Getting your baby to sleep…easy right?

We have all been there…your baby wakes at an unusual time. Tired and bleary eyed you stumble in to your babies room and resort to settling them the best way you know how. That might be rocking them, giving them a bottle, singing their favourite tune or doing a handstand: quite frankly anything to get them back to sleep…and you! But then when they wake up the same time the night after and the night after that… and the night after that; it slowly dawns that they are now waking up out of habit and that you are reinforcing it. They are now waking up because it’s bottle time/cuddle time/singing time. What on earth do you do with that? How do you break this new habit? The key is getting them to be adept in the art of self-settling.

It’s a controversial subject as lots of discussion now centres around gentle parenting and co-sleeping but I personally need my space and my sleep. Sorry not sorry.

Firstly encouraging your baby to self settle only works once they are aged 6 months over. Younger than that and your baby is still learning to trust you will always be there and they need lots of night feeds and comfort.

You also need to rule out negative reasons your baby night be waking like illness, teething, a full nappy, developmental changes and changes to their routine (like starting nursery etc). All of these might mean they just need a little extra reassurance at night-time and once things have settled down they will return to their previous sleep pattern. Also as the weather starts to change are they waking up cold or too hot?

If your baby is over 6 months and you’ve ruled out the above here are some tips to help everyone get more sleep…

In order to help your little one self-settle you need to start with a good evening routine, this usually means a bath, some baby massage, quiet time and maybe a story. The aim is to change the whole tone of the day-dim the lights, turn off any electrical devices and try to talk calmly in hushed tones.

If you feed your baby before bed make sure they are not totally exhausted by the time you start bedtime-the last thing you want is for them to fall asleep mid-feed as this just perpetuates the need to feed to sleep. In short your little one should be calm, warm and sleepy but awake.

It is best to prepare your baby’s room before you take them up to bed. Draw the curtains (a good blackout blind is a good idea but not essential), tidy away any distractions such as toys or mobiles from the cot, remember a clear cot is a safe cot. Again you are aiming for this room to be tranquil, calm and quiet.

Feed your baby making sure they remain awake afterwards, be sure to wind them-it might be tempting to skip this if they seem sleepy but definitely don’t. A windy, colicky baby will not sleep.

Pop them in their cot offering a comforter if that is your preference and then remove yourself from the room. Should your baby cry, return every 5/10 minutes to reassure them, gently stroke their back and/or give them a little kiss and then again leave. This a gentle method which reassures them they haven’t been abandoned whilst encouraging them to self-settle.

Sometimes when planning on making a change seeing it in writing and thinking things through to make a plan can help… We suggest thinking along the following points:

1) What behaviour or ‘things’ do I need to wean my baby off?

2) What positive sleep associations can I add?

3) What changes to sleep environment do I need to make?

4) What outcome am I aiming to achieve?

But hey; I’m no expert…this is just what worked for our three. Try it…just don’t sue me if it doesn’t work!!!

New baby and the fourth trimester

Ok so I can’t start another blog post with an apology for how long its been so I’m just going to brush over it and pretend it didn’t happen!

Life got busy, like crazy busy. I had another baby…voila…Introducing Mr William.

He’s 18 months old now and a wonderful, delightful, smiling whirlwind. He’s the last little puzzle piece that has bought us all so much joy; slotted in and made us complete.

If I thought having two children already would make a third a doddle I must have been crazy but it has been wonderful. William was a dream of a newborn; or maybe I was different.

One true thing about third babies is that you as a mother are different. I was able to manage my expectations of what having a baby was like and I seemed to deal with the sleepless nights and sheer exhaustion better than with the other two. I think the knowledge that it wouldn’t last forever was my greatest ally. Also, when he woke in the night, instead of focusing on how tired I felt I thought about how I could feel his little body against mine, how calming we both found that and how Seren and Rhys didn’t do that anymore. Those early moments are precious but quite frankly I had previously been too bloody exhausted to be able to see them. And here he is…18 months old and I no longer get the nighttime cuddles. I don’t remember the last time but I sure do remember the early days when his tiny birdlike body lay on my chest and his breathing became rhythmic as he softly and gently drifted off to sleep.

I think understanding the theory of the fourth trimester helped me. I read a lot about the theory of the fourth trimester and understanding why my baby wasn’t sleeping went a long way to my making peace with it and it was this acceptance that helped me through the really tough times; the times that would have previously broken me and seen me descend in to a puddle of tired and frustrated tears.

