Tuesday, 28 November 2017

Can you die from sleep deprivation? ....and other lessons learned as a first-time Mum...

I'm looking into my kitchen as I type. I can see the hoover on the floor, it's wires all wiggly-wiggly, snaking across the floor ("a trip-hazard" my sensible brain is saying) - it's not even plugged in. I can see washing up that "won't do itself" (or so my sensible brain is saying). In my living room I can see our dog Mooka lying on the rug (AGAIN - No matter how many times I tell him to get his stinky body onto his bed he prefers our lovely rug!) I can see baby accoutrement scattered across the floor, sofa and table and the sofa cushions sliding off the sofa in a haphazard fashion. The obsessive control-freak-needs-everything-neat-and-tidy Hannan in me could be freaking out right now.

But then I can also see George playing a tickling game with a teeny-tiny human, and I can hear her laughing. I can see Mooka getting up to go and sniff her, and see her smiling and reaching out for him. And suddenly everything else pales into insignificance. Because that teeny-tiny  human is called Elsie, and she grew in my actual body and came out almost 9 months ago, the newest part of our family, and the reason I'm learning to let go of my need to have everything "neat and pretty and tidy and perfect".

This is a summary of my emotional journey into motherhood...

Lesson 1:
"Ok, so your waters are going!" The doctor said cheerfully, as if this was the best news we could hear 6 weeks before my due date on a casual Sunday night. "Oh! Ok... So..." was my response. "So... we will look to get baby out...next week. Oh, and you'll be having a C-section...Bye!" And off she went. Not really, she did stay and talk to us about what was going to happen but I didn't hear much of the next bit of info as I was trying to digest the fact that we would be having our baby 5 weeks early, and by C-section no less!

And so began two weeks of constant monitoring!
We hadn't bought baby clothes (at least not in the teeny size we'd need), hadn't set up a baby room, hadn't packed a hospital bag, I hadn't even finished work! We had at least written a birth plan, but we may as well not have, considering we were planning a natural-drug-free-hypnobirthing-water-birth plan and I was going be having...well...not that!

The next thing I knew, I was being set up on the ante-natal ward and told to rest and keep the baby in as long as possible, and so that night I spent my time practicing my relaxing breathing (so hypnobirthing came in very handy after all!) and trying to make a mental list of all the things I had to do to prepare, freaking out, returning to relaxing breathing etc etc...
By the morning, I had come to terms with the fact that we were going to be meeting our baby in a week and had cobbled together a to-do list to give to George.


And then the consultants did the rounds.

It turns out that when your waters go early you fall into one of two teams: Team A who think it is more important that baby cooks for as long as possible and that you must hold on until the due date... or Team B who think the risk of infection is too great to hold on and you should try and get baby out (particularly if the baby can reach 35 weeks). This meant that every morning, each new consultant we saw had a different opinion about what to do with us, ranging from "We are going to try and get you to term but don't go into labour please", to "We will have this baby out tomorrow ok?" We even had one ask us why we had 'asked' for an early C-Section...!?

Waiting to go into theatre..!
Each morning we braced ourselves for the next opinion, never quite knowing what was going to happen, which for a control-freak like me was unbearable, until one day, after having been in the hospital for almost a week we were actually asked... WE were asked what we wanted to do.
So we weighed up all the advice we had been given and decided to meet our baby on the day she turned 35 weeks.

And we did! I had the most beautiful Caesarean Section and our baby was born to the dulcet sounds of Sigur Ros. Despite being a preemie she did extremely well and didn't need much neonatal support at all. We spent the next week in hospital before bringing Elsie India Rose home with us.

And that was Lesson 1: You can make a birth plan but baby won't read it!


