Live to work, or work to live?

I feel myself slipping back to the way I was two years ago. On an endless treadmill. Loving my family, knowing I should be grateful for the life I have, but hating myself nonetheless.

I get up. Get the kids ready for school/nursery. Get myself ready, not bothering to brush or wash my hair and simply tie it back into its bun. Drop the kids off, go to work. Throw myself into work, because I know no other way, but also because I can ignore how I feel outside work if I make this all-consuming. After work I collect husband and children, often from three different places. Make dinner, do bedtime. Stare at the television for an hour, then off to bed. All of this times five, then a weekend where I'm so emotionally drained that I can't engage fully in their lives. And then it begins again,

I don't want to look back on my life, the only reflection being "I was bloody good at my job". I've had enough of feeling second rate at mothering. I've had enough of being fat and fed up, good intentions beginning each week with lunchtime walks and healthy food, crashing off the wagon by Wednesday to grab the sugar and caffeine needed to make it through.

Father Badger wants me to ask to go part time or to quit, not the first time it's been suggested. I'm not comfortable with part time, nor the conversation I'll have to have to request it. I don't have the courage. I fear that part time will mean my overwhelming work ethic will lead to trying to cram full time effort into part time hours, which is not a good solution, leaving me too exhausted to benefit from the extra time at home. Quitting is terrifying in its own right, even though I think about it on every commute. I've never been financially dependent on anyone, and it'll effectively end my IT career as tech moves on so fast.

For now I'm making one last attempt at sorting myself out with minimal scary changes. Food planning, daily walks, early nights. My project manager husband is insisting on a "review" at the end of April to look for progress in my physical and mental health, because honestly it can't carry on this way.

A raw return to blogging, but I'm hoping it will be cathartic. I'm assuming no one is reading as I've been gone so long, so give me a shout if you've made it this far...

Image courtesy of radnatt at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I'm almost myself, just not quite

It's been touching to have a few people check up on me as I've been absent, particularly those who don't know me from Adam in real life (thank you Rachel and The Boy and Me).

I sat down to write many times in the last seven months and each time found myself an hour later staring at a blank page. I didn't understand why. There was so much going on in my life - back to work, two children to bring laughs and experiences into my life - yet I had nothing to say. That was reflected in my personal life. I could happily talk about nothing with work colleagues and acquaintances, but conversation ran dry with old friends.

Looking back now I can see that I had simply lost myself. I could function, I looked after my children, I threw myself back into work full time. There simply was nothing else left. Looking back at my year of maternity leave I can now see that I went into full avoidance mode: I started a peer supporter course when Badger Cub was three weeks old (obviously taking him with me); I volunteered at a new mums group at a local children's centre and spent my time listening, sympathising and giving information and advice in as unbiased a fashion as I could. If I concentrated on sorting out other people's issues then I didn't have to acknowledge my own.

Thankfully this has changed.

Maybe it was the Sertraline? I have been taking it for seven months, six of those at the relatively low dose of 50mg per day. A month ago I decided (after much research) to lower my dose to 25mg. Timing it with the onset of PMT probably wasn't the best idea but we survived the emotional onslaught and I've levelled out on the other side. The "brain zaps" in the first ten days (apparently a common withdrawal symptom) were unpleasant but have passed. I'm going to leave it at least another month and then try to come off it altogether, only not coinciding with PMT this time!

Maybe it was the CBT? I certainly think it has helped the personality in me that adores process and checklists. Being able to recognise my thinking errors and core beliefs has stopped the downward trend of negative thoughts.

Maybe it was the counselling? That was eight hours of my life I'm never going to get back... Possibly the most awkward I've ever felt, but perhaps that's the point? Having a stranger sit and wait for me to talk, to spill over with emotion, to watch me not talking. If nothing else it identified that I was angry. I was angry over the way I had to fight to break NHS red tape and birth my baby the way I wanted. I was angry that NHS policy could be so blind, so fearful of litigation and blame that they'd prefer to cut him out of me. Rather than confront that anger I diverted the energy into breech support forums, into peer support work, into anything that meant I didn't have to deal with it. The anger is diffusing. Still there but fading.

Maybe it was a combination of all of these, and also the relief that I had acknowledged the problem and was doing something about it.

I'm not quite there yet, not quite found, but I'm getting there.

Image courtesy of Arvind Balaraman / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Finally out of quarantine!

