Hands up: I have been a dreadful, nay silent, blogger these last few weeks. I'm not entirely sure why, given I am just completing my third week of maternity leave which has hardly been a strenuous period of my life. That said, when you are used to overseeing the running of your Blue Leader's life as well as the day to day managing of an office of eight it's an odd transition to solo living. To go from working 10-12 hour days in constant company with an endless to do list which is frequently overtaken by breaking news, it's rather odd to then just manage and indeed motivate yourself.
That said, I've done some excellent day time telly watching (Homes Under the Hammer a staple of my mid-morning diet) and telly yelling (quite cathartic to scream and shout at the Loose Women who are as daft and ill-informed as you would imagine them to be). That said, there's a limit to how satisfying this can be so flick between LW, WATO and Daily Politics for my own sanity.
I've also bought a good chunk of Brent Cross (not a whole lot left in their John Lewis, Mothercare or Boots) and managed to fit purchases into the Baby's room. I've had some lovely lunches and coffee and cake meet ups, played/practised with several live babies and toddlers. I've even cleaned out all our kitchen and both bedrooms cupboards and shelves, however I drew the line at the oven and 'delegated' to Husband.
In addition there have been multiple midwife, hospital and physio check-ups to interrupt my otherwise very important 'resting' time. I have been assessed for the birth centre at the Whittington which, fingers crossed if my platelet count improves, I can use. And I really want to: there are en suite facilities, a double bed so we can both stay over night if needs be and, most important to me, a birthing pool. Oh, and a flat screen telly (you can guess who was most impressed by this facility). I also had a birthing session with my physio which I will blog about separately as was very useful and deserves a stand alone posting.
My bloods now seem to be the only thing causing concern to the medics; my iron was low, but has now rallied by my taking the oh-so-delicious (ahem) Floradix as well as Pregaday iron tablets. Just these pesky platelets now, and really who needs their blood to clot when delivering a baby ... ?
And nope, still no sign of Baby G. My fear that all Ministerial Group babies come early has so far proven unfounded, although there are another 10 days til D-Day. And trust me, with the amount of packing and planning required for hospital this giving birth melarky has turned into a full blown military operation.
Friday, 24 September 2010
Thursday, 19 August 2010
NCT Take 2
Well we were neither ostracised nor lynched by the group, which I took to be a good sign. Perhaps last weeks misdemeanours are, if not forgiven, forgotten.
Last night we learned at which point in the labour process it's appropriate to call an ambulance and when you should just press speed dial 1 to get your midwife (an important distinction as if you aren't established they'll send you home again!). We also discussed what you should pack in your hospital bag - this should include a picnic for your birthing partner/s. I remember calling home when Little Sis went into labour with Niece 1 to see how she was, to learn that Marmee was baking a cake "for Jonathan - he'll get hungry". The answer to most Elwick scenarios (good, bad or other) is tea and cake - Marmee, think my husband is hoping for a victoria sponge or coffee cake!
We also did our first labour massage and breathing exercises. This was a tad odd; not something you really want to do in a church hall with 15 other people. Luckily there's a dimmer switch so the dusky light meant it wasn't quite as awkward as it could have been. Mine & hubbalina's breathing has never been entirely synchronised; he's quick and shallow (smoker, tsk tsk), mine is slow and deep. Still, this fact now firmly established (marriage is a constant learning curve) we will add breathing practice and back massage to our nightly to do list which already includes the quite hilarious perineum massage. The first time we tried it I laughed so hard I cried. With the SPD it's not easy, nor entirely comfortable, spreading your legs, but if it reduces the chances only a teensy bit of cutting or tearing then I, for one, am all for it.
Last night we learned at which point in the labour process it's appropriate to call an ambulance and when you should just press speed dial 1 to get your midwife (an important distinction as if you aren't established they'll send you home again!). We also discussed what you should pack in your hospital bag - this should include a picnic for your birthing partner/s. I remember calling home when Little Sis went into labour with Niece 1 to see how she was, to learn that Marmee was baking a cake "for Jonathan - he'll get hungry". The answer to most Elwick scenarios (good, bad or other) is tea and cake - Marmee, think my husband is hoping for a victoria sponge or coffee cake!
We also did our first labour massage and breathing exercises. This was a tad odd; not something you really want to do in a church hall with 15 other people. Luckily there's a dimmer switch so the dusky light meant it wasn't quite as awkward as it could have been. Mine & hubbalina's breathing has never been entirely synchronised; he's quick and shallow (smoker, tsk tsk), mine is slow and deep. Still, this fact now firmly established (marriage is a constant learning curve) we will add breathing practice and back massage to our nightly to do list which already includes the quite hilarious perineum massage. The first time we tried it I laughed so hard I cried. With the SPD it's not easy, nor entirely comfortable, spreading your legs, but if it reduces the chances only a teensy bit of cutting or tearing then I, for one, am all for it.
