Becoming An Attachment Parent

I didn’t set out to become an “attachment parent”, it just evolved.  The early days of my first son’s life, 7 years ago, are a bit of a haze.  I found becoming a mother a very hard transition.  I had given up my job at a national radio station and suddenly spent large parts of my day alone, covered in one form of bodily fluid or another. My family weren’t close by and I had very little idea of what to do with a baby. I struggled with breastfeeding. We had to have weekly weigh ins to ensure he wasn’t “failing to thrive”.  We were given differing advice from health care professionals every day.  I had a very medicalised birth and developed an infection which really drained me.  I was in a two bed, second floor Dublin apartment, packed with baby paraphernalia that I had no clue how to work.  The buggy required an engineering degree and left me red-faced on more than one occasion, reduced to tears by the devil on four wheels!

I attended ante natal and pregnancy yoga classes.  I listened to my hypnobirthing tracks and made lists of what to bring in my hospital bag but I was totally unprepared for after birth. So, I read books. Books that told me my baby MUST be in a routine, that without three naps a day, he’s suffer a lifetime of sleep deprivation.  While he slept, I should express because if he didn’t take a bottle, then he’d STILL be breastfeeding when he went to college / his father wouldn’t get to bond with him / I’d never get my life back / some version of all of these.

I studied child psychology, had worked with children for years and was a trained infant massage instructor, yet I found myself totally floundering as a new mum.  I felt completely and utterly out of my depth.  I wanted desperately to get out to meet other mums but didn’t because I was so restricted by the “routine rules”.  Finally, after reading advice that encouraged me not to make eye contact with my baby when he woke at night, I realised the ridiculousness of what I was doing, to both of us. Imagine taking the advice of someone who encouraged me to go against every instinct I have? 

So I took a deep breath and said “you’ve got this”! The books went in the bin and my baby came into my bed (and shock horror sometimes still does). He fed when he wanted to, for as long as he wanted to. I carried him in a sling, while the buggy grew cobwebs.  I started to listen to my baby. My body grew him and birthed him and I realised that I knew him and he knew me. Somehow I knew what he needed and I was never going to find that in a book, because it came from inside me.  So I trusted myself and my baby and together we muddled through.

www.TheBabyRoom.ie

My First Column Piece For The Nationalist

My baby turns one this week.  I don’t know how it happened.  It seems like I blinked and my teeny tiny, pink skinned new born was replaced by a hungry, one toothed, bum shuffling, kitten terrorising, small person,  who’s most coherent argument is “no”.  

I’m not sure why time choose this particular year to hurry itself up so much.  Or why, when one of my favourite things in the world is to be holed up in my Momma cave, with a new born on my chest, time thinks it’s ok to force me to move forward.

It truly feels like only yesterday since we welcomed him into our world.  He was born here, at home, in an incredibly gentle water birth.  He opened his eyes and looked at me like he had always known me, before making his way to my breast and feeding.  (The breast crawl is worth YouTubing).  In those first awe inspiring minutes of his life, there was a such a sense of quiet calmness.  Time stopped and there was only stillness.  

Bliss, which lasted all of zero point five seconds until big brother and sister bounded in to introduce themselves and it quickly became apparent that he should, in fact, have come with a health warning - “Danger, severe risk of utter chaos if comes into contact with other small humans”.

3 children, one husband, one dog, 3 chickens, one goldfish and a kitten sure do make for some interesting times.  Possibly one reason why time has flown by – what else could it do when every second of every day is packed full of living?  Also possibly why I live beside my Mammy!

I love being a mother.  It’s one of the few things in life I feel I do well.  Knowing the strength and resilence my body is capable of, having carried, birthed and nursed three children, has inspired such confidence in me and my own abilities.  I love the sense of achievement and reward I gain from loving my children and meeting their needs.  I especially love babies.  So much so I’ve decided to have another one (she says as she barricades the front door to prevent husband running for the hills).

Just kidding! For now!  

