First Shoes

I may be mad following this weeks trouble with shoes, but on Friday we ticked off an exciting milestone.

FIRST PAIR OF SHOES.

I had no real intention of making the purchase, but after advice from our physio that Wriggles' feet and legs really need some support to help her standing as she is all over the place, I thought it would be wise at least to get her feet measured. Her feet, like the rest of her, look so dainty that I fully expected she would not fit any of the styles of Cruisers let alone First Walkers. So you could have knocked me off my chair when the foot gauge revealed she was a size 3F!

I was pleasantly surprised by just how good the customer service was in Clarks. It was nearing the end of the day, Wriggles was in a "don't-you-dare-touch-my-feet" mood and I was very nearly going to call it a day and come back when she was more full of energy and likely to enjoy it (if that is ever possible when you hate your feet being touched). But the two ladies persevered in cheering her up by showing her sparkly shoes, flashing trainers and asking to be introduced to Charlie Mouse who had come for the journey. After some impressive persuasion, the little pink shoes were fitted and I decided to just bite the bullet and supply the credit card necessary. We got a photograph, heigh chart and certificate for our troubles. Oh yes, and some New Shoes.

I reckon such a statement of growing up is exciting to any parents for their children, but it left a big impression of me. Such wonderful-yet-to-be-expected milestones seem that little bit more precious after Wriggles' difficult journey, and after the continuing physio and support we have had surrounding her delayed gross motor skills, it was is a pleasant surprise and sheer joy and delight that I see her progressing and with the footwear to match as a badge of honour. 

Back in NICU, "first shoes" never crossed my mind. At that point I did not know if she would ever even be capable of walking as she grew up. My mind lived in the moment; thoughts of the future and the excitement to come were written off simply because of the fear that at the last hurdle they might be cruelly denied. I didn't dream of first birthday cakes, silly jokes or first shoes, I dreamt of my baby in my arms and that one day she would recognise me. Even now, when we are 'out of the woods' and safe at home, growing and exploring new things every day, I don't think a day passes without me thinking back to the difficult start. It is forever imprinted on my mind and I fear sometimes that I don't allow myself enough to become carried away with the freedom of being in the now Good moments and letting myself trust. Even the best times, when we laugh with abandon and Wriggles screeches with laughter and I drink her in, every last little tiny bit that I must memorise forever and ever, after the moment I think back. I am grateful we are now here and there, still sorrowful for being there and in a heartbeat guilty for not being able to let go and forget. But today, was a day of New Shoes. A sign of how far we have come. Nearly two years ago, I could have lost my baby. But I didn't and she has the prettiest, pinkest cruisers to prove it.

Test Driving the New Shoes (did I mention she has New Shoes?!)

Watch out Picasso

Highchair

A year ago we got our highchair. Like much else about Wriggles, prematurely! She was being weaned (if you can call it that, not actually eating any solid food) but even with the insert, was very small and her chin was practically resting on the table. She also couldn't sit up by herself and wouldn't for around 6 months more. The only reason I bought it then was that it was reduced at the time and my parents were up visiting to help carry it back from the shop. We duly placed Wriggles in it for a photo opportunity and after that, it stayed rather unused taking up a corner of the kitchen for months to come. She wasn't very impressed at all and it seldom got used as anything further than somewhere for dumping things organising post.

Wriggles was still being (attempted) fed in the bouncy chair and Bumbo, which I cannot praise enough. We were kindly loaned it by the physiotherapy team to help Wriggles' core muscles, but it really came into it's own for so much more. She seemed frightened of the highchair for a very long time, but trusted the Bumbo which she was always more than happy to sit in. I think it made her feel more independent and like she could achieve more. It also freed up her hands rather than trying to balance on the floor trying to support her weight sitting. I did try to use the highchair briefly, not for food but to play in. Partly it was useful if I needed to have both hands free for a short period, and partly I wanted her to relax in it and learn to trust it. She was so swamped in it, there were often about three separate rolled up towels supporting her as well as a booster insert. Slowly, she began to hate it a bit less and discovered the fantastic game of "chuck it over the sides/Mummy pick it up". She was definitely at least one before it got used even semi-regularly for meal times, as other times she was far happier sat in the Bumbo or on my lap. Given that meal times were not her favourite bit of the day, the last thing I wanted to do was make her more fraught by the choice of seat.  