Trimester is a term you hear used to describe the phases you go through when pregnant. Pregnancy itself is split in to three trimesters, each lasts around three months and brings with it hormonal and physiological changes…being aware of these means you understand and are more prepared for what is about to happen. The theory of the fourth ‘trimester’ is that just because your baby is out of your body doesn’t mean they are ready to be separated from you.

I thought about it as being similar to Kangaroos…baby kangaroos (Joeys) are born but then climb in to their mothers pouch where they stay until they are ready to be more independent.

You can read endlessly about this subject but I found this article really useful…https://www.babycentre.co.uk/a25019365/your-baby-and-the-fourth-trimester

Understanding the fourth trimester eased my worry and anxiety about why my baby wanted to be held constantly or why he was only happy on my chest listening to my heartbeat. I no longer worried I was doing something wrong, or making a rod for my own back or spoiling my baby. I simply held him and soothed him with skin to skin where possible and popped him in a sling and wore him if I needed both hands. These practical solutions worked well for me but so did the knowledge that this wasn’t forever. Having had children previously I was able to rationalise that this was a phase; it would last around 3 months and then we would be on to the next leap in development.

And do you know what? I kind of miss the early days; where all he wanted was to be close to me, nuzzling in to my neck and sighing in his contented sleep.”

What is Bells Palsy?

What is Bells Palsy? … Well Bells Palsy is shit that’s what it is. Bells Palsy is bloody terrifying and it comes completely out of the blue.

I have always been a juggler (metaphorically speaking not literally, although I can…juggle I mean) and an achiever. I am certainly no quitter. I have always been proud of this quality. Proud that I could do it all, housewife, mum, employee, cleaner, school governor…the list goes on. But sometimes it is to my detriment that I just keep going. Work got pretty stressful and sooo busy. I head up marketing as well as product development and only work 6 hours a day so my days are pretty hectic. Drop off at school is 8.50am then I race to work and work solid for 6 hours then race back to school for pick up at 3.30pm and here ensues the mum and wife duties.

A little over 5 months ago I really started to feel the pressure, told my boss this level of output was unsustainable; that if I didn’t have a stomach ulcer by 50 it would be a miracle. All said tongue in cheek with a smile on my face but I think these words were truer than even I realised.

I must have started to look ill-people at work would ask if I was ok. Fine I said although I was rundown and had had a twitchy eye for as long as I could remember. I was just tired I told myself. I’d probably just get tonsillitus.

**Just keep going**

I started waking up in the early hours and was unable to drop back asleep for 2/3 hours.

**Just keep going**

Then I got the worst ulcers in my mouth I have ever experienced…they covered my tongue on the right side and my gums swelled with them…eating wasn’t really an option

**Just keep going**

An excrutiating earache that lasted days

**Just keep going**

Everything started to taste weird and had strange textures. Pizza was slimy.

**Just keep going**

Finally one evening I was sat at home on my own, as Martyn was working away, and I was trying to drink a hot chocolate but it kept leaking and squirting out of my mouth. I’m just tired I thought. Then my eye twitch progressed to a cheek twitch and a lip twitch and an eyebrow twitch. Ok time to go to bed.

When I woke the next morning the entire right side of my face had stopped working. No blinking, couldn’t smile, couldn’t spit out my toothpaste-it was completely dead.

**STOP!**

I looked in the mirror and instead of this…

I saw this…

Minus the tape obviously, that became a necessity once I realised I couldn’t blink to stop my eye from drying out and ulcerating.

SHIT I thought…I’ve had a stroke…at 33 I have had a stroke.

I called the doctor’s who sent me to the stroke department of our local hospital to rule out a stroke or a brain tumour. To cut a very long and stressful week short those two options were, thankfully, ruled out and Ramsay hunt syndrome diagnosed. A form of Bells Palsy brought on by a bought of shingles in your mouth. This result in an inflammation which affects the facial nerve and once this becomes compressed the result is facial paralysis.

I was told 70% of people return to normal and recovery takes anywhere from 6-12 months. I was delighted to not have suffered a devastating stroke and beyond relieved to not have a brain tumour so went away happy; well relatively anyway.

It’s just my face I thought, I’m not a particularly vain person so it’ll be fine. WRONG

I couldn’t blink or close my eye to sleep or close my eye to wash my hair. **Tape it shut**

I couldn’t eat a sandwich as I couldn’t move my lips out of the way so I kept biting them **be careful what you choose to eat**

I couldn’t smile or laugh. When I tried it looked like this…

 **Be Sad**

Any sound was magnified and bangs would make me cry out in pain **hide away**

I couldn’t speak properly especially B’s and P’s **Don’t speak. Be quiet** (Whilst on this point I thought many times that the condition must have been named by a sadistic bastard-calling it bells palsy when the two letters you cannot form are B and P. Sicko.)

