Thursday 25 April 2013

Chicken

Why I didn't stick to dogs continued. The story so far: (if you can't be bothered to read the blog archives!) pregnancy, miscarriage, pregnancy again, a poo popping birth and a healthy dollop of humour. It's worth catching up (honestly) as each post builds the story. Now, on with the show......
 

I spent a night in hospital where the enormity of what I'd done truly sank in. My husband - actually, calling him my husband all the time is not only long winded, but bloody annoying; so I'm going to call him Bob, after the so many great Bobs who have gone before him; Bob Dylan, Bob Marley, Bob Monkhouse and of course, Bob Carolgees, whose tireless efforts should not go unrecorded as they spawned Spit the Dog! But I digress. Bob had gone home for a well-earned rest, all that brow drenching had worn him out, poor thing! No, I'm doing him a dis-service, he wasn't allowed to stay, so kissed us both goodnight at the eleventh hour, leaving me in sole control of our vulnerable new life. What, is he mad? I didn't have the faintest idea what to do with a baby! I had been fortunate enough to have not encountered many in adulthood, and those I did, I paid little (no) attention as they didn't have fur or floppy ears. I sat rigid on the edge of the bed staring at her sleeping peacefully; I could only hope she would stay that way.

Ha! Since when have babies stayed peaceful? With the perception of a spider detecting the buzz of it's dinner in the air, she sensed my fear and began to stir. I stood up looking at the wriggling bundle and waited for my maternal instincts to come to my rescue. Her wriggling grew more agitated, still no instincts; she opened her mouth to niggle, still no instincts - shit! where are they? I paced a bit wringing my hands, waiting for the crack of lightening that would bring with it my instincts, but then she found her voice and let it loose in an almighty bawl. So, I did the only thing I could do - I called for a midwife.
"Have you checked her nappy?" she asked. My blank expression gave her the answer as she impatiently swept her out of the cot, placed her on the bed and proceeded to unwrap her with all the care bestowed upon a piece of chicken at KFC! Oi! That's my baby you're rough handling! I thought, but I was amazed to see the little piece of chicken took the treatment with barely a grumble. Her fragile ankles were yanked above her head with one hand, the nappy removed and bum wiped with the other. WOW!

I noticed the discarded nappy was full with black poo, and considering she hadn't fed at all, the quantity was more elephantine than human!
"Is it meant to be that colour?" I asked slightly alarmed. Having paid it no attention in her haste to return to her tea and biscuits, she now glanced at the contents, "It's just meconium, nothing to worry about, but you'll have to keep an eye on her to make sure it's all out."
"Nothing to worry about? It looks like tar!"
"It's your poo dear she ingested on the way out," she told me as though I were five and foreign. I have to admit, I did an internal eeew before asking, "So, how often should I check her nappy?"
"Whenever she seems irritable," she said before letting the door swing shut behind her.

I looked back at my baby wrapped again in her many layers. I watched for signs of irritability. Even to my untrained eye, she seemed pretty irritable to me. Her face was a contorted blob of wrinkles topped off with a deep frown as she shook her head from side to side repeatedly and fort against her tightly bound blanket. I bit my lip feeling very unsure, even I couldn't believe she'd need her nappy changing so soon, but that was what the midwife had told me, so, I picked her up and began repeating the process I'd witnessed only minutes earlier. I attempted the confident grabbing of her ankles; they felt so frail in my grasp I was terrified I was going to snap them and dropped them in a panic. I watched them as they slapped her in the face on their way down. OH NO! I berated myself for being so useless, but she didn't seem to mind being thumped by her own feet and just stuffed her now free hand into her mouth. I continued with my task and found a completely clean nappy, (big surprise!). After taking an eternity to pop all the poppers back together on her baby grow, I gave her a little cuddle on her way back to the cot. I found her smell intoxicating and as I took it deep into my lungs, she was quiet. For a moment I thought I glimpsed my maternal instincts; maybe she glimpsed them too and didn't like what she saw as she started to struggle against me. Nappy again?

In desperation at her increasing disquiet I wondered if she might need a bath. I decided to risk the wrath of the midwife and poked my head out of the door to whisper, "D'you think she needs a bath?" She managed to conceal her contempt with all the success of a politician concealing his expenses. She arrived at my room and said through gritted teeth, "I shouldn't think so."
Looking at my exhausted expression she said, "When did you last feed her?"
"Feed her?" I asked as though the concept of nourishment was bizarre. She gave me a weary look and said, "She's hungry, feed her." And the door hit her bum on the way out.

This new stone we needed to step was a slippery one. The nappy was a doddle compared to this! Apparently the meconium had filled her up, hence we hadn't tackled it sooner.

With fear and inadequacy as my bed friends, I offered her my boob. Like a blind mouse she snuffled around, had a go, then came off before starting to cry. I tried again, and again, and again. With still no sign of her latching. I longed for help but didn't dare call the midwife again, I feared she might take her off me and give her to a competent mother! I had to give it one last attempt before I conceded defeat and called her in. The sweat was forming on my brow (oh where was Bob and his sponge when I needed him?) as I took a deep breath and tentatively wiggled her dinner under her nose once more. Hooray! The clever thing finally recognised her meal and managed to clamp on before guzzling greedily while my boobs felt like they were engorging with enough milk to feed the entire European continent!

There are no words to describe the feeling of nourishing a tiny soul whose flesh is wholly dependent on you for its survival. I amazed myself further when I instinctively put her against my shoulder once she'd finished and began gently rubbing her back until I heard her burp like a gorilla!

While I held her to me, her face nestled against my neck, I realised I hadn't felt my maternal instincts hit me like a lightening crack because I think they had been there all along, I simply didn't possess the faith in myself to recognise them.

My duties fulfilled for the night, I laid her back in her cot and cooed. I knew then, that was why I didn't stick to dogs.

Friday 5 April 2013

Holidays

Dear all, (all three of you!)
I may be being presumptuous, but on the off chance any of you have logged on to read the latest instalment, I'm afraid you're out of luck. On my hols and haven't the means to create the visual accompaniment to my text. Will be back the week beginning 22nd April at some point, probably the Thursday. In case you think I'm rambling - I am, second bottle on the go; well, I did say I'm on my hols! Please log back on for another thrilling ride in inadequate parenting in a couple of weeks.
A tout a l'heure! (subtle!)
Martha