Our first outing with the carrier...
Friday, April 29, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
A Myriad...
I can write things about how I no longer have time to myself and all of those kinds of sucky excuses. And hurtful excuses. Because I'm so conscious of the fact that so many of my special friends aren't here yet. And with all of my heart I wish them here. But the truth is that it's not really about not having time. I mean there is always something to do, but there was before too. Before Toby that is. So, it's more so that my time has just gone by.
I wish for myself, and for all of the BLMs that a rainbow makes everything ok. But I've learnt now that it doesn't. I'm not ungrateful, not in the slightest. Oh, my God, no. Never. And remembering how it felt to be on the side without the rainbow, I know that also sounds like a sucky thing to say. But I will say that the rainbow helps. It doesn't make it better, but it does help.
I've had many tears since my gorgeous boy, Toby, arrived into my life. Within hours, in the way that they change so quickly out of the brand new fresh newborn look, and start to come 'into themselves', he also transformed into a look alike of his older brother. So bittersweet. Here I had my beautiful second son, Toby, but here I was also being given a second chance to see what might have been had Ciaran been able to stay with me.
Toby has been called Ciaran several times in the last two weeks. Out loud. Shane did it first. I've done it since. In conversation, either with someone else, or between us. I can't tell you how it makes me feel. Sad, yearning. Torn. I also feel guilty. That my gorgeous little special, oh so special, little man Toby is living in the shadow of his angel brother. The one who will never do wrong.
But time has helped that. Toby is really starting to come into his own now. Although maybe that's just as much that he is in a period that Ciaran didn't have a chance to get close to. Toby is two weeks old today. Fourteen days old. Where has that time gone?
I'm writing his birth story. But I've already forgotten so much of the detail. I hope that I can post it soon.
There are honestly a lot of tears gone down the shower drain here though, I do have to admit. I cry for the little boy who isn't here. The two, almost three, year old that I'm not chasing. I cry because I should know what I'm doing, having done it all before. People ask if this is my first (still) and I say no, my second. But still I don't know the basics. I'm learning yes. But I'm also learning just how much of a black and white person I've become. I read things in books now. I look for instructions of "how to" on the internet. I don't do change. I don't do "winging it". I'm scared I will break my baby boy. I'm not necessarily talking bones and things. But nobody seems to be able to tell you how often they should feed at this age, or how much. Nobody gives you the rule book to tell you whether you are a bad mother for not changing their clothes every day. Nobody gives you a schedule telling you that next you give them a bath, and then you... Nobody tells you anything. Except when they do, it all conflicts with what other people have told you, and that does my head in. That started in hospital for me. I'm learning to handle it better now. But I have had many "bad mother" moments.
I am trying to learn to sing songs to my little precious one. But it always ends up the same way. A monsoon of tears. And then I worry that the tears are too much, and that it will all flow through to Toby, and how unfair is that. I'm learning to sing though. Trying. But so far I haven't found a song I can sing, or even hum, that doesn't take me to another time, another little boy.
:::
My paranoia is growing too. I intend to see a counsellor about it once I get my independance back, and can get over to the city. But as our time together grows, so does my fear that something will happen. I don't like to call it paranoia, because I know that things happen. We all know that. For some reason my fears are more real from evening into the night. I admit to having to continually check on Toby. I admit to watching the light on the breathing monitor. I admit to worrying myself silly because the light doesn't flash regularly all the time. I admit to touching him, so that he will stir. There are many things that I know are my own fears, but I am afraid that these moments might be our last. How much do I hate writing that out? Putting things in words?
:::
So much that I love though. I have immense love for Toby. Of course. He's a beautiful, placid little boy. He has a lovely four hour routine happening. I've been told by "everybody" that they "grow horns" from about six weeks, and that any routine goes out the window. Maybe so. I'll find that out soon enough. But for now, four hours is super. I'm not exhausted. My sleep is broken, but I'm getting by on what I get. I go back to bed with Toby after his first daylight feed, which is often around 7.30, and get up again when Toby wakes me for his next feed, and then I potter around for the afternoon, getting a few things done. I stay up late - I'm more of a night owl than a morning person anyway. So, by doing that I give him his late feed (11- midnight) before I go to bed, as I also cope better with little interruption to my sleep. So, we're getting there!
