I wonder how much sleep we actually need? Sometimes I think I might be talking myself into being tired because I perceive it as how I SHOULD be feeling following a night or more of broken sleep.
Perhaps it's a false memory but I don't recall being so frustrated with it when Ben was a small baby. I think maybe I accepted it more because I saw it as being more acceptable. Now he's 18 months old and I'm going through a very difficult spell with his behaviour and his sleeping. He is demanding (I wouldn't have called him that as a baby, would I?). He gets so angry and frustrated when he things aren't going precisely the way he wants them to. He screams shrilly with a temper as mighty and unalterable as the ocean. He clings to my legs if I'm standing and climbs all over me if I'm sitting down. He's difficult to get to sleep in the evenings and has started waking a lot at night again. He's never "slept through" but I'd started getting a good few hours uninterrupted.
I know a lot of people would say I've 'spoiled' him (which is a ridiculous term!). His Daddy included, probably. I get the impression he thinks he's old enough to…you know, I'm not even sure. I'm just not sure how to handle it in a way that is fair to all of us. I don't want to be permissive with behaviour that is clearly unacceptable (and some of it certainly is) but I don't want to deny him his needs and comforts either.
Part of it is probably me being stubborn. I think I'm unwilling to accept this apparent regression in behaviour from him. I've enjoyed having my bed baby free for a couple of months while still getting the benefit of cuddles from about 5am onwards. So I get angry and withdraw from him when he's awake at 2am and nothing will settle him; when he's fighting sleep and will jump up from apparent slumber and want to play peek-a-boo in his cupboard when I try to extricate myself from him and return to my own bed. When he screams with anger until he is blue in the face when I decide I need to go to the bathroom before attending his needs.
How do you help an 18 month old to display emotions in an acceptable manner? Should I be trying? He's such an intense little whirlwind. He's bright and entertaining and wonderfully cheeky. He has a throaty little chuckle that you can't help but join in with. He's adventurous and physical. He loves to emulate his brothers. He loves to have me all to himself. He can understand very complex directions and while his speech is coming along wonderfully - he can say far more than his brothers could even a year down the line - it certainly doesn't match his ability to comprehend what is being said to him. I wonder if his outbursts are in part frustration from being unable to make himself adequately understood?
I think I need to take a step back, to reconnect with him a little more so I can understand where he is coming from. And to stop treating him like an adversary.
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Sunday, 26 April 2009
A-wandering (and a-wondering) we must go
I'm not sure what he's pondering but it must be something important.
Note to self: This post also serves as a reminder to come back and make a weeks worth of updates.
Note to self: This post also serves as a reminder to come back and make a weeks worth of updates.
Saturday, 18 April 2009
The eternal housework dilemma
What a gloriously sunny day it was today. We lay in bed for as long as the children would allow (they came and bounced all over us, full of idle, happy chatter at about 7.30am and we all got up for breakfast an hour later). Ben was awake a lot of the night so he was in with us for most of it. He's gone from full time co-sleeping to spending probably 80% of the night in his own bed, though he still nurses to sleep.
I think he's feeling a little under the weather. I took him, finally, for his MMR on Thursday afternoon. A large part of me wishes I hadn't bothered. I'd cancelled it four times previously and finally decided to do it. I had many misgivings but it's too late now. He's been utterly miserable all day. Clingy, short tempered and crying constantly though he enjoyed some one on one Mummy time with a trip to the shops after lunch. I hope he perks up soon, poor little sausage.
Anyway I took a cleaning notion today. It's true. It doesn't happen often but it did today. I decided to tackle the kitchen. The full day I worked on it. Not exclusively of course. There were trips to the shop, time spent playing in the garden, time spent cooking meals and hanging out washing with my little helpers. But I always came back to the cleaning. All the little, time consuming things that never get done. Wiping down all the white appliances - fridge, washer, drier - that were covered in felt pen (and still are to a degree) and bits of splattered food. Cleaning the tiles, reorganising shelves and the cutlery draw, cleaning the window frames while shouting constant 'Hello's' to the sproglets playing in the garden. They were all wearing wellington boots for some reason. It was their 'thing' today.
So by 8.30pm tonight the kitchen was spotless. By my standards at least. There is still some unnecessary clutter but I'm pleased with how it looks. I felt a sad sense of accomplishment. But of course, it's only one room. The rest are still a mess, some considerably more so than others! By the time I get the chance to move on to the next room, chances are all my hard work sprucing up the kitchen will have been undone. And thus it continues.
I'm not hugely houseproud but I don't like to live in utter chaos. It demotivates me. I feel noticeably more stressed out and I am more likely to snap unreasonably if the house is a complete tip. But I only really do house work once a week, on a Sunday evening. It almost seems pointless as I go back to work the next day and the little wrecking machines are back on task (play hard, make lots of mess!).
And yet I can't NOT do it. Sometimes I even enjoy it; I did today. It was relaxing and pleasant. No lost tempers, children coming and going. The occasional fight to break up up and some tears but generally it was a lovely family day even though we did nothing special. Sometimes those days are the best ones.
Still, cleaning your house when you have three small children must rate amongst one of the more thankless tasks!
I think he's feeling a little under the weather. I took him, finally, for his MMR on Thursday afternoon. A large part of me wishes I hadn't bothered. I'd cancelled it four times previously and finally decided to do it. I had many misgivings but it's too late now. He's been utterly miserable all day. Clingy, short tempered and crying constantly though he enjoyed some one on one Mummy time with a trip to the shops after lunch. I hope he perks up soon, poor little sausage.
Anyway I took a cleaning notion today. It's true. It doesn't happen often but it did today. I decided to tackle the kitchen. The full day I worked on it. Not exclusively of course. There were trips to the shop, time spent playing in the garden, time spent cooking meals and hanging out washing with my little helpers. But I always came back to the cleaning. All the little, time consuming things that never get done. Wiping down all the white appliances - fridge, washer, drier - that were covered in felt pen (and still are to a degree) and bits of splattered food. Cleaning the tiles, reorganising shelves and the cutlery draw, cleaning the window frames while shouting constant 'Hello's' to the sproglets playing in the garden. They were all wearing wellington boots for some reason. It was their 'thing' today.
So by 8.30pm tonight the kitchen was spotless. By my standards at least. There is still some unnecessary clutter but I'm pleased with how it looks. I felt a sad sense of accomplishment. But of course, it's only one room. The rest are still a mess, some considerably more so than others! By the time I get the chance to move on to the next room, chances are all my hard work sprucing up the kitchen will have been undone. And thus it continues.
I'm not hugely houseproud but I don't like to live in utter chaos. It demotivates me. I feel noticeably more stressed out and I am more likely to snap unreasonably if the house is a complete tip. But I only really do house work once a week, on a Sunday evening. It almost seems pointless as I go back to work the next day and the little wrecking machines are back on task (play hard, make lots of mess!).