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
NCT Class Number 1
As I mentioned in my previous post, last week was our first NCT class. Even though we still haven't managed to move, we decided to take the classes in the Berko area in the vain hope we might be Hertfordshire residents by the time we have a toddler.
We faced the prospect of our first meeting with some sense of trepidation. We'd heard extreme stories from friends and colleagues; from those who nicknamed it the nazi child birth trust, to those who promised we'd make friends for life. Truthfully I was just hoping the other couples would be relatively normal with a reasonable sense of humour. And, from first impressions, this is what we have got, though what others think of us Griffiths ... I'm unsure.
There is an inherent weirdness to the classes in that you are defined entirely by your bump. I cannot tell you the vocations or any other such 'normal' info that you would usually elicit from such a gathering. Much like any course the first ice breaker exercise was telling the group something about yourselves, which also involved A4 paper and marker pens. You had to give your names (pretty easy) and say when your baby is due (again, straightforward) and then provide two 'interesting' facts about your baby...This was actually quite difficult - what can you say about your unborn baby who is currently cocooned away from you for 9 months? We were at the furthest edge of the circle so had to wait our turn patiently whilst we learned the sexes of many of the other bumps, as well as those that had short legs, long legs and seemingly inadequate torsos. Clearly the Archway scanners are inferior to the Herts ones as we had no such info to impart. Plus we don't know the sex of bump yet. So we (I) opted for comedy factoids: 1) baby g has alien tendencies (see previous post) and 2) it will be an Evertonian. Fact 2 was met with stunned silence, followed by question from Course Leader as to whether or not we'd already bought bump a kit. Categorically not. Hmmm. As husband psstd in my ear 'told you not to go with that one'.
I'm also a tad concerned that I might have come across as a bit dismissive of one of the other lady's situations and thereby cast myself as the outspoken member of the group. Situation 1: there is a breech bump in the group. We were discussing ways you can help baby move into the right position. I found myself saying that I'd always slept on my left and my baby is on my left (i.e. where ideally it should be) which I fear came across as smug to the struggling lady who looked like this is greatly concerning her. Situation 2: to try and atone for Situation 1 in a wider discussion about breech births I added to the chatter that my mum had given birth to a breech baby naturally. And that she was the first of a pair of twins. And that they were over 8lbs. Each. This was meant to be reassuring. But again, I think I came off as mostly smug. Oh dear.
So tomorrow night will try to bite my tongue in vain hope of recovering from last week's performance and the ladies can see I'm not a bitch, rather someone with, seemingly, poor social graces, but a good heart. Well, you can but hope.
We faced the prospect of our first meeting with some sense of trepidation. We'd heard extreme stories from friends and colleagues; from those who nicknamed it the nazi child birth trust, to those who promised we'd make friends for life. Truthfully I was just hoping the other couples would be relatively normal with a reasonable sense of humour. And, from first impressions, this is what we have got, though what others think of us Griffiths ... I'm unsure.
There is an inherent weirdness to the classes in that you are defined entirely by your bump. I cannot tell you the vocations or any other such 'normal' info that you would usually elicit from such a gathering. Much like any course the first ice breaker exercise was telling the group something about yourselves, which also involved A4 paper and marker pens. You had to give your names (pretty easy) and say when your baby is due (again, straightforward) and then provide two 'interesting' facts about your baby...This was actually quite difficult - what can you say about your unborn baby who is currently cocooned away from you for 9 months? We were at the furthest edge of the circle so had to wait our turn patiently whilst we learned the sexes of many of the other bumps, as well as those that had short legs, long legs and seemingly inadequate torsos. Clearly the Archway scanners are inferior to the Herts ones as we had no such info to impart. Plus we don't know the sex of bump yet. So we (I) opted for comedy factoids: 1) baby g has alien tendencies (see previous post) and 2) it will be an Evertonian. Fact 2 was met with stunned silence, followed by question from Course Leader as to whether or not we'd already bought bump a kit. Categorically not. Hmmm. As husband psstd in my ear 'told you not to go with that one'.
I'm also a tad concerned that I might have come across as a bit dismissive of one of the other lady's situations and thereby cast myself as the outspoken member of the group. Situation 1: there is a breech bump in the group. We were discussing ways you can help baby move into the right position. I found myself saying that I'd always slept on my left and my baby is on my left (i.e. where ideally it should be) which I fear came across as smug to the struggling lady who looked like this is greatly concerning her. Situation 2: to try and atone for Situation 1 in a wider discussion about breech births I added to the chatter that my mum had given birth to a breech baby naturally. And that she was the first of a pair of twins. And that they were over 8lbs. Each. This was meant to be reassuring. But again, I think I came off as mostly smug. Oh dear.
So tomorrow night will try to bite my tongue in vain hope of recovering from last week's performance and the ladies can see I'm not a bitch, rather someone with, seemingly, poor social graces, but a good heart. Well, you can but hope.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
Physio Advice
Yesterday was a busy day in my body & baby management stakes - I started the day with physio and ended it with our first NCT class (more of which next posting - I know, I'm such a tease).
