Bottle or breast? Yawn.

One thing that really irritates me is people getting narky with each other about how they feed their baby. I haven't ever written about this because it's dull, and there is so much out there that makes me cross, I'm not sure I can write about it without making other people cross. But I'm going to try.

I've had two babies now, and I still don't have the authority to advise anyone on parenting. It's a tough gig, everyone knows that, and there are loads of ways to do things. None of them are (is?) the right way for everyone. (Oh god, I've lost the power of grammar, and the patience to work it out. I am too tired).

I breast fed Alfred exclusively, for quite a while, and for the first seven weeks have breast fed Rae too. I come from a family of breast feeders and it seemed like the natural choice for me. That's what boobs are for, after all. And there are other reasons, like convenience and cost saving, but there are clearly some negatives too. Thing is, it was my choice. And it is nobody else's business (except maybe Oliver's). 

National breast feeding week has just finished and it sure does bring them out. I am all for normalising breastfeeding, I find it embarrassing and humiliating to get boobs out in public, and the more that becomes accepted as normal, the easier it would be. But what is with the shaming? Each side of the argument feel victimised by the other, as well as by the general public at large. What irritates me is groups heaping shame on the other side, whilst complaining about being shamed.

Anyway, moving on. 

As a breast feeder, I've not had much experience with bottle feeding, but yesterday I was forced to bottle feed for 24 hours after being injected with contrast for an MRI. Although I was wary she would refuse to feed and we'd be awake all night with a screaming baby, I was interested to see how bottle feeding went. These are the things I learnt. 

1. I could totally get used to not always being the one doing the feeding!
2. I'm not comfortable with anyone else doing the feeding, that's my job. She needs me for that, and I like her needing me.
3. Sterilising. What a pain in the arse. Especially when you're inclined to drop freshly boiled things on the floor and have to start again.
4. Formula is gross. Thick and sticky.
5. Babies are not patient when you heat up their milk too much and have to cool it down again, and then re-sterilise the bottle having dropped it on the floor. And then start again because you used a normal germ-ridden non-sterilised glass to heat the milk in a sleep deprived haze, defeating the whole purpose of the goddamn sterilisation process. Waiting quietly and patiently, not so much. In the middle of the night? Funtimes.
6. It's nice, not having to expose yourself all the time.
7. It's nice, wearing proper clothes and supportive bras.
8. Who knew how much milk babies eat? Wow, no wonder I have been hungry!
9. Maybe I could get comfortable with someone else doing the feeding, in return for some sleep.
10. In our short experiment, the rumour appeared to be true. She slept for EIGHT HOURS on formula. Hmmm, let me think about that... (This would have been wonderful had the two year old not had a total shitfit and shouted for five hours straight. Our neighbours love us). 

Conclusion: I can totally see why people would choose to do this. As expected, there are major benefits to bottle feeding. It was interesting to try it for the day, but I didn't really find anything out that I hadn't predicted.

The cost saving argument is a winner for me, and the convenience of not having to sterilise and heat and basically keep a hungry baby waiting. I like that boobs make the exact amount of milk the baby needs, and it is made especially for them. Also, I like that I can eat cake a lot. The exposure and sleep deprivation are worth it for that.

There are great arguments for both options, and so I will stick to my original opinion - whatever works for you. No judgements. YAWN.

It's that time again.

My next MRI is tomorrow. I distinctly remember the anticlimax of last year, I even wrote about it. It was no big deal. So why am I so worried?

I've been doing a lot of running recently, and one of the best things about it is time to think. I've not had much time to myself since the baby was born and so it feels like a real luxury to just think for a while. Inevitably at this time of year I've been thinking a lot about head scans, brains and tumours.

I'm not sure if I ever asked, or if I've just forgotten, but I don't know how a tumour starts. Like, why does it begin?

When I was 12 I skied off a cliff. It wasn't intentional; I was trying to avoid a tree. Obviously with a bit of hindsight it wouldn't have been so bad crashing into a tree - no helicopters, splints or head scans would have been involved. On the plus side, I actually own copies of my 12 year old head scans which is pretty cool. And there is no tumour.

So where did it come from? When did it start? Why did it start? Why has this not occurred to me before?

Last week I managed to think my way through a 40 minute run, comparing my tumour to the entire universe (the world does revolve around me, doesn't it?). Either, I thought, it was created by God one day, or... there was an almighty big bang in my head (the cliff THE CLIFF), and then the tumour existed. (I admit, there are some failings to this comparison).

Oliver thinks it was a cell mutation, which makes sense. But even if that's the case, it doesn't really answer my question. Why? Why did it mutate? And why that one, and right then, in that way?

The thing is, I could have all the information in the world about how and why and what to expect, but until anything shows up on a scan it is all theoretical. None of it is worth wondering about even, it's such a waste of energy and worry - until there is a scan to look at. And tomorrow, there will be.

