New baby

PostingButcher's girl

filletsteak_Small.jpg My husband is a gentle sort of character. A teetotal, poetry-writing chap who would - no, has - crossed a road to rescue a stranded caterpillar. A man who brings me flowers almost weekly, who runs up two flights of stairs to see me and the children in the evenings, who looked after me every step of the way through two difficult pregnancies and a miscarriage, bringing me supper and breakfast in bed, while making endless cups of tea, a man who allows my mother - his mother-in-law - to be a daily part of our family. However, our otherwise idyllic relationship has hit a stumbling block.

It's about diet. He is a committed vegetarian. Since having Button in July I have become a carnivore. I need lots of meat. Not just the odd bacon sarnie. But roast chicken, lamb and steak. Sausages. Burgers. Slices of ham. Daily. For the protein and iron? I don't really know. I just know I MUST HAVE MEAT. Like a junkie needs a fix. The cravings are as bad as in early pregnancy. When I wanted peanut butter, fruit and nut chocolate and strawberry milkshakes. Sometimes together. When I ate mushroom papardelle every night for a fortnight, Washed down with the aforementioned milkshake. Urgh, I feel sick just remembering.

Now I absolutely must have steak. At least every other day. Maybe it's the breastfeeding? Which, by the way, is going well now. After a shaky start. When it hurt so much my tears of pain and frustration were dropping onto poor Button's head.

The problem, well, no, not problem, but, let's say, the dietary challenge is that husband is a veggie of firm principle, unshakeable in avoiding all meat and fish. Shellfish actually makes him violently ill.  And he can't bear animal suffering. For years now I've eaten the same veggie diet as him. Mostly for convenience. I can hardly remember the last time I cooked chicken or ate steak, except in a restaurant.

But now I need to produce two meals each evening - one veggie, the other with meat. New for me, and not as easy as it sounds. I am but a novice in the world of carnivores, as events yesterday proved.

It was with some trepidation that I yesterday manoeuvred the three-wheeler buggie containing Button into our local butcher's shop. We passed what I think were probably a brace of dead grouse (well, maybe not, they might have been pheasants, hard to tell; as I said, I'm no expert in the subject, but some manner of colourful, dead feathery birds, anyway). The smell of blood, meat and animal made me want to retch. Again, a happy reminder of early pregnancy.

Bits of guinea fowl, partridge, venison, veal, wild boar, haggis, black and white puddings lay in front of me, wrapped in plastic, the blood seeping to the edges of the packets.

"Can I help you?" asked one of the several men in bloodied uniforms behind the counter.

"Well, the thing is I need some more iron in my diet. But my husband's vegetarian...."

Cue hysterical laughter from all four men behind counter.

"So you've come here to buy him some meat?"

Mentally I cursed my tendency to talk too much when nervous. But found myself unstoppable.

"No, I haven't. It would need to be something you could serve for one. For me."

"How about a nice piece of liver," said one of the younger of the men. He held up something that looked like a human placenta.

"If you can stomach it," he added, concessionary.

"Errrrr...It's not really my thing, to be honest."

Another female customer piped up with a suggestion. My God. The whole shop was taking an interest in this ridiculous inquiry.

"How about beef stock? You could drink it? Or add it to a vegetable risotto"

Yuck! I thought. Plus, it wouldn't really be a vegetable risotto, would it, if it had beef stock in it? I mean, strictly speaking, Trades Description and all that.

But, brought up in Edinburgh, I said nothing and resorted to my polite laugh. The one that really means she's got to be taking the proverbial. No way am I replacing Twinings English Breakfast with some vile concoction of ground-up cow flesh. No way am I deceiving my poor vegetarian husband into consuming the same. I wanted to talk more about what she meant, but felt we had both the wrong venue and subject for a girly bonding session.

The first, older butcher produced a metal hook from behind the counter, the kind pinning the grouse/pheasants/patridges to the wall, which he waved in front of my face. I really wasn't sure where he was going with this gambit. Then all became clear.

"You could have this. Plenty of iron in this," he guffawed, pleased at his own wit. Oh, for goodness' sake.

