Project Subrosa

New feed up and running

2010-06-30T07:39:00.002+01:00

Dear readers, please excuse my haste, you may have noticed I moved the blog before checking the RSS feed was working properly, oops! However, it is now fixed, so please click here to subscribe, then come visit me at projectsubrosa.com, where you can reply and subscribe to comments, hurrah!

Project Subrosa has moved

2010-06-28T16:37:00.002+01:00

Dearest readers,

I am here to announce Project Subrosa's long overdue move to www.projectsubrosa.com. The move is not 100% complete (I appear to have lost some comments along the way - *cry* - if there is anyone out there who can help, please drop me a line) but I will be posting there from now on and this blog will soon disappear, so please update your links and feeds.

Click over now to read about my ~~mortifying~~ hilarious leaking bosom. Hurrah!

Cate xxx

Exactly!

2010-06-18T10:23:00.004+01:00

This comment over at A Practical Wedding was too good for me to just hit the (wonderful, satisfying) Exactly! button (plus I haven't posted here in something approaching an age, which I will certainly rectify and probably explain soon), so I am reposting here the wise words of Sevillalost:

My point is that just as being a wife doesn’t have to mean subordinating your identity to your husband’s, neither does being a mom have to mean subordinating your identity to that of your children. However, in my experience, both cases call for a reorientation of that identity to include said new husband or said new child/children. And, at least in my view, that reoriented identity ended up being better than what I went in with. Because I was part of a team, a family.

Thank you, Sevillalost. Exactly.

Time and Space

2010-06-06T18:51:00.001+01:00

I wasn't nervous this time. The first time I had to leave her all day, she was four days shy of five months old. This time, she was four days shy of nine months old. What a difference those four months make.

Last time, I was dreading it. Nate was working both days, on his job or on the house, so my sister no.2 had Talia the first day and my mum had her the second day. I gave them both two bottles of expressed breastmilk, one for the morning and one for the afternoon, and they both brought her to me at lunchtime so that she got one feed direct from the source, and I got some relief. Both our lives still revolved around my milk production in those days.

It was ok, in the end. I actually enjoyed it. I was very glad when the two days were over, but I know they did me good.

This time, Nate was going to have her. His first full day in charge. "Rowdy's asked me to help him get things ready for his birthday barbecue," he said a week or so before, "so I might ask my mum to take Talia for a bit."

"No, don't," I said. "Rowdy has plenty of people who can help. Don't miss this opportunity to spend the whole day with her. I know you look after her all the time, but it's different doing it all day, being the one who meets her every need, picks her up every time she falls."

He thought about it, and agreed he wanted to do it, he'd tell Rowdy he would still come over early but might not be much help.

She hadn't slept through the night for a couple of weeks. She'd had a terrible cold, had slept in with us a few times, and had got into a habit of having a bottle in the night. (I stopped breastfeeding at night as soon as she was settled into eating three meals a day, so on the odd occasion she really is hungry, or poorly, and I know nothing else will work, I give her a bottle of formula at night.)

"You're in charge tonight," I said.

"Ok."

I snuggled down into bed, relishing the thought that, even if she kept me up, crying, I would be staying in bed. Since I am still at home, and Nate is working all day on a building site, I still do all the night duties, except at the weekend, if I'm particularly tired, when I'll tell him he's in charge.

She slept through until five thirty. Of course I was pleased, we all got more sleep, and she seemed to be feeling better but damn, girl, would you sleep through on my night?

He brought her into our bed and I fed her. Then he took her downstairs for breakfast while I went back to sleep. At seven, my alarm work me. I started to snooze before forcing myself out of bed, realising I could easily drop back for an hour or more, and make myself late.

They were just going out the door to the supermarket. I made myself a cup of tea and put my porridge on. I checked the paperwork for the course. Ten? TEN?!

I had got up an hour earlier than necessary. An hour when Nate and Talia would have been out and I would have got that amazing, magic, special sleep you only get when the baby is elsewhere, and you know she can't disturb you. And I relinquished it, stupidly, because I didn't read the paperwork. I felt a little sick.

I fed her again before I left. "I don't think you need to bring her to me at lunchtime, actually, now I've fed her twice. I'm only really missing one feed, which is fine." I have suffered so much with the evil mastitis, I was afraid to skip two consecutive feeds, but we skip one all the time these days. "I'll see you about four thirty then."

It was mostly mums on the course, and we talked about our respective partners managing their rare days alone with our various kids. Then, mid-morning, I got a text message: She was properly crawling! Got it on video! X

I was so happy. She had been so nearly crawling for weeks: backwards crawling, commando crawling, bum shuffling, weird-bunny-hop crawling, but never quite the real thing. Until now. Especially for Daddy. Well done, little girl.

I called him at lunchtime and he said everything was fine, they were doing great. I got back into the classroom, tried to concentrate, missed my little family.

I picked up some beer on the way to the barbecue. Nate met me at the door. "She's been lovely, really happy. She didn't sleep earlier but she's asleep now."

I was really pleased to hear things had gone so well, but disappointed she was sleeping. I was well ready for a cuddle.

"Everything went to plan," he said.

"What, you stuck with the routine?"

"Yes, more or less exactly," he said.

I had noted down for him the vague times she eats, drinks and naps, to give him the benefit of my experience, and so that she might take comfort in the continuity.

"And she crawled? Amazing!"

"Yes, you can see the video later. Right across the room!"

I wished Rowdy a happy birthday, and said hello to some other friends. A little while later, Nate appeared, carrying a sleepy Talia.

Normally when she goes off on her little adventures with Granny, Grandmère, or one of her aunties, she is quite happy until she sees me again, when she reaches out for me crying as if to say: Oh, mummy, it was so awful! You left me! How could you do this to me?

I reached out for her and she turned back to her daddy and buried her head in his chest.

Rejected.

For the first time, rejected.

And you know what? It felt good. My little girl wanted her daddy.

She punished me for a minute or two before reaching out to me. Everyone told me how good she had been, how cute she is, how lovely.

We stayed and ate and drank and chatted. When it got to her bedtime, I took her inside to feed her, but there were children running around and she'd had such an exciting day, I didn't see her settling. I was so tired, I decided I may as well take her home and put her to bed. Nate stayed at the barbecue.

She continued to look around, fascinated by everything, all the way home. When we got there, she refused to feed for ten minutes, just crying. I don't think she had ever refused to feed before. Eventually she settled down and fed.

I spent the next hour and a half picking her up and putting her down, trying to get her to settle down, but she just couldn't sleep. It was hot and she was overtired.

Eventually, she fell asleep in my arms, as I sang, Time and Space by The Accidental. Her song, that I have been singing to her since I was pregnant.

Time and space stretch out before you
And the universe implores you
to take your place amongst all things
and to see what the morning brings

To your own self be true
There's nothing more to do

You are young and the world is open
So many words you've never spoken
Don't be afraid to stand your ground
when your time it comes around

To your own self be true
There's nothing more to do

You are part of everything
Find your voice and start to sing

Finally she was asleep. Finally, I could sleep. But I didn't. I went downstairs and wrote. Because tired as I was, it felt more important to remember.

A couple of weeks ago we passed the milestone where Talia had been out of my body longer than she was in it. She is no longer "of me," she is "of the world." And she's changing again.

But this time, unlike that difficult six month mark, it doesn't hurt. It doesn't feel strange or wrong. I'm just so proud of her, getting mobile, letting her daddy have that moment, witnessing that first crawl, rewarding him for being there for her when mummy wasn't. It's ok that she's learning to get by more without me. It's good.

When she wouldn't nurse, then when she wouldn't sleep, I told her I was sorry. "I'm sorry I left you all day today when you're used to being with me most of the time, bunny. I know you don't understand. But the thing is, the leaving you today, it was all so that I can be with you more over the next few years. Mummy had to go to school a little bit so she won't have to go to work so much."

And I know she didn't understand, but I knew I was doing the right thing. Things are taking shape, the right shape for us. It turns out I was singing to myself a little bit too.

The missing word

2010-05-30T16:48:00.000+01:00

We didn't have a name for it in our house. Well, why would you need a name for something of which you would never speak? Once I told my mother confidently, "this is my bum," pointing to the back, and then, pointing to the front, "and this is my bottom."

"Ok, Catherine," she said, in a tone that suggested I was being silly. She didn't correct me.

A girl, a woman, was defined by an absence. Boys have willies and girls... don't.

We will not, of course, be raising our daughter in the same environment of Catholic sexual repression. Nate's parents were somewhat (read: massively) more liberated. In his house it was simple: boys have willies and girls have minnies. So, no need to choose between family traditions here, minnie it was.

And then, just this morning, I read an article in The Week that suggested this might not be appropriate. "The case illustrates the increased sexualisation of children. Look at the language they used... the victim herself called her private parts her 'minnie'."

"What? It's not sexual!" Nate protested.

And, well, The Week was quoting the Daily Mail, so... let's not be rash.

"But what if some people think it does sound sexual? We don't want to be accidentally teaching her to go around talking about her minge, for God's sake."

I once looked after a little girl, about four I think, who told me out of the blue one day, "my vagina hurts." I think I managed to contain my surprise.

I wondered whether I would have been so shocked had a four-year-old boy told me his penis hurt. I very much doubt it. But still, it's unlikely. Because it's simple for boys. (Ah, isn't it always?) His is pretty much universally known, here at least, as his willy.

But what of hers? I know there are plenty of names we can use. Plenty. But what of the connotations? Help! Does minnie sound sexual to you? What was it called in your family?

Complete Birth Story

2010-05-13T13:34:00.001+01:00

Dear readers,

When I posted part three of the story of Talia's birth yesterday, I put the wrong date on it. This has now been corrected, but it seems to have prevented it from appearing in RSS readers. So this is just to let you know that the story is now complete, and you can find all three parts using the links below:

Part I: Beautiful Day
Part II: Hard Labour
Part III: And then then there were three

With thanks to everyone who reads and comments,

Cate xxx

Birth Story III: And then there were three

2010-05-12T15:16:00.000+01:00

"She's beautiful!" my sister no.6 cried.

"Is she?" I asked.

"Yes!"

"Really?" I asked again, "is she?"

"Yes, she's beautiful," she said again.

I asked twice because I couldn't see her. I was holding her close to me, knowing I needed to keep her warm and wanting to hold her body against mine, but I was so overwhelmed that I couldn't focus on her that close to me.

I knew I had a tight enough hold on her, but I was so spaced out, I wasn't completely confident where the water line was, so I was lifting her up too high out of the water and our midwife Sue, worried she would get cold, was splashing her with the warm water and telling me to move her down a little. Only when I felt the cord pull up between my legs did I realise quite what she meant and move her lower.

I looked at Nate and he looked at me and we both looked at the baby and neither of us had any words. I had done it, she was here. It was just huge.

After a couple of minutes, the cord stopped pulsing and Sue asked Nate whether he wanted to cut it. As he did, I remember thinking how unhealthy it looked, that I couldn't believe that something so thin, blue and shrivelled-looking could have sustained her all this time.

Sue asked me whether I felt ok to get out of the pool and I said yes, I did. Nate held his daughter for the first time while Sue and no.6 supported me as I stepped out of the pool.

I suddenly realised I hadn't had a chance to fully examine her. "Has someone checked she is definitely a girl?" I asked.

"Yes, she's a girl," they laughed.

We went into the living room where no.6 had set up the binbag-covered duvet on the sofa. Sue had me kneel over the back of the sofa to try to pass the placenta. It didn't come straight away, so she called Nate, who gave the baby to no.6, to come and give me a kiss. It was wonderful to share a kiss but didn't have the desired effect (of increasing my oxytocin levels so the placenta would deliver).

I had still barely weed for hours despite drinking a lot - it had been a bit of a concern to Sue during my labour - and now she thought my full bladder might be delaying the placenta's arrival. She suggested I squat over the toilet with a cardboard dish to catch the placenta, which I did. It soon came flying out, causing me to drop the dish. "I'm sorry, I dropped it in the toilet," I said.

"Don't worry about that," she said, and told no.6 to guide me back to the sofa. I know she fished it out to examine it because Nate saw it lying in a cardboard dish on the floor a few minutes later. I was a little disappointed I never got to see the amazing thing myself. (Nate couldn't understand my disappointment, describing it as "grim.")

Back in the living room, Sue had me lie back on the sofa with my feet on two chairs so she could examine me. Nate had been staying with me up to this point, looking after me, but I felt it was time he went in the other room. "You don't need to watch this bit!" I said.

Sue told me to take long sucks on the gas and air. I don't know whether it was because I was focused on getting the baby out earlier, but being examined and stitched up was way worse for me than that actual pain of labour.

Sue confirmed that I had a second degree tear. She said that if it had gone a tiny bit further (i.e. third degree) I would have had to go to hospital to have an epidural and be stitched by a doctor. I could not have been more relieved that was not the case, having got this far at home.

Being stitched was truly horrible. With only the gas and air as pain relief, it reminded me of being at the dentist, legs akimbo like mouth wide open, very sensitive tissue being worked on.