And yet I can't NOT do it. Sometimes I even enjoy it; I did today. It was relaxing and pleasant. No lost tempers, children coming and going. The occasional fight to break up up and some tears but generally it was a lovely family day even though we did nothing special. Sometimes those days are the best ones.
Still, cleaning your house when you have three small children must rate amongst one of the more thankless tasks!
Thursday, 16 April 2009
Ben's Birth Story
My pregnancy with Ben came as a complete and utter shock to both of us. Setting all obvious jokes aside we simply could not fathom how this little person came to be growing inside me. I remember taking a pregnancy test in Starbucks in Belfast and then sitting and crying down the phone to Ryan.
It came at a terrible time. Our relationship was at the lowest point it has ever been at. Ryan was depressed. I was struggling with toddler twins and the final year of my degree. I was struggling with coming to terms with the pregnancy. Ryan even asked me to consider termination (not that it's available in this part of the world!) but we both knew we could never do it.
I suffered terrible morning sickness until about 16 weeks or so. The train journey (50 minutes) to and from Belfast daily was a nightmare with restless toddlers in a buggy and a mile walk on both sides of the journey. I didn't have any sickness with the twins. It was completely alien to me. I wondered if people thought I was an irresponsible Mother who had been out drinking all night when I stooped down to puke behind a bush in Botanic gardens.
But I managed to get through my degree successfully. We picked ourselves up and slowly I started to bond with the little baby bump. I started thinking about the birth. I knew I was going to be in for a tough time getting the experience I wanted. Having a previous C-section seems to be akin to being a leper in the medical profession so for the second time I was 'high risk'.
I researched. Relentlessly. I spoke to my Aunt, who has had two vaginal births following a previous CS. I researched more. I wish I'd done more.
At 1 week "overdue" and no signs of anything starting to happen I was being pressured to agree to an induction. I refused. I wanted baby to come in their own time. And all the best evidence suggests that induction using any method is contraindicated in VBAC births. I couldn't understand why the were even considering it. Eventually I let them schedule me in for induction. I had no intentions of attending.
On Wednesday evening at 9 days overdue I felt quite restless. I wasn't in any hurry for baby to make an appearance, and still wasn't, but I felt...well, just restless. I stayed up late bouncing on my birth ball and drinking raspberry leaf tea (which I loved!). I remember watching a lot of meaningless rubbish on television until happening across a very graphic abortion documentary at about midnight. Ill advised though it was I watched it, cradling my wriggly bump and crying for both the babies and the Mummies.
Some time after 1am I went to bed. I woke up not long afterwards with pains. It took a while to realise that they were contractions since I'd never experienced one before! I dozed on and off during the night being woken sporadically by mild contractions. Ryan rolled over and hugged me when the morning came. "Any contractions?" he asked. "Lots" I replied. He sighed. "I think you misheard, I said lots!".
I didn't anticipate anything happening any time soon so I sent Ryan off to work and pottered about the house with the boys. Contractions continued throughout the day but they were irregular. Sometimes an hour would pass without one. At other times I would have 3 within 15 minutes. They still weren't very strong though.
The evening came and I went to pick Ryan up from the train station. I had several contractions in the car. They were getting stronger and made me realise I definitely shouldn't be driving. Things seemed to start moving along then. While I was cooking tea they started to stop me in my tracks. I had to lean on the kitchen unit for support. We asked if Ryan's Mum would have the boys over. She seemed very unwilling and I couldn't help but feel annoyed! They hadn't really grasped the concept of the baby but were very excited about going to Nanny's.
Things progressed slowly into Thursday night. I sent Ryan to bed and I stayed up. I sat in the dark in the spare room and played a puzzle game whilst bouncing on my ball. I talked to my Mum on the phone for about an hour in the early morning. By the time the dawn started to break contractions were fairly regular. Though bearable I had to have a coping strategy. I leaned forward onto any available surface and rocked my hips while breathing deeply. It worked really well. I decided to phone the hospital and they said to come in. I wish I'd been through this before and had known what to expect.
On arrival I was given a quick examination and told I was about 4cm and progressing nicely. We were taken up to a ward to wait for things to start moving a little more. I agreed to lie on the bed for a while for a trace to be taken though I stressed that I did not want constant monitoring. All was fine though baby was quite wriggly and kept kicking off the monitor. Labouring strapped to the bed was agony and I couldn't wait to get the damn thing off. A Dr came and gave me a very rough internal which I wasn't expecting. So unnecessarily rough in fact that she broke my waters. For me, this was the turning point. This was where things started to go wrong. There was some meconium staining in the waters. I expected this since baby was approaching 2 weeks over. I wasn't particularly worried. I felt that everything was fine.
They decided to move me down the labour ward since my waters had 'gone'. I was assigned a room and a midwife who was actually very nice. Contractions were getting intense. I leaned against a bin to rock and sway through them while I waited to be moved. There was a lady waiting for a caesarean in there with me.
I was hooked up to yet another monitor and told I would be given an oxytocin drip. I asked why. I forget the answer but I refused to agree to the drip. I never managed to get rid of the trace monitor though.
For the next few hours I laboured intensely, all wired up and sitting on a chair. Initially I tried to make my wishes understood. I was treated with little respect; as though I were a silly, little girl who had the audacity to think she knew what she was talking about.
"You've researched this have you? Oh really. That's lovely."
Refusing the drip was my only success. I sincerely wish I'd written it down and versed Ryan it what I needed. But he was a little bewildered by the whole situation.
At first I could manage to talk between contractions. After a couple of hours they were literally one on top of the other. I sucked on completely ineffective gas and air and sat on my chair. I thrashed and moaned through each contraction with clenched teeth, like a dying animal. I remember I made some terrifying sounds. I was barely aware of any one else being present in the room. I refused all other pain relief. I could tell my midwife disapproved.
About 6.5 hours after arriving at hospital and still not having progressed beyond 4-5 cm the consultant recommended a second section. I was too tired, in too much pain to disagree. I vaguely recall having to sign consent forms though I doubt I managed more than an illegible scrawl. I felt devastated. I had given up.
I wasn't allowed to move from the bed after that. Over an hour was to pass before I got taken to theatre. Continuing to labour on that bed was agonising. I couldn't stay still. I was writhing like something caught in a trap. I was sick into whatever was available to my left. I'm almost certain that I was in transition at this point. I think I probably progressed very quickly after that examination, just like my Aunt with her first labour and VBAC. But I just needed it to be over.