Physio was another good session, starting with the now customary realignment of my pelvis. To reassure the squeamish amongst you it's not a painful process - I don't want you imagining me on a rack being stretched ala count duckula or maid marion (never been one for scary gothic/medieval dramas so my tv references are stuck firmly in the Broom Cupboard). Rather I lay on my side pushing against my physio with my thigh, which she then counterbalances by squeezing my hip joint and pelvis together 20 times (anatomy another weak point so this may not be accurate, but it's the best description you'll get from me I'm afraid). We repeat this three times, recheck my pelvis and if necessary repeat the whole process again.
My left side is my problem area so my physio has recommended trying to ensure my posture is symmetrical as possible, which it turns out is harder than you think, now I am consciously trying to be straight as a post I realise that I do subconsciously lean slightly to the left. She also suggested I try lying on my right hand side in bed. This is going to be much harder as I habitually am a bed lefty - it also involves changing sides with my husband after 12 and a half years so I can still tumble out to go to the loo, reach my rennies and glass of water without needing to turn over in the middle of the night. I realise there may be a slight irony here as hubby is a left handed whereas I am right handed, we will just have to see where this crazy experiment takes us and how profound an effect it has on our marriage.
Physio was another good session, starting with the now customary realignment of my pelvis. To reassure the squeamish amongst you it's not a painful process - I don't want you imagining me on a rack being stretched ala count duckula or maid marion (never been one for scary gothic/medieval dramas so my tv references are stuck firmly in the Broom Cupboard). Rather I lay on my side pushing against my physio with my thigh, which she then counterbalances by squeezing my hip joint and pelvis together 20 times (anatomy another weak point so this may not be accurate, but it's the best description you'll get from me I'm afraid). We repeat this three times, recheck my pelvis and if necessary repeat the whole process again.
My left side is my problem area so my physio has recommended trying to ensure my posture is symmetrical as possible, which it turns out is harder than you think, now I am consciously trying to be straight as a post I realise that I do subconsciously lean slightly to the left. She also suggested I try lying on my right hand side in bed. This is going to be much harder as I habitually am a bed lefty - it also involves changing sides with my husband after 12 and a half years so I can still tumble out to go to the loo, reach my rennies and glass of water without needing to turn over in the middle of the night. I realise there may be a slight irony here as hubby is a left handed whereas I am right handed, we will just have to see where this crazy experiment takes us and how profound an effect it has on our marriage.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
Guest Blogger
Today I'm a guest blogger for Tea Devotee. Crazy Lady trusted me to talk to her readers ... http://teadevotee.com/2010/08/05/guest-post-introducing-the-london-literary-ladies/
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
The Ten SPD Commandments (according to me)
So dear reader, it has been quite some time since I have written to you. It's been an emotional six weeks or so and, whilst like the coalition government I have promised to be open and honest with you, the appetite for hormonal ranting and self-pitying whinging is probably limited. To make up for lost time, here are ten things I have learned since I last posted:
1. The best bathrooms at work to sob your hormonal, irrational heart out in are the ministerial ones - they have the advantage of being private and also of having a mirror so you can a) check your tear stained makeup and b) give yourself a stern talking to
2. It is normal to worry (including whipping yourself into a paranoid frenzy) about whether or not you will love your baby
3. Those with SPD should heed their physio's advice - rest more and do the exercises
4. Moving house is an unnecessary distraction whilst pregnant
5. Be wary of batty old ladies who approach you in the street with the opening line "so you have a bun in the oven". They will pat your bump without invitation
6. It is fine to say no to everything and everyone
7. Where possible, delegate (both at home and at work)
8. Buy a large swing seat for your garden - those with SPD cannot sit on the grass comfortably. Oh, and when you go SS shopping take your husband with you to protect your modesty as you must lie down in public to test it properly
9. Londoners - always wear your TFL Baby on Board badge, especially when your bump is not necessarily obvious to others (they may just think you've eaten one too many cakes) - without it you may struggle to get a seat
10. Have a bath everynight - I've found its the only time when I feel unrestricted in my movement.
I promise it won't be another six weeks before I post again.
1. The best bathrooms at work to sob your hormonal, irrational heart out in are the ministerial ones - they have the advantage of being private and also of having a mirror so you can a) check your tear stained makeup and b) give yourself a stern talking to
2. It is normal to worry (including whipping yourself into a paranoid frenzy) about whether or not you will love your baby
3. Those with SPD should heed their physio's advice - rest more and do the exercises
4. Moving house is an unnecessary distraction whilst pregnant
5. Be wary of batty old ladies who approach you in the street with the opening line "so you have a bun in the oven". They will pat your bump without invitation
6. It is fine to say no to everything and everyone
7. Where possible, delegate (both at home and at work)
8. Buy a large swing seat for your garden - those with SPD cannot sit on the grass comfortably. Oh, and when you go SS shopping take your husband with you to protect your modesty as you must lie down in public to test it properly
9. Londoners - always wear your TFL Baby on Board badge, especially when your bump is not necessarily obvious to others (they may just think you've eaten one too many cakes) - without it you may struggle to get a seat
10. Have a bath everynight - I've found its the only time when I feel unrestricted in my movement.
I promise it won't be another six weeks before I post again.
