Perspective, people!

'Selfies are for losers, mother. I am trying to cut teeth over here. FML.' - the Kraken

So... Jamie-gate. Breast vs bottle. Cue judgy comments, bitching and spats across the whole interweb.

I am a touch opinionated *ahem* and for a while, really wanted to give my two-penneth worth. And then I decided not to because everyone had missed the point - including me. Sailed waaaaay past it whilst we argued and verbally bitch-slapped each other - and poor Jamie. He meant well but trying to lecture a bunch of sleep-deprived, hormonal women was never going to end well.

The point is, in my view, about doing your own personal best for your baby - however and whatever that is. It's going to play out differently for different people, as we all have different strengths, weaknesses, priorities and choices - just like pregnancy and labour - there are a million variations on the same scale, but ultimately nothing is right or wrong, just different.

At the heart of it is love for our children, and that's all that matters. End of. But it made me realise how easy it is to bitch and moan about each other and the parenting process, although GOOD GRIEF there are enough reasons why you would - so I wanted to list out some massive positives, because there are plenty. And because I like lists.

1. Worrying. I used to frequently attempt to give myself stomach ulcers worrying about anything from work issues to running out of coffee, and dear god what a waste of life that was. I still worry of course, but it's mainly about the Kraken - although the thought of running out of coffee is now genuinely terrifying. There's only so many times you can be covered in baby sick and frequently, accidentally flash the Amazon delivery man whilst breastfeeding and opening the door and still worry about small things. I genuinely worry less about life in general, and it's bloody great.

2. Relaxing. See above. I could not, for the life of me, relax before I had the Kraken. I thought it just wasn't in my nature, I had to be productive or DO something every waking second - exhausting. So now when I have a spare ten minutes to myself I find I can actually relax the shit out of it because I need to. (And before you point out the bleeding obvious, I find writing relaxing. So there.)

3. Body competitiveness. Women compare themselves to each other - it's just something we do, subconsciously or not. Before getting pregnant I worked out and ate well, and had a really decent figure. Then the Kraken starting baking and things changed, but I rolled with it because I was pregnant, and it's the one time you're legit allowed to be big and round. It's frigging expected.

But afterwards... that's tough. Unhelpfully, celebs with nannies and personal trainers 'pop back' into shape seemingly overnight, and leave the rest of us feeling really crap. I'm here to tell you that it is bullshit, and it often requires hard work and help to lose pregnancy weight, but more importantly, your body is different now, so there's no going back to before. Again, everyone's different but in my case I have: an extra 10kg still hanging around, stretch marks on my abdomen and thighs, wider hips, different-shaped boobs, a wider belly button, a dark linea negra (although fading) and many errr... internal changes that I won't darken your door with.

But you know what - it's not the be all and end all. I won't ever look like I did before, and I certainly can't compete with a 20 year-old or some pouty celeb type, but I don't have to. And ironically it's lifted the heaviest weight off me. Yes, I want to be healthy and lose some weight to fit into some of my wardrobe again and wear my wedding/engagement rings eventually, but I genuinely don't give rats ass about comparing myself to anything or anyone.

4. Laughing. The adage of 'if you don't laugh, you'll cry' is never more relevant than with a baby, but the fact that the Kraken makes me crack up (in a good way) at least once a day is the kind of comedy-gold happiness that I didn't have before. Admittedly I've also never hissed 'FML' through gritted teeth quite so much as I have in the last five months, but see below.

5. Patience. This is a skill - or attribute that I was not blessed with, at all. So every single scrap I now possess is down to the Kraken. It's been hard won, and at times I thought I might implode with the lack of it, but now I can deal with three simultaneous (literal) shit storms, a teething-related screaming match and a bottle lobbing incident whilst smiling. I know this because that, reader, is a summary of my afternoon. And the Kraken and I are both still alive.

So there we go - if I can be positive, anyone can. Let's get some perspective and keep it!

Home Truths #2: Ugly babies and gastro bugs

A four-week old Kraken as a wizened elf with a penchant for death metal.
Otherwise known as the photo that will force him to disown me.

There are two types of people in this world: the ones that will admit to having seen or met ugly babies and the ones that insist no baby is ugly, and that they're all beautiful in their own way.

I think we all know which camp I belong to.