Lesson 2:
I'd read the books, Googled the parenting blogs, joined the Facebook groups for breastfeeding and asked friends. I felt ready. We'd decided to breast feed. We'd decided to avoid using a dummy for fear of the inevitable 'weaning her off dummy' stage later on. We'd decided we weren't going to be those anxious parents who google everything. How hilarious.
Breast feeding was hard. Elsie, being prem, lacked the latching and sucking reflexes required to breast feed, resulting in me having to express and bottle feed for the first couple months. Then, when she was a bit stronger, she learnt to latch and part of me wished she hadn't. Oh the pain... But then she got the hang of it and I got the hang of it and before long I realised I'd fed her in a café without anxiety, pain or Elsie having the screaming ab-dabs. Then, once she realised how comforting feeding was she wanted to do it All. The. Time. All the time. At all times. At first, it worked out perfectly, because all I wanted to do was snuggle with her on the sofa and watch box sets. But after a couple of weeks, I realized how much I missed the outside world, visiting friends, walking, the sunshine, etc... So my friend brought round one of her daughter's sterilized dummies for Elsie to try. I was standing at the sink washing up, talking to George as he sat with Elsie. I was going over my pros and cons for having a dummy (remember: control freak-obsessive-researcher) and George interrupted me exclaiming, "She likes it!" I turned to see Elsie sucking contentedly away and that was that. It got me and my nipples through a month of her needing to suck to soothe and now she only really needs it at nap times to get to sleep.
And then there was the Googling.. Oh the Googling! It would start with a quick "Just to make sure" and quickly became a "I need to know" before settling on a "Google knows best and must always be consulted". It didn't help that I had Baby Blues for about 2 months after Elsie's birth, making reasonable and rational thinking very difficult and allowing anxiety to reign supreme. But then I discovered this mantra which saved me:
"All babies are different and you know your baby best."
The more I spoke it the more I believed it. And the more I believed it the less I Googled. Now, I only Google sometimes and only after thinking rationally, "I know my baby - what do I feel in my gut".


And Lesson 2 became: My baby will tell me what's up - go with her needs!

Lesson 3:
I've never been competitive. I've always enjoyed the game more than whether I win or lose. This extends into life too I guess. I've never looked at people who can run faster than me, or sing better than me and thought, "I must get better so I can beat them!" Thankfully I've always felt a sense of comfort that we are all created unique and are stronger at some things than others. However, even the least competitive among us might have moments of insecurity when it comes to their children. One of my best friends had a baby at the same time I had Elsie and it has been the most wonderful thing ever.  We've gone to baby groups together, been at the end of the phone when we're in tears after a sleepless night, and there to remind each other we are actually good Mummies and are doing a fab job! However, it did allow little seeds of insecurity to sneak into my head early on when I saw my baby's bestie reaching milestones before my baby. I spent a lot of time working on that insecurity. I never wanted to be 'That Mum'... I've encountered 'That Mum' in my job as a teacher - the one who pushes and pushes their child to make the next developmental step before they are ready. The Mum who puts pressure on their child to be THE BEST at all things, constantly enforcing feelings of inadequacy on a child who should be playing games and living their best life. I knew that babies born early can be slightly delayed in their development and also that unless there is a problem I need to address, she will get there in her own time. George and I are here to support her as she grows, wait patiently for her to show readiness for the next stage and when the moment is right, provide that challenge she might need to get her moving forward (literally at this point as she's starting to show an interest in leaning forward and towards crawling!!)

In a baby activity group a while back I heard a Mum ask in a panic how old another baby was, as this baby was crawling around. The baby's Mum told her and the woman looked physically relieved and said "Oh OK phew! We have time yet then!" and you know, it made me sad. And challenged me. I've recently been trying really hard to stop my mouth saying things like "No teeth yet unfortunately" or "Elsie still isn't rolling!!" because my girl has got this. And if she's anything like her Daddy she will leave it till the very last moment then wow us all with an impressive display of crawling! (And as for the teeth, as a breast-feeding Mama I can only be glad they aren't here yet... gums are hard enough thanks!!) As I've mentioned in a previous blog, a friend once reminded me that "Comparison is the thief of joy". My baby isn't clapping yet - my best friend's baby is (and it's the sweetest thing EVER!) My baby has zero teeth - Some of my mum group's babies have two or three. My baby is still quite stationary - and for this I am thankful - the PS4 is still safe on the lower shelf! It's all good! Don't compare, retain your joy. And find that one friend who gets it - for me it's my bestie who had a baby at the same time as me - We keep each other grounded with the reminder that our babies are moving forward in their own perfect way.

Sitting up like a boss!

And so lesson 3 has been: Let babies be babies, and don't let comparison steal your joy! (And also, babies can chew and swallow a surprising amount of whole foods with absolutely no teeth whatsoever!)

