The end of an Era

No, I am not talking about that time where I had abs (although I could, because this time also seems to have ended for good).

I am talking about the end of the time of my baby still being a baby. At least Baby N°1.

The past few weeks have been challenging on the Mother Hen front. Ten days ago was the summer party at Malo’s Crèche (the day care centre), and the last one we would be attending. And I cried. The images of almost three years of my life, of our life, went by in front of my eyes. How I was crying my head off (yes, this is becoming a recurring theme on this blog since I became a mum – I could never pull it as a tough investment banker anymore even if I had to) the first day Malo went to day-care or the first week (and many others) when he started going full time.  How amazingly gifted my son proved to be, his first (and following) drawings works of art proudly kept in a file or framed and hanged on the wall (but I had an excuse: the colour scheme matched that of the living room). The relationship built with the ladies saints looking after Malo and his friends, who put the meaning of “dedication” to a whole new level, regularly calling at work to say “I have noticed it was a bit hard for you to leave Malo this morning (and I thought I had hidden it all), but don’t worry, he’s right now in front of my eyes, having a lot of fun, and  he got plenty of cuddles”.

It has been so special too to see Malo changing from a baby to a toddler to a little social animal with his group of pals.  Talking proudly about “mes copains” (“my friends”). Requesting to invite said “copains” at home… only to cry because he then has to lend his bike – I can’t blame him though, some things should not have to be shared.  Coming home with new words he does not understand the meaning of (not that they always have a meaning, mind you), but which must be cool since his friends in the know (ie those with big sisters / brothers) shout them 24-7 (and was tempted to complain some of these words were really stupid, before I realised some of them I was already saying with unlimited bliss almost 40 years ago… good things often stand the test of time).  Talking about “Cars Mc Queen” even though we do not have TV and he has no clue what this is all about – I must admit to having since caved in to the Cars craziness and bought Cars boxer shorts, and am not even (too) ashamed about forgetting for once about my “no Disney-or-what-have-you-commercial-crap-in-this-house” principle, seeing the joy on Malo’s face when he got them.

In September, my baby is going to school. I know, this is school, not some hardcore military camp. I know, school for 3-year olds still involve a lot of fun things, playing, singing, drawing, even having nap times (although on naps being a fun good thing I am sure Malo would beg to differ). I know that even learning things can be fun (if well taught, and physics aside, but maybe that’s just me, and there won’t be any physics just yet anyway).  But school is also about having 25 kids for 1 teacher in the classroom, not 15 kids for 3 ladies as in day-care, so I am not sure cuddles will stand high on this lady’s agenda. It is also about discipline, about sitting, standing, being silent, answering, drawing, running ( yes, even running, I am sure) only when the teacher says so. And although I am all in favour of discipline, this should not necessarily be 8 hours a day, 4 days a week. Not for my baby… and not when it involves limiting his totally understandable love of running, that goes without saying.

To make things even tougher on Mother Hen, Meije will start going to day-care 3 days a week pretty much on the same day Malo will start school. And here it looks like I will definitely prove wrong those who say that separation from your baby is easier with the second one. Believe me, that’s bulls***.  As far as I am concerned, I feel the urge for crying when I think about my girl and I being apart as much as for I did when Malo was her age. And since there is no plan for another kid, I also admit to a fair amount of nostalgia thinking about the time as a full-time mum with a tiny baby that will soon be gone and never be again (although yes, I know, she only starts in September so these are not over yet. Call me a masochist… and you’ll be right as this blog has already often shown).

In other (not directly related, although…) news, I am still not running (much), but as there is definitely some improvement, so it could just be that the end of the “me as the mother of two babies” era will not also be that of the “running mom” one.  In the meantime, I’ll take my (relative) inactivity as a reminder of how awful my poor little boy will soon feel when regularly denied the fundamental right to run whenever he feels like it.

Same Same but Different

"Same, same, but different", often say the Thais in their colourful English (says the girl who does not pretend for a single second her own mastering of the English language is perfect).