Clearly, I have spent too much time with other new mothers, sensitive and thoughtful types who have forsaken high-flying careers for motherhood and take nutrition seriously. I had no idea how to respond to the hook's appearance. No repartee came to me. My hands were shaking. My only ally in this horror of blood, guts and border-line misogyny (or misplaced attempts at humour) was Button. Though only three months old, I sensed a mute sympathy from her. She gave me her crafty sideways look that seemed to say: "Together we're strong enough to get through this difficulty". Anyway, I felt better for looking at her.

I also looked at the other female customer, Beef Stock Woman, expecting a brief eye-meet between us, expressing shared horror at the medieval attitudes of these people, but nothing came back. I lowered my gaze. I couldn't help but suspect she was offended at my lack of warmth in response to her beef stock sally. And, although she could not have been in more than her mid-thirties at most, she had a shopping trolley with wheels by her side. Yes, one of those trollies. Like the ones people's grannies used to own. An indicator, just perhaps, that she and I might not see  eye to eye on humour.

"Perhaps I'll just have some fillet steak," I said, injecting an artificial jollity into my voice, pride forcing me to try and preserve the pretence that I was in control of the sitation.

"Aye," said the older butcher, nodding as if I was a teenager who had seen sense at last, bowing to parental widsom on the dangers of late nights, bad boys and lentils. "How much would you like?""

We settle on a slab that would fill half a large frying pan.

I pay. But by this point I am so flustered by being plunged into this alien world that I drop some of my change. My eyesight is especially poor at the moment and I feel even more panicked than before. But, somewhat to my surprise, it is the first, older butcher, the one who thrust the hook in front of me, who insists on coming out from behind the counter to help me look for the missing coin. Even though it takes some minutes, and I suspect his eyesight isn't much better than mine, he sticks with the search until we find the money. All 5p of it. I feel relieved by the man's kindness. The world is a better, nicer place than I was beginning to suspect.

As Button and I (finally) reverse out of the shop, I catch another glimpse of the grouse/pheasant/indeterminate birds, still hanging on the wall where they were when we came in, having failed to attract any takers. Not only dead, but unwanted too.  Oh dear. But perhaps I had more allies in the shop than I first feared. For was it my imagination, or did one of the birds give me a wink as I wheeled the buggy past her? Help comes in unexpected places, at unexpected times. We exit. I breathe deeply.

Posted 30 October 2008 14:51 | Number of comments: 14 | Comments

Angst Breastfeeding Edinburgh Etiquette Food New baby

PostingSinging to the Sun

As any mother or father knows, parenting is a series of milestones (first smile, first day at nursery, first taste of baby rice, first time they say 'no') and one of the more momentous is steeling yourself to leave a new(ish) baby with a babysitter for the first time. Last week I ventured out to the launch party at the Children's Bookshop for Vivian French's new book Singing to the Sun, leaving my mother with a bottle of milk I had "expressed" earlier for the baby and instructions to get both girls to bed at a reasonable time. "Will I get a row [Scottish for 'get into trouble'] if you get home and they've neither of them settled?" she asked me. "Just do your best, Mum," I said, skipping out the door, giddy with freedom and guilt. "The milk's in the fridge. I'll be on the mobile. Call me if you need us to come home early." It's no exaggeration to say almost every minute of the party was a pleasure, possible because Singing to the Sun is a real delight: the fairytale, illustrated by Jackie Morris, tells of a young man growing up in an aristocratic household, devoid of love, who must choose a bride from three princesses, each of whom represent wealth, power and love. So far, so familiar, but the story is bold and subtle enough to depart from the usual format, presenting readers with an unusual twist at the end. I won't spoil it for you by revealing what happens, but I was delighted to stumble on a children's book that gently challenges some of our ideas about courtship and marriage - and chuffed that Vivian French signed a copy for both our girls. All went well, until, speeches over, cake cut, canapes consumed, the mobile went. "They've both woken up," said Granny, almost shouting to make herself heard over the backdrop of wakeful toddler and baby. "They're not settling," she added, in an unnecessary postscript. Back home it was bedlam. Beanie, wan with exhaustion, was jumping up and down in her cot shouting: "Don't want to go to sleep" and singing Ba-Ba Pink (yes, no mistake) Sheep in an apparent (but sadly futile) attempt to soothe her little sister to sleep. Baby was casting what seemed to be pleading looks in my direction, as if imploring me to step in and end the aural torment. Granny fled the scene, leaving reading glasses, Sudoko book and her mobile at our place. "It wasn't like this all the time, you know," she said defiantly, before heading home, as if to pre-empt criticism, though I'd said nothing. "They were fine for a couple of hours. I called you as soon as it got like this." Ah well. Poor Granny.

