Birmingham Mail - From Here to Maternity Blog

Worst Labour Experience EVER

2009-07-06T19:02:28Z

This account of labour is pretty horrendous, but it is also an extreme case. The reason it was so awful was because it was mismanaged from the outset, which is something that happens very rarely. I dilated very slowly due to a problem with my cervix. In hindsight, I should have had a c-section.

I was 18 when I got pregnant and was terrified of labour. I didn't talk to anyone about it and didn't read books about what happens to your body during the labour process. I made a concerted effort to bury my head in the sand.

Couple that with the fact that the care I received from medical professionals was nothing short of scandalous. I really feel that the baby and I were lucky to have survived.

It started when I was nine days overdue. I was excited because that morning I'd had a show, and had been having strong Braxton hicks for weeks. I called the hospital, expecting them to tell me to come straight in. I was quite surprised when they said it would be a while yet, and to call back when the contractions were strong and 5 minutes apart.

I spent that Saturday mooching around, each contraction getting stronger than the last. At 10pm that night I deemed the pain to be practically unbearable. Each one stopped me in my tracks and took my breath away.

I called my friend Rachel who at that point had had two children. Her exact words were "If you could dial my number, then you're not in proper labour. This is going to get worse."

What rubbish! I thought. How can she possibly know what pain I'm going through? I arrived at the hospital at around 11pm, in what I thought was agony.

The first midwife I saw examined me and said I was just over 1cm dilated. She looked at me with distain and asked how old I was. To be honest I know I looked like a school child, but there was no need for these people to be so judgemental.

The thought that this was only the beginning shocked me. I started to try and concentrate on each contraction, really focusing on trying to breathe through them. Then the midwife encouraged me to try gas & air.

It made me feel really sick and dizzy. I was all too aware of the pain but couldn't focus my mind on dealing with it. It blurred everything, but everyone in the room kept forcing it in my mouth, saying I wasn't taking enough of it before each contraction.

I absolutely believe the gas & air impeded my ability to cope with the pain at that point, plus I was lying on my back which would have been incredibly uncomfortable even without the contractions.

At about 3am, they examined me again.

2 cm dilated.

I was in excruciating pain. I rolled on my side into a ball and sobbed quietly. Out of nowhere a nurse jabbed me in my thigh with pethadine.

If the gas & air hadn't helped, the pethadine made it worse. I was dizzy and nauseous, and was throwing up after an hour. All I was aware of was pain. Everywhere there was pain, and I just couldn't focus on dealing with it.

The next midwife came in and asked how old I was. She asked me what I'd expected, when I got myself pregnant. This was the reality of childbirth, and she said other women do cope better with the pain.

I cried and cried for an epidural, but they said they couldn't give me one till I was 4cm dilated, which I reached at about 7am if memory serves. The anaesthetist came and spoke to me. Did I know there were risks associated with epidural? He told me I could be paralysed and it wasn't guaranteed to work etc.

"Cut my spine in half." I said."Kill me." I said. I remember at that point I really wanted to die.

The epidural was put in but I didn't understand why the pain didn't go away. My legs became a bit tingly, and I was totally immobilised, but it did nothing for the pain.

At about 9am I was 5cm dilated. A midwife came in and spoke to me about breaking my waters. She said that the pain might increase but it would speed things up. I reasoned (in my tired, drugged mind) that I couldn't be in any more pain so told her to go ahead.

I remember vividly the moment my waters broke, the pain I was in instantly doubled. If I could somehow have moved, I'd have taken myself off and killed myself. I actually would have done.

It was at around that point that the midwife from hell appeared. She told me off for getting pregnant, told me this is what happened when "you young girls get yourself in trouble" I remember watching her long, black straggly hair fall all over the place, and her not putting gloves on her henna tattooed hands at any point.

After about an hour she was really angry that the contractions seemed to be slowing down, which was my fault because I'd had an epidural. I had a drip put in to speed things up.

At 12pm, I was 10cm dilated, but when she examined me she said there was something wrong and I wasn't able to push. I didn't feel the urge to push anyway, I wasn't even feeling contractions anymore. There was just a constant band of pain from the tops of my knees to the middle of my back.

Ceaseless pain, no end in sight, lost all bodily control, I couldn't so much as lift my head every time I was sick. It was like dreaming. I wasn't quite conscious, wasn't quite asleep. Until that point I'd been practically silent, but somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered a singer talking on the telly about channelling energy through your diaphragm to make sound.

