Tag Archives: Henry

Besties with God

7 Aug

Today Henry became BFF with God. Everything went well – the service was perfect, Henry was better behaved than an angel, and it was so lovely to spend some time with friends. We even managed a public breastfeed and the little dude was so hungry he latched himself on piranha style the second we sat down. Success!

And now we’re home, enjoying the rest of our Sunday in our PJ’s. Perfect way to spend a wintery day. All in all it feels like we’ve reached a turning point, a time when life is starting to become more normal. A time when we can actually start to do stuff and go places without everything falling to pieces. And if nothing else this Sunday that’s certainly something we can thank God for.

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Breast is best

7 Aug

It’s funny, all through your pregnancy you think about the labour. What it’s going to be like, how you’ll handle the pain, what you need to learn to get through what’s supposed to be the toughest four, twelve, twenty hours of your life. Typically, I didn’t think about it that much. I figured it was going to suck, that I’d beg for pain relief within seconds, and that it was only one day out of a life of thousands. And that’s pretty much how it panned out.

What no-one really talks about, and what I certainly didn’t think about, was the weeks and months after labour. How much a third degree tear really does hurt once the epidural has worn off. What it feels like to have your nipples ripped to shreds by something that looks all innocence but really has the sucking power of an industrial strength vacuum. How much it hurts to put your all into something for hours and hours each day only to have it not work, for absolutely no reason. How guilty you’ll feel giving your baby formula. And how terrified you’ll be that you’re stuffing absolutely everything up.

I’ve never been the most confident girl in the class. But I always figured I’d be a good mum. I’d love my kid to bits, I’d give him everything he needed, and I’d breastfeed because ‘Breast is Best’. I never thought that we’d struggle with something that’s supposed to be so natural, or that I’d reach the point where I just wanted to leave, run away, because I was completely unable to do the one thing I was supposed to be able to do – feed my child – in the way I thought I had to.

Seven weeks later and it still hurts. Every time I think I’m ready to just suck it up and pack it in I feel guilty for giving up so easily. I still think that by eight weeks, ten weeks, twelve weeks something will magically change and we’ll get it – there’ll be no more tears and screaming. And then there are the days when I wonder why I’m still plugging away at something that feels like it’s ruining the bond I have with my baby.

We’ve had help and lots of it. Our community health nurse has been fantastic, we’ve been to Tresillian to learn how to settle Henry and recognise the difference between hungry and tired. I’ve seen lactation consultants, I’ve been medicated, I’ve pumped till my nipples were purple. The supply has improved, slightly, but it’s still not where it should be. In a word, it’s heartbreaking.

But it’s time to move on. Henry will be two months old on Thursday and the time is simply flying by. He’s smiling now, holding his head up and pouting, becoming his own little person. Each day it’s something new, some little thing that becomes absurdly exciting when you’re a new parent – and I don’t want to miss a second of it.

It’s a new world

26 Jul

Everyone tells you your life changes when you have a baby. I never really believed it. Sure, I knew that there would be this other little being we’d have to factor into our lives, that it’d take more time to get ready to go out, that we’d have someone else other than ourselves to think about. But in the back of my mind I always questioned those people who said we’d have no time to shower, or eat, or do anything other than care for eight pounds of flesh that would wail at all hours for love and nourishment. I didn’t believe that could possibly be the case. But now, almost two months since my last post on here, I get it. That eight pounds of flesh sure takes up a lot of time and even when he’s sleeping it’s incredibly hard to draw my eyes away from his perfect little face.

The past six weeks have been the biggest learning curve of my life. Henry was born on the 16th of June weighing in at a healthy 3.68 kilos. He was perfect. Labour wasn’t exactly a breeze but it wasn’t a horror story either. The recovery was tough, tougher than I expected, but it was breastfeeding that really threw me. The one thing that was supposed to be completely natural, the one thing that I was supposed to be able to do for my son, just hasn’t happened. And for no real reason. The one thing I really wanted to do, and the one thing that I didn’t prepare a worst case scenario for, has failed. I think this is probably the first thing in my life that I haven’t succeeded at. It’s certainly the one thing I’ve put the most effort into so it’s hard to come to terms with the fact that it just hasn’t worked for us.

But now I’m finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m sitting here, next to my little guy, enjoying a cup of tea in the sun and realising for the first time that we have a beautiful baby boy who’s healthy and happy, no matter how he’s being fed. And it feels so good.

Nailed it

3 Mar

Pretty chuffed with myself today. Totally aced yesterday’s pregnancy assessment obstetrician appointment. In fact I did so well I’m pretty sure I got a gold star. The Boy indicated it might have even been scratch-n-sniff sticker worthy. I quietly agree with him.

Now, to bore you with all the overly informational details…

Weight: “Excellent”. Apparently I’m supposed to be putting on weight since I’m, duh, pregnant. Though from now on my OB has told me I should start averting my eyes before stepping on the scales.

