Last orders and magic feathers

I remember the night before Amelie was born, I had a little nostalgic moment with my bump, thinking how bittersweet it was that within 24 hours, my pregnancy would be over, and my new baby would be here. I would no longer have exclusive access to this little person, I would have to share her.

For 9 months, I had marvelled at what my body could do - it had nurtured, sustained and grown a tiny little person all by itself, without me having to do hardly anything!

Sometimes it had been painful, and uncomfortable, and felt like a scary responsibility, but for the most part, I had worn my bump with pride, and felt great about what I was doing to bring this little person into the world.

I was looking forward to the next stage, though - to having my body back, wearing different clothes and showing my baby off to the world.

Well, 9 months later, here I am again at the end of a 9 month journey, because I've decided to start weaning Amelie off the boob.

Oh yeah, baby. I'm deadly serious.

It's been a very similar journey to pregnancy - sometimes it's been painful and uncomfortable, and felt like a scary responsibility, but for the most part, I have breastfed with pride, and felt great about what I was doing to nurture, sustain and grow this tiny person all by myself.

So, why am I weaning?*

Basically, because it's time. Amelie is on 3 good meals a day, plus snacks, and happily takes formula and water from sippy cups during the day.

The only time I was ever really needing to feed her was during the night (yes, I'm sure you've heard about it - every 20 ****ing minutes). During the first few months, that amount of night feeding is totally acceptable.

At nearly 9 months? Totally effing unacceptable. (in my opinion)

You see, I was feeding Amelie every 20-30 minutes during the night because boobs had become my magic feather.

Remember Dumbo and the magic feather? He could totally fly all along, but didn't quite believe in himself. He was scared to take the leap of faith, so Timothy handed him a magic feather, telling him that as long as he held it, he could fly!

All well and good until he dropped it mid fall during a circus act, and panicked. How could he possibly fly without the magic feather?

Timothy told him - it was just a gimmick, he didn't need it! True enough, he tried for himself and he flew!

Well, for me, that was breastfeeding. My baby won't stop crying unless I give her a boob. My baby won't sleep unless I give her a boob. My baby won't sleep unless I give her a boob.

That was the trouble though, I was completely trapped. I couldn't go anywhere without Amelie, because she needed a boob. So, no days out for me. No sleep, no going anywhere, the boob was boss!

Even if it meant becoming so exhausted that I couldn't see straight.

What happened? I decided one night that WE could do this ON OUR OWN, and we did.

Don't get me wrong, breastmilk absolutely has magical sleepy dust in it, but the whole thing that babies need is comfort, stability, routine.

We're past the recommended 6 month stage, and her diet is brilliant, so it's time for me to hang up my nursing bra, reclaim my body and start sharing my baby with other people.

I've done brilliantly, and I've been on every side of the boobing fence. I've done it, hated it, been ill with it, not even tried it with Daisy, then finally had this amazing, prolonged and very positive experience with Amelie.

Plus, she bites now. 4 teeth on top, 4 on the bottom, she packs quite a chomp. And seems to really enjoy the funny squealing noises mummy tries not to make when she bites!

So yeah, time to start the process of stopping. I feel a bit sad, but all the closeness will still happen, I'll just be able to have a break now and then, and finally get out of those horrible saggy old nursing bras!

I might have to roll my boobs up from the floor now and tuck them into a bra, but I'm proud of them, they've come a long way, and it turns out, the milk might go, but the magic is still within us.

* Incidentally, you should probably know that asking a woman if she breastfeeds, why she breastfeeds and when she'll stop is a bit like asking her age - some people just don't want to talk about it, so best not to ask.

I'm explaining my reasons not because I need to justify it, just because it might help others who are making the same decisions.

A chink in the armour

I've always been a very positive thinker, to the point of being one of those irritatingly cheerful, rainbows and butterflies types that most people can't stand to be around. So it's surprised and annoyed me more than anyone what a whiny little bitch I've become.

Seriously, I bang on and on and ON about how tired I am, what the hell is wrong with me?

Normally, I suck it up, dig deep and find the strength I need, but lately, that's become more and more difficult.

I was horrified the other night when I found myself crying (again) at 2.30am, and I actually posted on Facebook that I was struggling to cope.

Wait, hold on, did I write that out loud? 

Like, in PUBLIC?

For the record (and I know that you know this, but let me clarify), I'm not struggling to cope. I was in that moment, but then I was okay. 

