"Why does nobody tell you about internal inspections?" My sister demanded when she came out of hospital, her 2 day old baby in her arms. "I was prepared for pooing the bed, being ripped in two, pain never felt before etc etc. But internals? Nobody told me about them."
Maybe it's because her internal led to a spotting a breach baby and she only had one contraction before she was whisked off for a c-section. Maybe the internal is the last thing remembers, where the pain and discomfort for Mums having gone through labour is replaced by memories more harrowing.
Maybe.
Or maybe, like hemorrhoids. It's something people don't like to talk about.
"Just like a smear" the Midwife will say, lulling you into a false sense of security before a contraption, hand and forearm disappear into the unknown. The future dad stands open mouthed, aghast - porn films have never been this graphic.
By the way... It is nothing like a smear.
Saturday, 26 November 2011
U - Uniform
There are two things I know for sure if I was a working Mum:
1) I would have a cleaner
2) My children would have ridiculous amounts of uniform
I am the Mum who has pulled a pair of school trousers from the washing basket, sponge washed them and blasted them dry with a hair dryer 15 minutes before we have to leave the house.
I am also the parent that agrees with having a uniform on many levels, however, on a day I can't find any clean uniform I will bellow furiously "For God's sake! Why do they have to wear Uniform at 4 years old anyway?"
In primary school the uniform should reflect the activities and track suit bottoms would be much more practical. I look at my two sons , who are completely different shapes, and think the only thing that is comfortable and practical for both of them is a pair of trackies. Not formal school trousers. Which for either child will at some point need turning up, taking in, letting out etc etc. Trackies = one size fits all.
The other thing - how do you keep the polo shirts white? Wherever I have bought them from they have turned to a dull grey. I never wash them with anything other than whites. I keep vanish in profits. I have bought the "basic" ones, the "luxury" ones and the "stay bright" ones. All of them have turned.
And then there's ironing - well lets's just agree that's a non-starter in my house and I am grateful I don't have daughters who wear pleated skirts and checked summer dresses. Otherwise they would be very crinkly daughters.
1) I would have a cleaner
2) My children would have ridiculous amounts of uniform
I am the Mum who has pulled a pair of school trousers from the washing basket, sponge washed them and blasted them dry with a hair dryer 15 minutes before we have to leave the house.
I am also the parent that agrees with having a uniform on many levels, however, on a day I can't find any clean uniform I will bellow furiously "For God's sake! Why do they have to wear Uniform at 4 years old anyway?"
In primary school the uniform should reflect the activities and track suit bottoms would be much more practical. I look at my two sons , who are completely different shapes, and think the only thing that is comfortable and practical for both of them is a pair of trackies. Not formal school trousers. Which for either child will at some point need turning up, taking in, letting out etc etc. Trackies = one size fits all.
The other thing - how do you keep the polo shirts white? Wherever I have bought them from they have turned to a dull grey. I never wash them with anything other than whites. I keep vanish in profits. I have bought the "basic" ones, the "luxury" ones and the "stay bright" ones. All of them have turned.
And then there's ironing - well lets's just agree that's a non-starter in my house and I am grateful I don't have daughters who wear pleated skirts and checked summer dresses. Otherwise they would be very crinkly daughters.
Friday, 25 November 2011
B - Braxton Hicks
This is how it went with my first pregnancy...
Midwife: I'm just going to feel your tum, hop up on the table for me (of course the heavily pregnant can't "hop up" anywhere).
Me: Ok.
Midwife: (kneading large, exposed bump) it's difficult to tell what position he is in; you're having Braxton Hicks.
Me: Really? I can' feel anything.
Consequently, this meant that any following conversation I had with other Mums about Braxton Hicks would result in me thinking I was 'dead 'ard', as they droned on about how uncomfortable and painful they were I thought smugly: "Well I didn't even know I was having them."
Two pregnancies later...
Midwife: Any questions, concerns?
Me: Do Braxton Hicks hurt more in consecutive pregnancies?
Midwife (tilting head and smiling) yes, unfortunately, they do.
ME: And come more often?
Midwife: Yes.
Me: And more irregular?
Midwife: A-ha.
Me: And less likely to be a signal of labour approaching?
