Last week the kids said goodbye to their dad again… a relatively regular occurrence for our family, like any military family will know. For us though it doesn’t usually involve a plane, and for the first time since Theodore’s birth, it was him saying goodbye to return to the UK, while I stayed in Gibraltar with our children.
They know that he works long hours, nights away, weeks away, and part of his job (although it hasn’t affected us in recent years – for which I am grateful) is going away for months at a time. It’s part of life with him being a submariner. A life without daddy is unimaginable; but a life where he isn’t around all the time, its the norm.
We’ve stayed in Gibraltar, after being here since the early autumn, actively making more moves towards changing the direction of our life, away from a life we had planned in the UK. It’s a tumultuous turn of events; one even 6 months ago I had never imagined would be our reality, and yet, in my bones I know that this is our destiny. To change. To shift. To grow something more than what our current life offers.
So last week we said goodbye, and we did something new; a little ritual that provided a wholesome, connected farewell, and has been a source of comfort throughout our week.
We gave the kids, love buttons.
Yep, they are as cute as they sound, and totally harmless.
Drawing a heart on each of their hands, one colour for mummy, one colour for daddy; the kids have had a slowly fading inked heart of their hands, which they’ve been able to look at and press, and feel a sense of connection, of love, of wantedness with their dad.
Of course they know they are loved. Every voice message, video call, and hug tells them that.
And yet, there is something powerful in the symbolism of a drawn signature; theirs and theirs alone… to share and compare between brothers and sister, and to remind each other, that they are all loved. They can see it. They can feel it. They, in their childhood wisdom, are able to live in it.
Being away from a parent, regardless of how adaptable a child is, is tough. We ask for a lot of their courage, understanding, acceptance; and often, though the narrative is changing, don’t really sit and think about life from their point of view.
For example; to my kids right now, I’d imagine a collective narrative like this one:
Mummy has moved us all (except daddy) away from our home, into someone else’s (albeit a trusted and loved grandparents home), away from friends, away from toys and parks and spaces we know. We’ve played and done things, and miss home. We miss dad. We miss our toys and television, and our special pillows. We miss our stained red sofa and the stairs we play slide on. We also like the parks here, and some of the people we’ve met. We like having grandparents around, but we also miss our dad. We see other dads, and wonder why ours can’t be here. We wonder why money and jobs and houses are so important to the grown ups. We feel happy and sad and a mix of other things we aren’t sure we have names for… but every day we play and try our best, and we’re with mummy, so we’ll be okay.
Looking at life from their view helps realign my own. It’s how and why I chose to create these love buttons; because simply saying I love you, didn’t feel like enough.
This is all age appropriate behaviour for young children, usually at varying points and definitely not a one-size fits all kind of thing. Each child will express their emotions differently, and if they’re even the slightest bit like mine, they’ll make sure you know about it!
What makes us so uncomfortable about our children’s emotions? Is it really that we can’t stand them being angry or sad or overwhelmed? Or is it more about our own capacity to hold the space for them.
To quote Hermione Granger, sometimes we as parents have the emotional capacity of a “teaspoon” – usually because we’re burnt out, and we haven’t got a clue how to handle our own feelings, let alone those of our growing child.
So building emotional literacy becomes almost another thing that we should do, but feel we’re not able to. It’s hard, just like most things in parenting… and it’s also not impossible to start small, and build our own with them. That’s what I’ve done slowly, and though it has taken self reflection, journaling, tears and various moments of me questioning my own sanity, I have seen it pay of so beautifully with my own children. Theo, now almost 5 has an incredible ability to tell us about how his ‘bucket’ is feeling, and where the feelings lie, and recently the steps needed to help him feel better – usually involving a drink, hug and time by himself.
This did not happen overnight! It’s taken the literal years of his life for us to learn what helps, and what we need to keep in mind when any of the children are mid-meltdown. I’ve learned is that some things work better than others, and I’m going to share a few things that have worked for us, and a few that still prove to be opportunities for my own growth, alongside the kids.
Name it, Don’t shame it
Name the emotions – yes we’ve likely all heard that this is important. Why? Because a child’s brain and body doesn’t always have the descriptive language necessary to articulate what they are feeling. They don’t know that anger is linked to their tummy discomfort – like a volcano about to erupt. Or that the tight chest they feel and shortness of breath is them worrying, being anxious, nervous or uncertain. They might just feel suffocated, and lash out to make the feelings go away … often to be met with an onslaught of new feelings as the grown up around them tells them off, or another child reacts to their lashing.
Either way, without language, kids can’t cope with their feelings, and when they get told off, shame at their inability to control or understand what’s happening creeps in.
This can look like a suggestion – I see you’re growling at mummy, this makes me think that you may be feeling frustrated. Are you? OR are you feeling upset because I’ve said it’s time to come inside now? But it can also look like curiosity – You’re growling at me, I wonder what you’re trying to tell me with that. OR when I said that it’s time to come inside, you tried to show me how you feel with a growl, I’m curious to see if we can come up with a word for that feeling.
go a step further
Building emotional literacy also means going a step further. Once you and you child are comfortable naming emotions, then you can chat about where they feel in their body.
We like to make a game of it, not always, but it definitely helps diffuse tensions – for example: “You’re feeling angry right now, is the anger in your knee? Your elbow? Oh no, I forgot, sometimes angry feelings get stuck in our toes – let’s see if we can tiptoe them out
By allowing them to figure out where it feels, and then find a way to release some of the tension around it, we are helping children learn that they have nothing to fear even when they have big feelings in their body. Eventually, they’ll learn how to regulate themselves, at least some of the time. You’re sewing the seeds for emotionally healthy adults, with a much larger capacity to handle their feelings without going into a fight, flight, freeze or fawn response. So this really is a long game – getting it right every time isn’t the goal, modelling and trying again is!
