Breastfeeding - my experience

Almost 18 years ago now I had a baby. As all mums will tell you, it feels like it was yesterday, they grow so fast. What is it they say? 'The days are long but the years are short' ? Yes that sums up parenthood. Tiring, exhausting, but ultimately amazing and it's all gone in a blink and they are adults themselves.

When I became pregnant I decided I wanted to do everything naturally, or as natural as possible, though I didn't want a home birth. I felt that if everything went well then hospital would be OK and they could do the clean up, and if things went badly, I'd have the support I needed.


I also decided that I wanted to breastfeed my baby. At the time the advice was exclusive for 4 months and then introduce solids but keep breastfeeding alongside for as long as possible. (current World Health Oganisation advice can be found here) That all sounded fine to me and so I didn't buy and bottles, no formula, no sterilising kits. Nothing. I had boobs and I didn't need anything more.


The birth (a water birth) was easy and fairly swift, less than 12 hours. And DD (darling daughter)  was born with a shock of dark hair, eyes to fall into, like deep pools and a gaze with the knowledge of centuries, as babies tend to have. I was instantly in love and started feeding withing minutes of birth. Text book stuff, I stayed in hospital overnight and the midwives checked on my (and her) latch positioning regularly, they asked how things were, checked I was feeding on demand and were just lovely. The midwife that helped deliver her showed me the 'rugby ball hold' as DD preferred to feed on one side and Dave (the midwife) worried I'd get lopsided!


After 48 hours or so I went home and everything was fine, DD slept and ate and was as cute as the cutest button. Life was dreamy.

On day 5 after the birth I woke to discover my milk had 'come in'. What a misleading phrase, it conjures flowing rivers of creamy goodness when in reality it means your tits, whilst looking like a porn stars are suddenly rock hard and tender, engorged and not in a good way! Baby DD found her latch was no longer easy, she looked at me accusingly, suddenly she couldn't feed, and so she wailed. I wailed too. Hearing her wail my body cheerfully created more milk! I hurt! I wailed more, DD wailed. My poor husband looked on helplessly. After 12 hours things had got worse, not better and I was terrified that DD would die of thirst (I had no idea how resilient babies are!) I was hysterical, she was purple in the face from screaming and my husband said he was going to buy bottles and formula right away.


I broke down, felt like a failure, torn between not wanting to give up and feeding my child! Luckily I'm really stubborn. So instead of letting him go for formula I said we should phone the labour ward, they had said we could phone for any reason, at any time (it was now 10pm) I rang, they said to come straight in. And so we did.


The loveliest nurses and midwives in the world took DD for a walk around the ward to calm her (and, looking back on it maybe to give her a sly drink!) while another midwife made me tea and calmed me down. Then they brought a now calmer DD back in and helped her get a grip, it felt like they just held her head against my boob until she had no choice but to suck! But maybe it was more subtle than that.

Whatever they did it worked, she glugged (you could hear her glugging!) and emptied both breasts. Poor hungry baby - she then slept for about 8 hours. We went home and after that we didn't look back. DD continued breastfeeding as and when until she was 4 months when she was keen to eat! She raced up the centiles chart (chubster!) and then gradually settled when she started eating food. She continued to breastfeed until she was 10 months old, when she self weaned having discovered cups and food easier that the work needed to breastfeed! Such a cute and lazy baby.



The things I loved about breastfeeding were; the lack of preparation, you want milk, it's there (and no extras to carry when you go out) ; the snuggles, tiny pudgy hands massaging you as baby drinks, like a little kitten; the cheapness, I didn't buy bottles, or sterilisers; the supposed health benefits were just a bonus if I'm honest


My experience of breastfeeding was fabulous. I want other mums to know it can be great, and support can be great too - never be afraid to ask. If I hadn't had help I might have given up on day 5! I felt like a failure but mum's shouldn't, there is no reason you should be good at it! It's a skill and both you and baby have to learn. Take your time, get help, enjoy.

And if you don't breastfeed? That time is gone in a blink anyway - enjoy every precious second with your child.

Sophie the Giraffe is not trying to kill your kids, your bad hygiene is.

I am fed up with hearing about Sophie the sodding giraffe.

Sophie the Giraffe is not trying to kill your kids, your bad hygiene is.