Same same but different is a bit how I feel when comparing Malo's and Mieje's births and,the first months of their life.

The birth - Same, same...
Meije announced herself in ways which made me think "well, well, well, that feels familiar", followed by "it seems that, this time again, I won't be doing things in the "right" order".  As for her brother, the sequence of events went like this :

1. waters broke in the middle of the night, long before I could start feeling the slightest contractions.

2. no pain whatsoever, but heading off to hospital because that's what you do when said waters break.

3. Pretty much no dilatation for days. OK, hours, in fact. But trust me, hours feel damn long when it's the middle of the night, you're lying on the uncomfortable bed ever, you have no idea how long you're here for, it is boiling, you cannot open the window because some medical staff are smoking right below your window. I mean, come on, this is a hospital, this is even the bloody (ah ah) maternity ward, the nurse has just performed a test to check your exposure to tobacco, and, although you have sworn you don't smoke, never did, has lectured you 'tobacco-is-evil' style, and medical staff is smoking less than 3 metres from you and the baby you're about to give birth to? This must be a joke. (End of rant)

However I knew better this time than thinking "oh joy, I am about to give birth and it is not even remotely painful", because, from (admittedly limited) previous experience, no labour pain = no good news. First time round, from the moment we reached the hospital, everything that could go wrong did - not dilating fast enough, not contracting regularly enough, baby not dealing well at all with whatever contractions I had - to the big finale, a pretty traumatic emergency C-section.

... But different?

There was however no reason to panic, since, this time, there would be no room for uncertainty. A C-section had been planned for the following week, since Meije was still high, and my pelvis "not the size of a cathedral". It would then just be done a week earlier than planned, right?

Wrong.

Quite the same same old story, actually...

I thought I had, this time, everything under control, which, if you know me, was a huge relief. OK, a C-section was not the dream birth, but at least, this one was planned, so there would be no drama (just a little fear, getting bigger as the date was getting closer, about the anaesthetics and that, this time round, the days post c-section may be quite painful). Everything under control then... except that the on-call ob-gyn was on a mission as soon as she saw me, decided as she was to convince me I may be able to give birth naturally and should at least give it a try.  Hence a huge dilemma : a c-section, no unknown, but the certainty I would never know what it is like to give birth naturally, something I had wanted so badly for Malo. Or deciding to give natural birth a go, to the risk of ending up, many hours later, which could be hours living with intense fear for my baby, with a c-section anyway.  Bottom line is, once again, things were not at all happening the way I thought they would.  Will that teach me a lesson and help me not always being the quintessential control freak? I guess not.

... although with a different - Thank God - ending
In the end, Meije's birth was different from Malo in that she finally was born naturally, some 22 hours after we had arrived to the hospital, she handled the birthing process like a rock star and I was beaming, as I was holding my little girl on the belly after a pretty long expulsion (what an ugly term to describe a baby coming to the world. I mean, I was not always a happy pregnant chick and quite pleased my girl decided to show up almost three weeks early, but still, couldn't we use a term which sounds less like we're getting rid of some illegal immigrant?).  I tell you, having this little bloody, sticky, screaming thing lying on you minutes after she was in your belly beats being taken away in the recovery room, knowing your baby is alone in an ugly plastic box, anytime.

As for the rest...

Apart from their birth story, Malo and Meije have a lot in common. They both made most people wonder how their diminutive mom had managed to give birth to two pretty big babies. Some - including the ob-gyn, even asked how I had hidden it so well, but here, I would beg to differ. I mean, haven't they seen that huge belly of mine in the weeks before giving birth? Don't they think I looked enough like a whale as it was?). So far, they have also both been two rather easy-going babies : Malo started sleeping through the night aged five weeks, Meije aged 8 weeks (I still consider myself more than happy with that, and I am sure most moms would agree I should!), they both seem to find Maman's milk to their taste, having gained 2 kgs in the first two months of their lives. And if Meije has been beaten by her big brother by a couple of weeks on the "sleeping through the night" front, she was ahead by two months when it came to find her thumb and soothing herself with it : she found that miracle device of hers aged two months, which prompted the nurse to say babies usually did not do so before they were three months old, and me to feel very proud... although I may come to regret this later, when we'll start getting bills from the orthodontist.

