Tag Archive | baby

My baby is beautiful

Harriet had an awful day today.

Cranky all day. Crying needlessly. Just really testy. 

Didn’t want to play. Didn’t want tumny time. Screamed to be fed, screamed on the boob. Didn’t want to be held. Didn’t want to be put down. I mean friggen hell kid you’re either held or you’re not held…please pick one!

The situation was made worse by the fact I currently have a migraine and her constant shrieking was driving me up the wall.

Don’t get me wrong I absolutely adore her and everything about being a mama. But I just needed someone with me today to help out a little when the throbbing in my head became too much. 

So this afternoon when my mother said she was going to do the grocery shopping, I said I’d come too because quite honestly I couldn’t be alone with the crying for a few hours. Not with my head pounding like it was.

So my mother went into the supermarket and I sat outside to wait. Harriet was sitting on my lap wrapped up in a blanket to ward off the last remnants of the winter chill. 

Harriet was finally in a good mood. Alert, cooing, looking around at everything. 

She loves to be in the thick of things. She’s not a laid back or easy-going baby, she enjoys (read: demands) constant stimulation. 

After a few minutes an older lady approached. She was maybe late 50s, with her grown up daughter beside her.

“Oh what a beautiful baby!” she gushed loudly. “Such a gorgeous, beautiful baby!”

And then she rushed over and started patting the big black dog that was tied to the metal leg of the bench I was sitting on. She had been talking about the dog the entire time.

Suddenly she noticed me.

“Oh how awkward,” she said. “You probably thought I meant your baby was beautiful. You probably thought I was talking about your baby.”

Not knowing what else to do I simply smiled at her. I assumed now that she’d put us both in this weird situation she would at least acknowledge Harriet.

I knew all this lady needed to do was make eye contact with Harriet and she would melt into smiles and giggles. She was certainly in the mood for it.

But what happened was entirely the opposite.

“Well that’s just very sad for you and also sad for your baby. I feel bad for you.” the lady simply said before her daughter sniggered and they both walked away laughing.

At first the incident meant nothing to me and I brushed it off. But it’s been 12 hours and now it’s really starting to eat away at me.

The truth is I don’t feel bad for myself, I feel bad for my baby. 

She deserved a little bit of attention from that old lady. Even a quarter of the attention the dog was given. She deserved it because she’s beautiful too.

She deserved it because after a shit of a day she was finally in a good mood and she would have loved the interaction.

She deserved it because all babies are beautiful and even though she couldn’t understand, I know one day she will. And I don’t ever want her to feel like she isn’t worthy of affection.

She deserved it because she gets loved all over by her mama and her nanna but her father barely looks in her direction and my baby deserves all the attention she can get.

She is my miracle. She’s stronger than that old lady will ever know. Strong enough to manage an impossible conception. Strong enough to survive 9 months in a uterus filled with fibroids. Strong enough to cope during her first days, all alone without her mummy’s touch because she was stuck in an incubator on oxygen. 

My miracle baby was shunned today outside a supermarket. I can’t believe I even have to write those words.

And yes it all means nothing. That old lady probably doesn’t like babies and I’m still full of hormones that make me a blubbering mess. I’m aware that I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. 

But I’ll be damned if anybody ever makes my kid feel like she isn’t beautiful when I’m around to prevent it.

My baby is a beautiful, special little miracle. End of story. 

Actually that’s not the end of the story…

When that lady leaned down to pat the big black dog today it snapped at her. Well ain’t that karma!

My Harriet – I am so proud of you and your fierce, sassy little attitude. Don’t ever let anybody make you feel unworthy of attention or affection. You’re my little superstar. Shine brightly always.

Sadie xx

Advertisements

I’m still here (and photos!)

Wowzers. Sorry for being away so long.

Motherhood (particularly as a single mum) has knocked me around very badly. I truly never expected it to be this hard. 