I don't know why, but I started to try and do this, to make sing-song noises with each outward breath. I focused on it and got louder and louder - it gave me something else outside the world of pain. Then my mother bent over me and whispered gently in my ear.

"Sshh.. think of the other women."

I fell silent again.

At 3pm I'd been 10cm dilated for over 3 hours. I'd been in hard labour for 16 hours. I couldn't so much as lift my hand to keep my hair out of my face as I threw up and the midwife from hell kept shouting at me that she wanted this baby born, but not to push because of problems with my cervix.

At that point the alarms started to go off. The baby's heart beat had dropped to 15 beats per minute.

Everything was very surreal. The room filled with people. I remember looking at the reflection in the surgeon's glasses as he gave me an episiotomy. I remember him attaching the ventouse to the baby's head - then just as he was ready to pull he said:

"Where's the handle?"

From the hospital bed, I stared at this group of highly trained doctors and nurses as they looked blankly from one to the other. The ventouse was incomplete, and not usable.

It took five minutes for someone to rush round the labour ward and find one of the 'old ones'.

What happened next is like something from the story The Giant Turnip: He pulled and he pulled and he pulled. I'm surprised they all didn't form a line to try and pull the baby out.

Eventually he put his foot on the edge of the bed and heaved with all his might. There was a huge crunching noise. Then the baby was born. I don't know what went wrong with my body, but it was clear to everyone that I would never have stood a chance of birthing him on my own.

The baby was whisked away, but was thankfully, and amazingly fine.

They brought him back and gave him to me. I held him in my arms and stared at him, and I just loved him. After all of that, he became my whole world in one second: The Boy.

**********************************

It took me five years to get over that experience and be able to talk about it without crying. I am pleased to say I went on to have a really, honestly and truthfully brilliant labour experience. During my second pregnancy I built up a great relationship with my midwife, and spoke to her in detail about labour. I read and watched as much as I could and had a definite picture of what I wanted - which mainly was to be in control.

My second labour experience was just as remarkable as the first, and I'll be posting it up at the end of this week.

Who says boyfriends should be present during labour?

2009-07-05T20:55:03Z

After having given birth twice now, I am well aware of the reality of labour.

TV might make it seem nice and lovely and special and moving and emotional, but the truth is that labour can't be much better than hell.

You will become yourself at your most primal, with every shred of polite, modern society stripped away. You find you're capable of making noises that would terrify the devil himself. Every bodily fluid known to man is sprayed around the room, plus some new ones too.

And as for that moment, when the baby is placed in your arms for you both to coo over, that part that people tell you when all the pain stops and everything becomes worth it, is about the same time that the midwife jabs you in the leg with an injection to shift the after-birth which they then all gather round and poke, and they stick your legs in stirrups if you need stitches.

A friend of mine said her feet were up so long she couldn't move her legs for an hour afterwards. What was the midwife sewing down there, The Bayeux Tapestry? Is that a treasured moment that your boyfriend wants to be part of too?

Going on most of my friends' experiences it's not pleasant, and often just leaves men feeling redundant and helpless.

Women are more likely to have an epidural if their birthing coach is their partner, rather than another woman. I don't think that's surprising; they'd see you in pain and would be as desperate for an epidural as you are, and perhaps suggest one earlier than you might have done. I think other women, especially ones who had been through labour before and could empathise, would try and coach you through it step by step, in a much more measured way.

Why is it so important for guys to be there anyway? Do people really think a man won't love his baby as much if he wasn't actually there at the moment of birth? Rubbish - my own father was present one of his three children's births and he detests us all equally.

Also you've got to wonder whether those '2nd stage of labour images' will flash through your boyfriend's mind when you eventually come to getting jiggy with it again. "Okay, just try not to think about the small person you saw being squeezed out of there a couple of months ago" And that's assuming you've managed to expel the moment completely from your own mind.

Throughout my whole pregnancy with The Kid at no point did I have any deep rooted desire to have the Other Half there during the birth. Judging by the response I got from some of my friends, that made me as much as a monster as Harold Shipman. One friend was horrified when I said I'd been thinking about going it alone. She told me I'd be depriving my man of one of the most important moments in his life.

I wonder how important it is to get screamed at and watch liquid come out from every orifice? If watching someone in extreme discomfort, while they have little control over what their body is doing is so important, there'll be plenty of chance to do that in the days after the birth.

