Children

New Balls Please……

07/10/2013 by MrsSavageAngel Leave a Comment

My son has always had tonnes of energy and has always been keen to do his own thing. For example, the baby, who for most of his first year was in the 25th centile for height and weight (i.e. diddy), rolled at 16 weeks (front to back & vice versa), was crawling (at speed!) by 6 months and was walking unaided at 10 months. By 11 months he could run (sort of). So people who know him, know him as a runner, an escape artist, a child who is off! They don’t know him for crying and for the most part neither do I. Never having been one for major melt downs however, my son treated me to a blinder last Friday. In public. Eugh.

I should have seen it coming I suppose. He was tired, possibly a little stressed (our local soft play tower does that to him) and frustrated. He wanted to run around the leisure centre foyer and, if at all possible, under the barriers and out of the doors. And yet here was this mean woman holding him back, stopping him from feeling the joy of running, keeping him safe for goodness sake. I mean, what was her problem?!

So he flipped. Good and proper. Screams and squeals so loud I worried for my ear drum. Writhing like an eel in my grasp. Flailing his little arms like his life depended on it. The lot. So I hoicked him up under one arm, grabbed the buggy with the other hand and headed to a corridor I thought might be quieter. WRONG. I ended up in front of more people. I put him down for a second and he ran into the squash court (being set up for children’s play I have to add – phew!) and I had to run in and get him. In front of a glass wall of people staring. Oh the joy!

That was it. I’d had enough and in the absence of knowing what to do next, I carried him, screaming, into the baby changing loo. I tried talking to him, but by this time he, and I, were perhaps beyond talking. I started to lose my temper with him (OK, OK I’m not proud of this bit, but hear me out). I started to shout, to tell him off. Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror next to me. I have to recommend it. Lose your temper in front of a mirror. It’s awful and ridiculous. You cant stay mad when you realise how stupid you look. I stopped. He stopped. We just stared at each other in the mirror. In that split second I felt us both say to each other “why don’t you understand me”.

And so it begins.

Afterwards I felt drained and miserable (the come down of anger will do that to you). I also felt confused. What had just happened? Who was that boy? Wheres my placid if energetic baby? Is this going to happen again? If so how am I best meant to deal with it? If he’d had a tantrum at home I’d have pretty much just ignored him, but I cant walk away from him in public at 18 months old. Can I? I realised, with some sadness, that we are entering the world of the unknown. The world of the Toddler (think dramatic music and Hammer Horror type sound effects). Its frightening!

When I later mentioned the situation to friends and in various social media, I was amazed and touched by the number of people who came to my side and told me it was going to be OK or told me about their own “incidents”. I realise that Oscar is not alone in this behaviour, that it is a normal part of growing up and pushing boundaries. I also realise that I am not alone in feeling helpless and frustrated. All first time parents do (if there are any of you who don’t, would you be interested in running classes to share your knowledge?). It just seems cruel that right when I started to feel confident as a parent of a baby, like I’d reached 98 on the Snakes and Ladders game of parenthood, that I rolled a one and slid all the way back to square 2.

Everything’s a changing.

New balls please.

When you’re having fun…

30/09/2013 by MrsSavageAngel Leave a Comment

We’ve been sorting through some old photos and videos this week. When I say old, they’re all of Oscar, so in fact not a one of them is older than 18 months. Yes, 18 months. Oscar will be 18 months on 2nd October. No I cant quite believe it either.

Anyway back to the pictures. As with most children these days Oscar is one photographed baby. Which child isn’t, with the advent of the camera phone? Last week I realised I was carrying over 1000 photos just on my Camera Roll alone. I had to download and delete hundreds, just to make space for the new IOS7. Ben also found some on his phone, ones I’d not seen before. Here was this tiny little baby, completely dependent and utterly different to the self assured toddler I have running round my legs now. I wont lie to you, it put me in rather a reflective mood.

Sometimes I wish I could go back and do his early days over again, but this time with the confidence I have now. I wouldn’t cry myself to pieces, when he refused to breast feed. I wouldn’t have evil dreams about my milk coming back in (sometimes as black as oil) and me trying to feed him again, when it dried up at 4 weeks. I wouldn’t beat myself up about leaving the room to have a drink or food or a wee. I would do this, I wouldn’t do that. Blah blah blah. Hindsight it a wonderful thing and I think most new mothers experience it in some way or another – its probably natures way of encouraging women to have more children.