The thing with long term sleep deprivation, is that it's like swimming in a vast ocean, dotted with small islands. The islands represent when my baby sleeps,and the ocean represents when she's awake, and therefore, I have to be as well. 

For some people, the ocean might not represent a wakeful baby, it might represent a chronic illness, pain, being called into work, an ill relative, or whatever else might be keeping you awake. 

The islands are all different sizes - some are large enough for me to rest on, to eat, sleep and spend time on interests. Some are tiny, I might only get a few minutes on an island before I'm plunged back into the water. For the most part, I'm okay with being in the water, I can keep swimming for longer than I ever thought possible, confident that there's an island coming up soon.

However, sometimes, I'm plunged into the water one too many times, and I'm too exhausted to swim. I feel weak, and I panic, flail my arms and cry out for help.

That's when I do things that make me feel even more vulnerable, like posting on Facebook that I'm struggling to cope.

The thing is, it's scary to show weakness like that. What will people think?

Will they think I'm a bad mum? That I can't take care of my baby? That they knew I was taking on too much?

I think the most important question is - who CARES?

If people love you, they will support you, and if people are human (which I'm sure most of you are), they'll have struggled with things too. So many of us are scared to admit weakness, to ask for help.

I'm strong enough to show my weaknesses. Being a mum is the best thing ever, but sometimes it's unbelievably hard, especially when you've barely slept in months.

You know what, though? The only bad thing about weakness is letting it beat you. It's a simple case of recognising your weakness and finding a way to get over it.

We're starting a new sleep plan this week, which seems to be making a real difference, but in the meantime, I'm going to keep on sharing, keep on asking for help, and most importantly, I'm going to keep on swimming.

24 Hours in A&E

Yay, another 24 hours post! Sometimes, it's all so exciting, I have to capture it all...

Thursday, 10pm:  Get to bed. It's been an exhausting day of zero sleep and even less housework. Amelie is still coughing and choking, but Daddy gave her a warm bath and a good dose of her inhaler before bed, so she's pretty settled. I fall into bed, exhausted, hoping for at least a couple of hours' sleep.

Friday, 2.30am: Amelie wakes up coughing and crying. She's slept well since bedtime, so I give her a good breastfeed and try to give her some Ibuprofen. She's having none of it, pushing it away and screaming. She can't stop coughing, and each one gets worse and worse. She's obviously full of mucus that she can't get rid of, and is really starting to struggle. Both of us try sharply patting her back, but she's properly choking and starting to get darker in the face. Her head and limbs are floppy and we're terrified. Phone 999 and get an ambulance.

Friday, 2.45am: Still on the phone to 999, waiting for the ambulance to come. Amelie seems to have cleared her blockage and is now cheerfully slapping Daddy in the face and shouting "DA DA DA!!!"
Sheepishly tell the 999 lady that she's perked up a bit, but was definitely choking when I phoned. She kindly tells me that this happens all the time, and of course, I'm just glad she's stopped choking.
The ambulance arrives with two lovely paramedics, who take one look at my poorly baby and decide to take her right into hospital.

Friday, 3.20am: Arrive at hospital, are ushered into a triage room with two small chairs, an examination table and a desk. Amelie is given a quick check by a nurse, and all vital signs are normal. Phew. She's still very chesty and wheezy, but alert and happy to sit.

Friday, 4am: Seen by a junior doctor, who explains what Bronchiolitis is and says that Amelie should be okay to go home, but will need to stay put for a few hours to get checked over. Okay, so we're here for a few hours. Might as well settle in, have a coffee and get comfy.
Oh, wait. There's only two small chairs and no hot drinks allowed in A&E. Okay, shuffling uncomfortably in small chairs while sipping water it is, then.

Friday, 5am: Having been shown how to properly administer Amelie's inhaler (one puff into spacer, hold over her struggling, squirming, crying face for ten excruciating seconds, repeat ten times), and given her a feed, she is asleep. Time to escape to the loo.
The loo, being in a chlidren's ward, has a large mirror that is at waist height to me. Catch sight of my tummy/bum area and realise with horror how chubby I've become.
Remind myself to lay off the chocolate and exercise more.
Remind myself that I have three kids, never stop, chocolate is essential for energy and when do I get time to exercise?
Remind myself that lots of people have three or more kids and are skinny, that's not an excuse.
Remind myself that most of them are celebrities, have nannies and personal trainers and I have none of the above.
Remind myself that I'm healthy and loved, and that's all that matters.
Remind myself to look for a vending machine selling chocolate on the way back.

