Friends, the family you choose

YESTERDAY as I sat in the kitchen wondering how I would ever be able to see friends again when we still haven't settled into a routine, there was a soft knock on the door. To my delight it was my best friend with a beautiful bunch of lilies and a block of hazelnut chocolate, popping in to see how we were doing. It really made my day. Someone wise once said 'friends are the family you choose'. I couldn't have said it better myself. 


Coincidentally, to any friends reading this now, if you're up for babysitting Lilia through the night, you know where to find us.   

Three is our new family

THIS morning I have been sprinkle sprayed by wee and chucked on all before 10am. But it doesn't bother me one bit — all I need to do is look at my baby girl's beautiful tiny face and innocent sea blue eyes and all is forgotten. I could stare at her for hours. She is perfect in every way.

Today Lilia and I are on our own at home for the first time. B has gone back to work after having a month off to spend time with us, which has been wonderful. His workplace has been supportive and understanding of the needs of new parents. We are very lucky as not all workplaces are the same. I miss him already but our little girl is keeping me busy. She's sleeping happily as I write this, which makes me smile. 

Yesterday was Mother's Day in Poland, my birthplace. Lucky me, I get to celebrate the special occasion twice and it feels really special as a first time mum, too. B woke me up with a lovely, delicious breakfast in bed: poached eggs on muffins with salami and good, strong coffee, a thoughtful gift and card, all my favourite things. 

I love our little family. I also feel we've done really well as a team in our first month of raising our baby Lilia Rose. Like all couples, we’ve had one or two disagreements when we both hadn't slept much but we have laughed even more. We’ve learned so much.

To me, parenting, particularly when you're doing it for the first time, is one of those amazing and challenging times in life when you realise how strong you are as an individual and as a couple. 

You also realise the good friends and family you have around you — those who offer to help out in any way they can, who leave useful things on your doorstep, who sew things for our baby girl, who drive three hours to meet her for the first time, who cook soup for you, who stand up for you and the choices you make, who are there and those who you know are only a phone-call away should you need them.  

And to my wonderful mother, you are still the most amazing woman I have ever met and your selflessness, support and love is greatly appreciated — thank you from all of us. Tuesdays are our new favourite week night, not least of all because of your fabulous home-cooked dinners.   

Since Lilia's arrival into the world, as a family, we have laughed, cried, fallen over, picked each other up, supported each other, worked through parenting styles, found our own way of doing things, walked the wrong way up shopping centre escalators, got stuck, bumped into walls and doors, forgot things, bought nappies and other baby essentials, learnt new things, left things behind, ended up in the park with slippers on, bought even more nappies, wipes, creams, held hands on the couch when too tired to talk, believed in each other, attended appointments together, forgot more things (never our baby, phew) ... there's been lots of poo, chuck, burps and bumps along the way but I wouldn't change a thing.         

Murder on my mind, mastitis

THREE nights ago a few strokes before midnight I felt so damn hot that I took my sweaty body to sit outside in the backyard for a few minutes. Only when my fiancée urged me to come back inside did I notice the rain falling. Hot, sweaty, exhausted and covered in rain, was I going crazy? 

Perhaps or was this normal with the onset of mastitis, a nasty inflammation of the breast that can infect the entire body, which coupled with already infected breasts made this a difficult and confusing time.

It’s no coincidence that yesterday I fronted the counter at the local pharmacy and asked for two things: more Daktarin oral cream to treat the painful infection and advice about the best baby formula on the market.

  

‘How old is your baby?’ the pharmacist quizzed.

‘One month,’ I replied. Here we go, I thought. This is the part where you tell me the cream shouldn’t be used on the inside of babies’ mouths if they're under six months.

‘Do you realise you shouldn’t use this cream in your baby’s mouth if your baby is less than six months old,’ she looked at me accusingly.

Too tired to argue, I simply told her both my maternal and child health nurse and GP said it was okay and told me to use it for one week or the infection would not clear.

‘Your midwife, right I see,’ she said, disapprovingly.

‘And my doctor,’ I added, again.

‘Well, if you don’t rub it in properly, your baby can choke and choking can lead to death,’ she said, firmly.

Murder on my mind, mastitis, my chest burning more than the beds on raging fire in Midnight Oil’s song lyrics, I imagined possessing a stare so powerful it could freeze the pharmacist’s tongue momentarily or just before she could say anything stupid again.  

I had already received strict instructions on how to use this cream from my midwife, my doctor, my mum, best friend, her aunty, a cousin of a friend of a friend, the postman, a neighbour, the pine tree in the front garden … I also read the instructions on the inside of the packaging just to make sure that no, my baby would not choke on this cream because I would rub it in properly.

