PND?

I like to be open about my shit. I don’t hide much from the world & for me, putting things out there, even if just in cyber-space, is how I cope; sometimes how I heal.

2016 marks my 8^th year dealing with major anxiety & depression. No one can describe the helplessness, the illogical thoughts & emotions. No one can tell you why or how or what. The symptoms are mostly universal but the reasons are not. Help can come in the form of a mental health professional, a drug, mental & physical exercises, friends & family. The same thing doesn’t work for everyone.

Because these disorders aren’t visible people like me are often given a hard time; stereotyped as unstable, lazy or incompetent. It took me a too long to realise that most of those people don’t have the empathy or intelligence to comprehend such a thing. No longer is my energy wasted on such small minds & closed hearts.

Before getting pregnant I had debated if I could ever even be a parent. There were days when I didn’t go to work; days where I simply didn’t look after myself. Days when I cried as my then-boyfriend hugged me through the tears & pain with no idea why I was crying. How could such a person ever raise a happy & healthy child? Would they inherit this shitty disorder? If so, was it entirely cruel to inflict that on another person?

After just 6 months of a previously untried regime for my mental & emotional health, I was the best I had been in the previous 7 years. Steady, happy with only minor dips that were few and far between. I realised that I wanted a baby & discussed it with my by-then fiancée. We decided to start trying later in the year when we had moved into a better house & there wasn’t so much going on. Falling happened faster than expected & with it came a sudden dread.

Pre & Post Natal Depression hadn’t been on my radar when thinking about bringing a tiny human into the world. Finances, planning for care, a new car, providing everything a baby would need, that was easy. But when that second pink line appeared on my pregnancy test a whole box of unthought-of variables & challenges raised their ugly heads.

I do admin work for a team that receives the discharge summaries of all mothers who give birth at our local hospitals. Going on 5 years now, I know when I see the indicative words/tick boxes that a mother has had previous anxiety or depression; they are more likely to have PND. So I planned for the absolute worst. I planned to have issues connecting with & loving my baby. I planned to need emotional support. I planned to need help tending to my baby. When I went to the doctors to see a psychologist about an unrelated matter, I didn’t use all of the sessions available to me, banking enough to get me through to at least the end of the year. I made appointments with the psychologist & social worker in my own workplace to put in place strategies that would help me cope. I discussed it with all manner of people from my Husband to complete strangers if the conversation had turned that direction.

Towards the end of my pregnancy, I was an emotional & mental wreck. I hated being pregnant. The magical moments of baby kicks, ultrasounds & that absolutely breath-taking  heartbeat of something growing inside me… Those moments were tiny pinpricks in an otherwise endless cycle of nausea, cramps, spewing on the side of the road, hospital visits, more spewing - this time in a freshly run bath, no sleep, feeling weak & useless from the combination of all the above. By the end I loathed it & in turn hated myself. So many women I knew would be so thrilled to be harbouring a healthy little bubba in their womb. So many women I had heard of had been hospitalised for so much of their pregnancy in a worse condition than I was ever in. Then there were the pregnancy unicorns. The women who had no idea such things happened in pregnancy & floated through their 9 months like majestic angels with their amazingly capable baby-carrying bodies & minds. Those bitches could piss right off from about my 30 week mark.

In my last 9 weeks of Charli-baking, I went downhill. My Husband watch me cry, complain, get frustrated, sob, eat chocolate for comfort, throw said chocolate up & then start all over again. We sat through countless nights of talking out how I was feeling & one weekend even ended up at the hospital as my anxiety had amped up so much & my depression had set in as not to budge; a combination a lot of people don’t believe is possible but I can vouch for it being very real & consuming. Thankfully, Doctor Matt was on duty that day. Everyone remember Dr Matt from my birth post? He was the one who delivered Charli. This particular weekend he sat on the edge of my hospital bed, rubbed my leg & told me that I was doing an outstanding job. He told me growing a tiny human was exhausting & took so much physical, mental & emotional energy that I needed to stop beating myself up for feeling crappy. He spoke to Jake who told him I was not sleeping & all of the details of the threatened pre-term labour that had been on & off since 27 weeks. Dr Matt looked me square on & stated I was going to take some pain relief, some sleeping tablets (all perfectly fine for bub of course) & I was going to stay in the hospital until I got a proper sleep. Then I was going to eat a hot meal & take my time going home. Yes, Dr Matt.

Finally, Charli arrived. That had been my light at the end of the tunnel. I had been waiting for the moment when my nausea would stop, when I wouldn’t need to carry around that little red bucket & “Chuckies” in my handbag just in case… I would build up strength again. I would be sleeping better, able to get comfortable at least (everyone laughed at me on this one, but I was right).

But I could not tend to my little girl at all on her first night. On so many drugs I wouldn’t have trusted myself to hold her alone & I certainly couldn’t pick her up while standing – I could barely stand myself until the next day. So as always, Jake was there when he was needed the most; looking after our daughter on his own without even blinking on his very first night as a parent.

