Thursday 23 May 2013

Worries, Prayers and Lullabies : Sudden Infant Death Syndrome

I am being a tiny bit brave today. I have thought about writing about this topic for a few days but decided against it. I don't do 'serious' topics very well. I feel much more comfortable in the 'humour' category. I want to make people smile. I want to make people happy. I feel a bit out of my depth writing about anything other than trivial. But sometimes you can't quiet your head, and the thoughts trickle down your arms, into your fingers .. and suddenly you're at your keyboard feeling an overwhelming need to say your piece. So here I am. 

Early this week Sudden Infant Death Syndrome dominated the news. It would seem the advice is to not co-sleep with your baby. My Twitter feed was awash with people, much more intelligent than me, explaining that the study was flawed. The general consensus was anger that we are being told what to do or what not to do once again and that the study was misleading and panic causing. 

I am what you would call a worrier. I am the most anxious person you will ever meet. I panic and over dramatise and worry about everything .. and I would worry if there wasn't anything to worry about. I panicked for nine long months about the labour. Because of a previous family tragedy I worried an inordinate amount about my baby being still born. I frantically explained this fear, through tears, to every midwife I met through my 3 day labour and explained to my partner that all I wanted him to say once my baby boy arrived was "he is alright". 

And he was. 

My next thing to worry about was Cot Death. During one of my nights at hospital a lovely nurse came to speak to me in my little curtained off room. I said I was terrified of Cot Death. She gave me a leaflet and in my notes it said "Stephanie is anxious about Cot Death". Well what new parent wouldn't be? I was too scared to even read the leaflet. I knew what it would say. Put baby on his back. Make sure he isn't too hot or too cold. Don't put a hat on them at night or indoors. Don't put cuddly toys in the cot. Put the baby's feet at the bottom of the cot. Make sure they can't wriggle below the blanket. 

A couple of days later our little family came home. My partner and I admired our new arrival in his nursery. We decided to take a few pictures for the archives. We put him in his pretty cot, we put a gorgeous little blue hat on him and a couple of his bears near his head. We took a photo, which was when the maternity support officer arrived. 

Upon entering the room she said:
"You shouldn't have toys in the cot... it can cause cot death"
"You shouldn't have a hat on him indoors... it can cause cot death" 
"It is a little hot in here..which can cause ..." 

We tried to explain we were just taking a photo. 

What she didn't know was that I had given birth on the Thursday and it was Tuesday.. and I had not yet been to sleep. 

I had sat up watching my new baby boy with an overwhelming anxiety ... convinced that if I didn't take my eyes off him he would be ok. She told me I needed to get some rest and I burst into tears explaining to her that I couldn't sleep because I was "too worried he would stop breathing, but that's normal right?" 

"No dear," she said "It's not normal". 

Sudden Infant Death Syndrome scares me more than words can describe. Sometimes I watch the news and I despair. I think how am I meant to protect my boy from all the evil in the world? Maybe we could both stay in here forever. In our comfy room, hiding from the scary world. I could keep him safe then. The idea that something could come into our house,  into our room, and there is nothing I can do to stop it... is truly the most terrifying thought I have ever known. 

Three months on and I do not think I have truly had a deep sleep. I wake up several times in the night to check his chest is bobbing up and down. I try to listen to his sleepy sighs. If I am unsure I will press my palm on his chest and wait for his little arms to jut out in a sleepy shock. I am obsessed with his body temperature at night.. is he too cold? Is the room too hot? Should he be in a vest? Or in more clothes. I co-slept with him many times when I was breast feeding in the first eight weeks but would wake up alert, as if coming out of a nightmare, petrified that I had rolled too close to him.  

I am not intelligent, scientific, well read or knowledgeable enough to comment on SIDS in the way other bloggers might, all I can do is come from a personal position. 

I can only hope that my fears of this heartbreaking syndrome do not affect these precious first months with my baby. I do everything in my power to protect my baby... to follow the guidelines... to be safe... but I know I need to accept that there are things in this world we can not control. We can merely treasure the time we have together and pray that if the worst was to happen, we will have the strength to get through it. 









Tuesday 21 May 2013

An Awful Prick : New Born Immunisations

At the age of 30 I have had many experiences with little pricks in my life.

I remember the school time injections vividly. Not least - the TB Jab. The lingo "Jab" upset me at the time, which I mulled over as we stood in long refugee like lines in our scary school hall. All the girls passing on whispers, Chinese like, down the line, which by the time they reached me had become news of the 'test' jab being "Like a Gun", "That they shoot into your forearm". I was casually whipped in to an internal frenzy that became increasingly worse as the minutes ticked by and the line whittled down to little old me.

I received my test jab, walked back to the science block, relieved that my arm hadn't been shot off, felt a little odd, and promptly fainted back on to the hard metal desk. My head split open and I lay there in a pool of blood. I had to have stitches. This probably didn't do anything to help my friends' phobias of needles. 

When I was eight my parents thought it was a great idea to holiday in Africa. I had to have a plethora of injections, the worst one I remember was in my buttock! Oh, the doctor's waiting room heard my screams that morning. I am sure several doctor's waiting rooms heard my screams, from Lands End to John O'groats. 

Then you generally get left alone by needle wielding professionals.. until you get pregnant! And then your fears of the needle prick completely evaporate because you literally become a play pin cushion for the nursing staff. You are either having things pumped in to you (Flu Jab, Whooping cough vaccination) or you are having things sucked out of you (blood, blood and more blood). By your last blood test you won't even notice them slipping it in. It is old veiny news! 

I have never, however, had to take some one else to have an injection. Especially a tiny, little, smiling, innocent person who looks up at you with complete love, trust, happiness and joy! 

