Posts from the “motherhood” Category

Raisin Diet

Posted on 5 December, 2014



This week we have resisted all kinds of movement or activity. Ewan has been sick since Monday night and the couch has been our home since. Fireman Sam has looped over and over again and he has decided that he can live only on raisins and all other food types have been dismissed as undesirable.

Life has been pretty slow. The days felt long and we have all forgotten the joys of a good nights sleep. I noticed all was not normal when I caught myself getting excited about going to the post office!

On the upside he has got the all clear from the doctor today, he is going to be totally fine and by all accounts he’ll be back to himself in a few days. Added to this it’s the weekend, the shop is newly re-stocked, a wonderful friend is visiting and Steve and I are buying a Christmas tree as an excuse to crack open the mulled wine and  most importantly WE WILL BE LEAVING THIS COUCH!!

Hurray1  Hope you have a lovely weekend and that you too dive into the mulled wine. Tis the season!

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A week in Photos

Posted on 21 November, 2014

Luckily this week has been significantly healthier than last week. No-one has careered off anything or all fevers and bugs have dissipated! Instead we’ve got back to normal life. With music groups, parent and toddler groups and swimming sessions a go-go it’s nice to enjoy the times in between with something a little less hectic. In true Irish style the weather is throwing everything at us so we enjoyed some wanderings in the low winter sun…


..some unsuccessful and chilly foraging for my next DIY project…

IMG_8274… some lingering fog…


.. and when the rain came we just made a tent and hit the books!

IMG_8309 photo

This weekend I plan to raid Steve’s mum’s garden to make a wreath. More on that to come. So in the mean time have a relaxing couple of days:)

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Harder than it looks

Posted on 10 November, 2014

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Today has been a test. It’s one of the very few days when I miss going work. I met up with a friend and ex-colleague today and just talking about my old job gave me a fire in my belly. Being a stay at home is definitely the right choice for me at the moment and I think because I’m clear about that I have been reluctant to admit that I do actually miss work.

I used to work as an advocate for people with disabilities and I think regardless of what field I end up working in it will always be an area I feel passionately about. I  felt really privileged in my job that our focus was on working with the person with a disability to help them achieve what they wanted for themselves. We had no other priority and that part of the job was an absolute honour.

Other aspects of the job were less pleasant and often when I think back on the job I think only about the stressful parts. Today I realised that  the job gave me an awful lot too and that it’s okay to miss those parts.

As a stay at home mum I am constantly learning which is great and exhausting all at the same time. Sometimes it feels that we are the perfect team and other days, like today, I feel at sea.

I think part of owning my decision to be a stay at home is to be honest about it all. Yes, sometimes it feels so easy and wholesome with cookies in the oven and sing songs and other times it’s so incredibly hard that going outside feels like an ordeal.

Today, the penny dropped that it’s okay to miss parts of my old job too. At some point I will want to work full time again and the more I think about what I enjoyed about work the easier it’ll be to think about what kind of job I want to go for.

The end of the day called for bringing out the iphone for a round of selfies and ,now that he’s in bed ,a VAT OF TEA. To coin a cliche tomorrow will be a new day.




Three Reasons I know I’m not parenting in America

Posted on 25 October, 2014


I am always pretty aware that I’m in Ireland. It can be hard to forget the simple fact of where you are but sometimes I read so many American blogs and articles that I think, yes things are like that here too. Well, this week has reminded me I am definitely not parenting in America!

Here’s why:

1) Earlier this week I rang a child care centre that we are thinking of sending Ewan for an afternoon a week next year. I was advised by other parents that I should enroll him now. I decided to ring and ask about going to visit the place before we enroll him. At the time that seemed reasonable, responsible even. Asking to visit the center got a reaction of  complete silence followed by her echoing what I had just said. ” So you’d like to visit, here, to see the place, you’d like to come here, before you enroll him to see the place”. As she spoke it was clear she wasn’t against the idea she was just completely thrown by the fact that I wanted to come and look at the place. I got the feeling no one had ever asked before. I said I was happy to call whenever suited them, again she didn’t dislike the idea but she just wasn’t sure how it would all work out. She took my number and said she’d ask other staff what they thought and get back to me. I haven’t heard back from them yet. Compare this to the American bloggers Joanna Goddard  post about  8 questions to ask potential care givers.