Midwife: Afraid so.
Me: So their sole purpose this time round is to make the last month as uncomfortable as possible? Great.
Apparently the theory is in your first labour, the head will engage and stay engaged, and this will result in practice contractions preparing your uterus for the birth, first discovered my a male doctor (of course) who then named them after himself, hence why the name has nothing to do with labour or women. In consecutive pregnancies the head is less likely to engage till labour commences, however, the baby may (quoting the midwife) "bob in and out" thus creating irregular and painful practice contractions.
*Talking to Belly* Well, you in there, little bobber, you hear me? This bobbing - stops now! No more! Anywhere else you would be called a "Tease". I can just about handle the pains, but every time you bob in I have the urge to pee, which happens every 7 minutes coupled with a very convincing and pressured feeling that something very large is about to drop out of something quite small.. So we would all be happier if you just bobbed out, stayed out and splashed about till you were definitely going to make an appearance. To put in bluntly - the only pains I am interested in are the ones that will result in an empty womb!
Midwife: I'm just going to feel your tum, hop up on the table for me (of course the heavily pregnant can't "hop up" anywhere).
Me: Ok.
Midwife: (kneading large, exposed bump) it's difficult to tell what position he is in; you're having Braxton Hicks.
Me: Really? I can' feel anything.
Consequently, this meant that any following conversation I had with other Mums about Braxton Hicks would result in me thinking I was 'dead 'ard', as they droned on about how uncomfortable and painful they were I thought smugly: "Well I didn't even know I was having them."
Two pregnancies later...
Midwife: Any questions, concerns?
Me: Do Braxton Hicks hurt more in consecutive pregnancies?
Midwife (tilting head and smiling) yes, unfortunately, they do.
ME: And come more often?
Midwife: Yes.
Me: And more irregular?
Midwife: A-ha.
Me: And less likely to be a signal of labour approaching?
Midwife: Afraid so.
Me: So their sole purpose this time round is to make the last month as uncomfortable as possible? Great.
Apparently the theory is in your first labour, the head will engage and stay engaged, and this will result in practice contractions preparing your uterus for the birth, first discovered my a male doctor (of course) who then named them after himself, hence why the name has nothing to do with labour or women. In consecutive pregnancies the head is less likely to engage till labour commences, however, the baby may (quoting the midwife) "bob in and out" thus creating irregular and painful practice contractions.
*Talking to Belly* Well, you in there, little bobber, you hear me? This bobbing - stops now! No more! Anywhere else you would be called a "Tease". I can just about handle the pains, but every time you bob in I have the urge to pee, which happens every 7 minutes coupled with a very convincing and pressured feeling that something very large is about to drop out of something quite small.. So we would all be happier if you just bobbed out, stayed out and splashed about till you were definitely going to make an appearance. To put in bluntly - the only pains I am interested in are the ones that will result in an empty womb!
Monday, 14 November 2011
I - I can't see my feet!
For a long time I thought pregnant people couldn't really see their feet. But they can, can't they? I mean, not from every angle, like they could pre-bump. But all it takes is a slight lean forward and there they are, like they always were, on the the bottom of your legs, just looking slightly more swollen.
No, this expression is clearly a euphemism for something else beginning with 'F' - a euphemism that previously flew right over my head.
When my first close friend fell pregnant, a good few years before I'd considered having children, she was 7 months pregnant when I heard her whinge "Do you know what? It would just be nice to see your Foo Foo again"
"Do you miss it?" I joked.
"Just you wait" she threatened and sat their looking smug. A woman who knew the real drawbacks of pregnancy.
And, she was right. It would be nice.
It's not that we look down there it a lot, I mean, if challenged to the amount you examine between the legs, you'd probably blush and reply "rarely ever". But when that option is taken away and you suddenly can't, you become aware of how much attention that area requires and it is quite unnerving.
Unnerving in the regards that you have absolutely no idea what is going on down there, unnerving because every other body part which grows hair is taking on a new lease of life, unnerving, and terrifying, that the time is fast approaching that that area is about to have its moment of crowning glory - a whole new stage and audience - and you have no idea what it looks like.
"ARRGGH! I can't see my F..."
No, this expression is clearly a euphemism for something else beginning with 'F' - a euphemism that previously flew right over my head.
