I love being a mum … Is that ok?

Being a mum is my favourite, I’m good at it. I think?  I know? Is that ok to say? Probably not … 

Don’t get me wrong, some days are more challenging than others but I genuinely love it. Stupid amounts. 

I feel like sometimes the fact that I love it isn’t ok.  

Yes, I am more likely to share happy family photos on social media and share a status that discusses the amazing milestones in my sons life before the ones of crazy moments. Although I have also been known to share moments like my son being sick in my mouth. However I almost feel guilty for loving it. If I say something positive am I upsetting somebody who’s had a crap nights sleep, a child who doesn’t eat anything yet Joey will eat most things put in front of him. Should I feel guilty? I find myself almost down playing my wonderful sleeper, eater, charming boy that I am proud of. Just to not upset anyone. 

I have shit days. I have good days. I just find I focus more on those ‘wow’ days because that’s how my mind works. 

I am proud of myself as a mum. Most of my life I’ve had low self esteem in everything I’ve ever done. I’ve at times of course doubted my parenting abilities, questioned myself and given myself a hard time but I guess that’s why I remind myself of the positives, the wonderful things I do, the enjoyment I get on a daily basis from having my son. I don’t feel negative towards anyone that plays a different approach to this. I just don’t want to feel bad for the way I am. I am not hiding anything. I’m not putting on a front. I give my all to being a mum. I’m thankful for it every single day. 

I’m a very competitive person but I am not a competitive mother, I don’t try and out do anyone, I read a lot.  I also read my son a lot. I take on advice but I also trust myself. Give things a go. Laugh / cry when things go wrong. Rejoice and learn when things go right.

I get anxiety with certain situations in life. I care a lot about what people think of me as a person, in my job, in life. But not very much as a mum. I think that’s what makes me proud of myself. I trust myself as a mum. 
I enjoy spending time just me and my son. Our adventures. The cuddles, the laughs, the falls, the trials. Being a mum has made me a better person and I find it more natural than anything else I’ve ever done in my life. 

I genuinely LOVE being a mum. Please don’t suck out my positivity.

18 Months – what an amazing age!

18 months already!!
SOPPY MUM MOMENT! 

It so hard to believe I have an 18 month old. He may look like a  two year old but I still look at him as my little baby ❤. He really does makes me proud every day.

  I am a typical Mum (if you like) who thinks every single word, song he joins in with or ball he throws is the most advanced an 18 month old has EVER been. Now I really don’t want to be ‘one of those mums’ I don’t want him to think he can never do wrong. However at this point in his life at such a young age I feel it’s ok to be the gleaming, proud and admiring mother. 

For a few months now he’s  been kicking & throwing balls, shouting “catch” before anyone can get the chance to duck, it’s quite hilarious because myself and James always turn to each other and say, “he is so good at throwing/kicking/balancing …” and so on. Before deciding who he takes after. 

He’s  a total bookworm reading endless books a day. To which I take great pride in. A book lover myself. I’ve always made sure since the day he was born to ensure books are a normal part of life, a piece of furniture in the room. I’ve always left a large basket of books in the front room and his bedroom for him to pick and choose from. I love it when I am doing something and turn around to see that he has picked a book, sat in the chair and is looking through it, turning pages and pointing to objects on the page and saying what they are or making noises for the animals. He remembers everything. When we are out at about if he sees a picture of a spider he will just scream. Thanks you ‘agghh Spider’ spider 🕷. 

He’s an explorer, running around non stop. Yet he is such a gentle giant. He Cares so much for others already, gives out cuddles to many, he kisses, says please, thank you and takes huge pleasure out of helping with little jobs, finishing with a high 5. He’s very aware of his sense of humour & knows how to make us laugh & smile every day. #proudmum 

There are of course times where I want the ground to swallow me up, for example a recent class we went to. We turned up, new. Feeling a little nervous and Joey decided he didn’t want to sit and sing with everyone. He wanted to take a little pushchair and walked it non stop around the room, kissing and stroking the head of the baby inside the pushchair and saying ‘ahhh’. He’s got a little cousin So we had to show him when Michael was born it was how to approach him. Saying, “gentle”. He has a strong personality and knows what he wants, I wouldn’t have him any other way. A complete chatterbox. That was always a given. Myself and James aren’t the quietest of people. 

I am also so proud of how we have been as parents & am so lucky to have my best friend by my side through it all.  xx 

Easter Holidays IOW accommodation with a Toddler

We’ve just got back from the most chilled yet fun filled visit to the Isle of Wight. I’m sure it can be hard to believe it was ‘chilled’ as we took our 17 month old Joey with us but it really was. 