If, as Joanna suggested,  I had asked  her “Have you ever had a philosophical difference with parents you’ve worked for?” I  think she would have recommended that I see a doctor or she may have needed one herself!

2)  My suspicions that Ireland isn’t America have been compounded by Halloween.  On the other side of the Atlantic the blogosphere and instagram accounts are lined with homemade costume creations from the sublime to the ridiculous. Here the idea of a homemade costume stuns people to silence (again) and generally confuses people.  Yesterday Ewan and I went to the parent and toddler group in fancy dress for their Halloween party. The thirty something children were all dressed in impressive shop bought costumes. (Things have changed from the days of black sacks and a hat).  I dressed Ewan in the same costume I made for him last year. The group are really friendly and his costume was complimented.  That was until I mentioned that I had made it. The responses of anyone I told was the same “YOU MADE IT!” It was not that they were impressed it was more that they couldn’t believe what I had said.  It was as if I had declared that I bathe him in special milk sourced and imported from South African organic goat herders.

One woman’s immediate reaction was “What? YOU MADE IT! How many children do you have again?”

“One” I answered.

“Ahhhh! ” She said as an enlightened look came over her face. The world made sense again.

PicMonkey Collage


3) The third reason I’m fully aware that I’m not parenting in America came about when I read a great article about How American parenting is killing American marriage. (The article is worth a read and talks about one of my pet hates “Baby on Board” signs!). The premise of the article is that “Nothing in life is allowed to be more important than our children, and we must never speak a disloyal word about our relationships with our offspring.” and therefore marriages and relationships suffer. Initially, this seemed plausible to me but when I thought about it friends and strangers alike are never afraid to say when their children are being eejits, driving them to despair and generally waging psychological warfare against them and their partner. Instead of Irish parenting ruining a marriage sometimes it sounds like the craziness of raising children brings partners huddling together against the next unforeseen hurricane. Irish parents have more of a “don’t leave me alone with them” attitude than a “don’t take me away from them” attitude that the article suggests.

On mature reflection I am 100% confident that I am not in America. Now that that’s cleared up I am off to enjoy the bank holiday weekend!

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Posted on 24 September, 2014

Yesterday I decided to create a  mess. We had a morning of a parent and toddler group that left us both exhausted. The effort of meeting new people makes me sleepy (I may actually be a child!)

So, in the afternoon I decided we were staying home and being childish. After looking for inspiration I hit on making oobleck . Oobleck gets its name from the Dr. Seuss book Bartholomew and the Oobleck where a gooey green substance, Oobleck, fell from the sky and wreaked havoc. I had never heard of it before but according to my parenting bible   it sounded like great fun. ” When pushed together it seems dry and solid, when you let go it flows like a liquid.” Intriguing I thought.  So with what was meant to be 1.5 mugs of corn flour and one mug of water off I went.  Food colouring was optional and thankfully I didn’t take that option!

It turns out it really did wreck havoc.

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While I’m a fan of getting messy I am not a fan of hours and hours of clean up. I realise there is a certain contradiction to complaining about a mess when you set out to make a mess but I was really hoping for controlled mess! On blogs it seemed so easy to get rid of, a splash of water they said!

Not so much for me.

Here is what made it more mess than I could handle:

-Making it in a room with a sea grass type carpet and not covering the floor properly ( I forget that Ewan is not inclined to stand still,particularly when he is told too)

-Making it too watery (I misread the ingredients  and made the cornflour portion in cups rather than mugs but still added a mug of water, oops)

-Making it in a room with a fabric couch,


-Making it far away from the sink


– Making it where Ewan could wander off not in his chair in one spot!


