Four weeks

My baby was four weeks old yesterday. Four weeks since his dramatic entrance into the world. 

Its flown. Apart from the few growth spurt type nights (including the most horrific 36 hours ever where I contemplated asking the midwives to take him back, only to find out he’d put on NO weight the next day), we’ve gotten through the days and nights, with a lot of help. Himself has just gone back to work this week after two weeks off and I’ve had help from my parents at the other times, so today is our first day as an independent team, me and him. So far so good, he’s had a nap, a nappy change, a feed and is in middle of nap number two on my lap. Not entirely sure I can move him and keep him asleep just yet so have time to blog, will eventually get him down so I can hop into the shower. 

Its been tough. I was told it was going to be tough, but jesus, its tough. Upon finding out he hadn’t gained any weight we were packed off to the paeds unit to get him checked out, where their scales had a dramatically different figure, but we still had the issue because the doctors scales had the same reading both days, ten days apart. Their advice was to keep feeding him. I kid you not. Hadn’t exactly planned on throwing him onto the Atkins Diet this week, its not as if he needs to slim down to fit into clothes ( though he’s finally managing to get into the Newborn stuff, yay!), but I was glad I had their permission to keep feeding him. We’re adding in a formula bottle a day because it seems to settle him for a little bit longer. Didn’t realise I was going to be so emotionally tied up in the breastfeeding, but there was definitely a sense of defeat that I would have to compromise on it, that I wasn’t giving him enough. Not good for the old psyche, but its for the best and sure if it gives me one less night feed then hey, I won’t deny the extra sleep. He’s not been too bad for the sleep apart from those growth spurt days where he feeds on the hour every hour, and I feel like I’m cracking up… I have discovered pumping though, a manual pump which you need to be an octopus to operate with any form of comfort, but its managed to give me the possibility of sticking with the breastfeeding while giving myself a break which can only be a good thing. Eyeing up the electric ones but am going to have a chat with the lactation consultant first before investing, they’re not the worlds cheapest thing!

He’s definitely a daddys boy, no doubt about it. He will screech in my arms, fake hiccups in my arms and the second he gets handed over to his daddy he’s staring up at him quiet, happy out. Not going to lie, slightly jealous of it, but its lovely to watch and I know when I become less of a food group and more of an everything else mammy I’ll get my go at that too. 

One final tough spot though – life after maternity jeans. Dear god, why. I’ve gone from Size 10 maternity jeans falling off me from being too big (in pregnancy!) to jeans that most certainly aren’t a size ten barely fitting. They really need to up the vanity sizing on normal jeans or give you less of it in maternity ones, its quite the fall from grace otherwise! Must go about writing a strongly worded email…

 

They’re Cute when you can hand them back

I’ve slept in the last twelve hours. For about five of them. Not only that, I’ve had breakfast, and a shower, and am about to make a cup of tea and sit down to hopefully manage to get all of it drank (certainly should if he stays asleep until he’s due his next feed). I may even get to put on a wash and therefore have clean jeans tomorrow. For this reason, my son is gorgeous to me right now. He’s asleep in his car seat, making little grunting noises all snuggled up in his sleep suit and big blanket, and he is divinely gorgeous. 

Yesterday he wasn’t such a gorgeous child until about mid afternoon. Yesterday I hadn’t had tea, or a shower, didn’t go near breakfast until about 1pm. Instead I cried when he cried because he hadn’t stopped crying for long enough for me to get more than 20 minutes sleep in about six hours. He’s sixteen days old and can already reduce a grown woman to tears, god help us when he gets to the teenage years. 

I now understand why sleep deprivation is used as a torture technique. My son would have been headhunted by the leading intelligence agencies at about 9am yesterday morning. And yet this morning he snores quietly up at me, looking angelic like butter wouldn’t melt. 

These are the moments I have to keep for the moments when he’s crying and I’m crying and my mind tells me I’m not doing it right. This image of this sleeping beautiful tiny boy sleeping to my right, and a steaming cup of tea in my hand staring down at him. 

 

 

 

Welcome to Exhaustion

10 days old, madly in love, but dear god the tiredness. 

We’re at home being looked after by my parents while waiting for the paternity leave to start. Recovering from a c-section in a house that doesn’t have stairs, with extra help with the night time wake ups is something else entirely. Furthermore its outside of the institutionalisation of the hospital. Never thought I’d be so glad to not have Weetabix for breakfast (still getting the toast!).

Last night he slept for a three and a half hour stint, two hours, and then another three hours. I woke up before him this morning. The feeling of waking up of my own accord instead of to screams for a feed is like heaven. It really is the little things. The night before we weren’t so lucky, he just kept waking and refusing to go back to sleep. One day at a time!

Little man is making a big impression with the relatives for his tiny stature. And to his credit, he’s quite good, will go to anyone, attempts to feed off everyone (regardless of gender or age, my boy is an equal opportunities breastfeeder), and falls asleep in most peoples arms. Now to just get him to do that at night time…