It's been an interesting week. In the early hours of Monday I woke to the sound of Father Badger coating the bathroom in vomit, Exorcist style. Cue Badger Cub waking up, so I ended up standing outside the door nursing, while passing towels and disinfectant spray through the door to a very sorrowful husband. We went into full preventative mode - once Badger Cub was back asleep in his cot, I did a second clean of the bathroom then replaced all the towels, colour coded so no one shared. Antiseptic hand gel went out. Father Badger was put under strict instructions not to touch the children or any of their things unless absolute emergency.

We figured Baby Badger had had the bug as on Friday evening she'd been a bit sick with a high temperature, so off to nursery she went. Unfortunately, that turned out not to be the case and on Tuesday afternoon she decorated my parents' sofa in similar style. We went into lock down until Friday - no visitors, no trips out, no contact with anyone else.

Have you ever tried entertaining a stroppy three year old and a ten month old that chews everything without allowing them to touch any of the same objects? Challenging to say the least, but I must have managed it as neither myself nor Badger Cub suffered. I'm hoping we're clear now.

I've also been on the Sertraline for just over a week now. I'm not sure much has changed but apparently it can take a few weeks to have any effect. I have noticed that I no longer have the anxious knot in my stomach when driving in the dark, which is nice, but I was definitely on a low last night. I know why: I played at my band's Christmas concert last night, something that always signals festive spirit, but I'm just not feeling it this year at all, and it felt odd not to feel even a little bit Christmassy.

I had my first therapy session on Thursday. I don't think it's going to come naturally to me - it's all about opening up and me talking, something I'm not very good at. We did work out that I'm pretty angry at a lot of things but internalise far too much, so my homework is to spend half an hour per day writing whatever I want in my "angry book". Six more sessions booked.

Image courtesy of nuttakit / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I read too much

I spent part of today chasing a prescription for Sertraline, and at five o'clock I finally obtained the small plainly labelled box containing 14 pills. I chased it because I wanted to make sure I could start taking them tomorrow. Father Badger has taken the day off and then he's at home as normal for the weekend, and I'd rather not be alone when I start to take these pills. I also need to start on them before I chicken out.

I made a tactical error, you see...

I read the NHS website page on the side effects of Sertraline. It made for uncomfortable reading, not because the list was long but because many of the side effects were listed as likely to affect as many as one in ten people! I see that as rather a high hit rate.

I then made a much more idiotic mistake...

I read the leaflet in the pill packet. Oh. My. Word. The NHS appear to have been sugar coating it. Here are the edited highlights (because the full details would take far too long to type):

Very common side effects (more than 1 in 10 patients): Insomnia, dizziness, sleepiness, headache, diarrhoea, feeling sick, dry mouth, fatigue

Common (1-10 out of 100 patients):

• Sore throat, anorexia, increased appetite
• depression, feeling strange, nightmare, anxiety, etc.
• visual disturbance, ringing in ears
• palpitations, hot flush
• etc.

Uncommon (1-10 out of 1,000 patients):

• hallucination, [insert variety of mental states]
• convulsion, amnesia, etc.
• osteoarthritis
• etc.

All in, there must be upward of several hundred possible side effects listed, both physical and mental, and of varying degrees of impact to life as we know it. I particularly like "terrifying abnormal dreams".

They may as well have just put in large red type: this will probably screw you up in some way.

I need to find a way of blanking this out of my mind before tomorrow morning.

Image courtesy of vorakorn / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Reasons To Be Cheerful: first steps, confessions and knitting

Truth be told, I'm a day early for Reasons To Be Cheerful, but I need to say this tonight.

Reason 1: The first real steps have been taken towards dealing with my depression.

Last Friday I had my initial telephone assessment with Talking Space, the local NHS mental health service. They decided I have "mild-to-moderate" depression, and offered me some group CBT sessions starting on 22nd January. That worried me - I can't imagine returning to work from a year's maternity leave to immediately ask for time off for medical treatment for a condition I don't want to share with my boss, regardless of whether I'm entitled to do so. I also really need to know I've made progress with this condition before returning to work - the idea of still feeling like this as well as working full time really panics me. I explained this as calmly as I could and was told they'd see what they could do.

I had a feeling that NHS treatment was not going to be immediate so I had already got a referral from my GP to BUPA - I'm lucky enough to be covered by my employer. I saw a counsellor today, where we talked through how I was feeling, what I thought might be the cause, and some more general questions. She came to the same conclusion as I had: the last trimester of my pregnancy was very stressful and I have had a high dependency baby (a "velcro baby" that needed to be in close contact with me 24/7 for almost nine months).