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Sleeping Marmee-to-be & The Physio
Five weeks after the diagnosis I have had my first session with my physio. She was brilliant and I'm already looking forwards to seeing her again in two weeks. We established that my pelvis is correctly aligned (hooray) and that I have 'just' become too loose in my pelvic region. After going through my medical and pregnancy history, she spent the rest of the session teaching me some techniques to help me manage the pain. Mostly this consists of tightening my pelvic floor (simply turn your belly button two notches to the right ladies) before I try manouevering myself anywhere e.g. in and out of the car and bath, using stairs etc
But perhaps most importantly, I now know the correct way to get in and out of, as well as turn over, in bed. The latter has become increasingly difficult in the last couple of weeks. I've gone from being a roaming, yet exceedingly contented sleeper who (apparently) has a fondness for staking a claim to the centre of the bed pushing a certain husband to the far perimeter, to a stationary one. When my unconscious instinct to move takes hold I find myself shouting out and waking (both of us) up as the pain of moving has shaken me from my slumber. Alternatively, I awake in the middle of the night with a dead arm because I've fallen asleep on it. Not only are these factors intermittently painful, they are irritating: I have always been an excellent sleeper. Bed is my favourite place. In it I feel like a princess, reigning over my domain of pillows, duvet and linen. So whilst the books try to reassure me that increasing broken sleep is good practice for when the baby comes, I was nevertheless confident in my ability to overcome the unborn one's affect on my slumber. I suppose there's always the afternoon power nap to supplement my nightly zzzzzs. Perhaps the Blue Leader will lend me a sofa.
But perhaps most importantly, I now know the correct way to get in and out of, as well as turn over, in bed. The latter has become increasingly difficult in the last couple of weeks. I've gone from being a roaming, yet exceedingly contented sleeper who (apparently) has a fondness for staking a claim to the centre of the bed pushing a certain husband to the far perimeter, to a stationary one. When my unconscious instinct to move takes hold I find myself shouting out and waking (both of us) up as the pain of moving has shaken me from my slumber. Alternatively, I awake in the middle of the night with a dead arm because I've fallen asleep on it. Not only are these factors intermittently painful, they are irritating: I have always been an excellent sleeper. Bed is my favourite place. In it I feel like a princess, reigning over my domain of pillows, duvet and linen. So whilst the books try to reassure me that increasing broken sleep is good practice for when the baby comes, I was nevertheless confident in my ability to overcome the unborn one's affect on my slumber. I suppose there's always the afternoon power nap to supplement my nightly zzzzzs. Perhaps the Blue Leader will lend me a sofa.
Sunday, 13 June 2010
Baby Bump Behaviour
Last weekend the baby started to wriggle about and rather excitingly, has continued to do so every day for a week now. This wasn't the first time I'd felt the little one. Over the last month or so there have been butterfly moments when I felt like I was suddenly excited for a few moments, but no specific movement I could put my finger on. Then one day at work about two weeks ago, I felt a faint push against my womb. There then followed two weeks of womb-silence. It's quite unnerving to have felt something and then for it to not happen again. I felt like I may have hallucinated or just wanted it to happen so much that I had somehow willed bambino into moving with the sheer power of my mind a la Uri Gellar. I knew from the books that this was completely normal. At this stage your womb is large and your baby is relatively small so there's plenty of scope for swimming without running into the sides. Normal however is also rather frustrating and can also lead to fretting. Plus I really wanted Husband to feel it too.
On Saturday we were laying on our Hillside bed (see previous post) having a little post cream tea rest when baby began their first major wriggle, followed by definate kicking / elbowing movements which rather fabulously we were able to feel together. It is an amazing sensation to feel their little twists and turns. Sometimes you are just aware of their general movement. Other times you can actually feel them turn over, often closely followed by a dig against the womb. The other exciting (and reassuring) sensation is that when baby comes close to the surface you can feel their heart beat.
When I sit still the baby becomes active - my movement in the day rocks them into a lulled state. Once I stop moving then the baby stirs and wakes up. If I am at my desk for too long then I can feel their stirrings. On Friday night we had out first alien moment. We were curled up watching No Distance Left To Run when the baby pushed it's head against my womb (maybe they are already a Blur fan?). We know it was it's head because it protruded from my belly, just like they were an extra in a Fringe episode. To date this has definately been my favourite pregnancy experience.