The hospital had sent a taxi for Sue, as John was not in fact the second midwife but her replacement as her shift had ended. (I'm not sure what happened to the second midwife, I guess they were short staffed and knew Sue would stay on.) So there I was, lying back on the sofa getting stitched back together, when there was a knock at the door, not five feet from where I was lying! The hilarity of the moment was lost on none of us, not even me. Luckily John managed to send the driver back to his car without even opening the door, before sneaking out to explain that they needed him to wait.

To anyone who, like I was, is afraid of tearing, let me tell you this: getting stitched up was awful, but it lasted only minutes, and if I hadn't been present for those few minutes I never would have known it happened. Midwives are experts when it comes to suturing that area, and the tissue there in almost all cases repairs itself quickly and completely.

The one last thing I had to do before the midwives would leave was wee again, which, after what I had just been through, was not a very appealing prospect. I was given a large cup of lukewarm water to pour over myself as I went. It took a few minutes, but eventually I managed it. It stung like hell, the water helped somewhat, but mostly I was just glad when it was over. (Until next time.) As I remember the stinging was only bad for about twelve hours and I had stopped using the cup of water by the following night. Like everything else, it wasn't as bad as I feared, and passed quickly. Both pregnancy and birth are of course normal processes for a woman's body and it is amazing how quickly it recovers.

So, we were finally done. I got dressed, sat down on the sofa, and was passed my baby, who had, until now, been passing all her newborn tests and meeting her father and aunt.

"Are you going to tell me her name, then?" No.6 asked.

I did. Then, "do you like it?"

"It's lovely," she said. "Oh, can I call her Tali-Scarli?"

"That's what we've been calling her already!" Nate and I laughed. "Yes, of course you can call her that."

I put her to my breast for the first time. It felt strange, both physically and emotionally. It was hard to believe I was finally feeding my baby. She took to it like a duck to water.

I was exhausted, but euphoric. And I couldn't wait to tell my mum.

"Hello?"

"Hello, mum."

"Hello, what is it?" she asked impatiently. She knew there was only one reason I would be ringing this late at night.

"Can you hear that sound?" I asked, as the baby murmured.

"No, what is it?" she asked, even more impatient.

"It's a baby!" I said.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

"I'm telling you now!" I laughed. "We didn't want to tell anyone until she was here."

"Can I come now?"

"Yes, of course you can," I smiled.

Now, I would say my mum lives about a twelve minute drive away, but I'm pretty sure she was there in five, and she was crying before she even made it through the door.

"Oh, Catherine!" my she said, kissing me and looking at her first grandchild. Then, "well, are you going to introduce me?"

I held her up. "This is Talia Scarlett," I said, a little nervously. We had been keeping the name secret so long, and I had warned my mum to expect something unusual, but I was really hoping she would like it.

"Talia?" she asked, checking she had heard me right.

"That's right," I said.

"Ah, it's beautiful. She's beautiful," she said, choked up.

The midwives had finished making their notes and clearing away their equipment, and came to say goodbye. Sue gave me a big hug, which felt wonderful. I loved how, all day, despite this being an everyday occurrence for her, she treated it as the huge, life-changing event it was for me.

And then they were gone, and there we were: me, Nate, my mum, my sister, and my new baby, all sitting around in the living room, telling my mum the story of the day. Nate made us all tea, and convinced my mum to have a little glass of wine.

I called my dad, and sent a picture message to my siblings, as it was late and I didn't have the energy to call them all. Nate told his mum and sisters.

Suddenly I was starving hungry. "What does a girl have to do to get some dinner around here?" I asked, much to my mum and no.6's amusement.

Nate made cheesy beans on toast for me, no.6 and himself and my mum held the baby as we ate it. Then Nate emptied the birthing pool before my mum and no.6 got to work upstairs, putting a binbag under an old sheet on our bed, plus some more binbags beside it just in case. They were extra careful to preserve our new carpet but in the event it proved unnecessary.

The first thing lots of people ask when you mention home birth is "what about the mess?" Well, it's really not as messy as you might think, especially if you use a birthing pool, as a lot of it is caught there. (In most cases a woman's waters do not break until late in the labour, but if they do break, movie-style, without warning, you will likely be caught off guard whether you are having your baby in hospital or at home.) In the first couple of hours after the birth there will be quite a lot of blood loss, but as long as you prepare something to sit on (such as our binbag-covered duvet) and stick to non-carpeted areas, you should be fine. You definitely want lots of old towels (my mum and sister no.2 gave us a few each) but even those don't get ruined if you get them soaking or in the wash quickly. There are plenty of websites with information on how to prepare for a home birth, but you'd be amazed what little supplies you need.

So, my mum and no.6 prepared our bedroom while Nate and I snuggled on the couch with our little girl. Once they had everything ready for us, (and had encouraged me to do another wee!) my mum and no.6 said goodbye and left. Weeks later no.6 told me they had only made it a few steps before both bursting into tears again. I'm glad they had each other to share that moment.

Back inside the house, Nate and I took our new baby girl upstairs to bed. I had been putting off building the crib, not wanting for it to take up space in our bedroom for too long before the baby arrived. Nate and No.6 had tried to put it together while I was in labour, but it was on loan from a friend and there was a piece missing. Luckily another friend had leant us her Moses basket, so we took that upstairs for Talia to sleep in.

It was about 11pm and I had been awake since the previous morning. I swaddled Talia as my mum had just shown me. She was fussing a little. I passed her to Nate and said little more than, "she's fed, I just need to sleep, can you take her?"

"Of course," he said, and I was fast asleep.

-----

I think when I first brought up home birth on this blog, I might have come across as being a bit anti-hospital. I'm afraid I fell into the trap of being so much in favour of one option that I appeared critical of the alternative. That is not the case. I don't actually have any negative experience of hospitals, and I feel incredibly lucky to have excellent medical care available should I need it. I do, however, think that birth has been over-medicalised in Western culture (much more so in American than British, but still too much here) and that many women would have happier experiences (and better outcomes for themselves and their babies) if they were to give birth at home.

Having said that, the main reason I wanted a home birth was not for the birth itself, but for afterwards. I didn't want to spend the night on a ward, surrounded by other mothers and their new babies. I didn't want my husband to have to go home alone. And that would have been the reality were I in hospital: soon after the birth Nate would have been sent home, only allowed to return during visiting hours.

In the event what happened was that we climbed the stairs together and got into our own bed with our new baby. We slept, snuggled up together, our baby by our side. And that was the most wonderful start to our family life together that we could have wished for.

Looking back, though, it wasn't just the time after the birth that made the home birth wonderful, it was the labour itself too. It was the freedom to go for a walk when I wanted, where I wanted, to be able to step out any time into the fresh air. It was the privacy, getting to share the day only with those I wanted there, and not having to meet various midwives, care assistants, and whoever else happened to pass through. It was the freedom to eat when I was hungry, to suck ice lollies, and have a proper cup of tea in a real mug, whenever I felt like it. It was Nate's freedom to quietly sip a beer in the corner.

It's an old cliché that the day your baby is born is the best day of your life. I always thought it rather trite, something parents tell their children in an effort to explain to them just how much they mean to them. But the reality is that it was one of the best days of my life, but not because it was the day that Talia was born.

When I looked into the mirror the following morning, I felt physically weak but absolutely triumphant. You know, when you're pregnant, that somehow you're going to have to get that baby out, but when you've never done it before, you have no idea what it will feel like, you can't picture it. Afterwards, I was so proud that I had actually done it. Of course I was joyous that my baby had arrived safely, but I felt an almost separate happiness at my own accomplishment, that I had made it, had done it. I felt proud and satisfied. I had given birth.

Parties and yummies

2010-05-03T18:04:00.001+01:00

Last week was Talia's cousin's first birthday, so on Saturday Talia attended for the first time a birthday party. It is lovely watching the age gap between them appear to narrow as they grow, and they just get cuter as they learn new tricks, like holding hands and kissing, in that adorable wide-mouthed way that little babies do.

At home Talia is mostly eating what we do now, mashed or puréed where necessary, but when we're out it's hard to beat the convenience of the Ella's Kitchen baby food pouches. Talia loves them, and when we were having a picnic with a friend and her baby recently, I said, "you can't have it straight from the pouch, Talia!" to which my friend replied, "why not?" And so, even more convenient than squeezing it straight onto a spoon, she loves to have it squeezed straight into her mouth! Anything that limits the mess and saves on washing up is alright by me. So here's my favourite photo from the party, of the little girl who lately has a very big appetite, in her very first hair clip (aww) which Feline had included in her party bag.

And while we're talking about food, a little chatter on twitter lately (I think @peacockfeather started it) inspired me to ask No.6 to make us some of her famous scones. When I was pregnant, my office was very close to an amazing deli which sold the most delicious scones with strawberries and clotted cream. I used to joke that I was only eating so many to ensure that I gestated a very delicious baby, like the tastiest pigs that live on acorns. Ah, my plan worked, she's very yummy indeed. And she has quite the taste for those scones, too.

P.S. I heard your requests, more recent video coming soon.

Changing noises

2010-04-30T13:04:00.002+01:00

I originally wrote this in December, but we had a technical problem and it's taken me until now to get it sorted it out. But it's fixed, I can share movies with you, hurrah! So for the first time (of many I'm sure) here's the little lady in moving pictures, with sound too, which is kinda vital to this post...

In the beginning, Talia used to grunt so much that people were always saying, "sounds like someone is trying to fill her nappy!" but no, she was just a grunter. Nate found it hilarious and would often impersonate her, getting into a sort of dialogue, or grunt-off...

Three weeks old

These days the noises she makes are a hundred times cuter. I keep recording her on my phone, only to realise it sounds almost exactly the same as the recording I made an hour ago, and there are only so many times I can send an audio file of her cuteness to my little sister before even she will get bored of it.

I am so excited for all her changes and development, and have found myself daydreaming lately about when she will say her first words. But at the same time I am wishing desperately that I could hold on to this moment forever, that she might always lie there chatting to her little toys, "ah, ah, ahhh!"

Three months old

A day in the countryside

2010-04-14T15:50:00.001+01:00

Yesterday we went to the countryside and visited some beautiful gardens. There were trees in bloom and huge yellow flowers and giant ducks.

And then there were wallabies. We had never seen wallabies before and shouted "Kangaroos!? What on earth?!"

Then we found the wallaby nursery and my mum saw a baby wallaby stick its head out of its mama's pouch. I didn't see it and No.6 didn't see it and it was too shy to say hello again. We liked the little wallabies but we were a little jealous of my mum who got to see the tiny baby wallaby.

We went for pizza in the town where I grew up and took a little tour for old time's sake. We reminisced and we said "fifteen years is a long time."

And then I decided that school holidays are lovely and my mum should hurry up and retire. And I think Talia agreed.

Mother Love

2010-04-07T12:56:00.001+01:00

I thought pregnancy was an aberration. I did a pregnancy test two days before my period was due and it was positive. A faint line. By that evening I had all but convinced myself that a faint line didn't count, despite ten websites telling me it did.

I tested again on Monday, and Tuesday. By Wednesday the line was solid. I was definitely pregnant.

I'm an atheist, but everyone grapples with the question of when that new life truly begins. Those first few days, my hormones just changing enough to turn the line a little pink, the sperm had met the egg, but the blastocyst they formed had not yet embedded in my uterine wall. Sperm probably meets egg without embedding all the time. A period is a little late, a little heavier than usual. To one woman this is nothing, to another it is a miscarriage, a lost baby even.

But I was lucky. My blastocyst embedded, my line got darker. I stopped testing, and started looking for symptoms. At first I had thought that once the line was solid, I would believe it. Then, when I started to feel it. But a quarter of pregnancies end in miscarriage, we all know. When I get to 12 weeks, it'll be real. When I have the scan, when we see the heartbeat.

You make it to the end of the first trimester, still pregnant. You see your baby for the first time on the screen. It's real. You tell everyone. But inside, there's still that little fear, what if my baby is not ok? You make it through the anomaly scan, maybe even find out the sex. Your baby stops being it and becomes he or she. You pass the point of viability, maybe feel a little more confident.

I have always worried about the people I love. I can't help it. I find myself daydreaming nightmare scenarios where Nate just doesn't make it home. And in pregnancy you are so faced with your own mortality. I didn't sit around worrying that my baby or I wouldn't survive childbirth, but I had an awareness of the fragility of human life that I had never experienced before. This life had appeared from nowhere, surely it could disappear just the same.

Our life insurance would only kick in on the day we completed on our house and I worried as much about that as about anything else. I worried as usual that my beloved husband would go and die on me, but this time that he would leave me pregnant and homeless. I was actually very positive at the end of my pregnancy, despite the huge burden of stress, but that darkness is always there for me. It sneaks in with the tiredness.

-----

I wish I'd written about the baby blues nearer the time. It started building on day two, hit me hard on day three, starting to wane on day seven. Days three to six of my baby's life were the worst yet of my own. I wish I'd written about it sooner because I remembered precisely for weeks after, in a way that I don't know, the terror that gripped me. I remember how each day I was taken with a distinct fear, but not what they were. Nate asked me one day if the weight of responsibility was overwhelming me. I said no, it wasn't that. By the next day, it was.

