Not quite as put together as the duchess: Our first night at home with our boy
Unless you’ve been living under a rock this past week, it won’t have escaped your notice that we have a new baby prince – little Louis Arthur Charles.
And on Monday, the Duchess of Cambridge, appeared mere hours after giving birth to her third child, at the hospital entrance looking like she’d been on a relaxing spa weekend or something.
She looked absolutely immaculate… which is a little awe-inspiring when just seven hours earlier she’d been reaching the end of a five-hour labour.
But, somewhat depressingly, her post-partum appearance now appears to be something to be criticised, with some claiming it puts pressure on all new mums to look that put together.
Can we just all take a minute and get a bit of perspective? Continue reading
Trolley tot: Sonny Jim
EARLIER this week, I think I was in the same queue in the supermarket as the midwife who delivered Sonny Jim.
She had paid and was gathering up her bags as I wheeled my trolley with toddler aboard into line, so I only caught a glimpse. But it looked like her.
And it was the strangest thing.
For a moment, I was about to rush up to her. To show her how lovely the little boy who she guided into the world was growing up to be. To tell her all about him. To get him to give her one of his high-fives and waving hands.
And then I realised that she would probably have absolutely no idea who we were.
For your future: I’ve cast my vote, I hope it was the “right” one Sonny Jim
Do you ever do that thing when you look around for a grown up, and then realise you are the grown up?
So, then you find yourself looking for a more grown-upper grown up. Someone who actually knows what they’re doing and not just winging it almost every second of the day…
I’ve basically felt like this for most of my adult life. And even having a child – an actual little person that I’m responsible for keeping alive – hasn’t changed things.
I’ve been feeling even more like this in the last few weeks. With the terror attacks and the election, I feel quite a bit out of my depth on the whole adulting front. Continue reading
You probably won’t remember me. Though I’m sure there’s no such thing as a typical birth, my little boy’s was happily uneventful in the medical sense. There was no real drama. He was safely delivered just as your shift was ending, after a fairly long labour. He was healthy. And I was well. There was and is no real reason for you to remember me.
But we will never forget you.
Larissa. I’m sorry, I can’t remember your surname. It’s on the record of Sonny Jim’s birth, along with his weight and time he was born. That record is tucked away in a little memory box in his bedroom.
But anyway. Larissa. I first met you when you came on shift that morning. I’d already been in hospital for a few hours. I was, if I’m honest, just starting to get a bit panicked by all this giving birth malarkey. I was in pain. I felt out of control. I wasn’t sure I could actually do it anymore. Continue reading
A year ago today: Finally I hold my baby boy in my arms
Today Sonny Jim is one. ONE. I’m going to have to drink a lot of Prosecco to cope with this fact. But anyway. His first birthday has got me thinking about my first (giving) birth day. And as every woman’s birth experiences are so different I figured I’d share my own little labour of love…
9pm, March 21 – six days before baby’s due date: I’m making chocolate Ferrero Rocher balls, having painted a patch on the kitchen ceiling earlier in the day. My belly aches a bit, but I am TOTALLY DETERMINED that I must make these chocolate balls. I don’t know why. It doesn’t occcur to me that I am displaying the classic nesting-overload-so-baby-must-imminent signs, because I have NO desire to clean the kitchen floor. Or rearrange cupboards.
10.30pm: Go to bed and actually sleep for more than two hours without needing to pee. Continue reading