On Saturday we were laying on our Hillside bed (see previous post) having a little post cream tea rest when baby began their first major wriggle, followed by definate kicking / elbowing movements which rather fabulously we were able to feel together. It is an amazing sensation to feel their little twists and turns. Sometimes you are just aware of their general movement. Other times you can actually feel them turn over, often closely followed by a dig against the womb. The other exciting (and reassuring) sensation is that when baby comes close to the surface you can feel their heart beat.
When I sit still the baby becomes active - my movement in the day rocks them into a lulled state. Once I stop moving then the baby stirs and wakes up. If I am at my desk for too long then I can feel their stirrings. On Friday night we had out first alien moment. We were curled up watching No Distance Left To Run when the baby pushed it's head against my womb (maybe they are already a Blur fan?). We know it was it's head because it protruded from my belly, just like they were an extra in a Fringe episode. To date this has definately been my favourite pregnancy experience.
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
Babymooning on The Island
There were no lepar colonies. Sadly we didn't spot any polar bears. There were bearded men to be found in their dozens, but none wearing loin cloths or surrounded by FedEx boxes. Instead we discovered beautiful beaches, cream teas and if heaven were a hotel, we found Hillside. *sigh*
This weekend we went on our babymoon. We had hoped to go on a european mini-break but my silly pelvis put paid to that. Instead we went to the Isle of Wight (which Husband insisted on calling 'The Island' in a hushed tone). The last time I was there was the summer of 1990 with the whole Elwick Clan. We stayed in a luxory static caravan and had a fab time swimming in the sea and running round Black Gang Chine. If memory serves that was also the summer we were almost barred for life from our English Heritage membership after a certain PC Sister managed to set the alarms off in Osbourne House. Ok 'barred for life' might be a slight exaggeration. But she definately knocked a picture and at least one uniformed man came running to see what damage a 6 year old girl could cause to a picture. How she got into The Force with such a hooligan background is beyond us all.
Husband and I were looking for a quiet break, one which didn't involve defacing national treasures. Our aims were simple: find a beautiful hotel, eat some nice food, enjoy one glass of good wine (ok, this was mine) and hopefully be lucky with the weather. And rather marvellously we scored top marks on all counts. The sun shone, I was fully sated and our hotel was glorious. At this point you should stop reading if you don't want to hear me gush about the amazing hotel.....
Hillside is a stunning huge old house which nestles in Ventnor's hills with views over the sea. We were initially drawn to it by Trip Advisor who rate it The Island's number one hotel and it is easy to see why. It was completely revamped last year by the current owners who have successfully created an air of comfy modern sophistication in a picturesque period house adorned with striking artwork. They have provided for all creature comforts from the divine bed, complete with perfect pillows, duvets and linen, to the bang & olufsson television. There's a communal news room with tv and all the papers, there's a living room with comfy chairs, chess board and open fire for those colder nights. If that isn't enough, there's also a conservatory and beautiful grounds to sit in and soak up the views and sunshine. Not to mention a French chef who serves up delicious meals and makes his own sausages. But what really makes Hillside special are the owners - Anna and Gert are warm and generous in their hospitality, but not overpowering. I had a genuine tear in my eye when I left - I have never felt so welcome and at home in a hotel before.
To sum up: fellow babymooners I recommend heading straight to The Island, but most importantly stay at Hillside.
This weekend we went on our babymoon. We had hoped to go on a european mini-break but my silly pelvis put paid to that. Instead we went to the Isle of Wight (which Husband insisted on calling 'The Island' in a hushed tone). The last time I was there was the summer of 1990 with the whole Elwick Clan. We stayed in a luxory static caravan and had a fab time swimming in the sea and running round Black Gang Chine. If memory serves that was also the summer we were almost barred for life from our English Heritage membership after a certain PC Sister managed to set the alarms off in Osbourne House. Ok 'barred for life' might be a slight exaggeration. But she definately knocked a picture and at least one uniformed man came running to see what damage a 6 year old girl could cause to a picture. How she got into The Force with such a hooligan background is beyond us all.
Husband and I were looking for a quiet break, one which didn't involve defacing national treasures. Our aims were simple: find a beautiful hotel, eat some nice food, enjoy one glass of good wine (ok, this was mine) and hopefully be lucky with the weather. And rather marvellously we scored top marks on all counts. The sun shone, I was fully sated and our hotel was glorious. At this point you should stop reading if you don't want to hear me gush about the amazing hotel.....
Hillside is a stunning huge old house which nestles in Ventnor's hills with views over the sea. We were initially drawn to it by Trip Advisor who rate it The Island's number one hotel and it is easy to see why. It was completely revamped last year by the current owners who have successfully created an air of comfy modern sophistication in a picturesque period house adorned with striking artwork. They have provided for all creature comforts from the divine bed, complete with perfect pillows, duvets and linen, to the bang & olufsson television. There's a communal news room with tv and all the papers, there's a living room with comfy chairs, chess board and open fire for those colder nights. If that isn't enough, there's also a conservatory and beautiful grounds to sit in and soak up the views and sunshine. Not to mention a French chef who serves up delicious meals and makes his own sausages. But what really makes Hillside special are the owners - Anna and Gert are warm and generous in their hospitality, but not overpowering. I had a genuine tear in my eye when I left - I have never felt so welcome and at home in a hotel before.
