babyurbeautiful

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Madam and her chart

A note posted under my door!

Most of you reading this blog probably either have lovely bumps or cute little babies and toddlers, aka those who can't yet answer back... you just wait a few years.

As a mum of a 7 year old I am both blessed and cursed.  My daughter is an absolute treasure most of the time and undoubtedly the only good thing to come from my first marriage, but my goodness, does she test my patience at times.

Let's take a few basic everyday things for example

Listening

If me and Mr J are in the kitchen and we're discussing where we should go at the weekend, she's in the living room at this point watching some crap attitude filled american kids show on Disney Jr, she'll somehow hear us and will saunter into the kitchen "are we going to the zoo tomorrow?"

Compare that to a typical weekday morning- cue me "Go and brush your teeth and bring a hair bobble backdownstairs".  5 minutes later, she's still nursing a glass of orange juice at the table, I'm reminding her to go and do the above, and of course when she does finally go and do her teeth she forgets the hair bobble.

Imagination

I can put her in the bath and go to put some washing away in another room to go back and she's fully immersed herself in a game of teachers which can last until she's shrivelled up like a prune.  We were on holiday in half term and whilst I sat on the sand in a cardigan she was leaping around in the waves, throwing sand as the waves came in which was something to do with aliens...apparently.

The flip side of this, is the joys of sending her to her fathers every fortnight where she comes back spouting "They don't give me breakfast" amongst others that we know are clearly untrue.  I even challenged it once with the stepmum and ended up looking an idiot!

Learning

Ask her about tropical birds and she can tell you loads.  I look at a bird and think "that's a parrot", she'll know exactly what type of parrot it is and say it to me like I am a complete moron.

Ask her what 2 x 5 is though,  and she'll tell you it's 9.  We've tried workbooks, games, using sweets and explaining maths until we go blue in the face and she's totally switched off.  Sometimes I have to just think "sod it, she's only 7" whilst other times I'm furiously googling to find a maths tutor!

Knowledge

Of course she knows EVERYTHING.  "I know" is her answer to most things.  Clearly not maths though smarty pants.

Diva in the making!

Humour

Being with my Mr J since she was 3, she's adopted his sense of humour and quick wit.  Take for example being in the car a couple of years ago, she spotted a not particularly attractive lady waiting at a bus stop and shouts out "Oi! Pig face"....the window was open and thankfully the traffic lights quickly changed.  You know when you shouldn't laugh, but you can't help it!

At home, it's me she targets.  "You know what she's like she says" to Mr J, shaking her head at me.  "I'm on his team" she says, sticking her tongue out at me.  Charming.

Fashion

7 and self styled!

I'm pretty sure I wore what I was told until I was about 9.  Not this one, you tell her to get dressed on a weekend, and she comes down in an ensemble of her choosing, complete with handbag (sweets and a lip balm are her handbag essentials) and geek chic pretend specs.

We go shopping and I'll point clothes out for her and get turned down.  Choose something for myself "That's rank!" she shouts...whilst trying to tell me a pair of size 5 ladies shoes fit her.


So that's the fun and games of having a 7 year old.  Of course this is all balanced out with her still loving having cuddles and generally being very entertaining. 

It's the teen years I dread.  But then there's always prozac...or gin.


FJ

Phew, where do I start?! 

After Oliver was born prematurely at 25+6 weeks, I was placed under consultant care for this pregnancy and we were both really keen to ensure that this would mean I was monitored closely and everything done to avoid it happening again.  I saw my midwife last week and asked her what the appointment would entail, and she seemed to think it would be more of a formality and fairly uneventful.

How wrong she could be!  On Wednesday, me and Mr J headed to the hospital expecting to be in and out within an hour.  After finally seeing a nurse for a blood pressure check we got to meet our consultant.  We discussed with the consultant that there was no known reason why Oliver was born early, and whilst it could have been "one of those things", it could happen again and the best idea would be to put in a cerclage (cervical stitch).  This alone was a shock, as when I spoke to my GP when we were thinking of trying again he said a stitch is usually a last resort. 
A stitch would basically hold my cervix in place and stop it shortening and prematurely dilating...which could lead to miscarriage or premature labour. The stitch will be left in until 36 weeks. 
After a cervix scan, my consultant decided that a stitch was the best option and that he we wanted to operate the next day!  3 hours later, after being told the risks, having MRSA swabs and bloods taken we finally could leave. 

So at 7.30am the following morning I was waiting on the labour ward (all other theatres were full) with a load of heavily pregnant women looking like a fraud...and feeling very hungry after being starved for the anaesthetic.  After a whopping great cannula was put in my hand I was told to get into a gown and was taken into the theatre where they gave me a spinal anaesthetic (similar to an epidural and something I'm not keen to repeat) and after they'd established I was numb enough they set to work.

The largest and most painful cannula ever!

Within an hour I was back on the recovery ward listening to the cries of newborn babies..and mums vomiting after their c sections.  I'd been catheterised for the operation but was told this needed to stay in at least 6 hours post operation, meaning it couldn't be taken out until 6pm...and then I couldn't go home until I had been to the toilet.  By 6.30pm with a still semi-numb bum I was trying my best to squeeze out a wee, and then told it wasn't enough!  Two cups of tea did the trick and by 8pm Mr J and Ella could come and take me home.  Weirdly, the most painful bit was my back from the anaesthetic! 


Surgical stockings are always a good look!

From a lot of my googling I read that bed rest was needed, no gym, no flying, no nothing.  I even read no travel on trains due to the vibrations!  The consultant, however said I could carry on as normal so long as I take it easy, however sex is firmly off the agenda!  (insert sad face).  And to make things even more glamorous, I have to take Cyclogest progesterone pessaries twice a day until I am 36 weeks.  These will keep my cervix relaxed and prevent me going into labour.

After a day of taking it easy I am pleased to say I feel fairly normal, and it's no longer agony to have a wee, so that's a bonus.  Here's hoping the stitch and pessaries do their magic and let this little one keeping cooking....




FJ