Hold SPace
Allowing feelings has been a big step for me. I read and read and read some more about how important it is to allow kids to have all their feelings in a safe space, without feeling judged. It means they know feelings are normal and that everyone has them, and that makes for healthy adults who don’t hold back feelings or end up in spirals of depression and guilt because expressing feelings is seen as ‘wrong’.
“But feelings can’t be ignored, no matter how unjust or ungrateful they seem.”
– Anne Frank.
And yet, when the feelings seem ungrateful, or extra noisy, or just plain overwhelming. When they are loud or in public or I just don’t really have the time. When the feelings of my children come and I am feeling frazzled or guilty or my own needs haven’t been met, it doesn’t matter how much I know that allowing feelings is important, I just want them to shut-up and change the subject because I am so triggered by it too.
This is the hardest part of holding space. Holding it even when we don’t have anyone holding for us. It’s not their fault they haven’t figured it out yet, it’s our job to guide them… and so regulating even when we don’t feel regulated is the ultimate goal. Allowing them to feel, while maintaining boundaries so they are feeling the feelings without being hurtful – it takes so much practice. Compassion for when we don’t manage it too, because we’re human.
Recently I had a meltdown over one of Ila-Rae’s big feeling moments, being triggered because she was loud, it was late, the baby was tired, I was tired, she was tired, and it was generally just a crappy time for her to be screaming about whatever it was she was upset about. I told her to ‘shut-up’ … and immediately regretted it. Theo actually pulled me up on it and said I shouldn’t use that word, and in the end, I apologised and we had a cuddle; I empathized that she was just frustrated and sad at the situation, and we moved on. In parenting circles, we call this rupture and repair. It has been revolutionary in my own parenting experiences to view things in this cycle.
Apologise
Rupture – repair.
We have a rupture, we shout, we tell our child off, we say something we wish we could take back, and then, what do we do next?
We take a deep breath, some space if needed, and get down on their level, and sincerely tell them we are sorry. We tell them that we are human too, and that we make mistakes, and that no-matter what happens ever, no-matter how angry we may get, we will never stop loving them. We tell them they are incredible, and that they are still learning and we are here to help them.
We repair.
And then we move forward… because sometimes we get it wrong too, and in the big picture, normalising apologising to our children means they will become adults who are not afraid to own their mistakes, apologise and move forward. It’s probably one of the most important things we do in our house, and it does make a huge difference.
Model adult regulation
Ooh this last one is so hard sometimes. Especially when we have triggers from our own childhood that we haven’t really processed yet. Modelling regulation is hard but with practice it does get easier. Plus, there’s a lot of stuff we can do to prepare, or purposely model positive scenarios when we do feel regulated, which mean when react before thinking, and yell or get angry, say things we don’t mean to (my go to is usually along the lines of “for f***s sake, again!”).
The good news is, modelling happens all the time whether or not we plan for it. So when we treat people like our parents, partners and children with respect and kindness, they pick it up. When we talk to kids like we would our best friend, then they learn they are valued as people to us, and they begin to do the same.
There is nothing sweeter that a 2 or 3 year old complimenting you as an adult with all the sincerity in the world, because they think that’s just what everyone does. Or hearing their beautiful little voices tell you about the day or view because you’ve done it for their whole life, and they want to share the joy. All these amazing moments you have, they are because of you, your modelling, your hard work… you are always doing it. Building emotional literacy into this is a step further yes, but it becomes part of life too… and when we model all of the above, we name, we allow and accept, even embrace, we hold the space and apologise for ruptures when we can, we can build some incredible skill for our children, and hopefully, in the long game we will see them be much more emotionally capable and healthy humans.
Kids will be kids
They will bite, kick, hit and scream… because they need to communicate and these are tools of communication.
Our job is not to stop these behaviours because they are ‘wrong’ but rather, to guide them to a new toolkit, with communication skills that mean they can tell us what they need without hurting anyone, including themselves.
Changing my mindset in these ways has helped me immensely, I hope that this may help you too!
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
Mary Oliver
I began to write a post on the bus the other day. I began one in my head as we walked. I began to think again while at the park watching Ila-Rae on the swings. Truthfully, my musing this month is that although my heart and soul want to be creating, writing, expressing; my body and mind are busy and exhausted. That’s okay.
I am only just out of the 4th Trimester with Ezra, and still very much finding my feet as a new mum again. Theo is thriving in his own way, and also challenging in others; Ila-Rae is the same. Both of them remind me daily that there is absolutely no point in trying to control the way they want to live their lives, because the only things I can control are my own reactions (or responses as I’m trying to reframe them), and the environment I create – to an extent anyway.
There is a part of me drawn to minimalism and so when things get too chaotic, I end up having a big clean out and resort – today was that day. Unsurprisingly therefore, I have finally made some time to write, because my brain and body are that little bit calmer within our environment. Yes the playroom is still messy, and yes there are pens ALL over the kids bedroom floor, and yes, Ila-Rae went to bed with felt-tip marking over pretty much her entire body; BUT they had real dinner, we played and had some wonderful connection, the bedsheet is clean AND we even managed to hoover up most of the rice and chickpeas from the sensory tray spillover. I’ll take this as a win!