Although progress isn't fast, Wriggles really is making strides with feeding and also accepting more textures and touch. The highchair has now come into it's own, especially as the Bumbo is no longer safe now she is mobile, and the tray is ideal for presenting a buffet of leftovers and finger foods, and if she wants to really get involved and explore the food, then it is wipe-clean (as is she!). Now, we have lunch and dinner in the highchair and she happily will pick through a selection of things like cheese biscuits and Cheerios as well as being spoon-fed. It also makes a good hiding place, standing aide and toy basket when not in use. She still is rather swamped by it...

Happy birthday, highchair.

Proud proud proud

In between some sad times this week, LOOK what my precious Wriggles has figured out!! A genius I tell you. A GENIUS.

De-Cluttering

I am having a clear-out or clear-up.
I have always been a perpetually messy sort and I am slightly ashamed to let people into my house.


I find sort-outs quite therapeutic too and a little trip down memory lane, finding parts of you that you might have forgotten about. I have a (very large) memory box where treasured birthday cards, postcards, rambling letters and funny post-it notes from friends go. I also have the only physical token of my albeit brief courtship with Wriggles' father, when on our first date after a few glasses of wine we decided to compare handwriting on a scrap of paper. Funny the things you keep. When after a while he disappeared into the ether, or at least, stopping calling me, I meant to throw it out. Now I'm quite glad, not because I have particularly sentimental feelings about or for him, but that there is some evidence that we at least met in a not-just-procreating sense.


Amongst my mountains of things, I also have like every parent, A LOT of baby items. It always amazes me how one small person can take up so much room and acquire so many things in such a short space of time. But acquire they do! And grow, relatively quickly. I now have amongst other things a baby-seat, a moses basket and rocker, a large pram, a sling, a slightly faulty pushchair and a baby bath as well as probably hundreds of clothes, ranging from premature sizes up until 6-12 months. Some is millionth hand already, but most of it is in pretty good condition. And it is taking up room. I have already sorted out some things which have gone into a memory box for Wriggles, and kept first tiny gloves and favourite jumpers, but I am still left with a multitude of things and no one small enough to use them. Recently I began working with Tiny Lives and their Nearly New sales that raise money to support the neonatal unit where Wriggles spent the first two months of her life. In the past I have donated and sold items that I had no use for, and now I am wondering whether it is time to clear out other bits and bobs that I simply have no use for anymore. Many things have had a lot of wear as Wriggles was and is, still a titch, so over the 17 months or 15 that she has been at home with me, she still uses many things more suitable for a 9 month old. 

Growing up: Wriggles in Review!

It's that time of year again, spring cleaning my frankly horrific flat. In a delayed New Year state of reminiscing I have also been getting very nostalgic, not least as I've been boxed up grown-out-of baby clothes and coming across things still packed up from the last move, in April 2011. So to start the year off (again. Yes I do realise it's now 7th January not 1st) I am looking back at Wriggles' life so far and how we came to this point where we are.

The past 16 months have been very high and low. It has been a real struggle sometimes, so completely not what I expected with your first baby. I'm pretty sure this is true for every new family, but on top of this I have emerged with a wealth of medical knowledge and can hold my own in a doctors round. My mental "fog" is now much clearer than it has been. I'm not sure whether the past muddle has been PND, Post Traumatic Stress or a mixture of both, flitting smoothly from one to the other, but it has snatched memories I will never get back which makes me very sad. I am proud of where we are now: not least because I got here in the main part on my own.

As I have been clearing and sorting, I've been reflecting on what physically is truly precious to keep. Answer: not much. However there are some special things like any Mummy that I will treasure forever. Favourite tiny outfits; cot sheets that smell of baby, or at least baby scented washing powder... My most treasured possessions of the physical variety stem back from our time in Special Care. I do have things which mean a lot pre-Wriggles and more recent things, but the one thing I would be bereft of is a pink box (above). This was collected whilst in SCBU and the box and yellow diary were gifts from Tiny Lives, the charity attached to our unit that fundraises for life-saving new equipment and provides vital family support. 

