Resolutions...

Have had a bad couple of days. It's been a bit of a journey for me, and I am happy with where I have ended up.

Peggy started out sleeping almost all the time. She could sleep in any situation, any location, and for particularly lengthy periods. A few days ago - the day Phil returned to work, in fact - this began to change. And so did I. As soon as it got hard, I started to panic. I had some scary flashbacks which led me to feel compelled and absolutely determined to get it right this time, to raise a baby who sleeps as often and goes down as easily as she "should".

I was under pressure, not so much from external forces, but largely, if I am honest with myself, from myself. I got all caught up in trying to get this innocent and confused little baby to fall asleep unassisted in her cot. How unreasonable! How ridiculous...

There are two ways of looking at this, which are unhelpfully contradictory. No wonder women end up so stressed in the early days! One school of thought is that babies learn "bad" habits quickly and need to be shown what to do and how to behave from the moment they are born. All you do, apparently, is feed, burp, change, wrap and place in the cot. Walk out of the room and eventually you'll have yourself a sleeping baby. Of course, it doesn't actually work like this for everyone, myself, Otis and Peggy included! I followed these instructions, and she would lie there for a moment, and then get fractious and squirmy and unhappy. And, if you've read any of my past posts, you'll know that I am a firm disbeliever in leaving a baby to cry. So out she would come, and we'd start again... This would go on for up to two hours, by which time she'd be over-tired, cranky and hungry, so I'd feed her and she'd literally pass out with my nipple in her milk-soaked mouth. This happened for each of her three sleeps yesterday. Not a happy pattern, and exhausting for me. I can now see that she is simply too young to be taught anything, including how to sleep away from the person she was living inside of up until a couple of weeks ago. I know, rationally, that this is the case, but for some reason, I was doubting myself and my beliefs.

You see, I am a proponent of the opposing view, which is that young babies have no sense of routine, no real understanding of the fact that they are living outside of the womb, and they need plenty of cuddles and love and whatever you can give them in order to help them fall asleep. Routines work for older babies - some people argue that the three month mark is a good time to start, others believe it is not until twelve, eighteen months that routine works. Phil and I have decided that we will revisit the idea of self-settling and going to sleep in her cot when he returns home from the US, which will be mid-December. Peggy will 7 weeks old then. It still might not work, and if it doesn't, I resolve to be OK with that.

I have raised a little boy who is more than I could ever have hoped for, who is happy, energetic, enthusiastic and loving, and who eats well, sleeps well and behaves beautifully. He slept poorly until he was eighteen months old, but through it all we loved him and held him and responded constistently to him, with the result that he is now so secure in our love for him. I want this for Little P more than I want her to be the ideal sleeper. I have to remind myself of this everytime I get cross with her.

Yes, I've already called her a few nasty names, and I am not proud of having done so. But when she woke up from her morning sleep I explained to her what I had resolved, and told her I'd be kinder and more patient from now on, and I am sure the little grimace she responded with was more than just wind!

Otis adores Peggy, kisses her non-stop, holds her hand and strokes her pretty head. One of the first things he says of a morning is "Baby". She is a very beloved little person, and I am keen to show her a bit more of my love and focus a little less on the discipline.

The birth of Peggy...

She's here! I am now a mother of two... Peggy was born at 1:16am, 2nd November (my 30th birthday) weighing 3290 grams, 52 cm in length and with a head circumference of 34.5cm. She has a full head of thick brown hair and is very slender. Here is the story of her birth...

Wow! It sure happened quickly... Here is how Peggy's arrival unfolded...

I had a show on the Saturday, 31st October... I was mildly excited by this, but still absolutely sure my baby would be late, even if only by a day or so. Isla's first birthday party was that afternoon, so I was quite distracted from what was going on with my body, and grateful that nothing more happened that day. I certainly didn't intend to steal Isla's thunder!

The following day was spent celebrating my 30th... It was as if somehow we all knew I wouldn't really have a birthday on the day itself. Morning tea at Noelene's was followed by dinner with my family at our local Chinese restaurant. Phil gave me a gorgeous vintage diamond ring, an eternity/maternity offering, which I just love.