Autumn has pretty much gone now I feel. Though we have had some sunny days, the nights draw in fast and the cold is beginning to make it self felt. This year though, Theo’s old enough to talk to about extra layers, turning lights off, saving energy when it’s possible – and as a result, he’s being conscious about it, which is both the reason and motivator for H and I to model using our resources responsibly. We’ve had some wonderful conversations regarding sustainability, and he’s actually even more excited to take the bus when we go out now, regularly checking that the fuel/energy being used by our family is not ‘too much’. It makes me sad to think at 4 he will already have a sense of climate anxiety; but I am also determined to make positive changes with him (and Ila-Rae and Ezra as they grow of course). The next big thing I need to organize with him is a neighborhood little pick – which sounds simple and cheery but with 3 babies under 5, it’s something I am yet to manage as whenever we do go out and pick up the few loose bits here and there, I always make the mental note to pack some little bags… and then forget.
Homeschooling
As Theo officially reached school eligibility age this year, I had panicked a little about the face we are home educating. I wholehearted believe it is the right choice for our family right now… but I am also someone who feels nervous about doing things ‘wrong’ and home-ed is very far from considered the ‘right thing’ from conversations with family and friends. Slowly though, I feel like it is being more accepted – or maybe I’m just getting better at navigating the harder conversations.
We bought Kindergarten Math with Confidence and I was so excited to start in September … but Theo wasn’t bothered and so I didn’t push. Instead we played and got used to life with Ezra around. Numbers though were still featuring heavily in his interests so we have watched a lot of Numberblocks on CBeebies and I ignored pretty much every part of me that wanted to quiz him. Until the last 2 weeks where he’s been playing with numbers, adding and subtracting and asking us to join in and throw questions at him. The joy he shows when he knows the answer is palpable; and the curiosity when he needs to try and figure it out is incredible. Had I pushed, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. So I’ve been looking at the curriculum this week to find ideas for ways to bring in the challenges he is showing signs of wanting… and for now, we’ll go from there.
He has almost no interest in letters and says he has no need to read because he can read with an adult; while Ila-Rae will draw shapes and tell me they are letters… so already I see their needs are so different, even though she isn’t yet 2 (almost though!). He loves his construction play and so I am debating getting a Teifoc building set for him, but the cost is holding me back. I’m sure it’ll be worth it, but maybe one for the future – right now he is content with our Grimms Pyramid styled blocks that a friend made for us.
Lastly in terms of home ed, I’ll add that though we aren’t doing anything formal, I am going back to keeping records because of the court case in Portsmouth ruling in favour of the Learning Authority (LA), because it falls into the growing sense of worry that more requirements and restrictions are going to be placed on families who are choosing this path. I have an Instagram account that focuses more on sharing what we’ve been doing and I am also using pen and paper to journal important observations… alongside photographs because I always enjoy capturing their moments, but that is partly because of my own interest in photography. For now, our life won’t change really, but I am conscious that I don’t want to do things ‘wrong’ and end up with problems with our own LA here in Plymouth, or any other in the future.
Photography
Here are a few choice images from the last few months. My hope is that if I manage to make this writing a monthly occurence, I will be able to share between 2 and 5 favourites from the month past, and hone my own skills while I do so.
Inspiration
Currently I’ve got a few things that are keeping me going. Inspiration is one of those things that, in my opinion, is very personal, because we each have a different need that should be met in order for inspiration to feel authentic.
I subscribe to Julie Bogart’s newsletter and, although I don’t read every single one that pops into my inbox, a while ago she sent one that really resonated. She spoke about parents finding hobbies, to stop stressing over our children’s learning and instead, learn something new ourselves. To demonstrate a love of learning and a passion for a project or activity or anything really, because when our children see it, we are modeling a healthy relationship with learning. It really struck a cord with me, and so I’m keeping it at the forefront of projects or ideas I have. Maybe it’ll work for you too.
I’ve also been listening to Life Without School podcast, as a little reminder and breather during the week. The episodes are short enough and beautifully thought out. I love the honestly behind conversations and although my children are younger, I find a lot relatable.
Lastly, I’ve put reminders on my phone to smile more! It’s a small thing, but the reminder every couple of hours pops up and it is a way for me to check in with what my body feels too. The idea is that by reminding myself to smile, I am rewiring my brain in positivity – I don’t always want to smile, but the reminder is soft, and a happy word, so I soften my jaw a little, breathe and if I want to, smile. Rather than a reminder to meditate or do some ‘self care’ which ends up feeling like another job on the list, this is gentle and effective for me right now.
I invite you to try it… smile. Just for a second. Then for a bit longer. Deep breath through the nose if you can first, and then soft your jaw, cheekbones, eyebrows… and smile. 💕 How does that feel?
I’ll tentatively promise another update next month. With lots of things in my head, I hope to share a few projects then too.
I’ve avoided writing about ezras birth story. I keep saying I will but I’ve procrastinated constantly… and I know why.
It was hard. Beautiful, but hard.
** All images included in this post are taken by Gaby Sweet, our incredible photographer **
In many ways I think I’ll view it as the hardest birth of all of my children, and the most empowering experience by the end. I’ll endeavour to make this is chronologically as possible, but the reality is that birth isn’t. One thing happens after another but when we look back there are moments that stick with us – moments so intense that we are fully transported back. I know with each of my births those moments have been intensely different.
These are late in the third trimester, taken by Gaby on film, at our 2nd pre-birth meeting.
