. Light goes off. Ah, darkness. Go to sleep now.
02:00 Sensor mat alarm gives a warning sound that its about to go off AGAIN. You can hear baby snoring. Curse in a loud whisper, then get up to reset it. Too late. It sounds again loudly. ‘Will you turn that bloody thing off’, says your husband.
02:10 Huff loudly at husband’s snoring. Roll him onto his side (gently). Listen to dog snoring at the foot of the bed. Ignore.
02:15 Groan to yourself. Why are you wide awake? Sit up and cry, hoping for sympathy from your husband. None is forthcoming. He’s soundly asleep.
02:20 Hear noises outside. Creep to window on the landing and see two strangers arguing at the bottom of your drive. Duck down when they look up and see you watching them. Crawl on your tummy to the nursery window so you can keep an eye on them from behind the safety of the closed blinds …
03:15 Awake to the sound of baby crying. Turns out that last bit about the dark, arguing strangers was a dream. So you did manage to get some sleep. Now wake yourself up. Will your arm to move, which you fell asleep on an hour ago. Get up quietly and pick up the baby, trying not to wake the dog so she doesn’t make you have to go downstairs to let her out so she can smell the roses.
03:20 Nurse your beautiful daughter and give her some milk. Marvel at how perfect and tiny she is. Admit to yourself that you cherish these quiet moments, just you and her. Wind her, and change her, then cuddle her awhile until she starts to fall asleep.
04:20 Sneak back to your bedroom, place her in her cot, and … she’s wide awake again. Shush her to sleep. And climb gratefully into bed.
04:30 No, she’s awake again, and grumbling. Leave her a minute and hope she’ll settle herself.
04:40 She’s grumbling loudly now. Pick her up and cuddle her awhile until she starts to snore. Put her in her cot and lay in bed, waiting.
04:45 She’s crying now. And definitely awake. Pick her up and nurse her on your shoulder. Perhaps she needs another burp. Ow! She head butts you in the chin and tries to give you a love bite. Hungry?! Still?! After that whole bottle you had … oh .. over an hour ago now? Stub your toe on the bed walking back to the nursery with her. Give her some extra milk.
04:50 Is she asleep for real this time? Put her back in her cot.
04:55 She’s grumbling again. You stay in bed this time; let her settle herself to sleep.
05:00 You can still hear her grumbling …
06:00 Stir briefly to the the sounds of baby grumbling.
06:55 Awake to the sounds of baby crying. Breakfast time. Best get up then.

NB. Timings are approximate.
Disclaimer. Any attempt to try to follow this routine may result in serious exhaustion, impatience and even insomnia. And nightmares about strangers.

About the nightmares. That’s a whole other blog post.

Motherhood and martyrdom

Why is it that you feel you have to do everything? When I say ‘you’ I mean it in the most generic sense, in that most mums, including me, feel they need superpowers. As well as looking after a demanding newborn, or even wriggler, toddler, pre-schooler or indeed teenager, mums rarely seem to give themselves a break, or even ask for help.

I felt a need to blog about this, as I fell victim to martyrdom this morning. After sleepy morning cuddles, and a feed, Allegra fell asleep on me. Naturally, we cuddled for a little bit longer – is there anything more enjoyable than your tiny, grunting, snoring daughter nuzzling your neck? – but then I put her in her swinging chair to have a snooze. What did I do then? Have a nap? No. Read the book I’ve been complaining I have no time to read, that we’re discussing at book club in a week and a half’s time (I’m currently at Chapter 8)? No. I scrubbed the oven. What the hell is wrong with me? I find myself doing it all the time. Nap? Nooooo, I’ll sweep the kitchen floor, put some laundry on, sort out the wardrobe, play with the dog … the list is endless. And they are all chores that need doing, but I also need to give myself a break sometimes.