After what felt like failing that first night because I was incapable of caring for Charli, I was keen for the second night. Jake was getting a good night’s rest at home, Charli & I were still in hospital. Exhaustion was inevitable & unlike the night before where she woke every 2-3 hours for a bum change & a feed, she DID NOT SLEEP. I could buzz the nurses any time I needed to but I was her mother for Christ’s sake, I needed to be able to do this! My very favourite midwife from my night prior to Charli’s birth (the tucker-inerer) was on duty. She noticed at about 12am that Charli & I hadn’t slept AT ALL. I asked if Charli could take a dummy at this stage – I of course hadn’t thought to pack one. Tucker-inerer swiped us a dummy that she was not supposed to give out… I told her I had no idea where it came from.

By 2am when the dummy still hadn’t worked she came back & stole Charli. “You can’t see to her when you can barely keep your eyes open!! Let me take her for an hour & feed her. Go to sleep.” She came back with a wrapped, sleeping bub which lasted all of 20 minutes. I think I got an absolute total of an hours sleep, broken over that night. I had messaged my Husband at some point in the wee hours of the morning “Get here as soon as you can please, bring her dummies!” & then I waited. My second failure as a mother in as many days as she had been in the world? I wasn’t cut out for this & started to wonder what happened when a mother couldn’t even take care of her own child. Would someone take her off me? Would Jake & I have to swap roles so I could work while he cared for her? He was obviously better at it than I was.

I waited until it was late enough for people who didn’t have a newborn to be awake… 6:45am I text my Mum, trying not to raise her ‘My Daughter is having a meltdown Alarm, I subtlety asked what she was doing that day:

Then I called her & had my first major Mummy melt-down. Why did she cry all night – I couldn’t stop her crying!?! I changed her, I fed her, I hugged her, I gave in & tried her on a dummy. Jesus Christ! I can’t do this. How was I supposed to take care of her if we both didn’t sleep? My Mum, amazing as always when she knows what’s what told me I was doing fine, she reassured me in all ways possible & said the golden words – she would be coming to the hospital for a visit that day. Relief flooded all of me.

When Jake came I explained to him about my night. He helped me shower & then we both took care of Charli. We both ate… Visitors came & went & then the sun started to go down & with it my confidence. As the stars started to twinkle in the twilight so did my anxiety. What if it was a repeat of the night before? I got myself in a right state – twisted myself in knots to the point of a full blown panic attack from which there was no escape. I needed to calm down. I asked the nurse for a sleeping tablet. I wasn’t allowed. I had a baby to care for; I couldn’t be sleepy or disoriented. And so, my amazing Husband came to my rescue AGAIN. I was allowed to take a sleeping tablet if Jake stayed until I was capable of caring for Charli alone. I can’t remember how much sleep I was able to get but I remember that when I woke, I was much more level-headed. Jake headed home & I stayed with Charli in the hospital again. We had a good night.

The next day, weary & more than ready to go home there was no hint that only the previous day, I had been an anxious mother who had had a major meltdown. I had this covered! And there it began – the pattern of what would be my next 3 months. Over that time I encountered quite a few post-partum medical issues that called for all sorts of medication; one of which was to stop excessive bleeding. It was basically a concentrated contraceptive pill that screwed with my hormones… Shit hit the fan in a big way. One day Jake got home, I handed Charli to him said I needed to go & then left the house for something like 3 hours. Messy doesn’t begin to cover how things were that week. I didn’t know that I would come out the other side. I honestly had done enough to keep Charli & I alive. I avoided leaving the house, I didn’t answer the phone. I wanted so bad to just give up. I was a terrible mother. Look at my disgusting house! No ironing done, no dinners cooked. I began to hate myself even more. It killed me that nothing was getting done & it was my own fault; but at exactly the same time, I didn’t give a rat’s ass.

To this very day the cycle continues. I have days where I kill it. I get out of the house, have a coffee with Mum, do some early Christmas shopping, have 3 loads of washing done & away in one day, dinner is ready, I’ve exercised, dogs are fed & cleaned up after, the grass is watered, maybe a spot of ironing. In the 3 times “Crazy Stupid Love” played I caught all of it. Charli was fed & changed; tummy time & bumbo time were achieved. I remembered to take my vitamins.

Then there are just as many days that I sit on my lounge room floor & cry. I put the TV on for background noise & take in none of it. I feed Charli & change her. I eat crap food to fill the void that seems to be consuming me. I stress about finances & the cleanliness of the house to a ridiculous point. I avoid talking to anyone; I look at the ironing pile & wonder what the point is. I get frustrated when Charli cries & instead of talking to her & soothing her as I normally would, I just cry with her. It’s a pretty miserable existence on those days.

I don’t actually know if I what I am experiencing would be classified as Post Natal Depression/Anxiety. It makes sense that it would be, I was doing a lot better prior to the end of the pregnancy. Beyond that I have reverted (mind you, not nearly as badly) to the thoughts/feelings/actions of the person I was before I found my perfect balance. Whether just a circumstantial increase to those somewhat dormant parts of myself or an entirely new thing I am experiencing, it’s happening. Symptom wise, I’ve been here before, been to what was for me the depths of hell. Up & down. I have no real control over it at times & in a way I suppose I am used to it.

The scary difference now is Charli.