Ezra Krishna was born almost 2 weeks over the NHS due date we’d been given, and I was exhausted. By 35 weeks I had already starting counting down the days and weeks, never thinking I’d be pregnant for another 7 weeks from then. I was convinced baby would arrive by 38 weeks, and I was ready – or I thought I was.
But 38 weeks came and went. Then 39, then 40 and midwives started suggesting interventions. In the weeks leading to our due date, I’d had several periods where I thought labour was starting, only for things to frustratingly taper off again. At one point I was so sure I called Harrison home from work, only to find that the labour signs stopped with the kids bedtime. Exasperating! I learned a lot of patience through my impatience, and had to do a lot of letting go.
I was offered a membrane sweep, which I had made clear I would not be having early on. I was told at 41 weeks I would be booked in for an induction in 5 days; again I declined. I said I would go in for monitoring instead.
41+5 arrived and I lost a fair amount of my mucus plug, with the blood on my underwear to prove it. I called to inform the hospital I would not be attending my appointment for monitoring as I was in early labour. The response was shocking – passed around to various phones, I was finally told that I wasn’t on the system. This annoyed me, as if I had gone to the hospital I would have been alone, leaving my 2 kids upset with my husband … but I said okay, and goodbye. I was prepared and excited to relax and look forward to meeting my baby.
Just a few hours later, things felt slow but similar to Ila-Rae’s labour, when I got a callback from the maternity service. They wanted to know why I had missed my scheduled induction (the one I’d refused and said not to book as I’d be waiting for spontaneous labour!) and told me I was required to come in for monitoring. I said I would go in tomorrow for monitoring ONLY but I was not leaving the house that day – and so the Midwife began to rattle off the dangers of having an overdue baby, telling me “it would be a shame if something were to happen, or if baby was stillborn” because I had refused induction. I was talked to like I knew nothing, and told there was medical necessity for me to attend that day. I declined, telling the Midwife I knew my rights as a birthing person and that I knew my body and baby – I would not be leaving my house. The firm message for me was “the first intervention in labour begins when you leave the front door.” I knew I wanted a homebirth AND I knew I would transfer if needed – I wasn’t going to risk my health or baby’s… but I wasn’t going to be bullied either.
My oxytocin levels plummeted. The stop and start labour for weeks had been frustrating but this was 100× worse. I felt so angry. And sad. And annoyed by a system that believes so little in womens abity to birth their babies. I had no contractions for hours, and then when they came they were less intense… it was clear that our baby would not be arriving that day.
So I shared about it on social media carried on with the day, did bedtime and all that jazz. Once the kids were asleep, Harrison and I had an angry and enjoyable conversation about the social media responses I’d received, which let out a lot of tension I was holding. I am grateful to have a partner who gets angry with me, and who believes in me so much that he was perfectly fine going against the professionals.
After a while, decided to go to sleep. I knew this labour was the real deal, but like so many birth stories I’d read, I still didn’t feel safe enough so my body was holding on. I tried to create my oxytocin bubble again, using my affirmations, and visualising what I hoped for in this birth. I slept intermittently between 12 and 4, exhausted but unable to fully rest. I remember downloading a contraction timer app, but honestly gave up because it was more of a hassle. I knew this was labour, my back hurt in a way that it hadn’t in my previous labours, but the rawness was there. At 4am, I gave up, went to make a sandwich and started to watch the clock.
The surges got more regular. Every 5 minutes or so, raw but manageable. I text Gaby, and got busy getting into my zone. I was so excited. A day labour! I hoped we’d have some beautiful light and a day birth … by evening it was a point of joke that I’d even thought it would be possible.
The day was stop start… some moments extremely intense, some moments of laughter and relaxing. I was so frustrated at points because I felt like everything I thought I knew was going out the window. Ila was by my side, the whole day. Harrison made sure everyone was fed and had drinks, he kept checking on me, and was flitting between the kids and my needs. Theo spent the whole day watching Maddie’s Do You Know… honestly that woman has saved so many moments for me, she deserves a written thank you! He binge watched telly and ate and played a little… got in the pool briefly and then back to telly and sleep. Completely different to how I’d imagined – we’d spent hours over the weeks leading up talking about birth and waves and crowning, but on the day, he knew he needed his space. In the end, I’m grateful for that.
The pool with Theo and Ila was not what I’d imagined. I thought it would be nice and calm and homely to have them with me… but they were so excited. Theo kept splashing, Ila was stuck to me. She knew something was happening but she didn’t understand. And as the back pain got worse but contractions didn’t seem to regulate, I started getting more and more frustrated. She picked up on it all.
Eventually I kicked both kids out the pool to watch a film. It was needed but then the guilt and sadness began to take over. The excitement was fading… and I was struggling.
Midwives weren’t much help. They came which was a surprise as we’d be told they might if they could be spared, but we were given no time frame. I asked for a VE which was agony – but I couldn’t carry on without knowing…. I don’t regret it. They said 4cm… except, it could also be 6… they couldn’t decide. So they stayed and observed me for an hour. Contractions were irregular, some almost unbearable, some much more manageable. Before leaving they checked my dilation again – this time talking between themselves about babies position (but not telling me at all!) and then telling me it could still be 4, but they could stretch me up to 7/8 (that was painful AF!).
It was around this time with the midwives I think that Harrison suggested the TENS machine… I had totally forgotten about it, but it was a welcome relief. I had only used the water until that point, and lots of movement breathing.
Then came the most intense part. This memory holds the most strength of labour still for me, and the vulnerability I felt brings me to tears. I remember lying on my bed. Curled up into my inner space; this was my time for rest… and I did. I slept in between contractions so intense I felt like I was being ripped apart. In the later moments as I lay down, turning my TENS machine up so high I felt the reminence of those shocks for days after – I text a friend telling her I felt like I was dying. In that moment, though I knew this was the intensity of labour, I truly felt like I couldn’t go on.
