The gift of Hindsight and breasts

Hindsight; I’m a big fan of hindsight, I spend a lot, and I mean A LOT, of time thinking about it. If you look it up in the dictionary you’ll find the explanation;

Recognition of the realities, possibilities, or requirements of a situation, event, decision etc., after its occurrence.

Hindsight

How brilliant is that?

I also like breastfeeding. In fact, breastfeeding has become my absolute favourite topic in the whole wide world despite the fact I have desperately tried not to become one of the breast is best brigade, I just can’t help myself.

So, when the opportunity arose for me to speak at a parent craft class about breastfeeding, naturally I jumped at the chance quickly forgetting that I can be socially awkward, possibly come across that I need some sort of medication and I’d like to think quirky but in reality its probably just plain old weird.

Anyway here’s a list of things I said and with the gift of hindsight what I probably should have said.

In relation to breast milk supply I said:

‘I once squirted all over my nieces face, it was mortifying.’

What I should have said was:

‘Trust your body, you will always have ample supply for you babies needs.’

With regards to how in tune your body is to your baby, I said:

‘Sometimes, when the dog cried my boobs would leak.’

What I should have said was:

‘Again, trust your body it will know exactly what and when to fulfil your babies needs.’

When the topic arose of the sensitivity of your nipples, I said:

‘I don’t have a weird sex life, I’m not sure about you but my bad boys had never had that type of exposure before let alone been sucked on for twenty four hours at a time.’

What I should have said was:

‘Keep in mind that your nipples will be sensitive in the early days, gather a stock of appropriate cream, compress’s and even cabbage to cool and soothe.’

And talking of appropriate cream;

‘It’s also really good for your hands…and your piles!’

However, what I should have said was:

‘Ask the pharmacist.’

In terms of how challenging breastfeeding can be, I spurted;

‘It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I thought Maths GCSE the second time around, no, the third time, was tough!’

What I should have said was;

‘It’s very challenging but extremely rewarding.’

When the session was wrapping up it was mentioned about relevant support via the internet and I said;

‘I don’t Google anything anymore, Google was the reason I didn’t use saucepans whilst I was pregnant and the reason I very nearly jet washed the baby when she was three weeks old.’

What I should have said was:

‘If using the internet, definitely use trusted sights.’

Hindsight, ey?

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What Easter looks like when your nine months

I’ll be honest…my very first Easter did not start well. I decided on the Saturday before that those parent people had had a good run at sleeping; I’d let them have a reasonably good two nights rest so enough was enough. After screaming a lot every hour on the hour that mother one relented and took me into their bed. I love it there normally but like I said; they’d had a good two nights.

I started off with just a bit of wriggling and squirming which is usually enough for me to get on that mother ones boob but she appeared to be a bit stubborn last night which I thought was totally unfair given it was technically Easter Sunday and she should be more Christian about things.

When she finally caved I decided a bit of kicking, pinching and then biting would suffice as punishment. She started to get a bit stressed then.

When they started to turn on each other for my lack of sleeping I started to feel content and when that mother one snapped that she was going to get a bottle I knew I’d won. Of course I didn’t want the bottle but thought it was hysterical that she’d been downstairs in the dark and then found the cheese and butter that the father one had left out.

I went to sleep just as she started crying that the cheese would have to be thrown out.

Then in the morning that mother one banged on about how I was exactly nine months old. She did that thing where she talked me through the events of the day I was born like she’s done at the one, two, three, fourth month stage and so on so on.

It’s getting a little boring if I’m honest but if that wasn’t bad enough she put me in this outfit that I can only describe as ridiculous. It had ears and a carrot and she kept cooing about how cute I looked whilst that father one shook his head and said things like ‘you are simpling her.’
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To be totally honest it was slightly scratchy and a little warm but I decided to humour her a bit before I released the scream.

Then those grandparents came over, the really crazy ones as opposed to the slightly crazy ones. They brought me a huge stuffed rabbit which I thought was totally amazing. Sometimes that mother one gets it completely wrong but the nanny one gets it spot on. I show my appreciation by shouting at the bunny and trying to eat its labels.

As everybody stood around and laughed at my ears that mother one popped me in that ball pit thing, that I can totally escape out of now, and her and the father one both disappeared only to return in matching ridiculous outfits just like mine, so if it wasn’t bad enough that I looked like a complete and utter idiot then we all did!

All three of us with stupid ears and scratchy suits!

That father one did not look amused but the mother one was nigh on hysterical. ‘Look at your little tail.’ She kept saying to him and he continued to shake his head. The grandparents also thought it was very funny and that grandmother one kept crossing her legs and holding her face.

Then we all had to have our photographs taken. I usually like having my photo taken but like I said I was hot, the suit was scratchy and to be truthful everyone just seemed to be having too much fun. I wanted to be back in that ball pit with that huge rabbit in my mouth not stood around smiling getting sweaty.

So I started to cry but all that did was trigger more photographs because apparently a miserable little bunny made a good photo. In the end that mother one relented again and stripped me back down to my vest and put me back in the pit. There was talk of the photographs making a profile picture but that was that.

When everything calmed down that father one tried to explain about some fella being put on a cross, taken off a cross, rising and then moving a rock. It was all a bit confusing but he redeemed his boringness by breaking a bit of a hot cross bun off and plopping a too bit big in my mouth. That mother one stared flapping and I decided to cough a bit just to heighten the fun. There was a little bit of chaos and then they got down to business by giving me a bit of an egg.

Oh my goodness, I thought she couldn’t top the booby milk after she’d eaten ice cream but oh my god…I can’t wait for next year!

My Way

Would you mind if I was ever so bold and made a statement that goes something like this; I’ve taken to parenting quite well. At least I think I have. Obviously the benefits of why or how I do things won’t be reaped until Queen B has hit eighteen and is alive, healthy and is as reasonably balanced as an eighteen year old can be.