The bad days currently don’t have much effect on her, she probably feels my anxiousness but not to the point of being upset by it. She is looked after & cared for & loved on the worst of my days. But what I fear is the future. I cannot let her see me like this, especially if she is doomed to the same mental & emotional health problems. I need her to see a strong, independent, happy female role model. I need to show her how to deal with it. So that is what I am striving towards every day. I honestly believe I will be able to find that healthy balance again in the not too distant future.

I hope that anyone who has ever felt this way in ANY circumstance, parent or not, who is dealing with these things. I hope you find your way. Sometimes it's overcome, sometimes it's for life. Find your own balance & keep going. <3

Respect

I remember when I was pregnant; I went to my older sister’s house where we chatted about the excitement of another little bub coming in to the family. As the conversation kept rolling, big sis started asking me about my intentions; with dummies, with feeding, with sleeping. All of a sudden she stopped herself & said – “Oh Ash I am so sorry! Please don’t think I am telling you what to do or thinking what you are going to do is wrong.” I had never once felt that way during the conversation but appreciated that she had thought to say it. I had always felt (and still do) that she was just giving her experiences & opinion to give me any help & information that might help with my own decision making. But my decisions were always mine. They were respected & I have never been made feel like I am doing anything wrong even though I know for a fact I have done things with Charli my sister probably wouldn’t have dreamt of with her little girl.

My family & some of my friends have shown me this same courtesy. They have always given us information if they think we may not have it but were not offended or negative if we chose another way. I cannot thank these people enough for their support, their interest in Charli’s well-being & their respect for our decisions as Charli’s parents.

The rest of the assholes out there that think Jacob & I are such terrible parents can go jump off something high, without a parachute, preferably into some sharp jaggered rocks…

After 9 months of pregnancy & almost 4 months of motherhood, I’ve just about had enough of the rest of the world; the people who know better because they have a kid as well. Your kid is not the same as my kid. All babies & children develop differently, hate & like different things, need comforting differently. Piss off with your know-it-all attitude!

I think the kicker is that I REALLY don’t agree with most of the parenting styles these people have adopted themselves but of course I never said anything because it’s NOT MY KID. It’s not my place. If it hits such a nerve I feel I need to talk to anyone about it I discuss it with someone else!! Even if it is something I wouldn’t do it with Charli in a blue fit - if that’s what works for you & your kid, go for freaking gold mate! Just show me the same respect.

Advice is different to an opinion. If you have open advice with no expectation that I will end up doing exactly that with Charli, please share. If you have an opinion on how my child should be raised, kindly shut your hole.

Then there are the people who disrespect your wishes in front of your face & mock them as if you’re not standing RIGHT THERE. I have ignored the mocking so far, as long as my wishes for Charli are being upheld. I have heard my Husband have to demand for Charli to be treated in such a way or be given back to him. Daddy-hood has made my calm, easy going husband a big protective bear & I love it.

I suppose I am just still shocked that people are so ridiculously disrespectful. I have decided after this past weekend that I am going to tackle things a little differently from now on & really take no shit. Anyone who can’t respect my parenting doesn’t deserve to be in my or Charli’s life anyway so bring it right on.

I also want my Mummy friends to know that if I have EVER shared with you or talked to you about parenting I hope I have never made you feel the way I have been made felt by so many others. My intention was always to share advice for you to take as you please, as my wonderful sister does. If I actually disagreed with anything I would have kept my mouth shut anyway. It is simply not my place & I don’t go there.

I know a lot of amazing parents out there that I love sharing my experiences with; the ones I don’t have to filter my thoughts with. You guys rock. Keep doing your thing. We are all kick ass Mums & Dads <3

Lost & Found

People couldn’t seem to help giving advice when I was pregnant. Majority of it was appreciated. Some of it was frustrating. Some of it was pure gold.

One of the things I didn’t expect to hear was: “you have to make sure you don’t lose yourself.” I ventured to ask more as I had never considered that having a child would cause me to “lose” myself in any way. I asked if they meant that I needed to take time out, go see a movie every once in a while, take an hour when hubby returned home to have a relaxed shower & read a chapter of a book. I asked if they meant it was because there was less time for themselves to pursue hobbies. Nope. Of the five women who warned me of this like it was the end of days, all five stated that from the minute their babies were born they weren’t themselves ever again…

None of this really worried me. Throughout my pregnancy I was pretty chill about the prospect of birth & everything after that. But it sat in the back of my mind.

In some of the weeks that followed Charli’s birth, the words of those women came back to haunt me… they seemed close to true & I felt as though I had fallen in to an endless cycle of washing formula stains out of cot sheets & trying to stay awake during night feeds. The endless streak of bodily ailments certainly didn’t help me feel any better & daily anxiety with an equal dose of depression became the steady grind… I started to muse over their words & doubt myself.

My life has changed - no doubt about it; from making life decisions to watching TV shows.

I have had the same disc of Friends episodes play 4 times & I still haven’t seen the whole thing. I drive slower. My handbag is in the back of the closet & only makes appearances once a month or so now. It took a lot of thinking before we picked a new car to buy. There was a lot of consideration before we planned our next holiday. My body is entirely different to pre-pregnancy. There are only a couple of nights a week my Husband & I are awake enough to talk to one another in depth. Obviously, there are a million other things.