I love newborn cuddles. I love the little faces he pulls. I love the noises he makes. I love the smiles. Yes, I know they are wind smiles at this stage, but a preview of the real thing is enough to give me something to get excited about! I love the fact that he settles with me, when his world is making him cry, or he has a pain. I love that he's getting to know me.
I love when we go to bed, and he's beside me in his open weave bassinet... that I can pull it right over next to where I lay... that after his feed, in his awake time... that we can lay there and just look at each other until I turn the light off.
So much to love.
:::
I'm considering setting up a new blog. I want to go public again. I don't like the privacy of this set. I also feel like this blog belongs to Ciaran. My life will always be full of grief for him. But now it is more about the trials of grieving one, while loving and tending another. But I'm not sure yet, whether a new blog is the answer.
:::
I wish for myself, and for all of the BLMs that a rainbow makes everything ok. But I've learnt now that it doesn't. I'm not ungrateful, not in the slightest. Oh, my God, no. Never. And remembering how it felt to be on the side without the rainbow, I know that also sounds like a sucky thing to say. But I will say that the rainbow helps. It doesn't make it better, but it does help.
I've had many tears since my gorgeous boy, Toby, arrived into my life. Within hours, in the way that they change so quickly out of the brand new fresh newborn look, and start to come 'into themselves', he also transformed into a look alike of his older brother. So bittersweet. Here I had my beautiful second son, Toby, but here I was also being given a second chance to see what might have been had Ciaran been able to stay with me.
Toby has been called Ciaran several times in the last two weeks. Out loud. Shane did it first. I've done it since. In conversation, either with someone else, or between us. I can't tell you how it makes me feel. Sad, yearning. Torn. I also feel guilty. That my gorgeous little special, oh so special, little man Toby is living in the shadow of his angel brother. The one who will never do wrong.
But time has helped that. Toby is really starting to come into his own now. Although maybe that's just as much that he is in a period that Ciaran didn't have a chance to get close to. Toby is two weeks old today. Fourteen days old. Where has that time gone?
I'm writing his birth story. But I've already forgotten so much of the detail. I hope that I can post it soon.
There are honestly a lot of tears gone down the shower drain here though, I do have to admit. I cry for the little boy who isn't here. The two, almost three, year old that I'm not chasing. I cry because I should know what I'm doing, having done it all before. People ask if this is my first (still) and I say no, my second. But still I don't know the basics. I'm learning yes. But I'm also learning just how much of a black and white person I've become. I read things in books now. I look for instructions of "how to" on the internet. I don't do change. I don't do "winging it". I'm scared I will break my baby boy. I'm not necessarily talking bones and things. But nobody seems to be able to tell you how often they should feed at this age, or how much. Nobody gives you the rule book to tell you whether you are a bad mother for not changing their clothes every day. Nobody gives you a schedule telling you that next you give them a bath, and then you... Nobody tells you anything. Except when they do, it all conflicts with what other people have told you, and that does my head in. That started in hospital for me. I'm learning to handle it better now. But I have had many "bad mother" moments.
I am trying to learn to sing songs to my little precious one. But it always ends up the same way. A monsoon of tears. And then I worry that the tears are too much, and that it will all flow through to Toby, and how unfair is that. I'm learning to sing though. Trying. But so far I haven't found a song I can sing, or even hum, that doesn't take me to another time, another little boy.