In between my sleep Harrison brought me toast. The kids fell asleep.. Ila lay next to me, wanting to know I was close. But then things got too much… Harrison took Ila, and just as he got her to sleep downstairs, I had an intense contraction. Instinctly I moved onto all fours. Something shifted.
Harrison downstairs. I told Gaby – who had sat with me and gently assured me that I was okay, that I could do this, that I was doing this – that I was going to get back into the pool.
Tens machine off, I got into the pool and transition began. I was so deeply in the zone that although I registered Harrison telling me he thought we should call the midwives again, i couldn’t respond. He made the decision and got on the phone.
This is one of the few really intimate moments we had … because he was so busy making sure I had all I needed. He’s exhausted, I’m in the deep space of Birth…but when I look at this image, I see the trust and support. I see the love.
The next contraction came, and my body took over. I was pushing.
I could feel our babies head. I screamed. I roared. It was intense.
"Sometimes we roar our babies out"
The midwives told Harrison to call paramedics instead, but I was pushing, the baby was coming and I would not have been able to wait even if I wanted.
I don’t know how long it took from then to holding him, but he arrived, roared out with such intensity that I woke Ila up.
Then he was here… Harrison told us baby boy. I just sat, having caught him and pulled him up onto me, unwrapped his cord from his neck, I was still in awe. Somehow my body had known I needed the water… that I was ready, but I had doubted myself so much that the reality of holding my baby was still a shock.
My loudness had woken Ila up, so Harrison had brought her in, and she tried to get into the pool with me again. Instead, I got out.
Before I even sat, our placenta was out. Easy as anything, and intact. I put it into a bowl and curled onto the bed, with Ila there, munching a biscuit and our baby boy wrapped in a towel on top of me.
Ezra. He was here.
I drank some herbal tea to avoid major bleeding – given my history with Theo, this was a precaution and a mental safety net.
Harrison was still on the phone. The paramedics were on their way… but it would be hours yet.
Theo woke up, cried and came up the stairs. So soon he was cuddled in… completely indifferent to the newest addition in my arms. Harrison was already sorting out the pool… checking in on us while he worked. I had afterpains… and they were Intense! It’s true, they get worse with every child.
We moved the towels I’d been sat on, put some fresh ones down and began to just settle in, trying to latch Ezra but he wss mostly sleepy and content.
When the paramedics arrived, 2 hours after we had called, they were shocked at the fact midwives hadn’t even called to check in. I showered, and was still bleeding steadily so, against my deepest wish, but following advice, I decided to transfer in.
I am a person who deeply believes we can birth in the way we want. That we intuitively know if something is wrong and that I was in tune enough with body to trust it. I knew I hadn’t torn, and that my bleeding was normal. I also knew my previous bleeding with Theo’s birth was for concerning, and that this pregnancy I had not been given an iron transfusion. I knew I was fine… but I also knew I didn’t want the trauma for my children of rushing mummy into hospital hours later because of bleeding. So I transfered, to be safe.
I have to say though, the paramedics were very respectful about my hesitation. The male paramedic was concerned by blood loss, because he couldn’t gauge it from the pool (which was gone) and towels had soaked up so much water as well as blood. The female paramedic was trusting, she gave me the space and made sure I knew the power was in my hands. It was my scene, and they were there as an assist.
Gaby was still with us too, hours after the birth by this point, so she prepared to leave as I did. She was so incredibly calm and centred. She was exactly who I had needed with us, not just for me, but for our whole family. I told the kids they’d pick me up in the morning and kissed Harrison goodbye. It was bittersweet and part of me hated it. I wanted to be in our bed, snuggled up with my children. But there was no Midwife coming… and I knew this was to be part of our story, so *deep breath* off we went.
Story to be continued in the immediate postpartum writings … below are more images from our day 💕
These are some more of the parts of our story.
I know that for some people, birh photography is something they wouldn’t dream of… but others are curious. These images form part of our story – they capture both of my older children on the day their brother was born, they capture the support I had from my husband, they capture the depths of my commitment to birth my baby in a way I knew I wanted. It hard, but ultimately healing.
If you think you might want someone to capture your birth… ask around. It is absolutely something I don’t think anyone would ever regret…. because it isn’t just a photo, it’s a story of the journey.
4 weeks on from welcoming my daughter into the world, I am finally ready to share our story. It’s taken me this long to write because life has been a perfect blend of chaos and love and I haven’t wanted to miss out in daylight hours. But before we begin 2020, I want to share one of my biggest and most incredible 2019 moments: birth.
Ila-Rae decided exactly 1 week early that she was ready to come earthside and so was born in the first week of December. Throughout the last trimester of my pregnancy, I had said that I didn’t mind, and in fact wanted to carry her over our due date because I enjoyed being pregnant. However, the night before her arrival, I was very ready to no longer be pregnant: I was tired, heavy and sore. I wanted to be able to play with and run after Theo Prana (now 29 months) without the constraints of my giant belly. That night Theo was sick, he ran a temperature and at 1am cried and cried that his throat hurt. He wanted the telly so we left H in bed and I took him downstairs for the dragon movie (How to Train Your Dragon) hoping I’d manage some sleep. We never watched the film, he snuggled up and fell asleep again quickly, waking frequently for reassurance that mummy was there with him. I was exhausted.
