C- Colic

Anything that can't be proven by the experts has me doubting it.  "No one's really sure what causes it, or why babies get it". I read this and already I'm lost. We know that scientists can prove some of the most amazing theories to be true or false. We know that medicine has found answers for things that once wiped out nations. But why a baby cries in the evening and can't be comforted is often called "colic." I picture the big brains in an meeting somewhere saying "you know what  we'll just give it a name. What's that stomach-thing horses get that can be fatal? Oh yeah colic - call it baby colic."

My second child had colic, now I was reluctant to get into the whole colic debacle, as my first child rarely cried, I had no other answer. When people asked why he was screaming for hours in the evening what else could I say?

• He's a "screamer"
• He's just really cross about something
• I'll ask him when he starts talking
• He doesn't like me
• My breast milk only comes in one flavour
• He preferred my womb. Apparently it's really nice in there.

It was a lot easier to say "he's got colic." People need a name. A reason. A medical term. It shuts them up.

There is one theory I do consider though. My second child was induced. Which, in my opinion, forces them to come out when they're not quite ready. I remember the midwife saying "we may have stop, as babies often don't like it". Strike one. Then when he did come out, he had the chord round his neck. Strike two. The crash team (all one thousand of them) came flooding in, but the little fighter managed to start breathing on his own. However, what a welcome. Clearly he was still angry about the whole thing!

L - Labour

I've tried to avoid writing about it - but you can't here. Somewhere it needs to be included.

There are two ways to approach labour (when it's your first)  - either engulf every piece of information available or go into denial.

I engulfed. It didn't make it easier, nothing can prepare you, I may as well have gone into denial.

I heard things that made me press my knees together in a shudder, I heard things that made me pause in disbelief. But I suppose no matter how much I engulfed there was always a barrier up. One that was lablled with "Me? Really?" Somehow, I could not put myself into the shoes of the pooing the bed, ripping in two, semi-naked, screaming and grunting woman in labour. There's something in your head that just shakes that image away. Maybe either approach ends in denial.

But I did it! After having a c-section (breech baby) first time round, I really felt I wasn't a fully -fledged member of the parenting club. I felt I had gotten in through the back door, so to speak. So part of me wanted to experience child birth. Yes, I was aware it would be the most pain I  have ever felt, and also the most undignified position I had ever been in. But I wanted to be able to say "I gave birth to you" not you "were untimely ripped" from my womb.

 And this isn't flouncy, hippyish, or looking back with rose tinted specs, this is how it was; it was horrendous, undignified and down right torturous, but My God at the end...I have never been so proud of myself!

P - Public Breastfeeding

Oh to live in Europe, where I could get my boobs out anywhere, anytime and no one would give a blind bit of notice. But here, in dreary wet England, I am full of inhibitions and feel every disapproving glare as a prod in my side. I have a friend, who I have huge admiration for, when she breast feeds she is all grace and no anxiety. I have seen her breast feed her new-born whilst leading a toddler around a play area, or managing to feed on the school run, whilst collecting many children. She has developed an art. But her secret is to remove any inhibitions and just enjoy that she has content babies. Her boobs are about an eight of the side of mine as well, I do think this helps.

The more children I have, the more I have learnt to relax, but still I have hang ups, it doesn't help that my boobs often resemble pumped up watermelons when breast feeding and seem to have their own agenda to expose themselves, or that I have listened to numerous, small minded people and their ridiculous hang ups on other women breast feeding in public.  I mean, what would people prefer, to sit in a cafe, with a SCREAMING baby at the next table, or to sit in a cafe with a content baby feeding from their mother? When a child is feeding, you can't see anything anyway, maybe a small patch of flesh, which would be less than you see on most women, under the age of 30, walking down the high street. 

Being a people pleaser I tried to breast feed with discretion. I would cover my feeding baby with a blanket, which was draped over my shoulder, until my brother-in-law commented that it reminded him of one of Michael Jackson's babies. Certainly didn't want any of my parenting techniques to be linked to his.

