New Mother Tips (and a few War Stories)

Baby Dash, minutes old

"Do you reckon it was harder going from one kid to two," a friend once asked me, "or two kids to three?"
Good question.
But the answer is in fact neither.
I reckon the hardest transition when adding little people to your family is going from zero to one.

Nothing can really prepare you for the reality of being a mother for the first time.
You can read all the books, attend the pre-natal classes, and even hang around actual mothers. Which is all good.

But it still won't cushion the shock of actually having a tiny human dependent on you for everything 24 hours a day, seven days a week for the rest of your life.

Baby Dash - first feed

I remember how long it took getting out the door with a new baby. And just as you were all finally fed and changed and dressed and ready to go... liquid explosions out both ends, guaranteed.

I used to look at mothers with more than one kid and ask myself, how on earth do they ever manage to leave the house???

Ahhh yes, the shock is intense and immediate. The physical demands are heavy. The sleep deprivation is a killer. But be encouraged my new mother-friend. It gets easier.


There will always be struggles of some kind, but eventually the tiredness fades to the background and you get used to functioning on four hours of broken sleep.

Your parenting challenges will go from, "How do I get them to sleep through the night" to "How do I get them to do their homework/take a shower/eat 5+ a day". And by the time they start school, you will have the whole "getting out the door" routine down to an art.

The new mother daze

Until then, here are a few things I've learnt about babies....

There's a lot of stuff we read in baby manuals, and from "experts" that puts a lot of pressure on new mothers, and causes unnecessary anxiety when their babies "don't do what they should".
Did you know that only 20% of babies are "textbook" babies?
If  80% of babies are not textbook, then I reckon we should throw the blinkin' textbooks away!

Golden Rule #1: Every Baby is Different

The best piece of advice I ever got from a friend was, "Don't compare your baby to anyone else's".
This friend had agonised over milestones and sleeping patterns when she compared her first baby to friends' children. She worried needlessly - there was absolutely nothing wrong with her bub at all, but her anxiety robbed her of simply enjoying her own child.

Every baby is different. Different temperaments, different needs, different family situations, different cultures.

I have learnt the truth of this after having three babies with the same genetic make-up but who were all completely different.

You may have a friend whose baby is textbook perfect, sleeps and feeds on the clock and hardly cries, while yours has you up through the night, can be heard four blocks away and you never know what to expect... believe me it's not because your friend is a better mum than you.

I firmly believe that babies come pre-programmed; their personalities as babies give us clues about what they will be like later on. Demanding babies tend to develop into highly intelligent individuals - or so the experts say. You can console yourself with that if your baby is one of those.

Plus, its highly likely that next time around you might get the sleeper while your poor friend won't know what hit her when her second baby won't follow the programme. At which point you will be able to offer her all your great advice, gleaned from experience as the mother of a demanding (highly intelligent) child *wink*

Taking him home

I was so very pleased with myself when Dash slept through the night at 11 weeks old. Twelve hour sleeps, without a murmur. Oh yes, wasn't I clever?

Then I had Number Two. Try 11 months. Occasionally. In fact, my biggest goal before Scrag was born was to get Miss Fab sleeping through the night in her own bed. She was three years old. {She's now my best sleeper}.

Dash nearly killed me trying to breastfeed him; Miss Fab was a textbook feeder.

Dash was active and an early crawler and walker; Miss Fab did everything a month sooner than Dash did.

Both my eldest two were runaways. Crawling and walking from a young age, they would spot an exit and head for the hills. There was no relaxing when they were around, unless they were behind locked doors - and even then, not so much.

Baby Scrag

But Scrag? He has some kind of internal bungee cord that never lets him stray from where he can see us. He's not a Houdini like the other two.
Plus he was the happiest, smiley-est, most sweet-natured baby on the planet.
And do you know what I am most grateful for?
That I had him last.

Because if Scrag had been my first baby I would have no doubt thought his brilliance was the result of my excellent mothering skills... and I would have not known what had hit me when those other two came along.
As it is, I just take it that sweet easy Scrag was my reward for surviving the first two!

Golden Rule #2: If Mama Aint Happy, Aint Nobody Happy

Or to put it another way: Beware the Breastfeeding Nazis.
The social pressure to breastfeed in New Zealand is particularly intense. I have a feeling it is not quite so PC-Gone-Mad in other countries, but here it is illegal to talk about bottle feeding in pre-natal classes. It's also illegal to advertise formula for babies under a year old. A new mother struggling with breastfeeding finds it extremely difficult and nigh-on-impossible to get any information about alternatives. And when you finally manage to figure out where to find the powdery stuff, every time you feed your baby, there's a feeling that what he is gulping down may as well be poison. Its ridiculous.

