The funny side to life as a working single Mum. My stories of embarrassing escapades, toddler tantrums and great expectations.
Wednesday, 19 September 2012
Fasting for Ghana.
This is a photo of some of the amazing boys and girls from the class I taught in Santrokofi last summer.
My wonderful husband is among supporters who are undertaking a 24 or 48 hour fast next week! Charlie has gone for 48 hours of fasting from 8am on 25th September to 8am on 27th September. To clarify what I mean by fasting this is that he will consume nothing other than water. You may be asking why I am not taking part, especially as I am banging on about how great it all is! As I am breastfeeding I genuinely can't take part as it wouldn't be safe for me or Ethan. However, I am fundraising and getting the next batches of clothes and books ready for the children. Plus I will be undertaking a fast at a later date as soon as I stop breastfeeding. Now it is in writing on a public forum I can't escape!
If you can sponsor Charlie in his fast it would be amazing. Believe me, even just £1 makes a huge difference in the lives of these children, as I have seen first hand!
http://www.charitygiving.co.uk/charlie
If you want any other information about Raising Hope Foundation or have thought of another way you can help please say! Or if you want to join in the fasting please do!
See http://www.facebook.com/#!/events/155234567948911/ for the event details and to sign up.
http://www.raisinghopefoundation.co.uk/
Thank you so much
Cat x
Thursday, 13 September 2012
From Birth to Breast.
The best word to describe the past 6 weeks is intense. Physically and emotionally intense. In some ways it doesn't feel that long since I was faced with the shock that I had just given birth to our 10lbs 13oz baby boy in our bedroom without pain relief! Now, I don't bring this up to boast but to this day it all feels a little surreal when people ask about the labour and I give this answer. The looks and comments I get are priceless and never fail to entertain me. Most of the time however, it feels as though Ethan has always been here and I have no idea what I did before he arrived. It is as though I have spent my whole life, in particular 9 and a half months waiting and preparing for something which you can never really prepare for fully.
I may have prepared my body, my mind and home to some extent but I certainly didn't prepare my breasts for what was to come. I was always determined to breastfeed, as my mother did; it seemed the natural choice. I read the books, undertook the training and assumed it would just happen. How naive I was. I figured that breastfeeding would only hurt if you did it 'wrong.' What I hadn't prepared myself for is how hungry babies are, how comforting my boobs are and how much strength of suck a newborn has!
For the first 3 weeks of breastfeeding at least I can only compare our son to a snappy turtle or one of those teethy animal heads on sticks kids get from museums or the zoo. It got to the point where the sight of the deadly jaws of my beautiful boy approaching my nipple filled me with genuine fear and bought many tears to my eye! Breastfeeding is an incredibly natural process, with practise and support. Thankfully after 6 weeks we have managed to settle into breastfeeding but it hasn't been without a lot of tears (on both sides of the breast), guilt and the odd bottle of aptamil. Some will judge those who bottle feed, whether it be the odd bottle or completely but my opinion on this is make your own choice, keep judgement to yourself and understand that the most valuable thing for a baby is a happy Mummy.
Until I gave birth myself I never imagined there would be such heated debate and in my opinion, ill treatment of women for their feeding choices of their own children. I have made my feeding choice for our son but it is just that; my choice. It is not the choice of the health visitor who tells me I am a 'failure' at breastfeeding (actual words) nor is it the choice of the multitude of leaflets which shout BREAST IS BEST over and over again. I may have managed to continue breastfeeding but I don't blame or judge any woman who has stopped breastfeeding at any point. It is hard work, really hard and for some it is impossible both physically and mentally to function and perform as a mother under the level or pressure and pain experienced. Think nipples bleeding while spending half an hour attempting to attach your crying baby to you only to then sit crying in pain for the next hour while they feed. Then imagine getting a 20 minute break before starting the whole process again. Over and over again. Top this with a generous dose of loneliness (as you are the only one able to feed your child at this point) and you have some idea of whether breast is always best.
As I say, I have continued with breastfeeding but this is my personal choice and you can quote me as saying that there have been points far more difficult than labour itself. Having continued with breastfeeding the next hurdle has been feeding in public. Now I am pretty sure that in the days when my weekends (and sometimes week nights) were spent necking cocktails and shots I flashed a boob or two but doing so when sober in daytime hours is a daunting prospect for most women. My first experience of public feeding really threw me straight into it. Sitting in a lovely cafe Utopia in Southend enjoying lunch with my Mum I rapidly realised Ethan was looking a little chompy. Instead of feeding him immediately I decided to start a conversation with him to ask whether he wanted to eat and begging for a clear signal. After a few minutes of this my Mum told me that I need to make a decision, rather than Ethan. Good point. The poor boy is not a lady that lunches, he is 4 weeks old and hungry. With my muslin cloth at the ready and fingers crossed I manage to get Ethan on to the breast without any nipple flashing and not one judgemental look from staff or customers. Lucky me. It has not been unheard of for women to breastfeed their babies in public toilets. As my health visitor said today would we eat lunch in a public toilet? After all my worrying Ethan fed for less than 5 minutes which tells me he either wanted to make the experience less traumatic for me or he got stage fright!