When I finally got to theatre I was given gas and air while they prepped me. This one actually worked. I felt light headed and dizzy. I don't think there was anything in the cannister I had been using previously because it had had no effect other than giving me a mouthpiece to bite down on. It took FOREVER for them to site my spinal. So much longer than with my elective. The needle was put in and out about 4 times. It took about 20 minutes I think. Then it took a long time to take hold. A good 5 or more minutes compared with the instantaneous effect last time. I was terrified I would feel anything. Even through the operation I could just about wiggle my fingers. The relief was immense though and suddenly I could function again, I could talk. I tried to concentrate on the imminent arrival of my son rather than regret for how things were turning out.
It took a long time but eventually I heard a loud yell and my son was born. My third little boy. For some reason he looked really big but it turned out he was only 7lb and a real titch. He was gorgeous. I was his Mummy straight away.
However I regret the way he came into this world. I regret that I wasn't stronger. I regret that I didn't have more support. I loved being in labour. It was exciting. It was incredible. I would do it again in a heartbeat. But I resent that birth experience.
What followed was no better. For a hospital that is working towards baby friendly status there was nothing baby friendly about it. For various - some arbitrary - reasons Ben ended up in the neo-natal unit for almost 2 days. The staff down there were fantastic and respected my instructions about his care and calling me instantly if he cried. However recovery from the section was so much slower this time. The neo-natal unit was on the ground floor and I was on the first. I was treated like a major inconvenience for refusing to allow them to bottle feed my son. I insisted on going down every 2.5 hours which meant a porter had to be called to take me in a wheelchair. Oh! The breastfeeding after pains! Agony!
Breastfeeding support was non-existent. Fortunately I didn't need it. But out of 7 women that were on my section of ward during my stay I was the only one breastfeeding. One young girl was attempting it but her little one was slightly premature and she was being convinced to express and give bottles as well. The answer to any breastfeeding issue was to express. Just after birth! No wonder none of the Mums were breastfeeding. At one point I needed to give Ben some expressed milk. A midwife sighed heavily and went off to get a breast pump. When she came back to see me holding a cup full of colostrum she looked at me aghast.
"How did you do THAT?!"
Apparently hand expressing is a little known art!
I would like another little one at some point and I would like to labour again and ideally aim for that VBA2C. But I know now that I need better support. Someone to tell me it's normal, that I'll get there. And I absolutely need to avoid that hospital at all costs.
He is more than worth it though.
It came at a terrible time. Our relationship was at the lowest point it has ever been at. Ryan was depressed. I was struggling with toddler twins and the final year of my degree. I was struggling with coming to terms with the pregnancy. Ryan even asked me to consider termination (not that it's available in this part of the world!) but we both knew we could never do it.
I suffered terrible morning sickness until about 16 weeks or so. The train journey (50 minutes) to and from Belfast daily was a nightmare with restless toddlers in a buggy and a mile walk on both sides of the journey. I didn't have any sickness with the twins. It was completely alien to me. I wondered if people thought I was an irresponsible Mother who had been out drinking all night when I stooped down to puke behind a bush in Botanic gardens.
But I managed to get through my degree successfully. We picked ourselves up and slowly I started to bond with the little baby bump. I started thinking about the birth. I knew I was going to be in for a tough time getting the experience I wanted. Having a previous C-section seems to be akin to being a leper in the medical profession so for the second time I was 'high risk'.
I researched. Relentlessly. I spoke to my Aunt, who has had two vaginal births following a previous CS. I researched more. I wish I'd done more.
At 1 week "overdue" and no signs of anything starting to happen I was being pressured to agree to an induction. I refused. I wanted baby to come in their own time. And all the best evidence suggests that induction using any method is contraindicated in VBAC births. I couldn't understand why the were even considering it. Eventually I let them schedule me in for induction. I had no intentions of attending.
On Wednesday evening at 9 days overdue I felt quite restless. I wasn't in any hurry for baby to make an appearance, and still wasn't, but I felt...well, just restless. I stayed up late bouncing on my birth ball and drinking raspberry leaf tea (which I loved!). I remember watching a lot of meaningless rubbish on television until happening across a very graphic abortion documentary at about midnight. Ill advised though it was I watched it, cradling my wriggly bump and crying for both the babies and the Mummies.
Some time after 1am I went to bed. I woke up not long afterwards with pains. It took a while to realise that they were contractions since I'd never experienced one before! I dozed on and off during the night being woken sporadically by mild contractions. Ryan rolled over and hugged me when the morning came. "Any contractions?" he asked. "Lots" I replied. He sighed. "I think you misheard, I said lots!".
I didn't anticipate anything happening any time soon so I sent Ryan off to work and pottered about the house with the boys. Contractions continued throughout the day but they were irregular. Sometimes an hour would pass without one. At other times I would have 3 within 15 minutes. They still weren't very strong though.
The evening came and I went to pick Ryan up from the train station. I had several contractions in the car. They were getting stronger and made me realise I definitely shouldn't be driving. Things seemed to start moving along then. While I was cooking tea they started to stop me in my tracks. I had to lean on the kitchen unit for support. We asked if Ryan's Mum would have the boys over. She seemed very unwilling and I couldn't help but feel annoyed! They hadn't really grasped the concept of the baby but were very excited about going to Nanny's.
Things progressed slowly into Thursday night. I sent Ryan to bed and I stayed up. I sat in the dark in the spare room and played a puzzle game whilst bouncing on my ball. I talked to my Mum on the phone for about an hour in the early morning. By the time the dawn started to break contractions were fairly regular. Though bearable I had to have a coping strategy. I leaned forward onto any available surface and rocked my hips while breathing deeply. It worked really well. I decided to phone the hospital and they said to come in. I wish I'd been through this before and had known what to expect.
On arrival I was given a quick examination and told I was about 4cm and progressing nicely. We were taken up to a ward to wait for things to start moving a little more. I agreed to lie on the bed for a while for a trace to be taken though I stressed that I did not want constant monitoring. All was fine though baby was quite wriggly and kept kicking off the monitor. Labouring strapped to the bed was agony and I couldn't wait to get the damn thing off. A Dr came and gave me a very rough internal which I wasn't expecting. So unnecessarily rough in fact that she broke my waters. For me, this was the turning point. This was where things started to go wrong. There was some meconium staining in the waters. I expected this since baby was approaching 2 weeks over. I wasn't particularly worried. I felt that everything was fine.
They decided to move me down the labour ward since my waters had 'gone'. I was assigned a room and a midwife who was actually very nice. Contractions were getting intense. I leaned against a bin to rock and sway through them while I waited to be moved. There was a lady waiting for a caesarean in there with me.
I was hooked up to yet another monitor and told I would be given an oxytocin drip. I asked why. I forget the answer but I refused to agree to the drip. I never managed to get rid of the trace monitor though.
