The one where I whinge a bit

I'm having one of those days. It peaked when I found the cat peeing on the door mat. There's nothing quite like clearing up still-warm cat pee while a baby shouts at you from behind the stairgate (left there because he'll want to "help").

Father Badger took both children on the usual Saturday morning walk with his mum, sister and their dogs. In theory that means I can get an extra hour sleep, but realistically by the time I've helped get them ready I am far too awake to go back to bed, however tired I am. (And I am tired.) He took Baby Badger off to a birthday party at noon, then off to Oxford for some shopping. I had strange irrational dreams of Badger Cub having a nap for a couple of hours while I got stuff done. Nothing urgent or even important, but just stuff. Instead I've been feeding (expected), playing bricks, stopping him eating DVDs and having my knees chewed all day. And no nap.

I know I should expect to be doing these things with a nine month old baby, but just once I'd like to be me again. I dream of having the house to myself for a whole day. No preschooler asking for help at the toilet. No baby sucking my jeans, crying because I've taken two paces towards the door. I feel really selfish for these thoughts, but I am slowly going insane.

Just in case you're interested, he's still awake. Other than a few ten minute naps, he's been awake since 6:30am (ELEVEN HOURS AGO). You're thinking that at least he'll sleep well tonight, but you'd be wrong - I predict at least four wakings. That's him in the photo, strapped to my back in the Ergo so that I can at least leave a room without carrying him in one arm. He's keeping himself entertained trying to pull my hair.

Sigh.

Bringing up the next generation of Divas

Our preschool gives out a local magazine aimed at parents: Oxfordshire Families. It has a few articles around topics such as first days at school but is mainly full of adverts. One in particular caught my eye - a photo-shoot party.

Included is mocktail drinks, hair and face makeover, choice of accessories, red carpet catwalk, disco and a printed photo. All for £25 per child, minimum 10 children, additional photos a chargeable extra.

Other than the hideous price, the whole idea of the photo-shoot party makes me cringe. Or feel like shouting. A bit of both really.

If my daughter wants to pursue a modelling career and understands the level of determination and hard graft she'll need to display, then I'll support her. I am not belittling the career.

Surely there are more worthwhile themes for a little girls party?
Image courtesy of Marin / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Time to build an ark

A few minutes ago I was feeding Badger Cub in bed, still in pyjamas after a particularly bad night's sleep, when the doorbell rang. I left a rather disgruntled baby behind to answer the door.

It was a middle aged man offering me religious pamphlets, I assume a Jehovah's Witness. I politely declined and he left.

As an aside, I wonder how long it is since they actually "turned" someone at the doorstep. I do acknowledge that part of their faith is to attempt to convert/save but surely it's time to evolve away from cold calling? Maybe evolution is the problem here...

Minutes after he left I kicked myself for not saying what I wanted to say.

Thousands are dying in Syria because they have the wrong bloodline; men, women and children coldly executed. Young girls are raped with bayonets in Africa. In our own country children are groomed and prostituted, and others are starved and malnourished either through poverty or in extreme cases intentionally by their own parents. At the same time we are destroying the planet in our relentless quest for resources.

Don't tell me it's part of the grand design. If there is a god and he (or she) allows this suffering then I want nothing to do with him. The human race seems to be out of control so he either needs to sort out the mess or wipe us all out and start again. Until that happens I'll carry on trying to raise my family with respect and do what I can for the rest of the world.

Image courtesy of Michelle Meiklejohn / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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

A Mother’s Work Meme

This meme was started by mother.wife.me and as it's a subject I've been pondering recently I thought I'd chip in.

Rules:

1. Please post the rules
2. Answer the questions in as much or as little detail as suits you
3. Leave a comment on mother.wife.me so we can keep track of the meme
4. Tag 3 people and link to them on your blog
5. Let them know you tagged them
6. Tweet loudly about taking part (well ok, that isn’t a rule, but how about if we start a hashtag – #amothersworkmeme

Did you work before becoming a mum?