It does seem apt though, that as my youngest boy turns one, I find myself nursing a new baby – my business baby - The Baby Room. The Baby Room aims to provide pregnancy, postnatal, baby and toddler classes locally, under one roof.  Building on my background in social care, media, my training as an infant massage and toddler yoga instructor and my ongoing training in nutrition and pilates, I hope that I can inspire some of the same confidence and empowerment in the women and families I meet through my work.  When we believe in ourselves and our abilities great things can happen.  Corny as it seems, I buy into Whitney’s philosophy that the children are our future.  If we teach them well, they will lead the way.


www.TheBabyRoom.ie

This Girl Of Mine

My daughter is amazing. She's clever and funny and kind and a million things rolled into one beautiful package. She's asleep beside me, curled up with her favourite blankie, a raggedy old thing, that was once her older brothers.  She looks so peaceful, content now that the anxieties that drove her from her own bed to mine have been kissed away.  

Watching her dream her dreams makes my heart swell.  I want so much for her, this incredible girl of mine, who tests me every single day with her fierce determination.  The very things that challenge me while trying to parent her are the things I'm most proud of  - her passion, her spirit, her tenacity, her confidence, her creativity, her exuberance.  She loves and loathes with equal ferociousness.  Watching her chest rise and fall I smile.  I smile because she's the kind of girl who throws her clothes off in the store so she can immediately wear the new dress we've bought.  I smile because when I'm in the middle of correcting her she'll turn her shinning green eyes towards me and blow me a kiss. I smile because when she puts her little arms around my neck and tells me I'm the best mom in the universe I know there could be no greater compliment.  I think about a time in the future when she might hold her own child and in that moment understand how utterly she is loved.  I smile because yesterday she asked me how to spell shoe rack! 

And I worry.  I worry because the very word vagina still causes blushes. I worry because breasts, partially covered by a nursing babies head cause hysteria. I worry because around the world almost one third of women who have been in a relationship have experienced physical and or sexual violence by their partner.  For all our advancements as a society, my daughter is still growing up in a country where women are paid 14% less than men.  The board members of the largest publicly listed companies here are 90% male.  Gender quotas are being introduced to boost the paltry representation of women in Dail Eireann.

The difficulty with quotas is that they don't tackle our culture of masculinity and they sure don't foot the bill for some of the most expensive childcare in the world. 

I worry that against this backdrop my daughter will doubt herself, her capabilities, her power. I fear that the same lack of confidence I possessed as a girl will hold her back. I hope that I am doing enough to build her up so tall that life won't knock her down. I so desperately want the world to hold its magic for her.  She's my princess, my warrior, my adventurer, my comic. She's my girl.

A Thank You From The Milk Bank

Today was a tough day at the Momma Q office. I've started to wean my nearly 9 month old son. We've had ongoing issues with posterior tongue and upper lip ties.  He had laser revision a couple of weeks ago but unfortunately, as with previous revisions, we haven't seen any improvements and this time I feel all out of options.  It's not something I'm doing lightly.  I absolutely love the connection breastfeeding brings and frankly not being able to nourish and comfort my baby in the way that he seeks is really breaking my heart.  I'm down to two feeds a day and I'm in the middle of yet another infection so the letter I received in the post today really brought a tear to my eye.

Token of appreciation from the Milk Bank 

It was from the Milk Bank, thanking me for my recent donation and sending me a little commemorative pin as a token of their appreciation.  I've always been a blood donor and since having children donating milk is something I've wanted to do.  Thankfully I have never had any issues with supply and our own difficulties this time around spurred me into action.  I knew that if I had to stop feeding my own son then I would be relying on the kindness of strangers to help us through and so expressing milk for donation to babies in need of it seemed like a very natural thing to do.  

Ireland has one Human Milk Bank, situated in Fermanagh.  Here, human milk is collected and processed before being made available to neonatal units and hospitals right across the country.  The Milk Bank issues over 1,000 litres of breast milk every year, helping in the region of 700 babies. There are well over 200 mums donating, including some incredibly selfless warrior mommas who have lost their own babies and choose to donate milk to honour their child's memory .

In order to donate, my own baby had to be 6 months or under.  This limit can vary from time to time but a quick call to the Milk Bank answers any queries and I collected milk right up until Ruairí was 7 months old.  During my initial chat with Ann we had a detailed conversation about my health and history.  I then received my starter pack of pre-sterilised 7 ounce bottles.  Each of these is filled with expressed breast milk, named, dated and then frozen.  Once I had these filled, the remainder were sent, along with a blood testing kit for my GP.  Every donating Mum has their blood screened for infectious diseases.  Receiving a blood transfusion or IVF treatment, in addition to some medications automatically rule a mother out of donating.  Mums are asked not to express for 48 hours after taking over the counter medications and herbal treatments also.