I also talked to my La Leche League leader yesterday about the Sertraline the GP wanted to prescribe me. I knew it was considered to be the safest antidepressant I could take whilst breastfeeding but I lost faith in the GP's knowledge of medications in milk when she talked about pumping and dumping after taking the medication - I knew that was rubbish! I feel much more reassured that Badger Cub will not be affected so I'm going to give it a go.

The next steps are also in place: I've been referred to another therapist through BUPA to talk more about the cause of my stress, and today's therapist has booked to see me in January to update on progress. Talking Space also called back and have booked me a one on one CBT session over the phone on 23rd December. I'm up for throwing everything I can get at this.

Reason 2: I told my parents.

As I mentioned before, my family don't really talk about this sort of stuff and that has really affected my ability to talk about it. They were looking after Badger Cub while I attended today's counselling session and I realised that they were worried that there was something wrong that I wasn't telling them about. It wasn't fair to let them assume something far worse than reality so I 'fessed up, and I managed to do it without crying - go me... They were great. Relief on my part.

Reason 3: knitting.

Baby Badger requested a pink and purple scarf. Everything has to be pink and/or purple at the moment. She spotted the work in progress and got very excited that I was making a blanket for Bunny. I laughed and said that it wasn't a blanket, but I could do that next. I told her to imagine it longer and around her neck - first guess was a necklace, but then her eyes widened in wonder and pure delight and she squealed "scarf!". All through dinner she sneaked peeks at the knitting and grinned. Moments like that make everything worthwhile.

This month R2BC is being hosted by Ojo's World while Michelle takes a break.

Black Dog On My Shoulder

I've been feeling this way for quite some time: lacking energy and drive; regretting not putting more effort into friendships, new and old, but not able to do anything about it; crying; non-existent libido (why does that feel like the hardest one to admit?); angry; generally not enjoying maternity leave anything like as much as last time. I talked to Father Badger about it a few times, but we agreed that it must be down to the pitiful amount of sleep I was getting - Badger Cub has always woken multiple times a night, and at eight months I could count on my fingers the times I'd had a block of four hours sleep. The FBI would probably stop short of this level of sleep deprivation.

Then three weeks ago a switch flipped and Badger Cub started sleeping. Not reliably all night, but most nights (with a few notable exceptions) he has slept eight or nine hours with one waking, and a couple of times with none. The problem is that I didn't start feeling any better. In fact I probably felt worse as I had the mental capacity to start thinking about the emotions.

I met up with a friend and her six month old baby for lunch and coffee. We chatted about many things, mostly baby related, and then she told me about her postnatal depression and how the antidepressants and counselling were helping her. I didn't realise it, but she had obviously spotted something she could identify with in the way I was talking. By the end of the afternoon I had opened up to her, shed a few tears and agreed that I probably ought to find some help rather than continue to try and deal with it myself.

I know there is no shame in depression. When my friend opened up my immediate thought was her strength in telling me. I still struggled to accept it as my situation though - I've always been the strong one, thick skinned, bulletproof. I must remind myself that I don't have to be strong; that my children deserve to have the whole of me.

It took another week for me to gather courage to talk to Father Badger and use the label - postnatal depression - so difficult. He agreed, was amazingly supportive and the following day I went to my GP. To be honest it's been a bit of an anticlimax. I told the GP that I wasn't comfortable with taking antidepressants and she referred me to Talking Space, the Oxfordshire NHS mental health service. I've been booked onto an initial telephone assessment next Friday - TEN DAYS after calling them. The average wait time for the first talking therapy session is four weeks. That takes me to the start of January, just one week before I return to work, full time.

It took a lot for me to go to my GP. A lot. I laid myself bare. I feel as though the NHS has calmly nodded, confirmed that I'm not about to top myself or put my children in danger, then cast me to the bottom of the pile.

I would rant, but I've run out of words and energy.

Image courtesy of Felixco, Inc / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

It's time for a haircut

I'm considering the Sinead O'Connor look.

Two years of nursery under our belt and it's finally happened. Baby Badger has been scratching her head for a week or so. I've been checking her hair and rechecking... not a thing. We changed her shampoo... no real improvement.