Yes. Before heading off on maternity leave I had worked in the IT industry for over a decade, building up technical skills, knowledge, a nice salary and a good reputation.


What is your current situation?

I am back working at the company I was at before my maternity leave. They have a good maternity policy so I was lucky enough to be able to take a full year's leave and return to my job.

Freestylin’ on Childcare Costs and Expectations

I work full time. I am lucky: my parents and my mother in law live locally so between them Baby Badger has two days a week with family. That's great for our bank balance, but more importantly great for her to grow up knowing her grandparents. The remaining three days are spent at the nursery on the business park where I work. It's a good nursery: the staff are engaged and enthusiastic, the standard of cleanliness is good enough without reaching obsessive levels, and the staff all know my daughter by name. I've made a point of observing out of view before I collect her and she seems to be genuinely enjoying her time. In this respect I have no qualms over our decision to use nursery time.

Standard day rate at the nursery is just over £50. Again I am lucky: I get a discount for working on the park, then I save almost 50% because I pay via salary sacrifice (saving tax and national insurance). Three days per week costs me approximately £300 per month.

Consider someone using the nursery that has to use it five days a week; someone whose employer is not forward-thinking enough to offer to offer the salary sacrifice option. That monthly bill comes in at around £1,000. That's a serious amount of money. What do you have left from your pay packet once the mortgage/rent and bills are paid? I'm guessing a lot of families wouldn't have that £1,000 available.

Father Badger and I are considering adding a second cub to the sett and I'm honestly wondering what we'll do when it comes to my career and childcare costs. We could perhaps come to an arrangement with the grandparents with regards extra help, but they're not getting any younger and it seems unfair to expect them to either give up extra days or contend with two children. I'm guessing that we're at least looking to double our childcare costs. We won't make a loss, but it's a big enough dent to wonder whether a change of approach is required.

It's ridiculous that at double the UK national average salary (2010 figure), and a household income of double that, I'm considering whether it's worth going back to work with two children in part-time childcare. Absolutely ridiculous.

And now to the second part of my rant: expectations.

Expectations of flexibility. I am writing this post from a hotel on the outskirts of Leeds, 200 miles from home. My husband and daughter are at home, 200 miles from me. It's not the end of the world, but I don't like it. I've reached the point in my career (ignoring the fact that I'm not sure what I'll do after baby number two) where I need to take on bigger projects, more responsibility, hence I'm travelling. It's not required of me, but it is expected. If I refused, it would be "ok" but I would struggle to progress any further with the remaining opportunities. Thank goodness for Skype and FaceTime - without being able to see the faces I love I don't think I could bear being away from home.

Expectations that I am no longer breastfeeding. That's probably not fair: it won't be a conscious expectation as it won't even cross their mind that I might be. I'm the first employee in a company of thousands to request somewhere to express when returning from maternity leave. I no longer need the facility but that doesn't mean I'm not feeding. I was also up in Leeds a few weeks ago when Baby Badger was so ill that she couldn't keep any food down. I literally was her only source of food but didn't feel as though I could give it as a reason to cancel my trip. Maybe I should have plucked up courage, but honestly - do you think an employer would have understood?


You're tagged!

End of rant. It's late and I should be in bed...

I am tagging:

• Beth aka @plasticrosaries as I'm guessing she's got a lot to say on the subject of trying to juggle work and motherhood.
• Menai aka @MenaiN for a different perspective as a working mum on a break as an ex-pat

Image: www.skype.com

Little Britain's Legacy

We spent New Years Eve with a group of friends and all stayed over. The following morning we had the traditional fry up and got to talking about Baby Badger's new words. Father Badger is (thankfully) proud of me breastfeeding her and got to talk about mornings when she comes into our bed and immediately demands mlk! mlk! (milk).

Our friends are all aware I still feed her. It doesn't happen much in public now as she mainly feeds first thing in the morning and at bedtime. I don't make a big thing of it, but I do expect them to respect it. So I was a little taken aback when one of them suggested it would be really funny to teach Baby Badger to ask for bitty instead of milk.