To sum up: fellow babymooners I recommend heading straight to The Island, but most importantly stay at Hillside.
Thursday, 3 June 2010
What To Blog and What Not To Blog
Some blogs are an individual's musings. Some are more like an information hub. Some are political soapboxes. Mine is supposed to chart my pregnancy, which to date I'm finding includes a whole range of emotional and physical feelings which perhaps not surprisingly, as a first time Marmee, I've never encountered before. Since I started my blog I've found myself in a bit of a dilemma - how honest should I be with you, Dear Reader?
My original motivation for blogging was to keep an honest account of my SPD. When I was first diagnosed I obviously knew a bit about the condition from family and colleagues. But I wanted to know and read more (that's the librarian in me conducting a lit review). I did some initial googling and came up with very little, except dry medical explanations and forums where women were clearly in pain, struggling to manage their fledgling families and a lot who were frustrated with the NHS as well as their unsympathetic spouses. I found these chatrooms quite depressing, especially those who were not being supported by their families and husbands. I then tried twitter to see if #SPD was a trend and if I might find some new resources there - unfortunately SPD also stands for Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands (the German Social Democratic Party) so this too proved a little futile. So I set about blogging to try and fill a small void on tinterweb.
I doubt that many (ok, any) strangers have stumbled upon me yet. However, now I've written a few posts and found that I am enjoying this writing melarky, I'm going to get husband to help me with some SEO-type stuff (dead digitally minded me) so hopefully women in a similar situation will find my blog and take some small comfort that they are not alone in their pain and frustrations. I do hope I don't sound too earnest or crusadey, for that is not my intention. I guess what I'm teeing you up for is to expect some honest truths over the coming weeks and months. I'm not whinging or ranting, I'm documenting.
My original motivation for blogging was to keep an honest account of my SPD. When I was first diagnosed I obviously knew a bit about the condition from family and colleagues. But I wanted to know and read more (that's the librarian in me conducting a lit review). I did some initial googling and came up with very little, except dry medical explanations and forums where women were clearly in pain, struggling to manage their fledgling families and a lot who were frustrated with the NHS as well as their unsympathetic spouses. I found these chatrooms quite depressing, especially those who were not being supported by their families and husbands. I then tried twitter to see if #SPD was a trend and if I might find some new resources there - unfortunately SPD also stands for Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands (the German Social Democratic Party) so this too proved a little futile. So I set about blogging to try and fill a small void on tinterweb.
I doubt that many (ok, any) strangers have stumbled upon me yet. However, now I've written a few posts and found that I am enjoying this writing melarky, I'm going to get husband to help me with some SEO-type stuff (dead digitally minded me) so hopefully women in a similar situation will find my blog and take some small comfort that they are not alone in their pain and frustrations. I do hope I don't sound too earnest or crusadey, for that is not my intention. I guess what I'm teeing you up for is to expect some honest truths over the coming weeks and months. I'm not whinging or ranting, I'm documenting.
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Bank Holiday Blog Washout
I had intended to do some bank holiday blogging, but I'm afraid to say Dear Reader, frankly I just wasn't in the mood.
I had a relatively quiet weekend punctuated by a hot water trauma (£140, some cleaning of pipes and a new washer later and thankfully all resolved now) and a flying visit from Best Friend who was over from the Emerald Isle. Clearly the latter was a good, nay marvellous, punctuation! Though wouldn't positively recommend SATC2.
There was also some fun and actual games to be had with Neice 1. She is a big fan of the nativity story (no seasonal preferences for her - Baby Jesus, Mummy Mary & Daddy Joseph are important 12 months of the year - well it is the greatest story ever told). I somehow found myself explaining Herod's census to her - as a 2.5 year old I'd say she grasped it pretty well (she can count to ten afterall). The main confusion seemed to lay between the role of King David and Uncle David, which for a girl with two dolls both called Bella I was a bit surprised at.
Names are very important to Neice 1: when I told her we are having a baby she inquired "are you having a Neice 2?" Given her thirst for knowledge and her elephantine memory (lying is never a good idea as she will catch you out) I gave her our then favourite boy and girl name. Now chatterbox Neice 1 likes to go over ground regularly so instilled and inextricably linked in her little head are three facts: the baby will be X or X and it will be born when she is three. Heaven help us if we change our minds!
Overall though I felt quite stiff, frustrated and a little down this weekend. I blame the pregnancy hormones as much as my inability to make my body do very much. My emotional balance has always been delicate. Indeed, the pill sent me doo-lally (there was a particularly dramatic episode when working the tills at WHSmiths one Christmas I looked up to discover the queue snaking right round the shop whereupon I burst into tears and fled from my station to the ladies loos) so it's hardly a surprise that my emotions are yo-yoing a bit when I am actually with child.
