Apologies For My Absence

So, I've been out of action for some time now! Sorry. I'm now 16 weeks pregnant, and I hate to admit that I'm not having the best time. I've felt generally rubbish throughout, and have struggled to find the time to write at all. But I'd like to give you all an update on my pregnancy so far. 

I seem to be suffering far more, and much earlier on than I ever did with the other 3. In fact, for a long while Mr P and I were convinced I'd got more than one baby in there! Everything just seemed amplified, from my constant nausea to my huge bump. We were certain that the scan would either reveal a multiple pregnancy, or that I was in fact much further along than we thought. 

The scan date arrived, and I have to say, I deflated slightly when the sonographer found just the one baby. This feeling soon lifted when I saw the little flicker of baby's heartbeat on the screen. How could I possibly be disappointed with the little miracle growing inside me? And in the grand scheme of things, twins would be more than a handful on top of the 3 I've already got! 

I can't say I'm looking forward to the weeks ahead. At 16 weeks I'm already struggling with the headache from hell, my legs are riddled with painful varicose veins, the phlebitis in my left ankle is a burning mess, and my hips are starting to ache at night. All symptoms I've experienced in previous pregnancies, but never this early on. And I'm sure there's more to come with the odd bout of heartburn, a bit more nausea, baby jabbing me in the ribs. 

But would I change a thing? Absolutely not! I may not particularly enjoy the whole pregnancy process, but just look at the end result! All the aches and pains and moans and gripes are totally worth it in the end. 

I'm Pregnant!!!

Well here's a blog I wasn't planning on writing for at least another year! If you've read my introductory blog you'll know that Mr P and I have 5 children between us. We found out yesterday that I'm expecting number 6! 

Our youngest is coming up for 3 in June, and we'd decided that we wanted another baby, but not until he was in full time school. So September 2014. That meant we would start trying to conceive in January next year. Well, since making that decision, we've perhaps not been as careful as we had been previously. Ok, there's no perhaps about it. That pink line on the home pregnancy test shows we definitely haven't been very careful. We're both a little bit shocked if I'm honest, but thrilled all the same. 

I don't know why I'm so shocked. We've never really had to try to fall pregnant. My first baby was conceived the month after finishing on the depo provera injection. I'd come off it so that it was out of my system by the time we got married 3 months later and we'd be ready to start trying for a baby straight away. Apparently I didn't need that long for my body to find its rhythm again! Then my daughter was conceived when my son was just 6 months old, again without really thinking about it. Then I was pregnant with my other son by the time my daughter was 6 months old. That whole 'breastfeeding acts as a natural method of contraception' is a myth! So the fact that I have fallen pregnant again without really trying shouldn't come as such a surprise.

I sat here yesterday, a day after my period was due, with a gut feeling that I was expecting. But I didn't want to allow myself to think it in case I was setting myself up for disappointment. The only thing I had to go on was my absent period. And then I noticed the distinct blue-black bulging veins in my ankle. I'd first had them when I was pregnant with my daughter, and then again with my son. That's how I knew I was expecting him. I'd not had any periods since my daughter was born, and when I saw my ankle was bad again I just knew that was the reason. The same happened yesterday. The penny dropped, so to speak. 

I told Mr P and he insisted I took a test. I wanted to leave it a few days in case my body was throwing a wobbly. I hate the disappointment of seeing a negative pregnancy test, and although deep down I knew it wouldn't be negative, I didn't want to risk it. He won in the end though. He convinced me to test. I did what I had to do then handed him the test and he closed the bathroom door on me. When it flung open again not 30 seconds later I just knew it was positive. I didn't even need to see the emotional grin on his face to work that out! 

We are both over the moon. Ok, so it's earlier than we had planned. I didn't want to be doing 3 school runs a day with a new born in tow, but it's not the end of the world. I'm a firm believer of what will be will be. Obviously it's very early days, so it wont be public knowledge for some time, but seeing as very few of you know my true identity I thought this was a nice way to document it. 