I do my best. Or at least I think I do my best. Which brings me on to…the two things I have disliked most about becoming a parent.

Number one; I hate feeding B actual, real, human being food. I hate the responsibility of working out whether she’s having the right thing, the right amount and that it’s going down the RIGHT way. My irrational fear of her choking and therefore croaking was brought about by the second thing I have disliked about being a parent.

Other People’s opinions. Other people’s opinions have been the bane of my life; I was a sensitive child and probably and even more sensitive adult, I put it down to my literal perspective and thinking manner. With all the advice and warning literature that’s readily available for pregnant women and new parents I have found it truly amazing that no one failed to mention that parenting is basically an invitation for judgement.

So much so I’m pretty sure the trimesters should be renamed judgement phase one, judgement phase two and so on, so on. And then that bump which people have told you is too small, too big, too low, too high will then cease to exist and attention is turned to the most perfect, beautiful, awe amazing thing you, as its parent, will ever see.

A tiny baby that you have created. A human being you are responsible for. A little person hat you love more than life itself and will do absolutely anything for because its human nature to do best by this child.

Cue: judgement phase four and I’m not sure whether there’s ever an end to this chapter of parenting?

Since having the baby I would probably need at least another foot full of toes and possibly an extra pair of hands to count on the digits the unhelpful insights, opinions, recommendations or simple insults I’ve received. And as I’ve said, I’m a sensitive dab so each throwaway remark or point of view has left a little scar on my confidence as a first time mother; each perspective has had me questioning my ability, got me all worked up and teary which is especially handy when you replay these little tete-a-tete’s, that people, family, friends, strangers offer so freely, during those witching hours when everything else is already on top of you too and you’re not quite sure why the baby is screaming blue murder.

Its a shame people are not so quick to offer cooked dinners or to take away the ironing pile that actually amounts to the same height as the Empire State building.

Which brings me on to the real reason for this post…why can’t we let parents parent the way they see fit? There is nothing more disheartening seeing people in the same type of rubber dingy as you attempting to deflate the damn thing!

Now, Frank Sinatra only got to number twenty seven in the billboard charts with My Way in 1969 but this statistic is no reflection of what the song achieved, in fact, In the UK it actually achieved a still unmatched record, by becoming the recording with the most weeks inside the Top 40, spending 75 weeks there.

So, what I’m trying to say is…Frank did it his way, Elvis went on to do it his way too and so did Sid Vicious and guess what they were all pretty successful so guess what again…I’m doing it my flipping way too and I hope to god your doing it your way because that’s how the world spins round.

And now, as the end of this post is near; And I face the final curtain.
Reader: I’ll say it clear; I’ve stated my case, that much I’m certain.
Would you mind if I was ever so bold and made a statement that goes something like this; I’ve taken to parenting quite well. At least I think I have. Obviously the benefits of why or how I do things won’t be reaped until Queen B has hit eighteen and is alive, healthy and is as reasonably balanced as an eighteen year old can be.

I do my best. Or at least I think I do my best. Which brings me on to…the two things I have disliked most about becoming a parent.

Number one; I hate feeding B actual, real, human being food. I hate the responsibility of working out whether she’s having the right thing, the right amount and that it’s going down the RIGHT way. My irrational fear of her choking and therefore croaking was brought about by the second thing I have disliked about being a parent.

Other People’s opinions. Other people’s opinions have been the bane of my life; I was a sensitive child and probably and even more sensitive adult, I put it down to my literal perspective and thinking manner. With all the advice and warning literature that’s readily available for pregnant women and new parents I have found it truly amazing that no one failed to mention that parenting is basically an invitation for judgement.

So much so I’m pretty sure the trimesters should be renamed judgement phase one, judgement phase two and so on, so on. And then that bump which people have told you is too small, too big, too low, too high will then cease to exist and attention is turned to the most perfect, beautiful, awe amazing thing you, as its parent, will ever see.

A tiny baby that you have created. A human being you are responsible for. A little person hat you love more than life itself and will do absolutely anything for because its human nature to do best by this child.

Cue: judgement phase four and I’m not sure whether there’s ever an end to this chapter of parenting?

Since having the baby I would probably need at least another foot full of toes and possibly an extra pair of hands to count on the digits the unhelpful insights, opinions, recommendations or simple insults I’ve received. And as I’ve said, I’m a sensitive dab so each throwaway remark or point of view has left a little scar on my confidence as a first time mother; each perspective has had me questioning my ability, got me all worked up and teary which is especially handy when you replay these little tete-a-tete’s, that people, family, friends, strangers offer so freely, during those witching hours when everything else is already on top of you too and you’re not quite sure why the baby is screaming blue murder.

Its a shame people are not so quick to offer cooked dinners or to take away the ironing pile that actually amounts to the same height as the Empire State building.

Which brings me on to the real reason for this post…why can’t we let parents parent the way they see fit? There is nothing more disheartening seeing people in the same type of rubber dingy as you attempting to deflate the damn thing!

Now, Frank Sinatra only got to number twenty seven in the billboard charts with My Way in 1969 but this statistic is no reflection of what the song achieved, in fact, In the UK it actually achieved a still unmatched record, by becoming the recording with the most weeks inside the Top 40, spending 75 weeks there.

So, what I’m trying to say is…Frank did it his way, Elvis went on to do it his way too and so did Sid Vicious and guess what they were all pretty successful so guess what again…I’m doing it my flipping way too and I hope to god your doing it your way because that’s how the world spins round.

And now, as the end of this post is near; And I face the final curtain.
Reader: I’ll say it clear; I’ve stated my case, that much I’m certain.
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