Then, when out in public, I would often pop back to feed in the car. This was quite successful until when in a retail park car park, my other half locked me in, therefore any small movement set the alarm off, which without the keys I could not turn off. So, I sat breast feeding, with a huge alarm blurring, resulting in every passer by peeping in! Ironic huh?

I found the sling/baby carrier a marvellous device for feeding in public, until... When walking down a local high street, passing a sandwich shop, an ex-pupil clambered down the shop's steps,he waS not looking where he was going due to the concentration it takes to stuff a whole sandwich into one's mouth. He literally fell over me. I stumbled forward, managed to stay on my feet and stop the baby from tumbling out of the sling. However, the baby unlatched from the boob. A very apologetic 16 year old boy, suddenly realised it was his old teacher he had fallen over, "Oh hiya Miss. Sorry. Is this your new baby?" he said peering into the sling locking eyes with my exposed nipple spraying milk. We all blushed. Even the baby.

I thought the layering top was fool proof - you know one top underneath, to cover post-baby belly, then accessing boobs from under the upper garment to ensure minimal exposure. However, an old friend recounted her experience to me:

"I was doing the old 2 tops thing for breast feeding without showing everyone my belly. Got hot and bothered when out shopping, so took the top layer off, and only, when I saw my reflection in a shop window, did I notice that I had my skanky maternity bra on display to all! I'd failed to pull the bottom layer up after the last feed."

So this time, when my third child is born, I am torn between just walking around topless to breast feed, or popping over the channel, where feeding your own child is celebrated not condemned. Both of these may be a bit tiresome though. Could England just lighten up instead?

P - Pregnancy Brain

Something stops working when you're pregnant. Something disconnects. I think it may have always been a faulty wire in my brain, but when I'm pregnant there is no doubt it is fully disconnected. It's the last step of thinking, the final thought; it's missing. This is often referred to as 'Preganancy Brain'. It's when you walk into a room and forget completely why you went in there, you stand looking vacantly for clues, until you leave the room defeated. It's like that - all the time! But it appears there are no medical answers to this condition. But it is one. Oh yes it is definitely one. I have the proof. 

Unfortunately, my pregnant brain has stayed with me post pregnancy, and had permanently hindered my memory, consequently I am struggling to recount all the wonderful pregnancy brain stories I have been told.

Fortunately with Facebook and Twitter at your fingertips (literally) who needs a memory - I can just pinch other people's stories - here's the best of them (including some of my own):

• "I cried a lot, especially about the dog". I love how she left this open. I immediately conjured images of  a heavily pregnant woman turning to her other half, sobbing, "The dog needs a walk", he looks bemused "Why are you crying?". Still sobbing "because he's just so demanding". Or later, on said walk, picking up poo, sobbing through breathless tears "Could you not have done it in the long grass, when no one was looking?"

 

• "Had a shower at 8 months. Applied shower gel to my 'flannel' - starting washing and then realised I had brought my piece of toast into the shower." This is my personal favourite and always stays with me when i need an emergency chuckle

 

• "After two consecutive days of forgetting my purse, then on a evening discovering at supermarket checkout I had purse but it was devoid of cash and cards, my exasperated other half insisted on doing a check of my bag contents before we descended to the car (house is on 1st and 2nd floor). We stood at the top of the stairs doing this: "Mobile? Check. "Purse? Check. Diary? Check." Satisfied, we descended, as as I followed him out the front door, I paused on the outside step. "What?" he said "What can you have possibly forgotten?" he demanded, whilst turning to see me looking down at my feet...  My uncovered, bare feet. "Shoes? For Fuck's sake!" Exactly. For Fuck's Sake.

 

• "I got some money exchanged at the travel agents. She was lovely. I explained it was a wedding gift, I told her about the wedding, how I should have been bridesmaid but I was pregnant, we talked about the baby, my pregnancy and my woes and at the end, I took the money, she said " Have a lovely time" and I said " I love you.". I think I meant thank you. I hope I did."

 

• "My colleague found out she was pregnant after she had just taken over a new desk at work, where the previous occupants were all on maternity leave,  she announced, to a full meeting, "I'm pregnant... Must be something I sat on." Apparently she's never lived it down, only fair really, when you give colleagues that much ammunition.

