Things they don’t tell you when you’re pregnant!

1: You know that lovely midwife that booked you in & sees you every visit at the doctors' surgery? She won't be at your baby's birth. It's not like 'Portland Babies', you won't have the same midwife all the way through your pregnancy, she won't be at your labour. Breaking news, you probably won't even have the same midwife throughout the labour. I had two. Shift changed at 7am, and a new one walked in to see me through the most stressful and traumatic experience of my life with only two hours to go. That's the NHS for you, not complaining here but you need to lose the rose-tinted spectacles before you read on any further.

2: Birth-plan. Really? Really? Really! No, no, no! Forget the whale music and candles; bring on the drugs! That's a bit harsh probably, and yes there are some lovely births that happen all the time (that stunning girl on 'One Born Every Minute' with her water-birth in the bikini with her hair artistically styled, pah!) but the vast majority just don't happen like that, from what I've heard. I went in saying "Whatever, give me drugs but no pethidine whatsoever!" I went 3/4 of the way with nowt whatsoever, 0-7cm in a matter of hours. Then I thought yep, let's try that gas and air stuff. I got high on it, ended up agreeing to whatever the midwife said and she stabbed my leg with pethidine! I then blacked out/vomited for two hours and had to be given reversal drugs. I blame it for The Boy's fluctuating heart-rate, ensuing  epidural and spinal-block, and being prepped for a c-section. So please, be open-minded; lavender oil is chuff all use when a water-melon is trying to come out of your vagina.

3: Waters breaking is the most bizarre feeling ever. I was naive and thought that 'Always' would stem the flow. Do not laugh! The only way I can describe it is as if you are about to wet yourself and you have no pelvic floor muscle control. Oh and they like to weigh the maternity towel to monitor how much amniotic fluid you're losing. This is the first step to a lack of dignity. One pack of maternity towels will not be enough, I was in for 5 days and used probably 8 packs? Luckily they're quite cheap. Oh and paper knickers (not towels like I originally wrote!) are grim and rustle when you move, buy cheap normal ones that you can bin after.

4: It is actually a hell of a shock when the baby comes out, especially if you've had an epidural. This is mainly because you can't feel anything! I remember being told to push and thinking "I can't feel anything, I'll pull a face that makes it look like I'm pushing, if I'm doing it wrong, they'll tell me!" When The Boy was presented to me, I was quite surprised because I'd had no sensational build-up.

5: Post-partum hormones are a bitch. 6 days after The Boy arrived into our lives, I stood in the hallway asking hubby where my grey cardigan was. He said he'd put it in the wash. I burst into tears and stamped my foot because I wanted to wear it. He looked at me absolutely flabbergasted and open-mouthed, my mum looked at him, he looked at her, I sobbed hysterically a bit more, she hugged me and he went and hid. We laugh about it now, but for a while there we weren't allowed to mention the grey cardigan incident.

6: Breast-feeding burns up shedloads of calories a day. You must eat and drink loads to produce good-quality milk. And actually drink while feeding. Straws are good. I may have only breast-fed for 3 weeks (see here for the saga) but my milk was good stuff and I produced loads of it. A fortnight post-partum I was back in pre-pregnancy jeans, three weeks after and I was wearing jeans I'd not worn in two years. It all went back on again afterwards though. Which is a bit of a bugger quite frankly. [Forgot to add this bit when I originally posted: it bloody hurts, it's difficult to get right & after 3 weeks it all went ahem, tits-up for us but that was my experience]

7: Having a baby kills your sex-life. Once you've done your job in continuing the human race, rumpy-pumpy will never be the same again. It's a hard memory for both of you to shake, especially if like me you fall down the stairs after a week and rip out all the stitches in your episiotomy (oh sorry, did you wince then?). Like Mammywoo says "I can’t even enjoy sex anymore. You ruined that too. I know how it ends". Asides from that, sleep is so much more of an appealing option, for both of you.

8: When your newborn baby is held by women of a certain age, they will come back stinking of Ysatis or 4711. It will taint the smell of your little one. I don't know how to prevent this from happening, but it will upset you.

9: Having a baby will be the most amazing experience of your life; life will never be the same again and it is absolutely phenomenal!

 

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Hairy Coconuts, Kings and Sea-shells

What did we get up to this weekend?

Well I had a minor meltdown around lunchtime on Saturday. The usual: tiredness, monotony, my house looking like a tip, etc. I've not had a happy week, and while I may enjoy moaning I have not enjoyed feeling down-right miserable. Action was needed, we needed to do something. Have fun!