In the end The Other Half was there, because he wanted to be there and I wasn't so completely averse to it that I'd really go against his wishes. After everything I've just said he was a great help, I counted on his support and think The Kid's birth was the brilliant experience (yes, brilliant experience) that it was because he was there. I kept him far away from the business end though.

However I do feel that every woman should feel in control of who is with her, and not feel pressured by anyone else's wishes or assumptions about how it should happen.

Start of Labour Week

2009-07-05T19:02:22Z

This week is labour week on From Here to Maternity and there will be lots of posts about the miracle that is birth.

I'll be talking about who to have in the delivery room, what pain relief is best and I'll be sharing my own and readers' stories of their own labour experiences.

If you want to add your own thoughts, comments or stories please feel free to do so in the comments box, or by emailing me at fromheretomaternity@live.co.uk

I hope you enjoy this labour focused week, whether you're about to give birth for the first time or you're a pro. It will really show just how different everyone's experience is.

If you've had a C-section, please email me as next week is a bit of a c-section special. I've not had a c-section myself so if you have, please, please share your story so that other women can relate to what actually happens.

Enjoy the week!

Congratulations Lisa & Daniel!

2009-07-05T14:42:31Z

Remember my friend Lisa, mom of 1 + 1 on the way? Well, she's now a proud mom of 2, which is some going considering the first one is just 18 months old! OMG!!

Little Alex was born last week at Birmingham Womens by emergency c-section, three and a half weeks early.

This next comment may be a bit shocking, but I think that most new born babies are ugly little spuds, my own included.. but little Alex was gorgeous, and perhaps his most endearing feature was his little 'breech legs'! Lisa pulled the blanket back to reveal his legs were set at a perfect triangle to his hips, with his feet immediately in line with his bum!

Lots of women would pay money to be able to get into that position in yoga!

I just can't imagine how anyone could birth a baby in that position, it's bad enough when they're pointing the right way; at least they're a tiny bit aerodynamic, and even then they don't exactly come out at the speed of formula one cars.

When I went to see him I had no problems getting into the ward, just asked the nurse and was taken straight to mom and baby. Very refreshing, especially after my last experience of visiting a new baby in the hospital.

Even though he was nearly a month early little Alex was still just shy of 8lbs, can you imagine what he'd have been like if he'd gone to term? They'd have needed to hook a block and tackle to the ceiling, or winch him out with a crane.

Anyway, good on ya Lisa. As mom of a toddler already you'll know you've got to enjoy every second of him while he's still tiny, really hope you make the most of every second.

I did it today!

2009-07-04T21:44:47Z

If you're wondering what 'it' is, I'm following on from yesterday's blog - I went to Kings Heath Fair! It was BRILLIANT!! Really hope it's on again next year, I'll make sure I don't oversleep and get there before lunch time.

I took The Kid on his first fairground ride, a small 'choo choo' train; he's really getting into trains and actually sitting on one and ringing the bell has increased his love of them ten-fold. Although I nearly didn't take him on as at one point the owner of the ride was going to charge me £1.50 to hold The Kid on my lap.. but he relented when I gave him my indignant stare from hell.

We then went and shared a pork, stuffing and apple sauce sarnie (me and The Kid, not me and the train ride man), which was lovely apart from my eardrums being assaulted by the sounds emminating from the 'mash up fm' tent. Another sign that I'm getting old - how can you call it music when it has no tune?

Before we left we went for a quick wander round the pond where The Kid decided to do his little 'I'm going to lean on my reigns and dangle like a cot mobile and there's nothing you can do about it' trick. I had one hand trying to hold the pushchair and the other trying to hoick him off the floor by the reigns, much to the amusement of passers by.

Anyway, a good time was had by all, and I'll definitely be there next time.

Do this tomorrow!!

2009-07-03T16:41:07Z

McCain Track and Field Road Show

A little bird tells me that there's a great way of getting your kids more interested in athletics. Tomorrow, Saturday the 4th July, McCain and UK Athletics are holding an event in Victoria Square between 11am and 4pm.

There will be lots of activities to get involved in, such as jumping, throwing, sprinting and reaction testing, all led by top athletes and coaches.

I've had a look at the website and sporting heroes such as Sally Gunnell, Marilyn Okoro and Steph Twell will be in attendance, to inspire potential young athletes and encourage everyone to support local athletic events.