Friday, 6am: Doctor comes back, saying that Amelie's breathing rate has improved and they'll look at her again in an hour. Another hour to kill. Read an interesting poster that cites a 5 year study that was done into the incidence of increased admissions to hospital following sledging injuries. The conclusions are groundbreaking - they have discovered after extensive research that sledging is a fun activity which can be made safer if adults always supervise, kids wear hats and gloves, and most importantly, if sledging only takes place when there is snow on the ground.
Have amusing conversation with Steve about how reckless he was with a sledge (or any large piece of discarded plastic/metal he and his friends could find) in the early 80's, when Health and Safety was a distant pipe dream.

Friday, 7am: I've decided to lie uncomfortably on the examination table holding a sleeping Amelie, while Steve tries to sleep sat upright on a chair, using my jacket as a blanket and the sink next to the chair as a pillow.
The doctor comes back, and says that it's very likely that Amelie has Bronchiolitis, but that there's nothing they can do in hospital that can't be done at home, so they send us home. Thank the good lord for that!

Friday, 8am: Get home, just in time for the school run. Thankfuly, Steve has taken the day off work, so he takes the kids to school and I sort Amelie out with medicine and boobing.

Friday, 9am-3pm: Blur of taking turns to nap while the other one takes care of the baby.

Friday, 3.30pm: Kids are home, and Charlie has had two attacks of hyperventilating. Eek. phone emergency doctor, and am told to take him in.

Friday, 4.30pm: Charlie has been given a heavy dose of steriods on a 5 day course for "asthma-like" symptoms. Nobody ever seems to give a diagnosis anymore.

Friday, 6pm: Daisy has a cheerleading practice, but we've not had time to make any dinner beforehand. Guiltily chuck some grapes in a tupperware box and promise her a fish supper afterwards. Run to asda for a last minute panic dinner of pizzas.

Friday, 6.30pm: Wolf down said pizzas before picking Daisy up again.

Friday, 7pm: Pick up Daisy, think for a minute about how exhausting all of this is, but remember that really, we're lucky that the kids are well enough to be keeping us this busy. Anyway, no time for thinking, Charlie has scouts at 7.30pm!

Friday, 10pm: Having settled the girls while Steve did the scouts run, we finally get to sit down and watch a tiny bit of TV, before deciding that really, the best thing to do is head to bed.

Ahh, it'll all settle down someday....right?

Dealing with it

It's 6am, and I've been up all night.
Just when Amelie started getting the hang of the sleep thing (still waking but happy to take water), she got a viral chest infection and has been suffering with it for about a week. During the day, she's not bad, the odd cough here and there, but during the night, it's awful.
She coughs, chokes and wheezes all night long, and even in the short spells she manages to sleep, it's only because I'm sitting bolt upright holding her, too afraid to sleep anyway because I want to make sure she's okay.
It's exhausting. It's been half term this week, so I've had the kids on the go all day as well as being awake all night, and yesterday I was really hitting the sleep deprivation wall. I had moved from Confused Daze to Emotional Sponge, soaking up and magnifying everyone else's feelings. You know the type, one of those days where you can't bear to hear the kids saying they're upset about something, because it feels like a stab in your own heart, and even seeing a child crying in the supermarket makes you want to scoop them up and save them. Not a good day for watching charity adverts.
Anyway, I went to bed at 10pm, and Steve offered to take the night shift. I settled down, hoping for at least an hour of uninterrupted sleep, and immediately Daisy started coughing, spluttering and crying in the other room. By the time I'd given medicine, water and cuddles, Amelie started crying and wouldn't settle for anything other than The Boob.
Daddy's nightshift was over, and mine had begun. This is the only downside I can see to breastfeeding, it's not just about food, it's about comfort, and when she's ill, I won't deliberately withold the only thing she wants. Sadly, it makes Daddy feel pretty useless and me feel beyond exhausted, but hey ho.
I sat up with her for several hours. Sometimes she slept, and during that time, I tried to doze. We'd been speaking in the evening about possibly sacrificing a small portion of our savings for a much needed holiday, so I lay thinking about my ideal holiday destination.
Beach? Ahh, lying on the sand, listening to the waves, could anything be more relaxing? No. Too stressful, how do you keep an eye on three kids, all running toward the ocean at different speeds?
City break? Oooh, I've always fancied Italy. Are you kidding me? Dragging hot, tired kids around a city that charges the price of a small car for one scoop of fancy ice cream? Forget it.
 Maybe I'll start a holiday company for exhausted mothers, where you pay an extortionate fee to have someone watch your kids while you go into a darkened room, take a heavy sedative and sleep for a week. Sounds good to me!

