Happy Birthday Iarla

New Year’s Day, 2008

Morning Time

Woke up this morning before the alarm, which usually goes off at 7am shouting “mammy, get me!”  Something has woken me up and after I pat my 40 week and 5 day old bump, I know what it was: a very mild, but distinctive period like cramp.  I’d had one or two in the days shortly after Christmas but I’d been walking regularly and that was when they usually happened. Yep!  There it is again.  Another quick rub and half hour later I feel nothing more.  Just as well as our 22 month old alarm clock is shouting for me to come “get him.”

So we get up, Mister Husband, Screecher Creature Only Child and I, and start our day as normal.  Shortly after, the cramps return and continue throughout the morning.  In the midst of them I manage to do a bit of housework.  My first “nesting” sensations!!

  

I am very calm and relaxed, and begin to feel excited.  I had been induced with our first son and am delighted that labour is starting naturally this time round.  I am looking forward to a natural birth and have been practicing hypno-birthing from about the sixth month of my very healthy and normal pregnancy.

During the final trimester I upped my listening to relaxation cd’s, read and reread a couple of very inspirational and confidence boosting books and in general, my chick lit and murder mysteries were replaced with all things natural birth related. I logged on to Rollercoaster, an Irish parenting and pregnancy website site several times a day and read all the positive birth stories I could get my hands on. I drank Raspberry Leaf Tea and took reflexology sessions for the last month. 

Mid Morning

The cramps have stopped but am not worried.  I have been visiting the bathroom all morning and I know this is another sign that I am in labour. 

Send a quick text to my sister who has been on standby for babysitting.  Tell her “something is definitely up” but not to mention it to anyone just yet. 

Decide to go for a little walk with Screecher Creature Only Child to give Mister Husband a chance to catch up on some work at home.  Can’t go too far due to my frequent need to wee.

 

Eventually, Screecher Creature Only Child decides he’s had enough as we reach the end of our housing estate and I find myself carrying him the short, but very cumbersome distance home. 

Afternoon

Mister Husband has taken our boy for a drive to encourage him to take a nap so I get my earphones and settle down to listen to some of my hypno-birthing tapes. As usual, they are so relaxing and soothing, I fall asleep. Wake up at 4pm with the same reason I woke up at 6.30am.  The cramps have returned. There is a noticeable difference; they are stronger and sharper – still perfectly manageable but I need to use my breathing this time.

Late Afternoon / Early Evening

Still lots of visits to the bathroom and at about 5pm there is a lot of water released - this makes me suspect that my waters have gone.    Mister Husband is anxious at this stage for me to ring the hospital and let them know what is happening as it is looking very likely that I will be going in that evening.  So I do. 

Things are really speeding up now. I have to stop and breathe really deeply each time.  It’s almost as if my body was delaying the progress of labour until I acknowledged out loud that I am having contractions.  But I am still not going anywhere until our boy is tucked up in bed.  This gives me another two hours before I intend to leave for the hospital.  I throw my heat pack in the microwave and concentrate on the contractions. 

Evening

It’s 7pm now and I am under a lot of pressure!  I’ve already contacted my sister and told her at about 6 o’clock that there is still time but she had better hurry up just in case!! 

At last! Twenty five minutes later I kiss Conor quickly as he is about to be put into his cot.  I hold back tears knowing the next time I see him he will be a big brother.  I feel very emotional.

We are in the car and on our way.  The drive to Kilkenny is very difficult.  It is extremely uncomfortable having to remain seated.  My eyes are closed and I am blowing very loud and long raspberries in a double effort to distract me and prevent my jaw from clenching. 

Are we here?  We are!  We are! It is 8pm and Mister Husband has parked in the ambulance bay which is marked Strictly No Parking.  I’m Warning You. You’ll Be Towed Away!  Or something similar.  Mister Husband’s language is colourful as I point this out to him when he opens the door for me. I have to wait for a strong contraction to pass before I can get out of the car.  We bypass admissions (Yes, I admit I’m in labour!) and go straight up to the labour ward. They are surprised at how close together the contractions are coming.

Things start to feel extremely urgent and suddenly - how the fuck did I do that? - I am in my nightie.  I have no urge to push but Jesus I’d better be nearly ready to!