A Difficult Beginning (part three)

Here's part 3, hopefully the final installment of the story. Sorry, it's turned out longer than I first anticipated! 

My baby girl was fighting for her life on the intensive care unit of a strange hospital, and I was struggling with being so far away from my loved ones at a time when I needed them most. This neonatal unit had a fairly different approach to the one at our own hospital. They encouraged the parents to be as actively involved as possible, showing us how to correctly tube feed her, change her nappy, wash her eyes and lips. I liked the responsibility of caring for my own daughter. 

However, the maternity ward was also very different to the one back home. They had strict rules and practices. I missed medication time once as I'd been upstairs with my daughter at the time, and when I got back down to the ward I realised just how much pain I was in (something I'd been neglecting over the last few days). One particularly harsh midwife told me that she was not unlocking her drugs trolley for one patient who can't abide by the rules. Well, 5 days post natal, I was already an emotional mess, so this was just the icing on the cake. I went back into my room and sobbed, until a more sympathetic midwife came in with some paracetamol for me. 

It turned out that the medicine my daughter was specifically transferred for wasn't needed in the end. They gradually weaned her off the ventilator. The most heartbreaking moment was when we were celebrating the fact that our daughter was breathing by herself, the parents and doctors of the very poorly little boy in the incubator next to us made the decision to withdraw care from him. I felt guilty for congratulating our baby on doing so well when just feet away, another family were grieving for their son. 

The time had come for me to be discharged. They'd already kept me in a day longer than I should have been so I could stay close to my daughter. But now they were sending me home. There were no parent rooms available on the neonatal ward, so I had to go home. The doctors assured me that my girl would be well enough to transfer back over the following day, so it would only be overnight that I was apart from her. I could handle that. Then the morning came and I got the call I'd been dreading, she'd taken a turn for the worse in the night but had begun to stabilise again. So instead of her coming back to our hospital, we made the drive back over to her. Leaving her again that evening was even harder, not knowing when she'd be fit to transfer back. 

The next day (only day six of her life, and she'd already been through so much) was the first day I couldn't be with her. Our double pushchair was due for delivery, and I needed some quality time with my son, who was only 15 months old himself. It had been a nearly a week since I'd seen him and I'd missed him so much. So I sent Mr P off by himself. I got a phone call from him just after lunch time, an update I assumed, and he told me they were back in our own hospital, just over the road from the house! I was elated, and mad that he'd not rang before now, but he didn't want to build my hopes up if the transfer wasn't going to happen again. Then I was with her in minutes! I was so relieved to have her nearby again. 

Things moved pretty quickly then. She was out of her incubator and in an open cot within a day of being back. She was very quick to establish feeding, considering she was 7 days old and had never latched on before. She just had to finish her course of antibiotics and I'd be allowed to take her home. We spent 2 nights finding our feet in one of the neonatal flats, where I was able to care for her totally by myself, with the exception of a nurse popping in 3 times a day to administer her medicine. It was bliss, just me and my girl. 

She was 11 days old when I finally got her home. All the pain and sadness that had tarnished the second half of my pregnancy just vanished. She was perfect. And she still is, just over 4 years later. 

A Difficult Beginning (part two)

Here's the second part of our journey through a problematic pregnancy and birth. At the end of my last blog, my daughter had just been born and we were back on the ward, about to start spreading the word of her safe arrival.

The clucking sound was worrying me. Like any mother with her new born baby, I just wanted to ensure she was ok. I'd had a cesarean section, so I was numb from the waist down. I was sat useless in bed while Mr P did all the to-ing and fro-ing between our little side room and the midwives' station. Then my baby girl started to turn a blue-grey colour. Something clearly wasn't right. 

A midwife came in with a portable machine to check her blood oxygen levels. To this day I do not know what that reading said, but the midwife very calmly told me that this machine was known to be inaccurate at times and that she would just nip down to neonatal with my baby to get her checked out by the paediatric team. All the nightmares of the last 16 weeks were becoming a reality. I'd not even had chance to cuddle her properly and they were taking her away from me. Mr P looked at me, lost. I tearfully told him to go with our baby. And then I lay there and sobbed. 