That night we were watching the latest televisual incarnation of Wuthering Heights, one of my favourite books. I fell asleep towards the end, and Phil woke me to go to bed at about 10:30. I had trouble standing up due to what I thought was a Braxton Hicks contraction... Phil pulled me up, and I felt a small gush. I was unsure whether this was just another instance of me wetting myself (an embarrassing but common pregnancy side effect) or my waters actually spontaneously breaking... So I called Lani, who told me to get Phil to smell my undies. He did, and felt sick... So from that moment on I knew my baby was on its way!

The contractions started coming immediately, and I started shaking with the fear of what was to come. I frantically drilled Phil on Juju Sundin's Birth Skills, and he flicked through the book in between timing my contractions on the Contraction Master website. Lan arrived and I continued to be able to manage the pain via movement and stamping. At one point I walked around the block. We called the Birth Centre and Noelene and started to think about heading to the hospital...

Lani, Phil and I arrived at the hospital at 11:30. I spent half an hour in the children's ward, as Mum was working and was coming in to check on me in between finishing up all the many tasks she had to do. I was concerned that I would scare the children, and found this quite inhibiting. Just as it was all becoming too much for me, Lan got word that my midwife had arrived. I ran to the Birth Centre as fast as my shaking, sore and pregnant body could carry me, gown open at the back and flapping... I didn't care. I just needed some relief, and jumped straight into the bath upon arrival.

The bath was great. I felt quite in control, banging the side of the bath and breathing loudly during contractions, relaxing and sipping water in between. The heartbeat was strong and I felt quite confident. The midwife talked me out of having an internal to check on my progress, and in hindsight I think this was a great move on her part. Instead of feeling a sense of dread or disappointment due to not having progressed as far along as I would have liked, I only felt hopeful, I clung to the hope that I wouldn't be in pain for much longer...

The bath was no longer suiting me, so I moved to the fitball. Then the beanbag... My back ached in that position though, so I ended up on my side on the bed. The contractions were intense and very hard to bear, but I kept on with my techniques and was reminded constantly by my support people to breathe evenly and loudly. This really helped me. I said a few funny, trademark things, at one point told Phil off for putting more than one ice chip in my mouth at a time... I know I am a source of amusement to others when I am in labour!

Eventually I felt like getting in the shower... Once there, I felt the urge, and was encouraged to push.

One big push and... HER WHOLE HEAD WAS OUT! I was just standing there, with the hot water streaming down my back, and her head was dangling between my legs. It was the oddest sensation.

Two more pushes and she was out... The whole second stage lasted about 4 minutes. Phil caught her! He was so confident and so happy and so capable. I was very proud of him. And of myself!! I just kept thinking, "Wow, I did it!". I couldn't believe how "easy" it was. Easy relative to my first birthing experience, that is... Labour is not really easy in any sense of the word. But I was on such a high. No drugs, not even gas. I remember every single moment, and I am so pleased that I do.

Peggy arrived less than 3 hours after my waters broke!!

Phil announced that we had a girl... But then he wasn't sure. He looked again and confirmed it. There was blood everywhere, I have a vivid memory of my sister's white shoes traipsing through the puddles of blood. The cord was very, very short, so I had trouble holding her while she was still connnected...

This is where the trouble started. I got back on the bed and the midwife tried to pull the placenta out, and the cord snapped. She announced that she hadn't seen that happen in "10 years"... I started to worry.

Then it all becomes a bit of a blur. They tried to get me to push the placenta out but I had absolutely no pushing sensation to guide or assist me, and I was losing more and more blood. Peggy was cold - only 35 or so degrees. She wouldn't feed. I lay there for 2 hours while they waited for the syntocinon to kick in. It never did.

Finally at around 4am I was taken to theatre to have the placenta manually removed. I was terrified, and trembling, and alone. And it was my 30th birthday. I felt cheated of the amazing experience that I felt I had worked so hard to achieve. I had only been able to enjoy the moment for a short time before the drama began unfolding... I tried to remind myself that there were much, much worse things that could have happened to me or to Peggy... But I was still very afraid.

The anaesthetist missed the vein in my hand, and my hand is still blue from bruising. Finally he got the local into me, and then the spinal block. Everyone who cared for me was amazing - supportive, encouraging, warm. It made the whole thing more bearable.