We packed up the car, which I actually really like. I know I take far too much but because of no luggage restrictions we can make sure that we’ve got anything we could possibly need. 

We took Joey last year when he was 6 months old. It was a lovely break and our first holiday as a family. When we sat in one of the bars by the beach with Joey sleeping in the pushchair we decided we would come back again the year after. This time around was just as perfect, if not even better. 

Last time we stayed in East Cowes. We stayed in a Hoseasons family lodge with a hot tub, the site had a swimming pool and was a small walk from the beach that had lovely bars by it. 

This time Joey being a year older and full of energy we knew we needed a little bit more around us. We decided on Woodside Coastal Retreat in Wooton. We booked a standard lodge. Which look perfect, spacious and open. On  the off chance I called the day before to see if they had any upgrades. So we were upgraded for a small charge to a sea view with a hot tub. Bliss! 

The Journey: The Ferry is so easy! It’s perfect for families with young children. You don’t need to worry about how much noise your little one will make because everyone’s in the same boat (haha) 😉. It took an hour for us to get over to the island. Bearing in mind it was the Easter holidays it was stress free. The only problem we had is that our curious Joey doesn’t like to sit down for very long so we were doing laps of the boat, on the top deck passengers have there dogs and Joey was doing his best woofing impressions while going to visit them all. 

Woodside Coastal Retreat:

This holiday park has had a recent refurb and it’s truly stunning. All the lodges are beautiful.  They are full of everything you would need. Even though I packed everything in the car just in case the lodges come packed with all you need. Including an iron, ironing board, all the kitchen utensils, dishwasher tablets, a hair dryer, complimentary toiletries and so on. 

I can’t really explain how perfect it was for us so I’ll just include our pictures and let you decide for yourselves. 

We would definitely go back to the Isle of Wight again and without a doubt Woodside Coastal Retreat. Purely for the lodges and the views.
Below are pictures of a 3 bed Coastal Retreat lodge 

Easter Crafts with a Toddler 🐣

Chick Easter Egg Card 

I had great fun with Joey painting and prepping to create some Easter cards for the family. 

I was surprised at how long this kept my very active 17 month old. I layed the white roll paper down on the floor with double sticky tape. Put Joey in an apron (that he may as well have not been wearing!) I got some paint stampers, Easter stickers, card and eyes from hobby craft and some child friendly paints from ikea. I cut up some egg boxes and showed Joey myself painting them orange, straight away he wanted to copy me. He got busy holding the paint brush painting away. He use the stamps across the white paper. 

All the activities he was doing were great for his fine motor skills and he had so much fun! It kept him occupied for 45 minutes! He didn’t move from the area the whole time. He was covered in paint! 🎨 He obviously gets his craft skills from his Daddy! 
 

Always Be Kind ❤

This morning as I sat in the Tesco cafe having a bit of brunch with my son (feeling hugely guilty that he is only eating at 9:30am after having to get our home ready for a house viewing) a lovely woman made my day!  .. Luckily Joey was in very good spirits enjoying his jam croissant and showing off his best grab and shovel in method. 
A beautifully, Kind older lady approached us and said, “I’ve been watching you both and it’s a wonderful relationship you have. You’re a natural mum and it’s clear how much your son loves you”. 

I genuinely welled up before thanking her. Joey beaming his cheesiest grin. 

I love him so much and I love our time we have together, just the two of us. Even though he can’t say much back to me, (although the amount of words he can say amazes me every single day! Currently nailing ‘camel and turtle’). It was so kind of the lady to come and say that to us. She made my day.  

Joey then continued to work his charm on other people coming into the cafe with his best waving, hellos and buh Byes – pointing at a little girls giraffe toy and at his full volume pointing and shouting “Geeeeeeeraffffff”. 

Thank you to the wonderful lady with her positive heart felt words. 

Be kind always ❤ 

Septaciamia

If you’re in anyway squeamish don’t read this post. It’s not nice, I will go in to detail because when I was laying in my hospital bed I searched and searched online to what the hell was wrong with me. If this post reaches one person who is or was in a similar position to me then I’ve done my job!
Recovery: 

After being taken to the ward it was lovely to spend some time with Joey. Finally.

