Having a newborn is like having scrambled eggs where your brain should be;
Like everyone is speaking another language and you can't think clearly;
Or constantly having the car radio up loud when you are trying to find an address
Whilst someone is talking to you and your windscreen is a mess.
Having as newborn is planning your outfits around how easily accessible your boob is;
It's not knowing what time you will be there as you don't know when he will be in a tizz;
It's being comfortable with screaming, everyone seeing your boobs and curious strangers
Even when you are so fed up and people talking to you is something that angers.
Having a newborn is doing twenty-five things at once but not finishing a thing;
It's forgetting if you washed the shampoo out before you put the conditioner in;
And it's about trying to prioritise and make a list of what needs to be done;
Then remembering you haven't eaten, looking for food, opening the fridge and seeing none.
Having a newborn is catching those little flickers of smiles and glints in their eyes;
It's remembering those tender, rare moments when all he seems to do is cries;
It's knowing he recognises you because he kicks and coos when you go to his bed
Or when he grabs onto your clothes and nuzzles under your chin with his little head.
Monday, 28 November 2016
Saturday, 26 November 2016
The Magical Balance
The midwifes tell me that when a baby sleeps for a longer period, they pay you back with sleeping less at another time. I see it as a magical (and evil) balance. It means that if you have a great night with your baby and he sleeps for five hours in the night, hold back from rejoicing and thinking the silly bubba has turned a corner. Because the following hours or day he will pay you back.
In all fairness there is some logic to this. Babies need to wake up because they need to eat. If they din't wake up, they still need the same amount of calories each 24 hours. That doesn't mean having a bigger breakfast, baby's stomach is still no bigger than their tiny little fist. Silly babies might eat more but that is never the end of it. No sir-ee, when they eat more than their tummies can take, their tummies reject the extra and the extra ends up on mummy's shirt and shoulder.
And so the balance plays out. We get the good with the bad. I get a good baby at night, so the magical balance says I can get a screamy-mc-screamy baby during the day. But don't feel sorry for those parents who feel they have a difficult infant all the time, well the balance (and old wives tales) would predict that they get a great toddler.
I think the same goes for my mental health.
Having a baby is no easy business. After the little person exits your body, he leaves behind a wreck! It is not pretty place. My stomach is wobbly and scarred, my waist has gone, my thighs (which were too big to begin with) feel like they will never fit into a pair of pants that were not made for clown costume! Ew! The other side of the ew is the crazy brain craziness. The hormones get mixed with the sleep deprivation and turmoil ensues. When that plays with my long standing depression, my mood is expectedly a up and down roller coaster.
I am coming to learn that my mood has a magical balance as well. One good day equals one bad day and similar equations. Between Tiny Human and me, sometimes they balances mirror each other, sometimes they impact each other, other times there is no correlation - they follow their own pattern of balance.
In short...
In all fairness there is some logic to this. Babies need to wake up because they need to eat. If they din't wake up, they still need the same amount of calories each 24 hours. That doesn't mean having a bigger breakfast, baby's stomach is still no bigger than their tiny little fist. Silly babies might eat more but that is never the end of it. No sir-ee, when they eat more than their tummies can take, their tummies reject the extra and the extra ends up on mummy's shirt and shoulder.
And so the balance plays out. We get the good with the bad. I get a good baby at night, so the magical balance says I can get a screamy-mc-screamy baby during the day. But don't feel sorry for those parents who feel they have a difficult infant all the time, well the balance (and old wives tales) would predict that they get a great toddler.
I think the same goes for my mental health.
Having a baby is no easy business. After the little person exits your body, he leaves behind a wreck! It is not pretty place. My stomach is wobbly and scarred, my waist has gone, my thighs (which were too big to begin with) feel like they will never fit into a pair of pants that were not made for clown costume! Ew! The other side of the ew is the crazy brain craziness. The hormones get mixed with the sleep deprivation and turmoil ensues. When that plays with my long standing depression, my mood is expectedly a up and down roller coaster.
I am coming to learn that my mood has a magical balance as well. One good day equals one bad day and similar equations. Between Tiny Human and me, sometimes they balances mirror each other, sometimes they impact each other, other times there is no correlation - they follow their own pattern of balance.
In short...
Good Luck
Tuesday, 8 November 2016
How much do you weigh?
In our society weight is such a taboo subject to talk about. We might discuss diets and exercise and health food but disclose the number on the scales nuh uh we don't do that... with a few exceptions.
Firstly if you have lost a lot of weight and are really proud of the figure staring back at you when you step on the scales then you may mention that figure. But unsurprisingly I'm not commenting on that today.