I’ve been battling so many issues that I never thought I’d have to deal with and the anxiety is incredible. I won’t even bother mentioning Harriet’s traumatic birth because I’ll save that for a different post but I’m sure you’ll want some highlights from the past two months…

For starters I’ve got massive breastfeeding problems – I’ve had mastitis six times already. Three times required antibiotics and one was so bad I needed hospitalization. 

The constant antibiotics gave me nipple thrush which is treatment resistent and has now gotten into my milk ducts. It has started travelling to other parts of my body and I now have it in my throat and mouth too.

It means my let-downs feel like someone is pouring acid on my chest and every time Harriet feeds I cry from pain. They keep treating me but it’s not improving.

Hmm what else? Oh yes. James had a total break-down when Harriet was a couple of weeks old and his treatment of me became so terrible even he finally realised he had a massive problem. So I finally got him to a doctor’s clinic and on antidepressants. 

Again, this is a whole other post for another time but let’s just say he has made adjusting to parenthood ten times harder than it should be. I felt like I was raising two children.

I’ve also been struggling massively with anxiety. I’m paranoid Harriet is going to die in her sleep, paranoid she hates me, paranoid I’m going to die and leave her to be raised by James and paranoid she isn’t hitting her milestones or something is wrong with her.

For the first few weeks I didn’t bond with her at all. I would cry and scream and tell my mother something was wrong with me. I needed so badly to protect her and keep her alive but at the same time felt no affection for her. 

The doctor suspects it was due to the fact we were separated straight away when she was born and I didn’t really see her for the first few days so we had no initial skin to skin etc. It was terrifying and the moment the love finally hit me was just utter relief. 

Oh and it’s worth mentioning once again that my ex got remarried just to add to all the fun.

Honestly I have so many half written posts to eventually finish and publish. And the longer I leave it the harder it will be to catch up and say everything I want to say. Except right now I’m not strong enough and I don’t have the energy.

But I swear it’s not all bad! Harriet is 9 weeks old now and time is flying so I thought I’d at least post some photos to see you all through until I can actually post something substantial. And maybe some of the photos will speak for themselves.

All I can say is that she is honestly my whole world. She is my reason for existing. And she is absolutely thriving. She is in the 85th percentile for height and weight and a very smiley contented baby. 

I love her, I love her, I love her.

Week one

Week Two

Week Three

Week Four

Week Five

Week Six

Week Seven

Week Eight

Week Nine

That’s all for now.

I will try hard to update properly soon.

Sadie xx

And then there was her…

image

image

Harriet Quinn S.

Born 12 May at 8.18am.

8 pounds 2 ounces of squishy goodness with a full head of black hair.

We’ve been through a few days of chaos with the little one sick in the neonatal special care unit whilst I was unwell myself after accidentally being administered a drug I was allergic to.

We are still in hospital and I’ll update fully in the near future.

But for now she’s here.

She’s mine.

I couldn’t ask for anything more.

Just adorable

This morning I re-activated my Facebook account, after almost 2 months away from the site.

I got rid of my account after the birth of my niece. I was jealous and bitter and depressed and devastated for myself, because she was due 4 weeks before my Nemo. Suddenly I just couldn’t deal with the endless baby bump photos, pregnancy announcements, and constant stream of baby pictures on my newsfeed anymore. I needed a time-out to save my own sanity.

But today I felt like I was ready. I felt like my anxiety had stabilised, and I was prepared to deal with whatever was waiting for me on the other side of the sign-in screen.

Plus, I figured I would have to get used to looking at my new niece’s face because my sister-in-law and her family are headed our way as of tomorrow to celebrate Christmas with the family. Thankfully they’ve rented their own house nearby instead of crashing at our place like they normally do. This is probably because our renovations are ongoing, but it suits me fine because I won’t be kept awake at night listening to a newborn crying in the next bedroom over. That would have been a cruel Christmas joke.