Formula these days is blimmin good stuff! And it wasn't too long ago that experts were telling new mothers that formula was better for them than breast milk. Experts are very fickle.

Hey, we all know breast is best, but what they don't usually tell you at antenatal classes is that it can also be incredibly difficult and soul-destroyingly painful, to which is then added crushing guilt and feelings of failure.

How can it be better for baby if you dread every feed and scream with every latch? If mum is happy then baby has a better chance of being contented and settled, and feeding can be a lovely bonding time, no matter what the milk source.

I'll never forget the agony of trying to breastfeed baby Dash, and the horror when I took him off the breast and saw blood ringing his mouth. I thought, Omigosh, he's a cannibal!

Breastfeeding became so painful I would dread every feed. Not for me those soft-focus posters of mothers contentedly bonding with their contented babies. Nope, I had to bite my lip to stop from screaming when he latched on and sat with tears streaming down my face, wondering how on earth I could keep this up.

The thought of giving up was terrifying - the stigma, the sense of failure.

I was blessed with a very understanding midwife.
She saw that breastfeeding was important to me, but reassured me that the best thing for my baby was actually for his mummy to be relaxed and happy.
She offered me some practical alternatives, and her kindness gave me hope.
We tried nipple shields (hopeless), and then she suggested getting a breast pump and recommended the Avent Isis handpump. Brilliant. I was able to express breastmilk for him without pain, so Baby Dash got his breast milk and I saved my boobies.

I was so scared of the pain, and so determined he would have breastmilk that I continued expressing until he was four months old and I was getting RSI from all that pumping.

One day I woke up and said to Dash, "Buddy, today's the day. Either you take the milk straight from the cow (i.e. me) or you're going on formula."

Baby Fab

Thankfully he went straight on the breast. What an amazing feeling that was, no pain. He had outgrown his cannibalistic tendencies, whew! I continued breastfeeding him until he was15 months old, by which stage I was 20 weeks pregnant with Miss Fab. She was a breeze, feeding-wise.

Then came Scrag. I didn't think I would have any problems. Hey, come on, this is my third baby, right?

He seemed to do fine in hospital, but once I got home, with no-one to buzz in the middle of the night, he stopped latching, and wouldn't suck
My first night home from hospital, I sat for an hour and a half trying to latch him. In the end I went and got out my trusty breastpump, expressed a feed (which he sucked down quite happily) and went to bed at last.

In the morning my midwife (not the same lady as before) was horrified and began to lecture me. Uh-oh, a breastfeeding nazi in disguise.

She berated me, "Are you committed to breastfeeding?? Are you?? Because I don't think you are!"

This midwife was worried that Scrag would be confused by the bottle and wouldn't take to the breast again. She thought I would get sick of pumping and put him on formula, "since he was my third baby." Apparently, that meant I was now lazier? busier? less committed to my third baby's health and well-being?

If Scrag had been my first baby, I would have been completely intimidated.
But while it certainly made me feel lousy to be judged by someone who should be supporting me, I knew that I could do it. And I knew what was best for baby was my peace of mind.


So I told her. I stood my ground. I did things my way, made sure I was relaxed. My baby was fed without drama, and eventually in his own time he took the breast again. Bonus - he could still take the bottle which meant sometimes daddy could do an early morning feed.

Sometimes we actually know better than the experts. 

See, I know that now.
The best thing you can do for your baby is be happy and healthy yourself.
You have to look after your baby's mama.
Because "if mama aint happy, aint nobody happy!"

Other Tips, In Brief:

• Let daddy help; don't hover; it's his baby too
• Let daddy do things his own way, even if the baby is dressed funny
• Ask for help from friends; people are not good mind-readers
• Asking for help doesn't mean you can't cope, it means you're smart
• Let your friends make the cuppa for you when they visit
• Give them the baby to hold and then put your feet up
• Make the most of "nana naps"; they rock
• When baby naps, you nap
• Ignore the housework; it will keep
• If a friend asks if you need any help, say "yes please"
• Get them to do the housework you were ignoring
• You know where I live!

I'm dedicating this to my sweet new mama friend Rachel and my awesome Physio, Renee. ♥

Lil Captain Underpants

I am nervously typing as my toddler sits on the couch... in his undies.
Brand new ultimate undies, that is.

Finally this lazy mama has decided that with a third birthday looming close, I'd better get up off my nappy-lovin behind and potty-train my boy.

