Persephone: Parent

A fine site

Giving in

During Elvis’ first week (which sounds odd as we’re only in his 2nd) we chose to top him up with formula twice because I physically couldm’t do it. My milk had yet come in and I knew there was a problem – confirmed when we took him to a clinic. But after that clinic visit it got better. I had milk and 2 days later he’d gained weight and wasn’t in danger of being hospitalised.

But now, a week later and I can’t do this. My blog this morning was me so tired and exhausted, posted in response to my husband’s just awoken comments. And I’m no more rested now. With redness still in just one breast, I have no idea hpw I’m supposed to practically drain them when Elvis has finished because I’m supposed to hold and soothe Elvis. It was alright yesterday as he clustered and emptied them both.

I’ve only managed what little sleep I’ve had today because hubby took Elvis after each feed. But what happens when he goes back to work Monday?

Meanwhile as I barely feel alive, going through the motions of eating and sleeping myself, I hear hubby with Elvis and it makes me so envious. They actually spend awake time together. I just feed him and sleep, trying my hardest to stay awake whilst feeding.

But I give in now. My body couldn’t get pregnant. My body couldn’t give birth and I’m not strong enough to feed my son.

I give up

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Druggie Paranoid Racist!

This is part of my labour story. Not the graphic detail kinda labour story. And not the ins/outs, blow by blow either. This is me on drugs.

I’ve never before taken any kind of medication stronger than what doctors prescribe for basic ailments; the first time I took co-codamol, I woke up a day later! Oddly in all my “research” and reading concerning labour – you know trying to get the basic facts of such a varied time – I never really read about drugs affects on the mother. There’s info on how it kills or numbs the pain, maybe how it works on mother and child. But I certainly don’t remember any information on the trip that was my labour!

I’m going to say that I had a difficult labour, not in that there were complications just that it was, perhaps, awkward. Because of being induced, Elvis had to be constantly monitored and he soon decided that the only position he’d allow himself to be monitored in was a position I found uncomfortable.

So due to the awkwardness, I had to make the most of my gas and air mouthpiece.

And what a trip that was.

Seriously, why did no one tell me that breathing gas and air would make me a paranoid racist?

Let’s see, on one particular go, hubby and midwife were sitting either side of me as a dance remix of a Westlife song played and they sat there laughing as the room spun. For the record the dance beat over the song was actually Elvis’ heartbeat.

On another mass inhalation, I became convinced that the midwife was conspiring with the trainee doctor about how wrong everything was going.

On another I was adamant that there was a problem because the midwife had left the room. Hubby tried to reassure me that there was nothing wrong and, now drug free, it’s obvious that if there had have been a problem the midwife wouldn’t have left the room.

I think at one point I even became convinced that hubby and midwife were keeping the horrendous truth from me – that there was something wrong with Elvis.

Of course there wasn’t (aside from his inability to be monitored), but on another trip, I was convinced that my hubby and the midwife (who neither of us had met before) were having an affair! I get where all the rest of my paranoia came from just not this one.

The best contraction based trip was when I (who solidly had her eyes closed the whole time) heard the male doctor and noticed he had an accent. Now other than to demand this man get my son out there was no other interaction between us. However, and this is the weirdest/funniest/strangest one, I then whispered to hubby : I’m going to say something racist. I’m going to say something racist and then he won’t treat me, he’ll let me die!

Firstly, I’m not racist. I have no idea what racist conment I was going to make. I think I was covering my back as I knew weird things kept happening.

Oh, and secondly, I didn’t whisper.

Sure there are worse things I could say or do whilst trying to give birth, but they’re all bodily functions not bloody psychological ones. On gas and air!

~ Persephone M

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In It Together

You tell me that we’re in this together, that you’ll do anything and everything I need. Yet then you turn around and do the opposite. You abandon me and the clustering of a growth spurt for a cold you’ve passed on.

Then, as I reach a point where I dread every little noise, that it means another constant feed, you pull the hormone card and tell me to calm down without realising how hard I am fighting in all of this.

Threatening a move to formula because at 5am after over 24 hours almost of being a human dairy, is not gonna help calm me. It’ll have me walk out the room. But you try any of it.