Nate had no idea what to do with me. He was terrified. I imagined the words post-natal depression flashing in his head, like a neon sign. He never said it, but I knew that was what he was afraid of. I had to reassure him. "It's just the hormones, the baby blues. It's normal. I'll feel better in a few days."

I had cried early in my pregnancy when I had showed him the page about the baby blues and he had responded by talking about how much - or should I say little - time he might take off work.

My fears were realised. Talia arrived before we were ready, although that would have been the case no matter how overdue I had gone. We had to cancel the carpenters the day she was born and the plasterer the following day. Nate asked me, a little desperately, if it was ok if the plasterer came on day three. I accepted, didn't know what else to do. I cried to Nate in the kitchen, turning away so the plasterer wouldn't see. I cried every time the house was empty of visitors, which was wasn't much.

I kept desperately trying to garner some comfort from my husband, but he was terrified of my pain, and bewildered by it. He pulled away from me when I needed him most. He focused all his energies on the house, did the man thing, got practical. He went back to work on day eight. It was ok, I was starting to feel better, and the visitors had finally started to ease off. I was looking forward to settling into some sort of normal life with my baby. Nate threw himself so much into work on the house when he was here anyway, it was better he went back to work. It was harder watching him be here but not here.

It took a few weeks but eventually we had a big long talk and I told him just how painful that first week had been for me, and how wrong he had got it. I had been too fragile at the time to explain it properly, and he had only been doing his best. He said that it had been difficult for him too, what a shock it had been. I responded that he would never, ever understand just how excruciating it had been for me, that the hormones had dissolved me, that it was a temporary madness, the deepest depression I had ever felt. He said, "I'm sorry I let you down. Next time, I'll be there for you."

Why did nobody tell me I would feel like that? Why is it called "the baby blues"? Why do they tell you "you might feel a little down"? I didn't have post-natal depression, I had the normal reaction to the hormonal changes, that lasts just a few days. Not everyone feels like I did, but many women do. Why did nobody tell me that those few days would hurt more than all the hurt I had ever felt? That I would have just wanted it to end, if only it weren't for my baby?

I wish I had written about it nearer the time because there were three days and three distinct fears. I don't remember the first one, nature makes you forget. The last one was the commitment, that I had given my life away now. I wasn't up to it. I couldn't never escape it. I was a prisoner in this new life. I was lucky in that I never resented my baby. I resented just about everyone else, but I never resented my baby. Some women resent their babies. It's ok if you resent your baby. It's ok.

The second day, the worst day, I remember. I remember the fear. It was my turn for words in my head like a neon sign. I had to tell my husband, had to let it out before it drove me mad. I cried, again, as we got into bed. "I'm just so scared that something will happen to her."

He held me and reassured me that she was going to be ok, that she was perfect, just fine.

"It's just, I love her so much," I cried.

"I know," he said. Only he didn't know. He couldn't possibly know. Because we didn't know her, yet. We didn't love her as we love each other, as a person, a character. I loved her in a purely physical way as my own flesh and blood. I loved her with all the power of the hormones that gripped me with fear. He loved her more than anything, but he didn't love her so much it hurt.

Talia Scarlett makes me happier than I have ever been, just by being happy to see me. The smile she gives me when she is pleased to see me is the greatest thing I have ever known, more beautiful than any of nature's wonders. But still, it hurts. I love her so much it hurts. An actual, physical pain. A depth of feeling that is physically uncomfortable. Nobody told me that either. (I don't wish I loved her less. But it does hurt.)

And the fear, for me, has not gone away. Sometimes, when I am tired, I listen at her bedroom door to check she is still breathing. When she is away from me for too long, my mind starts to race with scenarios, things that might have happened to her. I have to talk myself around to the idea that she is ok. The chances are very, very high, that she is absolutely, one hundred percent ok.

This is the downside to the incredible feeling I still have every single day, my inability to believe that this is real, that she is here to stay. For the first six months of her life, everyone who met her commented only on how much she resembled her father. Now, though, she is starting to look like me. My whole pregnancy I was fixated on how I was carrying his baby. Now finally I see that she is my baby, mine to love and keep and teach and grow. I just have to look at her and everything is ok. It hurts, but it's ok.

Daddy pushed while Mummy snapped

2010-03-27T13:56:00.000Z

Talia's Half-Birthday

2010-03-16T10:09:00.003Z

Last week, Talia turned six months old. I had long planned to celebrate her half-birthday. "I'm going to bake her half a cake," I told No.6.

"Can I come?"

"Of course."

She turned up at 4pm. The cake was already in the oven. Talia was getting grumpy. She had been teething badly, not sleeping enough; her tummy hurt, she had nappy rash. She was in no mood to celebrate.

She cheered up a little for her Aunty No.6, who had made her a card, and bought her a tiny, beautiful pair of shoes, for No.4's wedding.

No.6 fed Talia her dinner while I tidied up the mess I had made baking. Nate came home and kissed us all. He showered while No.6 iced the cake and I decorated it. Talia seemed to feel a little better for eating. She posed for a photo, and looked so grown-up, my big girl who eats, and rolls over, and would two days later cut her first tooth.

We cut and shared the cake. We all agreed the ganache was too rich, but it didn't stop me subsisting mostly on it for the next two days. And Talia loved it.

"Thanks for inviting me to your party," No.6 said to Talia as she left.

"Thanks for being my crutch," I replied.

I was supposed to be making dinner, but I was exhausted, so Nate did it while I put Talia to bed. Only, she was hurting again, so I settled in with her and let her nurse and doze on me for most of the evening, passing her over to Nate just long enough that I could go downstairs and shovel in my dinner.

Eventually, the Calpol kicked in and she settled. I snuggled up to Nate and started to cry. "You've been very emotional these last few days," he said.

"Mmm." Everything there was to say about the bittersweetness of watching your newborn-baby become a person-baby had already been said. And I had given up trying to explain that which I couldn't quite understand myself: just how much the fifteen-hundred-odd breastfeeds meant to me, and why being so proud that we had made it so far, even with no intention of stopping, made me want to cry.

We went to bed. "I made the cake for me," I said as he spooned me.

"I know," he said.

"Do you understand?"

"I think so."

He squeezed me tight, told me he loved me, and we fell asleep, no longer the shell-shocked guardians of a newborn, but proper, grown-up parents.

Birth Story II: Hard Labour

2010-03-11T16:18:00.001Z

At 4:30pm, No.6 took over the writing, with the note: Contractions got much stronger!

And she was right. Finally, after sixteen hours, things really started to kick off. Contractions were still short, but strong and regular. I had been managing the pain by rocking on all fours, but now I got into a rhythm standing up, leaning forward with my arms over the dado rail in the living room, rocking my hips back and forth to get through each contraction, then gently pacing the room in between. Later I joked that I had no idea how I would get through subsequent labours, because that horrible dado rail would definitely be gone by the time renovations were complete. But the little things you lean on, physically and emotionally, come to mean so much to you as you manage the pain, that a little bit of me is going to be sad when we rip the ugly thing down.

I remember towards the end of my pregnancy thinking I should get our wedding playlist from my brother No.4 to listen to while I was in labour, but I never got around to it. I was surprised to find when the day came that the music playing wasn't important to me at all. I know at this time we were listening to Lily Allen, but I'm pretty sure I chose it because it was the first thing on the list that sounded vaguely uplifting. I wanted a positive atmosphere. As I remember it never crossed my mind to play the relaxing birth music CD my friend had leant me.

I thought it was probably time we had a midwife present, so I called the hospital. The midwife told me to call back when I could no longer talk through my contractions. She also mentioned how busy the hospital was. It crossed my mind that they might be preparing me for the news that they were too busy to send any midwives out for home births and I would have to come in, but I was too busy dealing with the pain to think about it too much. I had read a lot about how to ensure you get your home birth in the UK and No.6 was well briefed. If they asked me to come in, I would pass the phone to her and she would tell them, "Catherine is having her baby at home and she expects to have a midwife present." I knew I had a right to a home birth, was actually creating less work for the NHS by doing so, and we would just have to stand our ground.

Things were progressing fast now and by 5pm I could no longer talk through a contraction, so I called again. They said they would see who was available and give me a call back.

If it weren't for the video Nate made of me having a contraction at this point, I just wouldn't remember how painful it was. As I rocked on the dado rail, I said, "I'd fucking better be dilated five centimetres or more when she gets here."

"I'm sure you are," No.6 replied. She was always ready with the perfect reassuring response.

"If she gets here and tells me I'm three centimetres I'm going to kill someone." Then, after a pause, "Actually, no, I'm just going to go to the hospital and have a caesarean," I continued, jokingly.

So I guess I was thinking ahead, but only in how much longer I had to labour.

"Are you really?" No.6 laughed. "Can I remind you of that?" She knew how much I wanted the natural birth, and at home, and that I was joking, and probably playing up to the camera, too.

"If she gets here and tells me I'm three centimetres, that's the plan of action. We can write my birth plan now!" I laughed. Writing a birth plan was yet another thing I hadn't quite got around to doing in time.

At this point, Nate approached me with the camera. (Until then, I had been facing the other direction, and he had been filming the pool set up in the other room.) "Do you think that's funny?" I asked.

"What?"

"Filming me."

"A minute ago he was filming your arse," No.6 laughed.

"I know," I said, "the minute he turned it on, it came on really strong."

"Well that's good, keep it on, Nate," she said.

I love this video. It confirms what I remember, that I kept my sense of humour and between contractions we really were having a good laugh. And also that our shared objective was for me to go deeper into the labour, not in any way to try to escape it.

At 5:30pm I went to the loo and had a bloody show. "We have blood!" I announced triumphantly, pleased to see this sign of progress. Then to Nate, who looked confused and slightly worried, "it's a good sign. It's happening."

Having something to report, I called the hospital again to ask what was going on. "The midwife is on her way," they reassured me. I guess the message to call me back didn't get through.

At 6pm, the midwife arrived. I hadn't met Sue before, but I immediately warmed to her and could not have felt safer in her professional hands. No.6 noted down how much equipment she brought with her, but I didn't notice anything. By this point I was labouring in the kitchen, rocking over the sink with each contraction, sipping tea from a mug held by No.6 between.

Sue sat down at the table and had a look through my notes. She didn't mention my high blood pressure. She gave me a brief explanation of what was happening, how the contractions were effacing then dilating my cervix. She used her arms over her head to demonstrate. Of course I knew perfectly well what was happening, and thought that any woman who hadn't found out as much in the course of her pregnancy probably didn't want to know, but I listened politely as I rocked and puffed. I know lots of women lose patience with those around them when in labour, but my focus was so inward, it was as much as I could manage to pay her some attention.

Sue explained that she would like to examine me, if I was comfortable with it. Then she would like to take my blood pressure, and for me to wee on a stick so she could check my urine.

I said, "Ok, I'm fine with all of that, the only thing is that I don't want to have my blood pressure monitored." I explained the issues I had had with White Coat Syndrome in my pregnancy.

"Ok, that's fine," Sue said. "When you're ready, then, we'll see how far dilated you are."

It was 6:30pm by now. We went into the living room and I lay down on the couch. I was not looking forward to having a contraction lying down, but it wasn't as bad as I expected. Being examined wasn't as painful as I expected either. Both were very painful, but I steeled myself, and it worked.

"Ok, you're five centimetres plus," she said.

Five centimetres! That was the news I had been waiting for, as five was the magic number after which it was ok to get in the pool. Before five centimetres, the warm water can slow the labour down, but after five centimetres... I don't think anything is stopping it.

I got up and walked into the other room. "Bucket, bucket!" I shouted and Nate grabbed it and passed it to No.6 who was standing next to me. I threw up my lunch. Vomiting is never much fun, but I was pleased. I knew this was another sign of things moving forward, and I felt like I was ticking them off my list at an excellent pace now. It was getting closer.

Nate had been topping up the water in the pool in preparation for me to get in, and the temperature was a perfect 37 degrees, body temperature. I whipped off all my clothes except my bra and climbed in.

It was heaven! The warm water hugged my tired, aching body. Nate made another short film. "Say hello," he said.

"Hi," I replied, "I'm in the pool."

No.6 waved, then stuck her tongue out. Nate laughed. I looked serious, my brow knitted.

"Do something!" Nate joked.

As with everything else that had helped with the pain all day, getting into the pool had given me a long break, what felt like about seven minutes (as opposed to the usual three or four) before the next contraction hit. But then, right on Nate's cue, oh God, did it hit. Suddenly the waves were really crashing. The-tide-has-come-right-up-over-the-beach-and-the-water-is-smashing-the-flood-defences crashing. This was huge.

The music had stopped. Nate went into the other room and, a minute later, out blasted Marvin Gaye. I think No.6 laughed at his choice. I remember feeling like I couldn't hear it very well, not that it was too quiet, but just like I couldn't process music, or maybe even sound.