For the next few hours I laboured intensely, all wired up and sitting on a chair. Initially I tried to make my wishes understood. I was treated with little respect; as though I were a silly, little girl who had the audacity to think she knew what she was talking about.
"You've researched this have you? Oh really. That's lovely."
Refusing the drip was my only success. I sincerely wish I'd written it down and versed Ryan it what I needed. But he was a little bewildered by the whole situation.
At first I could manage to talk between contractions. After a couple of hours they were literally one on top of the other. I sucked on completely ineffective gas and air and sat on my chair. I thrashed and moaned through each contraction with clenched teeth, like a dying animal. I remember I made some terrifying sounds. I was barely aware of any one else being present in the room. I refused all other pain relief. I could tell my midwife disapproved.
About 6.5 hours after arriving at hospital and still not having progressed beyond 4-5 cm the consultant recommended a second section. I was too tired, in too much pain to disagree. I vaguely recall having to sign consent forms though I doubt I managed more than an illegible scrawl. I felt devastated. I had given up.
I wasn't allowed to move from the bed after that. Over an hour was to pass before I got taken to theatre. Continuing to labour on that bed was agonising. I couldn't stay still. I was writhing like something caught in a trap. I was sick into whatever was available to my left. I'm almost certain that I was in transition at this point. I think I probably progressed very quickly after that examination, just like my Aunt with her first labour and VBAC. But I just needed it to be over.
When I finally got to theatre I was given gas and air while they prepped me. This one actually worked. I felt light headed and dizzy. I don't think there was anything in the cannister I had been using previously because it had had no effect other than giving me a mouthpiece to bite down on. It took FOREVER for them to site my spinal. So much longer than with my elective. The needle was put in and out about 4 times. It took about 20 minutes I think. Then it took a long time to take hold. A good 5 or more minutes compared with the instantaneous effect last time. I was terrified I would feel anything. Even through the operation I could just about wiggle my fingers. The relief was immense though and suddenly I could function again, I could talk. I tried to concentrate on the imminent arrival of my son rather than regret for how things were turning out.
It took a long time but eventually I heard a loud yell and my son was born. My third little boy. For some reason he looked really big but it turned out he was only 7lb and a real titch. He was gorgeous. I was his Mummy straight away.
However I regret the way he came into this world. I regret that I wasn't stronger. I regret that I didn't have more support. I loved being in labour. It was exciting. It was incredible. I would do it again in a heartbeat. But I resent that birth experience.
What followed was no better. For a hospital that is working towards baby friendly status there was nothing baby friendly about it. For various - some arbitrary - reasons Ben ended up in the neo-natal unit for almost 2 days. The staff down there were fantastic and respected my instructions about his care and calling me instantly if he cried. However recovery from the section was so much slower this time. The neo-natal unit was on the ground floor and I was on the first. I was treated like a major inconvenience for refusing to allow them to bottle feed my son. I insisted on going down every 2.5 hours which meant a porter had to be called to take me in a wheelchair. Oh! The breastfeeding after pains! Agony!
Breastfeeding support was non-existent. Fortunately I didn't need it. But out of 7 women that were on my section of ward during my stay I was the only one breastfeeding. One young girl was attempting it but her little one was slightly premature and she was being convinced to express and give bottles as well. The answer to any breastfeeding issue was to express. Just after birth! No wonder none of the Mums were breastfeeding. At one point I needed to give Ben some expressed milk. A midwife sighed heavily and went off to get a breast pump. When she came back to see me holding a cup full of colostrum she looked at me aghast.
"How did you do THAT?!"
Apparently hand expressing is a little known art!
I would like another little one at some point and I would like to labour again and ideally aim for that VBA2C. But I know now that I need better support. Someone to tell me it's normal, that I'll get there. And I absolutely need to avoid that hospital at all costs.
He is more than worth it though.
Ben bump
At almost 40 weeks. Can you tell I'm feeling reminiscent. Is that an acceptable grammatical context for that word?
I love having a bump. It's wonderful when baby arrives and you get to meet that brand new little person of yours but part of me always grieves for the inevitable loss of that special in utero relationship.
I love having a bump. It's wonderful when baby arrives and you get to meet that brand new little person of yours but part of me always grieves for the inevitable loss of that special in utero relationship.
Wednesday, 15 April 2009
New Year 2006
As I rock my youngest son to sleep and post the birth story of my two eldest I'm reminded in a sudden rush how completely and utterly lucky I am to have three, beautiful, healthy children. I was prompted to look up a post I made on a message board at the start of 2006. It's difficult to remember but impossible to forget.
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I don't get much of a chance to come on here these days but I just wanted to let you know about my terrifying start to the new year.
On Friday the 30th at about 7.30pm we sat down to relax for the evening. Joseph was complaining so I picked him up for a cuddle and noticed his breathing seemed rather unusual and erratic. I decided it was best to get him checked out - he'd had a cold for a few days and there's asthma in the family so I wanted to be safe. As I waited for our lift to A&E to arrive he became drowsy and floppy. I couldn't believe he was the same baby that had been bouncing and 'chatting' a few hours previously.
When we got to the hospital I still expected to be sent away with some calpol and told it was a chest infection or something. The next thing I knew the triage nurse was taking us through into resus and hundreds of doctors were swarming around! Joseph had gone very very pale, his skin was mottled, his hands and feet were blue and his torso was covered in a pin prick rash. I couldn't believe it; it was completely surreal. He had needles stuck in his arms, his wrists, his head. Blood tests were taken, xrays were done, consultants were brought in from home.
Suddenly my little boy, looking tinier than I'd ever seen him, was sedated, intubated and bundled into an ambulance to be transferred to an intensive care unit some 40 miles away from home. I wasn't even allowed to travel in the ambulance with him as he needed to be accompanied by so many staff.
We followed behind in the car with Jack, who was thankfully being an absolute angel. I just couldn't believe it was happening. He'd been fine a few hours ago.
Joseph tested positive for Meningococcal Septicaemia. Luckily I'd taken him into hospital within an hour of his symptoms appearing and all the medical staff did everything 'right'. In a series of completely fortunate events and thankfully, him being a pretty robust little boy, he's now fine. I couldn't have asked for more efficient medical staff and I dread to think that if even one thing had been done differently I wouldn't be typing a positive story here now. Imagine if he'd started to get ill while we were all in bed at night!
Thankfully this didn't happen, and Joseph was only in intensive care for 24 hours. We've spent a week in hospital, which was completely exhausting, especially as I had to express enough milk for Jack who was being cared for by his Grandparents. But we're home now, and though the boys are completely out of any sort of routine and I wake up all the time at night to prod them and make sure they're still alive, we feel incredibly fortunate.