When my first close friend fell pregnant, a good few years before I'd considered having children, she was 7 months pregnant when I heard her whinge "Do you know what? It would just be nice to see your Foo Foo again"
"Do you miss it?" I joked.
"Just you wait" she threatened and sat their looking smug. A woman who knew the real drawbacks of pregnancy.
And, she was right. It would be nice.
It's not that we look down there it a lot, I mean, if challenged to the amount you examine between the legs, you'd probably blush and reply "rarely ever". But when that option is taken away and you suddenly can't, you become aware of how much attention that area requires and it is quite unnerving.
Unnerving in the regards that you have absolutely no idea what is going on down there, unnerving because every other body part which grows hair is taking on a new lease of life, unnerving, and terrifying, that the time is fast approaching that that area is about to have its moment of crowning glory - a whole new stage and audience - and you have no idea what it looks like.
"ARRGGH! I can't see my F..."
Thursday, 10 November 2011
D - DEMOBs and SMOGs
So I'm not sure where this idea was spawned (this idea being the most wonderful of acronyms I have ever come across) so I can't give credit, but I do know my Mum told me about them after reading an article on Mumsnet. Therefore, some wonderful Mumsnetter is sure to comment and put me straight.
SMOG - Smug Mothers Of Girls
DEMOB - DEfensive Mother Of Boys
Brilliant!
Before I had children I was unaware of this divide. I actually thought things hadn't moved on from the 50's where the baby boy was still a blessing and the girl, was, you know, bad luck. But how wrong was I? Girl worship has landed and it isn't budging an inch.
I do know a few SMOGs. I haven't told them they are actually a SMOG, but they are. They often say things like ..."Well I have girls" and "Oh no girls don't do that" and "Really?". And, I know that it doesn't sound that bad, but it's not what they say but the way they say it. The look on their face, the half smile, the head placement slightly to the left and the glitter of triumph in their eyes; they're smug - they are a SMOG!
And then, there's the ones I don't know. The ones at the park, or the soft play area, or the supermarket. The ones with their noses turned high and looks of pure horror as my boys circle my legs screaming, or dive bomb into the swimming pool or run through puddles regardless of what's on their feet. The ones whose daughters stand uncomfortably in frills and ribbons and "won't wear anything but pink". (She will if you don't give her a choice though, I'm pretty sure it's not her who holds the Next Directory account.) There the ones I really don't like... The judgemental Smog.
And as much as I try not to be a DEMOB, I can't help it. I love my boys; I embrace the noise, I encourage the mess and I laugh at their trails of destruction. So when some prissy Mum, dressed head to toe in Boden, daughter with matching jumper on knee, is gawking at my two year old as he he eats the chalk at playgroup and then throws it on the floor as he runs to dunk his head in the dirty paint water, it takes all my will power not to defensively tell them "to get over themselves" instead I just turn proudly and say"I taught him that."
But I do try to be level headed, not to resort to pantomime boos and hisses when a SMOG tells me of her woes of having to make a Snow White birthday cake, or how The Disney Store has already run out of glass slippers and there's 5 weeks till Christmas, or how they are struggling to master the french plait. But this I can listen to, and just laugh at, because my concerns are about how to stop my youngest putting his hand into his dirty nappy to share its content with the room or explaining to a four your old why it isn't nice to finger shoot people as we overtake them in the car. But what I really have objection to is the SMOG's look of pity when I tell them I'm having a third boy. "Poor you!"
And before I know it I'm ranting at them "We're having a baby,a s far as we know he is perfectly healthy. Some people will never have a baby. We are really lucky to have three boys and personally we think it's going to be great!"
But equally the DEMOBS are just as irritating. In the summer, whilst camping, I got talking to another Mum at a restaurant. "Do you know what you are having?" she asked eying my bump.
"Yes a third boy" I said smiling "But I'm pleased because I think pink is overrated" I joked. She didn't respond.
"Do you just have the two bo.."
I hadn't finished the question when she replied, in a very loud voice, "Yes and I wouldn't have it any other way!"
I'm pretty sure she also looked up to the sky.
