Bug-Agh!-Boo

Oh the dreaded baby bugs. The ones that get your baby and then they get you. And everyone else. I know I know, they are good really, helping bébé build and strengthen his immune system… But they are nasty. Apparently they are at their most prevalent when your bébé first starts nursery or goes to creche / pre-school or indeed anywhere they mix with other little ones. For some reason (je ne sais quoi) Mr FF and I assumed that we would be immune to these bugs. Bien sur! Bebe FF is made of special stuff. He won’t get sick! Nor will we! That supposition has already proven to be merdique. Zut alors.

Let me give you ze gory.

Last week we flew to France for an impromptu full “French F” family gathering. We had woken to the unusual sight, or rather smell, of a sicky Bébé FF. We didn’t have time to ponder other than to assume it was the end of his first cold, which happened earlier in the week, and went on our merry way to the airport. He seemed fine, just tired. Naturally we left ourselves -15 minutes to do the 45++ minute route through security and to Gate 5,638 at Gatwick airport, in order to join our Squeasyjet flight. We flew through the airport. Thanks to the legendary Babyzen we made it, boarded and were feeling pretty smug.

You may know that when flying with bébé you should try to get them to suck on something to prevent sore ears on departure and landing. Dumdum wasn’t cutting it, so I offered up the Mummadum aka babylons and sat back waiting for the flight to be over and another journey nailed. (Side note: Bébé FF has travelled a lot since he was born and has already flown, so this wasn’t quite as exciting as his first flight, but it is all still tres novel.  Second side note: Bébé FF is growing teeth. I didn’t particularly want to leave him chewing, if you know what I mean. Once in the air I removed him and gave him a good pat on the back.)

Bebe FF is very good at burping (like his father) and he emitted a rather noisey burp as we bounced through some clouds. I congratulated him, as I always do (it is going to be terribly confusing when I start telling him not to burp in public because it’s rude… ) and then he did it again. This one sounded a bit… “wet”. Yuk. He seemed fine so we laughed about it and I even whispered to Mr FF that it was a good job he wasn’t the type of baby to projectile vom everywhere because, well, could you even imagine!

Two minutes later and we didn’t need to use our imagination. It happened. Vomageddon. More milky sloppy stuff was coming out of Bébé FF then has been put in in a week. It was like the scene from Team America. Except it was just a centimetre away from my face and mostly aimed at my chest. And my lap.

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Vomageddon (Cred: Team America)

Poor little lamb was shocked by the whole thing and naturally quite restless. I was covered in vomito with Bébé FF held up in the air. Mr FF momentarily transformed into a French  version of Edvard Munch’s ‘Scream’. Paralysed in shock I had to shout out commands. FYI I’m good at that. The poor, smartly dressed young lady next to Mr FF practically jumped out of her seat and proceeded to pace the aisle for the next 20 minutes as we frantically tried to do something about all the sick. Lucky because I would have had her tasked with vom-cleaning had she hung around.

“Get sick bags!” I cried, not really sure why. Bit late. Bébé FF was a trooper and despite our frantic attempts at cleaning stayed calm and didn’t fuss. At one point, even the pacing smart lady got so frustrated with the level of faffing she literally grabbed the change bag, which Mr FF was trying to close – and failing (OK, we have a lot of emergency stuff in there. It came in useful so it’s worth the bag being so full it overflows!) and attempted to zip it herself. I think she was offended by the abuse Mr FF was giving the poor bag (it is a frenchie Longchamp), men just aren’t delicate with ze bags are they?!

The only positive about all of this was we finally got revenge on Squeasyjet for being so blinking ennuyant with their bag policy. For all those times you made me cram my handbag into my mini travel bag. Which was overflowing. In your face Squeasy! Or rather your seat. And all around the floor… Ahem. When you can read this, thank you Bébé, mummy owes you a treat.

Anyway this is already rather verbose so to cut a long story short, it turned out Bébé FF had a virus. He proceeded to be sick repeatedly until we took him to the docteur, who looked like Marion Cotillard and he naturally flirted with her for 15 minutes and was clearly fine. So Bébé FF has now just about recovered. We all got the bug (excepting une hardcore sœur), so the weekend reunion was mostly spent in and out of the salle de bain and with a few people missing for each repas. A real dommage but a novel experience ensemble nonetheless.