Which leads me to my final lesson, Lesson 4: I'm extremely opinionated. It's a strength in many ways but also a massive weakness that I've been trying to tame over recent years. I'm learning that just because someone has a different opinion to me, it doesn't mean I'm wrong, it doesn't mean they're wrong, it doesn't mean they hate me... (I'm very sensitive, Despite getting lots better lately, I have been known to feel hurt and rejected if someone declines my offer of a brew..!) This lesson has been particularly important since becoming a Mum. George and I have had to make a ton of decisions about how we are going to raise our daughter. Some are pretty standard, are widely accepted as the norm, such as deciding we will never ever smack, tap or hurt her in any way when she grows up and gets all sassy. Others are less widely known and have caused great surprises to some people, such as giving our 6 month old entire foods rather than pureed food, presented the same way George and I are eating and watching (with nervousness initially!) as she learns to chew and then swallow. It took several viewings of Elsie demolishing fingers of toast and pieces of pasta before I could convince my Mum that she wasn't going choke on it!

Fun with baby-led weaning...
But I am not right and I am not wrong. There is no definitive 'right' and 'wrong'. Only 'right for my baby'.
There are a million ways to raise a child;
Co-sleeping vs basket next to bed vs baby in cot in their own room.
Disposable nappies vs reusables.
Breast vs bottle.
Dummy vs no dummy.
Controlled crying vs Feeding to sleep.
Baby led weaning vs Traditional weaning.

And although I've been told so many times that George and I need to make the best choice for our baby without being distracted by what others are doing, it took many months of anxiety, guilt, hours of reading, and a TON of Googling before I came to the right answers. It's All On Us... We need to respond to our baby with what she needs not what the Baby Whisperer, Supernanny, or any of the SuperMom Bloggers tell us, although their opinions are great to read for inspiration along the way to making your decision! And we need to stand by our decisions, whilst being open to the fact that others may disagree. The first time I gave Elsie a bottle before bed, to help her sleep, or so the Doctor had advised, I cried. Why?! Because I'd read so many Breast-Feeding Warrior posts on Facebook that I felt I was somehow doing her an injustice. Looking back I can see what an emotionally anxious time it was for me, coming out of a period of the Baby Blues and being an anxious person anyway, but now I know it was and is right for Elsie to be combination fed and she adores her evening bottle with her Daddy.

So lesson 4: Honestly, "All babies are different"  - I needed to print it out and stick it all over my house! It is THE mantra to live by as a new Mummy! Elsie needs what Elsie needs!

There are a million more lessons to be learned as I continue on my journey of Motherhood and I am honestly excited to learn them! I'm 100% sure I will learn them through making mistakes, messing up, crying, Googling, and trial and error but they shall be learnt one way or another! And if my house becomes even more untidy, even more messy, and even more chaotic, you know what? I don't even mind.

Anyway, must dash, got to Google 'How to get porridge out of dog hair'... See? Lessons to be learned every day!

Love, Hannan xx

P.S. Lesson 5: You can't die from sleep deprivation. I know because I Googled it. And because I'm not dead yet.


Friday, 17 February 2017

Out of my heart and into the universe...

I have a very limited understanding of the human heart (B at GCSE to be specific). I know it picks up blood with delicious oxygen in it and sends it out around my body. I know it has valves to stop the cheeky blood cells going the wrong way around the one-way-system, even if they accidently miss the turn off and have to go all the way round again. I also know it gets stronger the more I use it which is very handy. But aside from that I’m no heart surgeon or expert in cardiology at all. But over the last year or so I have learnt probably the most beautiful lesson about my heart.
I have learnt that no matter how full of love you think your heart is, there is always room for more!
Since being with George there have been times when I think my heart will burst because I love him so much. (Somewhere along the way I have transferred from the biological heart to the metaphorical one, I hope you’re still with me!) On our wedding day I could feel it physically in my chest, love brimming out, wrapping us up with its big juicy love-arms.

Sometimes this overwhelming feeling of love takes me by surprise.
All he was doing was fixing the washing line but
I got overwhelmed with love for him!
I’ll walk in to the house and see him doing something perfectly ordinary like making a sandwich or looking at a leaf and I will feel I might cry because my love for him is brimming right there behind my eyes, trying to spill out as hot love tears.