Finally I was in theatre, with a drape up to hide my eyes from the truth of what was happening... A very large man had his arm up inside me, rummaging around rather violently! It was only supposed to take 10 minutes, but ended up taking about 40. At one point he said he wasn't sure he'd be able to get it out, and I started contemplating the possibility of a hysterectomy... I was shaking, I was so very scared and so anxious. But finally it came away. It turns out that my uterus is tilted and difficult to access... There was no way the placenta would have been expelled naturally. I was stitched up, catheterised and taken to recovery. And then, at 6am, to the ward, to my baby girl.

I will always share my birthday with my little Peggy Jane. What a birthday gift...

The wait...

Waiting to go into labour is an experience that is equal parts exciting and excruciating. It can't be likened to anything else - it is one of the few things in life over which we have absolutely zero control. I am 39 + 1 today, and feel quite certain that this baby will be late... I feel fine, look a little soft around the egdes and puffy (probably as a result of how much I have been eating - all restraint has gone out the window, food has become a bit of a comfort), and am actually at peace with my inability to exert any real influence over the process. Very different to how I was feeling at this point last time - desperate and cranky, I deliberately isolated myself and was focused solely (and rather stupidly) on getting things started.

I undertook all the usual, old wives' tale-type approaches - yes, I reluctantly had sex, ate pineapple and drank pineapple juice (which only exacerbated the heartburn I was experiencing) walked and walked and walked, and stuffed myself silly with chilli. When none of that worked, I resorted to acupuncture, a move that, given my generally very sceptical views on alternative medicine, demonstrates how absolutely desperate I had become.

Did it work? Well, perahaps it was starting to... I was already well overdue when I had my first session (which I found painful at first, but ultimately very relaxing). I had the second a few days later, and the next day finally had a show. But there is no way of knowing whether that would have happened without the acupuncture! I have a little laugh inside when people share their natural induction "success" stories - because, when you think about it, given that all of these things are being undertaken at the pointy end of the pregnancy, when you are supposed to go into labour anyway, there is simply no way of ascertaining the success of such methods.

Anyway, as those of you who have read my blog from the beginning already know, I ended up being induced at 40+9, and Otis was born 10 days past his due date. As far as inductions go, it was relatively straightforward - I was already 2cm dilated when they broke my waters and switched on the Syntocinon, and it was all over within 6 1/2 hours. But I did then suffer a post-partum bleed that was horrific and painful and left me quite traumatised. So induction is not really an option for me this time. I find it hard to believe that my body will ever go into labour of its own accord, but the midwives assure me that it will! At the Birth Centre they don't even discuss induction until 42 weeks anyway, so I've awhile yet before that option comes into play...

Until then, I am OK with waiting. I am enjoying the anticipation and the mystery, to be honest - it's such a different experience this time around. I don't feel desperate. I've let go of trying to bring it on... Well, that's not entirely true. I am inserting Evening Primrose Oil capsules of a night. So far all that has done is deposit an oily residue in the toilet when I wee the following the morning! But I'll keep going with it. My midwife tells me that at Wollongong Hospital they have had some success in avoiding medical inductions using this natural method.

I look forward to having a proper labour story - you know, something along the lines of "I woke up in the middle of the night and found the bed was soaking wet", or "I started having contractions whilst watching the Survivor finale" - a story of surprise and spontaneity.

Watch this space!

Empathetic Otis

Otis is an emotional little boy. He has a wide array of expressive faces and sounds that he uses to communicate how he is feeling. Sometimes it's disgust (usually when he spots a speck of dirt on his clothing), sometimes joy (at the sight of a tool, truck or motorbike), sometimes sadness (when I leave him, or when he hurts himself).

I didn't realise that he had started to grasp the concept of empathy, though. Today we were watching Charlotte's Web (the original animated classic, a favourite of mine) - specifically, the scene where Wilbur, confronted by his own mortality, sobs "I don't wanna die", over and over. It is a very sad moment. Still, I was stunned when Otis began sobbing along with Wilbur, burying his head into my chest, shaking, tears streaming...! Is it really possible he understood how Wilbur was feeling? Or was it something completely unrelated that I somehow missed that was to blame for the sudden onset of raw emotion?