Buggeryboo. Which incidentally is what Momma F calls the Jumperoo.

 

Body Combat

People say your body will change when you have a baby. Those people are right. (Again, dammit). Even when your belly has eventually deflated, and your boobies too, you seem to be just a bit bigger, saggier and wider everywhere.  The unofficial rule “9 months on, 9 months off” seems fair when you’re not actually in the 9 months.  The 9 month “target” is looming close for me now. Why do I even have a target? Can’t we just appreciate what an immense job our bodies have done and be proud of the wobble? Sadly not.

When you think about having a baby you imagine being pregnant, the bump of joy, and then having this little bundle in your arms, but at no point do you visualise the person holding the bébé is not “you”. Not you as you know “you”. You know what I mean?!

Stay with me here.  Let’s recap.

Being pregnant is amazing: you’re glowing, your hair is thick and wondrous and you’ve got a little person wiggling around inside you that needs you to eat, sleep and generally be zen.  Heaven.

<ok the maternity clothes are horrific, as is the nausea and the burping is not very ladylike but let’s pretend we forgot about that already>

Being a new mum is kind of the opposite: you’re tired and pale, your hair has all fallen out and hasn’t been washed for a while <ahem>, and the little wriggly person is now dribbling milk down you whilst you try to sleep (but fail), try to eat (but fail – except for cake and chocolate) and generally are capable of being just absolutely frazzled. This is all normale. But it’s hard. It’s hard realising that (a) your body is pretty messed up right now and (b) you really don’t have the time to sort it out.  Bébé is your one and only priority.

I hope you don’t think I’m terribly vain. I’m not obsessed with how I look. But I tend to prefer to look like I’ve actually got dressed, as opposed to walking the streets in my PJs, and to make myself look vaguely presentable. I just want to feel normal.

New mommas and mommas2be, here is a quick reminder:

  •  Did you previously brush your hair? Yeah, you’re probably not gonna have time for that.
  •  Did you wash it? Yeah, sorry, unlikely to manage that unless you schedule your shower and have someone covering your back. I’m being serious. See post on Baby Steps to re-live my showering traumas.
  • Did you enjoy hot drinks? You do know tea tastes better cold? ….OK no, it doesn’t, I’m sorry.
  • Did you used to “pop” to the shops, or the gym or on a run? The only thing you will be “popping” for a while is your trouser bottoms and popcorn. If you do get out to exercise you’ve probably planned three milk feeds, left enough clothes out for a family of 6 and anticipated the possible protections required for bébé in the event of WW3. When you actually get out there you will wonder why on earth you’ve gone to so much effort in order to get outside and do something you used to find torturous. That’s right ladies, exercising is now a treat!!
  • Did you iron your clothes? Bahahahaha!! The only thing you will be ironing is …nothing. Maybe baby clothes. If you iron muslins you have too much time on your hands.
  • Speaking of hands, did you like having two of them?! Did you, once upon a time, enjoy having painted nails?  You probably won’t get round to locating your nail varnish, let alone applying it to your nails. And IF you do (well done) bébé will immediately start wailing, leaving you no option but to smear it all over their new outfit and your bed/sofa and leave a permanent reminder that you tried, but failed, to be glam. And also you’re a terrible mother. And when you finally get round to removing your manky, cracked and smeared nail varnish  and you cannot fathom why it’s taking so long to come off, you realise after seemingly endless rubbing that you are actually rubbing your nails with a wet wipe and Sudocrem. Aggggh.
  • Conclusion: first world problems. I know. But just get your other half to take bébé on a walk and get a shower, go for a swim, or to the whatever salon. Get some head space. Try to have some “you” time. Enjoy it.

