Sewing for Baby (No, not mine!)

Some amazing ladies I know are preggers, up the duff, with child, impregnated.

Yep, they are pregnant.

Of course I get clucky.

But no more children for us, my nerves barely manage through a day with the two I already have!

So what do I do?

I make things!

Baby things.

Cute things.

Like blankets...

I used these fancy little disc thingies....

In particular this one...

 To make a pretty little stitching detail all around the edge...

I love it.

Then I made a cute little whale...

 Pattern can be found HERE

Cute, yes?

Then I made some bibs, not your ordinary ones, but those super cool bandana bibs!

 Pattern can be found HERE.

 I had a helpful little guy want to model for me.

He stayed very still, unlike my usual models!

Oh and so sorry for the words just scattered around everywhere.... This new way of adding and editing photos stuffs everything up and makes me so frustrated when it just won't work for me. :S

The Day My Son Was Born

10th March 2011

I was uncomfortable.

Being heavily pregnant was exhausting; especially with a little almost 2yr old to run around after. I was in the final stage of pregnancy, that every mother knows is called the JUSTGETTHISDAMNBABYOUTOFMEALREADY stage. The one where you are ready to try anything just to get this belly gone, and your little blessing in your arms.

It was a Thursday night, and we needed to head up to the local shopping centre for a few last minute supplies. Toilet paper, the boring necessities. So we headed up with our little bundle of energy (you can read her birth story here).

We walked, we talked, we chased the naughty rascal. Or should I say, I watched my husband chase the rascal while all I could think of was the braxton hicks contractions that were starting up slowly again. 

We dropped in to my aunt who was working, had a quick chat, and grabbed some dinner.

The braxton hicks' were not going away... I was calm, I had my hospital bag mostly packed, it was lying on our bedroom floor with the contents spilling out (courtesy of that cheeky girl). 

We headed home and I began to think that this could possibly be it.

As we drove home I reminded my husband (for the billionth time) that he really needed to get that car seat in ASAP. He assured me that he would get to it...

We got home, tucked the little one into bed, and settled in for the night. 

I couldn't sleep, my darling husband was on the computer, and I was bored. I packed my bag, and paced. 

I cleaned the kitchen, and made sure Eve's daily routine was printed and stuck to the pantry door, for reference for whoever would be looking after her (mother in law and hubby).

Hubby went to bed and I tried too. I could not get comfortable.

I had flash backs of my first labour, being told to go home and come back later, so I wanted to stay home as long as possible.

I tossed and turned, I was in pain.

I had a nice warm shower and paced the long hallway in only my underwear. My thoughts at the time were definitely not of the neighbours directly opposite me having a full view of my late night activities. 

I was concentrating on my breathing, walking, not stopping. I was determined to do this the natural way. 

It was getting late, the pain was getting stronger, 5mins apart, then 4, sometimes 3.

I called the hospital. Where are you coming from? Is this your first baby?

They listened to my answers and told me to come straight away.

I woke my husband, and slowly dressed as he called his mum to come over to look after Eve.

She and her daughter arrived, they wanted to chat, I wanted to run out the door. I was in pain, not really feeling sociable!

We finally made it to the car and then my husband remembered; the car seat!

We had turned the corner to find the street lined with bins. Perfect!

I paced outside the car and watched my husband pull the big box from the boot of the car, throw the wrapping in the nearby bins, and struggle to get it fitted in the car. It was a little different to the other seat, but he figured it out fast enough.

We were on our way again, it was 1am and the streets were quiet.

We arrived at the hospital and were greeted by what looked like a very bored midwife. She led us through to the labour ward where I was put in a room and examined.

I jumped in the shower, but I couldn't stay in there. I needed to walk. If I walked,and breathed, the pain was easier to manage.

I jumped out, got dressed and got back to pacing. 

The midwife popped her head in and asked how far apart my contractions were. I had no idea.

I asked hubby to time them using my iPad and an app I had downloaded and was using at home.