Can’t drink out of a cup because I couldn’t move my lips **use a straw** 

Add to that the fact I was trying to get over shingles I felt like utter rubbish. Exhausted and down and less and less like me. I’m noisy, chatty, smiley, happy… Normally.

After 3 weeks I had to pull myself together. If I was one of the 30% who don’t recover I couldn’t live my life like this. I was lucky, I didn’t have a stroke or a brain tumour… my face just didn’t work very well. **Just keep going** So I did. I faced the world with my eye taped shut and my wonky mouth. People always asked what did you do to your eye? Did you have eye surgery? Have you been to the dentist? No I just have Bells palsy. I’ll get better it just might take a while.

After 6 weeks I started to get twitching nothing visible but I could feel it. Slowly. Painstakingly slowly I started to recover small movement. It was painful. I used to experience pain in my cheek, my chin, my jaw and my ear but following this I would see some small improvement; so the pain was always worth it.

 

4 months later and I am not fully recovered yet but I am getting there.

I am due to start physiotherapy this week and I’m hopeful that will push my recovery along. My blinking still isn’t quite right and I have to remind myself to do a full blink every now and then otherwise my eye gets sore. I have been told following a hearing test my hearing is effected on the right hand side but this should get better with time. My face still hurts if I rub it so facials are also out of the question! But I’m recovering.

Whilst waiting for physiotherapy I found these exercises helpful:

 http://www.bellspalsy.org.uk/exercises1.pdf

 

 

Now you are 10

A decade ago our gorgeous boy came in to the world and changed us…he made us parents. Before then we were just Mart and Laura.

When I think back on those last 10 years it feels like forever ago in so many ways but then it also feels like only a moment.

Having children is brilliant-it’s creating people who you want to spend the rest of your lives getting to know.

What a bloody marvellous adventure!

It all goes a bit too quickly for my liking but I’m here loving it, soaking it all up; watching my beautiful gorgeous babies turn in to people: with likes and dislikes, senses of humour, interests and personalities.

And Rhys is, I must say, simply wonderful.

He is so thoughtful and caring, the only child I know who will ask how you are and actually wait for the answer because he really cares that you are ok.

He has the patience of a saint (a trait he must get from his Father) he almost never loses his temper and is quite often pushed to the limit by his darling younger sister, yet he somehow keeps his cool.

He is a true gentleman and I could just burst with pride. If I had to choose to be a boy I would choose to be Rhys.

He is awesome.

 

Now you are Ten.

 You don’t need me so much these days but I’ll always be here

A shoulder to cry on and a listening ear

 

You use words I didn’t teach you-like Epic and YOLO

You’re forging new paths and they are yours to follow

 

No longer my baby but not yet a teen

Older than ‘boy’ you’re a bit in between.

 

I love our adventure and watching you grow

The things you will learn and the places you’ll go.

 

My boy: no longer my baby but not yet a teen.

Now. You. Are. Ten.

Raising a beautiful daughter

 

First of all I know that headline sounds somewhat big headed but you know me: no BS, my daughter is beautiful. People cross the road to tell me and stop me in the supermarket to remark on it, I know she is beautiful…so… it’s true…for the benefit of this post let’s just take that as fact.

However, we all know that beauty is only skin deep; so as her mother I want her to know she is beautiful but value herself on what’s on the inside. I want her to be kind, I want her to be brave, strong-willed, funny, thoughtful, witty, gentle, loving, caring, I want her to be so much more than just a pretty face. When she asks what job she can do when she is older I help her broaden her horizon further than ballerina and pop star to an engineer, a doctor or nurse but not limited to a nurse just because she is a girl. Sometimes she tells me she just wants to be a mummy and I also tell her that is ok, that is ok to want to be a home bird, to be happy because it is ok. To me it is ok if she wants to be a neuro-surgeon in the same way it would be ok if she wants to be a cleaner. I was always taught there is pride in all work. In my lifetime I have stacked shelves at Sainsburys, been a cleaner, lead a team in Finance, been a marketing manager, worked in a gym, behind a bar, waited tables, done window displays in a card and gift shop and I am proud of it all. I have also been a stay-at-home mum. What I want for both my children more than anything is for them to be happy.

And in my opinion for them to be happy they have to value themselves-all of their self not just the best versions of themselves or the parts society pressures us to value. It became apparent to me that Little Miss had been conditioned over time by others to know she is beautiful. I was somewhat shocked to hear her say to me the other day ‘I’ll smile at the men/lady at the carwash, takeaway, corner shop because then they will give me an airfreshener/lollipop/sweets.’