Then today, I suddenly found my answer. I was pushing mortar into weep holes around my brother’s house when a pair of tiny white & pink striped socks fell out of the top of my singlet. I had stuffed them in my shirt to make a quick escape from the crowded nurse’s room where Charli was weighed earlier that morning.

For some reason or another, my mind went through it all then, everything from the past nine & a half weeks. With mortar coved hands, I stuffed the socks back in my top & smiled.

I do everything I would have done before Charli was born – if a little slower. I still read. I still give rock-star level performances in the car & shower. I lay turf in spring & make sure the dogs have ice through the summer. I ask questions when I’m not sure & lean on the people I need to. There are also times I have confidence to put an entire car-yard sales team to shame. I still go to my brothers & fill weep holes with mortar & cut timber for the deck that he is currently building. I also cut up lunch & make dinner for the other helping hands. I stop in between it all at the moment to play Mum which in the years to come will evolve into something different all the time.

The ladies were right to some extent. From the second Charli made her first cry & lay on my chest, my life shifted. Absolutely nothing else mattered but the health & happiness of this new little human.  But, I do being Ash so much better as Charli’s Mum. I enjoy all of the same things for myself but I choose to do things with the knowledge that it impacts Charli & that my little girl will be watching my every move from now on. I want her to watch all of the things I do & all of the things I can’t do; the day-to-day grind, the accomplishments, the attempts & the failures alike.

Becoming a mother & my beautiful daughter has filled my life with more purpose & strength than ever before.

I have not lost but I have found.

A Little Black Dress

I’ll never forget my little black dress. It was a slip on dress that fit so well there was no bra required. It had tasteful little cut outs around the sides of the torso, covered in with sheer material but enough to show off my back tattoos that I love so much. I wore that dress three times.

Before the debut of the little black dress I had been struggling with an unrelated illness that lead me to lose so much weight I became dangerously thin.

At the point I bought the dress, I was getting to the healthier side of thin – no longer were there jutting hip bones/ribs.

Post the days of the little black dress I got to my heaviest weight & started to feel very uncomfortable. No longer did I have the luxury of wearing whatever I wanted  & even the clothes that I could wear made me feel self-conscious; not just in public either – I hated being in my own skin in my pyjamas at home.

I have never had a good relationship with my body. Confidence was always below zero – I never felt comfortable or entirely happy even when I was at my, what would be deemed by society, “best”.

The airbrushed models that are now the face of every billboard, magazine & movie in the known world are no help to any normal person’s confidence. Wait on, did I say face? I meant body. They’re sexualising everything now, right? Who needs a face when you can just take off your clothes? Can you tell I have a problem with this…?

All of these things weighed on me when deciding to become a mother. If I had a boy, how could I teach him what a load of shit it all was & that women are actually normal with “flaws” that are their own & make them beautiful. How did I make sure he learnt enough respect that he never treated any girl the way so many men had treated me in my lifetime?

What if I had a girl? I cried at the prospect. I never wanted my little girl to ever feel the things I had felt. Being leered & jeered at by creeps that made my skin crawl. Feeling so conscious of every part of my body & making sure I was never inappropriate but also juggling wanting to feel attractive. For me it’s the most relentlessly horrible part of being a woman. The kicker being that it is entirely society’s fault & not my own. How did I let her know it was ok? How did I shower her with enough confidence that the constant barrage of images didn’t affect her but enough self-respect to be conservative…?

It was 4 days after Charli was born that I happened to glance in the mirror as I was getting out of the shower. Not interested in much else but sleep at that point I was shocked to see the state of my body. Seriously engorged breasts above a belly of jello & on that jello belly a mass of stretch marks that hadn’t made their presence known until after birth. My belly had been so tight at the end that there was no sign of them while I was still pregnant.

After the shock of “Is that me?” wore off I took a second look. I laughed to myself & got dressed. I went to my Husband & announced “I have quite bad stretch marks on the bottom of my belly, they’re actually tracked into my skin, not raised.” Ever the positive voice of my life, Jake straight away began with “It’s okay!” in a voice that dripped with sympathy & worry. I’m sure he would have continued to tell me why it was okay had I not stopped him in his tracks with my next sentence:

“I love them!”

My poor bemused Hubby done a few fish-mouth movements before smiling & finally toppling out a “That’s great!” I am sure that by this point my low self-esteem had become such a part of the relationship grind that a few moments of gaping at me were warranted.

I can’t tell you exactly what happened in my moments alone with the mirror but I can tell you that there was a wave of contentment & pride. I have never been more relaxed or happy in my own skin. I can confidently give society the finger & feel zero shame about my appearance. I want to get rid of the rest of the jello that still resides in my lower belly but for no one else but me & nothing more than to fit comfortably into my wardrobe.

There is only one thing in the entire world that I wish. That is for Charli to find the same contentment, confidence & respect for herself that it took me 25 years and a pregnancy to find. I hope she has a little black dress that she can wear without shame, stress or self-consciousness. I hope that I can give that to her in bucket loads of love & self-worth with a dash of confidence.