The lack of “you” time is quite a shock to the system. In a way it makes me feel terribly selfish that I should want a bit of time to exercise, have a girly drink or “beautify”; that I have to ask Mr FF if I can possibly be allowed to go out for an hour to the nail place to do something he never even knew I did before. “Mais why do you need to Shelllack (sic) ze toes, doesn’t eet ‘urt? what does eet do?” Having to explain beauty treatments to your other half is quite depressing. Having to justify the need for these ‘treats’ is very depressing. But, heavens, if you get to escape for that pedicure, the time in the plastic chairs with the flip flops can be likened to a week in the Indian Ocean. Ok… maybe more like a weekend in France. Restorative. You will be skipping to the park later.

Ladies, “you” time is important. Getting out of the house is important.  Tu es important. Learning to love your new body is important.  Leaving le bébé is important. They do actually manage to survive just fine without us. (The other halves may struggle un petit peu…) But it’s important that we are surviving for them. Happy mummy means happy baby. And daddy.

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This horribly slim baby momma is winning at exercising and being happy. Also note she’s clearly had her nails done.

It’s hard not to feel a slight pang of longing or something, at the overwhelmingly different life you lead as a babymomma. And I don’t want to be ashamed of saying that or make you feel bad or apprehensive. It is different. Of course it is. But it’s also bloody amazing. You would never want it any other way. I can’t imagine not having bébéFF. He’s my everything. When Mr FF is making him giggle there’s nothing else in the world that matters. Not my waist or my wobbly bum (had that before anyway :-)), thin hair or manky nails. In fact all of those things remind me what a journey we have been on and how miraculous our bodies are. I MADE that little garçon. I made him, in my tummy. And I got him out! No need to go into the details on that part. And now I’m helping him grow and nurturing him. AMAZEBOOBS! The rest doesn’t matter. I’ve got plenty of time to worry about the physical repercussions of all this later.

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How I feel every single day!

Baby showers

When I found out we were having a baby boy (pretty much waved his business at us when we had our 20 week scan) one of the first things that sprung to mind was the zizi situation. Right, let’s be realistic here; I’m going to spend my first months of motherhood covered in wee. Baby boys, in particular, have a propensity for showering you with pipi at any opportunity.  Well, all babies do it, but boys are capable of more acrobatic waterworks n’est ce pas. Eek.

Having grown up surrounded by sisters, with limited real exposure to “Malian” babes and their zizi antics, I was genuinely worried about ensuring I safely and effectively managed / avoided the piddle. What if it goes in his eyes? Or up the wall? What if it goes in my eyes and then I accidentally knock him off the table or blindly attach his nappy to his head? What if we all go blind?? What if the wall caves in due to excessive moisture? What if we drown in wee? Etc. Bit dramatic. Sure. But all they do these bébés is drink liquids all day, so it’s fair to assume that you will be facing (literally) a lot of wee.

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As well as googling the latest designer raincoats, I did a bit of research on how to manage the pee.  Naturally I went straight to Amazon Prime. And bien sur Amazon had the answer. Fear not anxious new mums! For the small price of £22+ extortionate postage (wtf?!!) you can buy these Peepee Teepees “for sprinkling wee”!!

Seriously. Aside from being ridiculously expensive (are they stitched with golden thread perhaps?!), considering that they are going to be catching baby wee, they are a little bit tiny and – once your baby is more than about a month old he will wiggle around endlessly – you will surely find the Peepee Teepee is stuck to his chest in a way that would make Madonna proud.

I’m happy to report that for once I didn’t succumb to the Amazon middle-of-the-night-slightly-delirious-purchase of the Peepee Teepees. I resisted and I’m proud.

More importantly I also managed to escape being peed on quite effectively. Touch wood.  I needn’t have worried. Monsieur FF was not as fortunate. He seemed to attract the pipi. I suggested maybe Bébé FF was trying to make his daddy proud, nothing like a bit of willy waving between chaps. I won’t forget the panicked screams of “PIPI !!! PIPI!!!” in those early days when Bébé FF was mid-change and decided he wanted to relieve himself al fresco. I’m not sure what Monsieur FF thought that screaming would do, but putting his open hand up didn’t help much either. Sans designer raincoat he just had to man up and take it on the chin. Tee hee.

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Unknown man “taking it on the chin”. How to baby shower – nailed it.