Nonetheless, the baby will be around whether I like it or not and I don’t want to be so awful that I panic in front of my in-laws. I want to be able to hold the baby without crying. I want to be able to bond with her, and let her bond with me. I love my older niece so much and I really want that with my younger niece too. I want to be a good aunt.

So I logged into Facebook, after all this time away, to future-proof my heart, and acquaint myself with my niece.

And there it was at the top of my newsfeed. A post by that same friend I hid from in the supermarket carpark a few weeks ago (which I wrote about here). A picture. No accompanying description, just an image that contained four words.

ImageYou make adorable babies? You make adorable babies? Well congratulations! Do you want a medal? Do you think you have somehow accomplished something amazing? Do you think you consciously caused your baby to be adorable? No offence but all you did was lie on your back with your legs in the air. That’s how your baby was made. Whoop-dee-doo!

Try making a baby the way I’ve got to make babies and see how you like it. Have a crack at multiple surgeries, invasive tests, medications that make you sick, weight gain, hair loss, memory loss, acne, mood swings, panic attacks, accupuncture, chinese herbs, migraines, hundreds of blood draws, a daily injection regime, bloating and swelling, cramping, never-ending bleeding, egg pick-ups, nervous waits, embryo transfers, progesterone suppositories, pregnancy losses, and cold, clinical evaluations of your failures. And don’t forget to fork out your life savings for the pleasure.

Now I am just angry! I’m grumpy and sour-faced and so peeved at myself for logging onto that horrid website.

See how bitter I am right now? I’m angry because someone is happy that they have an adorable baby. That’s not very fair. Everyone thinks their own children are adorable. Everyone has a right to proclaim that their kids are beautiful. I feel bad for ranting about my friend, and she doesn’t even know I’ve ranted about her. The problem does not lie with her, the problem lies with myself and my inability to cope with a newsfeed filled with happy baby bragging.

Screw Facebook. Seriously. Nothing good ever comes from that place.

Ain’t no infertiles got time for that.

Goodbye again Facebook. I hope I’ve learned my lesson now and I won’t revisit you for a very very long time.

A light in the night

It was very late at night, perhaps almost midnight.

My husband Doug and I were lying in bed, in the dark, listening to the monotonous whoosh of the fan turning overhead and our dog’s quiet snores wafting across the room from his bed in the corner. Just as I was drifting off to sleep the room suddenly lit up.

“That’s your phone.” I said. “Someone has sent you text message.”

“Have they?” murmured Doug, also half asleep. “That’s nice.”

Realising he wasn’t going to fetch his phone off his nightstand, and curious about who would text at such a time, I stretched over his body and plucked his iPhone off the charger. I could see his sister’s name on the brightly lit screen.

“It’s Jess.” I said, shaking him a little. “Maybe the baby is coming?”

My sister-in-law Jess was due any day with her second baby. The one that had taken them three months to conceive. The one that had been flaunted in my face for the past nine months, never mind the fact that for a time earlier in the year we had both been pregnant and I’d lost my chance at happiness in April.

“The baby isn’t coming.” Doug said, taking his phone and putting it back on the charger. “We have just been texting all night. Chatting.”

“This is very late for her to be chatting.” I pointed out, mildly suspicious.

“She has insomnia.” he said dismissively.

With that, he curled his arm around my waist, pulled my body flush against his and whispered in my ear that I should try to get some sleep.

The next morning I was awoken by the sound of my own phone vibrating insistently. Someone was calling me. I forced my eyes open and glanced at the screen. My mother-in-law’s name was buzzing at me. My mother-in-law and I barely speak to each other anymore. She wouldn’t call me at 7am even if her house was burning down. It could only mean one thing. I ignored the call, threw back the blanket, trudged down the hall and found Doug in the shower.

“Your mother is trying to call me.” I said. “She must have baby news.”

Doug turned off the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and crossed the room to wrap his arms around me.