1. Some babies are just ugly. Let's just be honest, it's true. I'm not trying to be cruel here, it's just a fact of life. I'm speaking from experience - I was a truly ugly baby. But here's the positive - mums never think this of their own kid, and so even though my mum would defend those pictures of me looking like a googley-eyed piece of chewed toffee to the death, everyone else knows the truth. The polite ones would mumble something about me having a nice, err... nose and then change the subject, but people lacking the ability to sugar coat would call it.

The point is: it doesn't matter. At all. Most newborns look like wizened old men to a degree (see above), but they'll soon grow out of it. Well, most of them. And in any case, if you're their mum, you won't see it anyway.

2. Labour really, REALLY hurts. Here's another truth from beyond the silent veil of parenthood, one that is shushed and softened to the uninitiated. I remember asking various parents when I was pregnant about whether it actually really hurt, and their responses included:

'It's different for everyone.'
'Yes - but you forget it very quickly.'
'Not really, it's kind of like intense period pain, but it doesn't last that long.'

I have three words to say to those parents. BIG FAT LIARS.

Now I understand that they were playing it down so I didn't freak out and waddle up to the hospital to demand an elective c-section, but I want to spell it out for anyone else out there that would really like to know the truth. If you don't, skip to number 3. In fact, skip this whole blog.

The closest description of the pain I experienced - and yes, I do appreciate that we all experience pain differently, but on closer inspection with other mums, it seems that the majority are in agreement with this - is like being hit repeatedly in the abdomen with a baseball bat, very hard and without mercy. Or being stabbed, over and over. I know it sounds dramatic, but it was. It was incredible. And I haven't forgotten it. Not even a tiny little bit.

And the most messed up part of the entire thing is that we're expected to try and do it without any pain relief. I mean...?! What the actual? What other incredibly painful major medical procedure would you be expected to endure without pain relief or anaesthetic?

And to the people that say 'well, women have been giving birth like that since the dark ages,' YEAH. I can tell. It was bloody barbaric.

Maybe it was because my labour was induced, and I'd already been having contractions for 36 hours before I 'caved' in and begged for pain relief that my experience was so negative, but I'm not alone.

The point is: there are no medals for bravery in labour. It's hard, painful and scary - and pain relief is a very sensible thing to have in that situation. If you can manage without - super. Good for you. If not - take the drugs, and take them all.

3. Caring for a baby when you're ill is hell. So about a week ago I woke up feeling sick. The first, literally gut-wrenching thought was that I might be pregnant again, followed by a groggy sprint to the bathroom to relieve my stomach of its contents. Delightful. After ruling out the pregnancy fears (I can not begin to describe the relief), I continued to throw up all morning. Six times, to be exact. My husband had to leave to attend a conference, so I spent the afternoon trying not to vomit over the Kraken - although revenge for the past five months was tempting - and actually gagging whilst changing his nappy. The remainder of the day was occupied by lying on the floor as he wriggled and drooled on the play mat, not even bothering to move when he shimmied over to my face and proceeded to chew enthusiastically on my chin whilst yanking fistfuls of my hair.

I'd have taken a photo for posterity - and this blog - but had long since forgotten the whereabouts of my phone, or the will to give a shit.

The point is: if you're that ill, don't let your husband leave to go to a conference. Or do, but make him take the baby.

4. Keep good friends and family around you. Although I'm now never alone at home, this whole process can be incredibly isolating. When the Kraken was very little, I was too scared/tired/broken to leave the house, and ended up feeling extremely miserable. My lovely husband was at work again, and although my parents have been utter angels and helped no end, day to day it was just me and the Kraken. This is where mummy friends have become utterly invaluable - and this from someone that enjoys her own company and maintained a borderline prickly level of independence before. I met a wonderful bunch of ladies through NCT classes, and the afore mentioned Dancing Gal has saved my sanity no end of times by helping me to laugh through the two hours a night sleep, rather than weep.

The point is: accept help. Even if you never have before. And make friends, even with the pretty ex-professional dancer ones that look like they've never given birth. They just might be one of the best things about having a baby.

'Just' a mum?

The Kraken: plotting world domination

'I'm not just a mum, I'm me too, and I was me long before I became a mum. I love my kids more than anything in the world, but as I lie here next to my sleeping child, I'm crying because I feel like a shitty mum for missing my old self.'

I'm paraphrasing here, but this is something I read in the last week on Facebook. It struck a chord to the extent that I replied, commenting how I often felt the same, hoping to make the author of the post feel less isolated. But instead, this happened.

