Lullabies and the beginning

In the early weeks of my son's life I used to play him a particular lullaby off youtube.  When I knew the melody and the lyrics by heart I just sang and hummed it to him at bedtime. Just a few weeks back I finally purchased the song, and I played the lullaby at bedtime for the first time since his birth. I wasn't prepared for what happened. A wave of emotion came over me. Feelings came flooding over me with with such a force that I was worried I would drown in the undercurrents, memories so clear as if I was there all over again. I had tears well up in my eyes, and my throat closed so tight I was unable to hum along the gentle lullaby. Hearing the guitar of the lullaby, the lovely melody, the beautiful voice shot me back to the beginning.  All of a sudden it was 2am in the morning, I was back in my London house in the bedroom, my not even a week old newborn was crying and crying and crying and I didn't know what to do, and I played him this song over and over again. 

asleep, finally

I don't talk much about the early days and weeks any more. Perhaps because now everything is better. Everything is good. Perhaps because now I like being a mother. It wasn't like this in the start. The early weeks were hard. And when I say hard, I mean that they almost broke me, they almost broke my husband and at some points I was sure they were going to break us as a couple. The only one who was fine was our monkey, who was hopefully quite unaware (yes I know they pick up more than we think) of the desperation and unhappiness around him.

But back to the beginning. 

I loved my pregnancy. I had an amazing pregnancy. I was happy no matter how many stupid comments about the coming lack of sleep got thrown at me. I ignored my brother in laws' comments of "your life is about to end", and chose to just smile when people commented on how huge or how tiny they thought my bump looked. I read lots of books about pregnancy and birth, I went to pregnancy yoga, I met other moms to be and attended prenatal group classes at the nct. I couldn't wait to meet our son, I was fevering towards the big day.

And then he was born. He was cute, all wrinkled up, tiny, brand new. After only one night at the hospital we couldn't wait to get home and just be us.

But boy was I not prepared for the coming weeks. The lack of sleep. The screaming. The helplessness on my part. The sheer exhaustion. The hormone crash. 

I knew about the odds of baby blues or post natal depression. At the birth prep classes we were told that not all fathers (or mothers!) bonded right away. That some babies can't breastfeed because of tongue tie. That such a thing like colic existed. Also that baby may think it's daytime in the night and vice versa. What we didn't know was that we got dealt almost all of the above. Thank you.

The first few days our son just screamed and screamed, and was awake until about 2 or 3 in the mornings… When he was finally asleep I was restless, worried, exhausted but too wired to sleep properly. All these noises he made. Was he ok, was he sleeping, did he need feeding again, was it x amount of time since the last feed? Three days into our new life, and I was ready to confess to anything, as long as I could just sleep. I understood how torture works. Just. Make. It. Stop.  "Oh just sleep when the baby sleeps". Yeah, about that… he didn't sleep much during the day either. When he did actually sleep during the day time, he slept on me and I was unable to sleep myself. 

The sheer exhaustion of the early days dragged on, and it became weeks. I was so utterly utterly tired, I was in constant tears. I wondered what I had done to our life. My wish for a family had gotten us where exactly? Here? This is what I had wanted? Really? "Just get through the first six weeks and it will get easier". I wasn't sure what to make of that. Was that actually helpful? I hadn't wanted a family to "just get through it", to wish weeks of my life away. At the rate it was going I wasn't even going to make it past the first six weeks. Nor was my husband. He was struggling and fighting his own battles, plus he didn't enjoy seeing me reduced to a lump of desperation, unhappiness and tears. All I could see in front of me was neverending cycles of feed, burp, nappy change and crying. I felt dread. 

What didn't help was that neither of us had that amazing overwhelming love that you read about. Where was that? Hadn't I been promised these amazing hormones if I went through a drug free natural birth, as I had done? Where was my high? My mother love? You read about men not bonding right away, but you feel like a failure if you're the mother and it's not happening for you. I felt cheated. I felt like life was playing a massive joke on me. How had I thought that I could have it all? The amazing husband, the enjoyable life, good health, a nice home to live in. And a baby. If someone had come to my door at day 10 post birth, and had said "thanks for looking after this child for the past week and a half, we will now be giving it back to its real mother" I wouldn't have been surprised. He just didn't feel like my son. Don't get me wrong, I adored him, and despite the crying he was super cute, but was this MY son? MY baby? I had expected it to feel different. Like in the movies. In fact, I felt like I was in the completely wrong cinema theatre, and this wasn't my movie being played. I felt like living someone else's life. Where was I? Where was my husband? Where were we? What had become of my lovely lovely life?