Posted 08 September 2008 21:31 | Number of comments: 11 | Comments

Granny New baby

PostingOur beautiful girl has arrived!!!!!

Well, she kept us waiting ten days past her due date, perhaps because she's a girl who knows all about the importance of being fashionably late, but earlier this week our second daughter arrived in this world in a straightforward delivery at the local hospital. Husband and I euphoric at her safe arrival. Our girl lies contentedly in her Moses basket at the foot of the bed as I type, wrapped in the blanket I knitted her. Beanie proving a loving and supportive older sister, who lavishes kisses on her sibling. Thanks to all who left comments on my previous posting. You might not realise this, but your kind words helped keep me going through the last weeks of pregnancy.

Posted 26 July 2008 20:22 | Number of comments: 29 | Comments

New baby

PostingToodle pip

Less than two weeks to go until the baby's due date, and I'm taking a short break from blogging. It's so I can concentrate on the essential stuff - like lying here on the sofa, knitting teddy bears, going through Beanie's wardrobe to sort out clothes for the new baby, working on my husband to persuade him of my choice of baby names, drinking tea and annoying friends at work by phoning up for long chats. The outside world has become a scary and exotic place, since I'm more or less house-bound these days. Even a trip to the end of the road has become quite an undertaking. Husband gets worried if I suggest going out on my own, after I collapsed outside our local library last week and had to be rescued by Beanie's granny, who scooped me up in a taxi to take me home. Then I ended up in hospital on a drip a few days ago, where the medics advised rest. So, I'm trying to scale back commitments wherever I can. Blogging's become a bit of an addiction, so it'll probably do me good anyway to take a break for a while. It's not for ever; I plan on being back in the autumn, when things should be getting back to normal. Any other new or expectant mums reading this, best of luck to you all. I'll be thinking of you. And I'll ask my husband to post about developments with me and our baby as and when they happen.

Posted 27 June 2008 15:58 | Number of comments: 18 | Comments

Blogging Granny Husband New baby

PostingHot water

Bad news, I'm afraid. Looks like home birth could be in jeopardy. Husband has decided we can't risk having birth pool in flat without first getting engineer to check on wisdom of placing seventy seven gallons of water and pregnant wife on 200-year-old Georgian floorboards in second-floor flat. Such a spoilsport. Husband spent couple of hours yesterday afternoon taking up fitted bedroom carpet, prising off floorboard in the corner where I was hoping to site pool and discussing - in agitated manner - benefits of hand versus electric saws. I watched, worried, offered tea, felt guilty about causing him worry, tried (and failed) to think of something useful to say about the saws (knowing little of such matters) and did my best not to wince at the mess. ovalpool_Small.jpgWhen the structural engineer arrived, we tried to have laugh with her about the birth pool; but she just rolled her eyes and said she does this type of work a lot. They've seen it all, these people. Walk-in safes - for people who don't like banks. Hot tubs. What's a birth pool to her? She knelt down, donned big gloves and, after borrowing one of Beanie's plastic spoons, used it to scrape away at the layer of ashes under the floorboards placed there 200 years ago to 'deaden' noise between flats. They do a good job. We never hear a thing from downstairs. Fear, though, even ashes might not stop neighbours hearing me crashing through floor, chanting mantras learnt at pre-natal yoga, breathing imaginary gold ribbon in through the nose, out through the mouth, as taught in classes, and meditating. Husband, midwife and doula peering down from hole in ceiling. Would not be neighbourly thing to do.