But I can’t go back and wishing I’d done this or that really isn’t very helpful. He is who he is, because of how we managed the last 18 months. I came to the conclusion a while ago that Oscar will always find his own rhythm, and he really does. Guidelines are only ever that and, as a friend pointed out the other day, are really aimed at the lowest common denominator. You have to find a way to trust your own instincts as a mother (although I know I’ve had times when I’ve gone against my better judgement, and kicked myself for it later!). The only way you can move forward is by learning from the mistakes you make. It’s such a mean system – why cant things just go right first time round?!

Where am I going with this? I don’t really know, other than I sat and watched Oscar play and dance and run around in front of me yesterday and it made me cry. I’m so happy that he’s growing up to be a such a healthy, strong and sparky little man, a real character. Its all I ever wanted for my baby. But sometimes it breaks my heart when I see flashes of the boy he is becoming.

I was trying to take some photos of the clock this morning, all restored and gleaming, when I noticed the Latin on the face;

Tempus Fugit – Time Flies

It certainly does.

Diary of an Imperfect Mum: Flashback Friday

Come here often?

23/09/2013 by MrsSavageAngel Leave a Comment

When I found out I was pregnant, one of the first things I did (apart from scream!) was to join our local NCT branch and register for their Antenatal course. Not because I wanted to do their course over any other particularly, but because although I’d lived in Surrey for 6 months at this point, I really didn’t know anyone in the area, especially not other mothers (excepting the wonderful Sarah Ord who was a life saver before I had Oscar and has continued to be ever since).

I was supremely lucky with my NCT group. I know I was. There were nine couples and with one exception we have all stayed in close contact since meeting in our third trimesters. The ladies were there when he wouldn’t sleep, they were there when he wouldn’t eat, they practically saved our lives when they took us places in their cars (I don’t drive due to my epilepsy) I couldn’t have hoped for a more friendly, supportive and caring bunch and I thank my lucky stars for them regularly.

But when our children started to near a year old, most of the ladies went back to work. Of course they did, I was expecting to myself. But I didn’t. Most of the girls were going back part time and Friday was the most common day off so we moved our meet up to a Friday morning. But I could suddenly see a time looming when I wouldn’t be seeing my lovely NCT friends throughout the week anymore. It was awful. But what could I do? Stay at home moping, waiting in until Friday to go out? I knew I had to take action.

I looked on the internet for suggestions. babycenter.com had a whole article about how to meet other “mommy’s”. Some of the advice was good, but carrying a “mommy card” (a business card with my contact details on it) to give to other mothers when out at the park just sounded bizarre. So much of the advice sounded like dating advice, it may as well have been called, “How to pick up other Moms”. I laughed.

But they were right in some respects. Making new friends as an adult is hard. Most of the friends I had in London were not from London. They were people I had a connection to via my home town in Devon. Most of my close friends were and still are living in Devon. For a friendly type, I’d made very few real friends in my eleven years in the Big Smoke. The NCT group offered me a ready made solution, but how was I going to move beyond that?

What I didn’t reckon with was the ice breaking properties of a small child. Oscar has made more friends for me than I ever managed myself in my whole adult life. The groups I attended for him as a wee tot were almost more about me than him. Strike that. On reflection I think there were almost entirely about me. Getting me out and about and meeting new people. Now he’s older and we go to Toddler Groups that are obviously a bit more about him and what he’s doing (learning through play, socialising etc). But you know what I still think they’re useful for me. I’ve met some great characters at these groups.

I had a lunch date with one of them this past week. We met initially through a webpage www.netmums.com that have a section called MeetAMum. It could almost be construed as mummy dating and in fact I have been on several mummy dates. When I had two “dates” in one week my friend Emma laughed and said I was a mummy tart! ;-). Hayley was new to the area and I offered to meet her to show her round. As it turned out she came to one of our toddler groups and we started chatting. Boom!! New friend made.

I’m not saying it’s easy. You really have to push yourself out there. Confidence is not always at its highest after having a baby. A new mum worries about everything. But I found the more I went out, the more Oscar did the hardest part for me. Before I knew it a “pop” to Tesco this Tuesday took an hour as I had to stop to chat to at least three different people I knew through the boy.

I never did the whole dating thing. Ben was only my second ever boyfriend and we’ve been together since we were 19. But I understand that in dating, as with making friends the same rings true. Faint heart never won fair maid. I must have a bold heart. I’ve met me some wonderfully fair maids.

Chim, chimineeee…..

16/09/2013 by MrsSavageAngel Leave a Comment

Practically Perfect in Every Way??? — Practically Perfect in Every Way!

The days are getting distinctively darker and gloomier and the nights are drawing in. The children have gone back to school and even the toddler groups have started up. There’s no denying it any longer. Autumn is well and truly here.