I could probably discuss breastfeeding and the judgement and guilt placed upon women for their feeding choice for the whole blog but will just end with these words. Hot Milk. Beautiful nursing bras; disturbing company name. There is nothing hot (in the sexy sense) about my massive milk machines.
Ethan and I at 5 weeks.
Saturday, 11 August 2012
Ethan George Hadley
Ethan is healthy, happy and totally perfect. The Hadley family are overjoyed he has arrived and so proud of him already. Daddy has been so amazing at looking after Mummy and Ethan and we are very lucky to have our extended family around us helping out.
One quick thing is that I cannot stress enough just how amazing giving birth at home is and how much I would suggest trying it if possible, as obviously each pregnancy is very different. The atmosphere was relaxed, even through the pain and difficulty of labour and once Ethan was born it was lovely to have him bought straight to me in our own bed and home with everything here. I love that the first place he experienced was his home.
More at some point soon; expect home birth, bigger babies and the thoughts and feelings of a new Mummy!
Saturday, 4 August 2012
10 things to do when overdue in pregnancy (the alternative list)
We have
all read the usual lists which contain enlightening suggestions of things to do when overdue
such as reading a good book, watching a film or washing baby clothes. In all
honesty these tips are either ridiculously obvious or as dull hearing yet
another woman tell you how kinky 'Fifty Shades...' is. I like to think that the
following is a list of far more inventive and entertaining ways to spend your
final days with child:
1, Go out
for dinner in a busy restaurant and, when you get massive cramp in your massive
arse, jump up suddenly and loudly. If not suffering cramps, do it anyway. Watch
the staff shit themselves and the childless couples around you look really
uncomfortable.
3. Take a bus or train ride and when (if) someone offers you a seat act horrified and demand to know what they are suggesting.
4. Head
to Boots but not for your usual breast pads and Bio Oil. Browse the contraceptive
aisle for a while and engage an assistant in an in depth conversation about which
method is best.
5. Ask
for a tour of your local gym. When they ask you what you want to use the gym
for tell them you have a bit of a belly to sort out for your holiday to Ibiza
next month.
6. Go
speed dating and watch the horrified and potentially disgusted looks on the
faces of the singletons. In particular the men as they sit down uncomfortably
and think of something to say.
7. Take a
trip to Ann Summers. Ask the assistant for advice on the crotchless knickers
and nipple tassels. If you are really brave you could even ask them which sex
toy is best to bring on labour.
8. Go to
your local shop or cafe and pick up a bag of prawn cocktail crisps. Proceed to
ask the assistant whether you can eat them because they contain shellfish and
you are concerned about the risks in pregnancy. Please note someone genuinely
asked our midwife this question. I shit you not.
9. Take a
trip to the cinema to see a 15 or 18 rated film and ask the staff whether you
allowed because you are carrying a minor. Even when they look confused and tell
you it is not a problem, leave quickly, looking upset and ashamed.
10. The
possibilities are endless. Use your imagination to make being overdue in
pregnancy as inventive and enjoyable as possible.
Note: I
have not tried out all of these ideas and am not a medical professional. I am
not suggesting that sex toys or any other point from the list will help to bring on
labour or is a good plan in any way.
Friday, 3 August 2012
The Moth and The Chamber Pot.
I spent what I consider a considerable amount of time simply maneuvering myself out of the bath like something more reminiscent of a creature from some Japanese horror story of revenge and doom than the glowing earth mother I am in my mind. Having relaxed and feeling rather proud of managing to hoist myself from the bath I suddenly felt an onset of unusual pains. Embracing my inner big screen demon I wandered around a little, sat on the sofa, had a crack at bouncing on the exercise ball. Imagine if someone shagged one of the zombies from 'The Walking Dead' and got it pregnant then then left it to get on with it in an airy flat by the sea. Imagine a potential victim of Jeremy Kyle, who even he couldn't find the right synonym for 'scum' because, well, she's dead and trying to eat him. Now that would make daytime TV far more interesting but that's a whole other story.