'I know someone who'd give anything to be 'just a mum'.'

A reply from someone else - and it made me feel really angry. What followed were some very carefully chosen words from both myself and several others in defence of the original author, but at the time I couldn't quite nail exactly why it upset me so much.

Some days later I think I know why, and because I'm a pedantic weirdo I'm going to list it out.

1. By saying you're not 'just a mum' does not mean you don't love your child(ren). And it doesn't mean you wish you weren't a mum, or that others who're full-time, stay at home mums are lesser human beings. It means that some people enjoy doing a variety of things, and although being a mum is very time-consuming, fantastic, challenging, joyful, surprising and exciting thing - it's not necessarily the only thing some women want to do/be. AND THAT IS OKAY.

2. Before I had the Kraken, I would've given anything to be a mum too. It wasn't a straight-forward path for me to have him, so I know the struggle and heartache that can accompany the journey to having a baby. But the fact that many women struggle to have a baby doesn't mean that once you do, you can't miss your old self and life. They are two separate things.

3. I miss my old self too. Badly, some days. So badly that I sometimes wonder if I'm developing post-natal depression, or whether I should see a doctor. But the feeling always passes and I 'm happy and fine again, and put it down to the highs and lows of finding my feet in this new world. It's just such an odd world, and a small one sometimes, especially when the highlight of your day is a walk to the nearest supermarket. And you don't really need anything, except just to leave the house.

I guess the crux of it is that I don't have to justify wanting to do more than just be a mum to the Kraken. He totally and utterly fills my heart and hands, but my head needs more. The truth is, I love my job too - I work in publishing, and the ridiculously hectic and mentally stimulating environment keeps every single neurone busy, every second of the working day. And I love the people I work with, I've never had so many genuine friendships with lovely, brilliant people that I now miss dearly.

But would I swap back to my old life? Never. I mean, I'd love to fit back into the wardrobe of my old life, but not if it meant not having the Kraken. Take a look at that little face. Enough said.

So no, I'm not 'just a mum', I'm dozens of other things too. And that's just dandy.

Home Truths #1: The Roy Walker approach.

I'm a kid of the 80's and 90's, and watching Catchphrase every week was as normal as faxing someone, or Global Hypercolour t-shirts. But I found 'saying what you see' as per Roy's advice embarrassingly difficult. (And what was that creepy yellow robot thing called Mr Chips? Anyone?)

But more to the point, as I've got (a lot) older, I've found calling out the truth correspondingly easier. And when it comes to parenting, the truth becomes very murky. Everyone knows that once you have a baby you enter the chummy world of parents - but what the uninitiated don't realise is that you were never really told the truth before, just a very vague version of it, dressed up in baby showers and Instagram filters.

So I want to be honest. REALLY honest. If you're pregnant or sans kids then welcome, but be warned - I will tell no lies here, and although this is obviously just my opinion and experience of things, not one thing written below hasn't also been expressed by numerous other parents I know. If you already have kids, please accept this with a comforting hand on the shoulder and a knowing nod.

Here goes...

1. For every one Instagram-worthy pic there are dozens of fails.

R2-D2: Kraken style.

We all know that real life isn't a series of exciting events and filtered pics on social media, but sometimes when that's all you see, it's hard to remember. Inevitably you begin to feel like your life is incredibly dull and/or un-photogenic. NOT TRUE. I obviously think the Kraken is pretty cute, but I conservatively estimate that for every nice pic we've managed, there have been approximately 22 truly crap ones. Ones where the angle and his expression rendered him resembling Gollum, a missed dangling bogey, apocalyptic tears because I had the audacity to sneeze, a vomit smeared face and clothes... the list is endless.

The point is - social media, pics and videos are only ever the edited highlights. No one has the perfect child, or life.

2. Breastfeeding sucks. 

Literally. I suspect this subject could sustain a blog all by itself, and it won't be the last thing I have to say about it, but here's my two pence worth for now. I really, truly, hated breastfeeding.

There, I said it.

