Don’t tell me my baby won’t starve

This is the second heart wrenching time I’ve been told my baby isn’t putting on weight and that they are dropping rapidly on the growth chart. The first was with my first daughter and I just can’t believe it has happened again.

Both my girls are followed the same pattern and to be honest it’s making me feel like a failure of a mother. Both preferred breast milk to solids. This might not seem like much but it means as my milk becomes less nutritious my children aren’t making up for it by supplementing their diet with proper food! In fact they are breast feeding at a crazy rate trying to sustain themselves on the milk alone. Unfortunately no matter how much they drink its just not enough to sustain them and they simply stop growing.

Feeding your child so they grow is a pretty basic skill one needs to be a successful parent. In fact most of my friends seem to find that this is a non issue. You’d thinking making food and getting your child to eat it would be easy. Like they say they won’t starve themselves, or if they’re hungry they’ll eat.

I’ve never found two pieces if advice more infuriating because both of my children refused to eat to their detriment. Sure they didn’t starve themselves but they both ate so little they stop growing. To me that shows a fundamental flaw in their well meaning advice. Babies sometimes don’t eat enough to keep themselves healthy, they eat just enough to survive but not to flourish.

It has made meal times the most stressful times of my day. I sit there for an hour at times singing, jumping around, distracting. I’s truck them by giving them something they really wanted to put in their mouth but just as they opened their little mouth I would shovel a spoonful of food in there, only for them to spit it out. Tv on, tv off. Tears from me, tears from them. Finger food, baby lead weaning, force feeding, following them around the room squirting mouthfuls of food in their mouth. It even got to the point where i’d leave food on the floor because I knew they’d pop that straight in their mouth. In all honesty most of my days have been spent in a state of high anxiety trying to get my daughters to eat. It’s gotten so bad at times that 4 baked beans was an achievement.

I think the most heart breaking thing is that this time I’d decided after months of feeding time struggles that I’d listen to those people that said she wouldn’t starve and I just let her eat as she wanted, I’d find most of her finger food squashed under her bottom, 2 spoonfuls was ok because I refused to keep having such a stressful time 3 times a day. Food should be fun not an anxiety attack causing event. Only to notice that in over 2 months she was still fitting into the same clothes with no change in how they were fitting her.

I decided to go see a doctor for her 1 year check and see if my suspicions were in fact a reality. When the nurse came back with her weight marked on the growth chart which clearly showed no weight gain for 2 months I had to hold back tears. She tried to explain it was ok but she’d have to be monitored, I didn’t say anything because I knew the only sound that would escape my mouth would be the sound of me weeping at my failure as a mother. I couldn’t believe it, I’d done it twice! I lacked the skills to nourish my baby so they would grow. I felt like one if those neglectful parents that are on the news for starving their child.

The doctor asked me if I’d tried distracting her, finger foods or just more variety. I flashed back to all those hours spent desperately trying to get her to eat and I felt like yelling at her. Of course I’d tried everything. Did she think that my skills were that lacking that I’d given her a bowl if gruel which she refused to eat and I’d just given up?

I’ve begun the long journey of trying to get my daughter to gain weight. It’s a matter of cutting down her breast feeds, it’s working to some degree. It’s still an ordeal at meal times but more is going in instead if being stored under her bum or being spat back out at me. This might seem pretty obvious and I can’t believe I’ve made the same mistake twice. However when all your child will have is beast milk it’s so hard to refuse that to them because you fear they will starve. My fear of starving my girls therefore breast feeding them on demand has actual led them to starve themselves as my milk just wasn’t enough.

It’s seems such a simple thing feeding your child, before I became a mother feeding was not an issue I even thought to be stressed about, birth, breast feeding, sleep deprivation were all those scary topics talked about having issues with. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined how the simple act of trying to get my baby to eat could cause me so much heartache. I know you all mean well but please don’t tell me that children won’t starve themselves, it’s true they won’t but it’s such a hollow comfort when you are in the midst of your child withering away.

Hiding behind Culture

Yesterday I witnessed a horrifying event which got me thinking, are we so afraid of being racist we let people hide behind Culture?

When I arrived at my daughters school I heard sickening cries from a little baby girl, maybe 9months old. I saw a crowd of women gathered around her and was automatically concerned that something horrible had happened, perhaps a terrible fall. I walked towards them to see if I could be of any assistance but as I walked closer I saw that this pain was being inflicted by choice. The first thing I noticed was that they were filming this event and that was my first clue as to this not being an accident. The second was the smiles on these women’s faces, surely if your child was in that much pain you would be distressed. I was distressed listening to it and I wasn’t that little girls mum.

Soon I realised what was going on, they were piercing this little girls ears, in the school yard and using one of these women’s earrings to pierce her ear. Not only is this totally unhygienic but it was barbaric! Now one thing I haven’t mentioned was that these women were Indian. When I was talking about the horror I had just witnessed one mother said but maybe it’s a cultural thing? It was then that I started thinking, what if these women had been caucasian? Would be all be happy to sit back and watch then pierce their child’s ear with a blunt implement? Or would we sit their judging them, making sniggering comments about how awful they were as parents?