I want to chat about the second exception to the role: when you are pregnant. Weighing yourself is part of the frequent check ups and gets recorded on your little yellow card. You question how much is too much? How will you lose it? How much of that is baby?
At 41 weeks I weighed 102kg. It was painful to see the number rise above 100. Logically I knew that I was growing a human being and my body had changed to support that growth. I knew I was eating fairly healthy. And I knew that a great deal of that was water and baby related fluid. Also my midwife wasn't concerned about the steady gains. Rational thought doesn't mean anything to former anorexic who was already over conscious of her 80kgs before she got pregnant.
Now that Tiny Human is outside my body the scales remain an evil enemy. My scales says 90kg and my body says ew! Now I hate my icky body but there is little I can do about it. Dieting is not quite recommended when one is breastfeeding. In fact it is recommended that new breastfeeding mums don't lose more than one kilo a month! A month!!!! That means by the time the little guy turns one, I would be back to my pre-baby weight, which was too heavy already. Of course I don't need to listen to this guideline, but I do have to eat enough to produce good quality and a good quantity of milk.
My weight and body will continue to be a topic on my mind until I can gain some kind of control of it. Whilst I struggle with the high number on the scale when I step on it, I will also be forced to obsess about the number that blinks back at me when I put Kingsley on the scale.
The last exception to the "don't talk about weight" rule is that of a new born. It's one of the first stats mentioned when he first comes out and everyone wants to know. Then weighing your bub becomes a weekly obsession. It also feels like a direct reflection of me and my ability to look after my child especially because I'm breast feeding.
Kingsley was a big baby at 4.56 and was long rather than chubby. His size was talked about with every midwife at the hospital and by every visitor and well wisher from our lives. This initially didn't bother me one bit. It was kind of fun to have this large baby that people wanted to talk about.
Then he got weighed on discharge at 4.35 and I was pleased that he had lost so little weight. Why was I pleased? It could have been because it meant he was healthy but it was most likely because it made me feel like I was doing something right. As a breastfeeding mum, it meant that I was able to provide enough for my bubba to avoid him losing too much of his fat stores.
Then we got home and things changed a little. He was weighed a few times and suddenly it looked like his weight had gone down. What was this about? What had I done wrong? How was I failing my child? Why was my body not doing what it meant to do my bubba? These are the things that ran through my mind. It was all about me. My child's weight was a direct refection of me and my ability to care for him. Everything I did was called into question.
Almost a week later, things were not much better and again I was doubting myself. Was I not enough? Would I have to give up on breastfeeding? It seemed to cut to my core. Why is that?
A few weeks ago a friend of mine had a stranger comment on a picture of her son. The stranger said her son looked malnourished and she should feed him. This random comment felt like a direct attack on her and she opened up about her birth story and the days following in which feeding her son was more than a challenge due to the complications in birth. She felt she needed to defend herself and comment on just how touchy the topic of food and her child is. It highlighted for me the pressure on parents (especially mother's?) to ensure their child is growing and putting on weight as they should (or as other's perceive they should?).
So, when I weighed my son on Monday and he came in at 4.72 it felt like I was vindicated. I had fed my son and given him what he needed. I was being a good mother. I was providing for my child.
As I work to make the number decrease when I step on a scale and try even harder to make sure the number increases when the baby is weighed I want to remind myself to take it easy... but I know I won't. These are the pressures of being a woman and a mother in our society. And the added pressure of my high expectations on myself.
Firstly if you have lost a lot of weight and are really proud of the figure staring back at you when you step on the scales then you may mention that figure. But unsurprisingly I'm not commenting on that today.
I want to chat about the second exception to the role: when you are pregnant. Weighing yourself is part of the frequent check ups and gets recorded on your little yellow card. You question how much is too much? How will you lose it? How much of that is baby?
At 41 weeks I weighed 102kg. It was painful to see the number rise above 100. Logically I knew that I was growing a human being and my body had changed to support that growth. I knew I was eating fairly healthy. And I knew that a great deal of that was water and baby related fluid. Also my midwife wasn't concerned about the steady gains. Rational thought doesn't mean anything to former anorexic who was already over conscious of her 80kgs before she got pregnant.
Now that Tiny Human is outside my body the scales remain an evil enemy. My scales says 90kg and my body says ew! Now I hate my icky body but there is little I can do about it. Dieting is not quite recommended when one is breastfeeding. In fact it is recommended that new breastfeeding mums don't lose more than one kilo a month! A month!!!! That means by the time the little guy turns one, I would be back to my pre-baby weight, which was too heavy already. Of course I don't need to listen to this guideline, but I do have to eat enough to produce good quality and a good quantity of milk.