But then last August two things happened that made me think love isn’t measured in capacity at all…
The first thing that happened was we extended our family by bringing home our new puppy, Mooka. That first afternoon we watched him sleeping on his brand new bed, his brand new teddy tucked up beside him, his little furry chest rising and falling as he dreamed about whatever puppies dream about and I felt a new seed of love springing up inside me.


Since then, Mooka has grown into a teenager. He has gone through the ‘Weeing-on-the-floor-minutes-after-you-bring-him-in-from-a-toilet-break’ phase, the ‘Biting-everyone-who-tries-to-stroke-or-cuddle-him’ phase, the ‘Destroying-clothes-toys-and-doorframes’ teething phase and is now beginning to enter his teenage rebellious years (escaping from the house, running down the street laughing at us as we chase him in our slippers, running away when we call ‘Time Out’ and hiding under the chair, wriggling away from anyone who tries to drag him out)… But my love for him as a furry family member has grown as he has grown and my clever heart has made enough room for all the love I have for George and now the love I have for Mooka.

At exactly the same time (almost to the day) as bringing Mooka into our family we discovered that Mooka wasn’t the only teeny member of the Jezeph household that we needed to prepare for, as it turned out we were growing a little human inside my tum!


As is always the case, major life events are never anything like the movies portray them. There was no running into each others’ arms and crying as we waved around a stick all covered in wee… I came into the room and asked George if there was one or two lines on the pregnancy test… He looked, squinted and said he wasn’t sure. I shrugged and said, “Hmm…OK” and waited until the next day. We both peered at the stick and George said “I think that’s two lines…?” And that’s how we discovered that we were to have a mini Jezeph, due to be born in approximately 5-9 weeks!
I’ve heard that the moment your baby is birthed and you hold them in your arms you feel an overwhelming sense of love and protection, and a real sense that you have become a mother.  But the thing is, I became a mother that first day we peered at the questionable two lines. I felt another teeny seed of love being planted and a fierce sense of protection over this teeny jellybean we hadn’t even seen yet.


As the weeks have passed and each milestone was reached; hearing its little heart beating, seeing its teeny face at the first scan, then again at the second scan, (and again at the third, fourth, fifth scan if your bump is teeny like mine!) as well as feeling it move as it learns how to make sense of its surroundings, the love I have for this little human has grown and grown. I have realised that love cannot possibly be stored in my heart as my heart is only the size of my fist.
My love is like the universe – and one of the little things I know about the universe (Again, B in Physics at GCSE) is that it is ever-expanding. It cannot be measured and it is limitless…infinite.
We might have more children in the future, and there is space in infinity for the love I will have for them. Or I may only ever have George, Mooka and Baby, but that’s OK too because that’s almost too much love to deal with as it is!
Having this baby hasn’t completed us, but added to us. And what a wonderful thought, that the love we already contain for our friends, family and pets is complete in itself, with room for more should we need it, expanding just like the universe.
I like the thought of that… so sorry Biology, but Physics wins this one.



Sunday, 6 March 2016

The Dreaded Big Blue 'F'...

Recently I've been avoiding Facebook. Not because I'm trying to 'better myself' or because of a clichéd Lent promise to limit screen time (that I will inevitably fail at anyway). I'm avoiding that sinking feeling in my tummy that I get when I tap that big blue 'F' and it presents me with a "1 year ago today" post...

One year ago today I was exploring a local market in Luang Prabang, Laos. I was eating amazing Lao foods, talking to the friendly Lao people and drinking a Lao Beer whilst the sun set over the Mekong. Right now I am sitting in an Owl Onesie, watching a grey, English-Rain type of Saturday afternoon pass by, having enjoyed a nutritious Gregg's pizza slice for lunch.
(CLICK HERE to read more about where we were 'One year ago today!')