In this treasure trove are the following: diary of our stay, Wriggles' hospital band, my hospital band, the information sellotaped to her cot, some prem-baby socks never worn, her blood pressure cuff, the photograph that I slept with all the time she was in (so it was the first thing I saw in the morning and the last thing at night), the probe which conducted her oxygen sats traces, her first dummies and her first (well not literally first; replica of) nappy.

It is so easy to forget how small she was. Born at 1090g (2lbs 5 and a bit oz) at just under 28 weeks gestation, she was not a lot bigger than my hand. Maybe head to toe she was two small hands long, maybe just under. She was, and this is crass to compare, about the size of a handpuppet. I don't know why it is so desperate for me not to forget, and we all know size isn't everything, but these physical reminders bring it back like yesterday. Our journeys make us who we are, and SCBU strongly shaped the early days of our lives and later ones two. Any ongoing issues now are put down directly to prematurity, so these objects from the 'beginning' are very precious for me. They make up for the absence of what I ideally wanted for my newborn. I do have some happy memories of SCBU, first cuddles, brief attempts at kangaroo care, days spent by the incubator, watching her grow and the privilege of seeing what would otherwise be a developing foetus but it is the stark reminders of the reality rather than the New Baby! cards which mean much more to me.

 

Images: 1. first dummy next to standard 0 months + dummy 2. first nappy next to newborn sized babygro, which finally fitted Wriggles somewhere between 4-5 months! 3. Look how far I've come!

My other precious object is not in the box because it is in the photo-album. It is the first picture ever taken of her, in NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) on the night of her birth shortly after she had arrived at the unit from a&e at a different hospital. She is battered, bruised and bright red. Her skin is see-through and still smeared with blood, only one eye had opened and there is a slight perferation to her chect. There are ECG leads on and a tube attaching her to a ventilator. It is not a pretty picture. But I love it. It gives me back what I wasn't there to see. I couldn't hold her hand but it does give me that piece of history to hold on to.

Motherhood myths

So much for resolutions; I was fifteen minutes late for work arriving with unbrushed hair and sneaking my toothbrush in my handbag to quickly do en-route. I thought things were supposed to get easier as baby got older! My "baby brain" seems to be disintegrating at an alarming rate.

As life plods on and Wriggles grows up there appear to be a wealth of things creeping out the woodwork that you either don't get told about or get brushed under the carpet very quickly.

1. The birth of your child is the happiest day of your life

This is my personal bugbear as unfortunately Wriggles' birth was a very traumatic event for I think, both of us. It was one of the worst days of my life as I had no idea if my baby would survive let alone unscathed and according a midwife full of cheer, I was very lucky to still be there too. I gave birth alas with no medical assistance as it came very quickly and had to resuscitate my daughter prior to the arrival of the paramedics before being rushed to theatre myself. I only fleetingly saw her the day after, did not hold her for days and only got skin to skin at a month old. Some jolly day that birth was then.

2. Breast is Best

This is controversial, and I'm not actually disputing. It is best. I am convinced of that fact and stand in awe of mothers that breastfeed and express, whether for a day or a year or longer. It is a skill I never have had. What I do ever so slightly wish though is that formula was not referred to snidely by some people. As my child was premature, I don't regret (mostly) that she was fed on formula as it was a specific recipe designed to meet her needs she had missed out in utero. It also gave us the opportunity to take part in a medical trial, trialling a new formula for premature and low birth weight children which hopefully will make the road smoother for future parents. As a non-breastfeeder I can't comment on whether it was easier bottle feeding, but I suspect bar any physical pain and mastitis, feeding any very small 'want it noooooooooooow!' infant is very very very exhausting. Why do they want to feed excessively small amounts every fifteen minutes? Why 4am? Why?!