Worrying about how the 3 hour mark is sneaking up and you’ve still not rested.

Worrying that there won’t be a weight gain.

Worrying that your son has a cold that has skipped you so how can you pass on any immunity?

Worrying that in over 5 years the midwife’s never seen two red breasts.

Worrying that promises are merely words because we’re not in this together and it’s all on me as you sleep soundly beside me with a finally sleeping baby and birdsong for company.

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Still A Parasite

When pregnant the foetus is essentially a parasite, leaching everything it needs and can from the mother. And so far nothing’s changed!

Elvis is either suffering from cluster feedings (just not at the same time every day) or going through his days 8-10 growth spurt. Either way, I spent 3 hours in the night yesterday constantly feeding. And I mean constant.

After each feeding last night (otherwise known as the early hours of this morning) Elvis would go down for ten minutes maximum before signalling he was hungry.


Three and a half hours before I broke down and declared I couldn’t do it anymore. I was falling asleep holding him, eventually switching to lieing down feeding just because that way I could sleep. Even so I gave up after over 3 hours and handed Elvis over. Except I still got no sleep.

It’s now gone 11pm and for a little over 3 hours all that Elvis has done is feed. It was suggested by the midwife earlier today that after feeding someone should hold Elvis for 20minutes before setting him down to sleep; we’re not making it much more than 15 before the tongue’s out and the fists are in his mouth.

It was making hubby laugh before he decided to go to bed and leave me with Elvis.

I truly feel like a cow being milked for every single drop I have. With Elvis the leach taking everything I have.

To keep me awake, I’m set up on the sofa, tivo playing waiting for Elvis to stop draining every inch of my being. I really hope that he gives in before me, but I’m already feeling my eyes get heavier.

I really want this to be over now. It’s been 3.5 hours now. And I need some sleep!

~ Persephone M


Day 9 Weigh In

Today we trekked across the city to get Elvis to his day 9 weigh in and, given my instincts over the feeding issues before day 5, knowing that he’d lost too much weight, I was freaking over today’s weigh in.

There was no need to worry though. Having been born at 8lb 9oz, he is now 8lb 2oz which is up from 7lb 10oz on the day of panic.

I was worrying so much before it though. I mean if he’s not thriving, he’s not gaining weight which must mean that I’m not feeding him properly. Or that’s how the logic goes in my mind. But he’s fine and the midwife thinks his 3.5+ hours of feeding last night could be his growth spurt. Yet he’s not fully draining me. Typical boy!

What the appointment has left me with is yet another day not 100% resting at home. Yesterday it was to register Elvis, day before my incorrect reading of a letter. Tomorrow there are no plans so maybe I can try and sort my body out!

Fingers crossed,
~ Persephone M

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To Sleep Perchance to Dream

The nights have been better since my three posts in one night. And I’ve been far less tired during the feeds. Right now, despite its relatively early hour, I feel the need to type to keep my eyes open.

Last night Elvis was one hell of a pickle all evening until about 1am but then it was straightforward eat and sleep. He was even beating his 3 hourly alarms and wanting feeding on his own timescale. That might mean I get less sleep and more interruptions but he’s learning to be hungry and show it. We can work on lengthening it later.

But because he’d been such a pickle I was too wired up anyway so when he was feeding I was wide awake and didn’t need to force my eyes open with a blog.

I don’t really feel that tired right now but after heading to bed at 8pm, I don’t think I woke up right for the next feed so my eyes want to close. Elvis, meanwhile is being a bit of a pickle again by refusing to settle straight after a feed. But unlike a few nights ago, I can cope with that. It’s a wonder at how just a few hours sleep can do amazing things.

If only the periods I get to sleep in could be long enough for me to dream!

~ Persephone M

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Sweet Dreams: Part 3

And it’s now almost 0430 and it’s the third wake up, which, as far as I’m concerned, is the final one because even an hour’s sleep when he finishes will get us to gone 5am and nearer the amazing 0600.