I started to make an "ohhh" noise on each out breath, instinctively managing the increasing pain.

"I think it's time for the babygro," I said to No.6 between contractions. She knew exactly what I meant, and quietly climbed the stairs, returning with the blue and white striped babygro I'd had hung up in the various bedrooms I had slept in over the last four months or so. I hadn't planned on bringing it into the labour room, but I instinctively knew I needed something on which to focus, and No.6 instinctively knew what I meant.

She brought it downstairs and hung it where I could see it, over one of the plasterboards propped up against the dining room wall. Everything had been cleaned earlier, but the house was still a building site with supplies and tools everywhere. (I can't wait to bore Talia with the story of how she was born in a room full of tins of paint, pieces of timber and bags of plaster.)

As things were progressing, Nate had lots of questions for the midwife. He was just fascinated by the spectacle unfolding before him. After a few questions, he explained, "I just don't know, I've never done this before!"

At around 7pm, it occurred to me that I could have some gas and air. Sue set it up for me and explained that I could keep the mouthpiece in and breathe both in and out through it. However, by this point I was managing the pain with low moans through each contraction, so I took the mouthpiece in and out of my mouth, sucking in the air, then moaning it out.

At first I tried to pace myself, not wanting to get too stoned. However, I soon realised the beauty of entinox: it appears to leave the system as quickly as it enters it. So I could take as much as I wanted through each contraction and within a few seconds of it ending, I felt more or less back to normal. Also I discovered that it wasn't making me nauseous, something it does for some people. So when the midwife encouraged me to take good long drags on it, I did.

I got into a rhythm of breathing in the entinox and moaning it out, getting louder as each contraction peaked and quieter as it waned. Sue sat at one end of the table doing her paperwork, Nate at the other end, having his mind blown. Nate commented on how much paperwork Sue had to do. "If Catherine breathes, I write it down," she smiled. At one point Nate went and got himself a beer from the fridge. (I didn't notice, he told me later.) It felt right to me that he was right there, but No.6 was the one actively involved with getting me through it.

No.6 was amazing. She is naturally empathetic and knows me better than anyone, but on top of that she had taken her role as birth partner very seriously and done her research. As I kneeled over the side of the pool for each contraction, she kneeled over next to me from the outside, and talked me through it. She noticed when I tensed up and told me to relax. When I had trouble relaxing, she talked me through it gently, telling me which body parts appeared tense. She offered me sips of water. I think she had her hand on my arm, but she found the perfect balance of supporting me without crowding me. Between contractions I told her what an amazing job she was doing, how she was getting me through it. In one video, I said, "It really helped when you said that, because I got a bit panicked with them coming so close together."

Nate kept an eye on the pool temperature and made everyone tea. At one point he stopped on his way back from the kitchen and stood in my line of sight watching me. I gestured to him to get out of the way. "Don't watch me," I said, and he went back to his seat by the table. The whole experience confirmed what I had instinctively known - Nate and No.6 made an excellent team, were there for each other as well as for me, and I certainly wouldn't have wanted to do this without my husband and baby's father present, but I needed a woman as my birth partner. I know I am lucky to have a wonderful relationship with my sister, who is certainly cut out for this role, but I would recommend to all women that they think about having a female birth partner.

Your husband or partner is going through his own rite of passage, becoming a father. The whole thing is so enormous for him, he is not necessarily the best person to support the labouring woman. Perhaps, even, he needs someone supporting him. Plus, most men just don't empathise with a woman like a fellow woman does. I imagine a woman who has given birth herself would make the ideal birth partner, but even one who hasn't can be an amazing support. She might not understand what you are going through, but she will likely come to an easier understanding of how you feel than a man will.

I know lots of couples don't want anyone else present at their baby's birth. However, the right woman will take nothing from the experience you share with the baby's father, and be there to support you both. Men have only been present at births for a very short time, and I think it's a wonderful thing that they are, but also that there's something sad about the loss of the shared women's experience. Anyway, back to the story...

Sue the midwife was wonderful, always explaining what she was going to do and asking me very nicely if she wanted me to change positions, for example, so she could listen in to the baby's heartbeat with the doppler. "Beautiful heartbeat," she would say. This is what the midwives all said. I remember thinking that all we really knew about our baby was how beautiful her heartbeat was, but soon we would get to see the rest of her.

The pain was getting stronger all the time, and the conversation between Sue, No.6 and Nate felt very distant. I heard Sue telling Nate that she was a little concerned about not knowing my blood pressure, and she'd really like to take it, just to be on the safe side. Nate came over to the pool to appeal to me to have it taken. I knew that so long as the baby was fine there was no way I was getting out of that pool and into an ambulance to go to the hospital, so I thought I might as well let her take it. I remember thinking, "well, I know I'm fine, I may as well put everyone else's minds to rest."

Sue smiled and put the cuff on my arm. "It's normal," she said. Everyone was pleased. I think I had the gas and air to thank for relaxing me. I felt like I was coming back down to earth between contractions, but according to Nate it was affecting me more than I realised. He told me later I was wide-eyed and clearly stoned.

Between contractions, I would move around the pool, but for each one I would come back to the same spot, pull on the gas and air, moan, and focus on either the babygro or, after a while, a tiny diamond in the centre of one of the kitchen floor tiles. At one point I started a contraction over at the other side of the pool, and it felt impossible. I had to get back to the other side, to focus on that diamond. Earlier in the day, No.6 and I had laughed at the examples in her book of things on which labouring women had focused, and now here I was, managing the pain with the help of a disgusting lino floor tile that must have been there since the extension was built in 1986.

I continued to manage the pain with low moans, and as the urge to push took over, my voice would get higher at the height of each contraction as I followed Sue's advice and tried to resist it. I explained this to Sue, and this way she could tell just from my voice how strong the pushing urge was getting with each contraction.

At a quarter to eight, Sue suggested I get out of the pool so that she could examine me again. Neither leaving the water nor having a couple of contractions lying on the couch sounded appealing to me at all, but I wanted to know how far I had progressed and whether it was time to start pushing, so I went for it. I steeled myself again, both for the pain of the examination and contracting lying down, but also in case the news was that I wasn't as far along as I hoped.

"Ok, your cervix is gone," Sue said.

"Gone?! Gone where?!"

"I thought I felt a little lip at first, but no, you're there."

"What did she say? Am I fully dilated?" I asked No.6. (Surely the gas and air was affecting me more than I realised.) They confirmed that I was.

It was such a relief and I was really excited now. Getting back into the pool, I think I found it easier to relax despite the increasing pain, because I knew the labour was nearly over.
The urge to push was getting stronger with each contraction. Up until now Sue had been telling me to try to resist the urge as much as I can. Now I was fully dilated, I asked her whether I should start pushing.

"Ideally you should try to resist for about another hour," she said.

"Don't worry, it will pass really quickly," No.6 said to me quietly and quickly, thankfully before I had the chance to start to panic at the idea.

"But at some point you won't be able to resist any longer," Sue continued. I felt in control and confident. I would keep trying to resist, but when it became impossible, that meant it was time, so either way I would be doing it right.

Sue suggested I see if I could feel the bag of water bulging out. I expected to have to put my fingers right inside, but it was actually bulging out so far that at first I thought it was my own tissue. "Oh wow, I can feel it!" I said with a big smile. It felt like a well-lubricated water balloon.

After the next contraction, she suggested I push the bag up to see if I could feel the baby's head. As I pushed it back, the bag felt surprisingly thin, and I soon reached the hardness of the baby's head. "I can feel it!" I said, "I can feel her head!" It was an amazing moment, the first time I truly comprehended that there was a baby right there, ready to leave my body and join us in the world. The first time I touched her.

"Sometimes you burst the bag, right? When do you do that?" I asked Sue, secretly hoping she might burst mine and hurry things along.

"We try to avoid it," she replied, "because that's intervening, and each intervention makes others more likely."

My impatience made me a little disappointed, I even imagined reaching down and making a little twist in the membrane to burst the bag myself, but I knew I was getting the birth I wanted and deep down I was happy to continue letting nature take its course.

"You'll probably feel it pop soon," Sue reassured me, and a couple of contractions later I did. I said so, but Sue didn't hear me, and didn't realise until a little later. She asked Nate if we had a mirror and he left my side briefly to go and unscrew the shaving mirror from the bathroom wall. It was perfect.

Sue put the mirror under the water and during my next contraction Nate and No.6 saw a slither of the baby's head. "Did you see it?" I asked them.

"Yes!" No.6 had never looked happier or more excited in her life.

Around this time, the second midwife arrived. His name was John. He introduced himself, but by this point I was labouring so hard I barely noticed him.

Soon after that, Sue came over to the side of the birthing pool. "Catherine," she said, "I want you to let go of the gas and air now, it's time to push your baby out."

It was one of the most wonderful things anyone had ever said to me, not just because it meant we were nearly there, but because her choice of words acknowledged the enormity of the situation. She didn't say it's time to start pushing, she said it's time to push your baby out. I felt my chest swell with anticipation and pride. I turned to Nate, still sitting by the table, and gestured to him to come over. He kneeled by the pool next to No.6, so one of them was touching each of my arms, and at that moment it genuinely felt like the three of us were in it together. We were going to push this baby out together.

Luckily Sue was there too, because I needed a little coaching in how to push. I had been moaning my way through each contraction up until now, and I continued to focus on that. "Catherine, you're pushing with your throat," Sue explained, "you need to push with your bum."

Another contraction came and I still didn't quite get it. Sue explained again. "Put your chin to your chest, hold your breath and push down."

"Can you talk me through it while I'm doing it?" I asked. The feeling was so overwhelming by this point, my body had entered another dimension and I had no memory, could only focus on what I was doing right then.

"Of course," she said, and she did, and I started to get it. I started to push with all my might.

Sue asked me to change position and push sitting back. After a couple of contractions in this position, things seemed to be slowing down a little, so Sue suggested I take off my bra and try stimulating my nipples. I was eager to try anything but I don't think I was capable of releasing any more oxytocin in this way. In my confused state I was more tugging on my enormous breasts than stimulating my nipples!

Sue asked No.6 whether we had any honey or jam.

"Not honey!" I exclaimed. No.6 and I had heard many stories of women having a spoonful of honey towards the end of labour, to give them a burst of energy for the final pushes, and it had become something of a joke between us that she mustn't give me honey as I don't really like it. She reappeared with a pot of jam and fed me a spoonful.

After another contraction I reached out to her. She tried to pass me the water bottle. "No, jam!" I said. I don't really like strawberry jam either, but right then in tasted divine, and I could almost feel the sugar picking me up, giving me the power to push the baby out.

Still sitting back, I kept on pushing as Sue reassured me we were very nearly there. Then finally, with one contraction, I gave the biggest push of my life and let out a primal scream - the only time I screamed all day - as I birthed the head. I had read about the 'ring of fire' as the tissue stretches to its limit to make room for the baby's head, but I don't remember it as I imagined it, as a stinging or burning, despite the fact I had a second-degree tear. I remember it as a full-body sensation, like passing over, being briefly on the edge of life, my whole body and voice possessed.

"Her head!" Nate laughed.

"I can see her ear!" No.6 said, bursting into tears.

I don't think I even looked down. We just remained there, me and my baby, with her head outside my body and her body inside, as nature intended: resting.

"Ok, I'm just going to loop the cord over the baby's head, Sue explained, reaching down into the water." I wasn't worried. She sounded calm and in control and I knew that it was fairly common for the cord to be loosely looped around the baby's neck.

"Ok, on the next contraction, you're going to push out her body and we're going to lift up your baby," I heard Sue say.

I remember wondering who was going to lift her up, not worrying, just thinking in an almost detached manner, I wonder who will pick her up.

The contraction came, I gave one last push, and her body came flying out of me with some speed. I instinctively reached down and pulled her out of the water. She made a noise immediately, not a cry exactly, more like a bleat. My little lamb was finally here.

Sunday Morning

2010-03-07T18:26:00.000Z

It is Sunday morning, I am in bed. I hear her moaning. I know I have been sleep since I last fed her at 5:20am, and he's getting up with her this morning, so it can't be my responsibility. I move towards his side of the bed. He has already gone. Excellent.

I snuggle into a pillow. It's his pillow, older than us and we are nearly eight years old. Two days ago I decided to wash it for him. Far from getting it clean, I seem to have released the odour. I push it down and reach for his other pillow. I like to take up the whole bed when I get it to myself. I drop off again.

Her moans wake me again. Her chatting has turned into an I-want-milk noise. There is some expressed breastmilk in the fridge, but the bottle isn't sterilised and I'm intending it for his sister to use later anyway. She's coming to look after the baby while we go shopping for my birthday present. My birthday was last week, but I didn't tell him what I wanted in time, we were too busy.

She's getting louder. Is she in her bedroom or the kitchen? I hear his spoon against his bowl, he's having his porridge. I think about calling out to him. I don't know how long it's been since that last time I woke, whether he has got her up yet. I realise that even if he hasn't, he can hear her from his place at the table. I pull the duvet up over my head.