I'm not sure what I hated more - the raw, bloody red pain, crying when I realised the Kraken was hungry AGAIN for the third time in an hour, feeling too tired and self-conscious to leave the house and feeling like a prisoner, crying in the shower because the hot water stung like knives, wearing rank, unflattering nursing bras and leaking onto them and my clothes... the list goes on but includes more of the same, mostly tears-based. By far the worst part of the whole experience was the guilt and judgement laid at my door by others. Supportive, lovely family and friends who could see the damage it was doing to me and my relationship with the Kraken gently advised some formula, just to give me a break or more than 30 minutes sleep. I resisted, imagining the 'I'm-not-professionally-allowed-to-judge-you-but-I-am-massively-judging-you' expression I'd see on the faces of midwives and health visitors at the very least. I'd love to say I was wrong, and they supported my eventual decision to move to formula for my sanity, but even on two hours sleep a night, I saw it in their eyes and heard it in their voice. One health visitor ignored my tears and simply handed me a passive aggressive leaflet on the benefits of breastfeeding and told me to keep putting him on the breast if he was crying and still hungry. She told me this after I'd admitted that he'd spent the last three hours permanently attached to me, now drawing blood, not milk. If I could go back in time, I would give myself a slap, kick that cow out of my house, make up a bottle and finally fill the Kraken right up until he was happy. Something neither of us was for the first four weeks.

The point is - feeding your baby and maintaining your sanity are equally important. If breastfeeding works for you then awesome, but if not, formula feeding will do the same job. End of story.

3. When their sleeping habits improve, yours will be shot.

We had a breakthrough this week. The Kraken slept from 7 - 7 (with a dreamfeed at 10) for the first time ever, at the grand old age of exactly four months. 'Nice,' I hear some of you cry. Others will be calling me a bitch right now - and that's fine, I get it - but console yourself with this. He slept through, but I woke up at 1, 3, 5 and 6 because my own sleep pattern is buggered to high hell. So when the alarm went off at 7, it just felt like any other morning. Hideous.

The point is - you and sleep will continue to do battle for a veeeery long time to come. That is, until you retire and suddenly start waking up at 6 out of choice.

4. The guilt is constant.

As I type, the Kraken is next to me in his little seat, his patience rapidly thinning. His all-consuming love for hand chewing and lobbing toys on the floor has lost its shine. So as he begins to work a grumble into his customary roar, I can feel the guilt right now, this very second. Maybe I should be taking him to a class or doing something to further his educational development. Or maybe neither of us can stand sitting in decaying church halls with other wild-eyed mums singing incy wincy frigging spider.

Then there's all the gear you can buy for babies. Good grief - the list and the cost is endless. I see what some babies have, and there it is again... the guilt gives me a pinch on the arm and tells me I'm a bad parent, but frankly, he seems just as happy bashing the crap out of a wooden spoon on the floor as  a piece of brightly coloured plastic shit for the bargain price of £50.

The point is - give two fingers to guilt. As long as your kid is safe, warm, fed and gets some attention from you, Peppa Pig or the wooden spoon, it's all good.

5. You will pee yourself. At least once.

It's a sad fact ladies, but once a a baby bowling bowl has exited your body - or even before - it's extremely likely your pelvic floor will go into a massive sulk and down tools for a while. Do your kegel thingys by all means, but don't be shocked if you suddenly join the 'snissing' club. (Work it out. Or Google it.)

The point is - suck it up. It's a fact of life, and you're not alone. If a fellow mum says she hasn't, she's lying, without doubt. And if you really need, get your Tena on. No shame in that.

Crotch sniffing and other inappropriate behaviour.

Well there's two words I never thought I'd write. Or do. But that's being a parent - the inappropriate becomes the norm.

I know I'm not alone - every parent's done it. Whilst I lifted the Kraken earlier today and inhaled deeply at the kicky end, it occurred to me just how plain wrong it seemed. And then I consoled myself that he hadn't filled his nappy and I now had time to make a quick coffee - and that friends, is a win.

As is leaving the house with sick on your clothes and likely in your hair. Such a massive cliche, I know, but when your kid's other nickname is the vomit comet, it's just inevitable. So for my own sanity, and with no further shits left to give, I don't change when I leave the house now even if I can actually smell it on myself. I know. Grim. I used to have standards.

But some things never change. There are many times when I know I shouldn't laugh at something, or should deal with a situation more like a grown-up. Like struggling not to crack up when the Kraken lets off a firecracker of a fart when settling down to sleep and wakes himself up again - or registers his upset with the patented 'fish-lip' expression, something akin to a slightly miffed trout. (I imagine.)