Looks like they've got a nutritional boff there too, to tell you the best fuel to put into your little sports stars for optimum results! (If she advises three courses of McCain oven chips a day, assume that she's biased!)

Go check it out - it's free and fun and there's not much else going on in Brum apart from...

Kings Heath Festival!

There is so much going on in Kings Heath tomorrow it's untrue. As well as the Farmer's Market that always takes place on the first Saturday of every month, there's a great big party, covering the length and breadth of the High Street!!

There will be shows, demonstrations, stalls and catering by the Kitchen Garden Café amongst many other things.

There will be lots and lots for tots to see and do all day long - but don't listen to me, go and check out the website http://www.kingsheathfestival.co.uk/2009/id17.html

It's definitely worth a look.

And that's why I don't go to the Health Visitors anymore...

2009-07-02T22:04:14Z

My Brummie Mum friend Chopper took her beautiful, perfectly proportioned curly haired two year old boy to the Health Visitors last week and was told that he was overweight.

He's not overweight.

I'm not just being a loyal friend here either, I'm quite happy to say when toddlers are pudgy, but he's not. He's fine.

She then had to go through what he eats, and was given some (not at all patronising) pointers, like that she should be giving her tot one Weetabick, not one and a half in the morning.

For crying out loud! No offence to this health professional, but she has not got kids of her own and is working purely from her text-book training. Surely a hungry two year old is okay to have one and a half Weetabix? If I announce that the Kid's been on a two Weetabix a day habbit for months, will he end up in care?

Every Brummie Mum I know returns from their visits feeling they've failed as parent; their kids are either too short, tall, thin, fat, don't talk enough, don't walk enough, walk too much, eat too much. The list goes on and on.

I thought about the last time I went.. and, eh hem.. it was in 2008. And? The Kid is fine. I know he's fine because I look at him and well, I can see that he's fine. He's a decent size, he gets about and has his fair share of temper tantrums. He sleeps well, eats well and is starting to develop a good vocabulary of words.

Okay, I have got an older child so I've done my time as a first time mum, attending clinic religiously, eagerly waiting to see how much weight he'd put on. I've been through the toddler years and I know what a healthy child looks like and does. What I've also learned is most mothers kind of just know whether their child is about the right weight, and don't need to see it on a graph.

I know it's important for moms to have support and to know where to get advice. What isn't helpful is parents being worried half to death because their baby is above a certain line on a piece of paper, when in real life they're perfect.

LABOUR WEEK

Don't forget to mail me your labour stories to fromheretomaternity@live.co.uk

The best will appear on From Here to Maternity next week.

LABOUR WEEK

2009-06-30T22:20:52Z

It doesn't matter whether you're pregnant of a mother of ten, everyone loves a good labour story, which is why next week is Labour Week on From Here to Maternity.

We want to hear your labour stories, the good, the bad, the ugly and the down right hilarious! I'm going to be sharing tales such as the worst and best birth experiences in the world, my friend Rachel's story who gave birth while she was asleep and what happens when you turn a TENS up full blast by mistake!

If you want to share your story email me at fromheretomaternity@live.co.uk the best (and worst) will be posted up here on the blog.

How do you choose childcare?

2009-06-23T19:27:13Z

Nannies, Nurseries or Childminders; if you choose, or have no choice but to leave your baby and return to work, how do you decide what childcare will suit you and baby best?

Where do you go if you want good childcare? And more to the point, what is good childcare? What's important to you; happiness or a solid routine? Educational play, or just play?

I chose a nursery for The Boy based purely on him being happy and placed no emphasis on educational affairs. I wasn't bothered about targets, achievement or 'teaching and learning'.

Did it work? Was this 'care centred' nursery I opted for the best choice for him in the long run? Well, five years down the line I have to say the Jury's still out. I spend more time beating myself with the guilt stick about leaving him in full time nursery, than worrying whether I did the right thing sending him to that particular nursery.

Thing is, it's easy to batter yourself with hindsight, but I did what I did out of necessity. I wasn't abandoning him and watching telly all day. But telling myself that doesn't really help. Leaving him in nursery, with the reality of never being 100% sure that every member of staff who stood on duty definitely treated him with patience, care and respect, will always be my cross to bear.

Whenever there is evidence of ill treatment of children in nurseries, I want to close my ears.

If I knew then, what I knew now I would have opted to place him with a childminder. Yet at the time, I wouldn't consider childminders because I was incredibly paranoid about him being abused, and in my naivety I thought a 'bad' childminder could be much worse than a 'bad' nursery.