What?  2 cms!  Say again?  You are joking me!  Tell me you’re messing!

To say I am disappointed is an understatement!!  I am on the bed being monitored and finding it very, very difficult.  What I really want is to get up off that bed when the contractions are happening.  I cannot just lie here! I need to be standing up!  Moving!  Walking!  Anything!

Another examination at which seems like only minutes later. 

Ok 5cms now.  That’s better.  I climb off the bed and put my arms around Mister Husband and kind of low into his neck.  It helps a lot. 

And now I know it’s only ten minutes later. I feel this incredible urge to push.  The contractions have stopped.  There is a big build up of pressure and a funny sense of relief. 

I am being helped back up onto the bed.  The midwives are amazing.  Mister Husband is amazing.  This is amazing.  There are no shouts to push.  Just gentle encouragement.  There is a lot of hard work and hand squeezing and the odd request from me for a thigh rub as my muscles seize up. 

Within an hour and a half of arriving at the hospital, I am being handed our second little boy.   
It is 9.30pm New Year’s Night and our 7lb 10oz son is receiving his first kiss and cuddle from his tired but elated mammy.

Introduction is short but incredibly sweet and he is taken from me to be weighed in and looked over.  In no time at all he is back in my arms again and I am putting him to my breast. 

Where is everyone?  It is just myself, Mister Husband and our baby.  The three of us together to count toes and fingers.  Our new son’s eye contact is long and deep. It is an hour and a half later and our little boy is still awake, alert and unwavering in his eye contact still.

The tea and toast are pretty good too!

 

It is after midnight and we are back on the ward.  Mister Husband has gone home to a Chinese and a glass of wine and I cannot wait for the morning when we are re-united as a family or four instead of three. 

I didn’t give birth in my driveway.  I didn’t have a traumatic or scary birth.  There are no funny stories about the car breaking down, about us taking a wrong turn, getting a puncture or being stopped for speeding on the way.  I didn’t use colourful language in the throes of labour.  But this is my special and amazing birth story, one which is unique to me and my family and we couldn't wait to do it all over again.   

Happy birthday Iarla Dooley.  This is your story.  You were five years old yesterday!!

Joy Pockets for December

Where on earth did this year go to?  When I think how quickly it has passed, particularly the last quarter, I get a little freaked.  Is the rest of my life going to go by so quickly?  Sometimes I want certain aspects of it to be done and dusted but to wish for that to happen means everything else must pass quickly too. 

December is most of all a Christmas month.  But it is also a time of great stress and worry for a lot of people.  Especially today.   That is why I think it is particularly important to take note of the little things that happen to make us smile.  So these are my joy pockets for December.  Some are big, some are small and one or two are just plain OCD weird.  But they’re mine.  All mine.

I won a dress!  Me that wins nothing!  Ever!  A truly lovely dress that I intend to blog about anon.  And what’s more, it was delivered to me within 5 days.  None of that waiting around stuff. 

 

Realising I have lost almost three stone in 18 months.  Not only do my clothes fit but I feel much better.  My body feels stronger.  It is not the slow, sluggish one I inhabited this time last year. I can run comfortably.  I can sing a song without breaking for breath.  My aches and pains seem fewer and far between.    

Opening my email one Friday afternoon and seeing not one, but two messages about being successful in my quest to have something published.  And one of them was a paid piece.  I have made thirty euro through my art this year.  Thirty euro towards a pair of new running shoes.

I turned 40.  Not a bother on me. Despite, or maybe in spite of, the depressing jokes and mind-sets about an age with a zero attached to it, I don’t mind being forty. I am twenty years older, wiser and a lot more confident than I was at twenty.   And to celebrate I had a lovely birthday meal with family and friends.  Delicious food, great company, nice wine.  Great fun.   Quote of the evening came from Iarla.  “Mammy, why do you look pretty this night?” 

The week after that I had a date night with Mister Husband and I got to wear another new dress.  Not the one I won, a different one.  With new shoes.  Car to Bar shoes.  My feet didn’t complain too much the next day either.  Best part of the next day was a late afternoon nap.   I’m getting old you see.  Quote of the evening.  “You’re never forty!!”