One 7 ounce bottle

When I had filled as many bottles as I could manage (3 litres) and had my blood test done, I contacted the Milk Bank to let them know I would be sending it on. They provide insulated storage containers and the milk is packed tightly into these.  Any extra space is filled with bubble wrap, plastic or news paper.  The blood sample is placed on top of this box and then it is sealed and packaged within another box and sent via express mail.

Packing milk for postage

Once donated milk is received, it is checked for protein and fat content.  It is then pasteurised and then rechecked for bacteria,  Only after this thorough screening process is milk sent out to hospitals for the babies in their care.  Donated milk is matched to babies of a similar age.  The list of benefits provided by breast milk is pretty endless.  From lower incidences of asthma, eczema, diabetes and childhood infections to better health outcomes in later life, the research is well documented. Antibodies strengthen the immune system and help fight viruses.  Of particular importance is the protection it provides against Necrotizing Enterocolitis (NEC), a potentially life threatening condition affecting a babies gut.  All babies are at risk of NEC but particularly babies who are born prematurely or with a heart condition.  Those that survive the condition often require surgery.  Research has found that babies who receive donor breast milk are at a reduced risk of developing this condition (some studies suggest by as much as 79%)  Truly for some infants receiving breast milk is a matter of life or death.

Separation from baby, maternal illness, supply issues are all reasons a family may opt to use donor milk for their baby.  Donor milk is also given to mums feeding multiple babies.  Breast milk is often referred to as liquid gold and anyone who has ever expressed milk will testify to the fact that every drop counts.  Breastfeeding, expressing breast milk and bottle feeding, donating milk - it's not always easy but since becoming a mother nearly seven years ago it is definitely up there with the most rewarding things I have done.  It has given my children such a great start in life and thanks to the Milk Bank for their lovely letter I now know that my milk helped three other precious little ones to recover from surgery.  

Being a mother teaches me new things every day.  Today's lesson though is an old one - the best things in life truly are free.  Kindness, a helping hand, a smile, a thank you - these are the things that really matter.

An Irish Holiday

Two things are certain when you decide to holiday in Ireland.  1. It will rain 2. It will rain some more. Even so, I am surprised to find myself curled in front of the fire, sipping a cheeky Rioja (not such a surprise) in the midst of a weather warning, in the first week in August.  It's a status yellow which means gusts of between 90 and 100 kilometres per hour so I'm happy to be holed up, reading trashy holiday romance while listening to the waves crash and the wind howl.  We're home from home on Valentia Island and the normally visible mainland is obscured by sheets of rain.  In the ten years I've been coming here to my husband's family holiday home I've never seen weather like this and he, who has been coming here since his childhood can't remember summer weather as bad.   We're watching the boat, anchored metres from the house, being thrown around in the swell. After two days of rain it desperately needs to be purged but the sea conditions mean we can't reach it. My father in law has just asked me if I'd like a "serious drink". Yes, I think a serious drink would go down nicely, so it's hot whiskies all round.

Obscured view of mainland 

I love it here. It's a little piece of heaven. The scenery is breathtaking. The seafood is to die for.  I look forward to visiting as often as we can.  To sailing and kayaking and biking the island.  To visiting the ice-cream parlour and trying the latest flavours. To climbing Bray Head and watching the birds feeding their chicks on the cliffs edge. To taking photos of the incredible vista from the top of the Geokaun Mountain. To eating crepes topped with fresh strawberries and icecream, to watching my eldest son bounce on the water trampoline in the harbour and take sailing instruction from his grandad. To eating mackerel we've caught ourselves and cooked with mustard as only my mother in law knows how. To camping under the stars on the deserted Beginis Island. I love it all.  But so far this trip we haven't done any of it.  Instead we've played twister and chess, draughts and mermaids, drawn pictures, read library books, gone walking in the wind. We've left the house first thing in the morning and gone exploring places we haven't been before, watched the waves at Derrynane, chased fairies between rain showers, run along Ballinskelligs beach, driven the Ring of Kerry stopping as many places as possible to marvel at the incredible beauty of our little country. If the sun was shining we wouldn't have done any of those things, being content to stay in our island bubble. So although I'm thankful that tomorrow is to bring calmer weather, along with a visit from my sister I'm also thankful that in Ireland we can't rely on the weather and so are constantly pushed to make the most of it. Even so, there's something inherently wrong with wearing wellies in August. I can only hope it's not something I'm expected to get used to.