Despite the exhaustion and the lack of feeling a bond, I was determined to breastfeed. It was so frustrating when it didn't happen naturally. It turned out that the monkey also had a 80% tongue tie, which explained the unsuccessful hours long feeding attempts. The midwives were amazing, sitting with me, helping me, hand expressing with me. Hubby went out to get nipple shields, breast pads and anything else breastfeeding related. The nipple shields saved the day, and the breastfeeding. Five days after his birth the tongue tie got clipped. It took a further 4 weeks of twice daily massage of the frenulum to make sure the tongue tie was properly gone. And it wasn't until he was four or even five months old that he managed to latch without the shields. I fought hard for breastfeeding. So so hard. It took patience and determination. And again I didn't experience the amazing bond between mother and child that women talk about when breastfeeding. 

I couldn't eat quick enough, that's how hungry I was. Breastfeeding did indeed take a lot of energy. Being unhappy and distressed takes a lot of energy. I lost weight rapidly. I looked grey in the face. I threw away all of the congratulations cards "to the happy family". We weren't happy. We were drowning. I was worried about us. I couldn't see us being happy again. This wasn't the life I wanted to lead. 

the cutest living being

I carried my heart on my sleeve. Perhaps because I simply couldn't keep it together. I broke into tears with the midwives. I broke into tears at the breastfeeding cafes, I broke into tears with the NCT mothers. I did a lot of crying those early weeks and months. 

Of course my friends were there for me (day as well as nights!) and I ended finding out a lot about what other friends had gone through… But help also came from the most unexpected corners….

I had been active in a pregnancy forum, and our "birth club" had moved into the parent forum. After a while of absence I got a few private messages (and one forum member in particular sent a phone message) asking what had become of the happy mummy-to-be? Was everything alright? Were we ok? I told the truth. I said that we weren't ok. I got messages of support, women let me in on their own struggles. They, too, felt scared to leave the house with a screaming baby. They, too, didn't know what to do all day with the infant. They, too, were insecure. – I also got lots of practical advice of one mum of two, about sleeping, about dealing with the screaming and much more - never patronising, always with kindness and humour. From those first desperate (on my part) exchanges via whats app messages a wonderful friendship started to develop. It was ok to not know. It was ok to be weak. It was ok to be honest. 

Another piece of rope was thrown to me by the family photographer I had hired for a bump-to-baby photo shoot package. The thought of a happy family shoot when I felt (and looked) like **** and when clearly we were anything but a unit, made me cancel the newborn shoot. I told her things weren't going great and that I would like to postpone for a bit, or perhaps cancel all together. She was amazing. Emailed me to check if I was ok, she told me about herself and the early weeks of her two children, gave me practical non-patronising advice. She really didn't have to, she could have just said "ok, no problem", but she reached out to me. I was gratful, even if I wasn't able to put it into words just yet. 

9 weeks young

My wonderful midwife told me that she herself didn't bond with her first child right away. That she didn't feel like her daughter for quite a while. That she had felt the same dread I was feeling now, worrying if it will go on and on and on like this for ever. One of my friends came to visit and literally held my hand for 12 hours while I was sobbing my heart out. One of my NCT girls in particular was always there for me, listening to me when yet again I had tears welling up in my eyes, telling me that it will be ok. 

Then there were the many little things. A comforting hand on my shoulder at the breastfeeding cafe. A knowing look in a cafe that told me that it's ok, and that she had been there too. A neighbour telling me that she did not enjoy the first few months. A down to the ground honest email exchange with a friend all the way around the other end of the globe showed me that I wasn't alone. Another friend reporting that she also didn't bond right away. Yet another telling me that her husband didn't really want anything to do with the baby for months and months. I realised that I wasn't alone. That how I felt wasn't anywhere near as uncommon as I had thought it was. 

