when A came to play

My niece is a four-year old whirl of words and wonder. She invited herself over to play, arrived with daisies in hand for me and, within five minutes, announced her desire to draw. Then we went to buy eggs and chocolate chips, so that we could bake. More drawing, this time chalking with J on the patio. Then we carefully counted how many cookies she would need for her family (seven, as the baby won't need one). Time to load her booster seat and scooter into the car and home!

expectation

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then surely this photo renders my words entirely redundant?! There's a baby on the way and, as you can see, in the not too distant future - 7 weeks to due date! 

As it hasn't been too easy to paint my toenails for the last few months, I decided that I would simply forego the nail varnish. That did feel a little weird; my toenails have been constantly painted for about 20 years and I don't recognise my feet with naked nails! But bumps must be accommodated...  Or so I thought until, at Sing and Sign, I removed the flip flops and caught sight of my feet. Nope! The nails were painted that evening :-)

some 1st year reflections

A few weeks ago we celebrated J's first birthday - and so easy to celebrate he is! A living, breathing, walking, giggling gift! And, of course, with the big 1 came his final box of formula.

I remember being in hospital after a challenging weekend, culminating in an emergency c-section and a precious bundle of squish-faced loveliness. All day I'd asked for advice and confirmation that I was breast-feeding correctly or at least beginning well. All day I'd been told - yes, you're doing brilliantly. For about nine hours, in fact, and then at 9pm, I was informed that there's real concern for my son, that he's been too long without food; that he needs to be on formula and heel-pricked through the night to check his blood sugar. I replied that I was reluctant to start on formula as I'd heard it was difficult to then establish breast feeding. The midwife snapped that that wasn't true. So, feeling crushed by her words and manner, angry that she waited until my husband and sister had gone and accused of choosing malnutrition for my newborn, I chose Cow & Gate. The only one I'd heard of. 

That experience pretty much set the standard of support I'd receive. No one mentioned, for example, that difficult births, inductions and c-sections often delay milk coming in. (I was induced, had a c-section and my milk came in on day six, not three.) With help from my sister, J was latching on perfectly but there was nothing there. And, by the end of the first week, I decided to stop trying.

You have to choose your battles, don't you? I was already feeling like a failure - unable to birth, unable to feed, unable to get up to J in the night (one night it literally took me 40 minutes to get up because of the wound). Unable or unwilling to cry, it hurt far too much, I felt boxed in. Why force J to breastfeed, thus distressing us both, when he's doing so well on the bottle? 

It's not a decision I regret. As the days became weeks and the weeks months, I realised that birth is just the beginning. It's important; it matters. But it's just the start. As J and I got to know each other, as I recovered and could do more and more for him and for Warren, I felt more empowered; less defined by the birth experience. More free simply to be his mum. 

He's moved from lying to sitting to crawling to walking. He's moved from formula to puree to solids to cow's milk to throwing food on the floor and then signing 'no'! He's our perfect gift going from strength to strength. I hope I can grow as a person and as a mum as successfully as he.