‘How much is the larger cream,’ I asked, instead.

‘And the formula, you’ve decided to get it because of this infection,’ she quipped.

Somebody kill me now, if only for just this moment. Wait for it. Here it comes. How will she phrase it.  

‘Do you realise breastmilk is the best thing for a baby,’ she asked without adding a question mark on the end of the sentence, one I’m sure she uses several times a day on vulnerable customers, popularly first time mums experiencing serious problems with breastfeeding, as if they weren't feeling bad enough already.

‘I’m fully aware of the benefits, thank you,’ I replied. Then I explained my situation and that I would be replacing a feed at night to give my blistering breasts a break from the pain, the excruciating pain of breastfeeding with an infection.

Writing about it now, I’m annoyed for being made to feel I had to explain myself, even if it was from self-pressure, which no doubt comes from societal pressure to breastfeed.

I didn’t have to explain the reason for my choices to the pharmacist, a stranger to me who has never even seen my baby. You know what, I no longer care about what people think or the rights and wrongs of breastfeeding.  

Everyone will add their two cents worth even when not asked for advice. Once you have a baby, somehow even random strangers feel it’s their duly right to give you unsolicited advice. Let them and let it wash over you. Even smile politely. Or mute them in your head or all of the above.

To me, I care and will always care most about what is best for my beautiful baby girl. If at the moment, the best thing is feeding her with the best formula money can buy, as well as breastmilk to help us both get through a tough time, then that’s what I’ll do. My fiancée is very supportive, too.

Last night, we gave baby Lilia expressed breastmilk followed by formula in a separate bottle, to ease her into the taste. She gulped it down, happily. It was wonderful to be able to look in her eyes when feeding her from a bottle and not having any pain or worries about breastfeeding — a genuine bonding moment we both enjoyed very much.

I didn’t feel guilty. I felt happy, relieved and finally, ready for bed. As I glanced over at my daughter as she dosed off to sleep, I was confident in myself that I had made the right choice for me and my beautiful sleeping baby.

We shouldn’t pass judgement on any woman who for whatever reason chooses to feed her baby with formula (and I recently read about a woman choosing to do so simply because she viewed her breasts as sexual objects and the thought of using them as providing food for her baby made her feel ill and unhappy, so she chose formula instead, it’s her choice). Every woman, just like every baby, is different. What works for one mum and baby may not work for another.

When it comes to breastfeeding or how you choose to provide for your baby, remember always that it’s your baby, your body and your breasts and breastfeeding is your own business.       

Bumps with breastfeeding or something more serious?

OUR first parent’s group meeting was great even if I did doze off halfway through. I was told the four week mark is when all the sleep deprivation catches up with you and the excitement of a new baby wears off, which makes it sound like month-long waterproof mascara on its last lashes.

Despite the exhaustion, having met other new first time mums and their beautiful babies felt good and I can see myself becoming friends with them, too. But what I discovered after the session was not expected.

Following a comment I made about a sore, red breast with a hot patch on it that could be sewn onto a Scottish man’s chequered kilt to keep him warm throughout the winter, our maternal and child health nurse recognised a blocked milk duct that could be infected. Linda recommended gentle massage and draining the breast as much as possible, as well as not missing a feed at night, which I had been doing in an attempt to get some sleep and for Lilia’s dad to feel involved with his daughter’s feeding.

A few things that helped my sore, irritated and red breast:

v     Gentle massage while feeding using straight fingers, gently pushing over the breast and towards the nipple

v     Warmth, including standing under a hot shower ad letting the water relieve the pain and soften the breast

v     Cool ice-pack wrapped in a face-wash cloth for no more than 10 minutes after feeding to relieve the hotness and discomfort

v     Support from my loved one who got involved in the last night-time feed, the one I find the most difficult. He sat behind me on the couch as I fed baby Lilia — it was a real family breastfeeding effort.

v     Expressing any milk that remained, gently. Although nothing is as strong as a baby’s suck not even an expensive electric pump.

The next morning, during a visit to see our maternal and child health nurse for Lilia’s four week check-up, we discovered an infection had developed, which had made my breast redder. Linda recommended the cream Daktarin, which I started using yesterday after feeds, including putting a small amount in Lilia’s mouth four times per day, rubbing in very well to avoid it blocking her throat.

The good news was that Lilia was doing well and had gained considerable weight (more than 300 grams in two weeks), now weighing 3.3 kilograms. Must be doing something right. Hooray! Can I sleep now?