Toys that get damp inside, either from use in the bath or through sucking by a toddler are going to grow mould. And before you all jump on me, no of course I'm not the perfect housewife with a spotless house, but when a plughole in my house is stuffed up with congealed soap and pubic hairs I don't alert the media. Nor do I return the sink to Bathroom World and complain.

Now I'm sure this lady who discovered the horror that mould had grown inside her child's favourite chew toy didn't immediately grab the phone and ring the BBC, I'm sure she just intended it as a reminder to her online chums that they should clean the toys in their homes and keep an eye on what babies and toddlers chew on. (see how I haven't read every article so I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt over this)

Just like when I found DD, as a crawling baby, chewing on a well gnawed plastic dog's bone and reminded people that babies crawl and that dogs leave spit slimey toys laying about (thus winning the 'no shit Sherlock' award of the week). I guess that the media were just having a slow news day, probably all the wars had stopped or something.

Really, I am bored of reading about Sophie.

If you have toys that can get water (or baby dribble) inside them, you should wash them inside and out regularly. Use some water with sterilising fluid in, squeeze the toy under the water a few times to ensure water ingress, then give it a good shake, leave it for 10 minutes, empty and repeat. Empty and leave the toy to air dry. You should do this at least once a month, more often if you have the time.

Now excuse me, I have plugholes to clean.

Baby sleep, would you consider controlled crying?

Why would anyone leave a baby to cry?

I did.

Would I do it again? Most probably not if the circumstances were the same, but in some circumstances, yes, yes I'd try it, and before you shout me down here's what I did, and why I would, or wouldn't do it again.

When DD was born (17 years ago!)  I was a novice mum. I didn't have a lot of close friends living near and none that had babies. All my school mates had moved away and none were married. My mum lived hundreds of miles away. The Internet existed but not with social media like it is today. I joined a small message board of mums, they were almost all American, everything from our 'diaper' choices to feeding methods were very different, though everyone was friendly. Mostly I bought some books and took advice from my midwives and health visitors (who were all lovely and really helpful btw)

When DD was born I was able to take a year off from work and Mr TM was already retired (and planning to be a SAHD and DD's main carer when I went back to work) so we had a whole year, just us and a baby (and 2 dogs). In the first few weeks I didn't get much sleep. Although Mr TM slept in a separate room (so he could be awake in the day and do lots of the chores, walk the dogs etc,) night feeds, in fact all feeds, were provided by my boobs so I had to be awake. Feeding on demand was recommended (quite rightly imo) at least in the first weeks to help milk supply. A feed could take an hour with a 2 hour nap after (for DD!)  and then more feeding, so you can imagine how tired a breastfeeding mum is, also she's making milk, in itself tiring - medals all round ladies!

Also anyone that tells you to 'sleep when the baby sleeps' is an idiot. Do they suggest a quick nap in aisle 8 of Sainsbury? A 20 minute sleep while driving? A doze in the park while walking the dogs? You are using those 2 hour windows of sleeping baby to wash, eat, clean the house, chat to adults, just 'be'. 

 So by week six I was running on fumes. I had no idea at the time that I had Charcot-Marie-Tooth Disease (which has the joyous side effect of making you more tired than 'normal' people, and making ordinary tasks more tiring still) so that may explain some of it, but what ever, by week 6, late one night as DD cried, after I'd tried feeding, changing, cuddles, singing, swearing, begging, crying (me not her)  I looked to books for advice and I read about letting babies cry.

In the 50s babies were encouraged to cry. It was 'good for their lungs', gave them some exercise, and, if done outside, got them some 'fresh air'. So it was with no surprise that I found many books that suggested the crying it out (CIO) method. This, apparently relied on checking everything was well with the baby, they were fed, burped, changed, clean and cuddled, and them popping them safely into pram or bed and leaving them to it. They would eventually fall asleep.

Even in my desperate state this sounded a tad tragic! Poor little baby, no doubt it would sob itself through hysteria into exhaustion and then fall asleep. So it would work, but at what cost? And wouldn't the baby get more distressed at each consecutive bedtime? Knowing and learning that bed and pram was a lonely prison?  No CIO was not for me.