Then it happened. This morning. I was brushing her hair to tie it up and I saw it. A solitary head louse. Then a second. The third appeared an hour or so later. I've been itching ever since and I think the only course of action is to shave off my waist length hair as I certainly can't face dragging a nit comb all the way through it!

I've spent the day washing all the sheets and hats and we have an exciting evening planned checking mine and Father Badger's hair - luckily Badger Cub seems to have escaped - followed by delousing Baby Badger. All I have to do now is find a way of bribing her to keep still while I comb out the little critters.

Image courtesy of www.tumblr.com

A lullaby I used to know

Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all

This always struck me as a bit of a rubbish lullaby: I'm going to stick you up a tree and leave you there, but when the storm arrives you'll plummet to the ground. Not the reassurance I would want. I guess it's a good thing that baby doesn't understand the words!

I've always sung to Baby Badger, partly as a way of keeping myself sane during any bouts of crying but mainly in the hope it brought her some comfort. As she's grown older we still sing, and she loves it: she has a good sense of rhythm and drinks up lyrics, teaching me all sorts of new songs she's learnt at nursery. Father Badger is a little less inclined to sing after being told at primary school to mime in assembly (an unforgivable thing for a teacher to do) but is coming out of his shell in the comfort of our own home.

Baby Badger's bedtime routine has evolved somewhat. I say routine - the time she goes to bed is anything but regular, but we do try to go through the same tasks in the same order: potty & nappy, pyjamas, teeth, story, YouTube.

Yes... you heard right. YouTube. She's crazy about animals and we found out about six months ago that a couple of BBC Earth clips were a valued reward for getting everything else done. They are generally three to four minutes long and cover a wide variety of animals: orangutans, lions, Deadly 60, Walks With Dinosaurs. Would you believe some of her favourite clips are of big dinosaurs tearing apart little dinosaurs?! We were slightly concerned when we overheard her talking in her sleep one night: "meat eating dinosaurs...".

A new favourite is competing with the animals: a certain Belgian-Australian singer. Every night it's now one "animal" (although that is sometimes a dinosaur), and "The Drawing Man". So, we nominate Gotye as our top lullaby. Enjoy...

This post is inspired by Jennie over at Edspire who is campaigning for The Lullaby Trust after her own tragic loss earlier this year. Please go and show her some love.

My Body, My Birth Badge, My Choice

I came across this image in my Facebook feed today. Take a moment to read its message...

That's a tall order for me currently.

I've always been dumpy to a degree, even back in primary school. I'm now a size 18 and not in great physical shape. At just under eight weeks postpartum I am out of maternity clothes and back into my jeans, which I am pleased about, but it's hardly the size and shape I want to be.

I've never had a huge amount of confidence in my appearance and to a degree have chosen to ignore my extra pounds, wearing baggy clothes and using a vast amount of boisterous character to distract. I guess it works more or less, but I certainly feel as though I'm the token tubber in my circle of friends.

Part of that lack of confidence can probably be attributed to my mother, who has always struggled with weight and has been on one diet or another for my entire life. It's worth noting that she recently found the diet that worked for her and has lost over four stone. It's also worth noting that having lost that weight she's been commenting on mine in her own inimitable style, for example she was concerned that I was actually putting on weight in pregnancy. There have been a few other unhelpful comments, none of them intended to hurt but still slightly infuriating.

I really don't want to pass that lack of confidence down another generation to Baby Badger (or Badger Cub for that matter, because image is also so important to boys nowadays), so it looks as though I need to give myself a virtual kick up the backside.

My Body. I have no one to blame but myself, but that also means that no one other than me is standing in my way.

My Birth Badge. I was talking to Father Badger earlier this evening about my stretch marks. I actually don't mind them: I've never been one for bikinis, so he and the little Badgers are the only ones likely to see them. I see them as a birth badge of honour, which is a good thing really - I really was huge by the time Badger Cub came out and the pattern on my tummy looks like a good bowl of spaghetti! I would however like them to be sitting on a tummy that was a bit less wobbly.

My Choice. It's up to me, entirely my choice, my decision, to get off my backside and do something about this. And it's time to do it.

Image: onyababy.com

Your Body, Your Birth, Your Choice

Do you watch One Born Every Minute or Call The Midwife? ITV are showing Home Delivery at 9 o'clock tonight, a documentary following an independent midwife in Kent.