Later that afternoon, a visit with my local GP confirmed I had mastitis, an inflammation of the breast, which required a dose of antibiotics if it was going to get the boot. The Better Health Channel has good free resources on dealing with mastitis, as well as other useful information. If only they provided a baby-sitting service to let parents catch-up on sleep.   

Last night was the most challenging time for me since becoming a parent. What can only be described as millions of small but super sharp razor-blades being used against my nipples, breasts and even along my arms, the pain was excruciating both during and in between feeds. When baby Lilia latched on was even more painful. I’m hoping the antibiotics will start to do their magic soon, as too will the cream. Not sure I can last a week but I will keep trying.

Despite feeling guilty, thoughts of using formula have started to feel like they could become reality. I don’t know a lot about formula, only how it’s not as good for a baby as breastmilk. Am I letting my baby down for thinking this way? 

Breast is best but is it more important for a baby to have a happy mother (happy mother = happy baby)?

I recently purchased Kaz Cooke’s book Kidwrangling, second edition, which has an entire chapter dedicated to bottles and bottle-feeding. Perhaps I’ll read that as a starting point. 

If you’ve got some advice or want to share your experience with breastfeeding or using formula or both, why not share your story here? 

First parent's group nerves

EARLY this afternoon, I will be going to my first parent's group meeting. This event has brought on a mixture of feelings since I received the invitation via posted letter two days ago: sheer excitement and annoying, dangling nerves. 

I'm looking forward to meeting other first time parents with babies the same age as mine, as well as to hearing their early day experiences and of course, to making new friends, who like me, are on this wonderful journey called motherhood. But nerves are normal, too aren't they? 

Five quick questions about parent's groups: 

• How will I breastfeed in front of a room full of strangers, comfortably (I still haven't tried breastfeeding in public, unless you count feeding in the back seat of our car or breastfeeding in the lounge-room in front of close girlfriends)

• I've been asked to bring a play mat to leave my baby to play on during the 90 minute session, but baby Lilia only likes to lie on her play mat for a few minutes before giving her little lungs a loud workout - can I leave her to sleep in the pram?

• I'm still having trouble getting her to burp after a feed (sometimes it happens an hour or so later with her white vomit ending up all over her face and down the back of her neck), will other parents be judgemental? (I've heard mixed things about parent's groups ranging from warm and wonderful to cold and opinionated)

• Tomorrow will be four weeks since Lilia's birth and my c-section, which means I'm still not allowed to get behind the wheel, thankfully my fiancée B can drive us today as it's his last week off work, but what happens for the next two weeks? (And the three sessions after that, will I have worked out how to get her in and out of the car seat easily by then, will I be confident enough to drive with her in the car?)

• I had other questions but I'm too far on the exhausted side today and have forgotten...

Whatever happens today and how ever much my nerves come to play, I'll go along and check it out. Perhaps my questions will be answered (and I may even remember some important ones about immunisations, feeding, expressing, sleep and other essential baby knowledge stuff).

But most importantly, I hope both Lilia and I enjoy ourselves. Now all I need to do is make sure we get there on time. 

If you have a story to share about your first time at a parent's group, I would love to hear from you - leave a comment and let's get the conversation going. 

Imagine

YESTERDAY despite the howling wind and lack of Sunday sunshine, we took baby Lilia Rose to see the boats moored to the pier in Williamstown, a seashell's throw away from the central city in Melbourne. 


I imagined owning one of the fine-looking polished yatchs and sailing our new family of three to the Pacific Islands and beyond. 


On our journey to the islands, we hunted for sunken treasure, swam with smiling dolphins and sang with beautiful mermaids, following their sweet voices to the bottom of the ocean where a secret underwater world awaited us. 


At the bottom of the ocean, we built a house made from thick magical seaweed, coloured pebbles and yellow sand. With it's shiny green roof and large open windows, our home was decorated with the prettiest seashells, glistening pearls and bright sea flowers. 


Lilia rode around on a red sea elephant called Cherry each morning, while chatty sea-horses, clumsy flounder fish and other wonderful sea creatures circled around and waved her a good day. 


Can you imagine how much fun life under the sea would be for a baby girl or boy? 


Even grown-ups, like me, can find enjoyment in using their imagination - after all, a beautiful mind can take you somewhere warm even on a cold, rainy day.   

Wake up call, baby

SINCE becoming a mum for the first time a few weeks ago, my need for an alarm clock has diminished. Every morning, I now wake to my baby girl's cry and she is loud when hungry.  