The midwives wouldn't let me go to her until I had recovered from the epidural. I had to rely on text updates from my husband. Snippets of information here and there. All the while I was willing my legs to come back to life. It was early evening by the time I was allowed to be wheeled up the corridor to her. My daughter was around 6 hours old, and I'd spent less than an hour with her. She was in an incubator with CPAP tubes in her nostrils, and a feeding tube down her throat. She had more tubes in her hands, and all I could do to look after her was express milk. All my other jobs as a new mummy had been taken from me. 

That first night back on the maternity ward was horrible. Although I was tucked away in my side room, I could hear all the other new borns crying and restless. All the new mummies doing their best to settle them back down. It was torture. I'd have given anything to have my baby girl crying in the cot next to me. The night passed by in a haze of crying, expressing, trying to sleep, more crying. And then the morning came. Apparently she'd had a good night. She'd remained stable with the CPAP. She continued to be tube fed tiny amounts of my milk, and I continued to pump. I'm pretty sure I could've fed the whole neonatal unit with the amount I was expressing. It was the only useful thing I was able to do, so I made sure I did it well! 

I spent the day being chaperoned backwards and forwards between the maternity and neonatal units, by either Mr P or a midwife. Then, after tea, I was finally allowed to go by myself. As I walked into the intensive care room, my daughter's incubator was surrounded by doctors, a nurse was pulling a screen around and she ushered me out to wait in the parents room. My husband arrived as I was heading back out the door. We sat together and waited for the doctor to come. 

It turned out that the moment I walked in, they had been inserting a ventilator, apparently quite distressing for the parents to witness. My little girl had taken a turn for the worse and was needing more help than before. The doctor told us that they were contemplating transferring her to another hospital, one with a better equipped neonatal unit. She'd had all the medication our hospital had to offer, and it wasn't working. I would be transferred as a patient to their maternity ward too. For the rest of the evening, there were talks between the two hospitals to decide what was best for her. The decision to transfer was made, and both my daughter and I waited for our ambulances. It was after midnight before we left.

The journey was agonising. I just wanted to know that my precious, fragile baby girl was safe. This was the first time we'd truly been apart, not just up the corridor of the hospital. The midwife travelling with me did her best to distract me. But for the whole 40 minutes, my mind just kept going over and over 'what if something happens?'. When I arrived, her tiny ambulance was no where to be seen. By the time they'd sorted all my transfer notes out, she'd arrived and was being moved from the transport incubator into her place on the intensive care ward up in neonatal. It was 3am, I'd not slept for nearly 48 hours, but I needed to see that she was ok. I made my way up three floors to her, gave her hand a little squeeze and nodded in the chair next to her incubator until the nurse looking after her persuaded me to go and get some proper sleep. 

I returned to the maternity ward to see a line of tiny new born babies in their little plastic cots queued up outside the midwives' office. I'd never understood women who gave birth and then left their babies in the care of the midwives while they got some sleep. It made me all the more upset that my daughter wasn't with me. I slept, on and off, through the pain of my healing stitches and thinking about my baby. I was far away from home, all alone, and all I wanted was a reassuring cuddle from my husband. I had to make do with a tear filled phone call first thing until he could drive over to be with us.

I think I'll leave it there for now. There are many ups and downs to come, and I don't want to tell half a story. So again, look out for part 3 in a few days time. 

Going It Alone

As of Monday, I will officially be home educating my son. And I am officially dreading it! Here's the back story.

My eldest was due to start full time school in September. After moving to a new area at the end of June, we applied for a place at the local school. It turned out there were no places, but they offered us a place at a school in the next village, over two and a half miles away. Which would've been great, had I been able to drive! As it happens, I can't drive. I walk everywhere, and there was no way I was making my 4, 3 and 2 year olds walk that far each day! I worked out that my youngest and I would be walking 15 miles a day with the lunch time pick up for my daughter. 