It's been a weird chapter of my life since returning from travelling around the world. I am an optimist, probably because the attitude of "It'll be alright in the end" has worked well for me thus far in my life, and I am also a planner (CLICK HERE to read my "Best laid plans" post if you don't believe me!). The trouble is that these two personality traits combined, leads to frequent disappointment that the amazing, exciting and perfectly timed plans of my human brain have not come into fruition. Hannan's brain decides on Plan 'A', gets excited about Plan 'A' and starts preparing for Plan 'A' until Life sidles in from the wings, taps me on the shoulder and pipes up with a "Heyyy...yeah....nope, that 'aint how it goes down my friend! Try Plan 'B' and see how that works for ya!"

In Fiji, The Boy and I were sat on a beach talking about our grand plans for our return to the UK. They were easy enough to understand and, thinking optimistically, fairly easy to achieve...right? They involved finding permanent jobs which would lead to finding our own home we can move into which would lead to being able to find the perfect Puppy Pal to snuggle with on wintery English afternoons. Completed by Christmas (at which point we could construct another perfect plan for life and so on and so forth). The plan sounded perfect and foolproof.

5 months later, March 2016 and we are pretty much in the same position as that first day back in England. Winter arrived in her frosty glory and the gardens went to sleep, meaning less gardening work for The Boy. After 5 months of me applying for jobs and hearing nothing back, moral is low... No job means no moving into our own home, and no moving into our own home sadly means...no Puppy Pal.

Life has been slow and frustrating for a lot of the time since we returned home and we've found ourselves saying things like "Was travelling really worth it? Did we really need to spend such a lot of our savings, use up 9 months of our life, uproot our stable jobs and completely wipe the slate clean? If we'd not gone we would be doing this or that by now, maybe we could have bought a house, found our Dog and moved forward in our careers..." And on days like today I take my 'one year ago today' Hannan and I pop her right beside my 'actual-today-sitting-in-a-onesie' Hannan and I feel the burden of how different those two lives are.

And I am aware of how gloomy and doomy I sound. But the thing is, since January 2015, 9 blogs ago, I've mostly posted gorgeous photos of stunning beaches, tales of travelling life in all its glory and blogs that possibly (probably) came across as though we were living the perfect life. And now I realize that it isn't fair to present my experiences in such a rose-tinted manner. It took a post from a friend of mine on Facebook to realize how easy it is to filter our social media profiles to portray ourselves as happy, whole and perfect, when actually, the truth is that I had days in every country I visited when I did nothing but mooch around our room, moan about missing home and cry. But that wouldn't make it to Instagram. It isn't 'Facebook-Perfect' and it won't give the impression that I have the perfect life.

I am constantly putting myself under pressure to live life like 'this person' or 'that person' based on what I see on their Facebook page. I see posts of people travelling, getting their puppy, decorating their first house, having babies, perfect hair and make-up, romantic stories of husbands and wives doing loving deeds and see my friends wearing gorgeous clothes and I place myself side-by-side to them and I feel sad. My hair and make-up are far from perfect, I am wearing an actual OWL ONESIE and I just snapped at MY husband for forgetting to shut the door...

It's easy to share the beautiful moments in our lives (and important to do so as it's these moments that remind us of how lucky we are to have friends, family and happy experiences) whilst airbrushing out the imperfections, the mistakes, the stories that prove how human we are. But it's time to be honest.

My friend Abi summed it up on Facebook like this:

"I once read that "comparison is the thief of joy" and it's so true! Guess what......no one has it together! Except Mary Poppins"
 
as she described a stressful, 'not-perfect-in-any-way' sort of scenario whilst taking her baby girl swimming. When I read this, the sense of relief that other people feel they sometimes fall short was overwhelming and I needed to hear it more than even I knew. Having obsessed over several people's Facebooks that very day, lining myself up beside them to see if my life was remotely interesting, it was a real wake-up call. I use Facebook every day and there's no shame in that. As I said, if I wanted to give it up I would have done so at the start of Lent! But I refuse to let it bring me down into a spiral of self-doubt and shame.

So know this: True friends will celebrate our perfect moments and support us through our failing moments and the world will be a more secure, confident and positive place for us being honest about the lives we lead as perfect and flawed as they are. If comparison is the thief of joy I need to start being secure that I AM good enough and my life (even through the mundane, feels-like-we-won't-ever-move-forward moments) is exciting and worth living! 'Aint nothing thieving MY joy...

And I think I might turn off the 'One year ago' function on Facebook...