You may not know that this October the government is bringing in legislative changes that are going to prevent independent midwives from practising, meaning that childbirth will be one of the few areas of healthcare where you will have no choices. Independent midwives have a huge amount of knowledge around childbirth that our NHS maternity units are generally lacking, and this knowledge and experience will be lost to us.

Independent Midwifery is widely recognised as the gold standard against which the NHS cannot compete (no doubt because of cost and staffing levels). The solution should not be to remove that gold standard so what remains becomes the norm.

There are a number of ways you can show your support:

Sign this petition urging the government to find a workable and affordable way for independent midwives to obtain the compulsary insurance and continue to practise

Join midwives, mums and other supporters in a peaceful protest in London on Monday 25th March, details on the Facebook ChooseYourMidwife page.

Most importantly, spread the word. Don't let our choices be quietly taken away from us.

Birth Story Take Two

Badger Cub is five weeks old today, so it's about time I wrote about the birth. It's going to be a long read: it's important that you know the background. The pregnancy has not been straightforward; not because there was anything wrong with me but because I didn't fit into standard pathways from the point of view of the NHS.

Baby Badger came out rather quickly - a three hour labour with us only just making it to the hospital before I started pushing. Understandably this made me rather nervous second time around and I was hoping, given that the labour was otherwise very straightforward, for a home birth. This was scuppered when I failed my glucose tolerance test and was referred to the diabetes clinic, which meant the NHS no longer considered me a good candidate for home birth.

There then followed a number of frustrating hospital appointments where the consultant repeated that she couldn't support a home birth and I repeated that it was all very well but I was unlikely to make it to hospital so her position wasn't helpful. After a referral to the consultant midwife and a long discussion, they eventually allowed my community midwife to help me plan a home birth as plan B for if labour looked to be progressing fast.

I finally felt as though things had taken a turn for the better, but at 36 weeks it was confirmed that Badger Cub was breech - this is where the baby is head up, presenting their bottom as the part to come into the world first. The consultant told me I would of course be booked for a cesarean section at 37 weeks. It felt as though my world had ended.

I got in touch with a lovely local independent midwife for advice. She pointed me at various sources of information around breech birth and reassured me that breech was just a variation of normal. I did my research and came to the conclusion that cesarean was far from the inevitable outcome. Breech birth has become a rarity in hospitals, and the NHS default recommendation is cesarean section. This means that the skills are being lost in hospitals, but community and independent midwives continue to see some, mainly because they are not diagnosed until labour begins.

I attended two ECV clinics, where they attempted through manipulation to turn Badger Cub. They failed. My consultant begrudgingly agreed that I was making an informed choice to birth vaginally and the cesarean was booked for just before 42 weeks - the race was on.

At 40 weeks and one day I woke up with mild contractions, as I had been doing for weeks. Father Badger and Baby Badger joined me for breakfast and I ate my toast and tea (for which I was later very glad). I realised that I was having to lean over the table to get through each contraction so we called my parents to say that they would probably be needed that day. I sent Father Badger upstairs to shower and dress, and when I stood up a few minutes later my waters broke! Father Badger persuaded me to call the midwives, we summoned my father to collect Baby Badger and I headed for the shower.

While in the shower I had three more contractions, so things were progressing fast! Two midwives arrived moments later - I had been on their red alert board for a few weeks due to the expected fast breech labour - and I headed to the kitchen where I was planning to labour. I continued to progress on all fours (the best position for breech) and one of the midwives confirmed I was already eight centimetres dilated. The ambulance they had called had arrived and Father Badger was busy making them tea when the midwife suggested I transfer to hospital in case of complications. I trusted her judgment and agreed.

I was bundled onto the trolley on my side with my TENS machine and a sheet draped over me to retain some modesty (a neighbour described me as a tent on wheels as I headed out to the ambulance). I was also told to use the gas and air to stop me from pushing, so the remainder of the birth is a little foggy: Father Badger filled in the blanks for me!

Both midwives got in the back of the ambulance with one paramedic, while Father Badger travelled in the front with the other - this turned out to be a good thing as the ambulance had come from a different county and had only been to the hospital once! The student midwife who had been caseloading me had just arrived so she followed in her car.

The journey must have been 20-30 minutes. I puffed away on the gas and tried my utmost to breath through the contractions, managing until we were almost at the hospital when I yelled that I couldn't stop myself for much longer. Apparently the paramedics were discussing which entrance was closest to the birth suite, and whether they should reverse up to the doors - everyone was aware how close I was to giving birth.