Why does culture make us blind to moral rights and wrongs? Of course if you ask anyone they would all agree sewing a woman’s vagina for cultural reasons is wrong, but that’s a pretty clear cut one. But what about circumcision? Piercing of ears even using proper tools?

We tend to think because a child is ours that we have the right to make these decisions for them. I personally don’t think we do, they are a little person, maybe without a voice but shouldn’t we let them make these choices when they are old enough to decide for themselves? I understand that we must make tough decisions for them that will benefit them in the future. Of course because they have no voice we do have to make these decisions for them. What I don’t understand is why we are allowed to make decisions for them that will impact them forever and that have no real benefits? Why are we allowed to hurt our children in the name of religion or culture or just because they are ours?

I understand my view will not be popular but my brain has been whirring and I just had to get it out there. For instance circumcision has been proven to help with the reduced likelihood of getting diseases such as HIV and as much as this seems to be a great reason to circumcise why do it to a baby under no anaesthetic, will your child be involved in sexual acts where this is relevant? As a parent I can’t understand why you would hurt your child by choice for the sake of religion or culture when it serves to have no benefit for them. If your child feels that they want to be circumcised let them make this decision for themselves, if they want the health benefits let them make that choice when they have a voice and they can have it done under anaesthetic.

Piercing of ears seems harmless enough and I guess it is but again I’m not sure why we are the ones who get the make that choice for our baby. That hole is there for their whole life, or it closes and leaves a scar. Now I know this isn’t a huge deal but it serves no benefit to them, in fact it can get infected and cause them to be very sick. So why is it that we get to chose? Why not let them decide when they are old enough to make that decision themselves? I was 6 when I got my ears pierced and I was so glad that I got to chose, it was my choice, my voice and it was special because of it. I didn’t just grow up having holes in my ears because someone had just thought I should. What if I pierced my daughters eyebrow or belly button? Why is that not ok? It might hurt a bit more to do these but when they are that little pain is pain, it would really hurt. What about tattooing my child? I know we have to draw the line and I know that a hole that scars isn’t as much of a permanent fixture as a tattoo but it is still permanent and serves them no purpose as a baby.

In the end I guess I’m not saying we can’t pierce our babies ears but I’m saying we need to start thinking about it more seriously, we need to make sure we make decisions for our children that benefit them. They are voiceless and we are their voice so we need to speak for them with their best interest at heart and try and defer as many decisions as we can for them to decide when they do have a voice.

My other point is this, we can’t be scared of being racist for not agreeing with someone of a different culture. If it is morally wrong it is wrong, it doesn’t matter if the person in Chinese, English, Ugandan or French. We are all human and we must make sure we see each other as that, not as a colour so our morals must apply to all. When we do that that is when we truly will be free of racism.

 

 

My (second) Birth Story

A year on from the birth of my second daughter I find myself reminiscing about how she came into this world. Much like her sister she came at her own time, not when we wanted her to. My first daughter went 2 weeks over her due date and so we were expecting a similar time for her little sister. My mum was coming from Adelaide and so we had booked her flight 5 days after my due date seeing as last time she spent most of her time waiting for my daughter to arrive rather than spending time with her.

For weeks I’d had Braxton Hicks and felt that she was coming any day. Every night my husband and I would think this is it, but it never eventuated into anything. The night of the 1st of May we both went to bed smiled at each other and said, I don’t think she’s coming any time soon she seems determined to make us wait. With that we turned off the light only to hear a might POP. I felt a mighty push in my belly before the pop and I honestly thought, in my crazy hypochondriac way, that my daughter had kicked me so hard she had burst one of my organs!!! Now I look back I think I must have been insane to jump to that conclusion first. Shortly after the pop I felt warm liquid seeping between my legs and only then did it click that my waters had broken.

We quickly turned the lights back on and rang my mum to let her know (she was arriving the next day), and then messaged and called all who mattered, our birth photographer, my doula and my best friends. We then made the split decision that our 4 year old would attend the birth (we hadn’t decided what to do) and off we went for a long wet ride down the mountain to the hospital. Now this ride was a good hour so I popped on some music, my 4 year old slept and we just cruised on down. I remember going over bumps made the water gush out but other than that all was going smoothly.

I felt so empowered, shaky but empowered. It was so strange I just couldn’t stop shivering but I wasn’t cold. I mean my teeth chattered so loudly my husband could hear them. My waters had t broken last time so this was all very new to me.

I really thought I’d get to hospital be 7cm dilated like last time and it’d be show time! Boy was I wrong.

