I'm the Mummy!!

Parenting a child in the neonatal unit is a bit like putting sugar on frosties, Somehow it feels like you're just not needed.

I remember those early days, the  feelings of helplessness as I loomed in the background,clinging to hope, terrified to invest anything more than a physical appearance.

I think it was  my second visit, post c-section when upon entry,it appeared to me as though all the parents and the entire staff team were focused on me. I turn to Steve, who is propping me up with both hands and I say 'They are all looking at me..'

'They are all looking at me and they are thinking..'there is the mum...there is the mum of that tiny baby'

'Don't be silly' says Steve as I blubber snot into his one remaining clean shirt.

'They aren't thinking that at all, they are thinking.. there is that mum, so off her head on morphine,she needs propping up'

'Really?'

'Really.' he confirms, giving me another hug.

In truth I don't think I ever fully accepted my role as a NICU mummy.
The doctors and nurses did all they could to help me feel a part of the team. They offered detailed explanations and updates,they tried to encourage me to change nappies,  put on new sheets  and assist with tube feeds.

The difficulty  was I didn't want to be a part of the team. I wanted to be the one in charge and frankly, being thrown the odd nappy wasn't really doing it for me.It just felt a bit like being assigned the role of 'baby' in the game of mums and dad's. You just just have go along with everyone else's ideas, let out the odd cry and hope that one day you get to play mummy.

Similarly, as is the case with all well behaved children I waited patiently for my turn.Well at first I did, but then what would happen next?  the rules would change, and we'd be carted off to a different hospital and there would be a whole new staff team.

When we arrived at the fourth and final hospital,after the sixth transfer I was all but shouting 'I'm the mummy, it's my turn!'
I would turn up with little piles of carefully ironed sheets for the incubator, and muslin squares to go over her 'nests.'

'She doesn't like those  towels in there'  I'd tell the nurse

 'She likes muslin squares, they are softer on her skin' Then I would race down to the milk kitchen and get the milk before she had a chance to even think about it.

Of course its not that neonatal nurses don't understand a mums  need to feel involved in their babies care, On the contrary they are always 'saving poo's and such like, but  gestures like these,although appreciated, did little to enhance my sense of maternal well-being .You see I didn't want to be 'invited to participate' and I didn't want to do jobs that any old nurse could do. I desired independence, craved exclusivity,and the only way it seemed I could achieve this was to shunt the nurses out of the picture and 'take the reigns' myself.

The nhs bed space dilemma did add to my stress. It was difficult always being on new  territory. Also,different hospitals vary in the approaches they take to parental involvement and like the over keen advocate that I was,  I never ceased to miss an opportunity to highlight inconsistencies in care.

'You don't know her as I do..' I'd gloat to the nurses whenever I disagreed with a decision.

'I have been with her all along, you haven't ' (so.. na-nah-na-nah-na)

As embarrassing as it is to recall, this was none the less  all a part of my NICU experience.Looking back  I feel the utmost  admiration for the neonatal nurses who bore the brunt of my emotional distress.

Who smiled when I smiled and acted appropriately somber when I looked stressed or angry.

Who worked with patience, kindness and humanity when I was confused, tired and upset.

Who showed  relentless compassion, courtesy and respect when I was being an argumentative, self-righteous old bag.

And,  who always found the time to do all of these things in between delivering life saving interventions, administering drugs, writing up notes and tending to the countless needs of a case load of babies.

It really is a truly amazing job that they do! :-)

The end of an Era.

Today is the end of an era, A day that represents the end of something amazing and the start of something incredibly scary. secondary school.
I am officially old. Yes I got me a big kid now and it is utterly terrifying.
So it's goodbye to little orange chairs with holes in the back, you were impressively hardy and never showed me up by toppling over,even post pregnancy.
It's adios to the after school cake sales, it was a bitter sweet relationship that we shared but I will miss you none the less.
To the raffles and tombolas, I never won you but you gave me hope when the other stalls did nothing.
To the parents, Thank you for shuffling ,chit chatting and making school orientated small talk with me and preventing me from looking like a complete moron.
To the teachers, The thought of one day in the life of you gives me gray hair but you have all done a marvelous job and we liked you..
But most of all goodbye to little Mr G,to watching his proud and angelic little face singing in the school plays...
An image that will soon be nothing but a happy memory that will remain forever in my heart and if I'm  very very lucky..
will serve as some pretty good ammo in the years to come when I am faced with a gangly loud mouthed spotty teenager with attitude.
:-(

Half man,Half machine.

Dearest blog,
I am living in exciting times! Every day now smidge is coming up with a new trick  to impress me.
Last week she discovered her hands, like really discovered her hands! Once she realised their potential she immediatly put them to good use, manoeuvring small cones that were obstructing her visual field and such like. ( damn those baby gyms and their stupid dangly bits)
Feeling more confident with the concept of cause and effect, she went one step further and shook tortoise with one hand whilst simultaneously batting plastic hanging musical teddy with the other!
Somewhat  alarmed by her own leap in progress,she turns to me with an astonished look on her face as if to say "Did I do the right thing?"
I gently clarify the situation.
 "It's half you and half 'toys'r'us', a multi million dollar corporate company trying to monopolise on your development."
 "AAh-goo" she says, understandably relieved for the explanation.
Contrary to my desire to be a modern day Earth Mother who watches her children happily snacking on homous as they play with their one wooden toy (which they very much appreciate) I have to confess to getting drawn into all kinds of marketing traps promoting overpriced  plastic tat.. Oh the shame.
Captions like 'designed in conjunction with physiotherapists' or 'supports babies physical and  social  development' have me stood in the queue purse at the ready. Why?
Is it a girl thing? A western thing? Or a need to tidy the house and this will keep you happy thing? Whatever it is it's a bad habit, an expensive and shamlessly bad habit.
However after yesterday's spend in mothercare smidge also succumbed to the wicked western ways as she revelled in the joy of her new cot mobile.
This morning I awoke not to a crying, hungry smidge but to the sounds of a happy babbling smidge gazing joyfully up at the duck,horse and bunny bobbing on the mobile as she asked the question she asks all social phenomena with eyes... 'Are you from my species?'
I look at smidge and she offers a great big gummy grin back.
Oh the joys of developing in contemporary society..
Its a minefield, it really is.