I was wheeled in to one of the delivery rooms and asked to move onto the bed. I did so and got onto all fours, but I was shortly asked to stand on the floor and lean over the bed. I had made it clear in my notes that students were welcome - breech birth is so rarely seen in hospitals and I wanted as many people as possible to learn from the experience. The room was packed - Father Badger counted no fewer than 12 people! A registrar was sat behind me for the delivery with several students, some newly qualified midwives, my student and the two community midwives. I'm not entirely sure who the others were but they asked the paramedics to leave as there wasn't enough room for them!

I was relieved to hear the consultant arrive - not the one who I had been under the care of, but the one that had performed my second ECV attempt and had been fully supportive of my wish for breech birth. He supervised the registrar, ensuring he kept hands off (essential for breech birth), and I pushed. Having watched many breech birth videos and read about how it works, it was a bizarre experience. I felt the bottom emerge. I felt the first leg come down, then felt a bit of assistance from the registrar to bring the second leg down. Badger Cub apparently then sent an arc of wee across everyone watching before wriggling himself round ready to bring his head out! The registrar supported the body and popped a finger into his mouth to bring his chin to his chest and he was born. Badger Cub was a little bit flat but my wish for delayed cord clamping was respected and he was passed through my legs to be where I cuddled and rubbed him until he picked up, no assistance required.

That's it folks! No doubt I'll write further about breech birth, as it's definitely an interest of mine now. Something to look forward to, huh?

Image: http://www.getbabied.com

Turn baby, turn!

Disco Inferno...

I'll stop with the cheesy pop references soon, but they're stuck in my head for now.

Needless to say, Badger Cub has not yet made an appearance. I was so convinced he would make an early break for it, I now feel as though I'm overdue at merely 37 weeks and two days. I finished work on Friday so I'm officially in the thumb twiddling stage. I think I'm going to slowly go insane.

As expected, last Tuesday's scan confirmed the breech position and I was referred straight through the the ECV clinic, run by a midwife with a well-known high success rate for turning babies. Unfortunately it didn't seem to be my day. They tried twice, once without drugs and a second time with intravenous salbutamol (relaxes the uterine muscles, gives horrendous palpitations & anxiety for 2-3 minutes), but no success.

Assuming Badger Cub has still not arrived, I'm back in for another ECV attempt this Tuesday with a male consultant with "big strong thumbs". Ooer... I'm guessing I'll come out feeling a bit beaten up, but it's worth a go.

My current plan is to go for vaginal breech birth. I've done a huge amount of research, talked to midwives both NHS and independent, and have agreement from my consultant. As I pointed out to her, they wouldn't usually schedule a c-section until 39 weeks, and with my history I may go into labour well before then anyway. It was at least reassuring to be told that Badger Cub is the best kind of breech - he's in a flexed position (knees bent almost in a lotus position, presenting bum first) and average size (likelihood of complication rise both for large and small babies).

I have to admit though that I am more than a little nervous.

Image courtesy of maya picture / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Obviously the photo is not of me. My tummy looks nowhere near as good as that...

It's the final countdown...

Dada-laaa-laaa dada-la-la-la... (cue cheesy eighties rock in my head).

I'm closing in on Badger Cub's due date now: 1st February. I'm also rather near the 36 and a half weeks that signalled Baby Badger's arrival - that would be 5th January - this Saturday!

It's been a tough few weeks. Because of the speed of Baby Badger's arrival, I've been told that the slightest indication that labour is on its way and I should head to hospital. That has meant two rather boring five hour stints in the Maternity Assessment Unit, being prodded, poked, monitored and (eurgh) probed. It luckily turned out that the first time was unusually strong Braxton Hicks and second time wasn't actually a membrane rupture.

Scans and the various prodding keep confirming that Badger Cub is stubbornly breech, although they haven't confirmed the actual presentation. I'm trying not to worry about that - as long he's not foot first I have faith that I can deliver without too much issue. I'm guessing that I will, once again, be referred to the ECV clinic to attempt to turn him. My next midwife appointment is on Friday, so I'd be referred to next Tuesday's clinic. This is feeling all too familiar from Baby Badger's final week in the womb - she arrived three days before I was scheduled for ECV clinic. That again tallies with 5th January being the big day. Hardy conclusive, but I just keep getting the feeling that he's coming out soon...