:::
My paranoia is growing too. I intend to see a counsellor about it once I get my independance back, and can get over to the city. But as our time together grows, so does my fear that something will happen. I don't like to call it paranoia, because I know that things happen. We all know that. For some reason my fears are more real from evening into the night. I admit to having to continually check on Toby. I admit to watching the light on the breathing monitor. I admit to worrying myself silly because the light doesn't flash regularly all the time. I admit to touching him, so that he will stir. There are many things that I know are my own fears, but I am afraid that these moments might be our last. How much do I hate writing that out? Putting things in words?
:::
So much that I love though. I have immense love for Toby. Of course. He's a beautiful, placid little boy. He has a lovely four hour routine happening. I've been told by "everybody" that they "grow horns" from about six weeks, and that any routine goes out the window. Maybe so. I'll find that out soon enough. But for now, four hours is super. I'm not exhausted. My sleep is broken, but I'm getting by on what I get. I go back to bed with Toby after his first daylight feed, which is often around 7.30, and get up again when Toby wakes me for his next feed, and then I potter around for the afternoon, getting a few things done. I stay up late - I'm more of a night owl than a morning person anyway. So, by doing that I give him his late feed (11- midnight) before I go to bed, as I also cope better with little interruption to my sleep. So, we're getting there!
I love newborn cuddles. I love the little faces he pulls. I love the noises he makes. I love the smiles. Yes, I know they are wind smiles at this stage, but a preview of the real thing is enough to give me something to get excited about! I love the fact that he settles with me, when his world is making him cry, or he has a pain. I love that he's getting to know me.
I love when we go to bed, and he's beside me in his open weave bassinet... that I can pull it right over next to where I lay... that after his feed, in his awake time... that we can lay there and just look at each other until I turn the light off.
So much to love.
:::
I'm considering setting up a new blog. I want to go public again. I don't like the privacy of this set. I also feel like this blog belongs to Ciaran. My life will always be full of grief for him. But now it is more about the trials of grieving one, while loving and tending another. But I'm not sure yet, whether a new blog is the answer.
:::
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
7 days old - a photographic post...
Kudo's to daddy who usually takes the mid- night feed (usually around 3am). Only part kudo's though, as he won't do nappies, so I still have to get up...
Friday, April 8, 2011
3 days old - a photographic post...
There was a lot of this going on at the hospital. The men in my life seem to find my company very... well, sleep inducing!?
Thursday, April 7, 2011
2 days old - a photographic post...
Our second night in hospital, Shane wasn't there so I was doing it solo. Toby wasn't a happy camper. I was a bit lost as a new mum, and being pulled from pillar to post with four shifts of midwives changing things on me a day. One of my sanity savers was a night midwife by the name of Debbie, who was on every night for the first four nights I was in. Rather than tell me to do things her way, like every other midwife did, she had the simple answer of "pffft.. normal!".
On this night, Toby wouldn't settle. It was perhaps two or three in the morning. I wasn't all that stressed out, but I was certainly desperate for sleep. Debbie's solution? Put him in bed with you! Not something that I would have been comfortable with, with SIDS risks and all of that. But she popped the side of the bed up, so he couldn't fall out, and set us up! It was my first real experience of 'baby gazing', as we lay there in the dim light. Toby lay looking at me, and I lay looking at him. The next thing I knew, it was seven am, and Shane was arriving. Toby and I had a solid four hours sleep!! Nice one :)
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
He's here!! Itty Bitty is here!!!
And time has gone out the window! Seriously!! I have had no time to even post his arrival notice! But without further ado, here it is...
:::
:::
Bir and Shane are over the moon in announcing the safe arrival of
: Toby Brian Thomas :
~ Earth brother to our angel in heaven, Ciaran ~
born 5th April 2011
12.20pm
3275g : HC 35cm : Length 50cm
Mum, Toby AND Dad are doing wonderfully!
:::
So there you have it folks :)
I will be back just as soon as I can to update you, and to present a birth story which I can't wait to share.
Thankyou to everyone who have already wished us well (thanks to the good old social networking.. ), and to those who may have wished us well in your blogs! I'm sorry but I haven't had a whole lot of time to keep up with you all in the past couple of weeks, other than the occasional quick skim of Reader. But I'll get there!
x
Friday, April 1, 2011
Save the date...