The conversation ended, as I wasn't sure if she was talking to me, or someone up above. But I made a promise to the boys there and then that I wouldn't be one of those Mothers. Ones who says things like "Well he's a boy" as he throws all the shoes of the shelves in Clarks or "he's just asserting himself" as he bangs the other children on the head with a toy hammer. Or, the worse one, "At least I'll know I'll be looked after" as her son blows raspberry's out the window at passers by. (No, my dear, you will be looking after him... FOREVER)
I have also had to make myself promise not to become "anti-girls". Recently I have noticed myself raising my eyebrows or smirking as girl-worship is pushed further into my face. And the worst bit, as much of a tomboy as I was growing up, I have always loved the colour pink. But the more I see it on little girls, the more it is losing its appeal, to the point I actually wrestled a "pink wafer" off a four year old girl at a party the other day as she wanted "all the pink biscuits" and I ws adamant, my son, who couldn't care less, also wanted one. I think my DEMOB membership card may be arriving in the post soon.
However, if I ever was to have a girl, I am pretty sure at the age of 4 she'd get stuck up a tree, adorn a full football strip at the age of 9, and be able to down a pint at 17! Just like her Mum!
SMOG - Smug Mothers Of Girls
DEMOB - DEfensive Mother Of Boys
Brilliant!
Before I had children I was unaware of this divide. I actually thought things hadn't moved on from the 50's where the baby boy was still a blessing and the girl, was, you know, bad luck. But how wrong was I? Girl worship has landed and it isn't budging an inch.
I do know a few SMOGs. I haven't told them they are actually a SMOG, but they are. They often say things like ..."Well I have girls" and "Oh no girls don't do that" and "Really?". And, I know that it doesn't sound that bad, but it's not what they say but the way they say it. The look on their face, the half smile, the head placement slightly to the left and the glitter of triumph in their eyes; they're smug - they are a SMOG!
And then, there's the ones I don't know. The ones at the park, or the soft play area, or the supermarket. The ones with their noses turned high and looks of pure horror as my boys circle my legs screaming, or dive bomb into the swimming pool or run through puddles regardless of what's on their feet. The ones whose daughters stand uncomfortably in frills and ribbons and "won't wear anything but pink". (She will if you don't give her a choice though, I'm pretty sure it's not her who holds the Next Directory account.) There the ones I really don't like... The judgemental Smog.
And as much as I try not to be a DEMOB, I can't help it. I love my boys; I embrace the noise, I encourage the mess and I laugh at their trails of destruction. So when some prissy Mum, dressed head to toe in Boden, daughter with matching jumper on knee, is gawking at my two year old as he he eats the chalk at playgroup and then throws it on the floor as he runs to dunk his head in the dirty paint water, it takes all my will power not to defensively tell them "to get over themselves" instead I just turn proudly and say"I taught him that."
But I do try to be level headed, not to resort to pantomime boos and hisses when a SMOG tells me of her woes of having to make a Snow White birthday cake, or how The Disney Store has already run out of glass slippers and there's 5 weeks till Christmas, or how they are struggling to master the french plait. But this I can listen to, and just laugh at, because my concerns are about how to stop my youngest putting his hand into his dirty nappy to share its content with the room or explaining to a four your old why it isn't nice to finger shoot people as we overtake them in the car. But what I really have objection to is the SMOG's look of pity when I tell them I'm having a third boy. "Poor you!"
And before I know it I'm ranting at them "We're having a baby,a s far as we know he is perfectly healthy. Some people will never have a baby. We are really lucky to have three boys and personally we think it's going to be great!"
But equally the DEMOBS are just as irritating. In the summer, whilst camping, I got talking to another Mum at a restaurant. "Do you know what you are having?" she asked eying my bump.
"Yes a third boy" I said smiling "But I'm pleased because I think pink is overrated" I joked. She didn't respond.
"Do you just have the two bo.."
I hadn't finished the question when she replied, in a very loud voice, "Yes and I wouldn't have it any other way!"
I'm pretty sure she also looked up to the sky.