James went home for some much needed sleep and I got some time just me and my son, it was beautiful. Slightly ruined by the fact I couldn’t move, I was numb in so many places and felt so ill. I didn’t think too much about it. I knew I had been through surgery and it was a big deal. Of course I wouldn’t feel like skipping around the room. I didn’t sleep, the  midwives were so supportive and tried to help with feeding, unfortunately my milk was having other ideas, I persevered and but it was suggested he had some other milk while I got stronger and my milk came in. We had visitors and I enjoyed showing my beauty off to everyone. It was lovely seeing friends and family but it was also a bit embarrassing at times because of how my body was reacting. 

I was feeling really weak, I could barely walk so I had to keep calling the midwife to help me with everything. I remember getting really upset because Joey was crying and I couldn’t get to him. I was attached to a cathiter, I noticed there was a lot of blood amongst the wee but assumed this was all normal. When I was alone at one point I beeped the midwife because I just didn’t feel right. I told her my heart felt like it was really fast. She reassured me it was normal. I needed to rest and I’d be ok. Like I say I knew things were not going to feel great but I just couldn’t get my head around just how bad I felt. It didn’t feel right.

I kept gushing from down below. It was brown and disgusting and had a very vivid smell to it. It was so embarrassing because it would happen when people came to visit. Of course my friends and family didn’t care at all, they just wanted to know I was ok but I was confused as to why it was happening to me on the ward but no one else. Each time it happened I had to call the midwives and they would come and turn me over and clean me up. I hated it. When I was alone and it happened I would sit and cry and wait until James would come to ask because I was too embarrassed to ask them to help me because I felt like such an inconvenience. They thought I was going to the toilet.

A couple of days in, James saw how exhausted I was and asked the midwives to leave me alone for a while. Wenwatched people around us leaving the hospital as a little family and we wanted that so much. I hadn’t slept, I was awake most of the nights, pretty high on the mix of medication I was on, numb and I still hadn’t walked. When the midwife took me off the catheter a few days in, it was such a scary overwhelming feeling being told to get up and walk. I couldn’t stand properly and it took me ages to get to grips with it. I was scared of tearing my scar and I was dropping with blood.

I got up slowly walked to the bathroom and I remember getting to the door of the closet bathroom and the cleaner calling over to me telling me I couldn’t used that toilet because she had just cleaned it. I had a trail of blood across the floor from my bed, I was curled over feeling like I was going to pass out and she pointed to the bathroom down the corridor.  I was fuming. I told her I couldn’t because I was bleeding, she persisted in front of everyone. I was so humiliated that I felt looked and felt like I did that I gave in and walked my way to the other bathroom. I sat on the toilet and again I cried, cried and cried. Why the hell was I feeling this bad? Is all I could think.
I made the big mistake of looking at my stomach and scar in the bathroom mirror and cried again. It was huge. If I could go back and talk to myself then I would tell myself not to worry. It fades. Really fades and it will all be ok! There was stupid amounts of blood all the time, I was covered. I just thought it was normal.

Day 4 in and we still didn’t get to go home, I was fine with that but I couldn’t sit on the ward anymore. The midwife actually suggested I had my own room. It was such a relief. I didn’t have to make the ward smell, I had my own bathroom and could try and get some sleep.

I felt at ease in the room, this time really allowed me to bond even further with Joey and I loved being alone with him. Looking back now I loved that time. Where visiting hours were closed and it was just me and Joey and James. We knew no one else could come and see us. I felt like we were in our own little bubble. James would sleep on the reclining chair sometimes in the day but he would go home most evenings. One evening I asked him to stay. I knew I didn’t feel right. He was exhausted and said he needed to go home for some sleep. I felt strange, I went to the bathroom and couldn’t get off the toilet. I was shaking, felt sick and felt really angry. I came out of the bathroom and started arguing with James. I told him he was selfish not staying and that something wasn’t right with me. He was shocked, it came from no where and everything had been so calm until then. I don’t know what came over me, I felt overwhelmed by everyone telling me I was ok and it was normal. No this wasn’t normal and someone needed to listen to me.