One of my favourite moments since the madness began, and when the Kraken was still a silent but violent bump, was in a breastfeeding class. I think it marked the moment when a lovely new friend propelled herself into an extremely small group of people I've labelled as 'good eggs - must do everything possible to know them for life' (not a pithy label, admittedly) by cracking up with me when the teacher referred to the plastic cone thingy on a breast pump (shudder) as a 'flange'. I mean... come on... it's funny. It just is.  We probably could've moved past it if the teacher hadn't uttered it with a deadpan expression in her jesus sandals and hand-knitted cardigan... but in fairness she dealt with it like a pro and moved on, but my new friend for life - let's call her Dancing Gal - and I had an appalling case of the giggles for the rest of the lesson. And ever since, actually. (New parent note - humour is a sanity saver. Fact).

So yeah, I'm totes inappropes as the ironic yoof would have it, but screw it. Before I had nothing to blame it on, and now... Nah, still me.

p.s. Props to my mum for using the word 'inappropriate' so much in my childhood. It's a word I know so well, and will always associate with her, and her expression when applying it to my behaviour at the time - annoyance, with a hint of disappointment. The worst. I plan to do the same with the Kraken in time.

p.p.s. FLANGE.

This isn't for you.

* A new introduction...

So I first wrote this post back in November 2015, not long after the birth of my first baby, Thomas, otherwise known as The Kraken. I'm pretty impressed that I managed to string a sentence together at that point, but I didn't get round to putting the blog up or doing anything with it, partly because I wasn't sure anyone would care and partly because life becomes a sometimes hideous cycle of wiping up vomit, poo and wee (the Kraken's, mainly) and I just forgot if I'm honest.

Now the Kraken is a touch older and I occasionally* get more than 10 minutes alone to myself, I decided to put down the inner monologue that runs through my head down on screen. So read on if you're interested, and don't if you're not. There's so much stuff online to flit around to after all, I still check out the Daily Mail's sidebar of shame and lust after John Lewis homeware most days... but I digress.

* I realise by writing this I've likely just invoked the law of sod and will never again be able to write. In which case, enjoy this post. It may be the only one.

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This really isn't for you.

It's for me. Pretty much the only thing as it turns out. Even I gave an eyeroll at the idea of another mummy blogger, so just wanted to set things straight from the get go - great as it is having a newborn, I still have a brain (just) and in between the incessant feeding, winding, bum wiping and weeping (more me than the baby) - I needed something to do for myself. But delighted if you want to join me for the ride.

Firstly, I'm not a sugar-coater. And I make up words and occasionally offend the grammar police. Deal with it. Secondly, what the actual hell is this whole having a kid thing about? Seriously?!

No warnings prep you for this - none. Whatever you think parenting is - it's not. It's a whole lot MORE. More of everything - intense, time-consuming, worrying, amazing, tiring, confusing and a load of other ings.

I'm actually still trying to process the last few weeks, and think this potentially sums it up:

Week One: Carnage. If I simultaneously plug a boob into their mouth, pat their back and wipe their bum, will that stop the crying? What do you want, tiny person? Will I break you by accident? What was that noise? Are you still breathing?

Week Two: Two in 24. I'm regularly coping on two hours sleep a day. This from an eight hour a night minimum kinda gal, with lie-ins on the weekends and the odd granny nap in the day during holidays. I am actually in physical pain from the lack of sleep.

Week Three: Outside. Will I ever make it outside on my own again? Will everyone notice the sick in my hair and down my back? Was that a tiny little smile... Or just wind? Oh you're so gorgeous, how did we ever live without you? Why won't you sleep? Please bloody sleep!

Week Four: Calm(er). What's that? Almost 2pm? Quick - make up a bottle ready, T minus 5 minutes until the Kraken awakes. Was that the first time you didn't scream on the changing table? I've totally nailed using this pram... Including the rain cover - score. But why can't I steer the damn thing straight on the pavement? Is information retention on a one in, one out basis now? I can settle the boy to sleep but have totally forgotten how to use the intermittent wiper setting in the car. Why brain, why?

Week Five: I'll let you know. Thus far it's included potential colic, M&S choc box selection for breakfast, first weigh-in at the doctors (for the boy, not me, thank Christ) and a magic swaddle. It's shaping up well.

Now... back to parenting. *adopts the brace position and flings self headlong into madness*

See you at 4am.