“Jess went into labour yesterday.” he said. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to get a good night’s sleep. The baby was born about an hour ago. It’s a little girl and they named her Amy.”

And that is how my heart broke into a million pieces.

Of course I pretended I was fine, I said how pleased I was that Jess had an easy birth, how excited I was that Layla had a new little sister and then I kissed my husband goodbye as he rushed off to an early work meeting. But as soon as his car’s tail lights had disappeared around the corner I was a sobbing mess.

I cried as I showered myself, cried as I sat with my legs on the edge of the bath tub inserting another tube of Crinone gel into my cervix to provide progerstone support to the low quality embryos that had been transferred six days ago and surely hadn’t implanted. I cried as I dressed myself, cried as I fed the dog, cried as I realised I had spent so long crying that I had now missed the bus and would be late for work. I cried as I reversed my own car out of the drive, cried as I drove to work, cried as I paid for parking, and then somehow managed to pull myself together right before I entered my office. Just after 10am I lost it again, locked myself in one of the bathroom stalls and cried so hard I couldn’t breathe anymore. Gulping for lungfuls of air, I began to choke, and then gag. I thought I was going to pass out.

The birth of new babies are a time for celebration. But I felt like I couldn’t have been more upset if someone had told me my grandmother was dead. This was…grief. But what was I grieving for? I was bitter, despondent and guilty. Good people didn’t react in such a way when they were given happy news. There was clearly something very wrong with me.

Jess and her husband had started trying for their second baby a year after we started trying for our first. And yet here they were actually holding their little bundle of joy, and we were still childless. And filled with hate. Jess and her baby were a reminder of every inadequacy in my reproductive system. They were proof that I was flawed, incapable, a failure.

Another small piece of hope was sapped from my heart that morning. With Jessica’s baby came irrefutable proof that the world was moving on, that the world had never stopped. The world does not wait for me, or my children. Other people around me would fall pregnant and have healthy babies, but my life would continue to be on stand-by. And that was something completely out of my control. Other people were going to feel joy even if I felt none, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I felt absolutely disgusted that I still feel nothing but bitterness, jealousy and anger for Jess and her baby. I don’t know who I have become. I don’t recognise my own face in the mirror anymore. I have become weak, and sad, and little.

Even my fertility doctor noticed that I have “allowed negative thoughts to take over my mind” lately. I haven’t had the emotional strength to blog. I have very much wanted to write, because writing is something I love, and my emotional outlet. But when I would log into wordpress, I’d just stare at the computer screen until I thought I was going to cry, and then click the little red X in the top corner. I had become a shell of myself. A dark blanket has been thrown across my mind, and is stifling my happiness and sense of self.

The fertility doctor said she has seen this happen before. Infertile women reach a point where they are just completely beaten down by their circumstances, and they just become tired of it all. Will I ever be a mother? I don’t know. I can’t answer that question. Does that tear me up inside? Yes, it really does. My doctor has referred me to a new counsellor. My first appointment is next week. She specialises in treating women who are going through IVF, so maybe she will be more understanding than the last counsellor I saw.

I’m not sure how much shit one person can put up with in one year. Major surgery, three cycles of IVF, ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, a frozen embryo transfer, early pregnancy loss, pushing through with my exams and graduating from my masters degree, a horrible bout of the flu, strep throat, pneumonia, finding out I am losing my job at the end of the year, a nasty mother-in-law, watching my sister-in-law have her perfect second baby, and most likely finding out this cycle has also been a bust and my embryos didn’t take. Again.

I found this little quote and I really like it. I think it applies to me. I am trying to make it my mantra.

Image

I am trying to fight my way out of this fog of depression and anxiety. I will try to write more, I will try to tell you about my cycle, I will try to offer you all the support I once offered you. The support I appreciated so much from you, and the support I enjoyed providing in return. I’m not making any promises, but I will try. And maybe one day I will look back on this and feel pride that I made it through to the other side. Maybe.