Tuesday I had my 38w OB appt (at 37+6). The one we've been waiting for really. We have an induction date.
I let my OB pick the date - they already had anyway (they being her and the neonate doc). My beautiful belly boy is to be born on Tuesday 5th April.
I am taking it as another 'sign' that this is meant to happen, this is my nana's precious baby grandson, a gift to me to heal our heartache - mine and my nana's. Bless her cotton socks right to the toes. I sound like a complete la la really, don't I? But I guess what I'm saying is that along with my own upbringing of Christian beliefs, I herald many spiritual beliefs too.
My little man is scheduled to be born on what would be my nana's 97th birthday after all. I didn't choose it. I wouldn't have picked that date, because I would have felt like I was trying to orchestrate something. I probably would have chosen the 4th, or the 7th. But in my head I thought it would be the 5th (being Nana's birthday), or the 8th (being her precious baby girl's birthday).
How do I feel? I guess mostly I'm trying to not think about it. I still slept well last night - I think I'm just not 'going there' right now. I can, in no way, believe that this time next week I will have a new born baby boy to take home. There is, I'm sure, not a skerrick in me that believes that. I try to. I don't necessarily think that my baby will die. Or anything like that. But I do feel that what I'm supposed to be believing is like believing that... well, I don't know... the tooth fairy is real!? We all go about the regime as if the tooth fairy is real, but we all know in the end she's not really, and nothing will change that.
:::
The drama that I was having over the ILs coming before I leave I managed to work out, with the help of my innocent OB, bless her haha!!
In short, she wanted me in the city by 3pm to do an internal and in need do an early dose of gel if my cervix remains long and closed, and then I will have a second dose (or first) at around 10pm in need. They want to avoid me labouring over night, or more to the point, avoid a baby being born during the night!
So, I turned to Shane and told him that that will work well as he can drop me off and then go and do his chores. What chores, the OB wanbted to know. Well, pick up his mum, feed his dogs... She worked in with me well. And also told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to be spending the night in the city, close to the hospital, preferably on the hospital grounds, just in case bub decided to come quickly.
:::
But then everything went to shit again the day after, in regard to my IL issues... when Shane announced that he had to return to work the week after (i.e. he is only able to take one week off work, which will be mostly while I'm in hospital). And whereas he spends most of his year working on the property we live on, so isn't too far away, and in most cases can orchestrate his time so that he is under my feet too much (oh, did I say that?!) at the house, which would be fine in this case.... however, the week of his return he is just so required to work at the other property which is just over an hour away from here.
Putting me in the position of either being here alone with itty bitty, for our first week at home.... or giving in again and agreeing to having the ILs here after all. Oh, golly. I can tell you there were tears. Stress, frustration, despair. And then there is the other part of me that says really... in the big picture... it doesn't matter that much. But it does, because I feel so strongly about it all, and feel backed into a corner. I'm also disappointed that Shane won't be here as I had hoped. I had hoped that we would learn to be a family of three together for those first days. I'm sure he could have put his foot down with his employers just a bit more, but he's not that type of person. He's the good guy. They can shit all over him, and he'll still do what he's required by them, no questions asked.
So, for a day or so I was once more back to deep breathing, and calming my head over the IL thing. And I did a bit of analysing too. I don't dislike my MIL at all. How many times have I said that? But she does drive me up the wall. She does stress me out. She does do my head in. She does dote and hover, but by the same token whereas she oversteps the mark on some things, then she will pull back in fear of upsetting me or someone. So, she's really only doing half the job. Even for example, she loves to cook for us all the time, and takes over the kitchen while she's here, but she'll do things like ask me what I would like taken out for dinner tonight... when really I'm used to my own mum just saying we'll have blah blah. It's like a restaurant but she doesn't give me a menu. Or she'll get everything ready to cook, say a roast... the veg and meat etc, and have all the fat hot and ready to go, then say to me that she'll let me put it all on "the way I like it"... and then when I say well, I don't actually cook in fat etc she gets all offended. I'm happy to eat the old fashioned meal, but don't half do something then expect me to take it over your way!