3. Mothers will instinctively know what their child wants and needs

Well, this is true I would say at about 6 months into it if you are lucky. Either that or I am incredibly unintuitive. Poor Wriggles. I found the early days like wading through a fog with a blindfold on, desperately fumbling with an unerring sense I might be doing it wrong and subjecting my poor child to misery. I doubt this was true, but it felt like everything was a stab in the dark and making a decision came down to a case of whittling things down. Every vomit seemed a damnation of my parenting ("Oh that'll be reflux!" trilled a GP only about eight long months later) and every exploding nappy up to the neck felt a punishment.

4. Cliches.

Most of the cliches are true and yet no one seems to appreciate it when you have had three minutes sleep for 4 weeks running, could pack a suitcase for a family of nineteen under your eyes and cannot remember the concept of matching socks let alone find any. Birth hurts but no one wants to hear after it happened, you love your child uncontrollably but people get bored after the ninth hour of you waxing lyrical about nappy contents and you do forget everything, not that your boss takes that as an excuse why you photocopied everything upside down... The worst one is exhaustion. Even that word does not sum up the real feeling of it when your limbs feel like a ton of bricks and if you admit it, you're likely to be met with a jolly "Oh it can't be that bad!". As you gravely grip a cup of super-strength coffee and dream of lie-ins (are they a myth?) the whole world appears to be tripping around on roses and yet you feel like death. Except you don't have time to.

5. Life is never the same

So this one isn't a myth. But you don't appreciate in until your life is upside down and doesn't appear to be re-turning anytime soon. In fact, it seems to have shifted to another orbit entirely without consulting you first. Once your newborn comes home with you, everything revolves around them, and rightly so. At 16 months, I have forgotten what life used to be like and it is only now I am beginning to think about reclaiming a tiny tiny bit of 'my' life back, far less doing anything about it yet. That might be next years new resolution. The practical details (no, I can't come to the pub at fifteen minutes short notice/take the baby to the restaurant and keep her quiet under the table/etc) and immense and overwhelming at time. Everything has to military precision otherwise it all falls apart, normally in public when favourite Mouse has got misplaced, you ran out of milk and your soup has been kindly upturned on your lap. I have a sneaking suspicion that my childless friends look on in wry humour, like I did I must admit, thinking that will never be me. I will have a perfect pink-cheeked baby who will quietly follow my instructions as we travel around going from coffee shop to quaint bistro... wake up! There are days when I really wonder what is worth what; is working work it, is trying to do a gazillion (I wish!) stimulating sessions worth it, it is really worth dredging around playgroup to playgroup to find one that doesn't make your toes crawl? (I did find two lovely groups for the record) As a singleton pre-child, you never imagine salvation to come kneeling in a draughty church community centre with hair sticking up and yesterdays food-stained cardigan still on and comparing notes on lack of sleep. But the flip side to this, is you never imagine the pure joy a gummy grin in the morning can bring, how a cuddle can pierce your heart and the privilege of watching a little person develop and become themselves in their own right. So apart from work, I haven't actually yet had a period of time apart from my daughter? Frankly I don't really mind yet. The hours I spend with her make up for it all. A little hand on my knee can miraculously melt away the frustration of the previous hour, like nothing else. Not even kitkats can do that...

 

Ready, Steady.....nearly...almost...get set....hold on a minute....

Wriggles is at the stage of development where she is teetering on the edge of many things. She is on the right track for many things but Not Quite There Yet. I am amazed at babies who seem to develop new things overnight without so much as previously hinting that they ever felt an inclination to bash boxes together or starting clinging on the sofa for dear life. Every milestone of Wriggles' is a proud moment that is the culmination of months and months of frustration and practise. She is ALMOST at the crawling stage, NEARLY using two hands together, GETTING THERE at the idea of being able to sit up from lying down, GEARING UP for speech...ish... Sometimes waiting feels forever as others move on quicker and sometimes it feels as if it all goes so quickly that each day is a bonus as my baby is very quickly turning into a not-so-baby anymore.