Then I read about the controlled Crying method (CC) controlled crying started the same way, check baby was fed, burped, changed, clean and cuddled, and them popping them safely into pram or bed, but then not leaving them until they slept, but rather, settling them, saying a calm goodnight, and leaving, if they cried, waiting a minute before returning, settling the baby again, leaving, if they cried waiting 2 minutes, settling the baby again, leaving, if they cried waiting 3 minutes...and , well you get the picture. This I could cope with.

I tried it...the first night was hell. When your baby cries, a minute feels like about 30 years. You have been sitting staring at the clock for an eternity (a minute) and then you rush to the baby, soothe, settle, leave and repeat. I was more tired after the first night of CC than before I had tried it! (she eventually fell asleep after 10 minutes). The second night I tried again....she was asleep after  5 minutes, and the third night, she settled and went to sleep with no tears at all...and the most amazing thing was that she also slept all night (well from 11pm at last feed until 6am and first feed - but that's all night in my book!) And this continued. I had a six week old baby that just went to bed at 11pm and slept through! (I'm sorry if you hate me - I'm sure luck plays a huge part here too)

I was a changed woman. Days were fun again. I could walk the dogs, Mr TM and I could spend time (awake) together. I could do cooking and housework. A miracle.

But...would I do it again, probably not.

I think as I had a year off and a supportive husband at home I could have just weathered the lack of sleep for a few months until she gradually learned nighttime was no fun, and reserved for sleeping.

If circumstances were different however, if I had to go back to work, or had other children to care for in the day, or no husband at home, then yes, I think I would at least try it for a few days. I think that if the times were getting longer to take the baby to settle, I would stop. If after a few nights she still wasn't settled happily at bedtime, I'd stop. But I think for exhausted parents, with other things and other family to manage, who don't have the luxury of focusing totally on a new baby, then yes CC has a place.

The conclusion I've come to is that lots of things that are 'best for baby' don't take anyone else into consideration. It's nice of you can do what's 'best for baby' but there are other people in the house too, mum, dad (maybe 2 mums, 2 dads whatever, you get the picture) other children, and there may be a job you need to go to to have money to feed and clothe everyone. So sometimes, what is best for baby is a fully functioning household.

And so I don my flame suit and pop this (sure to be unpopular) opinion out onto the Internet. I'd love your comments.

Wordy Wednesday's author interview with Rebecca Ann Smith

Hello and welcome once again to Wordy Wednesday - today with Becky Smith, her first novel, Baby X, has just been published by small press Mother’s Milk Books. It’s a psychological thriller about motherhood, technology and medical ethics.

“Alex Mansfield, the doctor leading a groundbreaking project to grow a human foetus in an artificial uterus, has gone on the run and taken the newborn baby with her. While the child’s parents wait anxiously for news, and the world’s media clamour for answers, Alex’s colleagues are shocked by her actions. Has Alex stolen the baby, or is there another motive behind her disappearance?
Baby X weaves science and medical ethics into an intimate thriller; asking questions without offering easy answers.”

Ooh sounds most intriguing, and the sort of story I really like to read. So let's find out more about our author of the day.

Do you have another job or are you a full time author? If you do something else (international spy?) what is it and do you like it?
I’d love to say I was an international spy, but I’m actually an Associate Director of an arts and education charity based in Lewes, East Sussex. I do enjoy it – we do a lot of varied and interesting projects – but I do wish I had more time to write.
At the moment – between work, family and work to promote Baby X all my time is committed. So I’m getting up very early in the morning to write my next book.

When did you start writing?
I started writing stories and poems when I was tiny and wrote all throughout my teens. I lost confidence with it in my twenties – I think doing a degree and then a Master’s in English Literature didn’t help… And then I started again in my thirties when I finally admitted how much I missed making things up.

What 3 things are guaranteed to make you smile?
I listen to a lot of podcasts, some serious science ones but also quite a lot of comedy. Current faves for a guaranteed giggle include Adam Buxton and Answer Me This.
The look on my kids’ faces when they do something they think is hilarious (like a silent-but-deadly fart).
If all else fails, Emily Gilmore makes me smile.

Do you have any pets?
No pets I’m afraid. One day I’d like to own a bearded dragon which would sit on my shoulder as I write.