 

• "I left the house, two children scampering full speed down the street, and thought 'these flip flops have stretched', looked down and I was wearing my boyfriend's size 10 Adidas pair, instead of my size 6 Reeboks. I then had to run after two small children, like Steven Tomkinson wearing clown shoes in 'Brassed off'.

 

• "When we couldn't find things -car keys, wallets, diaries etc - we usually found them in the fridge."

 

• "When teaching I would continually miss the last letter of words off, when writing on the whiteboard e.g. 'Rome and Julie is the mos romantic love story of our tim' The kids loved it."

 

• "Half way through a lesson, I realised my top was on inside out. I had to go in the cupboard to change it. The pupils hadn't noticed - a testament to how much attention they were paying me."

 

• "By the end of the pregnancy I was carrying around underwear, deodorant and a tooth brush in my handbag, as I'd regularly discover these were things I'd forgotten to do." Underwear? Brilliant!

 

• "I was on the phone to the tax office and they asked my current employer. I couldn't answer them. I had no idea. I had to hang up and ring back later."

If this is not proof enough, then I would suggest typing in #pregnancybrain on Twitter - some great examples on there too!

Some people say it never leaves, but I think that's just called "tiredness", especially when looking after a baby, toddler... husband. I did leave the house in my slippers, when pushing my week old first born round the block, only noticed when stood talking to a neighbour and then had a very awkward 5 minutes where I wondered if they had noticed too.

Please share any of your own, I love hearing them!

B - Big babies

I have big babies. I show early, I carry a lot of water and I have a big bump and I produce big babies, Do I need to hang my head in shame? Is it a bad thing that my babies arrive in the world healthy and beautiful? Should I really be trying to ensure they are born malnourished, needing to be incubated and so bloody damn cross because their minuscule stomachs can't absorb more that a thimbles full of milk?

And by big babies, I'm not talking making headlines on the local news, I'm talking healthy weights. My first was 9lb7 and my second 8lb13. But their tiny forms caused others to gasp! And patronise me with their quietly spoken, attempting unnecessary sympathy, questions:
 "Did you have to go and buy new clothes" No. They still fit into newborn clothes- for a whole month too! "Did you have to bottle feed?" No. Surprisingly, they didn't require 4 gallons of breast milk, just the usual amount.
"Is he heavy?" Well he's one week old and all ANYONE wants to do is carry him, so I'm guessing not.

Or failing this, they just didn't bother to hide their astonishment and exclaimed "Isn't he big?" as if I was carrying an hippopotamus in my sling. I slowly learnt to reply with "Yes and beautiful and healthy." Which they immediately made them back track and fluster out "oh of course that's what I meant" Yeah sure it is.

Big? I carry him in my forearm., he can bathe in a hand basin, his sleep suits are made of less material than your tummy-sucking-in knickers, his fingernails are smaller than daisy petals and his whole form is swamped by a car seat you couldn't fit your arse into. Actually, I think he is quite fucking small.

G - Gender

I'm pregnant with my third baby. I have two boys already - EVERYONE I meet has an opinion on whether this one is a boy or a girl. Me? I'm not that bothered. *has a quiet word with oneself* OK it would be lovely to have a daughter; have hair to plait, toenails to paint, dresses to buy. And that's just the fickle stuff, on a deeper level I have a great relationship with my Mum and my Sister and the thought that I won't be able to carry that bond on makes me feel a little bit empty. On other hand, boys are amazing - I've often preferred the company of boys and three of them would be quite special!

So boy or a girl? I firmly believe a pregnancy is a pregnancy and how sick you are, how you carry and other side effects depends on you, your health and your lifestyle. However, being pregnant means I have to sit and listen to may theories. Here they are -

• If you're feeling more sick it's a girl.
• The higher you carry the more likely is it a girl.
• More hair = boy. Greasy hair = girl. (i actually have both!)
• The earlier you conceive the more likely is it to be a girl. Late conceptions are more likely yo be boys.
• Cut out dairy from your diet and you'll have a girl.
• The older the man gets the more likely he is to produce girls.
• If your nose grows or changed shape during pregnancy your having a boy.