Ellie Goulding.   This is a definite joy pocket for December.  A British singer songwriter who has been around for a few years now and I have to admit, one who passed completely over my radar first time round.  She was just background noise until she released the first song “Anything Could Happen“ from her new album Halcyon and I am hooked.  I have been listening to her every night since.

I sometimes get into a little tizzy at not having posts ready for the blog but I still manage to come up with something at the eleventh hour and I have not missed a deadline in a year.  It was a little arrangement I made with myself when the blog was born and it means a lot to me that I have been able to keep it.  

My blog is a whole year old.  I love it.  I love having something that is me.  For me. Just for me.  Something I get to do alone.  I get to write about what I want and thankfully, so far, people are liking it.   

The days are shorter and dark by 4.30pm.  It is not possible for me to get in a run unless Smallest Boy goes for a morning nap.  Recently, there were gaps of ten days where I was using a Davina McCall DVD as a method of offloading some pent-up frustration.  An early morning phone call from my sister in law offering to sit with the kids while I went out for a run was manna from heaven.  I was light of foot and lighter of heart after that run.  It only strengthened my resolve to get back into it properly in January.

I have never been one for New Year’s Resolutions.  Why wait for the start of a new year when there is the start of a new day in a few hours?  But for 2013 I already know what one of my goals are.  I am going to hit 10k before the end of the year.  If you can run 5k from scratch with only 6 weeks of training, I will use the same game plan to reach 10k. I am really looking forward to it. 

A weird one this but I burst into tears in the middle of a glorious sweaty work out with weights one night. I felt better immediately.  Whatever was building up inside me just came out and I let it.

My lovely breastfeeding support group will be meeting up for the New Year on 8^th January and in February I will be doing a Parent to Parent Support training course.  I am really looking forward to this. 

I got offered a product for my blog.  Something to run a competition with they said.  I said, yes please and thank you very much.  But they never got back to me.  Never mind.  I got a mention in their Facebook page which was a great buzz.

Smallest Boy is getting bigger and hardier by the day.  I swear he grows overnight.  He is starting to make a real attempt at talking.  A lot of it is still sounds but he is making the right ones.  And one day he fell over, got upset and turned to me for an unprompted kiss. All was right in his little world once he got it and he was off to raise devilment again with his best pal Juno the dog.

Shy Boy will turn five on New Year’s Day and he has asked for his birthday party to take place in one of those indoor family centres. Personally I would rather stick the cocktail sticks from their sausages in my eyes than go there.  We always have parties in our house.  But this year, as I feel he would be more comfortable there with four or five of his new friends, this is where his birthday party will take place.   

The two school go-ers had their Christmas service and I was delighted to be a tad late as it meant Iarla was leaving his classroom just as I was walking in the door.  He saw me and went pink with pleasure.  He knew I was in the hall even if he didn’t see me there.

A little bit of Christmas fun was bought for a tenner in the discount store.  Reindeer “anklers” and a red nose for the car. 

I know it’s important to wash your hands on a regular basis.  And I do wash them on a regular basis.  They’re raw with the washing.    But I especially love doing this when I’m out in public.  It just feels so cleansing.  I love watching the dirt from the escalators, the car door handle, the sticky mess from the boys and the handling of money residue turning the water brown.

I don’t like to cook.  But sometimes I get a mad urge to do something new and that’s when I enjoy it.  Oldest Boy has developed a fondness for chicken and vegetable soup.  I made chicken stock so I can make him soups from scratch.  The house smelt fantastic for ages afterwards.

We put up our Christmas tree.  I made two cards;  one for the café who feeds us each and every Saturday morning and another for Liam’s playschool.  I do not like the lads to help me when I make and do.  This is the anal side of me.  I allowed them to stick on one piece of cotton wool each to make the snowman.  But I let them do whatever they liked with and to our Christmas tree.    

Be Good

“Be good.”  (Even ET was at it for fek sake) “Be good or no-one will be your friend.”  “Be good or no-one will like you.”  “Is he/she a good baby?”  “Be good or you’ll go to hell.”  “It’ll be a black mark against your soul.”  “Be good, Santy’s robin is watching.”  “What goes around comes around.”