To all of you ladies out there that I know are fighting to find a love for their own bodies, post baby or not, I hope you find what I found in the mirror that day. Make yourself your own kind of perfect & be totally, unconditionally happy. For me, that’s rocking the hell out of these stretch marks this coming summer and for all of the seasons & years to follow.

Strength and Forgiveness

Although I had been luckier than a lot of women throughout my pregnancy I had still not enjoyed a large portion of those long 9 months. I had been so looking forward to Charli’s arrival, not only to meet little miss but to be physically well & capable in myself; something I had not felt in the longest time.

So when I went to leave my bed an hour or so hour post birth & could not stand on my own two feet, I was unimpressed. The nurses explained - after I almost slid right off the bed - that the epidural would inhibit me for a while longer. I needed a shower & had to enlist the help of my Mum, a midwife and a shower chair. I also noticed that having been mostly awake for going on 37 hours & pumped full of different drugs along the way – I was extremely weak in general & not confident to hold my baby girl. I was unable to care for her on her first night in the world, which broke my heart a little. Insert reliable Husband who set himself up across 2 very uncomfortable chairs & stayed the night by our side, seeing to both of our needs.

I remember one of my sisters giving birth to her son & only hours later when we went to visit; she was sitting cross-legged on her hospital bed, bright-eyed & happy, waiting to be discharged. Although I was under no illusion that labour would be easy, this was my post-labour expectation. I was to be sorely disappointed…

Charli & I spent the next 2 full days in hospital. Between my catheter, the very tender epidural site, the 2^nd degree tear, my legs still heavy from drugs & not having moved for so long, along with the tender and icky belly; it’s safe to say I was a little bit of a mess. To be able to enjoy Charli & look after myself properly was the light at the end of my tunnel. Little did I know things were about to get much worse and very quickly.

Finally home, I woke up at 5:07am on Day 4. After checking on Charli & putting Husband on baby alert I settled in on the couch - a harder task than one would imagine. I had to find a way to sit just so to make sure the swelling/stitches situation was at minimum ouch.

At Charli’s midnight feed I had started to feel that my boobs were super sore & even laying on my side was uncomfortable. I had heard about filling nappies with water and putting them in the freezer for icing down engorged breasts to help with the discomfort. So there I sat on a very cold July morning trying to balance the frozen nappies on the by then very tender boobs & still keep as warm as possible.

Although feeling quite a mess, I had big plans for the day ahead. We would take Charli to see the Child Health Nurse, I would go to the doctor to ask for medication to stop the lactation (which I had asked for in the hospital & been talked around not needing as “you should be fine as long as you don’t have them under a warm shower & don’t encourage the supply.”) Jake & I would also catch up on some much needed grocery shopping.

It all went to shit. Firstly we missed my doctor’s appointment which didn’t seem to be a huge problem until about 2 hours later when we were in the middle of Woolies where my milk came in & I was suddenly flushed & feeling sick. To add to the mix, we had picked the trolley from hell & since Charli could smell my milk & would scream the shop down if she came near me, I was stuck pushing it... By the time we had added a slab of bottled water and a bag of dog food my still recovering body was struggling to push the weight along & counter the dodgy wheel.

Well. We were those people. With the inconsolable 3-day-old that was Screaming. Not crying. Screaming.

3 aisles left; there was no way this bitch was leaving without finishing the job, so we battled on.

I was a blubbering mess by the time we were in the car coming home, not only could I not hold my daughter but I just felt generally miserable in myself.

Pulling into our street I was treated to the most relieving sight - my Mum’s car. She had swung in as she had been nearby & knew we should be almost home. I stumbled out of the car & all but collapsed in her arms. Thank god for Mum, really. She called the doctor as I desperately rushed into the shower & ran cold water over my now throbbing boobs. They were leaking milk everywhere I turned. Mum drove me to the doctor. I have a male GP who is absolutely amazing & visibly flinched when I pulled up my top to show him what was happening. I had Mastitis – bad. Immediately I was rushed to get a script for antibiotics, as well as medication to stop my milk coming in & something to help with the pain. Back home, once again Jake was on full time baby duty (after putting frozen cabbage on my boobs of course, which was supposed to ease the pain) With hubby going solo as a parent for the second time in the very week she was born, I knocked myself out with panadine forte & slept the pain away.

One thing I had been extremely aware of was the impending doom that was the first post-partum bowel movement… And I had prepared. I had eaten so much fruit & having taken so much panadine forte, had even gone as far as downing a whole packet of sugar-free lollies to make things as painless as possible. It didn’t go too badly and my fruit/lolly combo done exactly what I had intended… but STILL, after all that effort - haemorrhoids. I’d had them since late in the pregnancy & obviously 90 minutes of pushing during labour hadn’t helped that situation, but they had been pretty dormant after birth. Not sure if purely from being outdone by the rest of my ailments or if they just weren’t too bad. But now, they were back and most uncomfortable. Having mastered the art of sitting to avoid hurting my stitches I now had to adjust & find a way to sit that didn’t stir up either of the downstairs issues…

Thankfully by the next day, although still extremely tender, I was able to function without the sheer weight of engorged breasts making me tear up & had found a bearable position I could sit in. So of course, with the pain killers making things doable, I pushed my limits. I cleaned my entire house. From top to bottom, starting at like 3am. By the afternoon I was shattered & could feel my body starting to ache & throb… more pain killers down the hatch and thank Christ, because my body did not like the excessive activity. You see, after-birth pains are a thing. Did anyone else know that? I sure as shit didn’t until I was curled up in a ball on my bed yelling at my Husband to call the doctor because how can it possibly feel like I’m going into labour again?? It ended up passing quite quickly & I’m sure that was due to the timely taking of pain killers. The day after that I was not so lucky & ended up in a ball once again, this time on my lounge room floor, amidst guests. Just keeping it classy. The pains lasted much longer this time but thankfully were the last bad bought.