Who is your favourite author?
The greatest influence on Baby X was Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. I wanted to combine serious ideas about technology, society, and feminism with a good story full of suspense and tension, the way Atwood did in that book – although I know I’ve got a long way to go before I could claim to write as well as her.

Which book(s) are you reading at the moment?
I’m beta reading a book by a friend of mine, Neil McIntosh. It’s a thriller about memory and it’s creepy as hell – I’m not sure what the final title will be but he’s a name to watch out for.
I recently read Laura Lipman’s Wilde Lake and absolutely loved it. And My Name is Leon by Kit de Waal made me cry.

Where do you do most of your writing?
I write at my desk which is in our living room, so is only ever quiet either very early in the morning, or when everyone else is at work and school.
I’m quite good at filtering out distractions, and have been known to wear earplugs to get some writing done whilst blocking the sound of Saturday morning cartoons.

Tell us about the character that you've written that you like the most - no spoilers!
My favourite character in the book is the doctor, Alex. She’s clever, hard-working and committed, but also spiky and difficult, and there are times we might have reason not to trust her version of events. She’s likeable, but not too likeable, if you know what I mean.

What is your favourite biscuit?
And now onto serious matters! I must admit there aren’t a lot of biscuits I *don’t* like. We brought a box of all butter Breton biscuits back from our holiday in France this year and I could eat those by the fistful.

Tea or Coffee?
Both please!

In the film of your life who would play you?
Probably Susan Sarandon (although she’s quite a bit older than me, so I’m not sure how that would work). I like how tough and no nonsense she is. Plus, great hair.
If a time machine was on offer, Katherine Hepburn.

If you could genetically cross an animal and a vegetable, what would you pick and why? I like the idea of a sweet potato panda, a soft of soft orange bear....
The sweet potato panda sounds very cute. Or a bright orange mango kitten.

Baby X is available from Amazon or direct from my publisher Mother’s Milk Books http://www.mothersmilkbooks.com/
Becky has a website and blog at www.rebeccaannsmith.co.uk and you can find her on Facebook
On Twitter as @beckysmithhurst
Becky is always up for chatting with other writers on Twitter – it’s one of her favourite procrastination techniques.

Things I love about being a mum

This morning on Facebook the lovely Fi at ChildCareisFun mentioned how she was sad to see so many 'I hate being a mum' posts online, not just 'I had a bad day' but proper I hate being a mum blog posts.
I thought that part of the problem was that if you claim you love being a parent, that your life is nice, happy and generally good, people see you as smug and a bit of a bitch to be honest. So I think mums (and dads) are scared to say - this is ace! I love it!
Maybe the fact that you like being a mum and they don't, makes them feel defensive and angry?  Maybe they had a succession of bad days and forgot the good days. Maybe they do really hate being a parent. I don't know. But whatever, not all parents feel the same. So I'm here to balance things up.
I'm one of those weirdos that had an easy time with the birth, loved it all. Who enjoyed pregnancy (even the vomiting) and who loves being a mum, every day.
I thought about writing a rant. But decided a poem was nicer.
So here is my poem. About being a mum.

Things I love (and loved)  about being a mum

A Poem

Waking early at 3 to the sound of her tears.
Being her comfort for all of these years.
Holding her close as a she snuffles and drinks,
holding her less close as she starts to stink!
Cleaning her bottom at a quarter past ten,
then at half past eleven, I do it again!
A basket of washing, sits sopping wet,
the machine not working, and yet and yet,
those so tiny socks are catching my eye,
laying there waiting, nearly making me cry.
Such small clothes for such a small child,
who soon will be big and running me wild.
Changing a sheet that is soaked in wee,
and a tiny sad face pleading with me
that they know they can do it, no nappies required
but accidents happen when you are so tired.
Wobbly bike riding, a crash on the lawn.
A nightmare needs snuggles though it's nearly dawn.
I drag myself, knackered, from comfy warm bed
because someone woke early and now bumped their head.
Packing a bag for a day out seems barmy,
I carry enough to maintain a small army!
First day at nursery the tears are all mine,
I ring my own mum who says 'she will be fine'.
A wasted day worrying when I could be free,
but missing my 'baby' who should be with me.
Paintings on fridges and pasta shell 'jewels'
fondly admired as the nighttime drink cools.
And now she's at school and is going alone,
the time is just whizzing and 'my how she's grown'.
She has her own phone and she snapchats her mates
and she talks about popstars and going on dates.
Next month is her prom all sparkle and dresses
and 'my hair just won't curl' is the top of the stresses.
I've been a mum now for 16 short years
surviving on love, and on wine,and on beers
from the very first moment I gazed in her eyes
every day has been filled with joy and surprise
that I made a new person, who is gorgeous and clever
and have I regretted it? not once, not ever.