I’ve developed a couple of techniques to prevent baby showers which I am happy to share:

  • Place a strategic wet wipe over the danger zone as soon as the nappy is off. This allows bébé bottom some air whilst protecting you.
  • Otherwise if going for a quick change prepare your clean nappy by inserting it in place under the existing nappy, whilst the dirty one is still on. When you are ready, fait attention, remove the sticky sides and then swiftly extract the dirty nappy with one hand whilst deftly lifting and fixing the new one into place.
  • Ensure the zizi is not sticking upwards otherwise bébé may end up with a wet belly button.
  • Purchase designer raincoat.
  • Umbrella hats are also a winner.

Voila….good luck! 💦💦

Boobies, Breasticlés, Amazeboobs

WARNING: This post contains graphic boobie-related content.  If you don’t have boobs, I suggest you don’t read this.  You may be traumatised.

As someone* once said:

“I don’t care about amazeballs, what about these amazeBOOBS?!”

*probably

As this week is apparently world breastfeeding week it seems opportune to celebrate the wondrous balls that are higher up, the boobies.  I have always been amazed by boobs and I’ve never really had any of my own to speak of. Having Bébé FF allowed me to grow a pair.  Literally.

Before I launch in, on a serious note I just want to say I know breastfeeding is a very  sensitive and sometimes controversial topic. I can only speak from my own experience on this. I understand that every woman is different, every baby is different and each new family’s circumstances and birth experiences are different. All of those differences mean that every single woman has a different boob-related experience when they have a baby. The main thing is ensuring your baby is fed. How you do it is your concern only.  You made a baby, you deserve a freaking gold medal.  Nuff said.

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So. Let’s talk about boobies.  If you didn’t already know, the effect of having a baby on your boobs can yield some quite extreme and often hilarious(ish) consequences.  I’m still using mine, but I have heard that things get worse, not better.  Quelle surprise.  This is really a post for the prospective and new mommas that have no clue what is around the corner, or have just recently shared some of the joys of being a milking machine.

As I said at the start, this is a very personal experience so I can only share what happened to me.  BébéFF is extremely gourmand and as a result had located my nipple and started suckling before I even had chance to get my eyes back in focus after the minor trauma of getting him out.  Pretty sure I was shouting ” Help! I  can’t actually see anything! Have I had a baby?!” whilst he got down to business.  I was lucky that he was a hungry baby.

I was also lucky to have a wonderful midwife who took the time to show me the ropes.  I explained to her that I probably wouldn’t be able to breastfeed given my boobs are so small.  She clarified to me that apparently “that is not a thing“.  Accompanied by a withering look. Fair.  In fact, small boobies really come into their own for this job.  You have just got to get set up.

Side note: There is nothing more bizarre than having a random lady grab your new baby and your boob and try to connect the two, but I have to tell you, it worked.  A few attempts at bouncing my boob against his unsuspecting mouth and he was latched.  If you can get a midwife to give you some tuition, do it.  The sooner you can get bébé on that boobie the better.

I was also very lucky to get home to a quiet, calm house quickly, and be waited on hand and foot.  I fully appreciate this is not always possible, and certainly not when you are on bébé number 2+.  Quick tip from our NCT classes: have a sports-capped bottle of water in every room.  Once you sit down to feed, you are not gonna be able to move, and you will only have one hand free, at best.  You will never know such thirst.  It’s like bébé is drinking directement from you.

The next thing to note is that in the first days postpartum you will be repeatedly asked if “your milk has come in“.  No, you’re not being asked if Monty the Milkman has been to visit (heaven knows you need the milk, but do milkmen even still exist?!).  In fact, after a few days (3-5 usually) of violent suckling of the magical creamy colostrum you have produced, actual milk will start to fill your boobs. You will know when it happens. Believe me. I’ve mentioned “the Pamela” effect before.  My babylons got so big I genuinely couldn’t put my arms down by my sides.  It was funny for 5 minutes.  Then I needed my arms back.

Unfortunately, I had to decline offers to be in the new Baywatch movie due to the rest of my body being used in Scream 9.

Another thing to note is that just because you are producing milk, you don’t actually need to drink milk.  Can you believe that? Yes, a health visitor genuinely took her time to explain that one to me. Brilliant.  Good job I’m here to tell you all this, eh?!