I was kind-of given a push by my lovely and clever friend Meg C., who is the creator of ultimate undies. She has offered me some of her toilet-training undies to try, so I can share with you all about her clever invention. Cute cotton undies, with an absorbant liner. Kind of like pull-ups but better. And cuter. And more eco-friendly.

Meg also has a website she is putting together called The Toilet Stop {still under construction - lots more material to come}. The Toilet Stop  is full of ideas and tips for toilet training. Thanks Meg! I'm sure I'll be visiting your website a lot over the next few weeks!

...
Oooh! I am back! Guess where I've been?
My little Captain Underpants just shouted: "Mummy I need a weeweeeeeee!!"
So off we ran to the loo.

He sat on the throne and then closed the door on me.
"Mummy you not take a picture!" he said.

Oops sorry, darlin'. The blogger in me got a bit carried away.

And guess what? He finally did a wee!!
On our third try of the day  {first two tries completely without any wee-action} followed by one pair of wet Buzz Lightyear undies soaking in the bucket.

But now, one pair of too-cute ultimate undies giving me piece of mind while he watches a bit of Dora.

So I guess it has begun. The process of unbaby-fying my very last toddler.
I'll keep you posted on how we go, and how the Ultimate Undies work out.

Wish me luck!
xx

Ultimate Undies Website {with pricelist}



P.S. Just back from checking on Scrag's progress. Boo, he did a wee in his Ultimate Undies. This is gonna take some time. But YAY the Ultimate Undies  worked superb!  Nothing leaked through to the couch at all. Brilliant.

The Pitter Patter of Little Feet

It's bedtime and all is calm. Scrag has gone down in his cot with his bottle. Dash is in his room quietly playing cards. I am perched on the edge of Miss Fab's bed saying goodnight, when I hear the distinctive sound of Scrag's door opening.

Thinking it's his big brother going in to kiss him goodnight, I race up the hallway whispering furiously, "Dash, get out of Scrag's room... he's going to sleep...!"
Er, no. He isn't. He is standing in the hallway, in his fluffy turquoise sleepsuit looking very pleased with himself.
He has climbed out of his cot!

I'm stunned. Those cot sides are high! This cot has kept our last bub contained long past when the others were climbing out and moving into big-kid beds. (Thirteen months old, those other two monkeys climbed out of their cots). With this lovely cot (borrowed from Gail) I have been lulled into a false sense of security. My little one goes down easily. If he makes a protest, I can ignore him for a bit and he'll drop off to sleep after a bit of complaining or singing.

Surely those days can't be over already?
I have to hope maybe this was a fluke, right??

I pop him back in his cot, and flop onto the couch in the lounge to watch TV.
Creak. Pitter patter, pitter patter. The sound of little feet coming my way.

A be-dummied grin appears around the corner of the door. He is so proud of himself.
Back to the cot we go; flop back on the couch, turn up the TV...
Creak. Pitter patter, pitter patter. The sound of little feet coming my way.

This is getting a bit monotonous and I groan inwardly realising the shape of my evening to come...

How long can we play this game? All night it seems. He really doesn't want to go down in his cot.
OK a snuggle then. He lays in my arms and his eyelids droop. Righto, back to bed sonny boy.
Back to the cot we go; I flop back on the couch, turn up the TV...

Creak. Pitter patter, pitter patter. The sound of little feet coming my way.

Every time I return him to the cot there is a a great outcry. Miss Fab has successfully fallen to sleep, but poor Dash has his room right next door to the battle ground.
By now it's 8 o'clock. Now I have a big boy complaining as well as a little boy. Dash is lonely. He doesn't want to sleep by himself; he wants a snuggle...

A lightbulb goes off in my head.
"Want to sleep with Scrag??" I ask.
Oh yes! He has been waiting for this day since Scrag was born; the day he gets to share a room with his little brother. We rush to get blankets and pillows. The boys snuggle in together on the bottom bunk.
I return hopefully to the couch and the TV. All is quiet.
Then I hear whispering... and movement... Dash appears at the lounge door.
"Mum he's annoying me! he won't go to sleep!"
Sigh. Well it was a great plan, I thought.

I scoop up the little one and pop him in his cot. Sirens begin to wail, as a storm of tears bursts upon us...
"MUP! MUP!" he pleads. "Doh! Doh! Gucky bo'nighnighs! I'na Doh bed!" (Click here for a translation)
One last chance, I warn him. Go to sleep like a good boy.
The storm subsides as quickly as it began. The boys snuggle together in the bottom bunk; as I leave the room I hear Dash whisper to Scrag, "Now go to sleep Scrag, OK...?"

