Chez Moi

One of the top reasons any parent gives for going in for child #2 is for the child to have siblings and to understand and appreciate the bond. Spouse, friends, other family members are all fine but a sibling has a special place in one’s life indeed. After all, there’s no one else who shares the same background as you, who can understand where you might be coming from, considering theirs is the same.

I had longed for my son to have a sibling of his own. When he was around three, the way he used to interact with a friend’s daughter, who’s exactly a year younger than him used to fill my friend and I with this glow. Barely a foot himself, he used to guide her tricycle with a hand behind her seat and another one holding on to her handle bars. It made both of us go “awww!” and the friend to state “oh he’d make a fantastic big brother, di!” I agreed with her whole-heartedly.

P is such a sensitive, protective soul, the absolute best big brother material.

And in one week, I have seen instances of it that has made my heart sing and had my friend not in Chennai now, would make her say “I told you so” with much glee.

So we wanted to go for a walk on Sunday afternoon, to enjoy some rare end summer sun. “Let’s get her buggy out and we can all go for a walk, P - you can even ride your bicycle if you want!” suggested I. But no. “No mummy, let’s not do that, all my older friends will be playing and they might harm the baby!”, says my baby!!

The other night, he was watching telly while the baby was lying next to him staring at nothing in particular. Or so we’d thought. P looked at her and decided she was watching telly too, which was a big no no. Before any of us realised what was happening, he took off at a rapid clip, went to the crib, selected one of the brightly coloured animal toys and plonked it next to her, away from the telly, thus distracting her! Clever boy or what?

Then last night during dinner, he was sitting on the sofa and the baby was on awake, right next to him. Suddenly, there was a squeal! “Mummy look, the baby smiled at me. Look she is smiling at me!” Sure enough, she had a dopey grin on her face but her brother sported a bigger one.

Let’s hope this mutual love lasts.

“Breastmilk is the best!”, chanted the ad for a popular formula milk as I was busy washing out the baby bottles in soapy water. Was it mocking me? “How apt!”, piped in the hubby, unhelpfully.

Breastfeeding was not going off well. Granted, I had a rocky time of it last time too but this time, day 2 seems to have got me down on my knees. By the time night rolled in on day 2, I was begging for some pain relief, in the form of formula, to give my aching tits a break. Was that the end of it? Hell, no! Having two bottles and a two days old infant meant, instead of being up all night feeding the baby, I was up washing and sterilizing the blessed things. Sleep deprived, tired and feeling wooly-headed meant I wasn’t a happy bunny.

Day 3 brought in more woes, along with the milk, which resulted in some extremely engorged boobies. I now knew what the likes of Jordon and Jodie Marsh possessed and it wasn’t a happy feeling. This brought in a catch-22 type situation with it. Too full for the baby to be suckle but unless she does, situation will not improve. Deep joy. To top it all, I was absolutely sure we were falling at the first fence - latching on.

Asking for help from assorted midwifes and nurses didn’t help things much as they were all more or less dispensing the same advise via phone and it was all getting me nowhere fast.

Day 5 brought in some relief in the form of a midwife bathed in divine glow. She not only talked to me and
answered my questions patiently, she saw where I was going wrong and showed me how to get the baby to latch on properly, how to see if she was full and how to keep at it. Bless you, Midwife Sally! Thanks to her, I slept for a massive 3 hour stretch that night!

I so badly wanted to throw in the towel, especially when during the first two days, the breastfeeding brought on afterpains with a vengeance. The only thing that kept me going was the feeling of guilt that stayed with me long after I weaned P. Not because I didn’t have enough milk but because he was such an impatient baby and I an inexperienced ninny, who didn’t realise what a fantastic thing it was to breastfeed your baby. sigh. I want to go the distance this time - let’s hope I can.

In case the reader hasn’t guessed, The Bun popped out last monday. On my EDD, like her older brother. What are the odds of that? Seriously. I have been asked that question a lot the past week and would really love to know!