I credit my success in this department to a week of vegetable stick lunches, and consciously choosing the lightest clothing I could find. That 100g made all the difference, I’m sure.

Size of uterus: “Right on target!” This was said with much enthusiasm, along with the comment that I’ve certainly popped. Why yes, yes I have.

Blood pressure: “Nice and low”. My OB actually beamed when she did my BP. BEAMED.

Pee sample: “Beautiful and clear”. What she meant to say here was “If you want, we could start bottling this and make millions, it looks THAT good.”

Fetus: “Aww look he’s got a perfect nose” (cue look of absolute manic pride as The Boy takes credit for this) and “He’s certainly an active one, isn’t he”.

My OB clearly loves the ultrasound part of these appointments. It’s so nice to have her grinning from ear to ear and laughing as she chases my boy around with the probe. I didn’t tell her that this was Henry being quiet – I’d hate to see what he gets up to when he’s really kicking up a storm.

But the good news is everything looks great. Henry is head up right now which I kind of figured out myself because I’ve been poking this hard lump above my belly button for a couple of weeks now and wondering whether I was causing any permanent brain damage. We got to see him sucking his thumb and sticking out his tongue, and, as of this Thursday, our little man is viable!

Sigh. Another big milestone for the Pork Chop.

And there it is…

4 Feb

After residing on cloud nine for the past few days I was beginning to wonder when my usual state of nervous anxiety would return. Today, apparently, is that day.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m super excited that we’re having a little boy. I’ve spent my lunch hour today (and, lets face it, most of yesterday) looking at cute boy outfits, planning out how I want to decorate Henry’s room, making lists of all the stuff we need to get to welcome our new addition into the world. And then it hit me. I know nothing about boys. Nothing at all. And then I started to freak out.

First, it was the nappy change. What the hell do you do with the sausage and potatoes? How do you keep them clean? What if I stuff up and he gets all infected? Is it weird that I think it’s weird that I’ll have to look at it?

After getting my head around all that, then I started wondering what you do with boy toddlers. I mean, I’m a girly girl. I like to make quilts and cupcakes. Am I allowed to do that with a boy? I figure if he takes after his dad he’s totally going to appreciate the cupcake thing, but what else do I do with him? Can I put him in those cute crawler leggings I’ve seen my friends baby girls without subtly influencing the rest of his life? Can I take him to the museum, the art gallery, the library? Does it all have to be about sports and rough-housing? Is there a way to raise a boy that’s not a complete stereotype? Is he going to want to read? Oh-My-God what am I going to talk to him about? And worse, what am I going to do when he stops talking altogether?

Of course all of this is irrational rambling. I have a few friends who have boys and they all seem to be getting on fine. And I’m totally relishing the opportunity of having my very own tabula rasa from which to influence the creation of a perfect gentleman. I’m super excited about seeing my little man grow up and deep down I can’t wait for him to do all the stupid crazy things boys are want to do. But at the same time, I’m a little nervous.

I guess it just comes down to the fact that now, knowing we’re having a boy, knowing that Henry is on his way, it’s jumped up to a whole other level of real to me. In less than 20 weeks we’re going to be bringing home a little man, a little human, who we’ve got to raise and care for for the rest of our lives. It’s enough to make me want to run and scream and jump and cry all at once.

Mostly, I guess,  I’m hoping and praying that I have in me the potential to give our little one the best the world could hope for.

Twig and berries

3 Feb

Well it’s confirmed. Pork Chop is a boy. All boy in fact. The good little fellow was nice enough to give us a fantastic view of his sausage and, side on, the little guy looks just like his daddy.

Yes, I’m in love. I’m swooning over that face already and it’s going to be a long 20 weeks to wait to hold that little bundle. I couldn’t be more besotted if I tried. I’ve been running around everywhere for the past two days all like ‘it’s a BOY, people, get EXCITED!’ and while everyone was suitable ‘awww’ I’m still feeling like there should have been a brass band, dancers and fire-twirlers out busy making more of an announcement.

Oh, and he has a name, of course. Henry. Awwww.

So! Now I’m halfway. Henry is actually still measuring a week and a bit ahead with adjusted dates so he’s on the large side. And boy, can I feel it. He’s kicking around like mad in there, to the point of making me queasy. He’s around 450g (where the rest of that 5kg I’ve gained has gone is anybody’s guess) with long arms and legs and looks absolutely perfect. The grandparents are suitably impressed and clucky, uncles and aunties are over the moon, and I’ve been hitting online baby stores with a renewed passion. Though most of my cute outfits have been vetoed because apparently, Henry will be dressed exactly the same as The Boy when out on the town. Doting Dad? You betcha.

Anyway, here’s a photo of the little guy, half-baked as he is. Isn’t he just perfect?