Silence.
I flop on the couch, and turn up the TV.
Peace reigns throughout the house as they finally drop off to the Land of Nod together. It's 9pm.

Later, daddy comes home and moves Dash up to the top bunk, but not before I snap a few pictures of my sleeping sons, nestled cosily together.

This morning the boys are full of plans. Dash is busy making up Scrag's bed with his Thomas quilt and pillow. He even makes his own bed...! As far as the boys are concerned, Scrag has now joined Dash in the big boys bunks. They are now sharing a room.

How long will it last? How long before the novelty wears off and Dash wishes for his own space again?

Who knows, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But as I write this now, my baby is having a nap in his big boy bed. It's the end of an era.

Scrag's Guide to Getting Attention

!!TOP SECRET!! EYES ONLY!! SECURITY CLEARANCE REQUIRED!!

By Agent Scrag

Babies, we have a problem. Our parents are busy people. Our cuteness is no longer enough to guarantee large chunks of focused attention from them. We must up-the-ante. We must use all our skills to secure for ourselves maximum attention!

 

Attention Obstacle #1: The Computer

The computer is stealing our mothers' attention away from us. We must fight back.

Strategy 1: Power Off

If your mother is spending too much time blogging, a stealth attack could be the answer. Her full attention will be fixed on the screen so all you need to do is sneak under her chair and hit the power button. Warning! This will only work the first few times. After that she will become attuned to your presence under her chair if it threatens her power source.

Strategy 2: Up Close & Personal

Shouting in her ear alone is no good. She has had years of practise tuning out noisy demands. You must climb up behind her on her chair and then pull her hair. That's right, people. I said pull. And I mean pull it hard. No wimpy tickling or she will just think you are giving her a head massage. Yank it till she squeals. This is a very effective way to get her attention.

Strategy 3:  Sabotage

Once she has grown wise to these initial tactics, you will have to become more aggressive. As I said, she will have her attention firmly on the screen and as long as you are not climbing under her chair or pulling her hair, she will ignore you.

I recommend going for the jugular: the makeup purse. If your mother is like mine, she always forgets to put her things away because she's in a rush in the morning. So get in there, pull the stuff out and go to town with the eyeshadow.

When you've had enough, appear at her shoulder smeared in makeup. I guarantee you this will get her attention. She will have to spend quite some time cleaning up the mess you've made. Even better if you've just eaten banana and/or have a snotty nose. She won't know whether the globs on her purse are edible or... not.

Other Attention Obstacles:
Any of the above strategies can be employed to take attention away from these obstacles and put it back firmly where it belongs: on us!

~television
~telephone
~adult conversation
~siblings
~chores

You may wish to try some of my other attention-getting tricks...

Clean the toilet yourself...

Strip naked and smear toothpaste all over the bath (and yourself)...

Help with the laundry...

Throw everything out of your cot. And I mean EVERYTHING.

Do a woopsy in your nappy. Make it a really whiffy one that she can't ignore. Stay close by for maximum effect.

Climb on her knee and give her gooby kisses... then shout "lah-you-mummeee!"

These methods are all guaranteed winners. Goodnight and Good Luck!

PS: Mummy found this coded message and decided to post it to cheer herself up after she found what I did to her makeup. She said if she didn't laugh, she'd cry. Mothers!!!

Always Be My Baby

Can it be two years? Already?

Two whole years since this little bundle entered the world? Not possible. Surely it was just a blink ago that they held up this blurry shape and called, "It's a boy!" But this little man is not a baby any more. Tomorrow, he turns two. My kids have told me firmly: No computer for you tomorrow, mummy. It's Scrag's birthday.

So I'm sneaking a post in before then...

An Ode to My Baby who is no longer really a baby...
but who will always and forever be my baby.

"My Scraggadag"

The little one who makes me laugh and smile daily, at a hundred different things.

The little one whose chuckle stops supermarket traffic

The little one we thought long and hard before having...
(and now aren't we so thankful that we did?)

He has big blue eyes

And a smile that rivals the sun's brightness

His chunky thighs deliver a powerful kick

His chubby dimpled hands reach out trustingly

His deep little voice is learning to string together words

Mine, mummy! No! No numnums! Gucky poo, mummy!

Down, Mummy, peeaase!! Mooove Doshy! Me mummy knee!

Ah my sweet little boy. My littlest one,
You will no doubt end up the tallest of us all.

My almost-two, nearly-not-a-bub who wears size nine shoes

Doesn't matter how tall you grow...

I'll always be your mummy

And You will always be my baby.

Happy Birthday Darling Scrag.
16 April 2008
xxx