Baby girl must have known growing her was taking its toll, the next morning I went to the toilet and realised I’d had a ‘show’. My real contractions started around an hour later (8am) and slowly got worse through the day. H had his usual lie in while I played with Theo and we had a spinach omelette breakfast. The morning was calm enough, I did the washing, sorted out some house bits; the labour pains were becoming more obvious and I knew that this was it, but we’d had a few false alarms in the 2 weeks previously so I kept quiet. Played with Theo, snacked, sang, danced, cuddled and breastfed. Theo was extra attached to me, possibly because he’d been unwell, or possibly because he knew we were maybe getting close to our new arrival.
H came down mid-morning and he asked if everything was okay. I told him that this could be another false alarm, pains were not frequent enough to tell. At some point, he left me and Theo so he could buy a new computer game, which later he joked he’d never get to play since baby was coming: I laughed and somehow as silly as this may seem, it is significant memory of the early stages of my labour. I’d also very last minute ordered a bump cast kit. It arrived that afternoon.
At 2pm we took Theo to the GP to check on his throat. By this point my contractions were frequent enough to know we should time them, but still irregular. Priority was having my son checked, and making sure he was alright. Once he was given the all clear: we went home and immediately my contractions intensified. I had mentally given my body permission to keep going because I knew that Theo was okay. I think if we’d been told he had an infection, labour would have stalled.
Harrison got everything ready for the bump cast. I took Theo upstairs and we played with blocks and he fed and cuddled me. I told him baby would be arriving soon, and mummy’s body was getting ready to have his sister come to live outside of my belly. I contacted my friend who’d offered to have Theo while we went to hospital, and the photographer I’d hired. They both knew it was going to happen in the next 12-24 hours. I watched my son and cried knowing it was my last day with only him as my baby. Our relationship has become so sacred to me, I was scared beyond measure that I was going to ruin it by bringing a baby home; I mourned the fact he was suddenly going to be so grown up.
We put the Teletubies on for Theo while Harrison cast over my bump. I lay down letting it set and my contractions got stronger. It was lying on my kitchen floor breathing and moaning through the pain that I understood the sensuality of labour, and how it could be, in its own way, orgasmic. I breathed heavily, closed my eyes and let the wave-like feeling build and then drop off, it was magical.
I asked Harrison to take the cast off and after getting cleaned up, began to make dinner. The boys ate wraps but I just wanted to be sick. I’d already taken an anti-sickness tablet so I tried to eat though I didn’t manage much, instead a bounced on the birth ball. The nausea reminded me of Theo’s labour, except this time I was better prepared. While we ate, we made sure everything was packed and got Theo ready for his sleepover. My 4th night away from him, ever. I walked him to our friends house and he was off, didn’t even say goodbye. He happily went off to play and though he struggled to sleep, he did a lot better than I thought he would. I am truly grateful that he stayed with them, because I could relax and focus on myself and baby, knowing he was safe and well cared for.
Music on, we set off for hospital in Paisley. I texted our photographer and told her we were leaving: she said she’d meet us there after a while.
We arrived at 8pm. I said not to bother bringing in our bags in case we were told that I wasn’t far enough along to admit. H wanted to bring them but didn’t argue, and so came out for them again about half an hour later. We saw a midwife who did the initial triage, and then were left to our own devices for a while. I was sick from the pain of contractions and asked for an antiemetic injection but it only arrived after Ila-Rae was born.
Another midwife Emily introduced herself and brought us some toast and tea. She wanted to examine me but suggested we wait until I was more ready. She encouraged me to breathe through contractions, relax my body and blow the pain away. After a while she suggested it again because the contractions were making me visibly more uncomfortable: I agreed to have a vaginal exam in 15 minutes – we ended up waiting 35 and when she examined me, I was 5cm dilated. Though painful, it was exactly the news I had wanted: active labour meant I’d be admitted into the CMU (maternity unit) and could move to a labour room. It was around 9.30pm.
Just before we moved to the labour room, Louise arrived (our photographer) and got straight to work. She encouraged me and got on well with the midwives straight away. The night shift had started so Emma, a new midwife introduced herself. This made me uncomfortable because I had, in a short time built a rapport with Emily. Both women however, were exceptional.
The bath had been run at my request and I got straight in. I was still talking and joking between contractions though slowly began to withdraw. Emma made me feel like a person: she sat with me and encouraged me, she never requested I move out of a comfort zone and examined me without making me uncomfortable. At one point, when Harrison and Louise were both in the main room away from me, Emma sat near me and asked me about my hair: it was in 2 french braids for convenience and we briefly discussed how it is often much more comfortable to have hair out the way in labour but that it isn’t something many people advise pregnant women on. It was a simple conversation, but it made me feel like a human being not just a labouring mum.
I cannot remember full details about each contraction, but I remember getting quieter, more tired, withdrawing into myself, and connecting with the wilder, primal parts of me: I moaned, I cried, I breathed slowly and deeply. I was aware of my music, and grateful that the midwives had gone through my birth plan. Emma was at one point my advocate to tell Harrison and Louise to be quiet or leave the room.
As things got further along (though I had no real care or idea of the time), Emma asked about pushing, and we spoke about the fetal ejection reflex; she knew that I wanted to let my body take over, so she asked that when I felt my body begin to push or want to, that I let her know. She also told me that the birthe pool was being cleaned and then I’d be able to transfer to there soon. I was still in the bath and H poured water over my back and reminded me to relax my body through contractions. He sang to my music in between. In between the contractions I rested, eyes closed, not quite sleeping. I remember thinking they wouldn’t move me to the pool before baby.