Hopefully none of you will ever have this experience but just in case - if you ever think you're being neurotic, chances are, you're NOT! Illnesses like this can kill within a matter of hours and appear out of nowhere. For anyone who doesn't already know or would like a recap, here's a link to some of the symptoms of Meningitis and Septicaemia:
http://www.meningitis.org/
Hope all your babies are happy and healthy and you had a great Christmas and New Year!
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I remain eternally grateful that so many little coincidences fell into place that night. I'm so incredibly glad that I didn't pay any heed to the pre-birth advice that the key to caring for twins successfully is ROUTINE! What if I had my babies in bed, in cots, in their own rooms by 7.30pm? What would I have woken up to the next morning?
I remember ringing my Mum, uncertain, to get confirmation of what I already knew to be true. I felt it, deep inside of me, that something was wrong although his symptoms were initially barely noticeable. I remember pacing the hall frantically within seconds of ringing Ryan's Mum to take us to the hospital. She took her time. I paced. Ryan told me to calm down. I paced. That part of me knew I wasn't over reacting. We didn't have time to waste.
I remember being utterly calm at the hospital. I remember the on call consultant being paged from home. She swept into the room with her hair done up and her huge faux fur coat on. And she did a wonderful job.
I remember being inwardly hysterical that I wasn't allowed to feed him. I sheltered myself with this. He just needed some Mummy milk, that's all. Milk would make it all better. Why wouldn't they let me feed my baby? He couldn't really be this ill. Could he?
My chest still knots like a ball of tightly wound elastic reliving it.
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I don't get much of a chance to come on here these days but I just wanted to let you know about my terrifying start to the new year.
On Friday the 30th at about 7.30pm we sat down to relax for the evening. Joseph was complaining so I picked him up for a cuddle and noticed his breathing seemed rather unusual and erratic. I decided it was best to get him checked out - he'd had a cold for a few days and there's asthma in the family so I wanted to be safe. As I waited for our lift to A&E to arrive he became drowsy and floppy. I couldn't believe he was the same baby that had been bouncing and 'chatting' a few hours previously.
When we got to the hospital I still expected to be sent away with some calpol and told it was a chest infection or something. The next thing I knew the triage nurse was taking us through into resus and hundreds of doctors were swarming around! Joseph had gone very very pale, his skin was mottled, his hands and feet were blue and his torso was covered in a pin prick rash. I couldn't believe it; it was completely surreal. He had needles stuck in his arms, his wrists, his head. Blood tests were taken, xrays were done, consultants were brought in from home.
Suddenly my little boy, looking tinier than I'd ever seen him, was sedated, intubated and bundled into an ambulance to be transferred to an intensive care unit some 40 miles away from home. I wasn't even allowed to travel in the ambulance with him as he needed to be accompanied by so many staff.
We followed behind in the car with Jack, who was thankfully being an absolute angel. I just couldn't believe it was happening. He'd been fine a few hours ago.
Joseph tested positive for Meningococcal Septicaemia. Luckily I'd taken him into hospital within an hour of his symptoms appearing and all the medical staff did everything 'right'. In a series of completely fortunate events and thankfully, him being a pretty robust little boy, he's now fine. I couldn't have asked for more efficient medical staff and I dread to think that if even one thing had been done differently I wouldn't be typing a positive story here now. Imagine if he'd started to get ill while we were all in bed at night!
Thankfully this didn't happen, and Joseph was only in intensive care for 24 hours. We've spent a week in hospital, which was completely exhausting, especially as I had to express enough milk for Jack who was being cared for by his Grandparents. But we're home now, and though the boys are completely out of any sort of routine and I wake up all the time at night to prod them and make sure they're still alive, we feel incredibly fortunate.
Hopefully none of you will ever have this experience but just in case - if you ever think you're being neurotic, chances are, you're NOT! Illnesses like this can kill within a matter of hours and appear out of nowhere. For anyone who doesn't already know or would like a recap, here's a link to some of the symptoms of Meningitis and Septicaemia:
http://www.meningitis.org/
Hope all your babies are happy and healthy and you had a great Christmas and New Year!
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I remain eternally grateful that so many little coincidences fell into place that night. I'm so incredibly glad that I didn't pay any heed to the pre-birth advice that the key to caring for twins successfully is ROUTINE! What if I had my babies in bed, in cots, in their own rooms by 7.30pm? What would I have woken up to the next morning?
I remember ringing my Mum, uncertain, to get confirmation of what I already knew to be true. I felt it, deep inside of me, that something was wrong although his symptoms were initially barely noticeable. I remember pacing the hall frantically within seconds of ringing Ryan's Mum to take us to the hospital. She took her time. I paced. Ryan told me to calm down. I paced. That part of me knew I wasn't over reacting. We didn't have time to waste.
I remember being utterly calm at the hospital. I remember the on call consultant being paged from home. She swept into the room with her hair done up and her huge faux fur coat on. And she did a wonderful job.
I remember being inwardly hysterical that I wasn't allowed to feed him. I sheltered myself with this. He just needed some Mummy milk, that's all. Milk would make it all better. Why wouldn't they let me feed my baby? He couldn't really be this ill. Could he?
My chest still knots like a ball of tightly wound elastic reliving it.
Jack and Joseph's birth story
Jack and Joseph were born by elective c-section on July 5th 2005. It was a largely positive experience, with the exception of some aspects of the subsequent hospital stay, and I feel it was the right birth experience for both my welfare and theirs.
Ben's birth story to follow. It has been almost 18 months and I still haven't been able to bring myself to write it, though I can remember every tiny detail. I thought starting with this could give me a nudge in the right direction. Who knows, it might be cathartic.
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At my 34 week growth scan, both the babies were breech and the obstetrician booked me in for an elective section on July 5th assuring me that ‘it’s very unlikely they’ll move now’. Two weeks later and a further scan shows twin one is now head down so a second obstetrician changes my section to an induction on July 6th. A final check up on the 4th of July revealed (I don’t know why I was suprised!) that yes, once again, both babies were breech! At this stage a THIRD obstetrician advised me that I would probably be waiting another week before I could get a section date. As it happened, the hospital managed to get back my original date of July 5th. I had my bloods done and went home, knowing that in 24 hours I would have my babies and feeling totally unprepared!
Ryan and I arrived at the maternity hospital at 7.45am. The anaesthetist who would be doing my spinal went through a few things with me and then a very seasoned midwife checked my blood pressure and checked the babies heartbeats on a little portable scanner. Twin two appeared to be sleeping but twin one could be seen blinking and opening his mouth. It was hard to believe in a few hours they would be more than just that little black and white image.
We were taken up to the ward to wait and told that I should have delivered my babies by late morning. As it happened my section was delayed several times due to some ‘problems’ in theatre. By this point the nervousness had worn off some and three days of no sleep were taking their toll. I fell asleep on the bed while Ryan sat reading various newspapers. At 1pm I had a drip set up (I didn’t much care for the canula!) since I had been on nil by mouth since 10pm the previous night.