I think it’s the same omnipresent pressure that makes you feel a failure if you can’t breastfeed, or ‘fail’ to have a natural labour. Media portrays celebrity mums back at work within two weeks (how?) back to their pre-pregnancy shape and looking radiant. Oh yeah, I tried on my pre-pregnancy jeans this morning, crazy fool that I am. But readers, this is not real life. They have nannies, and personal trainers, and cleaners, and stylists … Oh, and PhotoShop. In a bid to keep up, I have booked myself in for a rare hair appointment this afternoon, and downloaded a Couch to 5k app to start running again to get back in shape. But for now, I’m still rocking the maternity clothes look (it’s all about getting value for money).

‘Nap while baby naps’
So they tell me. It’s easier said than done though, because it’s so hard for me to switch off to be able to sleep, although I guess sometimes a rest is as good as a sleep. So my new task for this coming week is to accept help where it’s offered. And to stop putting so much pressure on myself. And if anybody wants to come and help with the 1am and 3am feeds, I will graciously sleep in the spare room. With my ear plugs in.

I’m now off to the hairdressers, with my book …

Keep calm and carry a muslin

This is my new motto for motherhood.

You see, four weeks in, I really should know better. Enough people warned me: “You can never have too many muslins”. I took heed and have a laundry conveyor belt of them permanently on the go. How, then, did I manage to leave the house this morning without a single one?

It was all going swimmingly. After doubting myself – again – at bedtime (“What should I do if she doesn’t burp?” “How do I make her finish her bottle if she’s asleep?”), this morning I awoke a calm and confident mother once more at 5.45am. We were on a mission to get to a baby weighing clinic for 10am. I fed Allegra, then we both managed a little snooze until the whole family got up at 7.15. I got dressed, heated her bottle and made breakfast (hot cross buns and Muller Rice) while Daddy changed her nappy and got her dressed before kissing us both goodbye as he left for work. A little top up feed, then she was happy for me to actually style my hair and apply some mascara before we left the house, both dressed and fed – and having remembered the dog! – at twenty past nine. Miracles do happen! And Allegra promptly fell asleep, as she always does in the pram in the fresh air. It was only when she brought up a bit of milk that I’d realised I’d forgotten a muslin. I toyed with the idea of using my scarf to clean her face, before finding a discarded scratch mitten in her pram. Phew.

We made it to the baby weighing clinic for bang on 10am, where I discovered she had gained almost 2lbs. That certainly was some growth spurt she must have been going through last week, which explains the sleepless nights (the past few nights have been great!). It also explains why I now have a “Too Small” pile of clothes – sob! A lot can change in four weeks, looking at the photos we’ve been taking weekly.

This got me to thinking how much else has changed over the past few weeks. It’s almost like I’m viewing my life through a different window. My perspective has completely changed. It’s difficult to explain, but the house feels different. I look at the dog differently. Ive seen many different facets of my husband too. I look in the mirror and see a different person – I look older. I certainly have bigger bags under my eyes than I used to. I also have a warped body image in a way I could never have imagined. I was a runner before Allegra was born, but never appreciated my body tone and flat stomach. I always felt bigger than I was. (Looking back at pictures taken just 9 or 10 months ago, I look thin!) Now though, I look at my scar and the sag in my tummy in wonder at the new life that came out of it. I don’t feel bigger, but I keep absentmindedly trying on my size 10s thinking they’ll fit, and have to reach for the 14s instead. My shape has been irrevocably altered.

Sleeping and eating have become luxuries for which I am truly thankful. As has finishing a conversation on the same day you started it (our current record is four days). I’ve also accepted I will never have a candlelit bath again. Instead, managing to wash my face in the water before my daughter wees in it is the ultimate luxury. (Yes, I learnt this the hard way …). I no longer wear perfume for fear of masking my own comforting scent from my newborn daughter, but I actually must smell mostly of regurgitated or dribbled milk.

All that said, I wouldn’t change any of this for the world. With these changes and realisations comes an overwhelming sense of love and protection for my little girl. Nothing can faze me as long as I keep calm and carry a muslin.