I wasn't looking forward to it - his immunisations at 11 weeks. But what I imagined... didn't compare. 

My little guy sat happily on my lap, silent and smiling. He smiles great big broad smiles now. They melt your heart. He turned to his right and noticed the nurse. They locked eyes and he grinned happily at her. She explained that the injections would be at the top of his legs and I suggested he might not cry. She explained kindly that they all cry. I still believed it would be ok. A few tears would be fine - it's not like I haven't seen or heard him cry before. He's a baby. Ergo - he cries! It will be fine. 

He continued to happily smile at the nurse. She put the needle in. A second. Silence... 

Then ripped through by an excruciating squeal of tiny pain. A squeal that said "Why would you hurt me?" "What did I do wrong?" My eyes immediately, involuntarily overflowed with tears and I sat sobbing. I had not anticipated the pain it would cause me. 

He sat there sobbing. I sat there sobbing. I thought the nurse might start... but she offered me a cotton ball to wipe my face instead. 

I cuddled him and apologised profusely and he was soon alright. But I swore he was looking at me as if to say "I don't trust you anymore mummy. Your sole purpose was to keep me happy and safe and you just let a stranger hurt my ickle legs". 

Of course.. he was fine. He is fine. And he is better off for this process. 

It was me, you see, who took the needle worst. 

The awful prick !!



Monday 20 May 2013

New Mum Week 11 - Baby's First Break

Well - my little man is 11 weeks old - and last week he experienced his first holiday. My parents kindly offered to take us to Whitby and last Saturday we trundled down the motorway in a car bursting with luggage - 98% of which was baby based. My partner could only stay for one night and as he had to work, so I was left to enjoy the seaside on my own with our little boy and his grandparents for an entire week.

It is amazing how much 'stuff' you need to travel with a baby. We couldn't take the pram - it just wouldn't fit in the car! It was either the pram or my mother - and although I tried to argue, we went with 'Mother' in the end. He needed his moses basket, his chair, his sterilising equipment, about 25 outfits, his toys, his play gym, his bottles, his formula, his nappies, his wipes, his changing bag, his blankets and his car seat. This meant the three adults in the party got to take one outfit each as well as what we were already wearing. My Father lived in a yellow jumper all week and I spent most of the time in charity shops trying to find things to plump up my wardrobe. 


The last time I had been to Whitby, I was newly pregnant - which meant I could not enjoy two of my favourite things - Shellfish and alcohol. I intended on making up for this this time around. 

The sea air obviously suited my little boy - as on the first night he slept ALL night, which is so out of the ordinary that I didn't sleep a wink - so worried was I that there must be something wrong. I think this is called Irony. 

We spent our days waking at 6am, going downstairs and playing until around 8.30 when he would pass out on his play mat. I would then take the opportunity to shower and get ready. He would wake at 9.30 for a feed and then he would be changed (not for another baby), shuffled into a warm one-piece, slotted in to his sling and we were ready to go! 

The two of us would venture around the shops, into cafes, along the sea front - and even down to the beach. The weather was far too windy to stay on the beach for long, but he did see the sea and the sand, when he wasn't in a mini coma from the gentle rocking motion of the sling and the effect of the sea air.

Whitby was delightful as everyone there wanted to stop and ask me about my tiny passenger. I was asked numerous times what his name was and how old he was. Two little old ladies in the local supermarket asked me if he was a boy or a girl - twice - like they didn't believe my first answer. I decided not to be insulted - even though he was wearing a blue hat. They also asked me if I was breastfeeding. A tad personal I felt! I quelled the impulse to ask them if they were menstruating. But joking aside - it was lovely to have so many interested people in my little guy. Almost made him feel like new again - like I had 'just' come home from the hospital. 

A lady in one restaurant - who had been eyeing him for a while with her husband - even asked if she could hold him. I hesitated for a second, weighed up the risks in my mind and decided she probably wasn't a threat, and if she moved towards the door I could definitely rugby tackle her to the floor - and so I let her hold him. She was thrilled. And he was in his element - all of these lovely new smiling faces peering at him all week, when at home he really only gets to see my ugly mug 80% of the time. 

My parents were also overjoyed to get a whole week with their grandson and a few times I left him with them for a couple of hours and was allowed to go out on my own. 

Pre-baby my absolute favourite past-time was eating in a restaurant on my own. I absolutely loved the feeling of picking a restaurant, ordering a delicious dish and a copious amount of wine and just sitting with my own thoughts watching other diners and the world going by. I was ecstatic to get to do this again. 

I ordered Moules Mariniere everywhere I went - or any dish that contained a plethora of Shellfish. I also ordered my favourite cocktail a couple of times - a Margarita. The things I used to treasure... 

Turns out, Margaritas give me a headache. Muscles can get boring. My own company is not that interesting nowadays. These once coveted little treasures... turns out I don't really treasure them any more.  And then I found myself jigging my leg up and down to keep the baby calm.. before realising he wasn't there...

I will, of course, miss the invaluable back seat mothering I got all week. 
Darling, I think he is too cold. He might be too hot. I am worried he's too 'just right'. 
Darling, I think he is hungry. He might be too full. I am worried he's overfed, underfed, starving...(delete applicable). 
Darling, I think he is tired. He might be overly tired. I am worried he's too awake. Is he sleeping? Well, you should wake him up! 

One week on and we both feel refreshed. I got a hair cut! I got lots of fish! We got lots of sea air and some great sleep. He got loads of attention and busy days. We even got a couple of days of sunshine and I feel much more confident in thinking about our next holiday... this time with Daddy... and abroad! 

Although I'm not sure how I am going to get all his shit on a plane!