We started with a haircut for The Boy. I used to cut his hair while he slept, but after the last time when I ran from the room crying after the first snip when I'd cut above his ear too short, I vowed never to do it again. We took him to the barber's that hubby uses and she did a reasonable job, plus she only took four minutes. We frog-marched The Boy in and  she asked what we wanted done. I looked at her slightly incredulously, highlights and some extensions I felt like saying. Clearly he is a baby, I just want a trim for his golden crown.

Um no, you can't use the clippers on my 20 month old son's hair; he has beautiful hair, if I wanted him to look like a flipping skin-head I'd shave it myself. Use the scissors, you know this snippy things? Marvellous invention! He sat ever so well on my lap while she snipped away for 10 minutes. Marvellous! Haircut done, I didn't need to stress.

Next?

So where do you go when it's 1°C but you want to go somewhere fun? I knew the answer to this and was desperately hoping that a new facility would pop up suddenly. Let's face it, it was never going to happen. We ended up where I didn't want to go, not because I don't like the place, but because we go there so frequently. There are four main soft-play centres; one smells of urine (the carpet was laid in 1873), the other has a fab ball-pit which stinks of wee (come on children, use your nappies!), the other has broken/missing toys and food all over the floor. This is why we always end up in the fourth place: Coconuts. Clearly everyone else had the same idea! There must have been about 100+ children there, including three birthday parties. I let hubby and The Boy race off while I cocooned myself with my 3G connection and twitter. I'm not being boring: I know every single section of the multi-level play area blindfolded, I know the areas that he needs a hand up, I know which bits my arse derriere won't fit through, I know how to fix the ball-suction-run thingy. Besides let them have a little boy time. They had fun, I got my Silent Sunday.

Then in the evening, hubby and I did something we haven't done in ages. Mind out of the gutter people! Hubby and I went out! By ourselves, without The Boy! Don't worry, he was tucked up in bed with Nana listening in to his every breath and mumble. We toddled off to view the wonders of regal history with Mr. Darcy and The Corpse Bride. She's quite good in it, he is magnificent. Colin Firth turns in an amazing performance and because of him, 'The King's Speech' is amazing; engaging, funny, endearing, heart-breaking and rousing. He is so deserving of an Oscar win for his performance as Bertie Windsor, and Geoffrey Rush (not that much of a fan) is over-whelmingly humble in it. You have to see it. We ate lots and lots of nachos with yummy, gloopy cheese sauce. Nutritional value = 567, calorific value = +4957. Not good, but oh so scrummy. Of course, I do find that Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia helps cool the mouth down after the spicy cheese sauce. Ahem! I'll go for a walk tomorrow or something.

Today we've been to the beach. Once the boys had returned from failing to get 60% of the items on my shopping list, we popped out to get some fresh air. I know, lets go and play 'plopping' with the pebbles down the beach. I forgot about the bloody tide! We found a few square cm to park him down in and he had great fun as the sun set on a beautiful weekend.

Only thing is, ever since The Boy's haircut, I've noticed how God-awful it looks. No feathering, no layering, she cut his fringe straight across so he looks like he has a bowl cut! His beautiful hair! I'm going to have to wait until it grows out for a few weeks and then put some shape into it.

Oh and he learnt a new word: FUN!

Wee-waa, wee-waa!

One of The Boy's current favourite toys is a wooden fire engine he received from hubby's parents for Christmas. When he was little, I used to demand that his toys were not bright plastic with flashing noises and lights. I wanted him to have quality wooden or material toys. Easier said than done: a) it's difficult to find quality, attractive and interesting wooden toys; and b) actually they're quite pricey!

So I completely understand how easy it is to fall into the plastic trap; batteries are good, lights and sounds make The Boy happy! Happy Boy = Happy Mummy! I do try and limit the environmental (and financial) impact of all these toys by buying them from my local baby and toddler group Nearly New Sales. Luckily, we normally comes up trumps and I can spend £15 and come home with over £100's worth of toys. Money for mummies, new toys for the Boy, good for the environment.