So, the local school, where I'd already got my daughter into the nursery, took my son on in the nursery temporarily. He was able to do half days there until he legally had to be in full time education (the term after his fifth birthday), which is now. They made provisions for him, setting aside time to do age appropriate work with him, starting the reading books with him, so he wasn't falling behind too much. Then a few weeks ago, I got a call to say he was being offered a place to start in year one in September (the school is expanding, allowing for extra places). Suddenly having to have him at home after Easter didn't seem so bad.

That was then. Now here I am, faced with a whole term of having to play teacher as well as mum and I'm terrified! Where do I start? He's not the easiest child at the best of times, never mind when I'm trying to get him to sit and do something productive! 'It's only for a term' has become my mantra. I'm sure I'll cope. I'm just worried that my inability to teach will have him falling even further behind his peers. His nursery teacher assured me that he will catch up quickly when he goes back in September, he is a very bright child. And she has offered her support for the term, with the loan of reading books, printing worksheets etc. The school have been very supportive, and I'm sure with their help, I'll be absolutely fine.

Then there's my motherly instinct kicking in. Come September, he'll be going straight into year one, having never done a full day at school before. All the children starting reception year (my daughter included) will have done taster days before the summer holidays. They will at least have some idea of what it will be like. But my boy won't get any of that. He'll be going from two years at nursery, plus a term at home, straight into the more formal structure of year one. It worries me immensely that he won't be prepared. Is year one drastically different from reception? Or am I just being silly and over protective? And the school day; play times, lunch time, assembly. The other year ones will have had a whole year of practise. Will my baby just be expected to know where to go at lunchtime like the rest of them? 

I know, I'm over thinking things. He'll be fine. The teachers will know his background. I'm sure they'll guide him until he's ready. But in the meantime, if anyone has any home schooling tips, I'm more than happy to hear them! 

First Sleepover

Today marks an important milestone in my daughter's childhood. She is off for her very first sleepover with a friend tonight. She has had nights away at Granny's before, but this will be the first time she has no family with her.

The mum of the little girl she's staying with is my best friend, and has been since childhood. So I've no worries whatsoever about her being cared for. But the girls are still very young. My daughter is 4 and my friend's little girl is just 3 and a half. But they have been on at us for months about having a sleepover, so we figured we'd give it a go.

We decided it would probably be more successful at their house rather than mine. My daughter is far more independent than my friend's, possibly down to the fact that she's 7 months older. We've arranged for a 4pm collection, so there's minimal time to miss mummy before bed. I just hope they're prepared for the 5am wake up call! Then again, who knows, maybe without her brothers and with the influence of her friend, my daughter won't get up so early? 

As a child, my mum very rarely let me go for sleepovers. I used to think she was just being mean, and I gave her a really hard time about it! But now, as a mother myself, I realise she was just being cautious about who she left her baby with. And looking back, I can see now that those she did let me go to were the ones whose parents she knew personally. I hate to use the cliché, but I think I am turning into my mother! 

So tonight, although I know my girl will be safe and looked after, there will still be that little void at bedtime. I will miss our storytime cuddle, and tucking her in again when I go up to bed. But I know she'll have a blast. They've got it all planned out, where they will sleep, what games they will play, which teddies they will cuddle. And, on another level, it's quite exciting for my friend and I that having grown up so close together, our daughters are now developing a similar friendship. 

Fingers crossed for a successful first sleepover. 

Separation Anxiety

Hey everyone, sorry it's been so long since my last entry. We've had a lot going on. My daughter turned 4 last week, so we had a busy time preparing for that. 

And then there is the subject of this blog. I enrolled my youngest son at a local preschool and he started last Monday. For a while now I've been saying that I need to get him used to me leaving him ready for starting at the school nursery in September, but I kept putting it off. So a fortnight ago I took the first step. I called the local preschool expecting a waiting list. No such luck, there was a space available from the following Monday! I wasn't sure I (erm, I mean he) was ready, but hey ho, at least I didn't have time to dwell on it.