When we arrived everything was closed up, I liked having a very private entrance seeing as I was leaking water everywhere, so we buzz the buzzer and were let in. I was so embarrassed about the giant puddles I was leaving everywhere I went. It’s not a very natural for me to be what felt like peeing, in such a public place. I couldn’t help but think about the mess I was making and hoping no one was slip and fall due to my puddles.

Not only did I leave a giant mess in the elevator but then no rooms where ready for me as it had been a very busy night so I was asked to sit soaking wet in the corridor. So many things were going through my mind, how cold I was, how awkward it was to be sitting in a corridor having contractions and waters spilling everywhere, how painful would this all get but mainly how soon it would be until I would finally meet this wriggly girl I’d been lovingly carrying for over 9 months.

Finally the room was ready and we made ourselves at home. My daughter was so excited because we’d packed her a bag a yummy treats, an iPod and DVD player all to keep her entertained, so it was a very special occasion for her. Then I saw them wheel in that little plastic bed for baby and it all became so real! It was just so strange and so fearful to think my little girl would be lying in there in….well who knew how long but soon enough. All this waiting was finally over and we could finally meet her and see what she looked like. I was so excited.

I got on the bath and was very on top of it all. I was making all the right deep noises, just going with it! My 4 year d was bouncing around talking to my doula and the nurses, not looking tired even though it was 2am.

It was all feeling so good and natural. Then they checked how dilated I was, 4 cm, I repeat 4cm!!!! What was that??? Only 4?? But how could that be, I’d been in agony (or what I thought was agony at the time) for over 4 hours to only have 4 cm. I was so deflated. I honestly felt so scared, if it had been that hard for the first 4 how much tougher was it going to get?

That hippy, natural earth mumma in me was regretting everything. I kept thinking, this isn’t what it’s all hyped up to be, where’s the bit I feel empowered, when will I feel that warrior in me awaken and why am I not one of those women who orgasm? Although I really don’t know how comfortable I’d be having an orgasm in front of a room of people anyway.

I’d read the books, this was all meant to be natural instinct right. My body would know the best positions to get in, it’d know when to push, what to do. Well let me tell you, my body knows shit all. Maybe I’m too far removed from the nothing women in fields but my body said lie on the bed in the feral position. It actually said that, with legs clamped firmly together. Yep, no walking around and using gravity for me, no deep gutral sounds, nope just high pitch squeals of help me, crying and legs firmly shut. I pushed when I shouldn’t and was just a mess. I even asked for gas in desperation only to try and suck on it and decide it was too hard to do while crying and throw it to the ground.

You might think by this stage my daughter was beside herself hearing mummy in so much pain but no, she actually said to me “can you please stop screaming I can’t hear my iPod” she also mocked me by putting on my voice and screaming “help me, he’ll me”. Clearly her iPod was a lot more important than her noisy mum giving birth. Don’t get me wrong we’d prepped her that I might scream and cry but to see how relaxed she was was quite disconcerting. I even saw my husband and midwife having a good old chat while I was screaming in pain and I remember thinking, doesn’t anyone care I’m in so much pain??

Those last few hours took forever, like a well oiled machine I dilated 1cm per hour, which wasn’t fast enough for me in my state of agony but I was reassured was actual perfect. I just kept asking, how much longer do I have to do this? Begging them to give me a time frame. The planner in me just Cosby handle this unknown time that it would take. I needed numbers and I needed them now.

Eventually my OB came and prized my legs open to find I was dilated enough to push! Sweet sweet pushing, that’s all I can say. Yep it hurt like acid burning my vagina but at least it felt like progress, just sitting in pain didn’t feel like I was going anywhere but pushing made me feel in control.

This is where my body knew what to do, yep it’d gotten me into one of the most unnatural positions to both, one that makes things harder but it sure knew how to push. My daughter, husband and doula all stood there cheering me on and finally with a big push relief, her head was out.

The rest was so quick, suddenly she was in my chest, I was sure she want breathing, can you tell how neurotic I am yet? Of course she was fine, in fact she was born with the cord around her neck but my cord was so long it didn’t affect her in the slightest.

All this waiting and pain had led to this moment, meeting my little girl for the first time and she was perfect. So fair compared to my first but exactly the same size at 3.8kgs and 51cm. She fed so easily with her giant mouth and to be honest once on there never really wanted to get off. I has walked in with a family of 3 but we were now a family of 4.

Natural birth was hard and i’ll be honest it wasn’t exactly what I expected. That rush you get didn’t erase the extreme pain for me but recovery was a lot quicker than with the epidural I had. It was an experience I’ll never forget and even though I’m not a natural norther I’m glad I did it. Those books were wrong about me, I didn’t have a bloody clue but I still ended up with my gorgeous little girl.

I think my team had so much to do with it, having my husband who was literally there for me to lean on throughout, my doula who kept encouraging me and explaining things to me, my amazing OB who let me figure it all out myself and my daughter who asked me why I still had a big belly after the baby had come out but was the loudest at cheering when I was pushing, they all made it so memorable and kept me strong when I was weak.