I fell into a trance of telling him when they started, when they had died down. It felt like time had slowed down.

Then I got to that stage.

The stage that is right before it all happens.

The stage where you throw your hands up in the air and say "No! I can't do this!" and usually that is followed by "GIVE ME THE DRUGS!!".

I asked about pain relief. I did not want an epidural. I had planned on giving birth on my knees, holding onto the raised bed head for support. I was determined, but collapsing under the pain.

"There is pethidine" The midwife told me. "You won't feel any pain, and you will be able to have a good rest, maybe a little sleep"

Sleep?

I was so tired, the prospect of having a rest sounded amazing.

The midwife rushed off and returned with a shot for me. 

I had to bend over the bed as she jabbed me; hard.

I waited for the relief that was sure to follow.

There was none.

I still felt pain, a lot of pain.

My body was tired, it made me feel even more tired, and sick. 

I vomited my guts up; regretting my decision.

I felt weak, I couldn't stand, I couldn't pace anymore. 

I lay on the bed, writhing in pain, wanting it to stop, wanting this stupid thing to wear off already, I was better off without it!

My prayers were answered, the pethidine barely lasted 20mins, my body was rejecting it. Soon enough I was back up, pacing around the room, breathing hard and still telling hubby of every contraction, when to start it and when to stop it.

The midwife would pop her head in every so often, asking how I was. I told her I was getting the urge to push. Without examining me, she said "No, you aren't ready yet. Just don't go to the toilet."

This urge was not going away, I could feel the head lowering, getting heavy. 

We had kept the sex of this baby a surprise, and I was so eager to meet him or her, I wanted to hurry up and start pushing!

The midwife rushed past my room and I called out to her. "I really need to push soon, I can feel it!"

She brushed me off again. "No. Just don't go to the toilet! One lady went to the toilet and pushed, and her baby landed in the toilet. Don't go to the toilet!"

She ran off to help another patient, and we were left alone again.

My husband was tired, he sat back down in the over-sized armchair in our room and looked like he was ready to pass out. We didn't usually pull all nighters, we like our sleep.

I asked if he could help me to the toilet, I really needed to go. He held my hand as I waddled over and sat down. 

Oh.

Nope, I don't need to go to the toilet!

I got up and resumed my pacing, more furious than before.

"Um, honey" I said, as I made my way over to the bed, pushing the buttons to raise the head. "You need to get the midwife. NOW!"

He yelled out the door for help and came back to me. I was getting angry. Where was the midwife! 

I told him to get her, now! Where is she?? 

He called out again.

I desperately tried getting my pants down, this was happening NOW!

My hubby helped me up onto the bed and ran out to find our midwife.

In the moment alone I positioned myself on the bed, breathed, and felt my baby pushing down. There was no more waiting, it was time.

The midwife and my husband made it back just in time. My body told me to push, so I did.

The midwife rushed around, trying to get the bed ready.

Everything was perfect in this moment. I had everything the way I had hoped. I was in the right position, I had no drugs in my system, I could feel everything.

I pushed...

And pushed...

And with one final push, I could feel the most amazing, and completely indescribable feeling. I could feel my baby coming out. A wave of relief followed. 

Then I was asking.

Is it a boy?

Is it a boy?

IS IT A BOY????

Yes, it was a boy.

My beautiful little boy. 

Elijah.

He was perfect.

I swung around and the midwife handed him up to me. My husband cut the cord and we gazed at our little darling.

A boy.

I was so happy, I felt so grateful, so blessed.

We soaked up that moment, the love and happiness taking over.

I held him as I was stitched up and listened as the midwife told me I had interrupted her breakfast, and she couldn't wait to get back out there and finish her toast. Oh, sorry!

My hospital stay was short, I was eager to get back home to my little family.

We struggled with him as a newborn, he had reflux. Not silent reflux, like Eve, he had the kind of reflux where he would spew all over everything, every time he had the tiniest bit of milk.