As a result, I am categorically done with being messed with. I'm feeling rebellious; belligerent. My consultant has finally acknowledged that I'm borderline on the gestational diabetes scale; that I only just fall under the risks associated with the "condition". The developmental stage of this pregnancy is done, with the remaining time down to putting down body fat ready for birth. My blood sugars have not indicated raging issues so I'm not worried about Badger Cub producing excessive insulin. The scan I had a couple of weeks ago clearly shows he is bang on average size, so I obviously haven't had raging sugar levels before I started monitoring. Quite frankly, the monitoring of sugar levels was making me miserable, so I've stopped. I'm still eating a low GI diet and reluctantly avoiding cakes, chocolate and the nice things in life, but I refuse to stab my fingers.

I'm sure at some point they'll rant at me; tell me that it's against medical advice. I've done my research; I'm an intelligent, educated women, and it's my choice to make.

Image: www.europetheband.com

Annoyed, chocolate-free and rather like a sieve

So... who got the right answer in the sweepstake? It turns out I was borderline on the glucose tolerance test, which makes me "query gestational diabetic". And I mean borderline - I was 10.6 on a value that should have been under 10. And I can't help thinking that it might be down to the fact that it took me 25 minutes to get the Lucozade down!

I was referred to the diabetes clinic at the main hospital, had a rather brief chat about what I should be eating and given a kit for stabbing my own fingertips six times a day to test my blood glucose levels. I came away thinking that it was certainly an inconvenience but not the end of the world.

Over the next few days I became more frustrated. The pamphlet I was given gave me very little information about what I could eat and in what combination (which apparently matters). Food that I was worried about gave no sugar spike, and food that I felt should be fine did. It seemed that the easiest way to get the right numbers on the meter was to eat nothing but meat, cheese and eggs, and surely that's not healthy?!

On Tuesday it got worse. I spoke to my midwife to set up an appointment and asked if she had been kept up to date - she hadn't even been told that I had been referred. I found out that because I had been referred to the diabetes clinic I was officially out of midwifery care for the birth and that she had to advise me not to plan for a home birth or one at the local midwife-led unit.

To some mums that wouldn't be an issue. To others, that might be disappointing. Quite frankly, it's sent me into a bit of a panic. Baby Badger was born in record time, and its expected that Badger Cub could come out even quicker - perhaps as little as 30 minutes from first contraction to pushing. The hospital is 45 minutes away from my house on a good day, and that's without traffic, waiting for someone to drive me there and someone else to take Baby Badger.

I've now reached the point of annoyance. I've done lots of reading around gestational diabetes. I've talked to an acquaintance who is an independent midwife. Everything is pointing to there being nothing wrong with me: my readings are within normal parameters for third trimester. I'm guessing the hospital are covering their backs with the referral - they're better off monitoring someone who is healthy that not monitoring someone who later turns out to have related issues.

The problem is that in doing this they are preventing me from planning the birth that is almost inevitable, and as a result my stress levels are up and I can't concentrate on anything else. Add to that, I feel as though my diet is worse because of the monitoring.

Definitely annoyed.

Image courtesy of pakorn / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Sweepstake: less cake or more spinach?

As a result of my referral to the consultant because of Baby Badger's early and precipitous delivery, I was booked in for a fasting glucose tolerance test and told that otherwise they were releasing me to midwife care and weren't interested in seeing me again. That was absolutely fine with me - it's a pain to travel to the main county hospital.

Wednesday was the day I became the human pin cushion. I fasted from after dinner the previous night and arrived at the surgery for my first blood test at 8:20 - absolutely starving, as I get up at 6am and don't do well without breakfast! The nurse seemed to take pity on me and said she would use a fine needle since she'd be doing it three times. Three vials came from the first needle, then I was packed off into the waiting room to drink half a litre of Lucozade.

I'd like to point out that I hate Lucozade. I also don't really drink fizzy drinks, so the result was that not only did I have to taste the Lucozade on the way down but also every few minutes as I burped over the next half hour.

9:15 and back in for another needle and another vial, the same at 10:20. Three holes in two arms, and five vials taken. Finally after this I got to eat the banana in my bag, ridding myself of the awful taste of Lucozade and making me feel slightly less light-headed and grumpy.

Twenty minutes later and I had my midwife appointment. The first thing they asked me? Did the nurse take the bloods we need? A quick check and the answer was no, so in went needle number four and two more vials. No fine needle this time either, but a whopping great needle poked in by the student midwife. Let's just say the bruise has developed to a nice black and purple medley.