She is roughly 16 months old now, nearly 13 months corrected. She can now sit unaided, bash things together, blow raspberries, 'say' "mamammamama" "bababbabba" "gggagguuuu" and "llllllllllllllllalllaallaoooloooo" though none with meaning, wave at her reflection, kiss her reflection, blow kisses/do a fish impersonation (it is questionable), roll over from back to front, get up from front onto all fours and then get stuck and to be able to reach out to all inappropriate objects she cannot have. It is uncanny that babies are willing to go on intrepid adventures to try and nibble to plug cable but will not shift for a Proper Educational Toy.... We're still a bit at the stuck beetle stage of mobility but she is very good with a wooden spoon and a toy xylophone and cardboard box.

Today we had a really positive physiotherapy appointment. When discharged from SCBU, we automatically got physio as Wriggles had bad torticollis (sqwiffy neck) and pronounced plagiocephaly (shorn off head). As she was also born under 28 weeks and had a negligible history, it was also advised to keep up the physio once the torticollis sorted itself out. This turned out to be rather good as it was about then that the Great Hospital Obsession started. Shortly after PICU, Wriggles appeared to have forgotten her left side existed, rather worrying both me and the physio. Typically by the time we saw a paediatrician she had remembered and luckily has kept remembering. We have been very lucky in that the two community physios we have had have been wonderful and a credit to the NHS. They have easily been some of the most supportive and helpful health care professionals I have met and are willing to go above and beyond, and have helped me chase up referrals and access opportunities. Just prior to Christmas we had a developmental assessment with the paediatrics team which was so-so; it was nothing I didn't know, notably that all her skill areas carry a 'lag' (2-3 months behind average age of mastering a skill, but showing signs of getting there), her gross motor skills are 'delayed' (a more noticeable delay that may need attention) but cognitively and socially she is a bright button with brilliant hearing and sight. All in all, considering prematurity, a cardiac arrest and the ten or so admissions over the year, they were pretty pleased. At the next assessment, if her gross motor skills are not looking vastly improved they will arrange an MRI to determine if there is any long-lasting damage in the brain that may have occurred since the last brain scan carried out at 6 weeks actual. And I thought we had kicked the hospital! 

Watching my little girl grapple with a large inflatable toy today, I was astounded again by how much she has come on. Both at birth and after PICU, both the doctors and myself did not know what to expect. "No promises" they said. "We can't tell you she will be fine". Sometimes wait and see seems a horrid deadline of worry and anguish, but on days like today, there is no wait and see, just my baby and me. She seems relatively and miraculously unscathed. Albeit with a 'lag' and some 'delay' but I have no doubt she will catch up in time, just maybe not as fast as hoped. And on her terms-she is certainly a stubborn personality who knows her mind.

I think in the mean time I had better start baby-proofing the flat in earnest!

Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells

.......jingle all the way!

Christmas is nearly upon us and I am so excited for it. I have always really liked Christmas (who doesn't apart from Scrooge?) but since having A Small Person it has got a million times better.  It is like it gives you that extra reason to celebrate and deck the house in fairylights. Wriggles isn't generally that bothered with the whole shebang to date, but she does quite like trying to pull the Christmas tree ontop of her head. She is such a magpie (baubles, other people's watches, my glasses, tin foil, mince pie cases, teaspoons, forks, tin openers, the kettle, god forbid once a lunge for the breadknife........) at present as would quite happily spend all the time rolling in the decoration. I finally remembered I have fairylights today as popped them on the tree and it was a treat to see her little face light up. We have also been into central Newcastle to see the legendary deliciously over the top Fenwicks window display, which rendered her a bit nonplussed, and this morning went to the TinyTalk Christmas Party. I have spent evenings this week making her a Christmas tree fancy dress in the style of a novelty pinafore. It was something refreshing from mindlessly debating about whether to wash up and felt like a bit of an awakening of Old Me. BC (before child) I had completed a BA (Hons) in Fine Art and been part of a craft "mafia" and run an admittedly, mini business selling prints and textile good. I would spend regular Sundays lugging wares around craft fairs and inevitably spending all my profits on the cake stall.