Right, so moving right along, I was just starting to accept it all... begrudgingly (like what else could I do), when my mum rings to tell me that she's managed to influence things to go "our" way... in other words, my parents are now staying a few extra days, which will give them at least two nights at my house with me. In true fashion, there's my own parents not wanting to put the ILs out so they were saying they would stay in town (1/2 hour away) at a motel! I don't get the same kind of respect from my ILs. If there is a bed spare, they are in it. So my response to my own parents is forget it... the ILs will be told that plan A is still in place that they are to leave the house before my arrival home from hospital (though I won't put money on it), they can take my car to BILs, my own parents will arrive probably the day after (meaning Shane and I get at least a bit of space with bub), then on the Sunday my parents will leave, and ILs will arrive back. I'll then have to put up with them here, while Shane is away for work and only home in evenings. Sigh. But I feel much better about it.
:::
Part of the reason is that I feel next to no confidence in being able to deal with a newborn baby. This pregnancy stuff I have hands down. Heck, even the grief thing I think I'm fairly well experienced now. But if, as we dare to try to imagine, this baby boy lives I think I have no idea where to start in looking after him. Everyone tells me.. you just feed them, change them, and put them back to sleep. But really, it can't be quite that simple. What if I put him on the change table without having everything ready. What if I put him in the bath, and then find something I hadn't thought of is needed. All the what if's... But at least now I will have my mum to help me sort through the mental grief affected head. At least now I won't feel resentment at my MIL telling me how to do things, and having to do it her way because I know no other. I don't even have the words to really say what I want on all of that. But I'm glad my mummy will be here!!
And I'm also glad that my own parents will get to spend time with baby boy while he is so shiny new. I'm glad that he won't be a month old when they really spend time, away from the hospital. And I'm glad that the time will be shared with the ILs... rather than my own parents miss out, while they get the glory.
I let my OB pick the date - they already had anyway (they being her and the neonate doc). My beautiful belly boy is to be born on Tuesday 5th April.
I am taking it as another 'sign' that this is meant to happen, this is my nana's precious baby grandson, a gift to me to heal our heartache - mine and my nana's. Bless her cotton socks right to the toes. I sound like a complete la la really, don't I? But I guess what I'm saying is that along with my own upbringing of Christian beliefs, I herald many spiritual beliefs too.
My little man is scheduled to be born on what would be my nana's 97th birthday after all. I didn't choose it. I wouldn't have picked that date, because I would have felt like I was trying to orchestrate something. I probably would have chosen the 4th, or the 7th. But in my head I thought it would be the 5th (being Nana's birthday), or the 8th (being her precious baby girl's birthday).
How do I feel? I guess mostly I'm trying to not think about it. I still slept well last night - I think I'm just not 'going there' right now. I can, in no way, believe that this time next week I will have a new born baby boy to take home. There is, I'm sure, not a skerrick in me that believes that. I try to. I don't necessarily think that my baby will die. Or anything like that. But I do feel that what I'm supposed to be believing is like believing that... well, I don't know... the tooth fairy is real!? We all go about the regime as if the tooth fairy is real, but we all know in the end she's not really, and nothing will change that.
:::
The drama that I was having over the ILs coming before I leave I managed to work out, with the help of my innocent OB, bless her haha!!
In short, she wanted me in the city by 3pm to do an internal and in need do an early dose of gel if my cervix remains long and closed, and then I will have a second dose (or first) at around 10pm in need. They want to avoid me labouring over night, or more to the point, avoid a baby being born during the night!
So, I turned to Shane and told him that that will work well as he can drop me off and then go and do his chores. What chores, the OB wanbted to know. Well, pick up his mum, feed his dogs... She worked in with me well. And also told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to be spending the night in the city, close to the hospital, preferably on the hospital grounds, just in case bub decided to come quickly.