Now the medication I was taking to stop my breast milk coming in seemed to be working its magic but by the Sunday I realised it was making me quite lethargic & uncoordinated. With Jake headed back to work I had to stop taking them to look after Charli. This meant prolonging the lactation. Yay. Like I didn’t have enough stained crop-tops. Luckily the mastitis went away with one course of antibiotics. Not so lucky was the second course of antibiotics that I needed a few days later because my stitches were infected…

Basically it never seemed to end. And it hasn’t. Here I am 3 and a half weeks post birth, just finding out yesterday that the antibiotics have now given me thrush. My milk has not yet completely gone & is still making nice yellow marks all over my bras. I haven’t even started to worry about getting rid of the haemorrhoids yet…

We are getting there. Slowly, but surely. I have to interject here and say that without the patience & unbelievable care of my Husband & my Mum, I don’t know how I would have made it through all of this. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything. From getting the washing off to talking on the phone when I thought I might pass out on the toilet & especially for being there 120% for Charli when I couldn’t.

On the days I have felt physically defeated – leading so easily to being emotionally & mentally defeated, I have to remember one very simple fact. I had a baby. I harboured my little she-beast all the way to term & gave birth, one of the most beautiful & also one of the cruellest things my body has ever been through. The last 3 plus weeks have not been a result of my body’s weakness but of its strength. And although I probably would have told you differently at the time, I would do it all again; to hear her precious little squeaks, see her beautiful little face, watch her grow & learn so much so quickly. We aren’t even a month in. I have years ahead to appreciate the amazing little girl that is currently lining her nappy right next to me.

So give me the 3 weeks. I’ll cry & hurt & be incapacitated. And I’ll forgive myself all of it for the absolutely astounding feat my body has endured. I’ll also have one of the most incredible gifts life can offer, being a Mum.

Most of all though, I have Charli. My world is better by far every single day.

The things no one can ever tell you

Every pregnancy, labour & birth story are different. In saying that, no amount of story-telling & sharing different experiences can possibly prepare you for your own. This story is mine alone & I'm sharing it because I love it & I am amazed by it even now.

This is a follow on from my very first post on this blog. I left that at square on midnight when I was tucked into my hospital bed by a wonderful nurse. She had made every effort to make me comfortable through my pains that had quickly gone from irregular & notable to consistent & increasingly uncomfortable. I'm a lightweight for drugs - a half of a Panadeine Forte can tide me through most pains & sometimes put me to sleep. I had been given a full 2 of these on top of a sleeping tablet to put me out for what remained of the night.

Approximately 40 minutes after my tuck-in & pain relief I was doing laps of my hospital room. I don't remember sending Jake a message: "Holy crap J, this pain is really intense & it's only the beginning". I do remember finally hitting my buzzer for a nurse - the same bed-tucker-inerer came to see me. She watched me do a lap of the room as I explained that my pain was becoming much more frequent & intense. After another one of those lovely examinations to check if I was any more dilated, she told me to wait until she rang through to birth suites & she would let me know when to call my Husband to come in. I waited. I paced. That is all I remember until I was finally given the okay to call Jake. I had no concept of time then but I now know that I had walked around the small circle of my hospital room for over 2 hours. I called Jake & apparently told him to "Call Mum & tell her to get ready. Come in now" This happened just as a midwife named Lauren came & walked me down to Birth Suites.

As I walked into the suite where I would give birth, my waters broke. I dropped drawers & the nurse calmly told me that Charli had done a poo in the womb and would need to be monitored throughout the labour. That really went over my head a little at the time. Not for lack of knowing that it wasn't ideal for bub, but because all I could think of was how to deal with the pain I was in right then.

Heat is my friend where pain is concerned - I've always relied on hot baths & heat packs to soothe whatever aches & pains I have. Throughout my pregnancy & in the lead up to birth, I had strongly opted for not having an epidural. I knew that statistically an epidural could lead to a cesarean, something I did not want to recover from, especially with Jake having so little time off work post birth. I had told Jake a number of times that if it came to him having to advocate for me, to not let me get an epidural. We had packed Jake's board-shorts & rashie so that he could get into the bath or shower with me if I needed him to - that was my plan - the shower, the bath & a lot of walking.

So, after being told Charli would need to be monitored for the remainder of the labour, I simply asked when I could get in the bath. The midwife followed up with "You won't be able to get in the bath because we need to be able to monitor baby." 