I hear them coming up the stairs. "Is she hungry for boob milk?" I call out. "She sounds hungry for milk."

"We're just going to get her dressed," he replies, disappearing into her bedroom. He chats to her the whole time. She was the first grandchild into a big family on my side, second grandchild into a medium-sized one on his. Suddenly, I heard all my brothers' and sisters' and parents' baby voices. Some are more endearing than others. His says "this is exciting!" which is far more charming than those which are trying to aurally wrap the baby in cotton wool.

I love it when he dresses her, and often ask him to at the weekend, just because she looks extra cute in the things he chooses. He rarely puts together an outfit I would. Plus, when I dress her, I know what's coming. When he does it, it's a surprise. She smiles when he brings her to me like she knows that he's dressed her up all cute.

This morning, she's wearing jeans my mother bought her with pink ribbons all around the ankles, and one of my favourite t-shirts, in muted pinks. I am still dressing her in a vest, t-shirt and jumper even though it has warmed up a bit and it has crossed my mind it might not be necessary lately. He rarely bothers with the jumper, even when it's freezing. He's not being lazy, he's being logical. He's walking around in a t-shirt, he doesn't want her to get too hot. I am always cold. I always zip up her jacket and put a blanket over her. "Are you going to the Arctic?" he asks her, teasing me. "She's only wearing the same layers as me, plus a blankie because she's not walking around," I say.

"Good morning, mama," he says, bringing her in, and kissing me.

I am still lying down in bed. I shuffle over, pull a pillow up to support her and reach for her. She grabs my ear, and a handful of my hair. "Ah-ah-ah!" she says. "I know," I say, "it's coming." I lay her down beside me, lift my top, and she has latched on before I have got us both comfortable. "Can you pass my phone?" I ask him. He does, picks up his toothbrush from where it is charging under the bed, and heads for the bathroom. "And my glasses?" I add, realising I won't be able to see my phone very well without them. He leans back and passes them over too.

As she suckles, I look at my phone. It is only 7:30am. I was up at 3am and 5:20am for night feeds. After the 3am one I thought she would sleep though till morning but no such luck. The 5:20am one was hard, consequently. I felt I was being tricked.

She doesn't feed for long. She needs a burp. I lift her onto my lap, sitting her up. She smiles at me, not her huge, delighted smile, more a friendly one. She looks serious, like she's wondering what I've been doing while she's been with daddy. She burps, and a little comes back up. I already have the muslin in my hand to wipe it away.

He is in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, and every noise he makes grabs her attention. "She's like a guard dog," I say, when he comes back, "checking on every sound."

"Huh," he smiles.

"Can I have porridge and cup-of-tea?" I ask. It's a mix of baby voice and Indian accent, the legacy of years of linguistic play, of shared experience, shared silliness.

"Of course," he says, and goes downstairs to make it. He is looking after me because I have been so exhausted. Well, he often brings me porridge in bed on a Sunday morning if I ask for it. And he makes it much better than I do.

I lay her back down on my other side and offer her the other breast. She gives it a cursory suck but isn't really interested. Everything else is more interesting than the breast these days, unless she's really hungry. I try to cajole her to have some more, but she's done. These small morning feeds don't fit with my new plan. I'm trying to get her into some kind of routine, purely so we can fit in all the milk feeds, meals and naps. With no structure, we've missed meals. Still, we're only a few days in, and I can't make her take more than she wants anyway. She doesn't seem to have much of an appetite first thing, unlike her mama. I've never understood people who skip breakfast. I get out of bed for breakfast.

"Do you want sugar?" he calls out. My answer is yes, and minutes later he reappears with my sweet porridge and tea. I am pretending to eat her face, "nom, nom, nom." The other day I did this and she thought it was hilarious. She is smiling now, but not laughing. I don't remember making her laugh for a few days. She is a hard audience.

"Oi! Save some for me!" he calls out.

Slowly, I pull myself to sitting and take the porridge and tea. He sits down and picks her up from where I have put her at the other end of the bed, immediately starts playing, flying her around, making noises. "I thought you were going to sleep," he says.

"Maybe," I reply. "I was hungry and thirsty."

He plays with her some more, we chat while I eat my porridge

I ask if she's had any breakfast. He offered her some of his porridge but she didn't even open her mouth. "Did you put some on her lips so she could taste it?"

"She had some on her lips."

"Those big oats are probably a bit hard for her to digest anyway," I offer. "She should have this porridge."

"Oh that's your porridge, is it?" he says to her with a big smile. They play some more.

"So, are you going back to sleep?" he asks.

"I don't know, why?"

"Because if you are, I'll take her, but if not I could get on with my jobs."

We call everything "jobs" - chores, laundry, shopping, cooking, and in his case the endless renovation work. He needs to finish attaching the plasterboards to the kitchen walls and ceiling. Next weekend is my brother's wedding and Mother's Day, the following weekend the plasterer is coming, so he needs to get it done.

"Oh, so it's sleep or jobs, is it?" I say, teasingly. Apparently if I am awake I am no longer entitled to the break I have been promised. I know he wants to give me a break, but also he never stops working, and he wants to get his "jobs" finished so that he can have a couple of hours off this afternoon before the working week starts again. "I'd like to have a rest."

"Rest is for later, when the jobs are done."

"Hmm, but then the rest never comes." This is a lot more true for him than me. I get plenty of time to rest. But I'm always on call, which is a different kind of exhausting, and I'm still craving a couple of hours off. And even though everything he does is for us, I still want him sometimes to stop fixing things and play with his daughter. He plays with her all the time, but in little patches here and there. It's different when it's hours at a time.

"I think you need to persevere with her breakfast," I say.

"Oh, ok, what can she have? Yoghurt?"

Yesterday he gave her lunch and struggled to get her to eat some lentils and peas. He had his own lunch while I fed her some yoghurt, and suddenly she was opening her mouth wide, grabbing the spoon, super keen.

"Huh, yeah. There's half a banana in the fridge from last night."

"Banana and yoghurt?"

"Yeah, that could work. She likes the banana too."

"Ok."

"You really need to persevere," I say. "Give her something to hold, some toast or a rice cake, while you feed her. And take your time. A meal should take half an hour."

"Oh, man!" he says, half-jokingly.

"She's only tiny, she needs to take her time."

"Oh, why can't you just wolf it down?" he asks her.

"Well, that's why we need to keep up the finger foods, because the more she practices, the sooner she'll be feeding herself."

"Ah, she'll be feeding herself, with a spoon and everything! When?" He is excited by the idea, always thinking how much cuter she'll appear with each new skill.

"I don't know." I realise that he thinks I am the fountain of all baby-related knowledge. This is comforting because I worry I will offend him when I explain things that to me seem very obvious, but aren't necessarily: mash the banana (with a fork), take your time, encourage the finger foods, give her sips of water, use a bib around her neck and a muslin over her lap. I have been feeling overwhelmed lately, working out how best to introduce foods, and I'm the experienced childcarer who never stops researching the best methods. Relatively, he is a complete novice.

He takes her downstairs and I realise I am past sleeping. I go and get my laptop, passing her the cucumber he has sliced for her on the way. "Perhaps I'll write," I say, "that might clear my head."

Back upstairs, I have to shut the bedroom door because the sound of his encouraging her is distracting. I start to write. It feels good.

All too soon, they're back. "She had loads," he says proudly.

"I can smell the banana from here!" I say, as he holds her up.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing."

"No you're not, you're looking at trainers."

"Ha! No, I just pulled that up so you wouldn't see what I was writing."

"Oh."

"Can I have another half an hour?"

"Half an hour? Ok. Maybe I'll take her for a walk, or to the park, on the swings."

"Oh." She hasn't been to the park yet. "I was hoping we could do that together. I was going to take her the other day but I thought we could go together."

He looks disappointed. I wonder if I am being selfish. I get so many firsts, while he's working. Maybe he wants one to himself.

"Maybe we'll just watch Milkshake, then." He likes to pretend she likes kids' tv.

They go back downstairs and I turn back to my writing. Soon I hear not the tv, but The Beatles blasting out. I imagine he has put her in the doorway bouncer and is swinging her. She loves to bounce. I wonder if he is getting a chance to work on his jobs between keeping her entertained. I am glad they're not watching tv.

After a little while, she starts getting whingy. My time is running out. They reappear at the bedroom door. "I think she's getting tired, maybe she's ready for a nap."

"Has it been half an hour already?" I ask. I know it has, but it's passed so quickly.

"I think she's tired, anyway. I'm going to put her down to sleep."

I don't see her going down without more milk, so I get out of bed to come and feed her a little more.

"Does she have a different sleeping bag for daytime?" he asks.

I am impressed that he remembers. "Yes, the thin one with the animals on."

I come in and he is putting her in one of the night bags, which does, to be fair, also have animals on. "Oh, I meant this one, but don't worry, she doesn't have a jumper on so that one's fine." I worry a little too much about her overheating when she sleeps, I know.

She is lying on the changing mat, making desperate "feed me" squeaks, despite having had milk an hour and a half ago and banana and yoghurt since. We laugh together at how urgently she asks to be fed. She really only wants it for comfort, and I'm planning on weaning her off this feed, but I'm tired, I want to write, and we're still in the transitional phase. Maybe in a few days I'll try putting her down without the milk, but today I'd rather just feed her a little. It's Sunday, and I want an easy life.

I give him a kiss and he goes downstairs, straight to work. I sit down and she feeds a little before falling asleep at the breast. She is very sleepy when I take her off, and doesn't burp. I know she might need to burp, and it might stop her settling, but I decide to risk it and put her down anyway. She only fed a little, and very slowly. I spend a lot of my time waiting for her to burp so I can put her down to sleep. That's the boring part.

I go downstairs. He is stripping wallpaper. I wonder whether I should offer to help, but I still haven't finished writing, I'm supposed to be having a break, I should be asleep. Maybe I'll help later. I have been exhausted the last few days, emotionally wretched with the sudden changes, and I need to write now, while she's sleeping, or I don't know when I ever will. Of course I could write every time she naps, but I'm not often in the mood. The pressure of a time frame stifles me.

She has been asleep almost an hour, and I have nearly finished what I wanted to write. I hear him on the phone. "What, come round to mine? Yeah, mate, great. Ok, see you soon."

I don't know who it is, but I need to get dressed, fix my hair. I haven't even brushed my teeth. Well, I've been resting. I was supposed to be asleep.

Time to Wean

2010-03-04T14:41:00.000Z

I recently devoured (pun intended, ha ha) this book by Gill Rapley and Tracey Murkett: Baby-led Weaning: Helping your baby to love good food.

The basic premise is that we should let our babies feed themselves from the start. Breastfeeding (i.e. the natural way) involves babies feeding themselves, as anyone who has ever tried to get their baby to suckle when they don't want to knows. Children and adults feed themselves. So why go through a phase where we try to control our babies' eating? Why not let them feed themselves too?

So we started out with a plan not to make purées for Talia, but simply to give her the same food we eat, in pieces that she can manage. We knew it would likely take her a month or more to get the hang of it, we started giving her food to play with at five months, in the hope she might be getting some inside her by the time she was around six months. (This approach works best if the baby continues to be breastfed on demand at least until her self-feeding skills improve, which is my aim.)

We started with bits of fruit and vegetable about the size of my finger, so she could hold one end while she gnawed on the other. She didn't take much notice of the carrot I gave her to play with, but sucked on a piece of courgette (zucchini) on and off all day. She loved mama's home-made banana bread. And a few days in I gave her some thick, sticky porridge to play with and she even managed to eat some. One downside of this approach is that, in the beginning at least, it is very messy. But what fun! A baby of Talia's age would never normally be allowed to play with sticky, squidgy substances, lest she... eat them.

Baby-led weaning fits well with the approach we have planned for later mealtimes: to give our children what we eat, and expect them to eat it at the table with us. If they don't want it, they don't eat it. We'll try not to make a fuss of it, but they won't be getting anything else until the next meal or snack time. No "one more spoonful," no "finish your carrots and you can have some pudding," just leading by example, trusting our kids to eat well, and hoping in the process that they will learn to trust food, and trust their bodies to tell them when they're full.

There is nothing more fascinating that watching your baby learn, watching their tenacity as they hone a new skill. And watching Talia work out how to get anything and everything in her reach into her mouth lately has been mesmerising. Approaching six months, she is getting better at feeding herself, and if food is the right shape and consistency, she will gum away at it, break bits off in her mouth, and instinctively know to swallow the little bits and spit out anything too big.

This seemed to be going great until a week or so ago (two weeks, maybe? I lose track of the time) when she started waking more at night. She was regularly sleeping from her dream feed at around 9:30pm through to 4:30am, then 7:30am, and sometimes even missing the 4:30am feed. Then she started waking earlier and earlier, until a couple of nights ago she was back to waking every couple of hours like a newborn. And the thing is, she was hungry. It wasn't teething, there wasn't anything else unsettling her, she was hungry for a full feed again two hours after the last. Maybe it's a growth spurt, I thought. Or maybe she's just plain hungry. She's nearly six months old, most babies would be spoon-fed three meals a day by around now.