On a brighter note our cleaner is back from her holidays - yippee! So at least for one day a week home will be sparkly and I feel less guilty for doling out chores to poor husband. Now he can just be my chauffeur and chef!
I had a relatively quiet weekend punctuated by a hot water trauma (£140, some cleaning of pipes and a new washer later and thankfully all resolved now) and a flying visit from Best Friend who was over from the Emerald Isle. Clearly the latter was a good, nay marvellous, punctuation! Though wouldn't positively recommend SATC2.
There was also some fun and actual games to be had with Neice 1. She is a big fan of the nativity story (no seasonal preferences for her - Baby Jesus, Mummy Mary & Daddy Joseph are important 12 months of the year - well it is the greatest story ever told). I somehow found myself explaining Herod's census to her - as a 2.5 year old I'd say she grasped it pretty well (she can count to ten afterall). The main confusion seemed to lay between the role of King David and Uncle David, which for a girl with two dolls both called Bella I was a bit surprised at.
Names are very important to Neice 1: when I told her we are having a baby she inquired "are you having a Neice 2?" Given her thirst for knowledge and her elephantine memory (lying is never a good idea as she will catch you out) I gave her our then favourite boy and girl name. Now chatterbox Neice 1 likes to go over ground regularly so instilled and inextricably linked in her little head are three facts: the baby will be X or X and it will be born when she is three. Heaven help us if we change our minds!
Overall though I felt quite stiff, frustrated and a little down this weekend. I blame the pregnancy hormones as much as my inability to make my body do very much. My emotional balance has always been delicate. Indeed, the pill sent me doo-lally (there was a particularly dramatic episode when working the tills at WHSmiths one Christmas I looked up to discover the queue snaking right round the shop whereupon I burst into tears and fled from my station to the ladies loos) so it's hardly a surprise that my emotions are yo-yoing a bit when I am actually with child.
On a brighter note our cleaner is back from her holidays - yippee! So at least for one day a week home will be sparkly and I feel less guilty for doling out chores to poor husband. Now he can just be my chauffeur and chef!
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Worry-Warting
The SPD continues to niggle but although it is definately worse by the end of the working week, doing not very much (for which read nothing) at the weekend has certainly proven to recharge my creaking pelvis so far. Do feel very bad that husband isn't really getting me at my best. Have promised to make it up to him this long weekend (unless of course the Chancellor has bank hols and privilege days in his cutting sights too).
On a lighter note am both excited and slightly concerned to learn that the baby can now (at 21 weeks) hear what's going on around us (me and them, natch). I love my colleagues but some are more than slightly mad - what if office banter becomes the baby's barometer for normal conversation? The office is where I spend the majority of my week and topics of discussion range from the ridiculous to the sublime spanning murmer bears, cabinet agendas, button moon and the budget. Such chit chat is often delivered in a Russian, Irish or Roger Federer accent, with the occassional lunge thrown in for good measure*. Also, as a Civil Servant does my agreeing to Official Secrets Act implicitly mean baby agrees too? Fingers crossed they don't have the early capacity for speech that Stewie does (Family Guy evil and devious baby). Am I already turning into a worry wart mother? Argh!
*to stress: I am not, nor (now) with spd, will I ever a lunger be.
On a lighter note am both excited and slightly concerned to learn that the baby can now (at 21 weeks) hear what's going on around us (me and them, natch). I love my colleagues but some are more than slightly mad - what if office banter becomes the baby's barometer for normal conversation? The office is where I spend the majority of my week and topics of discussion range from the ridiculous to the sublime spanning murmer bears, cabinet agendas, button moon and the budget. Such chit chat is often delivered in a Russian, Irish or Roger Federer accent, with the occassional lunge thrown in for good measure*. Also, as a Civil Servant does my agreeing to Official Secrets Act implicitly mean baby agrees too? Fingers crossed they don't have the early capacity for speech that Stewie does (Family Guy evil and devious baby). Am I already turning into a worry wart mother? Argh!
*to stress: I am not, nor (now) with spd, will I ever a lunger be.
Sunday, 23 May 2010
The Naming of Sisters
As T S Elliot found with cats, so I am finding with sisters - it is a difficult thing to know what to call one's siblings in the blogosphere. In part this is a problem of my own making (although I think I will also hold my parents a little responsible for blessing me with quite so many sisters)
That said, Little Sis is the youngest, so I am leaving her as that. Plus you, dear reader, have already met her. It would just be confusing to change her name now. Two others are also quite straightforwardly re-christened: PC Sister (when she becomes Detective Constable I shall seemlessly upgrade her to DC Sister) and Scientist Sister. That only leaves Market Research Sister. However, given she isn't that fond of her trade, it doesn't seem kind to label her by it. Heir apparent (to the Grand Title of Eldest Sister) seems a little morbid. So I have settled on London Sister. She lives in London, she is my sister: like Ronseal, it does what is says on the tin. Phew - heaven help us in 19 weeks when we have to name a baby!