At 3pm a midwife suddenly appeared and said they were ready for me. After the wait it all seemed very sudden and I got prepped for theatre in a bit of a daze. I was very quiet on the walk down and the midwife repeatedly asked if I was ok. It was cold in the operating room and I couldn’t stop shaking, though I think it was partly through nervousness. I was led in wrapped in my dressing gown, shivering and clutching my drip.
A very uncomfortable bp cuff was put round my left arm and Ryan was sent away to get his scrubs on and wait for me to have the spinal. That was a strange experience. The anaesthetist told me to sit on the edge of the bed and announced it would feel ‘very cold’ on my back, which it did! A few minutes later (well, probably not that long in reality!) I was told it was all done and to lie down. To my suprise, my legs were already starting to feel heavy! They tested to check that the spinal was working well…it was! I was numb from the top of my chest down within a matter of minutes. Not being able to lift my legs was very odd. I started to get worried by now as it was nearly 15 minutes and Ryan still hadn’t been brought back. They were about the make the first incision. I asked and was told he was on his way.
The actual operation was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. I’ve never had any sort of surgery before, never mind whilst being awake! My view was blocked my the screen but Ryan had a first hand view of everything. I could vaguely see in the lights above me but it was mostly just a red blur. I was a little jealous and would have liked to see, but they thought it best I didn’t! I had forgotten to bring my camera down which I was a bit annoyed about. I did however hear my waters being suctioned and saw blood spraying onto the lights above me!
After a lot of tugging and pulling and pushing on the top of my tummy (I could see them going to work on me – there is nothing gentle about a c-section delivery!) twin one, a boy, was pulled into the world at 15.41pm. Jack William. Two minutes later – though it seemed much longer – his brother, Joseph Eoin was pulled equally violently out of his comfortable dwellings. Both boys weighed in at 5lb 14oz. I cuddled Jack whilst they stitched me up and Daddy cuddled Joseph.
I remember there being a huge concave just below my ribs at this point and a part of my mind was preoccupied with the fear that it would never go back to normal for a while!
When they were nearly finished with me the little ones were put into an incubator as they were having a few problems keeping warm, and taken through to recovery with their Daddy. We had our first shot at breastfeeding, which went well. Jack latched on and sucked like a pro, but Joseph was still a bit cold and sleepy, so was syringe fed 7mls of colostrum since I didn’t want him to be given formula.
After two hours we were moved up to the ward where grandparents got their first brief visits. I felt on top of the world until my mum asked if I was alright, at which point I realised I felt terrible and was about to be sick! Everyone left and I was given a chance to relax, though to be honest I can’t really remember the rest of the night.
We were allowed home from hospital after 5 days, with Jack weighing in at 5lb 7oz and Joseph at 5lb 8oz. They are very slightly jaundiced.
The sproglets are a week old today and, although they are hard work, everything is going well. Breastfeeding is very successful thus far and as soon as I have a feeding pillow, I should be able to start feeding them together to save a bit of time. Two hourly feeds are a bit exhausting during the night with two babies. Other than that, they are absolutely adorable and me and their Daddy love them both to bits.
Ben's birth story to follow. It has been almost 18 months and I still haven't been able to bring myself to write it, though I can remember every tiny detail. I thought starting with this could give me a nudge in the right direction. Who knows, it might be cathartic.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At my 34 week growth scan, both the babies were breech and the obstetrician booked me in for an elective section on July 5th assuring me that ‘it’s very unlikely they’ll move now’. Two weeks later and a further scan shows twin one is now head down so a second obstetrician changes my section to an induction on July 6th. A final check up on the 4th of July revealed (I don’t know why I was suprised!) that yes, once again, both babies were breech! At this stage a THIRD obstetrician advised me that I would probably be waiting another week before I could get a section date. As it happened, the hospital managed to get back my original date of July 5th. I had my bloods done and went home, knowing that in 24 hours I would have my babies and feeling totally unprepared!
Ryan and I arrived at the maternity hospital at 7.45am. The anaesthetist who would be doing my spinal went through a few things with me and then a very seasoned midwife checked my blood pressure and checked the babies heartbeats on a little portable scanner. Twin two appeared to be sleeping but twin one could be seen blinking and opening his mouth. It was hard to believe in a few hours they would be more than just that little black and white image.
We were taken up to the ward to wait and told that I should have delivered my babies by late morning. As it happened my section was delayed several times due to some ‘problems’ in theatre. By this point the nervousness had worn off some and three days of no sleep were taking their toll. I fell asleep on the bed while Ryan sat reading various newspapers. At 1pm I had a drip set up (I didn’t much care for the canula!) since I had been on nil by mouth since 10pm the previous night.
At 3pm a midwife suddenly appeared and said they were ready for me. After the wait it all seemed very sudden and I got prepped for theatre in a bit of a daze. I was very quiet on the walk down and the midwife repeatedly asked if I was ok. It was cold in the operating room and I couldn’t stop shaking, though I think it was partly through nervousness. I was led in wrapped in my dressing gown, shivering and clutching my drip.
A very uncomfortable bp cuff was put round my left arm and Ryan was sent away to get his scrubs on and wait for me to have the spinal. That was a strange experience. The anaesthetist told me to sit on the edge of the bed and announced it would feel ‘very cold’ on my back, which it did! A few minutes later (well, probably not that long in reality!) I was told it was all done and to lie down. To my suprise, my legs were already starting to feel heavy! They tested to check that the spinal was working well…it was! I was numb from the top of my chest down within a matter of minutes. Not being able to lift my legs was very odd. I started to get worried by now as it was nearly 15 minutes and Ryan still hadn’t been brought back. They were about the make the first incision. I asked and was told he was on his way.
The actual operation was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life. I’ve never had any sort of surgery before, never mind whilst being awake! My view was blocked my the screen but Ryan had a first hand view of everything. I could vaguely see in the lights above me but it was mostly just a red blur. I was a little jealous and would have liked to see, but they thought it best I didn’t! I had forgotten to bring my camera down which I was a bit annoyed about. I did however hear my waters being suctioned and saw blood spraying onto the lights above me!
After a lot of tugging and pulling and pushing on the top of my tummy (I could see them going to work on me – there is nothing gentle about a c-section delivery!) twin one, a boy, was pulled into the world at 15.41pm. Jack William. Two minutes later – though it seemed much longer – his brother, Joseph Eoin was pulled equally violently out of his comfortable dwellings. Both boys weighed in at 5lb 14oz. I cuddled Jack whilst they stitched me up and Daddy cuddled Joseph.
I remember there being a huge concave just below my ribs at this point and a part of my mind was preoccupied with the fear that it would never go back to normal for a while!