I didn't say anything and let the moment pass, but I'm regretting it a little bit. I'm not bothered as such by the term, but it's the existence of this sort of joke that discourages new mums from nursing in public.

Little Britain has a lot to answer for.

Image: www.bbc.co.uk

Would you let your daughter have this?

Baby Badger was thoroughly spoiled this Christmas, not only in terms of attention being the other only little person, but also in terms of presents. Clothes & puzzles galore (as requested by us), duplo and balls (hours if not weeks and months of fun ahead), books (always welcome), and rather randomly a bubblegum-pink fake leather rocking armchair with matching footstool (huh?).

A few of the presents are not entirely appropriate. Some puzzles are for a slightly older child, but that's fine as we can bring them out when she's ready. A few of the toys don't fill us with confidence that the kite mark is entirely genuine (local market type stuff), but I'm guessing that a bit of poking and shaking from us will prove their toddler-resilience. There's one toy that is entirely inappropriate in my eyes...

Where do I start? The blow-up doll lips? The silver platform sandals (with matching knickers)? The tarty outfit? The sculptured full breasts under the wraparound top?

Am I being a prude? I don't think so. I honestly think that this kind of appearance should not be marketed to young girls, especially not when they are of too young an age to understand the assumptions and connotations that come bundled with it, rightly or wrongly.

What do you think?

Merry Christmas, etc.

Last night (or technically the early hours of this morning, Boxing Day) I went all Bah Humbug on Twitter...

Is it wrong/unfestive to say I've not had an amazing day?

Christmas Eve: somehow my Mother and I were roped into running the church crib service (Nativity story with carols and puppets) even though neither of us wanted to. I consoled myself that at least it wasn't a proper church service (I'm a closet agnostic, bordering on atheist: To believe or not to believe) only to find that Mum had inserted a prayer and blessing for me to read out, making me feel like a hypocrite. Add to that the stress emanating from her during our morning preparations for the service (she tends to go into meltdown when she feels overloaded) and it was not the most relaxing start to my Christmas.

Once the crib service was over, all the family came back to the Badger residence for supper (sandwiches and easy finger food), which was much more relaxing, but my evening was neatly rounded off by Baby Badger chundering a mixture of booby milk, snot and food over my shoulder and chest. Nice!

Christmas Day: Father Badger's Mum moved down to the next village about 18 months ago, which is lovely: we get on well, respect each others' space, and Baby Badger gets to grow up knowing all her grandparents. It also means that we have stopped alternating Christmas Day between families and this year was our second Christmas bringing both families together for Christmas. For Father Badger's family it's much more relaxed than in times gone by (arguments and family feuds), but my parents don't seem to settle when out of their house at Christmas. Once again, my evening was rounded off by being coated in booby milk, snot and partially digested food. Merry Christmas Mummy!

That's when I tweeted.

Boxing Day: today has at least been more relaxed. A walk around the village followed by soup, baked ham and brownies with ice cream at my parents' house. And no vomit. Hurrah!

Image: Michal Marcol / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Where did Autumn go?

It's glorious weather, isn't it? An Indian summer! We should all take advantage of it while we can!

I hate this weather. I don't tan. I burn, come out in a rash and eventually get blisters. If I go out in this kind of weather I either have to cover up from head to toe (hot) or lather myself in sunblock (icky). Yes I am being grumpy, so there.

Weekends are precious free time and I'm wasting that time because I'm hot and lethargic, and I don't want to go out. Because it's late in the year, by the time it's a sensible temperature outside it'll be getting dark. Yes, I am moaning.

Don't tell me I'll miss it when the clouds and rain arrive. I'll stick on my waterproofs and go frolic in the cool fresh air.

Am I the only one that feels this way?!

Image: tungphoto / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Reasons to be Cheerful: crawling, ivy and doors

I've been sitting at my laptop for going on an hour this evening, trying to think of what to write. Truth be known, I've been feeling a bit bit depressed about the state of the world recently. I've been trying to avoid writing about it, finding something fun and light-hearted, but I simply need to say this.