Years of experience has taught me that all you can do is make informed choices that suit your needs. There is no one option that is better than the other. It depends entirely on the individuals in question and specific needs of the parents and child.

It's no good saying that nurseries are more heavily regulated and therefore safer than the solitary self-employed childminder. Any child care professional has to have the relevant training and jump through the appropriate hoops.

Arguably, parents have more control over who their baby spend time with when they opt for a childminder.;The nursery The Boy went to had countless agency staff. I had to trust the manager to ensure that these people were properly trained and vetted, and to keep an eye on the work experience girls that could barely string a sentence together. However, childminders can and do have work experience people.

Childminders' rules about sickness might be more flexible than nurseries; they may accommodate a sick child if they've got no others with them that day to consider. There's really no getting around the black and white policies ran by the nurseries, but then, it's very unlikely that you'd find yourself with no where to send your child because every staff member is ill.

I know someone who moved their baby from childminder to nursery because she found he spent most of his time in the car, doing school and nursery runs and ferrying round the other kids being minded. Nursery gave their child a good, stable base and as a result the baby was much happier.

There was a time when I thought employing an au-pair would be a good, cost effective solution - for a grand cost of £50 a week you could have a live in person to look after your child in their home environment, and you have an insight into how they live their life.

My grandparent's next door neighbour employed a string of au-pairs. There was a high turn-over of girls who came into the house, stayed for a week during which time made it clear they were very young, very homesick and not very good at English. The last au-pair she employed actually abandoned the child with my grandparents. She said she was going to the shop, and they never saw her again.

When you're looking at your options, try and spend a good deal of time with the people who potentially will be caring for your child. Don't be afraid to ask lots of questions and get into conversations, even if it's just to gauge what the people are like.

Always ask nurseries about staff turnover, and ask for definitive numbers so you can compare. It's not good if lots of people come and go through the doors. How often do they use agency staff, and how do they make sure these people are properly vetted? How often do they use work experience girls, and when they do, what do the girls do with the children?

If you're looking at childminders ask them what playgroups they go to, how often do they get out and about? Ask them what their personal feelings are on contentious issues like smacking or smoking around kids. These things will never apply to your child, but it will really help you judge a person and see if their views reflect your own.

Somewhere along the line, we have to trust others with our children and trust that they are safe.

It's not an easy decision to make, but the more informed your choice, and the more transparent the relationship between you and your childcare provider, the more happy and relaxed you'll feel when it's time for your baby to go there.

Little Teds - How do parents manage to trust anyone?

2009-06-17T14:05:55Z

It's no small wonder that every parent in the land isn't a nervous wreck, driven to distraction by paranoia and worry about the safety of their kids.

All those parents who have to leave their child in the care of others while they go to work will be feeling especially anxious now. Whenever the subject of Little Teds nursery in Plymouth is mentioned amongst my mom friends, there is silence for a moment, and the empty look of shock. We all feel sick to our stomachs that people are capable of such crimes, and that someone has had the opportunity to commit them.

And what will happen to the alleged perpetrator of these alleged crimes? There is not a fellow Brummie Mum who I have spoken to who doesn't think that death is far too good for her. General consensus is that she'll be given the treatment she deserves in prison, yet actually many thousands of pounds will be spent on protecting this woman.

After something like this comes to light it becomes even more difficult for parents to think about leaving their baby with anyone.

What we have to remember is, despite what the media says there really isn't a huge battalion of paedophiles lining up to try and con their way into nurseries and schools.

Yes, we need to be mindful as there are some pretty suspect characters in all walks of life and need to protect our kids accordingly, but it's all too easy to be dragged into a mire of doubt and suspicion.

All you can do is use your common sense and go with your gut instinct about people and places. Make decisions about where to send your children based on careful research and if possible personal recommendation. Always have an open dialogue with as many of the nursery staff as possible, not because you're trying to trick them into a confession or you suspect them or negligence or untoward behaviour, but to work with them to make sure your baby is happy and supported both there and at home.

By all means worry, because worry is part and parcel of becoming a parent, but don't beat yourself up, wrack yourself with guilt or blow everything out of proportion. Remember what happened in Plymouth is extreme, to say the least; the vast, vast majority of people working with kids are honest, committed and caring individuals.

We feel for all the parents who had children in Little Teds, and hope that they start to move forward after this massive betrayal of trust.