as always I'd love your comments - come and chat over at Facebook

Dads are rubbish at housework and parenting

They are not, obviously; dads are are sometimes better, sometimes worse, often the same, as mums when it comes to housework and childcare. And now I've caught your attention let me tell you more. I can only tell you about my experience of course, but that will have to do.

When we brought DD home from the hospital she was just over a day old. A day. One day. A whole entire new being that we had made (to be fair I'd done the bulk of the work up until that point) and here she was, in our care. We didn't need a licence or a home check or any training, they just gave us this new person, wished us well and waved us goodbye.

New baby DD

During the first few days and nights each time she cried Mr TM would look at me with a worried look and ask "what does she want?" I would stare back and say "I have no idea, I only just met her!" and he would say "but you are her mum!" to which the only sensible reply was "and you are her dad!"

And that's the thing isn't it, just because I grew a tiny person in the wet life support system of my womb doesn't mean I know her any more than anyone else does. Of course there are things that happen,  milk appearing as if by magic when babies cry, which prompts a mum to offer a feed, but the terrible smell emanating from the bottom end of the baby which prompts a nappy change, is there for all to sniff! And so we learned. I was on maternity leave for a year and Mr TM had retired with the plan that he would stay home and look after DD when I went back to work. For a year we were together, learning about this new person, growing to know her ways, her likes and her (frequently violent) dislikes.

When I went back to work Mr TM became DDs main carer and so, spending longer with her, he became more attuned to her than I did. He knew that this week she hated rice pudding, or that she had decided a different teddy was needed at bedtime. He had always been the more organised one of the two of us, even now when DD has reached the frankly terrifying age of 16 he is still the one that does the laundry, cleans the bathrooms, hoovers the lounge.

I work full time and have since DD was a year old, she self weaned when I went back to work as I was out of the house (commuting to London) for such long periods of time each day, in fact the first 3 months I returned to work I didn't see her awake except at weekends. I relied on my husband telling me all the things they had been up to. The hilarious potty incidents, the difficulty in finding a public toilet to take her into, the things they had eaten out at cafes. Luckily I changed my job and avoided the long commute very quickly, and Mr TM and DD could come and visit me at lunchtimes, but still he was her main carer, the one that wiped her snot, dealt with nappy rash, became an expert on teething and knew the best way to deal with cradlecap.

DD shares a picnic with daddy

Mr TM grew with DD, becoming a rather awesome dad. Great at organising days out (where I invariably forgot something vital!), a whizz at packing a rucksack with 'essential baby things' but because he was the parent that stayed home, he also became the homemaker (a rather nice gender neutral Americanism). So it is still Mr TM who is in charge at home. He cleans the kitchen floor, he dusts, he brushes the sofa and plumps the cushions, he cleans the oven. In fact he does all of the things most people would see as 'womens' work' and sometimes he worries that other men will think less of him because he is not 'the bread winner'. I have told him time and time again that women find men that hoover, clean the bathroom and feed the children, to be just as attractive a prospect as one that works in the city, but I'd be lying if I said everyone thinks it's fine.

He has to put up with questions about why he doesn't work, questions that no woman would be asked, he also gets regularly enraged by the lazy stereotype used in the media , that husbands and men in general are hopeless fools around the house, that men can't do a load of laundry, clean a stove top or hoover a room without help from a clever lady. Or if they can do these things they are some sort of superhero. He had to suffer being the only man at 'mummy and baby' groups and was often confounded to be excluded from baby changing facilities that were hidden in the 'Ladies' toilets.