-Not having a towel ready


– Hoovering the mess (Hoovering does absolutely nothing.  You need water but our carpet is incredibly awkward and can’t get wet. It was here when we moved in!)


-Putting the oil cloth outside to dry after I washed it, it got soaked in a heavy shower, I had to bring it in, there was still some corn flour mess on it, it made a watery corn flour mess on the tiles, mopped it up badly


– Trying to take photographs with semi-clean hands meant lots of camera  and phone cleaning that went on well into the night!



Other than that it was great fun but if I ever brave it again it will be on a tiled room, with a towel and no couch and Ewan will be sitting! I did really enjoy making this video though (it’s a short video because Ewan wandered off with a cup of oobleck which took my attention).

PartyParty (4)

It’s fun and gooey and a crazy texture but never again!



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Stretch Marks

Posted on 16 July, 2014


Yesterday I read this blog post about a woman who put up pictures of herself in her bikini. She describes it as “It was meant as a positive body image post … one that would hopefully inspire some of my readers to think blimey, if Kate has the courage to wear a bikini when she’s a size 18 woman who’s had 2 children, and she’s not ashamed, then maybe I will too.”

Her article was picked up by a larger forum and she got some great support and negativity. She wrote a response post to the reaction she got and as I read on it was this paragraph that spurred me to run upstairs throw on my bikini and write the post I’ve wanted to write for a while…

“We should all be talking about how we feel about our bodies, and encourage each other, not disparage and judge so, if I may … could I possibly ask the writers amongst you to think about putting down your own thoughts about this subject in your own blog post (or even just on paper if you don’t blog).”

You can read her full article here and her bikini post here.

So here it goes, my thoughts on my post baby body.

When Ewan was first born I was all the usual things of excited,scared, in awe, in love and mixed in with all that  was grief. I looked at my body and felt grief. Where was my other body, the one I had before. Someone had drawn lines all over this one I want my old body back. When I was pregnant I didn’t care about the stretch marks. I felt full, abundant and as the marks grew I knew my baby was growing. Once he was born and for months afterwards the marks were all I could see.

I  felt shamed, not shamed about my body but shamed that I was even thinking about my body. I had this beautiful baby boy. Any positive image posts that I read online about a post-baby body were centered around gratitude. You have your baby be grateful. Aren’t you so lucky? Bodies are amazing, be grateful. As well as the gratitude tale I came across the tiger stripes image, again and again. I hated this image.

stretch marks

Image source

The same image is also used in ads for surgery but without the text written across her stomach. I left the tigers where they were and started looking for creams, lotions, potions that would get rid of my stretch marks. I read hundreds of product reviews online, watched endless you tube reviews.

I have stretch marks nearly everywhere thighs, legs,bum. belly, hips,boobs. I felt that nobody else  had it as me, that I was the only one and comparison to other stretch mark images just made me more convinced. But I was also determined it wasn’t too late. The creams I had used during pregnancy were cast aside and I started squandering a fortune on more expensive creams with definitive statements like “Goodbye Stretch Marks”.

When these didn’t work I started to look into laser surgery. I would lose sleep over how I would rid myself of these marks.

But as time went on I needed my sleep more. Exhaustion kicked in and I just slept. When I was awake I was busy. Ewan was growing, I had set up this blog and the Etsy shop. I now spent my time thinking about whether or not to go back to work and wondering if it was it the right call for me and my newly fledged family. Life took over.

A year later the stretch marks are still there. I never got that laser surgery. I wish I had some feminist cry, I am woman, I love my stretch marks. Or maybe something catchier than that!

The truth is I don’t love them. I wouldn’t miss them if they weren’t there. But I also don’t hate them. I’m coming not to care. My body has squiggly lines on it, some are still purple, some are fading, both are okay with me.

I don’t regret obsessing about them. I do wish I was nicer to myself in those first few months after Ewan was born. I didn’t have to be ashamed that I was thinking about my body. I think I needed to look at them over and over. I needed to care for them by rubbing cream into them. I was, and still am, eternally grateful that I have a healthy boy  but that doesn’t mean the things that used to matter to me suddenly disappear. I am no less grateful because I worry about my body.