And that’s fab! Don’t get me wrong, I love the sunshine, particularly the kind this past summer delivered. But my favourite season has to be Autumn (and December which is technically winter but hey, I’m among friends). It’s so full of purpose and there seems to be an unending list of things to do. Which I love. The fact that my birthday and Christmas also fall in this time probably helps 😉

One of my favourite things to do when it’s dark and miserable outside, is to curl up on the sofa and watch a film. But these times are not suitable for any old film and towards Christmas they will likely come from my small but quality collection of Christmas movies (Muppet’s Christmas Carol anyone?). But until then, I am a sucker for a feel good Disney movie. I’ve been trying to introduce the boy to Disney films pretty much since he was born. I even bought him some which have male protagonists, (Jungle Book and Monsters Inc) to temper my more female Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast. But recently I decided it was time he was introduced to the world of Disney outside pure animation and showed him Mary Poppins.

I love Mary Poppins. I can remember the first time I ever saw it (Christmas Day, 1983) and its been a fixture in my life ever since; recorded off the telly, on the telly or (now in the 21st Century) on Netflix. I’ve been watching it practically all my life and I know all the lyrics to all the songs. I’ve been singing “Stay Awake” to soothe Oscar since he was born and now as soon as I start to sing it, he puts his head on my shoulder. I thought I knew this film.

Until I watched it the other day, with Oscar, through a mother’s eyes. I saw something in it I’d never noticed before and I’m still having trouble articulating what I saw so bare with me.

What I saw, for the first time, was not magic. What I saw, was a person, who comes into the lives of the children and provides them with the opportunity and ability to go on magical adventures using their own imagination. There was no Merry Go Round, there was no tea party on the ceiling. Rather an adult who enabled children to explore their own minds (I also saw a mother who, when she couldn’t find anyone else to look after the children when they had run away from the bank, was happy to leave them in the care of a stranger, a chimney sweep she’d never met, but that’s by the by). For the first time I saw a message to me as an adult; be the conduit through which children can explore and use their imaginations.

Was that message always there? Did I miss it before, because I had no children? Am I reading absolutely too much in to what is actually just a quaint story? Possibly. I mean, like I say I thought I knew this film upside down and back to front. Or do you take from films and books and media what I you need/want to? Probably.

But it’s made me think. Not just about the film itself and what the hell I was seeing from the first time, but about my role in Oscar’s development. When he was tiny it was all about the physical, helping him roll, crawl, walk, eat, keeping him physically safe. But now, I think, I need to turn our attention to the more internal aspects of his development. I’m not talking about ABC, 123 (although we do sing these every day!) I mean I think I need to concentrate on being that conduit, allowing him to develop that imagination. I look at his toys and I think it’s time to move away from those hand eye co-ordination, flashy light, musical thingamajigs and bring out the blocks and the hand size cars and things that make him play.

Being responsible for his physical well being suddenly seems like a doddle. Now I am responsible for encouraging something I have no control over. I can’t see what he’s imagining. I just have to go with him for the ride.

It’s funny. I always wanted to be Jane. She had such pretty dresses and got to dance on the rooftops of London. I never got to be her. But now, I get to be my own Mary Poppins. And that my friends is supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!

Yeah, this is mine…

10/09/2013 by MrsSavageAngel Leave a Comment

I’m not a closed book kind of person. Most of my friends would agree (I hope) that I’m fairly open with them. I think I’m happy to share most things (although I sometimes find it hard, we know that!) However I have been overwhelmed with the ease at which I have been able to share my birth story. Oscar’s birth was a deeply personal and intimate experience in my life and yet I have been completely open about it, often with completely strangers, offering up information I would never have dreamt of sharing before I had him. And do you know why? It’s because everybody does it! As mothers, we seem to wear our birth stories like badges of honour. And what’s wrong with that?

So if you’ve heard this already I’m sorry – but here it comes again!

My pregnancy was pretty text book really. I didn’t have morning sickness, although I did spend a few weeks feels nauseous ALL BLOODY DAY! Morning my arse! Anyway that cleared up at 10 weeks, and everything else was pretty standard.

I was under a consultant from day one, partly due to my high BMI, partly due to my epilepsy, so was monitored fairly closely. I never had any problems and the gestational diabetes and larger than average baby everyone kept predicting, never materialised. Take that obstetric generalisations!

