Learning to Fall

"When will it be Oscar's birthday Mummy?"

"When all the leaves are back on the trees Alannah".

"But I've been waiting ages" (mega sulky face)

This time last year I was as impatient as the blonde bombshell. Every twinge, every kick....is that it? Is that the baby coming?? So I can't fault the three year old for being impatient for his first birthday to come around, especially not at the prospect of cake with sprinkles and icing and jellies and smarties...and and and...and all the things important about birthdays for the single figures people. And then it came around and happened, and now we wait for something else to happen...with more sprinkles :) 

Daily Stumbling Ground

I guess I felt like I had been waiting ages too. Almost a year since the little man (not so little anymore, weighing the same as the threenager) came into the light of day, just over a year since I stepped off the threadmill of the day job and a full year since I surrendered to the world of full time mother/householder/domestic goddess (note to husband and children: all three role titles loosely applied and open to debate/reward negotiation). 

There's something magic that happens when you give birth to your baby, something magic that changes your heart and your mind and stays with you through the constant attention and devotion that a newborn requires and the challenging (some might say debilitatiing and soul crushing) broken sleeps and nighttime waking. Not forgetting the buckets of nappies and snot. The magic of course is nature's wonderful way of sustaining the mother through all of this, and endorphins are wonderful. Over time however, the magic gradually starts to fade and mother must learn to sustain herself through a sense of humour (preferably a good one) and quiet acceptance of the work at hand. Add a threenager that's going on sixty four, into the mix and that's when things really start to stretch and that seemingly benign word - challenging - takes on a new meaning entirely.

It's been an interesting year. And so many times I thought of my own mother and how I am in complete awe of her. And I tell her, even though she left us five weeks before Oscar was born. She would have fallen head over heels with him though, I know this.

What did I learn? Many things. Many things that I could never have imagined were there for the learning. Like, how much conversation a three year old can fit into the waking hours of any given day. Like, you can't reason with them either. Like, you can't expect to win an argument with them. Like, you are very likely to regress to their level of reasoning with lack of sleep and continued erosion of your inner calm (think: no inner calm). Like, you need to maintain perspective and get outside on your own every day. Like, be open to no planning other than manoeuvering between dawn and dusk with all bodies intact. Like, being grateful for each of those mornings and evenings that we are all together (even though we may/nay - probably -  spent the day squabbling over b***s**t - and that we are growing and changing together as part of our own unique, quirky and  family unit). Like, how getting an afternoon nap even just once a week can be the one thing that saves your soul. Like, how much I absolutely relish the precious, natural rhythm of it all.

I often thought that it was the right thing to try to 'find the balance' - the elusive, exclusive, evasive balance in life. Some seemed to have it. Shouldn't I be going for it? Find it and hold on to it smugly like it was the life bouy to my existence. Find it, grasp it and never, ever let it go, and then tell everyone else how to find it too.  

What fool was I? I wisely gave up on that. Now I stick with what works to stop me from falling over, as much as I possibly can.  I still fall over - for sure - daily. I lose my temper with the threenager, I wallow in self pity after I've had an epic night from hell with a teething baby. I lose heart.  I crumble. I feel lonely and isolated as I'm building lego houses with the threenager and the bouncing boy at 5.30am in the morning (an every-morning ritual - somehow strangely meditative in those silent times). I didn't get my annual performance rating, I got puked on instead. I fall down.

And then I find my way back up....crawling, hobbling, flying, powering forward, on good days maybe even straight into a headstand and a mind-bending scorpion pose. And then I fall, again. 

And then I just breathe. And then I am balanced. A walk in the woods, a hug from the man, a smile from the boyscar, a tummy rub from the blonde bombshell, time wangling with an overgrowing garden, a text from a friend - somehow it gets delivered. I don't find it or grasp it or cling to it, or stick my nails into it, it finds me. If I let it. 