Not that I need that 0600 like I have previous nights. No, it hasn’t been perfect – how can 2.5-3.5 hours of sleep be perfect? But it has been a hell of a lot better than previous nights.

Night number 2, I practically begged a midwife to take Elvis away because I was exhausted. Number 3 was the first at home and Elvis wouldn’t settle anywhere and none of us were any good at feeding cues. The 4th night, I don’t really remember except I was definitely up super early, tearful and walking a super thin tightrope of emotions. Attachment and position issues probably didn’t help.  The 5th and 6th nights were both similar to each other – feeding cues sorted, but Elvis’ restlessness overnight made things far too crazy.

But the 7th night (still ongoing) has seen some steps forward. Elvis has made it into his Moses Basket 3-4 times and stayed there without immediately waking up and then refusing to resettle without feeding. On this 7th night, I have awoken to his feeding cues (bloody miracle as it’s hubby who gets them all during the day) and not had many attachment or position issues. His feeding cues may be far more frequent than I’d like (come on 3hourly alarm clock) but at least he’s having them!

And, as he’s ready to go down, I have to apologise for my midnight ramblings – it kept me awake!

~ Persephone M

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Night Terrors: Part 2

Its only an hour after I posted about how terrible Elvis is overnight (or has been) and how I really find those dark hours so difficult. And, only an hour later, we’re all up again.

Except there has been peace in between. The problems on other nights was that there was no peace; Elvis was constant in his demands for food amd attention. Tonight is different. Not only did we all manage at last an hour before Elvis’ cues awoke the house but then, after his 1am feed he went back to sleep. And he stayed asleep in his moses basket for just under an hour befote his teeny tummy needed more food.

This is another first and it will certainly be something I cling to when it all goes wrong – there’s plenty more time tonight!

It isn’t just Elvis that seems to be a night terror, I seem to be having them! During his first sleep I woke up unable to find him, searching the bed because he’d gone. Poor hubby was thoroughly confused when he simply stated where Elvis was and I refused to believe him. Then, just before this wake up, I had a night terror about Fast and Furious 6. I have absolutely no idea what was going on but, again, it confused hubby. But then I just asked hubby to roll over and he sat bolt upright and tried to take Elvis from me.

We’re both so sleep deprived. Writing these are the only things keeping me awake when I need to be.

So will Elvis settle straight away? Will I have another night terror? Either way Tuesday morning already feels better than Sunday and Monday did!

~ Persephone M

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Nighttime Nightmares

I’m pretty sure that it’s now technically Tuesday but still officially Monday night. Either way, Elvis is still less than a week old. And nighttimes have been the worst.

For the past two nights, settling him has been impossible. Even when we were still in the hospital, Elvis decided he didn’t want to settle. He’s spent one night on his daddy’s chest other than feeding because he would not settle and another night, I spent half of it on the sofa waiting for him to need to feed.

We wondered if it was all my dinner getting to him so late on in the day, so today we changed my meals around to see if the nighttime problems are due to all my energy beans passing to him.

The problem with nighttimes are that everything changes. I can be, at 5am, completely drained having had no sleep and being at the end of my tether, Elvis crying for more feeding despite having done nothing else since midnight, me crying at the sound of his cry, but then the clock turns 0600 and it isn’t just the outside world that seems brighter. Suddenly my lack of sleep means nothing and I have a renewed energy. The crying is no longer so bad and I’m no longer at the end of my tether about to jump off a tightrope just so that everything can be over.

And this remains with me all day, despite barely catching up on sleep until the lights begin to darken outside once more. Because nighttimes truly have been a nightmare where my irrational nighttime mind would want nothing better than to run away and give up. Because that’s what I do.

So far, and it is only half past one so I know there’s a long way to go, I haven’t burst into tears, haven’t declared that, like everything else I simply cannot do this, and I’ve had an hour’s nighttime sleep in bed with hubby (although I woke up severely panicked as to where Elvis was – he’d actually settled in his moses basket.) For over an hour.

Now to hoping he goes back into his basket for another hour.

~ Persephone M

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Baby Gifts: Daddy

DSC_0442Elvis’ first teddy bear – from his Daddy.

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