I'd reached the pinnacle of Trying To Sleep. Amelie was wide awake, shouting and poking us both in the face, and I just felt utterly defeated. Not by Amelie, I don't think for one second that she's chosen to be ill and miserable, but just by the situation. By tiredness.
You see, you can tell yourself all you like to count your blessings. To remember those worse off than yourself - people who have lost children, people who are battling diseases, people who are in horrific, terrifying situations. But you know what? In that moment, I'm not trying to outdo anybody's pain, or make anyone feel sorry for me. I'm just experiencing my own exhaustion.
You can't make yourself feel better by making yourself feel worse. I know I'm lucky, and I know that in all honesty, I've never been in a happier, more settled or more contented place in my entire life, and I will miss these days when my kids are up and grown.
I KNOW THIS. But right now, I'm tired.
So, I do what I always do in these situations. I ask myself, how are you going to deal with this?
I'm sick of spending hours trying to sleep through the night, then spending all day stressing about what needs to be done, and how I can't sleep through the day because I have too much to do. There must be a solution.

I find it by looking at Amelie's smiling, wide awake face, as she waves and says "Hiya" to Steve and I. I look at the clock and realise that even if I could sleep now, I'd only get an hour, half of which would be spent trying to get my racing mind to shut down, and the second half of which would be spent falling into such a deep sleep, I'd feel horrendous when I had to drag myself out of it.
I go into the bathroom, and as quietly as possible, I have a big, snotty, ugly face cry. I let all the boo hoos out, put on my big girl pants and deal with it.
So, I'm awake! What am I going to do about it?
I take Amelie downstairs, put her in her jumperoo and do the things I'd be stressing about during the day. I catch up on ironing, clean the kitchen, have a cup of coffee and feel better.
And now, of course, at 6.30am, she is sound asleep in my lap while I write down my sleep deprived ramblings. The kids will be up soon, and I'll do the school run, although this time it will be a bit less stressful because I've had literally hours to get them ready and I'm already wide awake.

I know that my baby girl's chest infection will pass, we'll get back to helping her learn to sleep through the night, and one day soon I'll get some sleep.
In the mean time, I'm taking it hour by hour, keeping myself aware of my feelings and doing whatever it takes to get through. If I need to cry, I do it. If I need to clean, I do it, and if I need to remind myself that this WILL pass, I do it.
I'm dealing with it, and for one more day at least, I'm kicking sleep deprivation's arse.

Secrets and Toys

As a child, I had LOADS of toys. My folks must have spent a fortune on them! You name it, I had it.
So, what was my favourite toy growing up? I'll tell you what I have the fondest memories of....

Was it my vast collection of My Little Ponies? Nope.

Was it my ridiculous amount of cuddly toys? No way!

Was it my three storey Barbie house that was as tall as me? Not a chance.

My fondest memories are of playing laundrettes with my sister, using state of the art washing machines that my dad made using cardboard boxes and spray paint.

Going to my grandma's was another treat, because we would get together with my cousins and raid my grandma's collection of hats, shoes and handbags. Hours of entertainment, making up characters and scenarios with all those glamorous items!
That's when we weren't all fighting over my grandparents' wooden bowl filled with ornamental wax fruit. That was the holy grail of child's play, we loved it!
My poor parents, they must have been gutted to know that for all the money they spent on toys, our favourite memories are of playing with things that were, well, not toys.
What can I say? We were kids. We knew The Secret.

Of course, we got older, and we forgot The Secret. We had our own kids, and I for one spent a fortune on toys, especially for Charlie, being my first.
The sad thing is, not only had I forgotten The Secret, I'd forgotten how to play. These hundreds of toys were good and all, but not very inspiring. You press a button, the toy dog barks. You post the shapes through the shape sorter. You make up the jigsaw.
All very good, but they don't hold anyone's attention for long.
To my frustration, the things my kids were most interested in were my keys, the remote control, the wrapping paper from their expensive presents, and the phone. Always the phone.