Not content with creating Naming-Gate, I have also unwittingly started the less catchy but definately more politically sensitive I-Didnt-Get-A-Mention-Gate. I hope this entry has laid that to to rest - a whole post devoted to My Sisters. Parentals - your time will come. Plus the less controversial labels of Marmee and Dad will stand you in good stead over the coming posts.
That said, Little Sis is the youngest, so I am leaving her as that. Plus you, dear reader, have already met her. It would just be confusing to change her name now. Two others are also quite straightforwardly re-christened: PC Sister (when she becomes Detective Constable I shall seemlessly upgrade her to DC Sister) and Scientist Sister. That only leaves Market Research Sister. However, given she isn't that fond of her trade, it doesn't seem kind to label her by it. Heir apparent (to the Grand Title of Eldest Sister) seems a little morbid. So I have settled on London Sister. She lives in London, she is my sister: like Ronseal, it does what is says on the tin. Phew - heaven help us in 19 weeks when we have to name a baby!
Not content with creating Naming-Gate, I have also unwittingly started the less catchy but definately more politically sensitive I-Didnt-Get-A-Mention-Gate. I hope this entry has laid that to to rest - a whole post devoted to My Sisters. Parentals - your time will come. Plus the less controversial labels of Marmee and Dad will stand you in good stead over the coming posts.
Saturday, 15 May 2010
The Diagnosis
For the past few weeks I had been ignoring the dull pain in the left hand side of my pelvic area, putting it down to general pregnancy growing pains. Then last Saturday my youngest, but often wisest, sister whilst listening to my whinging said 'that's SPD'. She wasn't the first. My colleague had also adopted a concerned face earlier in the week when I was having a little moan and winced 'ooo, that sounds like SPD to me'. Both are mothers. Both had difficult (for difficult read extremely painful) pregnancies. Both recognised the early signs.
On Monday I went to the doctors where I was diagnosed with suspected SPD (symphysis pubis dysfunction). This is when the ligaments in the pelvic girdle loosen too much. At the moment all I have is a dull pain, the occasional clicking of bones and a new ridiculous way of walking (think the inverse of John Cleese). I may be lucky and this will be as bad as it gets. However I could end up like Little Sis, unable to walk without the aid of crutches. I am learning quickly that preventative measures are a good thing. Hence the daft walk, the ironing and hoovering ban, the legs together - never crossed - approach to sitting and standing and the getting dressed whilst perched on the edge of the bed.
I am lucky that I can modify my life like this. There's only me to think about - I don't have any other kiddlywinks clambering all over me. I have a devoted husband who is now not only my Chef but also my Housekeeper, Driver and general emotional crutch. My family and friends are offering to trek from all over the city to visit me. My colleagues, whilst finding it amusing to race me to the printer, are extremely supportive and helpful - they pick up what I drop, they make me drinks, they volunteer to get my lunch. I feel guilty as they have many better things to do and a much more important person to look after than me. However, even our new Minister offered to wheel me out from his office on a chair.
I am also lucky because I am finally going to be a Marmee. Me. This is something I've always wanted to be. A longing from within. A twelve year dream of Baby Griffith. And it is this that makes my pesky temporary disability pale into insignificance. And it is for Baby G that I will sit on my bottom for the next twenty weeks, blogging and learning to knit.
On Monday I went to the doctors where I was diagnosed with suspected SPD (symphysis pubis dysfunction). This is when the ligaments in the pelvic girdle loosen too much. At the moment all I have is a dull pain, the occasional clicking of bones and a new ridiculous way of walking (think the inverse of John Cleese). I may be lucky and this will be as bad as it gets. However I could end up like Little Sis, unable to walk without the aid of crutches. I am learning quickly that preventative measures are a good thing. Hence the daft walk, the ironing and hoovering ban, the legs together - never crossed - approach to sitting and standing and the getting dressed whilst perched on the edge of the bed.
I am lucky that I can modify my life like this. There's only me to think about - I don't have any other kiddlywinks clambering all over me. I have a devoted husband who is now not only my Chef but also my Housekeeper, Driver and general emotional crutch. My family and friends are offering to trek from all over the city to visit me. My colleagues, whilst finding it amusing to race me to the printer, are extremely supportive and helpful - they pick up what I drop, they make me drinks, they volunteer to get my lunch. I feel guilty as they have many better things to do and a much more important person to look after than me. However, even our new Minister offered to wheel me out from his office on a chair.
I am also lucky because I am finally going to be a Marmee. Me. This is something I've always wanted to be. A longing from within. A twelve year dream of Baby Griffith. And it is this that makes my pesky temporary disability pale into insignificance. And it is for Baby G that I will sit on my bottom for the next twenty weeks, blogging and learning to knit.
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