I remember a little bit of the panic starting right then. How was I supposed to go through this without my damn bath!? I strongly felt the need to have warmth on every part of my body below the chest. My reaction was to then demand a shower as I paced the room, to which the midwife replied that they would need a waterproof monitor which they would have to find. Until then I needed to come to the bed & either lay or stand beside it - I could not pace the room right now - I needed to be on the monitor.

At this I mustered all of the calm that I could & stood at the side of the bed using it to lean & sway, taking side to side steps holding onto the thought that I would be in the shower soon & that would help.

Suddenly I was alone. There was no one in the birth-suite, which seemed to have grown into an abyss of cold & discomfort. The panic really set in. I remember calling out "Hello!" a few times before simply getting the shits:

"Would someone PLEASE HELP!!"

Lauren the midwife then came back into the room, a little miffed that I was yelling at her. This was the conversation that followed:

Lauren: "We are very busy down here tonight" 

Brain: Well excuse me for having a baby...

Me: "When can I get in the shower?"

Lauren: "There are no water-proof monitors; you can't get in the shower"

Brain: Noooononononono. 

More panic sets in.

Me: "Give me gas then, I can't do this, I need gas."

Wordless shitty-at-the-labouring-woman Lauren wheels over the gas & gives me the tube. It really does jack shit for me at the time. I suck on the mouthpiece as hard as I can but given I have gotten myself into a full on panic by this point, it wasn’t much help. It also began to make me very dizzy and I could not stand independently.

So there I was, draped over the edge of the bed with monitors swinging off me everywhere, sucking on a tube that seemed to only be making it harder to deal with the pain, not helping it. I could not get to the bath, the shower or even pace the room & I kept being left on my own. With all of my coping mechanisms stripped away, panic was now at top notch. All I can remember saying the next time I was graced with Lauren's presence was “I can’t do it, get the epidural now."

After being promised she would get it organised, she offered me some morphine. What's that? Another drug to help me deal with this blinding pain? Yes, please. Shoot me up, sister!

Jake and Mum arrive & I am then given the morphine, but not before making it perfectly clear to Jake that after all of my ranting about not having an epidural, I was having one & this was not one of those times when I say I'm not okay & he can then follow up with "You're okay". He got the message straight away...
I don't remember most of the rest first hand; to me it was just black, contraction & black again. Jake told me that during the hours that followed before an epidural was finally administered, he was on heat pack duty, holding a pack to my abdomen the entire time in the most awkward position possible. Mum remained across the bed from me, giving my gas when a contraction would come. I cried when Jake recounted what had transpired in those wee morning hours. He told me I would rouse on him if the heat pack went into slightly the wrong spot & also that I had told my Mum to please get the gas tube out of my face. I don't recall a very large portion of this time & cringe to think that I was in such a place to be so rude to my support team. I do recall calling out to Mum every time she let go of my hand, "Don't leave me" even though she was only going to get more water or ice.

Finally an anaesthetist arrived, I don't know how but I was suddenly in a sitting position on the side of the bed. Having watched an epidural be administered before, I knew that I had to stay as still as possible so I would panic when a contraction would come on as they were working. Mum & Jake were holding a hand each when suddenly my 6'3" Husband started to get light-headed. Having next to no sleep himself & nothing to eat he was on his way to passing out when they nurse quickly pushed a chair in behind him & rushed to get a cordial. Poor waif.

Suddenly it's daylight, Lauren the cranky midwife has left & there are now 2 ladies seeing to me - a midwife & student. They have checked my cervix again & we have reached 8cm. I am finally becoming more aware of what is going on & am able to hold conversations. Jake had contacted Lana, my best friend who had long ago organised to take photos at the birth. Lana was on her way to the hospital & now that I was no longer in pain, Mum & Jake were organising themselves food & coffee. I chugged some Gatorade to get my energy up & started to notice my breathing was funny. Panic setting in again, I told the nurses how I felt & they quickly got to work - the epidural had worked a little too well. My chest was numb & although my body was doing the action of breathing & I was getting all of the oxygen I needed - I couldn't feel it.

It took some time but the drug started to ease off, getting lower & lower in my body. This was tested with little ice packets. If I could feel the cold, it had worn off... 

To me the hours went quickly then - they had taken the epidural drug way down & I could feel contractions now & needed gas to work through them. In all of the time that had passed, though - my labour had slowed right down, just as I had feared it would after having an epidural. In went the hormone drip to get things happening again. It worked.

The doctor on duty who insisted on being called "Matt" was a godsend. He had been there for a previous presentation during pregnancy & both Jake & I had been so impressed with his demeanour & care we had jokingly said we would have to arrange to give birth while he was on shift. Our little wish-joke had come true. Matt had been in & out of the room during the day, checking on things always with a kind word to me & a pat on the leg. Now he strode in full of purpose, clapping his hands together - "Let's get this baby out!"

Sure thing, Dr Matt.

Although I could now feel my contractions I wasn't confident of when I should push & the student midwife coached me through the entire process. I'd check if it was okay to go & I would push with everything I had. For the longest time leading up to labour, I had been so concerned about making sure I was wearing a decent crop-top. Some of mine are slightly see-through & knowing Lana would be taking photos, I wanted to be covered up. But as I went from on my back, to my side, to all fours, the hospital gown was stripped away. So there I ended up completely starkers with 4 nurses, 2 doctors, a paediatrician & my support team watching. I simply didn't care.