What is also not helping is the fact that I've had three migraines in the last five days. Not really recovering from one when the next hits. The last time this happened I was shovelled into an ambulance and ended up having my head sawn open. Bodes well.

Another thing I've been thinking about is the person doing the scan. They can see the results as it happens right, so they know, like straight away, if there's a whopping great lump of something in your head that isn't supposed to be there. What a weird job to know that about someone and send them merrily off home again to wait for a few weeks until they called in. I don't think I'm going to be able to stop myself staring at them on the way out, to see if they have pity in their eyes.

The unexpected.

When I was pregnant I had a book that told you what developments the baby was going through week by week. Each week I read the relevant bit and wondered. That's the only pregnancy / baby book I've looked at though, I shunned them all when he was born.

Being what some might call a control freak, I felt like I was expected to fail at being a parent. Things are impossible to plan, they said. And I do like a plan. So my plan (haha) was to empty my mind of expectations and just bumble along. See what happened.

So far that has worked out really well. It's always news to me when people tell me how much a three month old 'should' be sleeping. (Or eating, pooing, weighing, rolling, laughing, focusing, batting things, meh). I have no idea how much he sleeps, he just does it when he feels like it and so far that has fitted in quite luckily with when I feel like it. 

I like having no normal to compare him to, we just do what works for us. And so having no expectations has worked, in that sense. (I did read one paragraph that told me if I failed to get him on a strict schedule by 12 weeks he would grow up unable to hand in homework on time. I think he may have inherited that from his parents though already. That book went in the actual bin).

But what's funny is the expectations I had about myself that have turned out to be way off the mark.

Firstly, boobs. It is baffling to me (at this point in my life) how boobs are considered in any way sexually attractive. They are clearly functional (and really, not very attractive) things, how did I never consider this before? I had assumed I would find it incredibly embarrassing breastfeeding in front of people. My friends' husbands, or my brother(s) in law(s) especially. But it's mad how I just don't care. I need to feed the baby, and this is how he gets fed. 

The day before I had him, I remember thinking I would never be comfortable with it. I'm generally the one at the beach in a full head to toe outfit in case someone gets a glimpse of unsightly flesh. But the day I was released from hospital, the hour I was released in fact, I sat on the sofa at home facing the bay window onto the street with both boobs out, just not caring. Who would have thought?

And then there's work. I've always liked working and being useful to people. I know it's like a thing that people go off and have a baby and then suddenly they don't want to come back to work. Eye roll. Typical. Extending maternity leave, then going part time and before you know it they're off again having aNOTHer one. Eye roll.

So I'm thinking about extending maternity. I'd genuinely expected to be different. I love working, and I do miss it. But I love Alfred too and he won't be this little ever again. Work will always be there. Argh I'll just stop trying to explain it, you either already have a kid and understand, or you don't and you won't. It's just annoying that I'm so predictable. 

And worst of all, the other day I caught myself in a pub showing someone a video of my baby. That is not cool. (It is brilliant though, he does four massive farts in a row). Not cool.

I've never been much of a fan of babies in general really, except for my nieces. Pretending babies are cute, when in fact I find most of them a bit funny looking, is just tiring. And a bit patronising. I hoped that I wouldn't find Alfred funny looking, and I don't - he's the best looking baby of them all. Obviously. What I didn't expect was that I would now find all babies cute. That must be some kind of nature thing to make you carry on caring for them when you've had no sleep for months.

But overall I think I didn't really expect to be any good at this. The truth is I'm really enjoying it and Alfred seems to be happy enough too. Things have really changed around here (I'm just about to put the third wash on today) - I would never have believed it of myself. We're actually doing ok.

Walking cliché.

I met someone on the bus the other day and we ended up having a right good chat. She was massively pregnant and I had a tiny Alfred strapped to me so we got talking about stuff. The King's post natal ward, NCT, breastfeeding. Lack of sleep and new babies. 

It was so clichéd. The whole situation was clichéd but worse than that, almost everything I said was a total cliché. 

What has happened to me? I fought against it during pregnancy but now have to accept that almost every cliché I've heard has proved true for me. I am unable to remember anything. Names, where I left my keys, which boob Alfred *just* fed from. I believe my baby is the best baby of them all. I now realise what my parents went through and am ashamed of how I've behaved over the years.

Thinking back to tumourgate (tunagate?) it was the same - I lived the cliché. When an extract of this very same blog appeared in the Guardian, the online version received an angry comment (since removed) about how clichéd I was. Spouting about how lucky I am and perspective and family... very dull but also true. 

I wonder if I'm just identifying with the clichés that apply to me, but it seems that clichés are pretty much spot on in general. I am a walking cliché. Not so long ago that would have pissed me right off, but I'm too tired to care now.