DD helps daddy clear the snow

Things have changed in those 16 years of course, and I know that now lots of dads are the main carers of their children either by choice or through circumstance. But I can't help but notice, among all the ranting about girls being forced to be pink princesses, that dads (and men) still get a bad rap where being homemakers and child carers are involved. So shall we just try and be inclusive? Let's remember there are great dads out there, terrible dads too, and mediocre dads, just like mums...

Much love from a very mediocre mum. Comments welcome on twitter or my facebook page.

The Worry of having an Imperfect Baby

When I was a kid, I knew a family with a little boy that had Down's Syndrome. His nickname was Wiggy because he wriggled so much, he was hilarious and very fun to be with. When I was an older teen my best mate introduced me to her pub quiz team mate, he had Down's Syndrome, he liked to visit the pub, have a beer and chat with his friends, he liked the pub quiz evenings too, and was better than me at the questions. And life went on, and I forgot about them both.

~~~

I got pregnant after 6 months of trying, when I was 34. I was only a year off being officially designated an 'older mum' by the NHS. And my husband, 20 years my senior, was quite obviously an 'older dad'. We were both very excited (actually he was terrified! LOL) about having a baby, a small person, a 'mini-me' joining us.

And then of course there was all the usual stuff, I went to my GP to tell him I was pregnant. I had no idea how all this medical care worked, so I expected being told how the NHS would sort things etc. Instead I saw a locum GP (a woman) who looked at me as if I was crazy and then said "and?"...

"erm" I replied "don't you check I really am? or schedule check ups or something?"

She laughed "not yet, I'll just take your word for it, come back in a few weeks"

So I did. Eventually the old wheels began turning, midwives said hello, blood was taken, blood pressure checked. And then at a routine appointment my (male) GP asked when I was having my nuchal scan and Down's testing.

"I'm not" I replied.

"Why not?" he asked, surprised.

"Because there's no point" I said "I won't have a termination and heart defects will be picked up on my dating scans anyway"

There was silence and then he said "I know if I knew I was having a Down's baby I would have a termination"

Would you, I thought, would you really. Well then it's lucky that a) you're a man and never likely to be pregnant and b) that I'm this baby's mum not you and c) that it's not up to you! I was silent too though, until I eventually, and probably fairly quietly said "well I'm sure, I don't want a test"

"We'll put down 'undecided' on the form" he said "Then the nurses can ask you again when you've had time to think about it"

I had thought about it. A lot. As I was oldish and my husband was older I had had a sort of nervous background mental hum saying "this baby might be disabled you know, it might have Down's syndrome, it will look different, have learning disabilities, have a terrible life...."

I had lain awake at night thinking it. I had gone to the shops thinking it. I had talked to my husband about it and he was really afraid that if this baby wasn't 'perfect' we wouldn't cope. I had thought about almost nothing else since I got pregnant. I hadn't worried that I might lose the baby. A common fear among mothers, but that the baby would be 'faulty', I'd worried about that a lot.

Early on I talked to the baby, calling the tiny thing (as yet un-sexed) the 'peanut' and chatting about day to day things. My husband wanted a girl, he believed that girls were the future and could do everything boys do and then some!(turns out he was right)  I wanted a boy, cute in dungarees, collecting snails and making mud dams in streams...
I didn't want a 'faulty' baby.

And then one day, after we had had a couple of scans, and finally knew that the peanut was a girl, we went to Lewes for a day. We sat in a park, we watched children at a wedding, dressed in cute, smart Sunday best and playing hide and seek around the trees. They jumped and ran, they squealed and laughed and I stroked my new bump and thought of our baby. And then...and then one of the children turned around and she had Down's Syndrome and she was beautiful, and perfect, and funny, and laughing and just like all the other children and in one heartbeat my baby was perfect whatever she turned out to be.

(I got teary eyed typing that - what a wuss)

When DD was born, one week late yet under weight and still covered in downy hair, she was my beautiful baby.

Of course if you've seen and read about DD you'll know she doesn't have Down's Syndrome.

Funny thing though, about genetic diseases. When DD was 2 I was diagnosed with Hereditary Motor and Sensory Neuropathy (also known as Charcot-Marie-Tooth or CMT). They do genetic testing for that you know...I expect you can get a termination based on it...we haven't had DD tested.

I'd like to thank Hayley at Downssideup for the lovely picture of her famous super model daughter Natty :-)