He didn't sleep fantastically, but we managed.

I managed to function with two kids under two.

(Six weeks after Eli was born, Eve turned 2)

All the things I were afraid of weren't there.

I was worried that Eve would feel left out, not get enough time with me.

When Eli napped, we had time, time to bake, play, draw, paint.

When Eli was awake we all cuddled, played, pulled silly faces at each other.

And of course the time flew, Eli started to grow.

He crawled...

Instead of walking (he is working on that one) he tries to talk, and sing...

And every single day I look at my kids and feel happy...

Grateful...

So blessed...

The Day My Girl Was Born

 22nd April, 2009. 4:00AM

I was woken suddenly to pain, strong cramping across my abdomen.

Oh dear, not these braxton hicks contractions again!

I was heavily pregnant, due on the 27th April, but feeling quite relaxed. I have time, plenty of time.

"It's your first baby" they all said "you'll go over by at least a week!"

I waddled my large frame down to the bathroom for the 5th time that night. I looked for the tell-tale signs that things were beginning to happen. Nope, nothing. Must be a false alarm, so back to bed I went.

I tossed and turned, I could not sleep. The pain was not going away.

I thought to myself, "Well if I can't sleep then I guess I should pack my hospital bag, just in case". 

I am glad I did.

Four hours later and the pain was getting stronger. I woke my snoring husband. He wandered down to his computer and I made him a cup of coffee. I wondered when to call the hospital; I had no idea what to do. I thought I'd wait until they were a bit stronger.

My brother was staying with us, and this was the day he was due to catch his train home.

I didn't say a thing. I didn't want to worry him.

Two hours later and my contractions were worse, and regular. Five minutes apart, and getting stronger.

I called the hospital; they said to come straight in.

We packed my bag in the car and explained to my brother, sorry, we won't be able to drive you to the train station; the baby is on its way!

He freaked out.

He was more stressed than my husband and I!

He ran around, panicking, asking if he should stay and help, asking how long I had been having contractions for. When I told him he panicked even more. I can only imagine what images were running through his head.

We jumped (I slowly climbed) into our car and began the 45min drive to the hospital.

Along a very bumpy road.

I felt every bump, and gasped at even the slightest.

My husband apologized profusely, and I told him it was ok, it's just the road, not his fault.

Now I cannot remember where this song first makes an appearance in this story, but I can tell you this: I do not like it. At all.

Not that I have anything against Mr Carr, his music just isn't my style.

After you have this particular song running through your head for hours, while you suffer agonizing pain, it doesn't become one you ever want to listen to again. Music brings memories back every time.

I'll try and cut this story short a little, or we could be here for days...

We arrived at the hospital, I was checked over and told I had plenty of time to go, contractions had slowed, I should go home, have some painkillers and get some rest.

We went home, the contractions got worse on the bumpy drive, so I gulped down the panadeine forte they had given me and attempted to get some rest.

No.

No, it just was not happening.

I felt sick, I was sick. A lot. I felt miserable. The contractions intensified again.

We got back in the car and headed for the hospital again.

And again, the contractions slowed and I was told to come back later.

It was 8pm in the evening by this stage, and I was hungry, but still vomiting.

The midwives told me I had taken too many painkillers (I had followed their instructions) and had accidentally overdosed. I would be fine though, since they, and everything else in my stomach, were coming up. They told us to go out, have a nice dinner, relax, and come back later.

I got angry.

Relax!?

I was in pain and they wanted me to relax and just pop out to a restaurant for dinner!?

We drove to the local Coles and my husband ran in to get me some bread rolls. As classy as I was, I leaned out of the car and threw up all over the car park as a mum in her van full of kids drove past. I looked up and saw a sympathetic smile as she drove off. She had been here, she felt my pain.

I managed to eat a very small amount, then demanded we go back to the hospital. We got there and they reluctantly put me in a bed in a crowded room in the maternity ward. It was full of women who were in for observation, no one but me was in labour.