I've digressed haven't I? How unusual for me…

We are fortunate that hubby's parents always manage to produce the goods when it comes to finding really good quality wooden toys for their grandson. They have an independent toy store locally whose stock they are working their way through. I'd love to plug them, but I've forgotten their name. Bless them, they bought him a fabric Noah's Ark which was really adaptable, but he's never been that interested in squishy toys. However, the latest addition to his toyshop collection is this:

It's called an I'm Toy Fire Engine Work Bench and is fabulous. If we're going to someone's house for a visit (e.g. my parents' or sister's) it's the toy we take with us. There are so many 'bits' to it that it can keep him amused for ages. And it's going to last him for a good while yet because while he thinks the nuts and bolts are fab, he can't co-ordinate them at the moment. He gets the idea of how to use the screwdriver and spanner but he just points them at the nuts and bolts and thinks that makes them work. The hammer is extremely popular! Any hammer is extremely popular, which is why we're not showing him where we keep the key to the shed! He's completely got the idea of sorting the shapes through the holes and inserting the pegs into the holes.

Look at the concentration!

It is an excellent 'Boy's Toy' and if you've got a baby boy, I thoroughly recommend getting it. I've got to say that the range of toys available from I'm Toy are fantastic, quality toys that last. You can find a comprehensive range of I'm Toy erm, toys available through @Toyjeanius. What's pretty fab about her toy-shop is that she's a mum to 3 children who had so much fun playing with her children's toys that she decided to open up her own shop! How cool is that? Her rather gorgeous shop can be found here.

I have a special discount code for ToyJeanius which gives you 10% off your purchases! Simply type in TheBoyandMe at the checkout.

Guilt of the working mum.

So, back to work on Tuesday for me, and tonight I am exhausted, ill and emotional.

The Christmas break was amazing. Nearly three weeks off work (because of the days that I work), filled with happiness, merriment and family time. Hubby took two days off work over that time and we ended up with a five-day Christmas weekend and a four-day New Year's weekend. It was lovely. I thoroughly enjoyed (nearly) every second of it.

Which then makes going back to work even harder.

Tonight, I have felt terrible. Three full days of intensive work with a hacking, tickly and dry cough have meant that tonight I did not have the energy to do a thing. Hubby cooked tea, fed The Boy and put him to bed. I sat downstairs and tried not to cry.

It didn't work, I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. There was snot, it wasn't attractive (how come Sandra Bullock never has a leaky nose when she cries?).

And then came the guilt. You know what I'm talking about. The following goes through my mind: I hate leaving him; I did not have a child to not be there for him; I wish to God I was there for him 24/7 but the mortgage needs paying, clothes need buying, food needs to be provided, don't forget the debts!; I am lucky that my mum has him (he gets to spend time with nana & she has an input in his life); I wish it was me that was there everyday; (here we go, the biggy) I am a bad mum.

Only I'm not and I know I'm not.

But God it physically hurts to leave him every single day.

I wish I was lucky enough to be a stay at home mum.

Black out.

Bang!

Flash!

"Mum-meee! Dad-deee!"

And with that ensued a mild panic on my part while I tried to remain calm, keep The Boy happy and safe, find the candles and work out why we had returned to the dark ages.

A power cut? But it's 2011, we don't have things like that anymore!

Apparently we do though. I looked outside the front door & everything was a sea of non-light. It was like Ron Weasley had been along with his de-illuminator. No light pollution and the faint high-pitched wails of burglar alarms protesting and being rendered incapable of doing their jobs.

Meanwhile inside, The Boy was quite enjoying this new game and hubby was in his boy scout element finding torches, plugging in the basic, non-electric phone and feeling all a bit 'me man, protect family'-ish.

Busy, busy, busy. Where are the candles? Who put the matches at the back of the only kitchen drawer which was wedged shut with pens and red Royal Mail elastic bands?

So I heated up The Boy's milk on the gas hob ('that's why we have a dual-fuel cooker' thought I smugly) and hubby took The Boy upstairs to get ready for bed, ably assisted by his super-duper Maglight.

I texted a few people and it transpired the whole of the 40,000 strong town was out. Well now this is serious! I know, I'll ask twitter for advice. Ah, no wireless. But aha, I have 3G! So I duly tweeted, and they ignored me. Pah!

A lovely automated phoneline from SWALEC informed me that it would be 10pm before the power would be back on.10pm?! But that's 3 whole hours away, what will we do? No 'net, no tv, no reading… and no I'm sorry don't even think about suggesting that! No wonder the Victorians had so many children.

"It's like the Blitz," says I to hubby.

He looked at me. You know that look. "Yes darling, but without the aeroplanes and bombing," says he.

He may have a point there, I'll concede that one.

So there I am, putting The Boy to bed in the pitch-black (don't worry, that's normal) when I hear the heating strike back up, the phone blip, the burglar alarms silence and normality return to the world.

Electricity, how I love thee.

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