Back to my toilet/moth story. Feeling tired after all that undead action I headed to my chamber pot only to find that even this would be a challenge to face. When will it stop? Still feeling unusual I reclined and realised nothing was happening down there, other than the original pain. I would apologise for too much information but if you didn't get a vibe for the subject matter from the heading I refuse to take responsibility for your lack of responsibility. Already uncomfortable, it was at this point I fell off the toilet seat, which appears to have broken somehow. Probably because of my massive arse or belly weighing it down. After 9 months it has just given up. Oh, the irony.
This pretty much covers the whole toilet fiasco, except for an uninvited guest. The moth. It may have been a tiny beast but it seemed determined to make my afternoon toilet adventure even more eventful. So, here I am at now over 9 months pregnant, in a bath towel, looking and acting like a zombie on the toilet. Falling off it, getting back on. Fighting a moth all the way through Read into that whatever metaphor you will. I am just wondering whether Beyonce was in the same boat as she prepared to head to the hospital floor she had rented with her millions.
Thursday, 2 August 2012
Yoga: not just for hippies.
I can see what you are thinking. This woman is clearly a hippy so how does this support yoga as anything other than a pretenious pastime for the peculiar?
When I fell pregnant I hadn't undertaken a sustained amount of yoga time in several months and felt it would be an easy way to stay active without working too hard! However, I really have found that it has provided so much more than an easy way to prevent myself from feeling like a total sloth. While continuing to work full time in a highly pressured and intense job with the usual pregnancy gripes it was the only time I really experienced real relaxation. Whether this is simply because of the focus on movement, careful breathing or simply the quiet time to switch off I would suggest everyone should try it at some point, pregnant or otherwise. I also suggest doing so with the door shut with no risk of interruption to save yourself any hippy shame!
Right, I know that was a quick one but having completed my afternoon yoga session it is about time I headed off for some green tea and chick pea curry!
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
The good, the bad and the ugly.
I will start with the good but believe me, it is all downhill from here! People tell you about the pregnancy glow right? They may even tell you have it. In the early stages when you have been projectile vomiting for longer than the girl in 'The Exorcist' or even the parody of this legendary scene seen in 'Scary Movie 2' this is a ridiculous. As you move further on in pregnancy and seem to become more tired and aged than the coverage of the Olympic ticket farce already has done it feels on the cusp of offensive. Either this or blame the hormones. While some people may be saying you have the glow on a day when you really do look like shit to try and perk you up, I do believe there is some truth in it. I am not saying we have some kind of teen vampire sparkle but looking back at photos of myself I can see some truth in the preggo glow myth. Either that or blame the hormones. Again.
Next I come to the bad. There are plenty of bases to cover here. A base of constipation with a filling of piles and heart burn all topped off with stretch marks for good measure. Lush. This isn't to say that these aspects of pregnancy have been unbearable or are in any way not worth the final outcome; they are largly just amusing really. My own Mum saw my stretch marks just the other day and seemed surprised but told me, in her Rosie the Riveter manner to be proud of my stretch marks and what they represent. Outstanding advice in my opinion. Hence why these are only finalists in the category of bad. I am talking about the bad which are what I like to call baby wardens, belly monitors or the bump police. We all know them, those people who just love to comment on the size, shape and implication of your bump. They feel the need to tell you either how massive you are and what a beast of a baby you are going to have to push out of your nether regions or how tiny and lucky you are but that your baby will clearly be a tiny, malnourished specimen which will just pop out no trouble! In my case it was the later. From people I actually know to taxi drivers, it seems that bump development could be considered an Olympic spectator sport. I am sure they mean well but take a minute to think about it. At what other point in life do you approach a woman and tell them what a fat bastard or skeletal creature they are?
Time for the best bit. The ugly. If you have ever heard the phrase 'bumping uglies' I may have found where it originates. The challenge of the beaver in pregnancy. Let me take you back to my time in Ghana. My volunteer friend and I were getting dressed for the day and suddenly realised that with a lack of consistent running water or clean facilities we were beginning to develop an au natural approach to tackling said beaver and couldn't wait to tackle that bad boy on our return home. First on the list was a cheese sandwich and cup of tea. Next was the battle of the beaver. Let me tell you something, what I thought was a beaver discovery in Ghana was merely a simple squirrel in comparison to what has emerged over the past 9 months. In the beginning and for some time I was gaining points in the beaver wars but as time progressed and my view of the beast became even more limited I was forced to hold up my white flag and surrender. In the battle of Cat vs Beaver I am sad to say that beaver has well and truly won. KO.
You may as well laugh at the ridiculous bits of pregnancy. Otherwise you might just cry. Or maybe this is all the hormones talking yet again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)