When I was growing up, be good or no-one will like you/be your friend were mantras.  Two horrible mantras.  Fek that shit.  It is completely impossible and unrealistic to expect to get through this life without someone somewhere not “getting you” or for someone to “not like you” for no other reason than they just don’t like you. 

It’s ok that not everyone will think you are marvellous. 

It is also pretty much guaranteed that you will encounter people who are not to your taste either.   

And guess what?  That’s ok too.

What’s not ok is to beat yourself up over it. Be better than that.  Be stronger than that!  

How many of us have been asked if our baby “is good” at only two weeks old.  A tiny baby, new to the world, busy eating, sleeping and pooping. Who gets a “bad” baby?   I’m not going to go into the physiological reasons why a newborn, indeed any baby, cries so much in the early days.  But is that not just a delicious excuse to soothe them? 

Going to hell.  In my head this was a place with volcanic like fires and a Minotaur in the corner.  Another version of the carrot on the end of the stick, a ploy to beat us all into obedience.  Ditto the black mark against your soul.  I didn’t get it.  I didn’t get any of it but I believed it.  Does that make sense? 

Santy’s robin lives in our garden in winter but I tell our boys that he is a spy! The boys think this is cool. 

What goes around probably does come around.  But we still shouldn’t relish in it. 

So here’s an idea.   

How about being kind to yourself instead.  Give yourself a bit of a break.   

Especially at this time of year.  There have been some horrific, desperately sad stories in the media in the last six months alone.  Two little babies killed on an innocent walk with their father.  A pregnant mother dying alone leaving two small boys motherless.  A shooting in a cinema in America, killing dozens.   Young girls taking their lives as a result of cyber bullying.  Two young sisters falling foul of the same fate within six weeks of each other.  And more recently, just mere days ago, small children dying in another senseless act of madness in Connecticut.    

It is all so short.  So fleeting.  So now.

So why aren’t we enjoying it more?  Why are we so rushed, so hell bent on being ahead all the time. 

Human life is so fragile, so easily wiped out, so easily forgotten about. 

Lately, a young man lost his life when he fell in front of a bus on a busy Dublin street.  A similar accident happened some years back on the daily commute from Dublin.  A male pedestrian stepped too close to the kerb and lost his life to an articulated truck. 

The news swept through the bus and I found myself looking out the front window at the body of the man lying on the road.  Minus his head. 

The driver of the truck, completely oblivious to what had happened continued on his way and was finally stopped at Newlands Cross. 

We sat there for over an hour and during that time watched as an ambulance and Dublin fire brigade arrived on the scene.  The body of the man was loaded into the ambulance and the rest of his life, the one that was swept from his shoulders, literally hosed off the street and swept into the gutter with one of those yard brushes.

That image stayed with me for a long time.  How easy it is to clean up after a life. 

Someone out there had given birth to that man.  He had a family, maybe a wife, maybe children.  But he was here.  He had life.

And it was wiped out in minutes. 

Like those babies, the pregnant mother, the people at the cinema, the teenage girls, those children and their teachers in the school the morning the gunman entered the premises.

It’s hard not to think of the families and how they would have been located afterwards.  How they must have felt on hearing the terrible news of the senseless deaths of their loved ones.

The circumstances of their passing.

It’s hard not to imagine those people saying if only I had asked them to stay a bit longer they would be here today.  If only she had received help sooner, perhaps she would still be here and looking forward to Christmas with her four children.  If only they went to an earlier show.  If only they had spoken to someone, anyone, our children would still be here with us.

And maybe, just maybe there was one thank god I kept her at home today because she said she wasn’t feeling well.

The last thing my mother used to say to us each and every morning, as she stood waving us off to school, was “be good.”

I think I was.

She still says it to me today if I am going somewhere. 

I think I am.

I tell my kids to “have fun” when I wave them off at the school gate.

I know they do.  I don’t know what the future holds for them but I do know we are extremely fortunate to live in a country where the laws are different and yes, they may be bullied, but the chances of them being gunned down in cold blood are very, very remote. 

So by all means be good.  Be very, very good.  To yourself that is.