What you do need to do is drink plenty of liquids and you will likely find you are super hungry.  This is where the cake comes in particularly useful.  I was told to eat plenty. So I did. Don’t have to tell me twice! But seriously, it probably helps you to make the good milky stuff.  500 calories extra is just a rough indicator.  I aimed for about 2 million extra and pretty much nailed it.

Be sure to get yourself measured once you are established, as the boobies are in their element and will require a new range of boulder-holders.  When the assistant announced my new measurements, I had to hold myself back from asking them to announce it over the tannoy.  I almost got a T-shirt made.  They eventually neutralise but I was astonished by the sheer volume of material in some of my bras.  Epic.

I’m sorry to say that you will likely be bitterly disappointed with the range of nursing clothing that is available.  In part this is because you actually don’t need special clothes with hidden pockets and access areas.  You just need bigger tops and ideally button-up or zip-up top layers, with a vest top underneath.  I know, it’s annoying to hear, I’m not usually one to shy away from any opportunity to buy clothes you “need”, but like the maternity ranges available around here, you will mostly spend your time (and money) being disappointed by the poor quality “specially-designed” products, and resort to areas of your existing wardrobe you forgot you had.  So buy a load of vest tops and some comfy tees in a couple of sizes up from your normal size.  Gap, H&M and Toppers are always reliable.

(By the way, one of the most ridiculous things about maternity shopping is that most of the maternity ranges aren’t available to try in store.  The one time you really blumming need to try the clothes on and you can’t.  Seriously. What is that about?)

Some things you need to become familiar with if you are planning to breastfeed:

  • nursing bras – think soft, non-wired, clippy and probably the ugliest bras you will ever own.  I can recommend John Lewis for comfortable bras (satin crop tops are amaze) but if you have babylons the size of watermelons you probably need to just invest in two hammocks.
  • breast pads – equally exciting as other types of female pads.  You need these to prevent your boobs leaking.  Yes, your boobs may leak.  Like a tap. You can get the Lanisoh ones, but if you go through hundreds of these as you may well do at the start, look out for Boots mega boxes and similar supermarket versions. They are all have different levels of packaging, softness and stickyness on the back.
  • nipple creamLanisoh Lanolin. Buy two tubes of it immediately. Apply it every time bébé goes anywhere near your nipples.
  • breast pump – a contraption used to extract milk from ze boobies when you want to increase your supply / build up a freezer stock / escape for a mad night on the town (more likely to a yoga class or for a bit more sleep, but we can dream).  These come in “manual” or “electric”.  Both will make you feel a bit like a farmyard animal. Manuals are smaller, lighter, portable and cheaper.  Electrics are more efficient, more pricey but don’t require an impromptu forearm workout.  If you are planning to pump more than very occasionally, I recommend the electric variety.  You get used to the terrible repetitive buzzing noise fairly quickly.
  • bottles and pouches and freezing milk solutions.  I only discovered this later on, thanks to my lovely NCT friend, but the Tommee Tippee Express and Go pouches are excellent. Highly recommend.

 

Now I said the consequences of breastfeeding can be hilarious.  Well, I never thought I would be saying this, but I want this blog to be frank.  So when your boobs squirt milk all over your bébé, couch, and often an unsuspecting family member (or worse) you have got to laugh.  This really does happen.  I’ve lost count of the number of times BébéFF started squirming around under my various protective layers, and as I pulled him out I could see why.  Milk everywhere.  When bébé pulls off your boob, your boob won’t just stop what it’s doing.  Be warned. Always have a muslin to hand for those awkward moments.  It’s funny and a bit embarrassing.

I haven’t really mentioned breastfeeding in public, that’s another of those mummy milestones and slightly controversial topics I don’t feel ready to face today.  Suffice to say, my own view is you get on and feed your bébé wherever the heck you need to.  If you are in a place you are legally entitled to be (i.e. a public place) then you are legally entitled to feed  your bébé there too.  Pretty sure that is the law.

I shall finish with this thought of the day.

When crumbs fall down your top (which happens often) technically they have been boobie trapped.

You are welcome. ❤