 The stretch marks became the part of me that was most cared for. I gave them attention and ignored the rest of me. They’ve had their time now. They can stay or they can fade but I’m glad to say I don’t mind.

If you’ve read all this way thank you.

I would have skipped to the pictures!

Let’s start with a very nervous looking me…


IMG_5184-002 I’m still nervous but I’ve delayed hitting the “publish post” button long enough. Here we go…


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Being a mum for a year

Posted on 8 May, 2014

IMG_1474Having been a mum of one child  for twelve months I am clearly a parenting guru.

As such here are 10 surprising things about being a mum:

  1. People say that they want to kidnap your child ALL THE TIME.  People say things like “He’s so cute I could just sweep him up and run away with him” or “Ahh look at his hat, wouldn’t you just want to bring him home with ya” This happens in charity shops, supermarkets, swimming pool, parks, pretty much everywhere. Maybe kidnapping is an Irish form of endearment?
  2. I am less clean than I used to be. Other parents seem to clean themselves as regularly as before babies. I have just dropped my standards.
  3. I felt like a genius when I made an abridged version of Each Peach Pear Plum (The bears see baby bunting  the first time round, baby is safe and sound, they all have pie, booyah!)
  4. I have talked about someone else’s poo more often than I thought possible.
  5. I will pretty much do anything for a laugh from Ewan, really anything, crawling around under his chair,  putting bowls on my head, running around like a giant bird, anything that gets him laughing is worth it.
  6.  Somewhere during the year I have decided that eating the wheels of the buggy is okay but touching the radio knobs is not okay!
  7. Watching Steve be a dad is one of the best things in the world ever
  8. I now get super excited when I see dogs and start saying “dog, dog, look a doggie, woof woof”. Ewan smiles encouragingly!
  9. The body really is miraculous the way it can produce so much drool without getting dehydrated. It really is a sight to behold.
  10.  Ewan has brought more giddiness, belly laughs, tiredness, anxiety, curls and love into my life than I ever thought possible. I’m pretty sure he’s a legend among babies!

Also this comic made me smile not sure where I saw it first (probably A Cup Of Jo) but I came across it again today.


Birth Story

Posted on 16 April, 2014

Firstly, let me say when I was pregnant I read a thousand birth stories, well maybe 50, but I read a lot. I was always a bit nervous when I would get half way through and things would take a turn for the worse. 

So before I start let me say that in this birth story there is unexpected blood, things do take a turn, what I expected to happen didn’t happen but it all ends well.

If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea or you’re heavily pregnant and want only read things about babies floating to the top of a birth pool after a few gentle breaths I completely understand, I can highly recommend closing the computer and having a ginger tea with a slice of lemon cake instead.

For those of you that haven’t clicked away here we go. Let’s get comfy.


This day last year it was two days before my due date and I went for a run of the mill appointment at the midwife outreach clinic. The appointment started off like all the rest until they checked my protein levels, they then started to focus on my blood pressure and my swollen ankles. The midwife then called for a second midwife. They announced to me that they strongly suspected I had pre-eclampsia.

After a million birth stories and nine months of google I was familiar with pre-eclampsia. For those of you that aren’t wikipedia says

 “Pre-eclampsia or preeclampsia is a multi system disorder characterized by high blood pressure and significant amounts of protein in the urine of a pregnant woman…If left untreated, it can develop into eclampsia, the life-threatening occurrence of seizures during pregnancy… part from Caesarean section or induction of labor (and therefore delivery of the placenta), there is no known cure. It is the most common of the dangerous pregnancy complications; it may affect both the mother and fetus.”

Everything I had heard was equally as blunt and negative. I was told I would have to go straight to hospital, do not pass go, do not collect €100. (I’ve added the monopoly reference, they were much more poker faced).

So off we went. I was regretting not having eaten before the appointment but other than that I was feeling pretty positive.