First of all we have the natural disaster, the supposed Act of God that is the drought and famine in East Africa (and therein lies one of the many reasons that I don't believe any more). I saw a tweet that suggested that mothers were having to choose to let their weakest child die in order for the strongest to live. Before I was a mother that would have sounded awful; an impossible choice to make. Now that I have a daughter my innermost being screams out for them. How can the developed world strain under the weight of so much wastage while the forgotten millions perish. If I think about it I want to cry, so I don't think about it; I've donated to the DEC and that will have to do for now, but perhaps that's the root cause of the problem: it's too horrific for most people to think of and we choose to carry on in our happy existences.

Next we have the man-made disasters: the senseless bombing and shootings in Norway; and now I see that the Syrian authorities have killed 130 of their own people. Lastly we have the ignorantly damaging... one example is where The Analytical Armadillo recently highlighted the potentially fatal advice on sleeping arrangements for baby. Ridiculously high numbers of blankets to make them sleep through the night, as if that's the most important thing?! It makes me so sad to think that babies could be suffering or even dying due to bad advice.

Now... I do realise this post should be about reasons to be cheerful. I'm coming on to that! All of the badness in the world highlights to me that I really should be grateful for what I have, and I am truly grateful: I have a lovely husband, a comfortable life and a daughter I really would give everything for. And that's when I remembered Mich's reasons to be cheerful and realised that's exactly what I need today!

1. Baby Badger is crawling! She worked it out last month at a little over a year old, presumably because when she started at nursery she saw lots of other crawlers. There's just no stopping her now - it's given her the ability to get to the furniture she has been surfing along for months. We're going to have to be on our toes, but it's wonderful to watch!

2. Ivy. Father Badger attacked trimmed the ivy on the back wall today. I hate the ivy: it cuts out the light, it's probably doing bad things to the wall and (probably the main reason) it's full of spiders. This makes me cheerful for two reasons: I can hope that he trimmed so hard that it dies (!); and Baby Badger spent the afternoon outside in the play pen, under a tree, happily playing and chatting away.

3. I've finished the wardrobe doors. More accurately, I've finished the base colour. I've been planning these doors since I was pregnant and, almost 18 months later, I'm close to finishing them! I'll leave the details for another time, but suffice to say I'm proud of them.

To believe or not to believe

A few days ago I came across a post by Bethan (no Y) regarding religion and her journey to find religion. Did she find it? Go read her post and find out... It got me thinking about my own struggles with faith.

I was brought up in a Christian family. My father's family are Catholic, with several priests in the family. My mother's family are Methodist. I chose to be baptised in the Church of England, presumably because it was familiar: both my primary and the local church are C of E. I went to sunday school and later church student group, and sang in the chapel choir at University.

Father Badger is firmly atheist. Not agnostic (i.e. not bothered, no firm beliefs) but militantly atheist: he firmly believes in no higher power, and he thinks that organised religion is a cause of evil in humanity. To an extent I sympathise with him: there have been many atrocities committed in the name of one faith or another; tribes and peoples are at war because of conflicting faiths. I do however think that if religion was not available to justify these actions, another basis would be chosen: race, colour or similar.

We were married in church, in the village where I grew up. This may seem hypocritical, especially when I say that my faith was already wavering. The vicar was fully aware that Father Badger was not religious, but said he did not see it as a problem as long as the vows were taken with the right intentions and that he was comfortable saying them in church. It was important to me to marry there, mainly because I see that church and its congregation as the centre of my community and upbringing and full of many people that mean a lot to me.

Over the last few years I have become gradually more aware, and recently consciously admitted to myself, that I don't believe in god. I can't pinpoint when it happened, and I'm not even sure if I ever did - I can't think of a moment in the past where I passionately believed, although I must have at some point. I can't see how a god could allow wars, famine, disease. There is no grand plan, no reason for everything. I do however think that church can be a great strength in the community, and provides a good set of morals for bringing up children.

The agreement I have with Father Badger is that Baby Badger must be brought up respecting other people's beliefs, be that in a god or in nothing. I want her to go to church occasionally so she understands her family background, but it's her choice when she's older as to whether she becomes involved or not.