So yesterday, after getting very little sleep the previous night, I decided to try spoon-feeding her. At breakfast I gave her a cauliflower and pear purée (what can I say? I wasn't planning on making baby food!) while she fed herself some rice cakes, and she wolfed it down. At lunch I gave her some lentils and yoghurt while she fed herself green beans and polenta. At dinner I gave her some baby rice while she fed herself some mango. It felt like a good compromise, she was still getting all (ok, most of) the benefits of self-feeding, but I was helping fill her up. In the meantime, I continued to breastfeed her as much as possible, remembering that if she gets enough calories in the daytime, she won't need them through the night.

I was so exhausted yesterday, I could hardly think straight. I felt like a failure, felt like crying, purely because I was so tired. I knew rationally that we were doing great, she was getting a healthy diet, I was letting her stop when she was full. But I felt lost and confused. (I don't take to changes of plans well, even when I change the plan myself.)

My little sister called and I told her what had been going on, how good she's been getting at the self-feeding (it's pretty cool to watch a 5-month-old baby suck and chew mango from its skin) and how eagerly she took the purées.

"Well, she is nearly six months. That's great."

"Yeah, I know. I feel sad, though."

"Why?"

"I dunno. I'm thinking about giving her formula for the dream feed too. I'm hoping that if we cut out the night feeds I won't keep getting clogged ducts." I have noticed a pattern with the clogged ducts: If she is up feeding a lot at night for a couple of days, then she sleeps through again, I just keep on making milk through the night and wake up engorged, which often causes problems. (My boobs just love to make milk. I have "an excellent flow" as the health visitor diplomatically put it when I nearly sprayed her in the face.) If I stop breastfeeding her at night, my breasts will learn not to produce milk then, which should stop this problem. And if I don't get mastitis again, I will likely keep breastfeeding longer. So by stopping the night feeds, I may well actually lengthen the time for which we both get the benefits of breastfeeding.

"That sounds like a good idea."

I'm crying, though.

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know, I just still feel sad about the idea of giving her formula."

"Cate? She's six months on Monday."

"I know, I kinda forget that. I always think we're still at the beginning. I don't think about what we've achieved."

"Do you know how many babies are still exclusively breastfed at six months?" No.6 works on a maternity ward. She helps women start breastfeeding.

"I dunno, it's low isn't it?"

"It's negligible. Less than one percent."

"Wow."

"Six months exclusively breastfed is amazing. You should be congratulating yourself, not beating yourself up."

The World Health Organisation recommends that all babies be exclusively breastfed to six months. And it's hard to get there, especially with the troubles we've had, which is why such a small percentage of women do. (Most women who start breastfeeding say they stopped sooner than they would have liked to.) But here we are, just days from that goal. We're going to do it!

Suddenly I realise why I feel so bad (except, y'know, no sleep). It's not because I don't think I should spoon-feed her, or give her some formula now, it's because this is the beginning of the letting go. Up until now she has been entirely dependent on me. She takes a bottle, but it's my milk in there. Whether we introduce some formula or not, over the next six months she will be weaned. She will go from getting almost all of her nutrition from me, to getting most or all of it from food. She'll be physically independent of me.

Motherhood is just one long exercise in letting go, I remember. And this is a huge milestone on that journey. My little girl is growing up, and there's a whole world of tastes and textures for her to explore.

Nate commented last night on how extra happy and alert she seemed when he got home, which was weird as she hadn't napped much. She absolutely loves her bath now and completed soaked us and the floor with her kicking and splashing. She is full of joy, so strong, a picture of health. And she went to bed happy, after a pep talk from daddy, "fast asleep all night long tonight, ok my darling? Mummy's tired."

We went to bed early. Nate was dropping off by the time I got back from the dream feed. "I'm the eternal optimist," I told him. "I still go to bed every night thinking I'm going to get a good sleep."

Well, this time, I was right. She woke me with a little "ah-ah-ah-mama-I'm-hungry" at 4:20am, went straight back to sleep after and slept till about 7:30am. I'm not sure what time exactly because she just chats to her mobile when she wakes up now and it sometimes takes me a little while to realise she's awake.

She's so sweet these days. Sweet and lovely, entertaining and funny. I would never go back, it is easier now than in the beginning, and so much more fun. But still, it's hard. My little girl is not my tiny baby any more. She's a hungry adventurer, who needs lots of energy for rolling over and practising her frog kicks. I know she needs me just as much as ever. Just, a little bit differently now.

Book shopping

2010-02-25T19:30:00.000Z

My efforts to spend more time reading the printed word continue, and were given a boost on Tuesday by a little book-shopping spree (although to be honest, not having enough books will never be the problem. There's little hope of me ever reading books as quickly as I buy them.)

Firstly, my dear friend Meg of A Practical Wedding has made her first foray into print with a guest chapter in the new edition of Offbeat Bride: Creative Alternatives for Independent Brides by Ariel Meadow Stallings. Yes, I'm married, and no longer reading wedding websites, never mind wedding books, but come on, Meg got published! Of course I had to have a copy.

Then, just as I was about to go online to buy said book, I heard on Woman's Hour an interview with David Code, an Episcopal minister and family coach, who has written a book called To Raise Happy Kids, Put Your Marriage First. He talked about how a strong marriage is the best foundation for raising children, but also about how our current culture of helicopter parenting is bad for our children. It's clear from the title that the guy shares my parenting philosophy and I can't wait to read it.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who finds that once she starts shopping for books, it's hard to stop. And then along comes Amazon with its very helpful recommendations, and before I know it I've ordered Nurtureshock: Why Everything We Thought About Children is Wrong by Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman. Good Morning America called this book "the Freakonomics of child-rearing," and with that, I am sold. Of course that reminds me I haven't yet ordered
Superfreakonomics: Global Cooling, Patriotic Prostitutes and Why Suicide Bombers Should Buy Life Insurance by Steven D Levitt and Stephen J Dubner. Buy buy buy.

So, head in a book. I'm currently about halfway through The Meaning of Wife, which might give you some idea of how long it will take me to get through this lot. But I'll let you know if any of them are as read, read, read as Freakonomics. Did I mention that? Go read Freakonomics.

Congratulations, Meg. See you on page 75.

Valentine's Date

2010-02-15T09:17:00.000Z

"I asked my mum whether she could babysit so we could go out for Valentine's Day, but maybe we should just leave it and go another day. Everywhere is so expensive on Valentine's Day."

"Yeah, maybe we should leave it."

But later...

"I miss you."

"I miss you too."

He's out of the house twelve hours a day. By the time he gets in and showers, and we've put Talia to bed, we have an hour together to eat and reconnect before bedtime. Saturdays he works on the house. Sundays we try to keep for ourselves when we can, but by the time he has been running (he's marathon training, it's keeping him sane), and we've done the shopping, and cooking, and the odd little jobs that always pop up, it seems we're lucky if we get a couple of hours to hang out together.

It's fine, he won't be doing this long commute forever, and we know we're lucky he still has work.
And we knew what we signed up for, taking on a full renovation job with a small baby. But we do miss the days when we had hours to lounge around together, when we could get all the chores done on Saturday morning and have the rest of the weekend to do what we want, the energy and money every Saturday night to go out or entertain guests, and every Sunday to just take slowly, be together.

"Let's go out for Valentine's Day. Otherwise it will be No.4's stag do, then my birthday, it will be weeks before we can go out again."

"Ok, let's do it."

So after another busy Saturday, downstairs loo fitted, my mum and Nate bathed Talia while I smudged kohl around my eyes and swept my hair into an up-do. I put her to bed and listened as her protestations faded. This was day three of no-falling-asleep-at-the-breast-at-bedtime. She has taken to it well, and seems to be sleeping better for it.

I decided to give the new dress I bought for my birthday a preview outing. My mother and husband made appreciative noises. I had a strange sense that it was a pity Talia was already asleep and wasn't getting to see her mama all dolled up. I doubt she'd notice any difference just yet, but this is the beginning of my wanting to share what's special to me with her. Quickly, I missed her.

We left while she was still letting out the odd whimper. We caught the bus to the cocktail bar at the end of our old street. I realised it was six months exactly since we completed on our house. Our new life still feels new, but our old one feels so far away.

He had a beer, I had a White Russian. The bar was mid-renovation, a mess, just like home. He kissed me when I was half way through saying something. I kissed him back.

He asked me what I want for my birthday, if I wanted for him to choose something or me. Of course I can think of things I want, but I had an overriding sense of having everything. I don't want things like I used to.

We said, "remember that time we...?" over and over. He compared our beautiful daughter to a seagull, of all things! He made me laugh, time and again. I could tell that he liked it.

We crossed the road to the restaurant. "I wonder if we'll get typical Thai service," he said. We did. The food was bland, and by the time our main course arrived I could just about see him wasting away. But in the meantime, we just talked.

We talked about parenting, of course. He told me he thinks I have the perfect balance of hard and soft. "Well, we worked out that we agreed about these things long before we decided to get married or have children," I said.

He told me about his friend who eats junk food and ogles half-naked women in the paper all day, before going home to a strict healthy-eating regime with his wife and daughter, who is nine months old and has never been left with a babysitter.

"They're co-sleeping too, aren't they?"

"Mmm-hmm. He so needs to get laid."

We just felt happy, and lucky, not because we're right about everything, or people shouldn't co-sleep, (or can't have sex if they do), or shouldn't eat healthily, or live on crap, or ogle celebrities, but because we had the time to make sure, before we had Talia, that we felt more-or-less the same about these things. Because we wanted our bedroom back at right about the same time. Because we both want to leave the baby with a sitter from time to time while we go out and drink beer, and try new restaurants, and just be us again.

Lately I've been saying to him, when I've been missing him, "I love being married because, when I get frustrated because I don't see you enough, I think of all the years we have ahead of us and realise we'll just look back on this as one of those especially busy times. And I don't mind at all that way."

I wondered, before Talia was born, where our reality would sit within the conflicting spheres of children-will-put-a-strain-on-your-relationship vs. children-will-bring-you-together. Well so far, after a definite bit of the former (I just didn't realise that he had no idea how hard it would be, in the beginning) I can feel us settling into the latter. Working out what kind of parents we want to be, supporting each other through the struggles it takes to get us there, and taking the time out away from that to not be mum and dad all the time, it's all helping us grow, separately and together.

Happy Valentine's everyone.

Dear Talia Scarlett,

2010-02-08T15:05:00.000Z

Before you were born, before you were conceived even, I would write to you often. (You were a dream, then.) And yet, since you have arrived, much to my surprise, I haven't written to you once. (You're still a dream, baby girl.)

Every time someone I know reaches the end of their pregnancy, I can't believe it when I see that they have produced an actual baby. Of course I knew they were having a baby, but it's so magical, so huge, it still takes me by surprise when I see the baby in the flesh.

You were no surprise, though. I knew you were coming. Although, I didn't recognise you at first, like some said I might. You were born on Tuesday evening and the first time I recognised you was Thursday morning. I woke up, I looked into your crib, and I knew you. I was amazed. You were a person, whom I recognised. You were real.

You are nearly five months old already, and how you've changed. You're huge! Sometimes you appear to grow visibly overnight, and when you wake up in the morning, I say, "argh, you're a monster!" You have become interested in everything, not just your toys, and you're endlessly interesting. You're a coy one, but a little adventurer.

You are getting braver all the time. Loud noises used to terrify you. First your bottom lip would tremble, our early warning system. And sometimes we could comfort you in time, stop the noise. But sometimes it was too late, or we couldn't stop it, and the lip wobble would turn to a loud wail. (Some days it still does, when you're tired, or somewhere new.) Nowadays you look at me for reassurance, and you have got so brave that, if I catch you in the right mood, I can even dry my hair with you in the same room, so long as I look at you, smiling and telling you that everything is ok throughout. Don't worry, darling, the hairdryer is not attacking your mama.

You love your toys now. We sit you in the Bumbo where you can watch us as we eat, or cook, or whatever else needs doing, and place toys on the tray. You inspect them, sometimes, before throwing them on the floor. It's your favourite activity: clearing the decks. I think you will be like your father, craving tidiness, order. We got you a sucker toy, something you couldn't throw away, but you managed to pull it out of its base and be rid of it anyway. We stopped putting it back when you started to get cross as you struggled (though always with success) to remove it. We laughed so hard at how much you hated that flower. You're always making us laugh.

You are starting to recognise people other than mummy and daddy, and become more sociable. Until recently you found strangers rather overwhelming and wanted mummy to hold you whenever people came to visit or we left the house. Now you are still a little wary, but you are starting to get excited when you see your favourite people. Your smile is simply the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, all of your smiles are.

When you were born, you smelled incredible. I wish someone had told me how quickly this smell would fade, because I would have spent the entire first week of your life with my nose pressed against the top of your head. "You smell heavenly," I used to tell you. I still do, sometimes. "You're a little piece of heaven," I say, breathing you in.