This 'investigation' was meant to be a formality. To satisfy the insurance people. But it seems we may have miscalculated. The engineer put down Beanie's spoon. Looked serious. Said something that sounded like it should have been said by Scottie the Engineer on Startrek: "The floor joists can't take it." She would send us a full report today, but wasn't optimistic. Mostly, I was disappointed. But part of me felt something else - relief. Now I have to work out if I can handle a home birth without the pool....

Posted 17 June 2008 15:53 | Number of comments: 11 | Comments

Home birth New baby Water birth

PostingWhy there's no place like home

hrowan300_Small.jpg Telegraph writer Rowan Pelling has written this excellent article about having her second son at home last month. The decision to go for a home birth followed a traumatic delivery first time round in which Pelling got to 9cm dilated - and still ended up under the surgeons' knives with an emergency C-Section. Personally, I just managed to escape a section when giving birth to my daughter. But I did have a tough time delivering a baby who weighed well over 10lbs - so I can  sympathise with Pelling (pictured).

As Pelling jokingly points out, home birth in the UK has an unfair reputation  as the preserve of 'masochistic, tree-hugging yoga freaks'. Just 1.8% of new mothers in the UK give birth at home. But research suggests home births are as safe as hospital deliveries - indeed, possibly even safer, since there's less risk of contracting MRSA. And birth is less stressful in a familiar environment, studies suggest. There's also less risk of intervention; birth is allowed to take its natural course. There are no doctors rushing in to speed up labour artificially, which can lead to all sorts of problems. There's no pressure to agree to using forceps or ventouse if mothers overshoot hospital guidelines for permitted length of the second stage of labour.

Since I decided on a home birth for my second child, due in July, I've had to put up with acquaintance who have a) sneered at my decision  b) suggested I might die in the experience. Friends, especially those who had easier deliveries with their second children, have been more positive. But my mother still looks terrified at the mention of home birth and refuses to acknowledge I'm serious in my plans for one. My husband's hands shake slightly when I discuss it with him and he starts discussing the engineering behind our hot water system - always, I suspect, the first defence of a man troubled by what he's hearing. So it was good to read a positive account of home birth from another woman (also, at 40, a slightly older mum like myself) who felt empowered by the experience.

Pelling attributes some of the success of her home birth to hiring an independent midwife (for around £3,000). I have a fantastic community midwife - but unfortunately there's no guarantee of it being her who comes out to me when I'm in labour - and I'm trying to decide whether it would be worth the expense of hiring an independent midwife. That way, at least, I wouldn't have the stress of wondering about what the midwife will be like.

By the way - here is a useful tip for any woman about to have a baby or looking after a newborn. I've learnt recently that every woman has the right to insist on a change in the medical staff looking after her, including midwives, obstetricians, anaesthetists and health visitors. This would have been nice to know when I was giving birth to my daughter, and I suffered at the hands of a midwife who was like one of my old PE teachers at school. I will never be able to cleanse my brain of her instructions. "Push down through your bottom," she kept telling me, like I was a lazy army recruit who needed whipping into line.

If I'd known back then I had a legal right to tell her to push off and get a replacement, I'd have done so. So, if anyone reading this finds themselves suffering from authoritarian medics who act as if they have the god-given  power to tell them what to do, remember: you have the power to ditch them. There's a small but potent minority of medics who take advantage of their perceived power to bully women. And let's face it, who's more vulnerable than a pregnant or newly-delivered mother? 

Posted 28 April 2008 12:47 | Number of comments: 11 | Comments

Childbirth Home birth New baby Older mother

PostingBed-mates and bolsters

For the last week or so my husband and I have been sharing our bed with someone called Horace. With Horace's help, I can get comfortable enough to doze for a few hours at a time. Horace props up my bump, lessens my back pain and corrects my posture. When I talk to him, he really seems to listen. Never interrupts. And he's so bendy - must be all that polystyrene foam for innards.

Unfortunately, Va-vay is not supportive about our extra bed-mate. I have caught him shooting dark, jealous looks at my side of the bed as Horace and I snuggle up together.

"I might investigate a new air bed," he said the other night, in an airy but long-suffering way. "So I can sleep somewhere else and let you have the bed to yourselves."

"That's a good idea," I snipe back. "We could bring over the Zed-bed from my mum's."

"Have you ever slept on that Zed-bed?" he replied, as if I'd reminded him of childhood bullying, redundancy or first love.