:::
But then everything went to shit again the day after, in regard to my IL issues... when Shane announced that he had to return to work the week after (i.e. he is only able to take one week off work, which will be mostly while I'm in hospital). And whereas he spends most of his year working on the property we live on, so isn't too far away, and in most cases can orchestrate his time so that he is under my feet too much (oh, did I say that?!) at the house, which would be fine in this case.... however, the week of his return he is just so required to work at the other property which is just over an hour away from here.
Putting me in the position of either being here alone with itty bitty, for our first week at home.... or giving in again and agreeing to having the ILs here after all. Oh, golly. I can tell you there were tears. Stress, frustration, despair. And then there is the other part of me that says really... in the big picture... it doesn't matter that much. But it does, because I feel so strongly about it all, and feel backed into a corner. I'm also disappointed that Shane won't be here as I had hoped. I had hoped that we would learn to be a family of three together for those first days. I'm sure he could have put his foot down with his employers just a bit more, but he's not that type of person. He's the good guy. They can shit all over him, and he'll still do what he's required by them, no questions asked.
So, for a day or so I was once more back to deep breathing, and calming my head over the IL thing. And I did a bit of analysing too. I don't dislike my MIL at all. How many times have I said that? But she does drive me up the wall. She does stress me out. She does do my head in. She does dote and hover, but by the same token whereas she oversteps the mark on some things, then she will pull back in fear of upsetting me or someone. So, she's really only doing half the job. Even for example, she loves to cook for us all the time, and takes over the kitchen while she's here, but she'll do things like ask me what I would like taken out for dinner tonight... when really I'm used to my own mum just saying we'll have blah blah. It's like a restaurant but she doesn't give me a menu. Or she'll get everything ready to cook, say a roast... the veg and meat etc, and have all the fat hot and ready to go, then say to me that she'll let me put it all on "the way I like it"... and then when I say well, I don't actually cook in fat etc she gets all offended. I'm happy to eat the old fashioned meal, but don't half do something then expect me to take it over your way!
Right, so moving right along, I was just starting to accept it all... begrudgingly (like what else could I do), when my mum rings to tell me that she's managed to influence things to go "our" way... in other words, my parents are now staying a few extra days, which will give them at least two nights at my house with me. In true fashion, there's my own parents not wanting to put the ILs out so they were saying they would stay in town (1/2 hour away) at a motel! I don't get the same kind of respect from my ILs. If there is a bed spare, they are in it. So my response to my own parents is forget it... the ILs will be told that plan A is still in place that they are to leave the house before my arrival home from hospital (though I won't put money on it), they can take my car to BILs, my own parents will arrive probably the day after (meaning Shane and I get at least a bit of space with bub), then on the Sunday my parents will leave, and ILs will arrive back. I'll then have to put up with them here, while Shane is away for work and only home in evenings. Sigh. But I feel much better about it.
:::
Part of the reason is that I feel next to no confidence in being able to deal with a newborn baby. This pregnancy stuff I have hands down. Heck, even the grief thing I think I'm fairly well experienced now. But if, as we dare to try to imagine, this baby boy lives I think I have no idea where to start in looking after him. Everyone tells me.. you just feed them, change them, and put them back to sleep. But really, it can't be quite that simple. What if I put him on the change table without having everything ready. What if I put him in the bath, and then find something I hadn't thought of is needed. All the what if's... But at least now I will have my mum to help me sort through the mental grief affected head. At least now I won't feel resentment at my MIL telling me how to do things, and having to do it her way because I know no other. I don't even have the words to really say what I want on all of that. But I'm glad my mummy will be here!!
And I'm also glad that my own parents will get to spend time with baby boy while he is so shiny new. I'm glad that he won't be a month old when they really spend time, away from the hospital. And I'm glad that the time will be shared with the ILs... rather than my own parents miss out, while they get the glory.
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