For me, breastfeeding has had it's moments but I feel lucky that for the most part, Lilia and I have made a good team. Attachment: no problems. Frequency: on demand. Sleep: it went out with the placenta. 

But breastfeeding my baby girl in the morning is a beautiful way to start the day.  

To blog or not to blog

HAVING thought about blogging for a long time, finally last night my first post made it's debut into cyberspace. It felt great to write again and blogging provided me with an outlet — a place to air my thoughts and just write. 

With a newborn to look after, life can get a little crazy and for people who, like me, often think too much, a blog could be a sanity saver. Perhaps someone out there will read it — another first time mum or dad up in the middle of the night to feed their baby, feeling a bit lonely, half asleep, wondering whether they are doing things right or just wanting to find someone else who is going through something similar?

After my first post, I also posted a link to this blog on my Facebook page — almost immediately, two lovely people responded with positive feedback, my good friend Laura and cousin Magda. Another good friend Karen, who recently had her second beautiful baby girl Indianna, added the comment: 'keep writing Ula!' Thank you all for the encouragement, it means a lot.

Then something unexpected happened. In a moment of 'should-I-be-writing-as-me-or-remain-anonymous-help-what-have-I-done-gulp', I deleted the link to this blog from my Facebook page, along with the lovely comments from friends.  

But here I am this morning, sitting at the kitchen table with my notebook again, writing directly to my blog without editing like in the last post and it feels good. 

If you're reading this, let me know your thoughts. If you're a blogger, I welcome your advice — as a newbie to this and motherhood, blogging has creaked open the door to a whole new world to me. I hope to make some new friends along the way and learn from others who are in a similar situation to me and perhaps even offer something that will help someone else, even in a small way. 

If like me, you're a mum (and let's not forget dads, too) and would like to start your own blog for whatever reason, check out free and helpful eBook Blogging 101: the mum's guide to starting a blog. I haven't had a chance to read it all but it's helped me to get started. Perhaps it will help you, too. 

Primigravida, no longer

THIS morning I woke up with two smelly cabbage leaves stuck to my chest, cockatoo-ruffled hair and bags under my eyes I could dip a paintbrush into to mix a dark purple grape colour — how did my life come to this?

Three weeks ago today, I gave birth to my first baby — a beautiful baby girl we called Lilia Rose or just Lila for short.  

Despite my six-page birth plan for a natural birth, drawing on preparation gained in calm birth classes and from extensive reading, little Lila had other ideas. A breech baby from about 35 weeks gestation, she was adamant on using her tiny feet as ear muffs in preparation for the imminent winter chill, my cheeky little monkey. Perhaps it was because I spoke and sang to her so often that she moved closer to my heart and higher-up so she could hear me better?

Although the doctors didn’t share my enthusiasm and explained that Lila’s position combined with my astronomical blood pressure and the protein detected in my urine could make natural birth a risky business for us both.  

‘With two things working against you: pre-eclampsia and the foetus presenting in a breech position,’ a hospital obstetrician advised, ‘a caesarean section is recommended.’

I felt blank, not able to speak momentarily. It was as though he had pulled the lungs from my throat or wherever they were to be found at that point in my pregnancy.

‘We could try to turn her,’ he offered. ‘But that can cause foetal distress and cause you to go into labour prematurely, which would mean an emergency caesarean. Perhaps it’s something you want to go away and think about.’

Good advice … but was this it? I mean, this was not in my birth plan. Breathe in slowly and out through the nose, slowly again.    

A few long days passed. After hours at the pregnancy assessment unit where both Lila and I were hooked up to a device that monitored her rapidly beating heart and movements and other routine tests, we were finally sent home.

An hour later, I received a call from one of the obstetricians from the hospital.

‘I’m sorry, but you need to come back to the hospital right now,’ he advised. ‘We’ve detected an abnormally high amount of protein in your urine and fear your pre-eclampsia may get worse. You need to pack some clothes and come down right away.’

‘But we only just left … how long will I need to stay in hospital?’ I asked, meekly.

‘It’s difficult to say,’ he paused. ‘It could be a few nights or longer.’

‘Doctor, please … how long?’

‘I’m very sorry but it could be until after delivery.’

As I hung up the phone, tears streaming down my cheeks, I resigned to the fact that the most comprehensive plans can be written but are never set in stone.

Two weeks and three days later at 11.18am on a Thursday, baby Lilia Rose came into the world smiling and eyes closed. She weighed 2890 grams and was 49 centimetres long.  

Plans undone aside, becoming a mother for the first time marked the happiest day I have ever experienced.

And with this first post, so too begins my writing life with Lilia Rose.

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