4X4s, Flat Tyres, and the Gates of Hell

2009-06-09T18:29:00Z

"Go for a bike ride." He said. "It's a nice evening for it." He said. "You'll have a lovely time." He said.

The Other Half was so convincing that I did decide to take the bike out for an hour the other night.

And to be fair, cycling down a charmingly gnarled country lane, listening to birds call across long fields of grass and corn was nice.

While it lasted.

I'd travelled two or three miles when it became apparent that the front tyre was totally flat. Being miles from home with a puncture was not great news, not least because in a moment of wisdom inspired by Plato himself, I'd opted against taking my mobile with me.

I was stranded; doomed to bump along this godforsaken, potholed road which had been devastated by tractors and long forgotten by the Highways Agency.

At first the lane seemed bereft of intelligent life, but then I happened upon a nestle of very impressive houses. I approached the first and knocked timidly at the door. I was well aware of the fact that had I stumbled upon the dwelling of an axe murderer I could easily be raped, killed and stashed away in one of the local fields, so I was really scared.

The monster that appeared at the side door did nothing to ease my apprehension. Apparently I'd found the home of Cerberus - three headed dog guardian of the underworld. The massive, snarling creature only had one head (which had probably eaten the other two) and one of its eyes was bright, staring blue. It growled and slobbered and completely put me off knocking again. I beat a fast retreat down the drive, and up to the door of house number two.

This was a bigger and more interesting house - no dogs, but five or six suspicious looking cats perched up on ledges of the various, aged out buildings. There was a massive lawn that stretched off into the distance that was covered, covered in ducks. It was like a blanket of doped ducks, nestled idly on the grass.

When the owner appeared at the door I wondered if he was in the right house, as he looked like he could easily be Cerberus's owner. Half dressed, filthy, slobbering almost as much as the dog had been and one of his eye lids was so covered in white lumps it shook with the strain of staying open.

It was difficult not to look shocked at his appearance when all my concentration was being spent on maintaining bladder control and not sodding off down the gravel drive.

I wondered if he'd understood my thick brummie tones when I asked if he had a bike pump, or a phone as he stared at me with much mistrust for a good thirty seconds. Eventually he loped off into the house, and I turned again to look at my surroundings. Were those ducks getting closer to the house?

Suddenly he reappeared at the door bearing the actual prototype of the cordless phone.

It took me two attempts to dial home, the whole time becoming more and more shaky under the man's fixed stare. I hadn't seen any of the ducks move, but more of them seemed nearer to the house.

"Is that an African flag?" I asked while the phone rang, pointing up to the garment hanging from a flagpole on the drive.

"South African!" He said, indignantly. The ducks were definitely getting closer.

"Okay" I said, praying for The Other Half to get to the phone and come rescue me. Imagine my joy when he didn't answer.

I quickly gave the handset back to Cerberus's owner and legged it, determining that I was going to throw my bike into a hedge and walk home, rather than knock on anymore of these doors.

As it happened the occupant of the house next door was outside. He seemed like a nice man, working on a nice car outside a nice house, with a nice drive. I scanned the area for dogs, ducks, cats and flags, African or otherwise. None in sight.

I felt safe enough to shout up the drive for a bike pump, to which he called back to come up to the house. I did so, albeit warily (axe murderers can have nice houses too, you know) and he had a look at the wilted tyre.

In the end this lovely, gem of a man said that he'd "Throw it in the back of the 'Disco'", a blue, aged Land Rover Discovery, which despite all my disparaging comments of such vehicles, I have to say was, at that moment the most beautiful looking automobile I'd ever seen in my life.

Everything I've said bad about 4X4s, I take back. This great, gas-guzzling machine got me and my bruckup bike home, and I don't care how much my carbon footprint grew in the process. (Sorry Esther).

So my pleasant jaunt turned into a brush with certain doom. Then something happened that made it all worth it. The lovely man asked a question that made him seem even lovelier..

"So, what do you do then? You still at school or you doing A' Levels?"

That night, far from going to bed cross, fed up and worse for wear after the whole experience, I was very, very happy indeed.

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Email me at: fromheretomaternity@live.co.uk

Should Siblings Bath Together?

2009-06-02T20:16:57Z

I don't know about you, but when we were little my brother and I always shared the bath. Either that or I'd have to have what remained of the bathwater after he'd finished turning it into a lukewarm soup of grot, toys, a few meagre bubbles and probably a good bit of wee.