You want to breathe me in too. Sometimes when you latch on, you are so eager for milk you snuffle away like a little pig. "She would inhale me if she could," I say to daddy. You too, darling. I often tell you that your time is up, we're fattened you up enough, and today is the day we will finally eat you. We gobble up your chubby thighs, squeeze your little arms. Sometimes I just can't stop kissing your cheeks.

You are making so many noises. Almost soon as you starting babbling, you said "he-lo." Everyone laughed at us at first, but now many of them have heard you for themselves, and you have added "hey" and "hi-ya" to your repertoire. Your favourite sound seems to be "a-goo." This morning you said something that sounded distinctly like "eye-luv-yoo." I love you too, Tali-Scarli, I love you too.

You love to bounce in the door frame, especially when daddy turns the music up loud and dances with you. You love when we sing and dance, and watch mesmerised, alternating between looking very serious and smiling broadly. And sometimes you even sing too, although not if one of us is singing, because then you need to concentrate on our performance.

Other things that make you smile include the kissing noise one makes for a cat, and of course the sight of mama or daddy reappearing after they have left the room. When one of us has been gone longer, however, you tend to blank us at first. I'm sure you must be too young to be punishing us for abandoning you. I suspect it is just too much for you to process, so you look away, giving yourself a minute to get used to the idea that we really have come back.

You are reaching all your milestones, getting better at tummy time, and almost sitting up already. One game you don't quite seem to get yet is peek-a-boo. You either look unamused, or even slightly concerned when mama disappears behind the pillar. And yet, sometimes you seem to initiate the game, turning your head left and right, making eye contact with, then looking away from, your aunties. You're a clingy little thing, maybe peek-a-boo with mama is just a bit too frightening for now. It's ok, little lamb, mama will always come back. Always.

I haven't written, but I photograph you incessantly, and have been very disciplined about filling in your baby book. I want to remember everything, even though I know it is impossible.

When you were tiny, and we were just learning about feeding, your granny, my mama, said to me, "it all goes too quickly, even the hard parts." She doesn't know it but that was an amazing present she gave me that day. She taught me never to wish any of it away, to just enjoy you every single day, even when we're not getting much sleep, or you're throwing up everywhere.

It's easy to forget, once you have a baby of your own, how you used to wonder over how magical it might be, how amazing to be allowed to have the baby all the time, for keeps. But I do remember. I can't believe my luck. And I love you and kiss you and you smile at me and that is everything. Everything.

You give me these knowing looks sometimes, these big grins, like you're trying to say, "I know, mama." Like we have a big secret, and you know it. But it's no secret, really, we just love each other enormously. Only, it is our secret, because no one else could ever know our love, that's all.

When you were tiny, I read something another mama wrote about how she, her baby and her baby's daddy had become a little threesome of love. And I'll tell you the truth, I was jealous. Because when you first got here, your daddy and I were awfully confused. We still loved each other and did our best to be kind to each other but we felt quite far away. See, as well as looking after you, daddy and I have to look after each other, and we weren't quite sure how to do it at first. But we just kept talking, and being kind, and slowly we started to understand who were were now, and how it wasn't very different to who we were before. And now we really are just one big circle of love.

When I was pregnant, I told your daddy that I was a little bit sad because it wouldn't be just me and him any more. I said I felt like I was going to miss him. He told me not to worry, he said that I would be with you and that you would be just like another him. He was right. Growing a family with someone you love is everything I hoped it would be. You're one of us.

I love watching you two love each other, and it does indeed make me love you both more. I am pleased to see that he doesn't treat you like a porcelain doll, just because you are a girl, but flies you around making plane and helicopter noises. Your mouth stays wide open, an amazed smile. I can't stop smiling either.

I always expected you to be daddy's little girl, and I'm sure you will be. But you seem to me actually to be as much Secret on the inside as you are Subrosa on the outside. I see a sensitivity in you that reminds me very much of your Aunty No.6, your Uncle No.3, and the rest too. I love watching your personality develop, your character emerge.

You are still a dream, baby girl, now you're here. It was hard for me when you were first born, because you were everything I'd ever wanted and a few weeks after your birth I looked up and asked, now what? But things settled down and I remembered all the other things I want for my life. And truly every day feels like a blessing now, and I look forward to everything, because I'm doing it all with you.

You're such a good girl, a little angel, a joy to behold. I just love you, love you love you love you, every day, and always.

Mama xxx

Birth Story I: Beautiful Day

2010-02-02T12:27:00.000Z

Nate and I went to bed as usual at about 10:30pm. The problem with the boiler had been playing on my mind. Sometimes it was fine, other times it kept cutting out and I could only get cold water. Nate had been taking radiators on and off the walls throughout the last three weeks as he, my sister No.6 and her boyfriend Rocky decorated upstairs. Suddenly I realised there might be a link. "Does the boiler just go weird when the heating system is drained?" I asked him.

"Yes, it's usually fine as long as it's full," he said, and I felt a great sense of relief. I had a feeling we were going to need that hot water soon.

As I remember, I couldn't sleep. I hadn't been getting much sleep for weeks, I was so uncomfortable and needed to wee so often. Any dozing I did manage that night was soon disturbed, though. The period-like pains and backache I had been feeling all evening had become concentrated and were occurring at intervals. Contractions, I thought to myself as I manoeuvred myself over to look at my phone. Contractions. That word, that strange, new world, that alien concept. Here I was, feeling it. Contractions. The word appeared to fill my whole head. It was midnight.

I lay there, getting used to the feeling, sure it was the real thing. I felt excited, but calm. I knew I should try to get as much rest as possible, so I tried to sleep, but it was hopeless. The contractions weren't painful, but the feeling was strong enough to keep me awake.

At about half past one I went downstairs to have something to eat. There was so little room for my stomach in those last few weeks of pregnancy that I could only eat enough to keep me going for a few hours. Even with a late-evening snack and an early breakfast, I still had to scoff a cereal bar at one of my many night-time trips to the loo to have any hope of getting back to sleep.

But this time I ate it sitting at the table, and timed a few contractions. At thirteen minutes, then nine, then ten, then thirteen apart, they were far and sporadic. It was just starting. I went back to bed as quietly as possible, careful not to wake Nate. I knew this was the day, and I wanted him to get as much rest as possible.

I just had to get through to 5:30am, then he would be getting up anyway. I lay in bed, trying to rest, occasionally getting up to wee. At half past four I timed a couple more contractions: fourteen, then twelve minutes apart. They didn't seem to be getting more regular or closer together, but they were getting a little big stronger. Back to bed again.

I finally nodded off just before Nate's alarm sounded. I snuggled up to him as he stirred. "No work today," I told him.

"Eh?"

"We're having a baby instead."

"What? Really?" he asked. Then, "how do you know?"

I laughed. "Because I've been having contractions," I said. "They're mild and sporadic, between ten and fifteen minutes apart, but they feel completely different to the Brackston Hicks. It's the real thing." The Brackston Hicks had felt like a tightening in the top of my bump, whereas the labour pains were dull and low.

We shared a few minutes of oh-my-God-we're-having-a-baby before Nate said, "right, ok, what do we need to do then?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure we have plenty of time. Let's just have breakfast, then you need to get cleaning. I'll call No.6 in a bit and she'll come and help. Oh, and you'll need to put the crib up."

The house was a mess. No, that's an understatement, it was more like a building site. It was filthy, covered in plaster dust, with tools and materials everywhere - we were expecting the carpenters that very day, and the plasterer again the following day - but I knew we had plenty of time and it would give Nate something to do. I felt relaxed and calm, a little hungry.

Nate filmed me as I sat at the table. "It looks like you're going to be born today, baby," he said. Then, "Are you? Is it happening?"

I rubbed my bump.

"Come on, let's see it then."

"Is this as big as my belly's going to get?" I asked, lifting my top. "Have I reached the end of the line?"

"To be continued," he said, turning the camera off.

We both had porridge for breakfast, then I got in the bath. I remember lying there, looking down at my bump, thinking how strange it was that next time I got in the bath I wouldn't be pregnant any more. I got out, dried myself, and used the last of my 'Mum to Be' body butter on my bump. Next time I moisturised, I'd be using my skin tightening cream.

I tried to time some more contractions, but it was getting confusing as I was having one bigger contraction followed by one smaller one, and I couldn't work out whether to count both. I noted it as progress though, the change in the pattern.

At half past seven I phoned No.6. "Hello?"

"Hello," I said, "sorry, did I wake you?"

"Yeah, it's ok. What time is it?"

"Half past seven. Listen, I think we're having a baby."

"Really?" she said, cool, calm and collected as always.

I gave her a progress report.

"Ok, I'll just have a shower and I'll be over soon."

"Cool, no hurry."

She arrived an hour later, well prepared. I bounced on the birth ball as Nate opened the door. "Too late, you missed it," he teased.

No.6 had been to the supermarket on the way and stocked up with ice lollies, frubes, some fruit and nut mix, and a roll of bin bags. She immediately got to work and by 9am she and Nate had the the place clean. Then we went upstairs and No.6 very carefully covered our spare duvet in bin bags, sealing them together with duct tape, before replacing the old cover. We had picked up this tip just the previous day at the home birth meeting.

I lay on the sofa with a cup of tea. "Are you feeling it?" Nate asked sympathetically.

"Yeah."

"How does it feel?"

"Erm... tight. Kind of like a thick rubber band around here," I said, stroking the bottom of my bump, "and it's getting squeeeezed in."

"Can you do something dramatic?" he joked.

"Huh, later," I replied with a smile as another contraction started. Even as I said it, I don't remember actually thinking ahead or imagining what might follow. All day, I remained calm, focused, in the moment. This wasn't through some effort to be present for the birthday of my baby, it just happened that way. I was labouring. That was it.

My contractions were four to six minutes apart by now, but still every other one was weak, so I felt like this counted more like every ten minutes than every five. Still, the paperwork said that if I went into labour during the day I should phone the hospital as soon as possible, to give the community midwives plenty of notice so that they could rearrange their schedules to ensure someone was available to come out to me. So at 9:30am, I phoned and told them I was booked in for a home birth. They asked if I would like someone to come out and see me and I said yes. As my contractions were still quite gentle, far apart and short, we decided it would be fine if someone came in a couple of hours' time.

There was a sense of calm anticipation as the three of us sat in the living room. "This is not how I imagined labour," Nate said, "where's the drama?!"

At one point a little while later I was standing in the kitchen and I called Nate over to me. I reached out for him as a few tears escaped.

"Are you scared?" he asked, hugging me.

"Not really," I said, "I just need to cry a little bit."

At 11am, we decided to go for a walk, thinking this would bring the contractions on stronger. It was a beautiful day, hot and sunny. The three of us wandered the streets of our new neighbourhood, chatting. It felt like Christmas had come in the middle of summer. But the wonderful thing was that it was just us three who knew about this very special day. Everyone else, all our friends and family, was going about their normal Tuesday business, with no idea that we were about to have a baby. A couple of people had suggested over the previous weeks that I might let them know when I went into labour, but I had no intention of telling anyone. The last thing I wanted was to be thinking about anyone else, or for us to be distracted by text messages or phone calls, requests for progress reports. And I wanted us to be able to take our time about telling people and seeing our first visitors, if we so wished. So we kept it that way, just me, Nate and No.6, sharing the most precious secret in the world.

At 11:30am, we were back home for the midwife's visit. Her name was Kim, she was in her late 40s, with curly hair. She was a lovely lady, perfectly friendly, but I could tell she was thinking "here we go, first time mother calling in the cavalry at the first twinge..."

The thing is, I expected our walk to bring the contractions on stronger, but in fact it seemed to have made them ease off. By the time the midwife arrived, I could happily sit on the couch chatting with her and no one but me even knew I was having contractions. She felt my bump then listened in to the heartbeat with the doppler. It was good and strong as always.

"You might have quite a long latent phase," she said. "I could examine you if you want, but it would only be for your interest to see how far you have dilated."

I declined. I knew as well as she did how much things had eased off. But what I somehow just knew and she didn't was that this baby was coming today. Discussing it after she left, I told No.6 and Nate as much. "Just because she thought it might still be ages, it doesn't mean it will."

Having not slept all night, and the labour having eased off, I decided to go upstairs for a lie down. No.6 stayed downstairs watching tv while Nate spooned me on the bed and for a minute I dropped off, before being woken by a stronger contraction. All day, any time I did something that gave me a break from the contractions, like when No.6 tried holding a hit water bottle against my lower back, they would come on stronger afterwards, and this was one of those times. It was also the first time I used the word "painful" in the notes I made throughout the day.

I gave up on the idea of a nap and went downstairs for some lunch. No.6 and I shared some leftover stir fry with Thai red curry sauce from the previous night. My body told me not to eat something so hard to digest as beef, but the noodles and vegetables went down ok and I definitely felt better for having eaten something.

As things were still moving quite slowly, Nate suggested he go and buy another roller and do some more painting. I knew we had plenty of time and was happy labouring with the support of No.6, so I agreed he may as well do something useful.