Monday came and he was so excited to be starting 'big boy school'. I dropped him off, in he went all smiles and waves, while I struggled to hold myself together. I gave him a kiss and walked out, then promptly burst into tears as soon as the teacher shut the door! It was the longest 2 hours of my life! And I had to do this 3 mornings a week. 

Tuesday was a bit harder. The little man had worked out that mummy was leaving him for a bit and he clung to me like glue. And it has only got worse since. Yesterday he started crying as soon as we were walking up the drive to the preschool. And this morning he was screaming before we'd even dropped the big 2 off at school! He's fine once I've gone, and is perfectly happy when I collect him. But that initial reaction is horrible to witness.

It's absolutely heartbreaking. And I feel so so guilty that I'm leaving him there then just coming home by myself to have a coffee. I know it's for his own good, and he's got to get used to being apart from me at some point, but it doesn't make it any easier. And I'm finding it increasingly harder to fight back my own tears as he's clinging to my legs screaming at me not to go.

So, here's hoping he gets used to it sooner rather than later. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up! And I'll try and be back with another blog soon. 

The Right Way To Raise Children

What is the right way to raise a child? Who knows? Who has the right to tell you you're doing it wrong? 

Yesterday, I got quite upset by a friend's comment on my Facebook status. Maybe I over reacted? But the thought of being judged on my parenting skills deeply offends me. Basically, he implied that it was wrong of me to have 2 pyjama days in a row with my children. We had nowhere to go, the children don't object to playing in their pyjamas, I don't see the problem. But I was in tears at his comment. It got me thinking. Should I be taking them out and doing things on a daily basis? Or is it ok to have a few lazy days?

Another thing that always upsets me is 'he needs a haircut!' Erm, excuse me. He's my son, maybe it's up to me to decide he needs a haircut! My youngest is 2 and a half and he has chin length blonde hair. I think he looks cute. It in no way makes him look like a girl, as people tell me, he is quite clearly a boy. He will get a haircut if and when I decide it's necessary! 

Next on my list is people telling me I can't buy my eldest an Internet tablet because he's too young. Again, surely that's for me to decide? He was 5 in January and he really enjoys playing on my husbands iPad. We have decided that we would get him his own (nothing as expensive as an iPad, but a cheaper alternative) but he has got to earn it. We've found reward charts effective in the past where he'd need 5 stars to get a treat. Well since the treat is significantly more expensive than a kiddy magazine this time, we figured he'd need a few more stars, so his target is 50. A few people have said he's too young, but honestly, these days I think not allowing them to use the latest gadgets will only hold them back. The school they go to uses iPads in the classroom, so I think continuing the use at home can only be a good thing. 

Anyway, I won't waffle anymore, I'd be here forever if I gave you every example of people trying to tell me right way to raise my children. But really, my children are cared for, well fed, clean and happy. Who are these people to tell me I'm doing something wrong?

I'll be back soon with another entry. 

Dentist Drama

The other day was our six monthly family trip to the dentist. This is never a happy time! I'm a bit of  wimp. Anyone who knows the extent of the dental treatment I've endured in the past will wonder what the heck I'm scared of. I've had my mouth poked, prodded and pulled beyond recognition (quite literally), yet a simple check up fills me with dread! 

Well Monday was no different. I try my hardest to act like it doesn't bother me for the sake of the children. The last thing I want to do is instil a lifelong phobia of the dentist into them! But sometimes, I let it get the better of me. None of the children wanted to volunteer to go first so Daddy kindly nominated me! And, just as I had predicted, one of my fillings needed replacing. He asked if I wanted it doing there and then or if I would rather come back at a later date. As I was about to say 'I'll come back' Mr P got in there first with 'oh, just do it now to save her coming all the way back into town'. Thanks for that hubby! 