It was at a routine midwife appointment at 35 weeks, that they noticed that my blood pressure, which had been falling throughout my pregnancy had suddenly shot up. This lead to a week in hospital and much worry about suspected pre-eclampsia and whether this baby would make full term. An NCT friend had been diagnosed with severe pre-eclampsia the week before and had to have her baby delivered by emergency C-Section at 35 weeks, so I knew all too well how serious this situation could be.

I could write a whole post about this experience, but as this a birth story, I’ll leave that for another day. Suffice to say that after a week of trying, the hospital managed to stabilise my BP with drugs. I practically cheered as we left, with my tiny baby still safely tucked away.

I went home and started maternity leave. I tided, I hoovered the ceilings, I slept on the sofa. I had a week of peaceful time and I loved it.

At the end of that week I had a routine appointment with my consultant, the wonderful and no nonsense Lesley Roberts at RSCH. She took my BP, looked up at me, and said “I’m sorry Lisa, you can’t go home today”. I burst into tears. I was taken back up to the same ward I’d just escaped, given more meds and resolved to try and get this sorted. When they checked me they said I was no where near ready to give birth, so wouldn’t attempt an induction. However, my BP would just not play ball and kept rising, spiking in the middle of the night when I was asleep of all things!

I felt so frustrated. This baby was 38 weeks gestation, plenty cooked enough and here I was taking more and more drugs that seemed to do nothing. Eventually, a canny midwife saw just how frustrated I was and took me aside. Quietly, she told me that if an induction was really what I wanted, then the next time I saw the doctor I was to cry. Simple as that. So, I did as she said and do you know, it only bloody worked! It seemed getting emotional worked where being rational had failed. I was given a pessary to start things off.

I wont bore you with the next two days, as very little happened. I got some twinges, like very mild contractions, that then stopped. On day three they decided that if they could break my water I’d be able to start a proper Scyntocinon induction. Only, they didn’t tell me this is what they were doing. I thought it was odd that they gave me a gas and air pipe for an examination. Ahh then I knew why! This wasn’t an examination! It was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. They were right, he was still really high up and to reach him felt like I was being ripped apart. I went into a zone, where I felt like I put myself on a shelf and could only hear every third word being said. It was awful and amazing all at the same time. Then I heard her say ‘no’ she couldn’t do it, so I took myself of the shelf. Then she said ‘oh hang on’ and I felt a whoosh as my waters broke. Finally we were getting this party started.

I was hooked up to the drip and given an epidural, as induced labour can come on very hard and very fast. Although not in my case. I was there for 24 hours and he moved a centimetre. Seriously! I knew it was looking dodgy when the midwife suggested at 3 in the morning that it was best not to eat any more. I think we could all see the writing on the wall. The induction I’d cried for had failed. It would be a C section now. I was a tiny bit gutted as I really wanted to go through the whole process we’d talked about at such length in my NCT group, but actually I just wanted this baby with me and my BP to settle down. Our safety was more important than any beautiful ideal image at that moment and I have never regretted that.

At 9am on 2nd April (yeah I know – I think Oscar hung on for fear of being born on April Fools Day!) it was declared that an emergency section was needed and I was in theatre within 20 minutes. I remember the table I was lying on was at an angle so I felt like I was going to fall off. I remember the anaesthetist running ice down my shoulder to see if the spinal block had kicked in yet. I remember Adele and Otis Reading coming on the radio. I remember feeling like I was being jumped up and down on but feeling no pain (which was weird in the extreme). I remember hearing him cry before I felt them lift him fully clear of me. I remember crying and crying and crying with relief. That he was here, that he was strong and that I’d managed to do it. This body I had so much hatred for had kept him safe.

They weighed him and gave him to me, but I couldn’t see his face so had to give him to Ben, so I could take a proper look. He was just so beautiful.

Then they took him away for tests and I started to feel sick. I managed to shout out in time and the quick thinking anaesthetist whacked some anti-emetic in my line. I felt better, but my mouth was unbelievably dry. I was given ice to suck. And then I started to pass in and out of consciousness. I was told after I was in surgery for two hours. I thought I’d been in there less than half that.

Next thing I knew we were back in the delivery suit and beyond happy. All the worry was gone, he was here and he was really strong. Much smaller than anyone had expected at 6lb 6oz, but perfect. 10/10 on both APGAR tests and cute as a button. Although I do recall thinking – blimey hasn’t he got enormous thumbs! He still has today, along with his huge feet!

And that’s my birth story. Obviously I could go on and on. About my time in hospital after the birth, about how my BP practically dropped over night, about the trouble we had with feeding. But I think I’ll leave it there. For now.

427885_10150772195690616_1316519718_n — Me & Him