My husband settled in and began to watch a movie on our laptop. I writhed on and off the bed, trying to get comfortable. Then my mother, my wonderful mother came bursting in. "You look like you are in a lot of pain" she said, sympathetically "have they offered you pain relief?"

No, not any mention of such thing at all!

It was like a light bulb lit up.

I then realized that yes, I was really in labour, the pain was really quite bad, and yes, I should see what my options are to help with it!

My mum made me brave enough to call in a midwife and ask. If it weren't for her, I probably would have stayed so quiet; my girl would have been born in there!

My parents left, their destination was our house, to feed our dogs and get it ready for our arrival with a new family member.

I will forever be grateful for their help.

I was taken to the labour ward and showed into the only room with a bath, but it was not to be used due to some asbestos pipes. That did not fill me with confidence. I was shown a big yoga ball and some ways to help with the pain by sitting or leaning on it. I tried. I yelped. It increased my pain!

I asked about the shower and was assured that it would be fine. I lost all dignity, stripped off and jumped straight in.  I was offered the gas, and I began to suck on it while under the warm water. It made me dizzy, sick and did nothing for the pain. I asked if it was working and the midwife told me that it was more of a distraction than actual pain relief. I was worried I would slip over so the gas had to go. I stayed in the shower until the contractions had intensified immensely. My dilation had been checked frequently, and they told me I still had a few hours to go.

I was exhausted, drained. I had little sleep powering me, no food in my tummy, and the pain was almost too much.

I caved in and asked for an epidural.

I had to be moved into another room with bigger surgery lights, and I almost walked down the corridor naked, until a midwife wrapped a gown around me.

I was told to wait; the anesthetist was on call but out at a party, so was on his way. I was slightly worried. He was at a party? This is the man who will jab a huge needle in my spine and he is at a party???

The midwives began to prep me; I had a drip put in, and surprisingly was calm, even though needles, especially those, are one of my biggest fears/phobias.

Then he arrived, the man who would bring me pain relief!

He looked familiar, very familiar. He had come from a hospital 6hrs away, near where we used to live. Very close to a friend of ours' house. We had that moment of "Don't I know you?" but quickly moved on to the matter at hand.

I was asked if I felt the need to push at all, and if I did then it was too late for the epidural.

I felt a small urge, growing, but lied, and said no. I was scared; I had convinced myself that I couldn't do it natural, the way I had always planned.

I struggled through the process, leaning over the bed, over my giant bump, trying to stay still in the worst contractions so far.

I breathed, I vomited. I sucked on gas; I gulped down jugs of water.

Finally it was in, I was lying down and the midwives checked how far dilated I was.

9.5cm

It was nearly go time!

Everything was a rush; I was left with one midwife and my husband assisting her.

Next thing I knew it was time to push, so I pushed hard, and 20mins later, our beautiful baby girl was born.

She was scooped up and placed on my bare chest. I gazed at her, completely and utterly in love. Nothing else mattered; she was the only thing I could look at, to touch, to hold, to feel her fingers curl around my finger. She had my heart.

She breastfed straight away, a good feed, then was taken to be properly cleaned up and to do the agpar test.

She was perfect in my eyes.

The world seemed to rush around me but I was in a haze. All I could do was hold her, amazed at this beautiful little being that we had created, this blessing.

It wasn’t long before my adrenaline ran out and exhaustion began to kick in. I could barely keep my eyes open. I couldn’t hold Eve because I was afraid I would pass out and drop her. So my husband stepped in and held her while I lay there, helpless.

This is where I became frustrated. I was stuck. My epidural was taking a long time to wear off and I couldn’t go anywhere until it had. I waited, I couldn’t sleep, Blake was struggling to keep his eyes open too and Eve was starting to cry. She wanted me to hold her, and I desperately wanted to. The midwives had left us, and occasionally popped their heads in to ask if I could feel my legs yet, and to stop my baby from crying. I was distressed. I didn’t have the strength to even hold Eve in my arms, and she lay there, in her little plastic tub on wheels, crying out for me. I took turns with my husband to hold and soothe her, as soon as we began to drift off we swapped.