I carried my (crying) baby with me everywhere. I let him sleep on me, next to me. The first smiles appeared. I breastfed on demand. Eventually the crying got a bit less and the day-night reversal lay in the past. I held him, sang to him, kissed him. I started to get to know my baby. He started feeling like my baby. The seasons were changing and I took him out for walks to see the trees, the skies. I had stopped losing weight and I also got my appetite back. Over time I started feeling better. I continued going to cafes, let the Monkey see people, let him smell the air. The love grew. The breastfeeding got easier and I even enjoyed it. I wasn't scared to be alone with him. The love grew more. I started smiling again - just to myself (not just for him). Meeting my other new mothers I could hold a conversation without starting to cry. My lovely photographer finally came back to take those baby shots, and they felt good and look great. Hubby and I shared our first proper silly laughs and started feeling like us again. The father and son bond also slowly started forming. The seasons started to change again. I became more confident. I was happy again. We were happy again. 

The Monkey is such a happy and content little boy, it always amazes me just how good natured and patient he is. It gives me hope that even though I wasn't able to give him ALL my love in the beginning, I was still always there for him, kissing his little head, whispering into his little ears. And when I wake up to that smile, when I feel those little arms tightly wrapped around me, when I hear his laugh, it is hard to imagine that I ever felt different. The lullaby in the evenings no longer catapults me back in time, but it will still always be a reminder.

I had to let go of everything I knew and everything that I thought that I knew. I had to accept this massive change in my life and let go of the illusion of being in control. I had to be open for what was there now and accept impermanence. I had to surrender. And so I did. Initially it felt like giving up. Then it felt like a gift. 

Absence makes the heart grow fonder - we're back!

Lots to tell...

Yes, we've been offline for a whole two months and not posted much. Lots has happened. Here a recap...

From Christmas right through to the end of April the three of us caught one bug after the other. Quite frankly it's been exhausting. I always thought people were exaggerating when they warned us about the neverending bugs. But they were right, sadly. 

So we took our lovely trip to London, which we had long been looking forward to. Prior to the holiday the Monkey already had slightly rosy cheeks. These stayed the whole trip while we were away. After five days of play and exploration in London, he came down with a high fever. The GP thought it was just a little cold - despite the big red cheeks, which should have been a tell-all. Back on Tenerife Island the paediatrician took one look and diagnosed Slapped Cheek Syndrome.

Slapped Cheek Syndrome

The biggest one the Monkey had caught was slapped cheek syndrome, also called fifth disease. He looked like such a sorry little thing. It started with little rash-like bubbles, then developed into full blown red cheecks, followed by gunky eyes and a rash all over his body...

Slapped Cheek Syndrome

Here taken from the NHS website, all about slapped cheeck:

Slapped cheek syndrome (also known as “fifth disease” or erythema infectiosum) is a type of viral infection that is most common in children, although it can affect anyone of any age.

Slapped cheek syndrome usually affects children aged between six and 10 years. Most cases develop during the late winter months or early spring.

Gunky eyes, rosy cheeks

In children, the most common symptom is the appearance of a distinctive bright red rash on the cheeks. This is how the condition got its name.

Although many symptoms of slapped cheek syndrome are similar to other conditions, most cases can be diagnosed by examining the rash. Usually, no further testing is necessary in children.

Read more information about the symptoms of slapped cheek syndrome.

What treatment will my child need?

Most children will not need treatment as slapped cheek syndrome is usually a very mild condition that passes in a few days. Occasionally it can last up to four or five weeks.

There is no specific antiviral therapy available for slapped cheek syndrome.

Symptoms such as headaches, high temperature or itchy skin can usually be treated with over-the-counter medications such as paracetamol and antihistamines.

Adults, especially women, who frequently develop joint pain with or without a skin rash, can use non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs) as painkillers.

You will probably only need to contact your GP if one or both of the following occurs:

• your (or your child’s) temperature rises to 39C or above

• your (or your child’s) symptoms suddenly worsen

What are the causes of slapped cheek syndrome?

Slapped cheek syndrome is caused by a virus called parvovirus B19. Parvovirus B19 is an airborne virus spread in much the same way as the cold or flu viruses. It can be spread through coughs and sneezes that release tiny droplets of contaminated saliva which are then breathed in by another person.

It's very difficult to prevent the spread of the virus as people are most contagious before their symptoms begin, so they are unaware they are infected.

Once you've been infected you should develop a lifelong immunity and not experience any further symptoms.