When they were nearly finished with me the little ones were put into an incubator as they were having a few problems keeping warm, and taken through to recovery with their Daddy. We had our first shot at breastfeeding, which went well. Jack latched on and sucked like a pro, but Joseph was still a bit cold and sleepy, so was syringe fed 7mls of colostrum since I didn’t want him to be given formula.
After two hours we were moved up to the ward where grandparents got their first brief visits. I felt on top of the world until my mum asked if I was alright, at which point I realised I felt terrible and was about to be sick! Everyone left and I was given a chance to relax, though to be honest I can’t really remember the rest of the night.
We were allowed home from hospital after 5 days, with Jack weighing in at 5lb 7oz and Joseph at 5lb 8oz. They are very slightly jaundiced.
The sproglets are a week old today and, although they are hard work, everything is going well. Breastfeeding is very successful thus far and as soon as I have a feeding pillow, I should be able to start feeding them together to save a bit of time. Two hourly feeds are a bit exhausting during the night with two babies. Other than that, they are absolutely adorable and me and their Daddy love them both to bits.
Jack and Joey bump
The day before they were born at 37+4 weeks. This pregnancy was hard work in the latter stages.
Springing
Everything is growing.
The boys are very excited by their cress.
And their sunflowers - barely starting to peep through the earth! We also planted pumpkins at their insistence but no sign of them yet and I'm not certain how successful they will be!
Some tiny little violas, struggling against all the odds to flower. The soil in our garden is 80% clay and 20% rocks. I'm lucky if I can get anything to grow.
More viola, lavender and hyacinths. I love hyacinth and they smell absolutely gorgeous but I always think they're a very poorly designed flower, leaning drunkenly against each other for support.
I wish my garden was more 'growth' friendly though. It's a battle to get any sort of life that isn't grass, terrifyingly huge weeds and the odd renegade cat on the prowl.
The boys are very excited by their cress.
And their sunflowers - barely starting to peep through the earth! We also planted pumpkins at their insistence but no sign of them yet and I'm not certain how successful they will be!
Some tiny little violas, struggling against all the odds to flower. The soil in our garden is 80% clay and 20% rocks. I'm lucky if I can get anything to grow.
More viola, lavender and hyacinths. I love hyacinth and they smell absolutely gorgeous but I always think they're a very poorly designed flower, leaning drunkenly against each other for support.
I wish my garden was more 'growth' friendly though. It's a battle to get any sort of life that isn't grass, terrifyingly huge weeds and the odd renegade cat on the prowl.
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
Cross, grumpy Mummy.
Feeling ill. Thought I was just a bit wheezy on account of blowing up balloons on Sunday and the fact that my inhaler has run out. But felt like rubbish all day and had to endure work with a missed deadline and that fuzzy, semi-out of body feeling you sometimes get at the onset of minor illness.
Trains were running on a Saturday timetable and then it was delayed by 35 minutes because of 'undesirables' and the police being called. Finally got home at 7.40pm though still feeling positive because of the beautiful, sunny evening.
Got the boys some supper. Story and bedtime for the older two. Struggled for an hour trying to be patient an encourage them to sleep before losing it spectacularly and shouting mean and unreasonable things at them. Stomped downstairs. Toddler surgically attached himself to my leg. Stomped back upstairs with toddler in arms and look of black fury on my face to deal with one crying son and one defiant son. Said some more unreasonable things. Shouted at limpet toddler for daring to wriggle too much in my arms. Felt ill and decidedly UN-sunny.
Apologies, hugs and some soothing words for the older two and they finally quiet into sleep. A 'discussion' about wellington boots and some Mummy milk for the smaller one and he eventually drifts off too.
It's 10pm. I feel wound up and tired. And hungry. I cook tea for myself and the other half. I can't help but resent the fact that during this Daddy and his friend are watching the football/playing a computer game. I also can't help but make it known by continuing to stomp; scowl firmly planted upon my face.
11pm and tea is cooked at eaten. I still need a shower before I can go to bed because my hair desperately needs washing. And so here I am. At 10 past midnight. Not in bed. Not taking a word of advice from my own post below. Not feeling at peace.
Time for sleep. Tomorrow is another day.
Trains were running on a Saturday timetable and then it was delayed by 35 minutes because of 'undesirables' and the police being called. Finally got home at 7.40pm though still feeling positive because of the beautiful, sunny evening.
Got the boys some supper. Story and bedtime for the older two. Struggled for an hour trying to be patient an encourage them to sleep before losing it spectacularly and shouting mean and unreasonable things at them. Stomped downstairs. Toddler surgically attached himself to my leg. Stomped back upstairs with toddler in arms and look of black fury on my face to deal with one crying son and one defiant son. Said some more unreasonable things. Shouted at limpet toddler for daring to wriggle too much in my arms. Felt ill and decidedly UN-sunny.
Apologies, hugs and some soothing words for the older two and they finally quiet into sleep. A 'discussion' about wellington boots and some Mummy milk for the smaller one and he eventually drifts off too.
It's 10pm. I feel wound up and tired. And hungry. I cook tea for myself and the other half. I can't help but resent the fact that during this Daddy and his friend are watching the football/playing a computer game. I also can't help but make it known by continuing to stomp; scowl firmly planted upon my face.
11pm and tea is cooked at eaten. I still need a shower before I can go to bed because my hair desperately needs washing. And so here I am. At 10 past midnight. Not in bed. Not taking a word of advice from my own post below. Not feeling at peace.
Time for sleep. Tomorrow is another day.
Sunday, 12 April 2009
Easter Sunday
I have a small boy battling sleep nursing on my knee at the moment so just pictures...
Easter cards
A messy kitchen!
Sunday morning hide and seek.
An egg hunt at Nanny's house
It was a pleasant enough day but I find it trying to be with them at Ryan's Mum's for too long. My authority to make decisions regarding my children wanes into non-existence and they get fed more junk food than I can bear - even when I explicitly state "NO MORE!" They get it sneakily behind my back!
But the boys love their Nanny and Ryan 'doesn't see the harm' so not only am I fighting a losing battle but I'm the bad guy too.
Easter cards
A messy kitchen!
Sunday morning hide and seek.
An egg hunt at Nanny's house
It was a pleasant enough day but I find it trying to be with them at Ryan's Mum's for too long. My authority to make decisions regarding my children wanes into non-existence and they get fed more junk food than I can bear - even when I explicitly state "NO MORE!" They get it sneakily behind my back!
But the boys love their Nanny and Ryan 'doesn't see the harm' so not only am I fighting a losing battle but I'm the bad guy too.
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
A triumphant return
Well, not really triumphant, but a return nonetheless.