To end this "same, same but different" account, I should mention the biggest difference of them all, which has actually more to do with me than with my offsrpings : post-partum running.

Hold on with me for a few minutes while I cry my head off.

OK, I am back.

Post-partum absence of running, should I have said. Unless you count 2 min running - 1 min walking, this for 40 min at the most, as proper running, which I surely do not.

That's my little ones being taken for... a walk. Yes, a walk. Not a run, not even a job. A walk.

Why that is so is for another post (and, maybe, I will manage to write that one without waiting another two months), but lets say the "natural birth" and "pretty long explusion" mentioned earlier explain most of it. Does the above mentioned little, bloody, sticky, screaming thing on my belly makes up for it? Sure it does. Kind of. But if I could have both the natural birth and the back-to-running-straight-after-birth, I would take it, anytime. I guess that's what the midwife calls my "Little house on the prairie" tendencies (what, we cannot be living in a perfect world where everybody is nice, things always end for the best... and I am running as much as I want? Sigh...).  Quest for perfection on earth... no doubt that trait of mine is one that will for ever be found in the "same same" category.

Meije

Meije was born on March 24, just over two weeks early. We're back home since yesterday, and it is just magic to be this new family of four!

More when I have regained some kind of control over my life (so probably in about 20 years), but to keep you waiting til then, some first photos...

Is That It (hopefully not)?

Unlike the previous post, I am now talking about delivering.

And unlike the previous post (and how I would have felt last time round at the same stage of pregnancy, or even 3 days ago, or probably two days from now), I am in no rush of getting this baby out.

I have been "single" since Friday night. March has always meant, since Martin and I met, a week of skiing at my parents' in the French Southern Alps. This year, with only a couple of weeks before my due date, call me chicken, but I did not feel like potentially finding myself giving birth on the roadside driving up The Lautaret Pass, no matter how stunning the view. Yes, I know, you expected better from a mountain lover and Tour de France fan, but here you go. On the other hand, I did not feel either like depriving Martin and Malo from some spring skiing and time with the family, so it was decided some time ago they would go there for three days while I would stay home.

Pregnant with Malo, when absolutely no signs were given until the day my water broke that I was close to D Day (OK, the size of my belly might have given a clue), I would not have thought twice about Martin going away and my carrying on with my life, ie walking, hiking, running and swimming everyday.

This time round though, things are a bit different. I have plenty of signs - which I won't list since this could become a bit too graphic and personal for my taste - that this baby could now come anytime... as was confirmed by an unexpected visit to the midwife last Friday! With Martin there, that would be very good news indeed, but with him away, I'd rather the baby does not show up too early!

We discussed whether we should cancel the trip, but in the end decided not to, since he would be "only" three hours away. The midwife advised me against doing too much if I wanted to limit the risk of getting into labour earlier (although to be fair she also said that resting and relaxing could help start labour , too!) and for the first time since pregnant, I felt I may listen and do just what I was told. So, instead of using my "single" status to do fill those three days with walks, swims, maybe even an attempt at running again, I have been doing pretty much nothing counting as physical activity, bar a short swim yesterday (on second attempt... just walked back home at the first one, having been on my way for minutes only, as I suddenly freaked out my water was about to break). I am definitely catching up on my reading and sleeping, though!

It is funny that, whereas I have always been confident I knew what amount of exercise was OK for me and it always seemed obvious I just knew what my pregnant body could do, this time, I just feel like I don't know what can happen. But then again, it is not about doing something hurtful for the baby, it is about not being too keen on potentially having to wake up our neighbour in the middle of the night (no matter what she said about being perfectly fine with it), have my water break in her brand new car, and have to worry about Martin not driving back too fast in between suffering hell from the contractions.