Yes, I possibly had pre-eclampsia but this is the end of the pregnancy, if I had to get it late pregnancy is better than early pregnancy. Plus they are not ignoring it, there are no unknown complications. They know what is happening and they are acting fast. Great, lets go.

So we went to the emergency room of Cork University Maternity Hospital as instructed. They did further tests, Steve and I had oat bars from the shop because everything else was closed and they confirmed I had pre-eclampsia. I was told they wanted to keep me in hospital and they applied a gel to try and get things started.

I was moved to the induction ward and we started the “wait and see if labour starts” game. I call it a game but it really just involves, walking when they make you, reading and chatting. Steve was sent home at 11 o’clock and I settled in to my bed in a 5 bed ward filled with beepy machines and extreme heat. I was a bit worried that I would have the baby before Steve could make it back. Ha, I really didn’t have to worry about that!

Steve came back first thing (17/04/2013) and we waited. I had some pains throughout the night and I was feeling very capable of managing this pain thing! They encouraged me to walk but not to leave the ward, so with ankles the size of small countries I waddled my way up and down the corridor. In between we sat and chatted, I preferred this part to the walking.

Everyone in the induction room went to have their babies. I waited. New people arrived and they too went to have their babies. I waited. The midwives were lovely and everyone was very calm. I was feeling giddy but I wanted everyone else to stop leaving to have their babies. They reassured me that the baby was doing really really well and we all waited. 

Later that morning I started to feel a few more pains, stronger than before but still very manageable. As the pains increased I felt more excitement. We talked with the midwife and agreed that I would have a shower sitting on the birth ball for a while and then move to the birth pool.  In Cork Maternity Hospital they don’t allow you to give birth in the birth pool but you can labour there as long as you agree to come out when they tell you too, no messing! Strange and false advertising with the name “birth” pool but either way the idea of a shower and the birth pool felt like heaven. 

As I stood up to go to the bathroom Steve noticed that I had bleed on my dressing gown. We called the midwife and she said it was a small amount of blood that it was fine and she would go to get the birth ball for me to sit on in the shower. Great. A little scare but okay the plans are still the same.

I then went to the bathroom and a very large clot of blood came away. Now I was frightened. I called Steve. We both stood over the toilet bowl looking at it. We debated whether or not we should call the midwife to look or flush and tell her. I decided to face the weirdness head on and Steve called the midwife. The three of us stood for a second looking at the toilet bowl. 

Then the midwife moved quickly. “Wait there, I need to get someone”. Steve and I stood nervously waiting. She arrived with more midwives. Then they all the midwives moved quickly. They decided a doctor was needed. Now the doctor, three midwives, a junior doctor, Steve and I were gathered around the toilet bowl. 

I was moved back to the bed and hooked up to machines for monitoring. The shower dream was gone. 

I was then told they needed to break my waters. This was done very badly. I was frightened at this point. What was happening? They were focused on moving things on but I wanted to know what was going on? The doctor who did the sweep to break my waters was ill-mannered and she took several abrupt attempts before managing to sweep my membranes. She did not explain why this was suddenly urgent and she was not gentle at a time when a little care was needed.

I told her that she had hurt me, gave her a stern “oww” and my trademark evil eyes. If you have ever been on the receiving end of my evil eyes you’ll know what I’m talking about! I never saw her again. 

So with my waters broken the birth pool dream was gone and the machines beeped on. 

The wonderful midwives explained the situation to me at this point. I was in a bit of a head spin so I don’t recall exactly (Steve is much the same but recalls that things suddenly seemed serious rather than just slow).

The gist was my pre-eclampsia wasn’t going away and while baby was doing great for the moment they would be happier if things were moved on. Bleeds like these happen but they can’t be sure that everything will remain okay for the baby which is why they prefer to move things on. After they broke my waters we waited. I was trying to stay relaxed at this point. 

I had read so much about the ideal gentle birth, the nasty big hospital interfering in what should be a natural process, doctors scheduling unnecessary caesareans so they could leave in time for golf games. I think this gave me a prejudice against the doctors. When the doctors were around I felt things were serious. I felt at risk of being whisked to theater when there wasn’t a real needed because the hospital would prefer if I moved on. 

The reality was that this wasn’t a nice and easy birth. It wasn’t horrific by any means but I needed to be in hospital. I remember thinking that if I had seen that blood clot in my own bathroom while I waited to get into a birthing pool in my sitting room I would have completely freaked out. I was glad I was in the hospital. When the midwives were around I felt their confidence, I felt their experience, I heard their reassurances, they explained how well the baby was doing and slowly I started to feel safe again. 

As the theme of the story is waiting, we waited. It’s still the 17/04/2013 some time in the day. There were more pains. I insisted that Steve count aloud to five for five in breathes and again to five for my out breath through each contraction. I’m pretty sure this made us the most hated people in the 5 bed induction ward (oh yes we are still there) but as everyone kept leaving to have their babies I had little sympathy for them! 

The pains were increasing but there was no progress other than that so after a few hours they hooked me up to a drip of synthetic oxytocin. I was hopeful that this would be the final push needed. Prior to the drip I would say I was in intermittent discomfort. They were definite labour pains but they were very manageable.

Once the drip started the pains got much more regular and stronger.They were no definitely pains not discomforts. I thought well this had to be it. This had to be the real deal. They left me alone (hooked up to monitoring machines) for a few hours and just looked in every now and again. This was reassuring .I thought the bleed panic had worn off and we were back to waiting and seeing (while being monitored and hoping the drip was going to do it’s job).

It was a number of hours later (late evening on the 17th of April ) and they decided to see how many centimeters I had dilated. The pains were strong and I was extremely hopeful. I had moved from discomfort on the night of the 16th all the way through the night to now strong pains late on the 17th. I would have guessed, never having a baby before that I must have been about 5 cm. The midwife checked and announce I was 1 to 2 cm. 

I dismissed the one cm announcement that was clearly a lie! But only 2. My heart sank. I was exhausted. I was now awake for over 36 hours. Sleeping with the contractions now was not an option. I was happy to hold out if I felt I was nearly half way but at 2cm (ignoring the possible one) there was no way I could stay awake long enough to get all the way to ten cm, particularly if it all went this slowly.

From that point on I tried every pain relief they offered. Gas and air, sure, pethidin sure, tens machine, sure. Thinking back I was choosing the epidural but I didn’t want to be the first one to mention it. I wanted to sleep so badly. The thought of the epidural would wave over me at every contradiction but I didn’t want to say it.

I had said I was open to whatever way it would go but when it came to it I wanted to be the bravest of the brave, I wanted to have my baby naturally, I worried that as soon as I had the epidural they would decide that I should have a caesarean section. I wasn’t in the birth pool like I had hoped, I hadn’t even showered like I had wanted to, the monitors beeped constantly and as I looked at my hands and legs swelling even further I didn’t want to be the one to say hit me with the good drugs please. 

But sure enough another a few hours later and 40 or so hours of being awake they came to measure me again and I was still 2 cm. Eventually, another while later they offered me the epidural. I looked at Steve and asked what he thought. Whatever you want was the answer and I thought yes I really really really want the epidural. 

And then it happened. It didn’t hurt like I had thought it would and suddenly no pain. We were moved to the delivery suite, finally goodbye to the 5 bed ward with beepy machines I’m off to have my baby!

Well not quiet but either way I was out. I was assigned a midwife, so there was no more sea of faces. Gerti was my lady. She was my gal. Having never met her before I came to trust her completely. She was a lay everything out and get everything ready just in case kinda gal. She brought me iced water that was like the nectar of the gods.  We talked and she relayed our agreement “we don’t want a caesarean but if the baby or you gets in trouble we may have to”. I signed forms to say yes do whatever you need to do. She explained how the pre-eclampsia might effect the baby and explained about how I was doing. 

In summary baby super good but this can change fast with pre-eclampsia. As for me well my blood pressure was high, I was swollen like a balloon but nothing was too worrying but they were keeping a really close eye.  She was as straight up as they come. No dancing around the issue with Gerti. She was also warm and encouraging.

It was now the wee hours of the 18th of April and I could get some sleep. Sweet sweet sleep. I went to sleep and I was dilated 4 cm. I woke up many hours later to be 8cm. Great Gerti said “let’s get ready to have your baby”. She prepped the tray for surgery just in case.

I thought you had to be 10cm I exclaimed thinking that she had forgotten this important fact. “You will be by the time we are ready”.

Yikes it’s go time.

Steve had slept on the most uncomfortable seat beside me but had been revived by the tea and toast Gerti had brought him. So we were both ready. We looked at each other in that raised eyebrow, wide eyed let’s go kind of way and it suddenly it all got exciting again. More midwives arrived. One for the baby another for the post baby stuff and of course my Gerti. Gerti told the doctor that the baby was doing fine so we were going to try and do this without a caesarean but the surgeon should be ready. The doctor was happy to follow Gerti’s lead and left us to it.

All of a sudden it was pushing time. Gerti asked me to put my hand on my leg and push. I remember looking at my swollen arm and leg and being horrified. I had been swollen before but suddenly I looked like I was hooked up to a helium machine. Trying to ignore my giant rugby legs I pushed as I was told. I leaned into Gerti and I squeezed Steve’s hand. Gerti was incredibly supportive and when one of the midwives returned and asked how I was doing she said amazingly, she is a fantastic pusher and it’s all happening nice and quickly. 

I was elated. Whether or not she meant it I thought I’m doing it right. I’m doing it right! 

And so in what felt like ten minutes (apparently an hour from the first push) there he was. A beautiful baby boy. Cleaner than I thought he would be, not a girl like I thought he would be, making a little cry like I longed to hear. 

Now a year later I am welling up with tears but at the time I didn’t cry at all. This is from a lady who cried at a baton twirler in Britain’s Got Talent!

At the time I remember feeling really calm and confident. Much like when we found out first that I was pregnant. I didn’t feel the cinematic rush I just felt secure and strangely practically minded. Here we are the three of us. Great, let’s do this family thing! 

After a bit of time of him lying on my and me and Steve staring intently at him they took him to weigh him and make sure all was well. They weighed his 8 pounds,9.5 ounce body and counted his fingers and toes out loud which I thought was very cute!

In a flash he came back to us wrapped in his crocodile baby grow with his tiny baby hat ready for us to stare at him intently all over again. About twenty minutes after he was born I breast fed him and luckily he was enthusiastic about his food and it all went well.

There were no Devandra Banhart Lp’s swirling in the background, I didn’t give birth in a birth pool in my sitting room, there were no doula’s, there were plenty of machines, there were drugs and a catheter yet somehow it all felt so natural. 

I was unlucky to be a little unwell but I was lucky enough to have a team of people at hand who cared for me and my baby who were willing to wait but acted when they needed to.

Gerti’s shift was finished but she waited around to make sure everything was okay before she left. She was amazing, a force of confidence and I’m forever grateful for her support. But not as grateful as I am to have had my ever calm Steve by my side and a new baby Ewan who waited until it was exactly his due date to greet us. When the panic set in the outside world he just stayed calm and waited until I was rested before making his entrance. 

The perfect gent from the start, just like his Dad.

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Nothing fancy

Posted on 28 March, 2014

Today’s post is nothing fancy, no flights, no markets, no hectic schedule, it’s just home.

As well as making a mess we spent some time in the glass house, where some of my seeds are starting to make an appearance…

We made some pumping tunes…
and I admired the flowers we bought for a neighbour.
This weekend will be following the low-key trend (hopefully).  I plan to get some of the Berlin stock up in the shop, go swimming, meet a friend for lunch and enjoying my first Mother’s day!
I hope you have a lovely weekend. See you Monday:)