I've taken a bit of an internet holiday. I don't know why. It wasn't a conscious decision. I've only really been nipping on to check the news etc at work. Things have been a little rocky lately in NI as I'm sure people will have noticed. Though I'm not sure who these 'people' I'm referring to are since I highly doubt I'm writing to an audience!
Anyway in brief we went to Paris for the weekend, just Ryan and myself, at the end of February. It was lovely. I really enjoyed it though I missed the boys terribly. We walked a LOT, saw all the usual touristy things; the Eiffel tower (which we climbed to the second floor of... it wasn't until I got a few flights of stairs up that I realised my inhaler was at home in N.I), the Louvre, Notre Dame, Champs-Elysees, Arc de triomph and so on and so forth. It has inspired me to learn French beyond a few key phrases. The low point of the trip was definitely within the first hour of arriving. I was walking while staring, transfixed, at a children's theatre with wonderful lights surrounding it and I fell down an uncovered grid into something that smelled suspiciously like sewage. My brand new shoes did not appreciate it. I also forgot my camera but we bought a disposable one so pictures may follow if I ever get them developed.
We also have a holiday booked for Valencia over July which my Mum and Dad (thanking them muchly) have mostly paid for. Travelling with the littlies will be interesting.
I've moved teams at work. I'm now on Property SSP (a projects team) rather than Property maintenance. I coded my first project last week. Completely unaided. I'm quite proud of myself actually. I've managed to fix any problems that arose and get all the documents out on time. Plus it seems to be working as planned though thorough testing has yet to be completed.
Ben is picking up new words all the time and constantly tries to copy things you say to him. He has such a cheeky little impish face and he makes me laugh every day. Jack and Joseph have been learning about shapes. There's also been a lot of playing in the garden in this more pleasant weather. We've planted hyacinths, lavender and violas. They have their own pots with sunflower seeds in them and they have some pumpkin seeds ready to plant later this month. We also have cress growing on the windowsill. I want to grow potatoes. Our soil is awful though. Clay.
I'm feeling rather conflicted as a parent at the moment which I suppose is, in part, what has lead me back here. I feel discipline has been sliding somewhat. Feeling run down, lethargic and stressed has lead to laziness. We've been being rather inconsistent, snapping and reacting inappropriately to both little things and big things alike.
I find it is very difficult to maintain a healthy work-family balance, especially when almost 2 hours of my day are taken up with travelling. I resent it a lot. I think I need an outlet to help me get back on track. I'm fed up of being tired when I get home. I'm fed up of it being their bedtime almost as soon as I get in the door. I'm fed up of being torn between eagerness to get them to bed so I can relax and desperate to keep them up and spend time with them. I need to be able to connect fully with all three of them when I get in; to spend time absolutely devoted to them before bed. To not get sidetracked by silly things like clothes being on the floor or toys not being tidied up properly.
I also need to relax, unwind and make time for myself. To that ends I think I will start practising relaxation techniques and possibly some yoga at home rather than just at my classes. It's always so effective I don't know why I don't make the time and the space for it. I think it could be very beneficial.
I hate money. I hate that it's so depressingly necessary. I hate that I feel as though I'm being robbed of precious years. Will I regret this? They are all at such wonderful stages of development. I just want to be with them during these early years, watching them grow and learn, learning with them, marvelling at the world around them. Honestly, I'm shutting myself off a little by trying not to think about it because when I do I just feel bereft.
Is there a way to balance this? Does anyone ever get used to it?
I've taken a bit of an internet holiday. I don't know why. It wasn't a conscious decision. I've only really been nipping on to check the news etc at work. Things have been a little rocky lately in NI as I'm sure people will have noticed. Though I'm not sure who these 'people' I'm referring to are since I highly doubt I'm writing to an audience!
Anyway in brief we went to Paris for the weekend, just Ryan and myself, at the end of February. It was lovely. I really enjoyed it though I missed the boys terribly. We walked a LOT, saw all the usual touristy things; the Eiffel tower (which we climbed to the second floor of... it wasn't until I got a few flights of stairs up that I realised my inhaler was at home in N.I), the Louvre, Notre Dame, Champs-Elysees, Arc de triomph and so on and so forth. It has inspired me to learn French beyond a few key phrases. The low point of the trip was definitely within the first hour of arriving. I was walking while staring, transfixed, at a children's theatre with wonderful lights surrounding it and I fell down an uncovered grid into something that smelled suspiciously like sewage. My brand new shoes did not appreciate it. I also forgot my camera but we bought a disposable one so pictures may follow if I ever get them developed.
We also have a holiday booked for Valencia over July which my Mum and Dad (thanking them muchly) have mostly paid for. Travelling with the littlies will be interesting.
I've moved teams at work. I'm now on Property SSP (a projects team) rather than Property maintenance. I coded my first project last week. Completely unaided. I'm quite proud of myself actually. I've managed to fix any problems that arose and get all the documents out on time. Plus it seems to be working as planned though thorough testing has yet to be completed.
Ben is picking up new words all the time and constantly tries to copy things you say to him. He has such a cheeky little impish face and he makes me laugh every day. Jack and Joseph have been learning about shapes. There's also been a lot of playing in the garden in this more pleasant weather. We've planted hyacinths, lavender and violas. They have their own pots with sunflower seeds in them and they have some pumpkin seeds ready to plant later this month. We also have cress growing on the windowsill. I want to grow potatoes. Our soil is awful though. Clay.
I'm feeling rather conflicted as a parent at the moment which I suppose is, in part, what has lead me back here. I feel discipline has been sliding somewhat. Feeling run down, lethargic and stressed has lead to laziness. We've been being rather inconsistent, snapping and reacting inappropriately to both little things and big things alike.
I find it is very difficult to maintain a healthy work-family balance, especially when almost 2 hours of my day are taken up with travelling. I resent it a lot. I think I need an outlet to help me get back on track. I'm fed up of being tired when I get home. I'm fed up of it being their bedtime almost as soon as I get in the door. I'm fed up of being torn between eagerness to get them to bed so I can relax and desperate to keep them up and spend time with them. I need to be able to connect fully with all three of them when I get in; to spend time absolutely devoted to them before bed. To not get sidetracked by silly things like clothes being on the floor or toys not being tidied up properly.
I also need to relax, unwind and make time for myself. To that ends I think I will start practising relaxation techniques and possibly some yoga at home rather than just at my classes. It's always so effective I don't know why I don't make the time and the space for it. I think it could be very beneficial.
I hate money. I hate that it's so depressingly necessary. I hate that I feel as though I'm being robbed of precious years. Will I regret this? They are all at such wonderful stages of development. I just want to be with them during these early years, watching them grow and learn, learning with them, marvelling at the world around them. Honestly, I'm shutting myself off a little by trying not to think about it because when I do I just feel bereft.
Is there a way to balance this? Does anyone ever get used to it?
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