My biggest problem with the lack of faith is guilt. My father is definitely not a believer any more, a result of deployment to war zones with the RAF, but my mother is still firmly Christian. I know she will be devastated if she finds out that I have no faith, and I really don't want to hurt her in this way, but I also don't want to live a lie. My way of dealing with this is to turn up to church on important occasions by way of it being a family event, but I don't read the prayers aloud and I abstain from communion. One day, though, she's going to ask me a question that I can't sidestep and the emotional car crash will occur.

Do you struggle with a similar dilemma? How do you deal with having different beliefs to your family? Have you had the conversation I dread, and how did it go?

Image: nuchylee / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Shopping and a home visit

A few days ago I wrote a guest post for The Real Supermum about how I'd been feeling recently. I got lots of great advice about how to lift my mood, but also that I should take my blues seriously and work on dealing with them rather than hiding them away.

This morning happened to be Baby Badger's 8 month check (or in my area the 6-12 month check as they are too short-staffed to get everyone done on time). On Father Badger's insistence, I mentioned to the Health Visitor that I'd been feeling a bit weepy. I said I thought it was probably down to lack of sleep but that I thought I should mention it. She immediately launched into troubleshooting our sleeping arrangements and night feeds and asked nothing else about how I was.

I feel a tad short-changed! I'm fairly sure I don't have PND; I've done a bit of reading to rule it out and although I definitely am a bit down at the moment, I don't appear to be suffering enough for the label (and I honestly am relieved by this). It's not that I wanted her sympathy, but surely she should have asked a few more questions to rule it out for herself? It would have been reassuring to have a health professional tell me I'm okay.

My day did pick up after this. I managed to work my way through a few tasks on my list (arranging couriers to collect various bits, booking the cats in for vaccinations - thrilling!) then Baby Badger and I headed out for a bit of shopping.

We went to the local retail park to buy storage boxes and jars. I succeeded on the jars but in a moment of insanity left without boxes and instead a large neon parrot hand puppet. I know. Not the same. But it does make a very realistic skwawk when you squeeze the beak...

We then went round Tescos. I would normally have Baby Badger in a carrier, freeing up my hands for the trolley, but for the first time she went into the seat of a big trolley. She loved every minute, bouncing up and down (thank goodness for the safety strap), waving her arms, and generally charming the pants off everyone. A lovely end to the day!

Image: nuchylee / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Where's the romance, the love?

My local commercial radio station is running a competition: 2 Strangers & A Wedding. The station launched a campaign to find a single woman interested in finding the man of her dreams, and is now looking for a man for her. In April they are to marry at the Oxford Malmaison and honeymoon in Mallorca. This may be sounding like the dream wedding package to some of you, but here's the catch: the couple will not meet until their wedding day.

I haven't paid enough attention to the competition to know the intricate details, but a couple of things immediately  spring to mind... They're not going to meet?! The entire competition from the applications to the actual wedding is only two months, so even via exposure in the radio station they'll barely know each other. What if there's no spark? Worse still, what if there's a spark on one side and not the other? The terms and conditions require the applicants to disclose any criminal convictions, but what if one of them is a nutter!

Local clergy have objected on the grounds that this makes a mockery of the sanctity of marriage. I can see why they are upset, although my agnosticism means I'm not that bothered. I do worry that it makes a mockery of the level of personal commitment that marriage implies. The couple will be taking vows that they have no ability to commit to: how can they promise their lives to a complete stranger?

There has been a lot of discussion on the station's website. Some have compared it to arranged marriages. I think this is different: although arranged marriages have had bad press, there are some that are successful. These successful ones are where the parents have chosen carefully knowing their daughter or son's personality and outlook on life. This radio station cannot possibly think their panel (combined with the infinite wisdom of their listeners) are capable of making a good match?

In my eyes this is simply a competition to win a free holiday to Mallorca with an "interesting twist". What do you think?

Image: Sharron Goodyear / FreeDigitalPhotos.net