Bloody hell! Not only have you got a ridiculous toilet habit, stretch marks, swelling feet, hair sprouting from new areas, possibility of piles, varicose veins and a weak pelvic floor, you can also look forward to a bigger conk! Marvellous!

L - Lying

I pretty much decided early on that lying was a way to make things more interesting. My parents still recall the parent's evenings where teachers would show them my exercise books with extravagant stories inside. "Yes lies I'm afraid" they'd blush. Their personal favourite (and one I'm not so proud of) is when I wrote about doing a poo in my wardrobe and my sister sitting in it when we were playing hide and seek. When questioned by mortified parents I said "We had to write about what we did in the holidays... again!" Clearly, I was bored with the teacher's lack of creativity enduced by back to work blues.

Lies you tell your children
We all know the obvious ones, like the one which empties your bank balance in December and the flying pixie who pays for rotton teeth. But not until you're "living it" do you realise how many lies you have to tell them, just to get you through the day.
"Don't worry the teachers will look after you."
"You can't go outside with no trousers on the policeman will tell you off" (no he won't, he'll be too busy looking for a new job)
Any question that includes the "D" word (death or dying) pretty much is answered with a lie. Really, who is going to dampen their day with truth?


Lies you tell your partner
"Who ate all the cakes?"
"The Kids."
*Who's been messing with my I pod?"
"The Kids"
"Why's it so messy?"
"The kids."
"Where's the change that was on here gone?"
"The Kids

Lies you tell other parents
"This is lovely; is it homemade?"
"Yes."

Anything that includes the phrase "you know, as a one off" probably started off as the truth and is now a lie.

Lies you tell the Relatives
"No, I don't mind" - Yes you do - you always do. You're a mother and therefore a control freak. I'm afraid it goes with the territory.

Lies you tell yourself
They really shouldn't be eating all those Easter Eggs. I'll just have to have help them out.
Beebies is ok because it's educational.
And the one which will erase all your angst... "They'll grow out of it".  (Yep, course they will. They don't tell you when though. "You don't see 15 year olds with dummies do you?" a comforting Mother tells her friend struggling to rid he child of the plastic plug. Yeah but you do see 6 year olds don't you? And that looks wierd enough.)

And sometimes, it's just more fun. Once, I had to explain why there were lots of jelly fish on the beach. Every explanation resulted in a "why?". My knowledge of marine biology had been emptied, I could answer no more "Whys?" but he was still not satisfied. I had nothing left, I had to bring in magic, wizards and Lightning Mcqueen and only then was happy. Marine biologist has been crossed off the "when I grow up" list though, I don't think he could handle the disappointment.

So it's the lying game. Hiding the truth. Brushing things under the carpet. Whatever spin you want to put on it, our days are full of them. Rotten to the core us parents are. Rotten with lies.

H - Hiding

Oh how they love to hide!

We have had one instant, of a child hiding, where we thought we had lost him. They had somehow escaped. It was terrifying, sickening to the pits of your soul. We both blurted in out of rooms shouting him, getting louder, more hysterical, as each room was upturned. We went out the front of the house. The back. The question burning in our eyes - "When do we call the police?" One last look in the bedroom. Then out the corner of my eye, a ruffle in the covers. One mighty fling of the bed covers, There he is as a still as statue, grinning from ear to ear. "I was hiding" he chuckles, before he is gathered into my arms and has his breath squeezed out of him. He had placed the covers so perfectly on top of them Columbo would have missed it.

Every hide and seek game has that element of fear now, especially in public spaces, in the woods, walking home through the shortcuts. "Let's play Hide and Seek" he yelps and runs ahead, before I can answer he's hidden. Out of eye's view. The heart quickens, it's a race against time. He's easily found - he's three! I'm not outwitted yet, but it's a dangerous game, hide and seek - what's wrong with eye spy?

F - First Words

I have a theory that these first words, which are desperate and needy parenting hears yearn to hear, have more significance than we give them credit for.