Crab claws & pineapple

Chasing fairies in Derrynane 

Stunning views on the Ring of Kerry

Waves crashing at Derrynane Strand 

Strolling on Ballinskelligs 

Car Hostage, AKA When Your Kids Fall Asleep In The Car

As I sat outside my house today, in my car, with the engine running, windows open, radio off, phone on silent, willing myself not to slurp my get me through the afternoon coffee, so as not to disturb the three sleeping beauties that are my children, it dawned on me that I have in fact mastered all of the incredible skills of a stealth ninja.  Actually I take that back.  Stealth ninja's are difficult to find so that can't be me because my children manage to find me no matter how well I think I've covered my tracks! (They are in fact, as committed to the cause as Daniel Day Lewis was in The Last of the Mohicans - no matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I WILL FIND YOU"
 https://www.youtube.com/watch )

OK, so I don't meet the first of Urban Dictionary's stealth ninja criteria but I sure do excel at the second two:
1. Extremely mysterious
Spelling out words, talking reallllllyyy sllllloooooowwwwlllllyyyyy and/or in Irish, hand gestures, passing notes, morse code, subliminal messages, alter egos, nervous ticks have all become part of covert daily communications.  At times I reckon I'd give 007 a good run for his money.
2. Lightening fast
If you want to see faster than the speed of light in action, then look no further than me on the couch, with a cup of tea, happily about to enjoy my delicious, waited for all day chocolate mothering reward, when I hear a little voice calling me.  It is quite the skill to make an entire, under threat piece of cake disappear in zero point five seconds let me assure you.

See, ninja! And here's another few awesome talents I have - I know where every creaking floor board in the house is.  I know, exactly, down to the tinniest millimeter how high I can lift the duvet to read on my phone without causing sleep disturbance to which ever trespasser is in my bed.  I know that I can get three children dressed in the time it takes the porridge to cook - that's 2 minutes per child, pretty darn impressive.  I know I can smuggle chocolate eclairs into my mouth by pretending they are either beetroot or broccoli.  I know how to negotiate peace treaties better than any UN Diplomat.  I know that silence amongst children is nearly always deadly (often resulting in an unfortunate incident with the long suffering dog) and finally I know that whenever someone says "it wasn't me" it always, always, ALWAYS was them.

I think a role in Skylander awaits!!!

Sitting afraid to move in said car also reminded me of that time I got stuck in the car wash and had to Google the petrol station number so I could ring them to get someone to rescue me (admittedly not very ninja like) but that's a story for another day!!!

Due Dates & Daydreams

This week we should be celebrating a second birthday.  I should be baking a cake and deciding which much loved Disney character will adorn it.  I should be bestowing birthday kisses, helping to blow out candles and smiling in pride as another milestone in my child's life is reached.  Party photos should be added to the album that houses other precious memories - first steps, first tooth, first hair cut.  My older children should be chasing my younger ones across the garden, hiding behind bushes and waiting to shout "found you".  A small hand should be enclosed in mine.  Bright eyes should twinkle at me.  Two perfect lips should say words my heart aches to hear.  Instead the date will go by like it did last year.  Just another collection of numbers, important only to me.  Remembered only by me.  There will be no party in this house this July, or any other because there was no baby born here in July.  There is only what should have been.

So I will wake on July 27th, the day my fourth baby was due and I will take my cup of tea out to the garden and I will stand with pieces of my heart missing at the spot where my babies are buried and I will breathe.  Sometimes tears come.  Sometimes I get angry.  Sometimes I smile because loss has taken me on the journey to where I am now.  It's so much a part of not only the mother but also the woman that I am.  It colours my days because I know that life is precious.  It's for packing full of laughter.  This week I will hold my precious 8 month old son in my arms and I will love him and his older brother and sister until my heart bursts and my lost babies will be there with us, as we hop and skip and chase in the garden because they are my children and I am their mother and they are in all that I do.

"Golden slumbers fill your eyes,

Smiles await you when you rise,

Sleep pretty darling do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby".