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I was browsing through my stats page today when I came across a search term someone had used to find my blog:
My initial feeling was “Ew.” (of course that’s a feeling!)
Then I saw that they read (or looked at) 4 posts. Did they think that they’d find lesbian labour porn on the 2nd, 3rd or 4th post after being unlucky with the first?
Did my writing impress them so much that they delayed their porn hunt in order to read my blog?
New feeling was “check me!” (yes, also a feeling).
Or did my blog turn them on despite its lack of XXX lesbian labour milking porn?
Back to “Ew.”
A few people have asked why WW is named WW (wonderful wife). Firstly I chose this name poking a little, gentle fun at some other blogs who use the abbreviation DH (dear husband) which makes me gip a little. Secondly it is because my wife is, well, wonderful.
This is not going to be a gushy post, although you’d be forgiven for thinking that based on the title. Instead this will be a completely non-biased reflection on how amazing WW is 🙂
Hi, I’m Emz and I’m a lazy person. There, I said it. If something requires above the usual effort and isn’t going to dramatically improve my life it often doesn’t get done. Why investigate why I was watching black and white TV in 2012 when that would require messing around with plugs? I could deal with black and white. I thought it gave me a retro, hipster edge. Why would I replace a bulb if others were still working and it would require a trip to the hardware store, and locating an actual hardware store? Why wash clothes when I could squeeze one or two more outfits out of my tired wardrobe?
WW moved into my apartment on a Saturday and suddenly, by that Sunday my life was fixed. Actual colour TV with a sharper focus. No more stumbling around in the gloom of an evening. I was stricken by a choice of three or four work outfits at the end of the week.
WW is also the sensible one who curbs my flights of fancy. She firmly tells me no when I am captivated by an uber cute puppy for sale. She queries the wisdom of my plan to have three (or more) children. She looks at the price tags of things when I see something shiny that I MUST HAVE RIGHT NOW! She reminds me that I cannot comfortably walk across my school campus so a pub crawling night across the city might not be the best idea.
She also takes charge of all the grown up things like managing our finances, paying bills, sorting out insurance, planning for big purchases, deciding budgets, talking to banks, planning Squirt’s and my doctors’ appointments. I no longer get nasty shocks at ATM machines with a week until pay day, have to pay bank charges or realize I have an appointment an hour away in twenty three minutes.
Sure you might argue that I am biased about the awesomeness of WW because I love her but I am not alone in my opinion. Squirt thinks she’s pretty fabulous too.
I’m sure most parents would agree with me that kids go through a phase of favouring their mother. Well, that’s Squirt and WW. If he’s happy and well rested he’ll tolerate me for a bit but if he’s hurt, sick or cranky he only has eyes for WW (and screams for me). I can be pulling my funniest faces or throwing him dangerously high in the air but he just squirms around trying to figure out where she went and how to get there. When she makes teddy dance and sing the only two lines of ‘Head, Shoulders’ that she knows (‘Head, shoulders, knees and toes’ and repeat…and repeat) that’s hilarious but when I make teddy dance and sing complicated three or four verse rhymes with appropriate actions (!) teddy gets thrown on the floor.
It doesn’t matter that I became an IVF human pin cushion or walked around feeling my bulgy ovaries. It doesn’t matter that I gave up booze and caffeine for over a year, the good cheese and ham for 9 months and ate more pineapple during the conception than is probably healthy. It doesn’t matter that I lugged his heavy butt around inside me then pushed his ENORMOUS head out of a tiny hole in my body. Or that I was chained to a pump for 5 months sucking life-giving juice out of myself. It doesn’t even matter that I am also a mum. Nope. He’d rather have WW. She is that wonderful.
We both love you immeasurably, WW. Thank you for all your hard work and general wonderfulness, especially right now when I am somewhat broken.
OK, that last bit was a bit slushy. Apologies.
After over four months of experiencing some level of pain every day and an unhealthy ibuprofen consumption I decided to go back to the doctors. After a lengthy discussion with the hospital receptionist about where exactly my ass hurt I was referred to the spine center.
The doctor listened to me very briefly before feeling my spine while he bent me this way and that. He uttered thoroughly non-reassuring phrases such as ‘Oh, that’s terrible’ and ‘Why does your spine move like that?!’ before packing me off to X-ray.
The X-ray consultant seemed to be enjoying herself while trying to pretzel me into unnatural positions, failing to believe me when I told her my body just doesn’t move that way.
5 minutes later the Dr was showing me the X-ray (yes, UK dwellers, only 5 mins. The joys of private hospitals vs the NHS!) ‘See here in your lumbar region? Normally people have a curve here. Yours is gone. And here you can see the gap between your discs is too small. And here your spine is starting to curve when it shouldn’t. It’s not as bad as I thought because your ligaments are still intact. When they are not your spine will be able to move and that would be bad. But there’s nothing wrong with your tailbone.’
So I was put on a week-long regimen physiotherapy. First they electrocute the muscles in my back for 10 mins on each side. Then they
poke massage the sore parts, which I think is mostly a challenge for them to see how hard they can press before I cry. After that they do ‘exercises’, involving stretching my back and legs in weird ways while I try desperately to clench my butt cheeks together and not fart in their faces. Finally it’s ‘traction’, which is basically one of those old fashioned stretching torture devices. I think I’ll have grown an inch by the end of the week.
I also have to take a bunch of strong painkillers, meaning the end of breast feeding for me. I read online that lots of women get quite upset during the weaning process, feeling a loss of connection with their little one. Having never successfully breast fed Squirt and having not developed a connection with my pump, despite five months spending so many eye-watering hours having it stretch my nipples beyond what I believed possible, I wasn’t too distraught.
I was so keen to say good riddance, in fact that I decided to go cold turkey and stop pumping straight away. I had already stretched my pump schedule to every 8 hours but was still collecting 800mls a day so it was a bit of a shock to my poor boobs. Or I should say boob. One breast has been a persistent low performer since the beginning, lazily producing 50mls while the other grafter put up numbers like 200mls per session.
I slept quite well and woke up…uncomfortable. It was nasty. GBF, who is oddly fascinated by the gross side of baby making/raising asked what it looked like. Hmm. You know when you see a really crappy, over the top boob job? Imagine that but worse. Lumpy, rock solid, unmoving, very sore. But only on one side. The lazy boob took it in its stride and remained at a normal size, adding to my weirdly lopsided silhouette. Hot, huh? Thankfully the back pain meds worked two-fold and relieved some of the discomfort.
Disclaimer: not actually me :-), but no joke this is what I looked like.
After 3 days I caved and pumped 150mls from mega-boob. It worked brilliantly. I was no longer the stuff of nightmares and the milk wasn’t replaced so I don’t look like I’m going to tip over anymore. And adios to the nipple suckers. Hooray!
As for my back, not so good news. I’m over half way through the physiotherapy and if anything I’d say the pain has worsened with all the prodding and poking. I don’t think the doctor was very hopeful that many years of abuse it would be fixed so easily. The next step is an MRI and then, scarily surgery.
I haven’t gotten all the information yet. The surgery he thinks I would need involved screwing at least two of my discs together, maybe more. He mentioned a two month, painful recovery but I’m not sure yet if I’d be able to work/take care of Squirt/function.
Yuck. I’m stressed at the possibility of leaving poor WW to have to look after me and Squirt with no help. I’m worried at work’s reaction to me having more time off when I’ve just got back from maternity leave. I’m not sure how much of the procedure my insurance will cover. But this is a problem I’ve had since I was 18 and I would love to fix it, once and for all. At the moment I can’t walk for more than 10 minutes without having to sit down and take a break. This can’t go on. Aghhh! Any one out there with a magic wand???
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.
Today I’d like to touch on the somewhat controversial topic of sleeping. Or more specifically getting your little bugger to sleep.
Squirt was still not napping for more than 30 mins, one, two or maybe three times a day. By the time 2/3 o’clock rolled around he was a crabby nightmare. I was trying to avoid hours of exhausting crying and complaining by dragging everyone around shopping malls most afternoons. I knew it wasn’t good for him and it was a worry.
During the week WW, hardcore supermum that she is, takes care of Squirt’s nighttime awakenings while I attempt to sleep and pump. Then on Friday and Saturday night it’s my turn. I’d like to insert here that I do not function particularly well with less than 8 hours sleep. OK, that’s an understatement. Picture a hunched over, cranky old crone snapping at everyone around her and in danger of scaring her family members away.
So after awakening three times to feed Squirt, uncountable times to replace the dummy and then sitting up pumping for 45 mins, I decided to blearily look into sleep training.
Jeez, I thought breast vs. bottle was a hot topic but it is a gentle discussion by sane mothers who don’t have strong opinions compared to sleep training.
I was able to cross off a few approaches straight away that were not going to work for us. Co-sleeping was out as I had already given myself a stiff neck and sore back lying in the same position all night, terrified to roll over in case I crushed Squirt in my semi-comatose state. Co-habitation wasn’t working as every time Squirt sniffed, coughed or wriggled both WW and I woke up. Neither WW nor I was up for rocking, walking or jiggling him to sleep multiple times a night.
So the options I found myself with left with were ‘Cry-it-out’ or ‘Extinction’. It is my (definitely not expert) understanding that with the extinction method you basically leave to baby to cry for limited periods of time while sitting in the corner of the room ignoring him. I could easily imagine the scene- Squirt screaming as if being subjected to a particularly brutal form of torture while either WW or myself sat PTSD rocking in the corner, desperately sitting on our hands so we didn’t pick him up and undo everything.
So the hardcore, incredibly judged Ferber method it was.
We tried to create a schedule around when Squirt usually napped, which wasn’t that easy as my darling boy isn’t big on napping. He woke up for the millionth and last time at 7am. We decided nap time would be 9. WW and I moved his crib into his bedroom, fed him, changed him and lay him down with his dummy, drowsy but awake. Then we turned on the monitor on and tiptoed out. The door closed and the crying started.
We checked on him every 10 mins. It was tough. Both WW and I rambled about downstairs, trying to distract ourselves from clock watching until we were able to go up and comfort him. When one of us reappeared during the checks and turned him over from where he’d rolled over onto his tummy he immediately stopped crying. And then we left and he started again. I battled with relief that there wasn’t anything physically making him cry and guilt that I was making him upset.
After 45 minutes he finally, heartbreakingly sobbed himself to sleep. I felt awful. I decided maybe this method wasn’t for me. And he slept for one and a half hours. That’s right. Squirt, who hasn’t napped for longer than 30 mins since he was two month old, slept for one and a half hours.
We put him down again at 1 and after 20 mins of crying he slept for another hour and a half. The clouds parted, the sun shone down and gospel music started playing. That afternoon he was a different boy. None of the unsoothable fussing and crying that had become part of our daily routine. Just the happy, playful boy who normally only made an appearance in the early morning.
Then, as the icing on the cake, after his usually bath-massage-story-milk routine, he went to sleep with a mere 4 minutes of gentle whimpering at 6pm. I ‘dream fed’ him at 12 and got up when he woke at 4 and fed him again. He made it to 6.30am without anything worse than a whimper. Hooray!
Since then we’ve had our ups and downs. Nights continue to be better. He puts himself to sleep in less than 5 mins without crying and eats twice during the night. Two feeds is more than I’d like but I and WW can live with it. The naps are still tough but I’d say he’s averaging about 2 and a half hours overall, compared to the one hour before and he’s a much happier boy generally. I am more rested and a better, more patient mummy. I haven’t noticed a change in WW as she manages to keep an even keel despite crummy sleeps, but she reports feeling better.
So there you have it. Not for everyone. Not easy. I do believe the best thing for our little family. I’m sure some of you are reading this with thinly guised horror. In the words of Todd Parr ‘It’s OK to be different’. Good luck to everyone out there trying to get your eight hours.
Before I opened my loins and bottom coughed Squirt into existence I was aware of parenting judgement. I may have even partaken in a little, of occasion. Ok, maybe a lot. But it’s very easy to sit back and criticize when you don’t have kids. I had a list as long as my arm of ‘I will never’s for pregnancy, birth and babyhood. Most of which went flying out the window in favour of surviving this battle we call motherhood.
So I expect a little (or a lot of) judgment from non-breeders. I enjoy it while trying to hide a small smirk, thinking ‘you just wait’ much as I’m sure mothers did when I voiced crazy plans like me having a natural, pain med-free birth. I was underprepared, however for mother-to-mother judgment. Surely fellow women in the trenches would recognize a fellow soldier’s need to occasionally do things just to make life a teeny, tiny bit easier? In short, nope.
These Mommas are not subtle, gentle or supportive with their strong views. Here are some examples of thinly veiled judgement I am dealing with in every different part of my life.
‘Oh, doctors now think that SIDS is completely made up by women who suffocate their kids and then try to hide it!’
‘You don’t co-sleep? I feel sorry for babies left alone in their cribs. They’ll grow up so insecure. My 6 year old is so confident. I’m sure she’ll tell me when she’s ready to have her own bed.’
No, we are not co-sleepers. My baby sleeps in the garden. I believe nightly battles with bats, rats and cockroaches is the best way for him to become confident and independent.
‘Breastmilk is good for their immune system. You shouldn’t stop.’
I never heard that before. I’ll need to have a complete rethink.
‘You let your four month old watch TV?’
‘My kid is so clever. At four months old he can already concentrate while watching TV for 45 minutes. He especially likes the scenes where the zombies get their heads caved in and the lead gets splattered with brain matter and he can twerk!
‘I never had a problem figuring out what my baby wanted because I taught her baby sign language straight away.’
‘Isn’t it bad for your baby’s hips to be carried in that carrier?’
Perhaps, but we combat that by dangling him upside down by his ankles for 15 mins a day.
‘You use a forward facing pushchair?’
Yup. Sometimes I even push it really fast and wriggle it around. We’re are such daredevils!
‘Should you really be drinking coffee if you’re breastfeeding?’
Yes, he seems to get a little buzz with all the caffine I drink but a shot of whiskey before bed knocks him right out.
‘You have a dog and a newborn?’
We do have a dog but I try to make sure she doesn’t lick his mouth when it’s open.
And here’s the part where I’m a hypocrite!
I meant to write an update straight after I started work and here we are, three weeks later which probably gives you a pretty accurate reflection of how things have been.
The first week was tough, missing Squirt and WW, trying to get to grips with work, catching up with things that I didn’t do due to my maternity leave, juggling pumping and a busy schedule and repeatedly trying to kick start my brain again. Things are getting better now and it’s only four weeks until Christmas holidays so- yay!
This week I caught a cold. I am pretty pathetic when sick and felt quite sorry for myself, missing WW’s normal nursing routine and getting up at the crack of dawn and in the middle of the night to pump. I thought it was bad….then Squirt got sick. It is heart breaking to hear his little snuffly breathing and head breaking to listen to his cries every hour or so during the night. I think WW secretly loves hoovering up his boogers with the suction bulb thingmy. Confession: I thought he slept better last night and commented to WW but was tersely informed he was up every hour and apparently only I slept better. Hooray for my ability to sleep like the dead and WW aka Supermum.
After 2 weeks of trying to keep up the every 4 hours pumping schedule with an ever changing timetable I decided to go to every 6 hours. This means I am only huddled in a tiny room on a butt numbing chair, praying no students peer through the crack in the window paint and no teachers bust in the locked door (again), once a day. My boobs seemed OK with it but then decided on a sneaky revenge by waiting until the one day I forgot to wear breast pads. Two minutes before I went to teach my oldest students they unleashed a sizeable flow of milk, creating a nice, white rimmed milk stain on my black top and leading to me alternating between hiding behind my computer and shielding my chest with books like a shy, post-pubescent teenager for the rest of the day. Awesome.
I also have had more awkward conversations with classes. It’s funny how I start using their vocabulary in my responses:
‘Who is your man?’
‘I don’t have a man. I have a woman.’
‘But then how a baby??!’
‘Um…a doctor helped me.’
‘Oh, so they take something and put in your tummy?’
And then another class:
‘Do you have a husband?’
‘No, I have a wife.’
‘So you are the husband?’
‘No, there is no husband.’
‘But you are the man?’
‘No, there is no man.’
‘I don’t understand.’
The infamous ‘One Direction’ are apparently touring soon in Thailand and who is attending is a hot topic at school. The kids were a bit put out that I wasn’t intending on showing my support and they were completely stumped when I said I wasn’t a fan. They hadn’t heard of any of the music I like which I guess makes me officially old. They rounded the conversation off with asking me if I liked Avril Lavigne because ‘you look like her’. Time to cut back on the eye-liner.
Also WW gleefully pointed out my first white/gray hair on Sunday. I think I have Squirt to thank for my sudden rapid decline into old age. On that note, when will I stop feeling like a teenager? I am married. I am someone’s mum. I am one mortgage away from being officially grown up but I don’t feel any different from when I was a carefree student sleeping late and pretending to study. Does that ever change?
In other news, Squirt’s latest trick is rolling over. He enthusiastically throws himself from his back to his tummy, gets stuck and eventually cries. You would think he’d remember that he doesn’t really like to be on his tummy, but no. I also think for him it’s a fun game to be flipped like a pancake every couple of minutes. Plus the mummies are pretty impressed by the gymnastics and he gets a good reaction.
His other fun trick is frequent atomic nappies. You know, the kind that shoot out of his nappy and up his back leaving a yellow lava of destruction in their wake? Oh yes. Hold with caution. How do you then get the onesie off without smearing it in his hair??? Luckily for me he has been keeping these treats for WW in the morning recently ;-).
Christmas decorations go up on Sunday. No, it is not too early. Monday will see Squirt’s introduction to the Month of Christmas Movies. Yes WW, you have to watch them again. No, you cannot play with your phone. The Muppets require your full attention. Now my mission is to locate a Christmas pudding in Thailand which doesn’t cost 14 GBP or be forced to make one, which hardly seems worth it when I’ll be the only one gorging on it. Mmmm, Christmas pudding… The post pregnancy diet is not going well.
PS. Squirt, four months old tomorrow!
I’m not really one for remembering/celebrating the small dates but I did realize it was Halloween one year ago that two single cells fused to become what would grow into Squirt.
WW was too sensible to allow me to buy or make a super cute baby Halloween costume. Plus, here in Thailand there are minimal opportunities for celebrating this holiday, and none which occur before his 6pm bedtime so cute costumed photo ops will have to wait for the next holiday.
Plus we were tired from our first date night the night before. Our lovely GBF offered to babysit and let us get out of the house for a bit. We had a nice dinner, a few beers and saw what yucky sex-pat nightlife our little suburban neck of the woods had to offer. Then WW had a nasty allergic skin reaction to something and my body decided it didn’t enjoy ham hock after all so we had a bit of a sleepless night. Ho hum. But it was a good jumble of nice and weird to step back to our free-of-responsibility days for a few hours.
I had my 13453rd bad mother moment last night and introduced formula for the first time for Squirt’s before bedtime feed. Just a recap, Squirt has never fed from the breast. Not once. So I have been a slave to the breast pump since his second day and plan to quit just after Christmas, when he is five and some months old. In the meantime we’re going to slowly introduce formula so it’s not a horrible shock to his system when the freezer eventually runs empty. I also read that formula fed babies sleep longer through the night. And low and behold, Squirt slept from 6pm until 4am without eating. Then went back to sleep until 7.30am. So why do I still feel tired?
I thought he might be a little put out at suddenly being given
poison formula, but he didn’t bat an eye. I’m not in the habit of chugging either breast milk or formula but I have licked both off my arm (don’t judge me). Afterwards I wasn’t exactly clamoring for a big, overfilled jug of luke warm breast milk but it does taste a damn sight nicer than formula, despite the fact we bought the fanciest one.
There’s another thing. I never really looked but WW reckons in the formula aisle of UK supermarkets there are really only two big brand options. Here there are more than you can count, each fancier and more expensive than the next. It was overwhelming. The doctor was no use. When asked what she’d recommend she shrugged and stated ‘they all have different things’. Awesome, yes, I realize that. But which one is best?
The companies have really got you, too. Do you want the simple box with no extra health benefits which will cost you an arm and a leg or do you want to fully nourish your pride and joy with a formula containing every vitamin from a-z and more besides, which comes in a shiny gold box and will cost you more than private school tuition? So, of course we got the gold one. We were advised to try a small box first, in case Squirt gets the squirts. It cost over 6 GBP and when we got home we worked out it would feed him for two and a half days if we fed him that exclusively. Jeez. There’s an advertisement for breast milk, if ever I heard one. But I can’t bear the thought of being abused by these breast pumps for the next 9 months. I think the freezer is well stocked enough that he won’t be exclusively on formula for very long before he starts eating some solids and needs less anyway. Hopefully.
normally this is where I’d put something funny but even the meme generators are judgy about formula
I’m also ready to stop riding the emotional rollercoaster that I have my fingers crossed is related to breast feeding. WW has the same amount of sleep as me and the same amount of stress but she doesn’t find herself on the edge of ugly, sobbing hysterics every few days. She also doesn’t feel the need to check Squirt is still breathing frequently during the night. She doesn’t think about all the horrible things that can happen to small babies, toddlers, little kids, big kids and adults. She didn’t feel a strong urge to rip Squirt’s enormous vaccination needle out of the doctor’s hand and jam it in the doctor’s thigh to see how she liked it. She doesn’t start conversations with things like ‘What if I don’t like his girlfriend’ (yes, the future girlfriend of my 3 month year old). In short, WW isn’t teetering on the cusp of full blown insanity. Fingers crossed this is all a consequence of boob juice, not a permanent condition.
One more week until I’m back to work. A month ago if you’d asked me if I was ready I would have either lied or said yes, with a side helping of guilt. But back then Squirt was being a real booger and going through a screaming heebie jeebie phase. Of course now, in the run up to my return he’s gotten himself into a routine and is being all cute and adorable most of the time. Boo to working and wrangling other people’s kids when I’d rather be at home wiping up the saliva of my own. But someone’s got to bring home the formula, I guess.
Broken ass update:
After I started walking like I’d pooed myself and it was slowly creeping down my leg I finally gave in and took WW’s advice to see a doctor. We packed up Squirt and schlepped over to the hospital. I had an uncomfortable examination which involved dropping trou and having the doc spread my butt cheeks and poke around in my ass crack. His verdict?- “Well, even if it is broken there’s nothing we can do for it. It’s not an important bone.”
Not important? Clearly you’re not the one sitting on it.
So continue to take ibuprofen as I was before then, yes? Thanks for all your help.
Lumpy breast update:
I have cut out my 1am pumping session and it actually seems to have helped. I no longer am nodding off over my pumps and waking up with blocked ducts. Unfortunately I no longer have an excuse not to work the night shift with Squirt so I’m not getting the solid 8 hour sleep I was looking forward to. It is much nicer to have a 20 minute cuddle than 30 minutes of eye-watering nipple hickeys though.
This week has seen a new stress. Hello flat head syndrome. With Squirt’s new lovely long night sleeps has come a head that looks like a large person sitting on a space hopper. Google searches have presented forums with equal parts ‘don’t worry, it’ll get better on its own’ and ‘Oh my god my child is now deformed. Their ears, eyes and dimples have been rearranged to the point where they resemble a Picasso portrait’. It has gotten to the point where strangers in the mall follow their ‘oh, how cute’ comments with ‘wow, that baby’s head is a weird shape’. Gotta love that Thai honesty. We have tried moving his head off the flat side when he’s sleeping (cue stirring and mummies panicking in case it triggers screaming) and tummy time (cue fussing followed by screaming). I have decided to overcome my suffocation fear and buy a special weird-baby-head-shape pillow. I suspect I won’t sleep for the first few nights we use it but hopefully his ears will no longer be located at 10 o’clock and 4 o’clock.
Today we tried to crack the day time naps and establish a routine other than desperately praying he’ll fall asleep, tip-toeing around terrified to make noise when he does, then sighing when he inevitably wakes after 20 mins and starts screaming. So, after more
bullshit internet searches we tried the 10 o’clock, 2 o’clock plan. What actually happened is that he fell asleep at 9 o’clock for 15 mins, screamed then I spent the next hour and a half lying next to his cot putting his dummy back in his mouth every 36 seconds while he alternated between smiling and screaming. Nevermind, thought I, there’s always 2 o’clock. He fell asleep in the coffee shop at 12. I realized he had a dirty nappy. WW and I went to the bathroom. No baby changing facilities. I sat on the toilet with Squirt lying, still asleep on my lap, and we started changing him. Then we realized we had no wipes with us. So WW substituted crappy (excuse the pun), cheap, disintegrating, damp toilet paper and we got the job done. Then I sat back down and he started screaming again. Sigh. He was still sleepy and tearful and screamy so we tried to put him back to sleep when we got home at 1. WW spent 45mins putting his dummy back in while he alternated between chatting, whimpering and vomiting. She gave up and brought him back downstairs. Now he’s asleep on the sofa and we’re tip-toeing around again. I just glared at WW because she rustled a plastic snack bag near him. Fingers crossed he sleeps for longer than 20 mins. Best laid plans of mice, men and mothers….
Instead of sleeping during the day Squirt would rather be watching TV. He has taken a real interest in the idiot box, which is fine for the 10 minutes a day we play nursery rhymes on youtube but less ideal when the mummies are watching the L Word and its mandatory 10 minutes of girl-on-girl action and 10 vagina/sex euphemisms per episode. I guess it’s time to start thinking about what we’re watching and when. When I was little I used to watch soaps with my mum and it didn’t do me any harm…or did it??? Instead we should just entertain ourselves by doing stuff like this:
squishy baby face. yes.
how to make your baby look like an ageing drag queen.
*Bad language warning*
Before we left for Scotland my late night pregnancy forays into the kitchen disturbed some unwanted house guests. Roaches *shudder*. I half-heartedly left some Roach Motels (for those not in the know, lucky you. Picture cute, colourful cardboard cartoon houses with some hardcore glue inside and something cockroaches find yummy in the middle. I was dreading my nighttime milk and sterilization trips upon our return for the whole 3 months we were in the UK. Joy of joys, though, the Roach Motels worked! I was too scared to look but our cleaner informed us they were chockablock with the nasty little things and we haven’t seen any since. Yay!
However as one pest moved out, another moved in. Mother. Fucking. Ants.
Every day I kill hundreds. In the kitchen, in the downstairs bathroom, the bedroom, the upstairs bathroom. I’m afraid to use any chemical spray because of Squirt and the Monster. My kitchen cleaner does work but I’m going through it at the rate of knots. But the thing about the mother-fucking-ants is, there are a few million attempting to colonize my home. And they are starting to fight back. Yesterday they waged bitey war on WW as she emptied the kitchen bin. I bought little plastic things which they’re supposed to walk into, nibble on some poison then conveniently return home and die. But the little bastards are cleverer than that. They just march around. I HATE THEM. I know really I have to go through every cupboard and try and find anything else that might be attracting them but it’s tricky with Squirt…and I’m lazy. But what the hell are the after in the bathrooms? The bins are empty. As far as I know no one’s chowing down in there. I haven’t found them swarming around anything. Did I mention how much I hate them?? Does anyone have a magnifying glass I can borrow?
If anyone has any advice for me about flat head syndrome, a 3 month old who won’t nap during the day or how to get rid of mother-fucking-ants please comment below. All suggestions will be applied with a gusto for at least a few hours!
PS. Squirt woke up after 17 and a half minutes. Sigh.
Well here we are, just over 10 weeks after WW and our lives changed forever and I can hesitantly say that things are getting slightly easier. Squirt is settling into a routine of sorts. He has embraced his 7pm bedtime and after a bath, massage, story and bottle, retires to the land of nod until 7am, with a couple of brief feeding wake-ups in between. He settles quite quickly into his cot so WW is no longer working her biceps rocking his heavy butt for hours and hours.
Mornings are his best time. He lies between our pillows and coos and smiles, making up for the fact he’s waking us by being uber cute. Then, after he’s made sure we’re good and awake he passes out again for a few hours. Little bugger.
We had a week of afternoon rage not long ago but he has calmed slightly. That’s lies, he hasn’t calmed at all. We just figured out that if he doesn’t need a new nappy and isn’t on the verge of sleep he needs another bottle. Even if it has only been an hour since the last one. And it seems to have done the trick. At least we’ve avoided the 3 hour screaming episodes.
He has learned to sit….kind of. Rather, he has learned to make us hold him in a sitting position while his head droops into his lap. And heaven forbid you try to support his head, or lean him against something or lie him down. He wants to sit, thank you very much, droopy head and all.
He also loves to stand and uses his chunky thighs to support his weight just until you rely on him doing it, then he likes to drop and see if you can catch him. Fun times. His heavy head is a hindrance during this activity too.
Day time naps are not fun, apparently. We try to put him down in his very fancy rock and play but he will scream after 20 mins or so. 30, maybe IF we remember to set the white noise app. So long days are spent eating, having enormous tan-coloured bowel movements that get into every nook and cranny little boys have and travel half way up his back, eating some more, cooing, crying and occasionally puking, with the most impressive episodes exiting from his mouth and nose at speed and coating his entire face, body and any other body in the vicinity. In short, the mummies are kept pretty busy.
And what of the mummies? Well, WW is super mum. Her face holds endless entertainment, she’s great to chat to and seems to have infinite patience. She does seem to hand him to the other mummy just as he has a particularly nasty poop, but swears it’s a coincidence. She’s tired but hides it well and seems to be much happier now Squirt is sleeping for longer and longer periods during the night.
And myself…well, I’m a mixed bag. I’m still exclusively feeding Squirt expressed milk so every four hours will see me hooked up to my two pumps. It’s been a tough week as far as pumping goes because, despite getting up at 1am and 5am I’m still waking up with really painful blocked ducts. They clear usually by the afternoon pump but it makes my mornings pretty uncomfortable. I think it’s because I keep rolling onto my stomach when I’m asleep and squishing my boobs. Might be time to break out the pregnancy pillow again.
But what’s really a pain in the ass is the…pain in my ass. As Squirt’s big head entered the world I heard a loud ‘pop’ noise. At the time I thought that was just him popping out but when, after 2 and a half months I’m still quite sore when I sit, lie on my back and stand I think it might have been his 8 pounds 9 ounces smashing their way through my tailbone in their rush to get out into the real world. At the moment this is just suspicion and Dr Google’s diagnosis. As I can’t picture myself being fitted for an ass cast for this injury I haven’t been rushing to the doctors but if it’s still bothering me in a few weeks I might cave.
But apart from my possibly broken ass and lumpy boobs, I’m pretty good. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like a ‘yummy mummy’ though 🙂