Tonsillitis

I am not joking, once we had Slapped Cheek over and done with the Monkey and myself got tonsillitis. Again a really high fever - 39.9, which we treated with paracetamol and ibuprophen. Alternating between the two, we gave a dose every 4 hours for almost two full days. I got the tonsillitis myself, my first one since childhood, and it wasn't fun. Rarely has anything floored me like these two weeks of high fevers, feeling unwell and not being able to eat or drink.

Moving on

But the good news is, we have been disease free for almost three weeks and these three weeks have been such a pleasure! The monkey, who is usually quite chilled anyway, was just so so happy for the first time in months. He is always happy, but this was him being ecstatic and full of energy! We love it.

Where we are at

Walking
Now at almost 15 months, this is where we are at with the Monkey's development. He finally started walking at 15 months and 5 days. Quite at the late end of normal. I wasn't overly worried about him not walking yet, still, I was happy to read a very interesting article on Dr Sears website, which can be found here. It was lovely to read that late walking does have advantages too. Mellow and social hits the nail on the head with our veggie toddler.

"Babies with easier, more laid-back temperaments tend to be later in motor-development skills, such as sitting up, crawling, and walking, but earlier in social skills, such as engaging behaviors like making eye-to-eye contact with people. Mellow babies are more content looking and playing rather than getting up and going. These babies approach changes in motor milestones more cautiously. Late crawlers and walkers tend to be less accident-prone." quoted from the Dr Sears website.

Talking

Our son doesn't say that many words just yet. He says "mih" for the German word Milch, other than that he is sticking to baby babble. Mama and Dada, Nana, something that we believe is an attempt at Granddad. But not too many clear ones. I need to point out again that I speak only German with him, while hubby speaks just English. At nursery, which he goes to for 3x3h a week, he only gets spoken to in Spanish.

Signing

We had started to sign with him very early, at about five months old. I had read quite a lot about language development and signing supporting that development. However, he never seemed particularly interested in signing. We recently started using the signs for Bath, Milk, More, Play, All Gone, Eat/Food, Drink, Yummy and Sleep again. And Voila! He is using all of them. It has been amazing being able to communicate. Sure, before he managed to point at things, which meant that he wanted them. But to be able to communicate: More when we are playing, or eating, is fantastic. Even the English grandparents don't have to get stressed at interpreting "words" which he may be saying in German. 

Play

Everything is interesting. From animals, to boxes, from little dinosaur figures to books. It's all on. Running around, throwing a ball, stomping feet, "dancing", pointing... it's all one big playground out there. Water is still high on the favourite list with the local waterpark the highlight. Never have I seen him more excited than at the last waterpark trip.

Nursery

Separation anxiety is finally behind us. Sure there are days where Mama is the best, but then there are days where anything goes. He is happy at nursery, no crying when I leave him, he is happy with his grandparents and he is happy in playgroup, only refuelling on a hug every once in a while.

In other news

The veggie family just got news that our permanent residency visa for Australia got approved. That's right, Australia. We will be moving over there early 2015. You can see why we've not been posting much. It's been quite a few months. We're thrilled, to say the least, and have started planning our double move from Tenerife, to the UK, to Australia. Exciting times.

Separation anxiety

In the last few weeks our son seems to have been struck with separation anxiety. Unfortunately this started just a couple of weeks prior to him starting nursery two afternoons a week, which made the adjustment period a little more tearful than we had hoped for.

Apparently it isn't unusual that babies who have not had any stranger or separation anxiety previously, still do get it, even at a much later stage. For the monkey it is now. He doesn't like me leaving the room, or being out of sight. On his explores he comes back for little pitstops much more often, refilling on a hug, refuelling on a kiss.

Because he's been sick with a nasty cough for the last 2.5 weeks and then caught himself a nice virus on top of the cough, he has been more clingy than ever. The last four days I have had him attached to me more or less constantly. At night he rolls himself right next to me, wrapping his little arms tightly around my arm. During the day he seems to turn into a jojo: up, down, up down - he doesn't seem to be able to make up his mind what he wants. There have been lots of tears. I do feel for him, being little and ill, not being able to put how he feels into more than just big crocodile tears.

He needs reassurance and he needs lots of hugs and comfort. And of course he gets all of that, in abundance. Even if it means burning our food for lack of free hands.