Behaviour

Otis is what is known as a "good boy". He's not destructive, doesn't throw tantrums (other than every now and then laying on the floor with hands above his head and whimpering), listens, obeys instructions, and spends very little time crying. I am very hesitant to take any responsibility for this, however. I believe he's inherited some of his father's gentle nature, and that biology is to thank for how easy a toddler he has turned out to be. I mean, he's still pretty demanding of me, I hear "Mummy, sit" numerous times day, and he requires a lot of affection and attention, which I am happy to give. But he's not naughty in any sense of the word.

We have always absolutely showered him with love, kissing him, hugging him, tickling him, being very unabashedly physically affectionate towards him. I like to think that this has encouraged him to treat others in the same way. He's a very loving person, and that is what I am most proud of. In terms of discipline, we tend not to stress out about tactics and methods very much - we ignore cheeky, rebellious acts and praise obedience. But that's about it. He leads a reasonably routined existence, and enjoys quite a bit of variety in his days. He eats everything in moderation - fruit and vegies, cheese, cakes and muffins, chocolate, cereal, whatever we're having... I would feel quite the hypocrite denying him the things that I enjoy (other than Coke, which is strictly forbidden... For now, anyway). He ofteh asks for excessive amounts of treat-type foods, but I tell him no and he accepts that without issue. Who'd have thought my irritable insomniac would become so wonderfully compliant?

So, maybe it's partly us, maybe it's just his innate nature... All I know is, I am thankful to have a son who is so sweet. I am enjoying our time together, and feeling both a little sad that the one-on-one period is about to end and very excited about giving him a sibling with whom we can share our days.

My shorn little man...

Well, we took the plunge. We've been tossing up whether or not to cut his hair for a little while now. It grows very fast, and is always in his eyes and getting scraggly at the ends. It's such a beautiful, wheat blonde shade though, and so silky. I spray conditioner in it every morning and comb out the tangles. I've always been proud of it, despite (or, maybe because) it doesn't look particularly masculine.

Anyway, Phil attempted a trim at first. Disaster. It was choppy and chunky, and not in a good way. So Phil took out the clippers. He demonstrated on his own head first, which of course made O very keen for Phil to go ahead.

I was excited at first. He's got an exquisite face that I knew wouldn't be spoiled by any haircut. But when it was all off, I cried. And then I cried some more. And then later when he lay on my, sucking his dummy and stroking my face the way he always does, I cried a bit more. And I cried this morning on the phone to Mum. And then on the phone to Lan, while I was on the train.

Why am I so teary over this? He doesn't look bad. He looks lovely, handsome, neat, grown up. Too grown up. I think this was just a catalyst for the release and realisation of all the ambivalence I've been carrying about having this baby at this time. Don't get me wrong, I very much love and want my second child, but I feel as if I've been forced to rush my oldest baby into being a big boy before he is/we are quite ready. All this one-on-one time we've shared, our little adventures, the moments that are just ours. I won't have many more of those. I know I'll make time for us to be together without the baby, but those times will be fleeting. I don't whether I appreciated him enough, I don't know that I soaked it all in. I was too worried about sleeps, and crying, and whether I was doing it all properly. It's not about that, it's a relationship between two people, the most intense relationship you can possibly imagine. And now it will be watered down, it will be shared. It won't be the same and I don't know if I am ready.

I feel like I lost more than just some gorgeous strands of golden hair. My baby isn't a baby anymore. Time won't stand still, no matter how much I want it to.

Uh-oh, tears again...

O's vocabulary

It's increasing daily! Here is a list of words he currently says. It's just what I can recall...

Hi
Bye
Mummeeee (yes, the emphasis is on the "mee", but he also says Mum too)
Dad/Da/Dada
I/I-a (Isla, his absolute favourite person on the planet)
Car
Door
Bath
Park
Baby/Bubbee
Boob
Chocshoosh (Chocolate... Yes, I know...)
Cheesh (Cheese)
Zach (his Cabbage Patch Kid)
Uck (Truck)
Bike
Shoes
Pool (he says this frequently, always wants to go)
Poo
Eyes
Bag

He also does animal noises and says "Shhh" with his finger to his lips when Isla is asleep.