As for the sweepstake? I returned from work on Friday to an answerphone message from the doctor: "it's nothing to be too worried about, but please call me about your blood test results...". Obviously, I got the message too late to call, so I'll have to wait until Monday to find out!

So, do you think I need to eat less cake (gestational diabetes), more spinach (anaemia) or both? Or something more exotic, but mentally I'm ruling that out. I'm doing what any self-respecting mum to be would do and eating as much chocolate as possible this weekend in case it goes on the banned list on Monday.

Image courtesy of Victor Habbick / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Ready, steady, push!

I'm getting nervous now.

Baby Badger arrived over three weeks early, and was very fast: a mere 45 minutes between first noticeable contraction and pushing! My midwife referred me to the consultant because of this and I had my appointment a couple of weeks ago. They are not particularly interested in seeing me again (which suits me just fine), but did say Badger Cub is likely to be early too, even if not quite so early, and to expect it to be as quick if not quicker (he mentioned 30 minutes being a possibility this time)!

If you're a mum who had a long or even normal length labour, you're probably wondering what I'm complaining about...

I'm at least 45 minutes from my nearest hospital, and that's on a good day with no traffic. Obviously, there's no way I'll be trying to get there - I'd rather not give birth on the ring road in the back of the car.

There's a midwife-led unit less than ten minutes drive from my house; the place I wanted to go with Baby Badger but couldn't because I hadn't reached 37 weeks. I'll be aiming for there this time, but I'm worried that I won't make it to 37 weeks again, in which case they're not allowed to take me.

The plan I've agreed with my midwife is that I should prepare for a home birth. Not my ideal scenario, but pretty much my only option. I'm not nervous as such about doing it at home, but I am nervous about who, if anyone, will be with me.

I was lucky last time that my waters broke overnight, which meant that they were easy to notice when I woke up. I might not be as lucky this time: they might not break until labour is established, or if they break whilst I'm upright I may not even notice (apparently Badger Cub's head might stem the flow). If this happens, the likelihood is that Father Badger won't make it back from work in time. There's a fairly good chance that the midwife won't make it to me. I feel as though I might be in the very real position of having to deliver my own baby, and quite frankly it's a scary prospect.

Image courtesy of digitalart / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Pink or blue?

Today was my twenty week scan. It was as expected: late (a 10:40 appointment was never going to be on time) and lots of prodding on a full bladder. An amusing extra was being sent into the corridor to walk around and jump (yes, jump) to see if Badger #2 could be persuaded to turn into a more convenient position.

The main outcome, and the only one I really care about, is that everything looks fine. We had a great sonographer that described everything: pointed out that both bones were present in the lowers legs, explained what she was doing and looking for at every step. It was an education!

And the big question: pink or blue? Anyone that knows me will laugh: Baby Badger was assumed to be a boy for months because I refused to dress her in the customary pink. Badger #2 needn't worry though - he won't be getting all of her hand me downs...

New Day, New Badger

I've not blogged in a long time. I always said that if I had nothing to write about then I simply wouldn't: I'd rather not write drivel. In truth, life is busy. I work full time, and by the time we've done dinner and bed time, it's quite often nine o'clock! Needless to say, Baby Badger is not the best at getting to sleep but we're slowly getting there.


I now find myself with something to write about... there's another badger on the way! He or she is due at the end of January 2013, and it's quite exciting! The only question is, what should his or her blog name be...?

Lesson of the Day - snot and mash should never meet

Warning: this gets gross. Read on at your peril...

Poor Baby Badger is in the wars at the moment. A couple of weeks ago she was a vomit factory, and as soon as she was over that she caught the latest cold from nursery. She's being producing snot by the gallon and earlier this week she managed to rub it into her eyes.

Result? Conjunctivitis and eye drops that are an absolute bugger to get in, mainly due to the flailing arms and eyes screwed shut (she's not daft).

Unsurprisingly the added liquid from her watering eyes is adding the volume of snot. More fluids. Nice...

Today's lesson: allowing your toddler to shovel mashed potato in on top of a belly full of snot results in a scene reminiscent of The Exorcist, with seemingly endless pints of foaming white stuff appearing around the fork. Gross (you were warned).

Image: Simon Howden / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

45/366: poorly bunny

So tired from being unwell, she keeps falling asleep wherever she lands!