"When you first came to stay with my parents you slept on the Zed-bed and you never said a thing about it!" I accused him.

"I was being polite."

"You were being repressed. If it was so bad you should have said something."

"Have you seen how much of the bed I have left to sleep on?" he says, indicating with his hands a space the width of a shopping bag.

Normally I would take pride in keeping this squabble up ages longer. But pregnancy has softened me.

"I don't want you to sleep elsewhere," I confess. "I like sharing a bed with you. That's why I married you."

"Oh, come here," he says.

"Err....  I would, but I can't," I say, pointing to 28-weeks-pregnant bump and Horace. "You'll have to come here."

In my last pregnancy I was nearly crippled with pelvic pain, so I asked my midwife for help. "Keep your legs together," she told me. And they wonder why pregnant women feel misunderstood....

This time round the pain is shaping up to be just as bad - but I've been better at getting help in managing it. An obstetric physio at our local hospital has taught me techniques for staying mobile - mostly involving breathing (let's face it, breathing always helps) and stomach-tightening.

Next week she is going to fit me with something called an orthopaedic belt to hold in all the ligaments loosened by pregnancy hormones. I fear the belt might do nothing to boost marital relations but I'm - almost - beyond caring. And Horace won't mind.

Posted 19 April 2008 15:06 | Number of comments: 11 | Comments

Childbirth Daughter Home Husband New baby Pregnancy

PostingCheers

Pregnant women are being advised not to drink any alcohol during the first three months of pregnancy by a health watchdog that last year said would-be mothers could drink a glass of wine every day.  What is it that makes every man, dog and government quango think they have the right to pontificate on how about pregnant women and new mothers should manage our lives? And why can't they at least make their minds up about what they're telling us to do?

The Department of Health said in May last year pregnant women should stop drinking altogether. But the National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence said a few months later there was no evidence a small glass of wine every day caused any harm after the first trimester. The obstetrician who chaired the group developing the latest abstinence guidelines has admitted the latest guideline changes are not based on any fresh scientific evidence, saying: "There's no evidence of definite harm of drinking that level of alcohol per week [a daily glass of wine] but we are unable to guarantee women that there will be no harm." As if pregnancy isn't hard enough already, you get bombarded with conflicting advice from medics more interested in covering their backs against lawsuits than in looking after vulnerable pregnant women.

Posted 26 March 2008 21:46 | Number of comments: 8 | Comments

Guilt Health New baby

PostingStitch in time

s273_Small.jpgI have started knitting again. I say 'again' deliberately. Maybe I should explain: when I was pregnant last year I started knitting a baby blanket and jacket. Then I miscarried at 11 weeks. And my knitting stopped. All I have to show for that pregnancy are some blanket squares. When I hold them to my face they smell of lavender after months at the back of a drawer. I still cry at the sight of them. An unfinished beginning that I haven't the heart to throw away. For years I never understood how devastating miscarriage can be. Until it happened to me.

In this pregnancy I have - up until now - refused to do any knitting. In case I jinx things with my optimism. This is irrational. I am now 24 weeks pregnant. Every scan has given good news. I should be confident by now about this baby: even as I write I can feel her swimming across my stomach, kicking me as she goes. We have a name for her, scan photos, even a 15-minute DVD. She is a reality. But I remain nervous. Too nervous to think about buying baby equipment. I've managed to start knitting again, though. A sleep bag (like the one pictured above). That's something.

Posted 18 March 2008 15:44 | Number of comments: 14 | Comments

Miscarriage New baby Pregnancy

PostingSpooky

213beJvhqKLAA115_Small.jpgI have made up my mind about one thing. My baby will not be having a supernatural birth. Trawling through Amazon, I came across Supernatural Childbirth. It promises 'a practical and realistic look at God's promises for conception, pregnancy and delivery'. Supernatural Childbirth even includes a 'powerful teaching section on ex-planning [sic] the curse on Eve in the Garden of Eden.' As if labour isn't bad enough, who wants an exorcism to boot?