Finally I began to feel my legs. They were wobbly, but I was ready to go. I was ushered out for a quick shower and to get dressed. The midwife showed me into my room, pointed to a large folder full of “information for new mothers” and swiftly exited. My husband had to leave; he had to sleep and was not allowed to stay. That night was one of the hardest of my life.

As I said in this post over here, things were not easy with Eve. I don’t know what I was expecting, I knew it would be hard, but I had no idea there could be so many challenges with someone so small.

She relied on me, and I stepped up to the plate.

I gave up the things I once loved, and put others aside for the day I would eventually come back. My sewing machine sat gathering dust, my crafty supplies shut up in our study, untouched for months on end.

I did miss the little things.

Having long showers.

Eating a full meal with no interruptions.

Being able to wear anything without fear of it being vomited or pooped on.

There are so many more…

I remember the first time we managed to watch an entire movie without her waking up. My husband convinced me to watch Fast & the Furious 3. I was tired, bored, and waiting for the familiar newborn cry to pierce the night. But it didn’t come. She slept, and I was disappointed that I had wasted those precious three hours on such a terrible movie.

But it got better, slowly I got the hang of being a mum. I knew what cry meant what. I could change a nappy in the darkness of the night without a worry. I ventured out into the world with my precious bundle.

Then she started to grow.

She crawled.

She walked.

She turned 1...




She turned 2...




And not too long ago, she turned 3...

But no matter how old she gets... 





My baby is still my baby.

She always will be my little baby girl.

Motherhood: The Honest Truth About Sleep, Or Lack Thereof.

I have to admit, when I was pregnant with my first child, I was clueless.

All the mothers I knew warned me about the impending night wakings, feedings and nappy changings. It began to wear me down, hearing so many people constantly tell me how little sleep I was going to get. How I would suffer.

Well, thank you, negative nancies, I did not need to be bombarded with brutal honesty. Not in my fragile hormonal state. I ignored their advice, and instead focused on finding where I could buy Magnum Egos at 10pm at night.

I figured I would just "go with the flow", take every day as it came and learn on the job.

This was a big help but a slight disadvantage when it came to labour.

I had read of birth plans. Write one; write details of how you want every minute to be.

*Snickers*

Well, now I know that even if I had a birth plan, it would have gone out the window in five seconds flat!

I was happier to cruise along (in agonizing pain, mind you!) and try whatever I could to ease my pain. I had no expectations of how I wanted everything to be, so if one thing didn't work, then it was simply onto the next.

I figured I would use the same easy going attitude when it came to parenting. Don't over analyze things, just deal with them as they come.

It works for me. 

It really does.

I get anxiety if I start to over think things. Now I just breathe, relax, and take things one step at a time.

After the long event that was the birth of my darling girl, I found myself ushered into a hospital bed, having only 4hrs of sleep under my belt from the last 48hrs. I was exhausted, I was in pain. I wanted to sleep.

But next to my bed, in a clear plastic tub on wheels, was my beautiful little baby girl.

My loud, hungry, and rather demanding, little baby girl.

I managed snippets of sleep over the next two days, I was lucky enough to have my room buddy (thin curtains had attempted to separate us) go home, and lucky me had only one crying baby to deal with... My own.

I was clueless. I remember as the midwife went to leave me I asked her "Wait, so what do I do now??" She replied, rather abruptly "You feed her when she is hungry, change her when she is dirty."

She didn't mention sleep.

That night I was rocking, pacing, feeding and burping my girl, but she refused to settle.

I had to lock myself away in a lounge room so I didn't disturb the entire maternity ward full of frowning faces.

Midwives came and tried their best, but she would not sleep. Finally, there was a loud noise, and a big brown stain appeared down the entire leg of her white fluffy wondersuit.

