I know I say it a lot, but I have given birth to five babies. That’s quite a few! I often wonder how on earth my body grew and birthed these little humans! Knowing all too well how hard it is to … Continue reading
This is a picture of Abi and me on holiday in about 2011. I love the health and happiness radiating from BOTH of us in this picture. Of course, there was never any sign that Abi would have a brain haemorrhage … Continue reading
I’ve been sitting here staring at the packet for half an hour. Antidepressants. These little pills, I know, are offering me the chance to numb my mind for a while from the anxiety and depression that’s taken hold of me. … Continue reading
Huffpost Parents shared a link to this blog post today about the reality of pelvic pain in pregnancy. I wrote my own post when I was heavily pregnant with Grubbalo at the end of 2013 but never got round to posting it. I know many readers have suffered with this common ailment so it might be useful to read my story.
I’m so grateful that I’ve got this far in my pregnancy; that the baby seems to be okay, squirming around in there. But I can’t deny that it’s physically and emotionally demanding. I see lots of women whose bumps seems to be attached to them and other than that they look pretty much the same, can get around the same and it doesn’t seem to slow them down. It’s hard not to envy that when you have pregnancies like mine.
I wouldn’t say I have difficult pregnancies, far from it. I’m very lucky to not have months of sickness or problems which leave me on bed rest or in hospital. I know getting pelvic pain is simply ‘how I am’ when I’m pregnant.
I had this with each of my four pregnancies, getting worse with each one. And despite being physically fitter before this pregnancy than I was with my others, I’m six years older so perhaps that’s a factor?
I saw a link to this thread on Mumsnet‘s Facebook page about how ‘precious’ we can be around our first child. A comment that had me giggling for ages after was that one mum actually squirted Johnson & Johnson’s No Tears Shampoo into her own eyes to test it really was ‘no tears! Oh dear!
It reminded me that when I was pregnant with my fourth baby last year, I wrote this post about how my attitude to so-called ‘nesting’ had changed since I had my first child over 10 years before. I seem to have gone from feathering my first nest to, perhaps, just tidying that nest a little bit with my second and third, to simply trying to keep all the twigs together by my fourth nest! So, without further ado, here is my list of ways nesting was different for me:
Nesting, then and now
Having spent most of the afternoon cleaning the house, I realised I’ve not actually achieved much more than the basics… and now it’s a tip again! I thought it might be the nesting instinct (pregnant woman with duster = feathering her nest), but in fact I’m just doing the bloody cleaning!
I thought it might be fun to compare some of the things I did first time around in 2000, when expecting my first child, with now (and my other children). Ah… the days of organised living… *goes off into daydream of tidier times*
Why is it that some people seem to enjoy scaring or putting down a pregnant woman?
At eight months pregnant I was entering the ‘anxious, this isn’t funny anymore stage’ – one minute looking at the pram with excitement, the next feeling terrified of how my son was going to arrive into this world. I was thinking of the birth and soaking up things to fret about, I didn’t want to but I couldn’t help it, and this was my fourth time! It should be like shelling peas!
I met (on Twitter) a remarkable woman who tragically lost her darling son Hugo in March this year. He was born at just 24 weeks and lived 35 days. I gave birth to my son on 24th February, just four … Continue reading
I have a thing about crying. I find it hard to do. Always have. Before Abi died, I wasn’t really one for crying at sad films or soppy love stories, although having children certainly made me more likely to have … Continue reading
And so, our new baby son was safely born six weeks ago. It’s taken this long for me to have the will to write again, although I’ve jotted thoughts down as they arose and have again found many things surprising.
It was the perfect home birth. Four hours in labour and out he popped, small and perfect. Then a few cups of tea and a doze on the sofa before our other children came down to meet him. I know all too well the importance of a positive birth experience in the emotional recovery of the mother. I’ve experienced the bad side of this myself, but this time it was even more important that I had a good experience. Not just for my well-being but for my husband’s and children’s. We’d all seen enough trauma already.
So we were naturally delighted to meet the little boy whose purpose, it seems, is to give our family new hope. Friends and family have shared our joy and relief that things went well.