The conversation ended, as I wasn't sure if she was talking to me, or someone up above. But I made a promise to the boys there and then that I wouldn't be one of those Mothers. Ones who says things like "Well he's a boy" as he throws all the shoes of the shelves in Clarks or "he's just asserting himself" as he bangs the other children on the head with a toy hammer. Or, the worse one, "At least I'll know I'll be looked after" as her son blows raspberry's out the window at passers by. (No, my dear, you will be looking after him... FOREVER)
I have also had to make myself promise not to become "anti-girls". Recently I have noticed myself raising my eyebrows or smirking as girl-worship is pushed further into my face. And the worst bit, as much of a tomboy as I was growing up, I have always loved the colour pink. But the more I see it on little girls, the more it is losing its appeal, to the point I actually wrestled a "pink wafer" off a four year old girl at a party the other day as she wanted "all the pink biscuits" and I ws adamant, my son, who couldn't care less, also wanted one. I think my DEMOB membership card may be arriving in the post soon.
However, if I ever was to have a girl, I am pretty sure at the age of 4 she'd get stuck up a tree, adorn a full football strip at the age of 9, and be able to down a pint at 17! Just like her Mum!
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
Thursday, 3 November 2011
C - Children's parties
So to date I have a four year old and a two tear old and to date I have thrown two parties: one birthday party and one halloween party. Do you want to know how many children we invited to each? Two. That's it. Two. It was enough.
So here is the thing about children's parties, especially for children under 5 - who are we throwing them for? Ourselves? Or the kids?
I had great birthday parties as a kid - really great, ok we were slightly spoilt when it comes to parties but I LOVED it - great memories. My favourite being a Disco Party where we had the best DJs (a double act that could have given Ant and Dec a run for their money), my Mum made hot dogs for everyone and I invited my whole class so I had 40 plus presents to open.
My partner on the other hand, didn't have parties, he says "we were skint" which may have been true, but also he was born on the 28th of Dececember and I feel the fate of a Christmas baby is to be party-less.
But as much I loved having a party and it was what I really looked forward to each year, I refuse to overdo it too early, and put all that effort in to a party that a one year old child has no idea it is for him. And at the moment the "birthday party" has become another charde for a mum to show off, either how wealty she is, how creative she is or how down right fabulous she is. Party bags have become a ridiculous parade of wealth, as Mums compete in taking decorated cupcakes into schoool/nursery for class mates the day before, clad the whole family in a new designer outfit for the occasion and hire gourmet caterers and chocolate fountains for the food! Then after you've gone you recieve a thank you letter, that comes in the form of a wedding invitation, thanking you for coming - wasn't that the point of the overfilled and overindulged party bag?
So this is what we did... For the first few years we celebrated with family and being Summer babies usually attempted to do it on the beach, because that is where the kids are happiest. Then this year, as he had started pre-school my eldest said for his birthday he wanted to play with his two best friends from Nursery. So, as they were obsessed with pirates, I devised a picture pirate treasure hunt through the woods, which ended with finding a treasure map and digging up a eal treasure chest in the sand pit at the play area. We had a pirate picninc, bought them an ice cream and a ride on merry go round then took them home. The cost was minimal, the effort a bit more, but I'm sure he's more likey to remember it than hiring a hall and invite 50 kids he barely knows.
Then there was the halloween party, which arose as he had been asking for weeks to have school friends over to play and I though I'd make it into an event on halloween and then wouldn't feel guilty about not taking him out "trick or treating". I was going to put on party food, do a spooky treasure hunt around the house and then some crafts. "They won't want to do crafts" my partner said. "Just let them play".
"They might" I replied and devised a box of simple crafts "just in case", like pom pom spiders, straw skeletons and chalk ghosts. Needless to say the majority of their time they ran around chasing each other with masks on (my partner included) and I sat on my own doing crafts. However, the little monkeys were more than happy to take a pom pom spider home with them and pass it off as their own. Once again, simple cheap, but they were all happy. i would have posted some pics to accompany this, but I was too busy battling with wool and googly eyes to take any!
So here is the thing about children's parties, especially for children under 5 - who are we throwing them for? Ourselves? Or the kids?
I had great birthday parties as a kid - really great, ok we were slightly spoilt when it comes to parties but I LOVED it - great memories. My favourite being a Disco Party where we had the best DJs (a double act that could have given Ant and Dec a run for their money), my Mum made hot dogs for everyone and I invited my whole class so I had 40 plus presents to open.