But she is completely right-she does smile and people say ‘oh my goodness aren’t you a pretty girl-would you like a….’ And whilst no one is doing anything wrong, it’s nice that people think she is pretty, it means that she has come to realise it-she is aware of it and how to use it…at only 5.

Now I am no feminist or a psychologist, so don’t get this confused, I think there is huge empowerment to be drawn from believing you are beautiful. I think a good dose of self-confidence is incredibly healthy. In fact I have always parented with the mantra:

 

Build them up. Build them up… because the world will try to tear them down

 

But I also want her to know her value lies in not only her beauty but in lots of other things too. So when the little old lady in the supermarket stops us to say how beautiful her eyelashes/lips/smile/hair is I make sure to say

‘and she is so kind-aren’t you? Only the other day she cleaned her brothers football boots for him because he’d hurt himself.’

Or

‘she is so clever too-you should hear her read!’

Just to subtly balance out the message, in the hope that all these things will lodge themselves in her subconscious: that her ego will identify as beautiful, kind and clever instead of just beautiful. Because let’s face it-beauty fades but personality and spirit blossom as we get older.

And do you know what? She is kind, brave, strong-willed, funny, thoughtful, witty, gentle, loving and caring: and I want her to know that all these characteristics hold just as much value as her incredibly beautiful face.

Sorry

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I’m always distracted, I’m sorry I never call, I’m sorry that most times we speak it’s shouted over my shoulder because I’m rushing off to do something else.

I’m sorry I read your texts and reply three days later-or don’t at all. I promise I replied in my head and could swear it was in real life. I’m sorry your birthday card is late or I missed our meet up.

I’m sorry I had to cancel at the last minute because someone got ill, had a nightmare, my husbands away, I totally forgot the kids had a birthday party to attend. I’m sorry that now I just say no in the first place because it’s less embarrassing than cancelling the day before.

 

But…

I’m busy mumming right now. And to me that is THE most important thing. I want to do my best. And it is such a short time in my life that I want to make the most of it. It will be the most intense chapter of my life but will be what I look on in years to come when I sit in my quiet, tidy house.

 

I’m juggling life right now; trying to have it all. I’m making sure my kids are happy, have clean clothes, food in their belly, that my husband is happy, that we all get quality time together, that we make memories, that we bake, that we walk, that we laugh, that we make the most of this short time.

 

And do you know what????

I’m sorry…but I’m so not sorry.

Why get married?

I have always loved the idea of getting married and felt that it was something I knew would happen one day. However as Martyn and I quite quickly found, getting married is a rather expensive affair! We had Rhys 2 years after graduating University and felt it was more important to buy a house and supply that kind of stability; rather than the kind found in being a Mr and Mrs.

I knew I wanted to be Martyn’s wife, to have the comfort that marriage brings: that soft snuggly comfort blanket that wraps you up together. It was never in doubt that one day I would be Mrs Owen. It was always part of the plan, but something that could be delayed without consequence.

It was just trying to afford the Wedding Day that seemed a problem.

Once you have a mortgage and a child, finding the cash to get married seems to slip down the priority list. There was always something else to spend money on, a holiday, a new car etc.

And I do admit that I had an idea of the wedding I wanted and that wasn’t necessarily possible on a shoe string budget. So we waited…

 

And waited…

 

When Rhys was 3 we went on holiday to Gran Canaria. Martyn was walking ahead with the bags and got to passport control first-waved through no problem. I was carrying Rhys and lagging a bit behind. I got to the passport control desk and the guard scrutinised our passports.

 

“What is your relationship to this child?”

“I’m his mum”                   **what on earth is going on**

“But you have different surnames.”

“Yes but he is still my son”           **a bit defensively**

“Is there anyone in your party who has the same surname?”

“Yes his Dad”                     **now a bit pissed off**

“We will call him back and he must carry your child through.”

 

Martyn was called back and I (his mother) was made to hand Rhys over so his legitimate parent could carry him over the border.

I was devastated. I felt undermined, belittled and offended. I was his mother, I grew him within my body, I pushed his head out of my lady bits!!!!!!!!! Surely I had earned the right to be recognised, not questioned and put under suspicion. I resolved there and then; that would never happen again. We would get married because no one would ever doubt my son was my son and that I was his mother.