Then, when the kids were 9 and 5, I met Steve, and without even realising it, he reawakened something within us all. We began to have adventures, playing in rock pools, making up games with stone circles, and playing shadow puppets at sunset. We rediscovered The Secret.

So, what is this Secret? I'll tell you. Come closer, let me whisper it.
Closer, come on, don't be shy! The Secret is.....

Kids don't need a lot of toys.

They really don't! In fact, not only do kids prefer playing with things that aren't toys, they actually learn more when they use their imagination to turn an everyday object into a toy. They become better problem solvers, they become more independent, more able to think outside the box, and better able to entertain themselves.

Now, three kids later, I've finally learned to chill out on the toy buying front. Amelie has toys of course, but she also has treasure baskets full of regular household objects that she loves to play with - wooden spoons, silicone egg poachers, sponges, various boxes, old sunglasses, old phones, you name it!
The best thing about these (apart from the fact that they cost nothing!) is that it means when we go out and about, I don't need to worry about taking bags of toys to entertain her, we can use our imaginations and find things to play with wherever we are.
Even better, it's reminded me how to play, and enjoy spending time with my kids.

More to come soon on making treasure baskets, and what to do with various household objects, to reawaken your imagination and let you in on The Secret, too.

In the meantime, what were your favourite toys as a child, and what do your little ones like to play with? Please share!

Thrifty Thursdays!

Welcome to a new weekly blog feature - Thrifty Thursdays!
If you're anything like me, you'll be finding life pretty darn expensive at the moment, so I wanted to have a weekly feature where we can create a fun, interactive space to share tips and ideas for living well and saving money. Are you in? Good!

Recipe of the week: I was in the supermarket the other day, and there were punnets of cherry tomatoes on their sell by date, selling for just 50p a punnet. I adore tomatoes of any kind, but especially the sweet, fragrant, smaller varieties like cherry and baby plum.
I bought 4 punnets, but obviously wouldn't have been able to eat them all before they went bad, so here's what I did with them...

SLOW ROASTED TOMATOES

1 punnet cherry or other small tomatoes
1 bulb garlic
Dried oregano
Fennel seeds
Olive oil
Balsamic vinegar

Slice tomatoes in half and arrange them on a baking tray. Break the garlic into cloves and scatter them around the tomatoes. Sprinkle over a pinch of both the fennel seeds and oregano, then drizzle with olive oil and a tbsp of balsamic vinegar.
Roast at 140c for 2-3 hours, until they've shrivelled slightly and intensified in flavour.
These are amazing if you put them in a container, cover with olive oil and keep in the fridge to pep up salads, sandwiches, pasta dishes, soups, the possibilities are endless!
That's if they make it into the fridge without "accidentally" falling into your mouth....

Bargain of the week: Carex Handwash, 90p Asda. This stuff is amazing! 

They have limited edition sweet shop fragrances, and I bought Cola Bottles, and Strawberry Laces. Both smell AWESOME, and are antibacterial. I can't stop sniffing my hands after using this stuff, they smell exactly like the real thing.Yummy! Asda has a health and beauty event on this week, so these babies are only 90p. Grab them while you can!

Cheapy of the week: Smartprice hot chocolate, 58p, 400g

My kids are hot chocolate fiends, and we get through a tub a week. Most hot chocolates are around £3 a tub, and with my tight budget, I could do without it!

I tried this because I figured it might be ok, and if not, I could always use it in a cake or something! It's actually really nice, as long as you use heaped teaspoons to make it strong, it's as good as any other - smooth, thick and nicely chocolatey, and super cheap!

Even better, the empty plastic jar can be decorated and filled with lentils/pasta,beads to make a fun shaker for your child ;)

Tip of the week: Amelie has really sensitive skin, so I like to use just plain water on her face. I've used an empty handwash bottle, filled it with water, and kept it in the toy tray under her highchair, along with some facecloths (you could use cut up towels). Super handy for quick post meal clean ups! I know it's hardly revolutionary, but something I hadn't thought to do before. Simple time and money saving ideas!

That's it for this week, please share your thrifty finds with me!

New name, new look, new direction...

Good evening!

Following a very surprising and positive response, I've decided to get this little blog on the road, and share my inane ramblings with a wider audience.
You can now follow me on Bloglovin!

Simply follow the link to join in the fun:

Click here

Hope you enjoy the new look blog!

Jodes xxx