I once again balled my eyes out. I was then shivering like crazy, James pressed the emergency bell and the midwife came in. He told them something was wrong, I needed to sleep and that I wasn’t being myself. The midwife offered to take Joey for a few hours so I could sleep. Every few hours through the day and night so many people come into the room to give medication that I was never able to get more than 2 hours sleep. I hadn’t slept and I think everyone thought I was starting to go a little strange because of this. I refused to let anyone take Joey and demanded that something wasn’t right. I noticeably started to shiver more and was as white as a ghost. The midwife looked worried and called the doctor.
I was seen pretty instantly, bloods were taken and I was told I would be leaving that room and taken to a 24hr assessment room for observations. The first time I was actually told what was wrong was scary but a relief. I was told by a nurse she knew the smell and it was a blood infection. I had septicaemia. Such a dangerous thing to have and it was undiagnosed for so long! I was just glad that I wasn’t going crazy, that finally they were listening to me. What I was feeling wasn’t normal, the fast heartbeat, the gushing from below. It was infected blood. Pints of it. No me having no control of my bowels! It was a relief to know it wasn’t me, it was something that had gone horribly wrong by the doctors. I was never given anti biotics when I said There was brown waters after my induction, the problems with the C section – it was endless. I can’t wait to actually get my doctors notes and see what was written.

One thing that stands out above all this paid. Was the … Cannula – in other words the biggest C you next Tuesday known to man. I can not explain my hatred for these. When my arms had dried up, they tried to get them into my leg, my ankle. Anywhere possible. This made me more upset than anything during my whole time in hospital. I hated and hate them. My arm was black and blue. Completely bruised. I couldn’t pick Joey up properly because I had a blood transfusion one side and antibiotics being pumped in through Iv drips the other. For ages. Days. It’s all a blur now. The only reminders I have are pictures where I look and think, why did no doctor pick up on it. Look at the state of me?! I was my own worst enemy though putting on some foundation or the odd bit of mascara to try and feel more normal, no energy I would still get up and shower constantly. I wanted to smell and look nice for visitors and didn’t let anything stop that. Looking back now, I was masking over how poorly I was and it could have been picked up on earlier.
One of the things I m forever greatful for is that it was always me that was feeling like this, me needing blood transfusion and endless medicine. Never Joey. He was happy and safe and that was all that mattered.
Trust yourself. Trust your body. Push to get the proper attention and tests you need. Things got better for me but it could have been a lot different. 

The Doctors cut Joeys head when they cut me open for the c section. A tiny scar he still has on his head. Bless him ❤

The moment we were told we could go home was magical. We were told this a couple of days in a row and each time I was told actually no you’re still not well enough was shattering. When we finally got to go home I had injections and 8 tablets to take every 4 hours. It didn’t matter. We were off. Home. As a family ❤

“An Emergency C-section” …

Please don’t read this if you are like I was and was just going for whatever happened will happen! 
“Do you want a natural labour?” 

“Do you want to have a water birth” 

101 questions later … I  genuinely didn’t think much about my labour. I don’t know if this helped or if this made things worse for me. It’s a question I still ask myself 17 months later. Should I have been more prepared? Should I have expanded my knowledge and therefore had more control over what happened? My answer for that is yes. Next time I will ensure I know more. 

The midwife, friends, family, everyone and anyone I came across asked me different questions about my birthing plans. I openly said, “you know what, just do what needs doing”. I wasn’t going to get my heart set on anything. After having a seriously horrific early stage and middle stage of labour I genuinely gave up on the idea that anything would go smoothly. I used to have thoughts about how amazing pregnancy would be. I have always been so maternal and I thought it meant I would balloon lovely, enjoy the wonderfulness of growing life inside me. However as you will have seen in my previous post. This wasn’t the case for a long time. Don’t get me wrong. I loved being pregnant. The last stage was lovely, well the bit before my legs became a wider than … the widest tree trunk known to man. Also the bit where I could barely put any weight on my hips and had to use the wall to get to the bathroom 20 plus times a night. I really did enjoy that stage from around 7 months – 8 months! The rest had it’s positives but not quite what I had hoped for. 

So, I just didn’t want any expectations for the birth. I am quite good at not allowing myself to get my hopes up, I’d rather be pleasantly surprised than disappointed. If that makes any sense. 
After suffering quite badly with pregnancy paranoia the whole way through my pregnancy, my final visit to the hospital with worry the doctors did the usual checks. They found  I had some protein in my urine, my whole body was ridiculously swollen and they were worried that I was showing signs of preclampsia and suggested it was a good idea to induce me. I was scared, shocked and a little over whelmed but at the same time the idea that my baby would be safe in my arms soon gave me a sense of relief. I genuinely thought it meant that later that day I would be holding my baby.  Oh how I can laugh now. I guess that’s one good thing about catching up on my blog 17 months later. I now know more about everything than I did when this was all fresh and happening. 

I could go in to a lot of details but it honestly was such a huge time frame that I feel it’s best to summarise my birth… as much as I can. 