I mean there are many they can pick from, most of us and phonetically introducing them to new sounds as soon as they can focus "Duh-O- Guh" we over pronounce as the family pet skulks out of the room in search of some attention. So the one's they choose surely have to be important, it can't be down to just chance. I predict my children's fist words are an indication to their future career.

Eldest - "chicken" - vet/farmer
Youngest "ball" - sportsman/juggler

I will keep you updated in -" A modern parent's encyclopedia; the final years"

B - Baby Language

My eldest child was an early talker; child minders, other mums and strangers would tell me how advanced he was. I knew no different. I would smile sweetly and nod. Secretly smug. It did have its disadvantages though, we presumed he understood what he was saying, but he didn't always - he was just a very good copier. At the time I was easily led, believing what others told me to be fact - "ooh you've got a bright one there" and would lie in bed at night wondering at what point do we contact Mensa.

My second child is completely different. He has his own language. This is novel to me as my first went straight into English. This one, however, is fluent in Baby. He not only talks Baby in full sentences, but now full paragraphs as well. This is how it goes: "Bah - do- bah dee-day-dare- iya-iya-dee-pbah-do-dare?" And he looks at us, one eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer. we used to play along. And reply with a "Is that right?" and "Really?" but now, after nearly a year we say " I don't understand. You need to use words now."

We were at a woodland cafe the other morning  and he took his cake to two older ladies at the next table and said "Hiya - a deare- o bayer-bee-tah-di-bo-da-eyah?" He spoke with such conviction, the old dear turned to me and said "HE LOV-E-LY". Obviously,  thought we were foreign, or deaf.

B - Breast and Bottles

I put Breast feeding up there with my greatest achievements. I thoroughly enjoyed breast feeding both my children and am looking forward to breast feeding my third. It was never a choice for me. I always knew it was what I was going to do, My Mum breast fed us, I remember her feeding my brother (in public!), as did my peers and their parents and they often brought it up as if it was a historical event. I think this fuelled me to follow in her footsteps. Also she is still very passionate about the benefits of breast feeding, as now am I, so Formula always seemed alien to me.  I mean you wouldn't give a baby calf breast milk, would you?

However, as strongly as I feel about breast feeding my own children I would never put that on to any one else. Even stronger is my belief that a baby can only be content if the mother is, and if she's forcing herself to do something that isn't working, neither are going to be happy.

I'd say to everyone who isn't sure - give it a go, you might be surprised, but if it's not right, change it. It's easy enough to do.

I have no qualms with the Mum who doesn't breast feed. The Mum who holds her hands up and says, "do you know what? It just wasn't for me". or the Mum who says "Honestly? I just didn't like getting my boobs out in public." For those Mums I give you huge respect, I admire you for doing what was best for you and I thank you for your honesty.

But... the Mums who say the following, just ruin it.
"I just couldn't produce enough milk"
"My baby was too big"
"I'm too skinny. I'm a size six!"

Please, get over yourselves and never tarnish my ears with this nonsense again.

I am aware there are genuine medical problems to why people can't breast feed, and I do sympathise with that. I was lucky, it was fairly easy for me. But your body is pretty amazing, and a little bit of patience, you'd be amazed what it can do.

Finally, without wanted to end on too much of a sanctimonious note, but what the hell I'm going to,  I do take a lot of comfort from the fact it has reduced the chances of getting breast cancer. Surely that's the best perk?

G - Gina Ford

Gina Ford - the Nazi disguised as a nanny.

Gina Ford is a woman who has made a lot of money telling parents how to bring up baby. Not 'their' baby, not 'a' baby, not even 'the' baby. Just baby.

And right now my piss is boiling. Is there any way to patronise a mother more, or dehumanise a child, than a phrase like 'put baby down and wash and sterilise pump and bottles'? 

Not only does she tell you the best time you should feed your baby, what time they should sleep, but also when you should do the washing up!

Gina Ford is the author of 'The Contented Little Baby Book' and more. This book "saved my life" I was told. 