I am not sure what's going to happen after Martin is back. Last time round, I would have been pretty happy to list all these signs indicating that, maybe, the baby would turn up a bit earlier than expected. But this time, well, I am not sure. Unlike last time when all I wanted was an all-natural birth, this time I actually feel quite comfortable with the idea of a planned C-section, as it feels I am not in unknown territory and have some kind of control on the situation :  know the doctor - check -, know what to expect post birth - check -, feel that although it is a surgical procedure, and I am definitely less fit and rested than for Malo, I can handle the post-surgery reasonably well... On the other hand, this baby coming early may mean having a go at a VBAC, but may also mean not having the kind of "natural" birth I would chose to call "natural" (I mean, is a peridural and not being able to move during labor that natural and conductive of a successful birth? I am really not sure), and one which may in any case end up with a C-section performed by an ob-gyn I have not chosen. And Big Bear may not have been be the most diplomatic and warmest person on the planet on our first encounter, I came to trust him and I'd rather he delivers my baby rather than an unknown guy, again.

With all this in mind, I am trying to do things which are quite unlike me : 

- try not to stress about this weekend and the baby arriving in a rather untimely manner... not easy when waken up by contractions in the middle of the night, like last night.

- try to convince myself that now is the time to forget about being in control, and that, should the baby arrive earlier than the day planned for the c-section, it was because it was meant to be. 

- try not to stress out about not exercising and the no-doubt huge detrimental effect it will have on my post-partum recovery pace.

Looking on the positive side of life tough, one thing I am definitely not even contemplating this weekend, despite having lots of free time on my hands, is nesting... Looks like this is something which will stay forever foreign to me... pregnancy will have not managed to take control over all my life and self, in the end...  

Is That It?

And no, I am not talking about being about to give birth (or at least, I don't think so at this very minute).

What I am talking about is the question whether my going "running" (I am using the term loosely, "jogging" or "plodding" may be more appropriate) has come to an end for this pregnancy. Running, and, who knows, maybe any kind of sport, bar, maybe, swimming?

For the last 9 days, I have had really sharp pain in the pelvic area whenever I am standing, walking, or lying. And if you read and think "well, that's pretty much always, then", you'll be right. That pain feels like a powerful electrical shock is going through my pelvis, and it last for hours whenever it starts. My "sport" of last weekend consisted of a (fast) out- (and excruciatingly slow) back 1h45 walk towards the lake, most of which spent crying because it was so painful. I knew it was not the kind of pain to nothing to worry about,so I kept on walking until we got back

Malo having a snack by the lake before heading back, his mum looking a bit like she is faking her smile.

To make up for the lack of running and walking, I have been  doing a bit of cross training (at last), limited to swimming, since I don't have a gym membership any longer (I am not yet over the fact that is more expensive to get one here than in London, a super expensive city, of all places) but the limited ridiculous opening times of the pool means I have not been able to get anything done anything since my great Saturday walk. 

A visit to the OB on Monday confirmed what I thought : the baby has come down, and is pressing against probably a nerve, or ligaments, or both (just to make sure it does hurt). This would be good news, except that, as a C-section has also eventually been scheduled on that same appointment, the coming-down and the associated pain seem a bit on the useless side.

When pregnant with Malo, I experienced back pain, but that was it. And this time round, apart from very slight nausea which never came back after a visit to the magician my acupuncture therapist, I had no pain whatsoever, and not even a slight discomfort when running. Now, I can hear those of you who suffered from morning sickness, swollen ankles, back pain, contractions since the 5th month, or worse, threats of premature labor or those condemned to bed rest : what am I complaining about, when everything has been so easy until I am into my 8th month? Yes, I can see you read this and laugh your head off. Or sneer. , Well, you may. It does not entirely take the frustration away though. Call me self-centered too.

No need to say I am starting to feel a bit restless. I try to deal with my impatience by resting ahead of the C-section, and reading. Not 100% sure though that my choice of book, Chrissie Wellington's autobiography, following Angela's review, may not be - oh ever so slightly - in my "condition", on the masochist side.