My body began to push, I told Emma and she encouraged me. She again said we’d move soon but I knew we wouldn’t. I couldn’t talk, the next contraction came and Harrison told me how well I was doing “just a bit more” … but I felt like I couldn’t cope. I moved from my kneeling position to a half kneel, half squat and said I couldn’t do it anymore, I wanted to ask for pain relief, but had no time. I was pushing involuntarily and my body took over.
Pushing my daughter out was hard, birth it, but it was an incredibly powerful feeling.
Emma said as I pushed that my waters had gone, but I knew it was my baby; I couldn’t talk, just pushed and moaned. Then I heard “no that’s the baby!” and Emma had tried to catch her but I reached out and pulled her through my legs and she was on me. It was bliss.
We were ushered out the bath fairly quickly due to my history of blood loss and the fact we needed a managed placenta delivery. On the bed, I had skin to skin and Ila-Rae latched onto my breast. We delivered my placenta and the midwives checked for any tears etc – absolutely none. I threw up again, and then my antiemetic finally arrived.
Skin to skin, quiet time, we were able to bond and relax. Ila’s newborn check and weight wasn’t done for over 2 hours, we were brought toast but I couldn’t stomach any of it. I still felt sick. I was happy to just let her feed and watch her, resting in small spouts.
We moved to the recovery wing and then sadly Harrison was sent home (3.30am); this was the only tainting experience of our labour and birth, because he was so upset and really I didn’t want him to leave. But we didn’t argue, he went home and I nursed and slept. I held Ila almost all night, something that was entirely impossible with Theo because I could hardly stay awake after his birth.
In the morning I spoke to Harrison and he brought Theo to pick us up. Theo wasn’t sure at first, more interested in his milkshake than his sister but that soon changed when I said he could hold her. My beautiful boy told her he loved her without being asked to, he said hello beautiful and he cuddled her on the bed. It is a moment I will cherish always.
And there ends my birth story.
My postpartum experience has been entirely different to the first time round. I am of course tired, and there are many hard moments, but I’ll share those bits later. I am starting 2020 as a mum of 2 beautiful babies, feeling empowered by my birth and excited by it too. I hope that this year I can start my journey into birth-work, and after this experience, I hope I can empower other women, whatever their choices are or situation may be, to feel as in control and trusting as I did in the birth room.
The long weeks over October (at what feels like 100 mph) have taken their toll this week. My body has complained; my mental health plummeted. I try and make time to write, to read, to do some yoga but inevitably, I push myself to the bottom of my priorities, and end up struggling.
This weekend has forced me to slow down. I’ve been too exhausted to do anything else. The universe is telling me I need a change of pace.
It’s hard, because I’m not used to it, but I know if I don’t, I’ll suffer in the long run. Growing a human is hard enough without the added stresses, and I want to keep growing her for another 6 weeks!
Theo forced me to slow down today. He wanted to be with me and cuddle. He made sure I sat down, bossing me about! How does my toddler know what I need more than I do? Or do I just ignore myself?
I’ve made a to-do list for tomorrow/this week. It’s long, but flexible. I’m hoping it’ll help.
For now, it’s sleep-time. I’ll need all the rest possible for tomorow.
Finding inspiration to write is not always easy, not is it easy to find time when a good idea hits. These past couple of weeks I have had several “I could do a blog post about that” moments, but inevitably the time passes and I haven’t managed to open up my laptop. Add on to that the fact that TP is extremely possessive of my phone when it is out, these moments pass.
Thinking about that though, about how fleeting moments are, and about how quickly time slips away, is itself, something to share. Recently this has come up a lot for me; the hours and days we wish away. At 27 weeks pregnant now, with a 25 month old, I will be the first to admit that I take a lot of it for granted. I ‘just know’ that tomorrow we can make up for today, or that after nap-time we can do something fun, or that the weather will be better next week for us to go out walking more. I assume that I will continue to be able to run around after my son, and pick him up, throw him around and let him ride ‘monkey’ on my back down the stairs. He sits on my belly and we joke he is sitting on his sister as he climbs onto my shoulders.
On the other side of it though, are the long hours where I thank god and the BBC for Mr Tumble and let TP sit through many, many episodes just so I can eat and cook and do the washing and check my email and maybe if I’m lucky go to the loo before he gets up and demands attention. There are 5am starts and 10pm bedtimes, the food strikes or tantrums for anything other than marshmallows, the milk hunger to the point my nipples feel they might fall off, and the hitting and biting that is his current method of expressing upset and anger. These are moments that I want to pass quickly, because staying present and accepting is hard, it’s easier to wish the hour away and want to ‘move on’ to the next thing on our schedule.
Yet these are also the moments I think back on with a wry smile, because the cuddles and healing that happen after are often the best hugs and cutest conversations. So why do I wish them away?
Because I am tired.
Because I am embarrassed.
Because they make me feel like I am raising a ‘trouble’ child.
Because accepting and dealing with the harder minutes is not easy. Parenthood is not easy.
My son is currently asleep for his daily nap and I have a To-Do List as long as my arm but today, after months away, I wanted to blog. I have thought so much about why I stopped, why I lost it on my list of priorities and how I miss typing away and sharing my life.
I lost touch with a lot of things over the last few months, adjusting to life with Harrison home, falling pregnant and facing the parenting struggles (and adventures) that come with having a 2 year old. The days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, where I chose to watch useless television or even worse, scroll my Facebook and Instagram feeds, pretending that it was a good use of my time! How easy it is to get sucked into wasting precious minutes mindlessly on these apps. I love the ability to share and connect, but not the ease with which we are trapped into staying on the platform longer and longer.