Bath-time was always fun when it was shared. Whether he was trying to drown me, or I was attempting to push him into the hot tap a good time was had by all - until we would stop our merriment at the sound of our mom thundering up the stairs and screaming that us two little bleeders had just caused water to come piddling out of the ceiling, and why for God's sake couldn't we just play nicely?

When The Boy was about two, he'd often share a bath with The Girl, my friend's similar aged daughter. They thoroughly enjoyed playing about and covering one another in bubbles. I'd have to haul their shivering, shrivelled up backsides out when there was no hot water left in the tank and it was way past their bedtime. Happy days!

As enjoyable as these bath-times were though, I don't know whether it's appropriate to stick my two boys with their 7.5 year age gap in a tub together, or if asking if it's appropriate is displaying a weird amount of paranoia. I did give little newborn The Kid the odd swill while The Boy was having a bath, but The Boy seemed like a fully grown man in comparison. It just looked odd them being in the water together.

I decided not to bath or shower them together again, although The Boy would to have The Kid as a bath-time play mate, and I'm sure The Kid would revel in splashing around with big bro. Am I depriving them both by being unnecessarily, even strangely fussy?

How old is the oldest kid when he or she can't decently be in the bath with other children? Or, in this day an age, is it even acceptable children to share a bath at all?

Kids should be banned from Britain's Got Talent!

2009-06-01T22:17:37Z

The fact that Hollie Steele was allowed to perform in Britain's Got Talent is a disgrace. If ever there was an argument for imposing an age limit on TV talent shows, she is the big red line drawn underneath it.

Children are popped on stage to perform like monkeys for the gratification of a baying audience. It is wrong and should not be allowed, not even if they really, really really, really want to, with sugar on top.

Kids this young can't legally smoke or drink, yet apparently it is fine to hurl themselves into the limelight and potentially change their whole lives. These children are not mentally equipped to cope with being put in the spotlight, which was clearly demonstrated during Hollie's performance on Friday. Watching that poor child bursting into tears was such a heart-wrenching vision of isolation and desperation. There is no way I'd allow any of my kids to be put in that position.

How is it that Britain's Got Talent is allowed to work with these children, yet every other person in the country has to jump through huge hoops before working with kids so as to maintain their safety?

Her presence on that stage has left her and her family an open target for criticism - her mother has been vilified as a pushy parent and Hollie has even been accused of putting on an act to try and curry sympathy with voters.

Even if we take her performance at face value, was it really fair on the other contestants that she be allowed to do her piece again? Although I'd be the last person to begrudge a child such as her another chance, I'm afraid the answer to that question is no, it wasn't fair to the other competitors, adults and children alike.

Susan Boyle and the very sad and private happenings in her life have now become nothing short of media fodder. Here is another person who this television company has failed in order to make a quick buck. The needs of this vulnerable person were sacrificed for the almighty pound.

Most of the news that I have read, watched and listened to has conveniently omitted that this lady suffers from learning difficulties, and it was obvious from the outset that she would not have been able to cope with the pressures that this show brought.

Britain's Got Talent has a duty of care to every person who gets up on that stage and in so doing makes them money - in the case of Susan this duty must last for years to come.

David Wilson is a psychologist and professor and Birmingham City University. He believes that these talent shows exploit people when they are at their most vulnerable. Had this show been part of an academic experiment, where the wellbeing of participants is paramount, Britain's Got Talent would have been stopped.

It should not be left for the producers of shows like this to decide who is allowed to perform. They have a vested interest in getting the most entertaining people up on the stage, whether or not it causes massive distress to the poor performers.

With the increasing popularity of TV talent shows, it seems there is a growing need for a regulatory watchdog to act in the best interest of the participants, not on behalf of the programmers and not even the audience.

Someone needs to look after the Hollie Steeles and Susan Boyles. They are clearly vulnerable members of our community and should be treated as such.

Night at the Movies, Plus Two.

2009-05-31T20:58:09Z

And so on Orange Wednesday I took The Boy and his mate The Girl (not girl friend!) for a cheap night out at the pictures (yes Brabbin, pictures) to see Night at the Museum Two.

We got to the cinema and stood at the back of three huge queues full of jostling people. I thought the kids might get restless but The Boy found 5p on the floor which he and The Girl decided to invest in pic n' mix. I was well aware that they'd only get a paltry half a Malteser with their new found treasure, but at least they'd be kept busy while I waited to get the tickets.