My weight and body will continue to be a topic on my mind until I can gain some kind of control of it. Whilst I struggle with the high number on the scale when I step on it, I will also be forced to obsess about the number that blinks back at me when I put Kingsley on the scale.
The last exception to the "don't talk about weight" rule is that of a new born. It's one of the first stats mentioned when he first comes out and everyone wants to know. Then weighing your bub becomes a weekly obsession. It also feels like a direct reflection of me and my ability to look after my child especially because I'm breast feeding.
Kingsley was a big baby at 4.56 and was long rather than chubby. His size was talked about with every midwife at the hospital and by every visitor and well wisher from our lives. This initially didn't bother me one bit. It was kind of fun to have this large baby that people wanted to talk about.
Then he got weighed on discharge at 4.35 and I was pleased that he had lost so little weight. Why was I pleased? It could have been because it meant he was healthy but it was most likely because it made me feel like I was doing something right. As a breastfeeding mum, it meant that I was able to provide enough for my bubba to avoid him losing too much of his fat stores.
Then we got home and things changed a little. He was weighed a few times and suddenly it looked like his weight had gone down. What was this about? What had I done wrong? How was I failing my child? Why was my body not doing what it meant to do my bubba? These are the things that ran through my mind. It was all about me. My child's weight was a direct refection of me and my ability to care for him. Everything I did was called into question.
Almost a week later, things were not much better and again I was doubting myself. Was I not enough? Would I have to give up on breastfeeding? It seemed to cut to my core. Why is that?
A few weeks ago a friend of mine had a stranger comment on a picture of her son. The stranger said her son looked malnourished and she should feed him. This random comment felt like a direct attack on her and she opened up about her birth story and the days following in which feeding her son was more than a challenge due to the complications in birth. She felt she needed to defend herself and comment on just how touchy the topic of food and her child is. It highlighted for me the pressure on parents (especially mother's?) to ensure their child is growing and putting on weight as they should (or as other's perceive they should?).
So, when I weighed my son on Monday and he came in at 4.72 it felt like I was vindicated. I had fed my son and given him what he needed. I was being a good mother. I was providing for my child.
As I work to make the number decrease when I step on a scale and try even harder to make sure the number increases when the baby is weighed I want to remind myself to take it easy... but I know I won't. These are the pressures of being a woman and a mother in our society. And the added pressure of my high expectations on myself.
How much do you weigh?
Friday, 4 November 2016
Random parenting thoughts: the first 2 weeks
So, my understanding was this...
Newborns do nothing but eat, poop, cry and sleep.
It was not stressed to me that infants do not know how to sleep and they need to be taught... taught how to sleep? How the crappers do you do that? I don't remember learning how to sleep, how am I supposed to know how to teach it. Unfortunately for mummy and daddy Mr Tiny Human is not a fast learner.
If I can offer some advice to a any new mums out there that is impossible for you to act on, I would suggest you don't get a cold right after having your stomach cut open! Coughing, sneezing and blowing your nose is so impossibly painful when you have layers of stitches in your belly.
Ew, I smell... perhaps I should shower? When did I last shower? Crappers is that the baby waking? Yep, shower will have to wait.... 2 days later... Ew, I smell etc.
How much crying is too much crying? How much crying is from fatigue and how much is due to wanting to go back in time to when you were 25 carefree, unattached and childless? Then I could sleep when I want, eat when I want... get drunk and be hungover, throw up everywhere and have no one to worry about except my own sorry ass!
PAUSE typing I hear the baby...
So... I started writing this when Kingsley was 2 weeks old, then I got distracted and suddenly he is 3 weeks old tomorrow. This a reflection of how much free time I have.
TMI: one of the fun things that happens after childbirth is bleeding. What makes the bleeding so much more exciting are maternity pads. These things are crazy thick and long! Unsurprisingly, these mammoth pads do not breathe so irritation comes along with the territory. Crazy cool fun!
OMG my back! My crazy huge baby is killing me! At almost a full kilo bigger than the average Australian newborn, my not so Tiny Human is a real test to my back and shoulders when I am lifting, settling and feeding. His head alone gives my arm cramps when feeding! What am I supposed to do when he gets heavier?
I love my pram! Love, love, love! Good pick Tara! Go you.
Sleep is hard to come by with a newborn. One does not suddenly get more sleep, one gets used to the deprivation.
I am so anxious about the baby waking up that I hallucinate and hear him when he is not crying!
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