He then started to prepare the needle to numb it for me. There was no way I was letting him come at me with a needle while my children were in the room, so I hastily said 'don't numb it, it'll be fine!' So there I lay, having my tooth drilled with no anaesthetic at all. Give me childbirth over that any day!  I made the odd whiny noise and squirmed a bit, but all in all, I think I was quite brave. It was done in minutes and I don't think I've ever got up out of the dentist's chair so quickly. 

My daughter volunteered to be next and I'm ashamed to say, she handled it much better than I did! She has enamel problems on her back teeth and has already had to have 3 of her milk teeth filled (and she's only 3!) When he'd counted her teeth she just lay there and came out with 'have I got holes?' Sure enough, she needed 2 more fillings, and she just let him get on with it! Didn't move a muscle throughout. She clearly doesn't take after me! Then he tried to put the 'magic toothpaste' on her teeth. Her mouth clamped shut, and the gel ended up everywhere except on her teeth. Apparently it tastes nasty. 

Daddy and the boys were straightforward, no problems there and my 2 year old even asked for more of the magic toothpaste! Obviously he doesn't find it quite so nasty! 

Then we had to pay. Obviously the kids are free, but £17.50 for my husband to be told his teeth are fine and £48 for me to have a broken filling (that I'd payed for once) replaced! Bloody extortion. I could've had a decent night out for that money. All I can say is thank god I was maternity exempt when I had my root canal work done! 

So, tell me, am I the only person who makes a mountain out of a molehill when it comes to the dentist? And anyone else got a super brave little person who puts you to shame? 

Snow... Bleughhhh!

It's snowing! Yuk! I really can't get as excited as the rest of the nation over something so cold and wet. Snow makes me grumpy, fact. 

Walking to school this morning, there were countless children shrieking and throwing snowballs (well, not even snowballs, there's no where near enough snow for that!) at each other. The other parents must have thought I was a right miserable cow. Every time either of my older 2 so much as looked like they were about to pick any up I'd shout 'DON'T TOUCH IT!' in true neurotic fashion! 

It's not that I don't want them to enjoy the snow, but when they come crying to me that their hands are hurting because they're so cold, there's not a great deal I can do about it on our mile walk to and from school. I know it's difficult for them to resist it, but really, if they could just wait until they are at home this afternoon, they can play all they like with the snow in the garden. I can handle that, because when they start crying with cold/turning blue I can just bring them in and wrap them up warm. 

Last year when the snow hit, the kids drove me insane asking to go out and play in it. We still lived in our old house back then and the garden wasn't visible from the house, so I couldn't just let them out to play. There was no way I was going out there to play in it with them! Daddy was at work. So when my little sister informed me that her school was closed I had a brainwave. Teenagers will do anything for a bit of cash, so as much as she too hates the snow, she couldn't resist the offer of a tenner to come round and build a snowman with the little people! Yes, I paid my sister to build a snowman! Now we've moved, the garden is far more family friendly. The children can play safely outside whilst I observe from the warmth of the house, armed with towels heating nicely on the radiators ready to swaddle them when they've frozen solid! 

I hate the way everything slows down in the snow. The route to school is a steep hill and it's hard enough getting my pushchair up it on a good day. Throw snow into the equation and you've added a good 15 minutes onto the already half hour school run! My 3 year old had to stop and show me every single footprint she made!  There's only so many times I can say 'that's great sweetheart' without starting to sound sarcastic! My youngest, in the comfort of his pushchair, was still freezing. He cried all the way there and back. He kept knocking his hat off (something else that forced me to keep stopping!) and he hates being trussed up in blankets. Then there's the 50 children and their parents all crammed into the tiny nursery cloakroom, fighting for a space to change their wellies to school shoes! 

I hate it! Snow should only exist on Christmas cards! I vote hibernation! What's the point in winter anyway? Once Christmas has been and gone, we should just skip straight past all the miserable, cold weather. Summer is the way forward! 

So there you have it. My take on snow. Not my favourite weather, in case I hadn't quite made that clear!