When I was pregnant with my first, and had a lot more time on my hands, I decided to read widely in advance. I was bored with people telling me "you should read this" or " you should follow this routine", so I did a bit of wide reading to get a full picture. Gina Ford was on my hit list.

To be fair, I did find some of it useful, just to get an idea of how often your child should be sleeping, how many feeds they are expected to take, but then I came across phrases like "when giving baby your last feed avoid any eye contact' and that was enough for me to give in to the desire to slam the book shut and toss it out of the bed.

People swear by Gina Ford's books, for some Mums they are the parenting Bible, her word is law. But I struggle to take advice from anyone who hasn't had children. Yes its objective. But is it realistic? Not for me.

I have no doubt the routine does work - and after a week 'baby' will stop screaming its lungs out when 'put down'. And if the amount of sleep you get is your number one priority after having a baby, by all means, go and buy the book. But, for me, bonding, attachment, pleasure and nourishment were all much higher on my list.

N - Nesting

If you a pregnant, generally lazy by nature, avoid housework at all costs and don't own a duster, then you might be the type of pregnant woman sat amongst her own sloth  thinking "It doesn't matter, I'll sort it when I get that nesting thing." I wouldn't count on it.

I have a theory with nesting - there are two types of women: the women who nest and the women who don't. Women who nest have been doing their whole lives. As little girls they were sorting their bookshelves into alphabetical order while the women who don't, would attempt to tidy a bookshelf, and spend the time pulling off all the books, flicking through them, finding their favourite pages and re-reading them - probably out loud to an imaginary audience, or worse, they wouldn't even have attempted it and would be stuck up a tree somewhere trying to impress the lad from down the road.

I am a woman who doesn't nest. Housework for me, takes the mental journey that others face running a marathon; I need to go into training, find the mental stamina, have deadlines and consequences...  and I find the whole thing just as exhausting. Therefore, when I was pregnant with my first child, I  was quite looking forward to nesting - "my house will finally be clean" I thought. But ,unfortunately, I didn't get the desire to clean I just wanted a new house - or a least a newly decorated one. I was miserable, irrational and took a new found dislike to our house, its decor and contents. So much so, that I threatened to cancel my baby shower, unless changes were made. Which, bless The Future Husband, they were.

Consequently, when I was pregnant with my second child I turned to The FH and said "This time can you be in charge of nesting. I'm not very good it." We ended up getting 10 thousand pounds of building work done, including an unexpected rewire, and living at my parents for 8 weeks with a part-toilet trained toddler and a new born baby!

Correction to the opening paragraph: there are women who nest, women who don't and Men who... obliterate!

M - Matching underwear and shaven legs

Before we had children my partner lay in bed, watching TV, whilst I got dressed. I felt his eyes upon me, as I fumbled in my drawers for something clean to thrown on. "Miss P..." he said pausing before the question.
I turned, to face him "Remember when you would always wear matching underwear and always had clean shaven legs?"
"Yes darling, it was an act." I reply flatly, looking down at my black lacy bra and pink and grey striped cotton knickers, and noticing, for the first time, 2 days stubble sprouting on my legs.
He turned to the TV>"Thought so."

That was before children, after children this...

"Darjeeling can you just take the pile of washing upstairs?" he shouts from the kitchen. I don't reply, but go to do as I'm told. I stop in front of the washing, startled by what I see - on top there is a black satin bra with huge red flowers and matching knickers edged in lace. Oh they're mine, I just haven't seen them together since I opened them on Christmas day, 18 months ago.
"Hey come look at this" I shout.
He appears at the doorway. I point to the discovery.
"I know I was a bit freaked out when I saw them on the washing line. I thought you might be having an affair."
"I think it's just because we reached the bottom of the washing basket - coincidence they were in the same wash."
"Yeah. That was my second thought." he smiles.
No not having affair, just been doing lots of laundry - how dull?

A - Advice

This is not a blog giving advice -or heaven help you! However, this blog derives from some of the best advice I was ever given: when I was pregnant with my first child, a friend said, to all the advice you are going to recieve, smile sweetly and nod, then do whatever the fuck you want.