My partner on the other hand, didn't have parties, he says "we were skint" which may have been true, but also he was born on the 28th of Dececember and I feel the fate of a Christmas baby is to be party-less.
But as much I loved having a party and it was what I really looked forward to each year, I refuse to overdo it too early, and put all that effort in to a party that a one year old child has no idea it is for him. And at the moment the "birthday party" has become another charde for a mum to show off, either how wealty she is, how creative she is or how down right fabulous she is. Party bags have become a ridiculous parade of wealth, as Mums compete in taking decorated cupcakes into schoool/nursery for class mates the day before, clad the whole family in a new designer outfit for the occasion and hire gourmet caterers and chocolate fountains for the food! Then after you've gone you recieve a thank you letter, that comes in the form of a wedding invitation, thanking you for coming - wasn't that the point of the overfilled and overindulged party bag?
So this is what we did... For the first few years we celebrated with family and being Summer babies usually attempted to do it on the beach, because that is where the kids are happiest. Then this year, as he had started pre-school my eldest said for his birthday he wanted to play with his two best friends from Nursery. So, as they were obsessed with pirates, I devised a picture pirate treasure hunt through the woods, which ended with finding a treasure map and digging up a eal treasure chest in the sand pit at the play area. We had a pirate picninc, bought them an ice cream and a ride on merry go round then took them home. The cost was minimal, the effort a bit more, but I'm sure he's more likey to remember it than hiring a hall and invite 50 kids he barely knows.
Then there was the halloween party, which arose as he had been asking for weeks to have school friends over to play and I though I'd make it into an event on halloween and then wouldn't feel guilty about not taking him out "trick or treating". I was going to put on party food, do a spooky treasure hunt around the house and then some crafts. "They won't want to do crafts" my partner said. "Just let them play".
"They might" I replied and devised a box of simple crafts "just in case", like pom pom spiders, straw skeletons and chalk ghosts. Needless to say the majority of their time they ran around chasing each other with masks on (my partner included) and I sat on my own doing crafts. However, the little monkeys were more than happy to take a pom pom spider home with them and pass it off as their own. Once again, simple cheap, but they were all happy. i would have posted some pics to accompany this, but I was too busy battling with wool and googly eyes to take any!
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
V - Vanity
There is no room for vanity in pregnancy. No room at all. Days when my hair is washed and styled and my lashes are flecked with mascara are the days I class as achievements.
And there is definitely no room for vanity in the labour ward - that place is crammed full with screams of agony, flustered midwives and anxious relatives. Vanity, you must wait outside.
When I was heavily pregnant with my first, friends told me to rememeber to pack a mascara and some dry shampoo - "people will be taking photos, regardless of what you look like." a concerned colleague advised. I didn't. It wasn't one of my priorities. And, besides, I would be glowing with that feeling of euphoria everyone kept harping on about. Who needs make-up?
I learnt the hard way...
No, there is no room for vanity in the labour ward, but it will make itself comforatble next to you everytime you look at those photos, reminding you that you can never remove them, no matter how dreadful you look. They are your child's first photos, what sort of a Mother would dispose of them?
"No they're here to stay and haunt you forever" a smirking Vanity will gloat.
Needless to say the second time round I was more prepared. It's like I went on a post-labour-breakfast-show-makeover!
And there is definitely no room for vanity in the labour ward - that place is crammed full with screams of agony, flustered midwives and anxious relatives. Vanity, you must wait outside.
When I was heavily pregnant with my first, friends told me to rememeber to pack a mascara and some dry shampoo - "people will be taking photos, regardless of what you look like." a concerned colleague advised. I didn't. It wasn't one of my priorities. And, besides, I would be glowing with that feeling of euphoria everyone kept harping on about. Who needs make-up?
I learnt the hard way...
No, there is no room for vanity in the labour ward, but it will make itself comforatble next to you everytime you look at those photos, reminding you that you can never remove them, no matter how dreadful you look. They are your child's first photos, what sort of a Mother would dispose of them?
"No they're here to stay and haunt you forever" a smirking Vanity will gloat.
Needless to say the second time round I was more prepared. It's like I went on a post-labour-breakfast-show-makeover!
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