After an hour and a half of pushing, I had completely lost hope. To me, I had pushed with absolutely all my might & there had been little to no progress. I felt like it was never going to work. Back onto my back now, I could see Dr Matt making a cutting motion with his fingers. While they prepared to give me an episiotomy, another contraction came on and with a little help from Dr Matt, Charli suddenly came into the world.

At 3:17pm on July 24th my little girl was born. The umbilical cord that was wrapped around her neck was pulled free & she was laid on my chest where she uttered her first little cry. I can't begin to describe the feelings & thoughts that encompassed me at that point. I just know that my entire being shifted in an instant, I now had a new purpose & I embraced that with so much love & contentment I never knew existed.

These are the things no one can ever tell you. From the intense depths of labour to the sudden expansion of your heart that accommodates so much love for this tiny little being, you think you may have even grown a second one... This is something only each person can experience themselves & it is one of the most overwhelmingly amazing things I have ever felt in my life.

Somehow my heart still seems to grow every day, this tiny little person fills it up even more every moment. I am so lucky to be a Mum & can't wait to see what happens in the rest of the adventure of Mummy-hood.

The Beginning of the Beginning...

Last Friday night my husband & I decided we would drive to Hastings Point the following morning. This is a beach/inlet some 60 minutes south of us but we were determined to take the dogs to the beach for a run before baby arrived as we would not get a chance for a long time. We packed my miniature kite, a fossiking bucket (which had been used throughout my entire pregnancy as a spew vessel) & some snacks for the road... 

The best laid plans of mice & men.

At 4am the day of our hopeful little family outing I put myself in a bath. Since 27 weeks pregnant I had had issues with an "irritable uterus" & constant urinary tract infections. It felt similar, if a little more painful. There were contractions or "tightenings" as some of the medical world prefer you to call them when you're not having an "active" labour.
At this point, with the warm water over my belly, usually things ease off. Being 39+4 weeks pregnant at this point & told for so long how I could not possibly go to term, I was now a non-believer. Every time this kind of thing happened I rolled my eyes & waited for it to pass - "just another day harbouring the she-beast" I would tell myself & those around me. The pains didn't ease this time but stayed steadily at the same level of pain, although very irregular. I called my Mum about mid-morning who said "This could be it!" I didn't really want to hope after all of the disappointing hospital trips & days of sitting around in the same situation. Mum suggested a walk to move things along.

After our sudden change in plans we hadn't gotten our mutts out for their run at the beach so Jake harnessed them up & on a walk we went. It was cute, my Husband leaning way back to counter the pull of our ferociously strong Maggie, me bumbling a pace or so short of them with what felt like a beach ball packed to bursting with cement under my dress. Nelson, usually quite idiotic & excitable, still crazy happy but stopping to look back on me every few steps, as if I was going to disappear...

One successful walk & a shower later... I lay down, noting it was almost midday. I sat bolt upright in the middle of trying to have a rest. It had been almost 8 hours since i had first gotten in the bath... I had not felt movement from Charli that whole time & could not for the life of me recall if there had been activity in the nighttime hours. I rang the hospital & was advised to come in immediately to check on bub.

By the time we made it to the hospital, my belly was so tight the midwife had trouble feeling where Charli was laying. For the past 12 weeks every time they checked Charli's heart rate, she was in the exact same spot so I directed the midwife to where I knew she would be. Monitor in place & I heard nothing... The midwife checked the opposite side to find my daughters heart beating strong & regular as ever. A flurry of tears escaped me as I released a tension & dread I hadn't realised had built up so strong.

Things happened very quickly from there... We stayed on the monitor, Charli remained very quiet with her movements. An ultrasound & some discussion later they wanted to examine the cervix & see whether there was activity there. The head doctor wanted to do this examination himself & proceeded to on the spot. Much to Jake & my disbelief, he announced that I was 3cm dilated. Before we had time to comprehend, he then conducted a surprise "stretching" to this part of my anatomy which made my eyes water. While I was blinking myself back into the world he casually stripped off his gloves and stated "We will admit you overnight & see what happens. We may have to send you home in the morning if things don't progress, but I'd say baby will be born in the next 24 hours..."

Under the impression this would just be another false alarm we had brought nothing to the hospital with us. This meant a run home for Jake to grab everything. With the possibility of having no further activity we told only a few people about the situation as it unfolded. Jake stayed with me until after visiting hours finished & left for home at something like 9pm. There had been no changes in the pains or frequency since 4am, so I was fairly certain I would be sent home the next morning to wait things out...

11:22pm - Jake & I say goodnight via messages after I say that my pain is uncomfortable & I might ask the nurses for something so that I at least get some sleep. I do this, the beautiful nurse that was on could see how uncomfortable I was & even tucked me in to bed with heat packs in all the right places. By this time it's midnight & I drift off to sleep on what would be my last day as just me. Tomorrow I would become a Mum.

Part 2 soon to follow...