Brain Fuzz
[Friday, Jun. 02, 2006]


Well hello there.

I'm writing this in a brief break from being Mum. Alex has enforced the aforementioned break because I've been a full time, independant Mum for the past three days and my grey hairs are already beginning to show. Actually, they've been showing since I was about 2 months pregnant so it's not Heather's fault at all. But it sounds so dramatic to blame her.

Ok ok, I'm just being theatrical and I'll stop it now. Honest. I really will.

Seriously, it's not bad at all really and I love my new role in the world. I've had people here all the time because I went mental (otherwise known as 'developing post-natal depression' or as Alex calls it "opened up a big can of crazy"), was prescribed anti-depressants and was told in no uncertain terms that I needed support all the time when Alex isn't here. So I've had various family members* keeping me company throughout the day ever since Alex went back to work last Thursday, and I've been getting steadily better and better at this whole business. For the past three days I've been telling my supportive people (Alex's Mom, my Dad and my Mom) that I don't want them to help at all, I just want them to keep me company. And people have been getting here later and leaving earlier, so I've had progressively more time on my own with her. I've coped perfectly fine, so I now know that it's not as difficult as it first seems. Although that's not to say that it's not tiring!

Alex has enforced this break on me because Heather has been having a very demanding day** today - she allowed us a couple of hours sleep last night until 12.30, then woke us up and kept us up until 1.30. I eventually got her settled at around 2am, then she woke up again at 5. Alex dealt with her that time and she then deigned to stay asleep so that I could have the fastest shower (in the west) at 7am, then she woke up at around 7.40 and started shouting. She's been awake for roughly 80% of the day since then, sleeping in brief bursts during which I've managed to clean the front room (finally), sterilise bottles, wash up and clean the kitchen, put two loads of washing in the machine and one load into the drier and eventually, at 1pm, dry my hair. My Mom was here from eleven 'til three, so it was great to have some company (and the opportunity to make myself look less doglike) but I've only now, at 7.50pm, come "off duty" for a while.

It's a weird feeling because, even when Heather is asleep for ages, I can't quite relax until there's another responsible person in the house who can look after her. And even if I try to sleep when she does I've still got one ear listening so I don't get really deep, peaceful, refreshing sleep; I wake up with every little noise H makes and then I have to lie there and listen. And if she doesn't make any more noises I have to get up and check that she's ok. Paranoid, moi?

But anyway. I'm rambling a bit here...my brain has melted and I'm unable to put together a rational and structured entry. And wit is totally beyond me. You'll just have to deal with it. Ok? Good. Glad we got that sorted.

*Mostly my Mom, who has actually been brilliant. Ever since having H we've been getting on so much better and she totally dotes on her new granddaughter, which makes me happy.

**Demanding day: The incident which sums up today best was this morning's first nappy chance. Heather had filled her nappy to the brim - I peeled it off her with a sort of "schloop-pop" sound and then went about trying to scrape the inch-thick, sticky, fruity-smelling, yellow poo (with the consistency of very thick pate) off her bum. It wouldn't budge. And not only was there an inch of revoltingness all over her nether regions, the nappy was totally filled to the brim as well. So, I started to clean her off with wipes...when her bum started to wink at me. Realising this meant that more vileness was about to be delivered, I held a wipe up to the winking eye...at which point Heather decided she'd add to the fun by creating a wee fountain all over my hand, which then soaked the cloth covering the changing mat and trickled up her back to soak her sleepsuit. At this point the doorbell rang. I was holding my daughter's feet, trying to stop her from kicking around and getting shit all over herself, trying to keep her back out of a puddle of wee, wondering about the best way to tackle the filth (seeing as she was still poo-smeared and picking her up wasn't an option) and some muppet was downstairs repeatedly ringing the doorbell. Heather, on the other hand, was looking decidedly smug. While I was devising my plan of action, Heather's winking bum delivered the goods directly onto the wipe I was holding. Then I realised the nappy wrapper bin was full. It did all work out in the end and she was cleaned and changed and the mess was disposed of (and the caller at the door got the hint and went away), but really. And that's what today has been like.