Just like my mum kept warning me, the second time around things didn’t take half as long as they did the first time. I have a thin cervix and though it takes a while for things to get the dilation process started, once it does things proceed at a rapid clip. With P, I went to the hospital 3 cms dilated at 5.30 am and he was born 4 hours later! This time, as we lived farther away from the hospital, we decided to go in earlier.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I woke up the hubby at around 2 am and we walked into the maternity ward at 3 am exactly.  Like I had warned him on the way, the midwife checked me and said I was only 2 cms gone and there’s miles to go yet. Exactly what they told me when I had rung them the previous evening with an update: “women take even 2 weeks to go from this to actual labour so don’t worry!” Then the midwife uttered the magic words, “would you like some gas & air?” Would I ever? That cylinder of Entonox became my best bud. I hung on to it for dear life but though it did take the edge off at first, slowly it got to an unbearable stage. I couldn’t keep walking anymore and lying down on my side didn’t really help things much.

After ninety mins or so of this, the brutal pain got too much to bear and I was screaming, literally, for epidural. As I was in the midwives only unit, I needed to be transferred to the main labour ward for an epidural. And for that, I needed to be checked to see how much I have dilated as epidural wouldn’t be administered too early in the proceedings. So the midwife did her bit and let out an outraged squawk! “But you are 7 cms dilated already!!”

If I wasn’t in deep pain, I would have taken great pleasure in smirking and saying “I told you so!” Things were a blur after that. Another midwife was brought in, they tried to check the Bun’s heartbeat with the trumpet, couldn’t figure out how far she’d moved down the birth canal, told me to turn this way and that and after an age, we could hear the reassuring “whump! whump!!” of the itty bitty heart. Then I heard the midwife go “would you like us to break your waters cos we think the baby’s head is right against it and if we break the waters, she can come out” - I would have said yes to anything then. Of course, they popped the waters and sat back to ask me if I wanted the injection to contract the uterus when the aide let out another squawk. “The baby’s crowning!” Well, DUH! I can feel it, you know!

So yeah, all hands on deck, hectic minutes and then out came the little one, tearing some tissues on her way out.

The past week, we have been getting acquainted with each other and trying to get settled into a routine. Already she adores her big brother. Opens her eyes wide and looks at him if he is sat next to her. Turns her head when she hears his voice. Even smiles at him, or so he claims!

Thanks a bunch everyone for your lovely, lovely wishes. Thanks to Doula MM for her announcement on the blog. Hopefully, I can keep up the updates etc.

I read this rather interesting article at Babble.com - it is all about how attachment parenting has gone into overdrive and parents are now like frenzied people, trying to outdo each other, hovering over their offspring and generally being big pains.
Read it yourself and tell me what you think. Do you agree with the author’s viewpoint or you think different?

In a totally different vein, read about this Canadian supermum, who raced all over town to make sure the drunk driver didn’t do anybody harm. Did I mention she was 9 months pregnant at the time? 

Why is it that most fears surface around 3.00 o’clock in the morning? It feels like at that time, all the nameless fears buried deep in your subconscious somehow float to the surface then and jostle your brain.

I had two nights last week when this happened to me that has prompted me to write so. First was last Friday - earlier on  previous evening, P came to me with this bump on his head. Didn’t think much of it as hey, which child doesn’t get scrapes and bumps eh? But then, in the dead of the night, thoughts of the mysterious bump and its mobile nature came unbidden to my head and roused me awake. From there, it was a small step worrying about mysterious ailments and a pointless and thoroughly scary Google search.

A quick trip to the doc the next day put my mind to rest.

Three nights back, it was the baby’s turn to worry me. Normally, she (I’d like to think it is a girl!) is quite active and moves around a lot. But that night, I couldn’t really feel the movements and started worrying. I had given myself 30 mins before I awoke S and really shifted into proper panic mode. Went to the loo, drank some cool water and lay down on the sofa for a while, worrying about silly things when I felt a small bump. I daren’t believe it and thought it was my tummy rumbling away. But soon enough, the baby started kicking and moving with usual vigour and the relief that flooded through me was unbelievable, I tell you!

Now I know what my mum means when she states that she couldn’t sleep after she woke up with some disjointed thoughts re my errant brother! Isn’t it funny that no matter how old your children are, it is at 3 AM, you lie awake thinking of them and worrying your head over them?