Although we actually arrived at 7.10 for a 7.15 start, by the time I'd got through the queue it was 7.35. This wouldn't have bothered me as at worst there might be a danger we'd miss all those lovely adverts, but the film was actually sold out. The next showing wasn't till 8.05.

"Are there any other kids' films on any sooner than that?"I asked. I explained that I didn't fancy another half hour wait, plus the trailers plus the film.

"Erm, yeah." The lad behind the desk replied. "We've got Wolverine on at 8.30"

I stared at him for a moment or so, and realised quickly that there would be no point in pursuing this idea any further. I bought the 8.05 tickets and went off to find the kids, wondering how on earth I was going to occupy them till we could go into the theatre.

Suddenly I was struck by an idea so perfect and so brilliant I amazed even myself. If five pence could keep them occupied for that length of time, imagine what more money could do! I called them over and handed them one pound coin each. There. I could save the M&Ms I'd brought with me and they could spend the next half hour looking at sweets while I sat down and drank coffee.

Flawless idea.

Except for one problem. I went over after 15 minutes and discovered that neither of them had the slightest idea how to weigh and buy pic n' mix. Each of them had a bag nearly over flowing with goodies and was eagerly stuffing in more scoops.

"Er - How much have you got in there?"

"Don't worry" said The Girl. "I've still got 90 grams left."

I didn't even know what that meant, but I grabbed the bag mid scoop and plonked it on the scales. There was the best part of five quid's worth of jellied sweets. Oh good god.

"Right, we've got to get these emptied" I said, and tipped four huge blue dolphins back into their pot. The price immediately reduced by £1.50. We jettisoned some more but then both of them started mauling the candy as they decided what to get rid of, (to the horror of all those who saw) rendering it impossible to put back.

That pic n' mix cost me the best part of four bleedin pound and they had barely more than a handful of eggs and two snakes each.

To add to the misfortune of the night, I had to abandon the 68p bag of pop corn I'd smuggled in because it was just too damned noisy. I'm sure Morrisons are in cahoots with Cineworld, making bags so rustly they can't be used in a movie theatre without the eater getting battered by the other cinema goers.

Next time I'm going to take my money saving to a next level. I'm going to allow them a crust of bread each and a swig of water, and any money they find on the floor they can bloody well give to me!

Oh, and if you're wondering about the film, I thought it was good, although I was distracted by the fact that Ben Stiller looked odd - can't describe it really, his teeth looked false and white and too perfect and his hair looked strange, and he was too thin.. just odd.

Go see it - just get there early!

Boy Sues Mom!

2009-05-27T14:34:05Z

Expect to see this headline in years to come, and apparently I've got no one to blame but myself.

Yesterday The Boy suffered a nasty bang on the head while playing outside with his mates.

A while later he was sat reading a leaflet on head injuries when he happened upon an advert strategically placed on the back - one of those 'where there's a blame, there's a claim' jobbies.

"Mommy?"
"Yessy?"
"What's compensation?"
"If a person does something silly, like leave a drain cover off, then someone has an accident like falling down the drain, that person might have to pay the injured party money, to kind of, say sorry and make up for it."
"How much money?"
"Well, that depends on how badly the person was hurt - if someone had to miss lots of work for example, they'd probably be entitled to quite a lot of compensation."
"Can anyone claim compensation?"
"Lots of people try to nowadays. It's sad really, people will try and get money for the silliest little things - like that time your Auntie Lesley tried to sue Tesco for putting one of their freezer signs too low and she bumped her head on it while leaning in to look at the frozen peas." The Boy found this most amusing.

He went quiet then, studying the leaflet thoughtfully. Then he went off to phone his Uncle Christopher.

When he came back he announced that he was going to sue me for the bump on his head. Apparently it's my fault because I insisted he play outside in the sun rather than sit inside playing computer games. If it weren't for me he would never have fallen over and I've got no one to blame but myself.

The news that my 9 year old son is planning to extort money from me was bad enough, but what was worse that he was going to do it in such a premeditated way. Turns out his Uncle Christopher (apparently The Boy's new legal advisor) has recommended that he wait till he is 21 before putting in a claim against me, because I'll "Have forgotten all about it by then and won't be able to defend myself, therefore upping his chances of winning the case and maximising any compensation payable."

I don't know whether to be proud of his financial acumen or very, very afraid.