All of a sudden everything was brought in to sharp focus. Getting married was not about the Wedding. Not about the Wedding day, the dress, the venue, the flowers, the wine. It was about cementing a family, about the union of two people who were in love and wanted the world to know. It was about providing the stability and security that a legal marriage can bring to a family: about recognising that family as a unit.

TEAM OWEN.

Just like Salt & Pepper

Martyn and I have been together for 17 years. Aged 33 this shifts us in to new territory…I have now been with Martyn longer than I was by myself. We have an incredible amount of shared history and in lots of ways grew up together.

We went through university together, we moved out of home together, we learned to drive together, we bought our first home together, we had our first child together…(I’m sure you get the idea). I know a lot of people say how their partner are their ‘other half’ but Martyn truly is. Now don’t get me wrong, I am complete on my own but he and I are a pair…

salt and pepper

When you think of one it’s automatically connected to the other.

I first noticed Martyn at school-at 4 years older than me he was the Sixth Former I fancied as a Year 8.I quite quickly realised he lived near me and infact his back garden fence reached all the way down to where it met my front garden. I would see him regularly walking his dog on the field behind our house and walking through the dingle on the way home from school. We first, officially, met when I was 14-I was on my way to meet my friend for a bike ride and had to try and get through a kissing gate (I had done it before. It was tricky but there was a knack and it was possible), as I approached I saw that Martyn was also making his way to the gate

*Inward cringe*  I was not going to look cool trying to haul my bike awkwardly through that bloody gate

Looking at the floor I said ‘you go first I think I’ll be here a while’, ‘would you like me to carry it over for you?’ I looked up and stole a glance at his eyes and his smiling, open face (no mocking look like I had expected). ‘erm…OK then’ (wow smooth… *facepalm, eyeroll*). I shouted thanks over my shoulder and rode out of there as fast as I could with my cheeks burning fiercely. He’d spoken to me-like actually spoken to me…and he’d been nice.

I fancied him like you fancy a popstar-in a totally unattainable way. Never thinking for a moment that it would ever come to anything.

Over the next couple of years we bumped in to each other on dog walks, at school, near our houses and exchanged shy smiles and mumbled hello’s. Finally when I was 16 I saw him in a local pub (sorry dad). He came up to me and said ‘so I guess now you are here you must be old enough for me to ask you out.’ (Ok a bit awkward) ‘well not exactly as strictly speaking I shouldn’t be in here I’m 16-how old are you?’ ’20’ (yikes *gulp*). He walked me home, kissed me on the cheek (I promise) and arranged to meet me the next weekend.

The next weekend we saw eachother again and sat and talked the whole night away. Martyn gave me his number (written on a taxi business card-that’s how we rolled back then, no mobile phones, no facebook-just landlines). He said he would come and speak to my Dad and ask if he could take me out, maybe to the cinema. Now my Dad was a policeman, strict so I was impressed with Martyn’s courage to be quite frank! Anyway he spoke to him and my dad let us go to the cinema. There is more, so much more, 17 years worth in fact but too much to write here. We fell in love and made a life for ourselves, for our family and 6 years ago we got married; because we thought it was about time we sealed the deal!

Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your root was so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. that is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.

Louis De Bernieres. ‘Captain Corelli’s Mandolin

We’re all bloody Queens.

Judging. It’s something as a woman you become accustomed to, it starts early and I mean early; so early I don’t really know exactly when. You are judged by what clothes you wear, who you hang out with, school grades etc… but do you know what?! …Mum’s…now they are a whole new level of judgey. I’m no angel either I have had that moment where I have silently judged. Recently I started following Constance Hall on Facebook…seriously she is amazing and EVERY woman should follow her. She is unashamedly herself-Bold, Sweary, Beautiful, Crappy, Messy, Free-Spirited, Optimistic and quite frankly frigging MARVELLOUS.

**As an aside go and give Con a like-seriously you will not regret it-that girl rocks the shit**

And I started to think differently about myself, women, us, mothers. With the obvious exceptions, we are all amazing in our own ways.

That lady at the school gate who always looks a mess with yesterdays make-up smudged around her eyes? She got her kids to school on time.

The woman in the supermarket whose kid screams pretty much the whole way round? She is feeding her kids and made it out the house.

I give myself a hard time sometimes for not being that picture perfect mum but do you know what? I am doing my best and I am really happy with my best. My kids are loved to death, they are clean, they are fed, we own our own home and both work.Our life is not picture-perfect it’s better than that…it’s perfect to me. It’s real.

So in the words of Constance… ‘Queens-stop judging yourselves and others. We rock, we’re making it, we’re growing these little people.’

I’ll just leave this here…