SOME THINGS I'VE LEARNT SINCE LIVING WITH A BABY

1. Before 7am most music channels broadcast teleshopping.
2. "THE LATERAL THIGH TRAINER CAN HELP YOU TONE UP AND LOSE WEIGHT!!"
3. I don't want a lateral thigh trainer. Although if you've seen the advert enough times it does start to seem appealing.
4. The size of a person does not necessarily correlate with the amount of vomit produced.
5. Vomit smells really bad when it's created from a simple mix of milk and stomach acid. And it can be suprisingly bubbly.
6. It's possible to survive on a diet of cold toast and pepsi max for at least a week.
7. An adult can function on three hours sleep a night, if need be.
8. Adults attempting to survive on three hours sleep a night are quite grumpy.
9. Adults surviving on three hours sleep a night forget simple information (Alex forgot where we keep the mugs. I forgot how to turn on the taps in the kitchen and how to change a duvet cover.)
10. Babies are illogical.***
11. It's really great that Big Brother AND Big Brother's Little Brother (mmm, Dermot O'Leary) are repeated from 7.30am every morning, as they're a perfect accompaniment to feeding and burping, and for an added bonus Channel 4 has a little clock up the corner of the screen so I know what the time is even when I don't have a hand free to check.
12. Frasier comes on after BB and BBLB, which is also ok.
13. If feeding and burping continues past the end of Frasier, I become distressed as it's followed by some programme about matchmakers. Or something. It's just bad.
14. Music channels are the best choice for feeding and burping. If something bad comes on I only have to put up with it for an average of three minutes.
15. There is too much emo on music channels and I don't like it.
16. If all your hands are full, it's possible to use your mouth to complete some simple tasks.
17. You shouldn't use your mouth to complete tasks when other people are around as it makes them laugh, which is distracting.
18. Formula milk tastes like cheap custard.

That's all I can think of for now, but I'm sure there'll be more soon. Really. Brain. Has. Melted.

***Illogical babies: Firstly, yes - we gave up on breastfeeding. The reasons for this will become apparent with the following description of bottle-feeding (it was too stressful for both of us!) Heather wants to be fed, but shoves her fists into her mouth instead. When you eventually manage to get her fists out of the way, she turns her head so her mouth is pressed against your body. When you eventually get her head in the right direction, she turns her mouth into a cats bum and won't let you get the bottle into it, although she will tease you with kissing noises. In an attempt to get her to open her mouth**** you invariably release an arm by accident, meaning that a fist is then inserted into her mouth and you have to start the whole process again. I've now perfected a sort of wrestling move on the baby which seems to get the whole thing sorted much more efficiently. Alex has yet to develop a technique, so I'm guessing that's why I can hear baby-shouting from downstairs. Either that or she's playing her new game: "I want the milk...I don't want the milk..." where she accepts the teat but then promptly spits it out again, before bellowing at us because she wants to be fed. Illogical baby. It takes some patience, but when you love someone as much as we love her patience seems to come as part of the package. It's a good thing really.

**** "Stroke the babies cheek to activate the rooting reflex" is what you're told by midwives and baby books. It's a shame that babies haven't been listening to midwives or reading baby books. Seriously, if you're having a baby, don't worry too much about trying to follow instructions - the biggest thing I've learnt over the past couple of weeks is that every baby is different and you have to find your own techniques. Realising this stopped me from flipping out altogether.

Right...I know I'm meant to be "on a break" but I can hear Heather having a shout downstairs and I've just heard movements that suggest that she's demanded yet another bottle, so I'm going to have to go and see if he needs a hand. I'll probably be sent straight back upstairs, but at least I'll have tried.

Hugs and love and things of that nature to everyone.

Mwa mwa.

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