I digress; Wriggles today looked as cute as a (festive) button and I am supposed to be packing to leave Sunday morning to battle the intrepid world of the East Coast mainline to spend Christmas with my parents and younger sister in Kent. I am apprehensive about 5 hours on a train with a busy-handed-and-minded baby who is beginning to discover her own mind, but looking forward to being surrounded by family as to me that is the essence of Christmas. The only thing I very mildly dislike about my life, is that I am quite far geographically from my family and being without a partner, it can get a little lonely at times. Day to day I am very content but it would be lovely to see them more often. I am hopeful that in the next couple of years I will be able to move closer, as I'm pretty certain my parents miss seeing Wriggles grow up week-to-week and I would not turn away some more support! Telephones are a godsend, but there is nothing like a face to face blether over a cup of tea. 

It feels as if this is going to be the first Christmas; last year she was "officially" two weeks old and very much a newborn smidge. She was on oxygen and full of the premature baby snuffle (think woodland animal in the undergrowth) and newborn bleat. She slept through quite a bit of Christmas Day and worried most guests who thought she looked very fragile. I was also in a muddle; partly the fug of being a new mum as she has been home a little over a month so i was in the thick of night feeds and erratic routine fatigue, and partly I was still reeling from the SCBU experience. My mum was very keen to show Wriggles off to all but it was simply to overwhelming for me (not to mention the terror of contracting RSV!). "I don't understand" my mum complained after I had a bit of a freak out after being surrounded by her very extrovert work friends who I did not know, "why aren't you PROUD of her? She's wonderful!" I tried to explain but couldn't make her see and to an extent, still can't. It isn't that at all; I am so proud of her it hurts. She is to me, perfect in every single way and more. Every time I hold her, I fall in love all over again. The simple fact is, that after the shock of the birth and hospital, my mind was the fragile thing not her. Whether it was fallout from the months previous, post-natal depression or post-traumatic stress I do not know and it is really beside the point now, but after the weeks and weeks of having to ask for permission to touch my baby, leaving her every night and breath holding after every step back, I desperately needed both time and space to establish the bond proper. In my last post I wrote about the first time we were alone, rooming in. After that blissful weekend, it was nearly five months before we got some space to ourselves as for various reasons I had to return to a flat-share as I was unable to move in time for discharge. I lived with a well-meaning but very challenging housemate in slightly complicated circumstances. It was a bleak time for me as I struggled to accept my daughter would ever love me and that I was a passable parent. I lived in constant fear she preferred everyone else and felt as if I was swimming underwater as the world went about it's business up above with no concern for me. 

This last year has been challenging, but when I look back we have both come on in leaps and bounds. I really could have done without the constant hospital admissions (Wriggles definitely could have done without them) but if I put those aside, I could be a different person from last year. Although I haven't put all my demons to rest, I now have a gorgeous 15 month old who is growing up fast. I have a clear idea of her wants and needs, and we (I think!) understand each other through the medium of raspberries, moos and quacks and errrrr some guesswork. We have a rough routine; I can tell you her favourite things (books; Christmas Hedgehog, stuffed donkey, making noise, Old Macdonald and Wheels on the Bus, peekaboo and spinning toys around) and pet hates (anything food related, wearing any hats apart from party hats, putting her coat on, wiping noses, the hoover), she knows her name and she knows and importantly trusts me. We are each others constants and I adore on weekends getting her into my bed first thing in the morning so we can sleepily come to nose-to-nose and she can blissfully poke my eye out. I can recognise the difference between a rational and irrational thought (mine) and I can ask for help, even if I don't always get it. I know that a bad day does not equal a bad mum and that I am doing my best, which is all I can do, and so far it seems to be working. I would love to say that anxiety is a thing of the past and I am a social butterfly but it is not true-yet! But it is better, far far better. I have had time now, especially since moving in April. It has meant the world and my personal sanity having a space I can call ours, just ours, and being able to establish a private routine and family and to be able to exercise choice on my part of what we do, when we do and who we see. 

This Christmas is a testament to how far we have come AND an excuse for a party!