Oh, I see, you were waiting for that!

The midwife holding her pointed it out and scolded me for obviously not putting the nappy on correctly. She helped me tidy her up and left me to it by myself again.

I snuggled into my bed and fed my girl, she fell asleep, curled up in my arms, her head on my chest. Peace at last.

This was not the only night like that. Well, I did learn how to put the nappy on correctly, so there were less messes to clean up, but there was still the crying, feeding, and constant burping.

It turns out that my girl had wind, bad wind. Sometimes it would take an hour of burping, feeding, burping, just to get her to let out a big belch that had been caught up in her tummy.

This, of course, affected her sleeping.

After three days, I was released from the hospital, and sent home to do it alone.

Well, lucky for me, I was not alone.

My husband was with me at home for a few weeks to help out; I don't know how I would have coped without him.

Or without my amazing mum.

She rushed down and was so helpful, full of advice, but never scolding me for my errors, unlike those tired midwives (though I can't blame them for being a bit crabby!). She took my darling baby for long walks, cradling her and watching her sleep soundly in her arms, while I got a much needed rest at home.

I was consumed by the 24/7 job that is being a mum. I left everything else and focused my all on my girl. I took the time to enjoy her, to cuddle, to take photos every day, and to appreciate the quiet moments.

As she grew we discovered that as well as her wind problems, she had silent reflux.

Of course this too, affected her sleep.

And in turn, it affected mine.

I remember the nights of rocking, feeding, crying (me, and her!), begging her to go to sleep.

I remember bringing her into bed with me and feeding her until we both fell asleep together.

I remember the desperation when I was hearing of other babies sleeping through the night and I asked why? Why is my girl still waking?

I remember the one night when she was still very young, she slept in until 10:30am and I was so scared when I woke, I ran to her room, in a state of panic.

I remember the night, when she was 10 months old, when she first slept through.

It felt like an occasion to celebrate.

Silly me thought that that would be the end of sleeping troubles; I thought to myself "It's all smooth sailing from here!”

Oh I was wrong.

So, so wrong.

She lulled me into a false sense of security.

Sleeping through the night, and only getting better, I finally did it!

Then I fell pregnant with our little man, and the disturbances began.

Pregnancy.

Morning sickness.

Then a little girl having nightmares.

Unable to get comfortable with a fast-growing bump in front of me.

Then a bigger, but still little, girl refusing to go to bed.

"I'm not tired yet!"

Oh, yes you are missy!

In the hazy newborn days with my son she would wake once a night.

I made a deal with my husband. I will be busy with the baby; you have to deal with her.

Since he is a man, he isn't built with the "mummy gene". He grew impatient and frustrated with her when she wouldn't co-operate. I tried to help shoulder the load, as best I could.

We got through that tough newborn phase, it had its ups and downs, and my little guy had reflux but much worse than his sister. It was a messy learning experience!

He grew so fast, and the loving sister side of my big girl began to shine. 

She loved him, he loved her. I loved them more for their love for each other. I just wish they would love me that little bit more and give me some sleep!

So, what about now?

My girl, a strong-willed 3yr old, still refuses to go to bed. Why sleep when there is still so much left to do with her day?

My little man is almost 15 months old and still wakes at least once a night, but usually twice.

He is a mummy's boy and loves to cuddle. He will cry and whinge and crawl over to me just to climb up into my lap and throw his arms around me. Then he is content.

So that sleep thing I have heard of?

Well, I don't see much of it around here.

Maybe that is why my pantry is fully stocked with three kinds of espresso coffee pods, two jars of instant coffee and lots of chocolate.

A girl needs something to get through her day, right?

So many people ask me how do I do it?

I go to bed early, I drink coffee first thing in the morning, and I try to enjoy my children during the day, and remind myself every night when I am cuddling, soothing them and brushing away their tears... Some day they will be all grown up, with families of their own to cuddle...So I'm going to enjoy all the cuddles I can get now.