Turning off my phone, or at least my internet recently has helped, maybe that is why I have found my way back to the keyboard. Or perhaps it was the gentle push from my mother this weekend, reminding me that writing has been a great way to care for myself, express and evaluate, let go of emotions and heal from experiences. If I want to express myself, share my life constructively, and unpack the emotional backpack I am carrying, writing is a much better idea that Facebook scrolling isn’t it? So here we are, hopefully this time for a long time.
I won’t attempt to relieve all that has gone on since April, but I will fill in all the important bits, at least the big ones; like my little brother moving to Australia, my best friend in Scotland moving away for a year, and TP losing his best buddy (her daughter). My anxiety over TPs birth trauma made an appearance (which I am slowly trying to heal) while we were on our first ever family holiday, and we have had members of both sides of the family come to visit. TPs speech is incredible now, and I learned that even in Scotland, a paddling pool or variation of one is an asset on the hot days. H bought a bike and is using it, and I am driving around a lot more comfortable, albeit locally. We have also begun to really enjoy cooking from scratch and learning how to love the kitchen. The rest, well it’s history, but the future is still waiting, holding stories and laughter and love for us to share.
You might have also caught that I am pregnant – yep! – 25 weeks currently, and a big part of the reason I stopped writing. There were a few weeks in the first trimester I walked around permanently holding either a sick bowl or bag, and crying because I wasn’t able to do much else. But it passed, after a lot of trial and error I found a couple of pregnancy sickness tricks to keep it at bay (another post about this will come) and finally we are over it (mostly!).
Apart from that tiny detail, my first born, Theo Prana turned 2 this July, making me officially the mum of a wild toddler who is the biggest light in my life but also makes me want to curl up under the blanket with a tub of ice-cream and hide. Nobody can prepare you for parenthood and each stage has its challenges, but toddlerhood is by far the most testing. That said, we are working on finding the balance, and thankfully H is very on board with a lot of the peaceful parenting ideas I propose, so we are a team rather than giving TP mixed signals by being confused ourselves.
We also started cloth nappies, and reusable wipes, and as a family (sometimes actually led more by H than myself) trying to cut down our plastic consumption and be less wasteful. This has been an amazing development for us because we both feel like as TP gets older and understands more, we want him to know we did our best for the planet, and we didn’t stay ignorant. It is hard, sometimes we forget, sometimes even though we remember, we cannot afford the ‘planet friendly’ options, but every little bit we do makes a difference in the big picture, like the butterfly who’s wings flapping could be felt across the earth, each step we make, is a step forward.
Oh and lastly, we are moving house! Still a little while to go, so I won’t share much on it yet, but I guess that is also kind of a big reason I have felt like life is so busy, because we have had a few really major things to adjust to. All good thankfully and I am so grateful for that.
Recently a friend asked me to think back to one childhood memory that stood out. No thinking, just do it.
I urge you try.
What did you come up with?
Was it something Happy? Exciting? Sad? Angry? Shameful?
My memory was a happy one, one that brought a smile to my lips. This was actually the reason my friend had asked to me to think back, to remind me that even though life seems hard sometimes, overall, my life has been pretty damn amazing.
It got me thinking about how much our childhood influences the way we raise our children. If you had a perfectly happy childhood, you try and replicate the same for your kids. Similarly, studies suggest that people who were raised in unhappy households tend to pass on this cycle to their children. Most of us are somewhere in the middle, with good bits and bad bits; with the hope that the good outweighs the bad, the happiness is prominent than the sadness.
But, as Alfie Kohn points out:
To get better at the craft of raising children, we need to be open to seeing what’s unpleasant in order to evaluate what our parents did right and where we might be able to improve on their approach.
We learn from the way we were parented and pass it on, or we take what we have learned and adapt it.
My memory was catching butterflies. This is what I wrote when I thought about it:
We are walking around a field of sorts, it is not green, rather yellow-ish because of the warmth. It’s the 4 of us, with Sid and I holding nets and jars, I think they are empty at the moment; we are looking for butterflies. It’s a family outing. I remember feeling happy.
Next thing I remember is the fascination of watching a butterfly, inside the jar we have, the one that is meant to be especially designed for them – now that I am older, I highly doubt this, but I remember believing it. The butterfly is sitting on a twig or something we have but inside the jar, it is colourful and beautiful. We admire it, and then let it go. it flies away and we keep walking.
This is one of my favourite memories, and I am sure it has very little to do with the butterflies and a lot to do with the fact it was a family trip. We did a lot of them and even though I know we squabbled, and were hungry or tired or both, I don’t remember those bits. The bits that stick are the feelings of warmth, of excitement and of joy; they are the kind of thing I want to pass on to my child. We learn from our parents and we better our own parenting from them; I’m pretty sure if we do that, then generations get better and we raise good people to keep the world running.
Harrison got everything ready for the bump cast. I took Theo upstairs and we played with blocks and he fed and cuddled me. I told him baby would be arriving soon, and mummy’s body was getting ready to have his sister come to live outside of my belly. I contacted my friend who’d offered to have Theo while we went to hospital, and the photographer I’d hired. They both knew it was going to happen in the next 12-24 hours. I watched my son and cried knowing it was my last day with only him as my baby. Our relationship has become so sacred to me, I was scared beyond measure that I was going to ruin it by bringing a baby home; I mourned the fact he was suddenly going to be so grown up. 
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