I had a to-do list in my late pregnancy that I was taking forever to get through, and I had only got around to ordering my tens machine the previous day. Having left it so late, I had chosen next day delivery, and we were joking about this all morning. Finally at 12:30pm, it arrived and No.6 and I set to working out how to use it. I was finding lots of ways to manage the pain by this point, moving around the house, rocking on all fours on the bed, gyrating on the birthing ball or leaning over the sofa. The tens machine seemed to be helping somewhat with the pain, which was getting stronger.

At 2pm, No.6 and I went for a walk around the park. We both had Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt by We are Scientists in our heads.

My body is your body
I won't tell anybody
If you want to use my body
Go for it

My contractions had got closer together and more regular through the day, and by now they were coming every four minutes, but lasting only about thirty seconds. All day we tracked the contractions on and off, on paper or using an iPhone app No.6 had downloaded, they were consistently shorter than any of the books or hospital notes suggested they might be. I suppose every labour is different, every womb contracts at its own pace.

We did two laps of the park, stopping so that I could rock my way through each contraction as it was too much for me to walk. After each one we simply continued our conversation and our stroll. I was pleased that this walk was succeeding where the previous one had failed, and things finally seemed to be picking up.

Back at the house, I nodded off again only to wake up again to even stronger contractions. All this time I had been using the tens machine. It was quite a fancy one, with a boost button to up the pulsing sensation during contractions. I wasn't sure whether it was helping, and I was finding it irritating and distracting. I didn't like the way it kept pulsing away the whole time, and felt it was interfering with my ability to properly rest (mentally, but perhaps physically too) between contractions, so I decided to take it off. The pain seemed to become stronger when I did so, but I still preferred it without it. I felt more focused during contractions and more relaxed between them. And I wanted to be able to focus and relax more than I wanted to be released from the pain. In fact, I don't remember every thinking about being released from the pain, I knew I needed to see my way through it.

At 3:30pm, I made my last entry in the notebook: Nate is painting. No.6 is watching tv. Both are looking after me in between. Labour = boredom + pain.

If it weren't for this note, I don't think I would remember it that way at all. I don't remember being bored, and I don't honestly remember being in pain. I remember a fun day with my two favourite people in the world, and a whole-body sensation I can only describe as massive. Not painful, just huge. But I guess that's nature's way of preparing me to do it again some day. It must have hurt. I just don't remember it that way.

I'm glad I wrote it down, because without it my memory would be so inaccurate. I don't remember boredom, I remember fun. I remember this beautiful day, this shared excitement. I remember the crescendo of pain more as a crescendo of action. I remember pregnancy as boredom plus pain, but labour as relief, as the special day had finally come. I remember that everything we did that day felt magical, because it was what we ate or where we walked or what we said the day the baby came.

But I know my notes don't lie, magical as it was, it went on for hours and at times it was boring, the waiting. But I trusted my body, and my baby, and I knew that all I had to do was ride out the boredom, and ride out the pain, and soon she would be here.

"I'm so glad I don't believe in God," I said to No.6 at one point as the pain intensified.

"That's a strange thing to say when you're in labour," she laughed.

I tried to explain. "It's just, it would complicate things so much if I believed that there was a God who created this pain, or could release me from it, or was putting me through it as some punishment for my or someone else's sins."

"Right..."

"It would be so much harder to handle the pain if I were questioning why I was feeling it or what it meant. But I'm not. It's simple. It's nature."

Hands on my belly, I continued, "She is the force of nature. Right now, my baby is the whole force of nature. She is doing what she needs to be born, to have life, and what I am feeling is the full force of that, of the biggest thing that can happen, of birth."

So, boring, yeah. But equally the most profound, defining, and proudest moment of my life, as my baby and I, as one, became the full force of nature. And this was just the start.

Read the Printed Word

2010-01-15T17:05:00.000Z

At the beginning of this year I wrote but didn't publish a post setting out my goals for 2010. I didn't publish it because they were boring and obvious - go on dates with my husband, keep breastfeeding till Talia is comfortably eating solids (but not beat myself up if the clogged ducts/mastitis keep recurring and I really should just stop), etc. etc. blah blah blah.

But there was one you might not have seen coming: spend more time looking at words on paper and less looking at words on a screen.

Well apparently I'm not the only one who's been thinking about this, because yesterday East Side Bride and Cevd launched Read the Printed Word:

We support the printed word in all its forms: newspapers, magazines and, of course, books. We think reading on computers or phones or whatever is fine, but it cannot replace the experience of reading words printed on paper. We pledge to continue reading the printed word in the digital era and beyond.

So far I have been doing pretty well with my resolution, keeping The Meaning Of Wife and The Baby Whisperer and The Contented Little Baby Book (eurgh) by my chair and reaching for them instead of my iPhone when I sit down to nurse. And I've been doing a little more magazine-reading and a little less clicking. And I'll tell you what, I love it. I can feel my attention span slowly stretching back to what it used to be. And I feel more relaxed too.

So, count me in. I pledge to read the printed word.

My thoughts on / experience with the binky

2010-01-09T09:29:00.001Z

I mentioned on Twitter that we decided to take Talia's dummy (i.e. pacifier) away, cold turkey, on the day she turned four months old. Jenna and Ashley (both expecting - congratulations, girls!) both had questions and suddenly the 140 character limit felt a bit restrictive. So, here goes...

I hated dummies. I thought they were ugly, and I didn't like the idea of giving a piece of plastic to my baby and, to my mind, creating a need. Why give her something upon which she would become dependent? I asked. I didn't like the idea of producing a situation where she needed a foreign object in order to get herself to sleep.

BUT! I was new to all this. I had plenty of experience with babies, but nearly all of it was in the daytime. Sleepless nights were an alien, frightening concept. So I decided to wait and see. My mantra became: I'm not totally against the idea of giving her a dummy, but I'd rather avoid it.

At around ten weeks, Talia was putting all her energy into getting her little fist, or a digit, any digit, into her mouth. She was failing, but I was convinced she was just days away from thumb-sucking. It was time to re-evaluate.

As with many such things, I got my anti-binky attitude from my mum. And guess what... at least five of her six children (including me) sucked their thumb or fingers, and some of them (not naming any names) still do as adults. Somehow I came out of it with perfectly straight teeth. Not all thumb-suckers are so lucky.

So I made what I felt was the most responsible parenting decision, reasoning that we could take away a dummy but not her thumb, and we gave her the binky. (Yes, I know, plenty of children give up thumb-sucking before it messes with their teeth. I'm not saying it's wrong to let your child suck his thumb, I was just trying to do what I felt was best for my little one.)

The first time we gave it to her, she looked utterly disgusted. But it was short-lived, and she was soon happily sucking away. I nearly cried when she first accepted it. Sometimes when she's tired, she makes this waa-wa-waaaa moan, like someone speaking Portuguese slowly. (If you've ever been to Rio, try turning "Pão de Açúcar" into something like "wão-de wão-úar" and you get the idea.) And I said to Nate, "I feel like I'm stopping her from expressing herself." (Seriously. I promise I'm nowhere near as mental as that comment makes me sound.) But really what I was finding difficult was that this was the first parenting decision I had made where I didn't feel confident I was doing the right thing. I was torn. The time when I could just trust my instincts and it would work out fine seemed to be slipping away from me.

Anyway, I soon got over it. "I'm a complete convert," I told people, "I wish we'd given it to her earlier." It was fantastic, she could settle herself with a few sucks and maybe a bit of head-stroking from me. We only gave it to her at nap and bedtime, and a few times, before we got her into an earlier bedtime routine, to help her settle down in the evening. I still hate the sight of an older baby or child sucking away, wide awake, and really wanted her to have it as seldom as possible.

At the time we gave her the dummy, the only parenting book we had was a battered copy of Dr Spock's Baby and Child Care, printed in 1992, that a family friend had given to Nate. Since then I have read quite extensively on the subject, but Dr Spock is still my preferred authority thereon. He recommends that the dummy be taken away when the child naturally starts to reject it between three and four months, and posits that "most of the babies who use the pacifier freely for the first few months of life never become thumb suckers, even if they give up the pacifier at 3 or 4 months." He also explains that by about five or six months the sucking need is just about gone, so it becomes an emotional rather than a physical dependence, a comforter. For that reason, I was keen to get rid of it sooner rather than later. We'd have to take it away at some point, I reasoned, so we may as well follow Dr Spock's advice and do it now while she seemed to be becoming less interested in it.

The other reason, of course, was the night-time replacements. Talia is capable of sleeping through from her 9pm dream feed to 4 or 5am now, although she occasionally gets hungry sooner, but she had started to wake up before she was hungry, and need the dummy to settle herself back to sleep. Her crib is at the foot of our bed now - I think we all get more sleep this way than with her right by my side - so I would have to climb to the end of our bed to put it back in her mouth. Honestly, I couldn't be bothered any more. I knew she was capable of settling herself without it, as she sometimes did. It was time to take it away.

I spent a week or so using the 'Pantley Pull-off' method for daytime naps, so she was getting used to sleeping without it (although she often did anyway). Then on Thursday night I had had enough. For the previous few nights she had taken an hour or more to settle again after her night feeds, because she no longer really wanted the binky, wouldn't suck away on it with any enthusiasm, but couldn't quite get to sleep without it. So I had to pop it back in again and again before she would drop off. "I'm exhausted," I told Nate.

"Let's go cold turkey," he said.

So starting yesterday morning, I put her down for her morning nap - having fed her, so I couldn't tell myself she must be crying through hunger for at least two hours - sans binky. I made sure she wasn't windy, changed her nappy, put her (much-beloved) mobile on, rolled up one of my tops and put it in her bed so she could smell me, read her a story and put her down. She cried for 50 minutes, during which time I came in and out, shushing and stroking her head. I took comfort from the fact she appeared not to be angry, was just crying because she was tired and couldn't get to sleep. This cemented my resolve: it would be far easier now than in a couple of months time, when she had more understanding of things.

Finally she settled down and moaned for five minutes before falling asleep. She then slept for an hour and 40 minutes, purely because the crying had exhausted her. (She normally naps for 30 - 45 minutes.) During that time I settled her again once with shushing and head-stroking, and she settled herself once (that I heard).

She had two further naps yesterday, one where I fed her to sleep and one where she napped in the buggy. Then at bedtime, I fed her to sleep again, but she woke up ten minutes later. This time she cried for an hour. Again, we went in and out, reassuring her we were there. Finally she chatted/sang herself to sleep.

She settled fine after her dream feed, then woke again at 2am. Normally I would pop the binky back in at this point because I know she's capable of sleeping longer. Instead, I fed her and put her back down. She settled again fine (still exhausted from all the crying probably) and slept through till 6:30am. She went down for a nap at 8am and, because Nate is sick in bed and I didn't want to wake him already, I fed her to sleep again. (Note to self: must not replace binky with breast.)

So, night one of operation binky removal was pretty pain-free. In fact, once she settled, she didn't wake for the dummy at all. Hopefully the next few nights will go just as smoothly. I think naptime will continue be the hardest, but that's fine, I'd rather handle it in the daytime any day!

So, with this experience, would I give another baby a dummy? Absolutely, yes. Experts recommend breastfed babies aren't given dummies for the first month, and I would follow that advice. But from about four to twelve weeks, I think the binky can be a godsend, helping a young, fretful, perhaps colicky baby to settle himself. However, next time I will try to remove the dummy when the baby becomes drowsy right from the start, so that s/he doesn't get used to falling or staying asleep with it in place. That way we will hopefully teach from an earlier age the skill that Talia is perfecting now - how to settle oneself to sleep without sucking. And it will be a bonus if it wards off the great, long, red-legged scissorman, too.

A year ago today

2010-01-04T10:16:00.001Z

there you are
my first sight of you
a faint red line

not two blue lines
like in the movies

not clear
not strong

a poppy, you are

first, I believed in you
then, I told daddy

WHAT?! he exclaimed
I didn't expect him to be so surprised

then, later, I started to doubt it
you were so faint

but a line is a line is a line
right?

but it's such early days
you're barely a poppy seed
what are one's chances of keeping hold of a poppy seed?

but a line is a line is a line
right?

Wishing you all...

2009-12-24T20:19:00.002Z

...a very merry Christmas indeed.

Lots of love from all of us xx

Tweet, tweet...

2009-12-18T10:49:00.001Z

Hello blog lovelies :)

Just a quick post to let you know I'm now tweeting publicly so you can keep up with me between posts - @catesubrosa.

Also a big welcome to my new readers, followers and commenters. It's lovely to have you here and I appreciate all your thoughts on my musings really very much.

The birth story (if any of you are still wondering...) is close to completion and will most likely be with you in the new year now.

Big hugs for all of you. The snow has settled (a fairly rare occurrence right here by the sea) - it's a week too early for a white Christmas but very pretty nonetheless. We'll be staying in the warm, doing some online shopping for wellies so I'm more prepared next time. Talia of course has a number of cosy outfits perfect for such occasions. So I leave you with a couple of pictures - follow me on twitter for more regular cuteness!