After going home, having a long bath and making sure I had all my things with me. I even took my hairdryer. Ha ha… If I knew then what I know now, I would have not even looked at the hairdryer and would have added more packs of the gigantic sanitary towels, gigantic knickers and a life time supplies of comfortable large pyjamas.  (Seriously if you’re reading this and haven’t done so – pack endless supplies of granny pants. Black ones. Enough said). 

After 2 pessaries, a long time on a hormone drip, some seriously uncomfortable beds, a brown leak that I was told was nothing it was decided that because all areas had been exhausted and my big baby wasn’t going to be arriving ‘naturally’ anytime soon it was decided my waters would need to be broken – this was 20 hours in. I was given gas and air … which made me pass out.  I was hallucinating thinking that I was In a tunnel. When I felt my waters go, I thought that was my son being born. As I came around I looked at my mum and my husband and asked where my son was. I remember crying a lot, thinking how the hell am I going to do this anymore. I was in a lot of pain, the machine was showing no contractions and I was having shooting pains in every bit of my body possible. 

Fast forward another 7 hours, it was decided the safest option was for an emergency C section. As much as I had not thought about labour I knew this wasn’t going to be the option I really wanted, my mum was very emotional about it. She was worried about me and we both sat and cried for a bit while James went and got on his scrubs. Which amongst all of the pain I was In I do remember thinking. He looks hot!

 It was all a bit of a blur but it was pretty shitty. As much as I didn’t imagine having a sparkling labour, the fact I’d been on a bed for 27plus hours wasn’t how I would invisage it. When I said no plan. I meant if I need pain killers give me them, if I am not in a pool fine … laying on a bed in pain and waiting, waiting and waiting was a drain. 

The entrance to theatre instantly had me upset, the lights, the smell and the whole feel of the room brought back a rush of the feelings I had after my operation from the miscarriage. I didn’t realise that may happen and I hadn’t prepared myself for that at all. 

The first complication was that my body didn’t respond well to the anisthetic, I needed far more than most people would need. The doctor kept asking if I could feel the cold water to which I had to keep saying yes, which seemed to aggravate her a lot. I got shivers over my whole body. I couldn’t talk because my teeth were chamming so much. When I finally couldn’t feel anything I was horrific. Some tugging later they announced that my son was here, he was safe and a big boy. I looked over to the side where they lifted him up. 

He had a squishy back, rolls all over the place, thick black hair, the longest legs, he was covered in blood but he was my gorgeous little boy. The baby I had been growing, the sickness, the anxiety, the pregnancy paranoia, the sleepless nights, the 27 hours of labour, every single little thing that hadn’t gone to plan just didn’t matter anymore! I was in love. I cried and cried. Turning my body over to the table where they laid him down, I watched James cut the cord and stared at them both. My heart fuller than it ever had been. I can not even explain this feeling. It doesn’t go away and whenever I think about it I get butterflies. 

Then the midwife brought him over to me, she passed him to me and I just came over very faint and nauseous, I asked them to quickly take him back. I then threw up all over myself, the nurse passed me a bowl and I was just sick and sick and sick… I could feel a lot happening down below. I tried to ask the doctor what was happening but I still couldn’t talk properly because I was shivering and my mouth was chamming. James kept asking me to repeat myself and I cried a lot (again). I finally stopped being sick and got to lay and watch James having cuddles with our son. This can sometimes effect people, when they don’t get the initial cuddles with their child. Luckily for me this hasn’t effected me at all. The fact James was able to have that cuddle actually was a beautiful thing to see and they were sat so close to me it was a lovely memorable moment. 

we were then told that my uterus has gone inside out when they pulled on the placenta but had popped back straight away … I still don’t know the details 100% and am requesting my medical records to find out what actually happened, I want to find out befor we have our next baby. This resulted in me bleeding a lot, there was a lot of panic around me. A while later I was all stitched up. I had spots all over my body that I later found out was a reaction, I was still feeling very cold and rubbish but I didn’t care I just wanted to be In a room with James and my son. 

We were taken back to the labour room where James got to put a nappy on our son, weigh him and of course take lots of lovely photos. I was totally out of it. I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember my mum turning up, my first feed attempt. Nothing. Pictures were taken so I know that he was put on me and we had a lot of skin to skin before I was fast asleep. I was exhausted. My mum proudly took a photo of my post birth boobs in their glory with my son on and sent this around to my friends. Something at the time that annoyed me, now I am just glad these pictures were taken because I wouldn’t have a clue otherwise. 
Later that day we were taken up to the ward where I could finally start to recover with my bear in hand. 
Joey James  ❤  Weighing 9pounds 11oz xx