Call me a sissy, but Unassisted Childbirth isn't high on my list of preferences either. The blurb promises advice on giving birth without medical 'intervention', pointing out that women did exactly this for thousands of years. Curiously enough, the blurb doesn't mention that millions of women died in the process. You know, all that curse on Eve stuff that the supernatural crowd were going to remove. Am still aiming for a water birth at home - but if it doesn't work out that way, I'm not going to beat myself up with rolled-up copies of Unassisted Childbirth. As long as the baby is safe - surely that's all that matters? And I'm certainly not planning on doing it alone. Please, no.

Afterthought

Friend at dinner on Friday: "Did you know that flats strong enough to take birthing pools command a premium in the Edinburgh property market? Estate agent particulars list them nowadays."

Posted 28 January 2008 17:12 | Number of comments: 16 | Comments

Books Childbirth Home birth New baby Water birth

PostingBirth Resource Centre

WaterBirthBook_Small.jpgAnybody planning on giving birth in Edinburgh might be interested to know about the city's Birth Resource Centre. They have birth preparation days for couples, pre- and post-natal yogal classes, a library of useful pregnancy and birth books (I've got my eye on The Water Birth Book by Janet Balaskas) and a support group for home births. More importantly, their staff are warm and kind. And they rent birthing pools. Last time I was pregnant I dragged Va-vay along to NCT lessons - and we were lucky enough to meet a great crowd of people, almost all of whom we still meet up with regularly. Life would have been pretty dismal without the NCT crowd, who've provided company and good cheer over the past couple of years. I hope they don't mind me saying that. But Va-vay and I were slackers during the actual lessons - we kept skiving off for dinners out, thinking (correctly) we wouldn't have much chance to go out once the baby arrived. Va-vay is also incorrigibly private - and curled up with embarrassment at discussing pregnancy in front of people he didn't know at the time. Not my problem, really. It's more getting me to shut up that's my issue, especially when I get nervous. But, anyway, my knowledge of childbirth and labour positions is sketchy - though I have no-one to blame but myself. This time I'm going to try and learn up a bit more. Less skiving. More swotting.

Posted 23 January 2008 15:41 | Number of comments: 6 | Comments

Childbirth Friends Health Home birth New baby Out and about Pregnancy Water birth Books

PostingThe Business of Being Born

mposter_Small.jpg Should most births be viewed as a natural life process, or should every delivery be treated as a potentially catastrophic medical emergency? The Business of Being Born is a movie documentary just out that tackles the controversial debate between at-home and hospital births in the US. I don't think it's yet reached the UK (but if anyone's seen it in this country, please let me know). The chronicle follows the stories of married couples opting for home childbirth. You can see a trailer here. Executive producer is Ricki Lake who was inspired to make the film following the unsatisfying birth of her first child. Here is an interview with director Abby Epstein, who became pregnant herself while making the movie. Going by the trailer (I haven't seen the full movie) the film argues that hospital births are managed to suit doctors - and not mothers, who are losing out to the business side of medicine. It shows women in hospital hooked up to enough kit to power the Star Ship Enterprise, being bullied by scalpel-happy doctors. And yes, the mums having home births look fecund and womanly. I cried when some of them delivered their babies. Home birth is growing in popularity in the US - not surprising going by The Business of Being Born. Once I've seen the film, I'll report back in more detail.

Posted 18 January 2008 11:56 | Number of comments: 9 | Comments

Home birth New baby Water birth

PostingUnderwater

Although only 14 weeks pregnant, I'm already 'showing'. My midwife Lorna said it was the muscles 'remembering' from last time. That is the charitable interpretation. The uncharitable one is that ever since my health visitor told me last summer to stop dieting if I wanted to conceive again, I have denied myself nothing. Working at home I snack away all day. I'm so embarrassed by how big I've got that I don't even like admitting to my due date - because people assume I'm further along than I am and look surprised when I say it's still six months away. Last night I found some aqua-natal classes at the local pool. I think it's time to sign up for those classes. First though I plan to buy a maternity swimsuit. My only current swimsuit ('cozzie' as we say in Scotland) was bought for our honeymoon and has special stomach-clinching panels. Don't want baby to be uncomfortable.

Posted 14 January 2008 17:31 | Number of comments: 12 | Comments

Activities New baby