So the last year has been interesting, to say the least. And I am grateful for all that the journey has given to me. Instead of finding balance I am learning how to fall, with grace. And how to pick myself back up again, and again, with humble gratitude and hopefully some more grace. Instead of that elusive 'finding of the balance', I am loving the realness of falling and I embrace it. 

Of course, if I need any reminding, I just watch the boy stepping his way from chair to fridge, and table to floor with the cutest and plumpest of un-shoed feet...and I bow to the immense beauty and fragility, and yet strength and steady force of it - his learning to walk, by learning to fall.

P.S. The Holly Cottage garden is amazing right now - as is the magnificent/awesome Irish countryside - some updates on the way, soon.

Call the midwife: a Home Birth in the Holly Cottage

Right so - those of you who are squeamish or who have no interest in the intimate details of getting a baby out of a woman's body...feel free to stop reading right now. All others, continue at your peril...

So. You're having a baby. You'd like to have a natural birth. You're forty. You've read all the stuff about how the scale of interventions and C-section in hospitals in Ireland are on the rise, and the odds of having a natural birth plummet sharply once you walk through those gaping doors of the nearest maternity unit. You're still wincing from the memory of the episiotomy (Google it boys...and cross your legs in solidarity with your women folk) first time around. Where do you go? Who do you turn to?

Call the midwife. 

And I did. I called a few in fact. And they were all wonderful. Forget the consultants. They are useful for when there are problems, real problems. The midwives are the superwomen, and supermen (of course). 

Having explored a few different avenues I settled on Neighbourhood Midwives, now known as Private Midwives Ireland. From week 30, after a few very debilitating and frustrating visits to the consultants in the HSE (I promised myself I wouldn't go on a rant about that here but I'm open to hours of such ranting if anyone wants to indulge me!!!) all my antenatal visits were held in the kitchen of our home, Holly Cottage. Tea being one of the important opening rituals of all the appointments, this was quickly followed routine checks, paperwork and the wonderful listening in to the baby's heartbeat. That was my favourite bit. Relief, joy, love - all those emotions rolled into those precious moments when baby Oscar - who was just baby at that time - was revealed to us by wonderful technology. No long hospital queues, no impersonal rigmarole, no processing line. The midwife visits were as easy and as casual as that, yet markedly professional and deeply respectful. I also have to mention the support from UK Birth Centres team - Linda in particular. This is the mothership behind Neighbourhood Midwives and the backbone for the limbs in Ireland. Even when my mother passed away five weeks before Oscar was born, Linda was there supporting me in my decisions and being a welcome friend from afar. 

So we got to know each other, a little bit at least, the midwives and the residents of Holly Cottage. And that was important, as delivering a baby is a pretty intimate act and one certainly needs to feel safe in the hands of the ones doing the delivering. And I did, we did. Sure there were moments when the scaremongering peeked it's ugly head into my steady thinking - but that's why I told only those few people around me who knew us best and knew to trust our decision. Who needs negativity at a time of such positivity?

And so, the due date came and went. Despite strong opinions that he would come early, Oscar arrived fashionably late on a bright and sunny afternoon. When the pains started at 3am, I called our primary midwife, Madeleine, immediately, and she was over in a flash - although I'd love to say she flew as superheroes do, she did arrive by car. And she watched and waited, and watched and coached patiently and discretely as I continued in very casual labour up until about midday...and that was when the fun began. 

Love Love Love

Pain is relative and while some would say it's in the mind, it sure as hell is manifested in the body. What worked for me? Breathing through the pain, letting go of each contraction one at a time, not thinking about the last one or the next one, not thinking, just being. Just breathe. And pressure from the man on the main action area for me, my lower back. With a few hours to go I sank into the birthing pool. OMG. These should be mandatory for all births - home and hospital, and anywhere in between. Such sweet relief and comfort in all that balmy heat. So I stayed there for the next couple of hours, breathing and doing plenty of oohing and aaaahing. Thank the universe there was no video! Tea was made and drank, the neighbours kids went and came home from school and I could hear them playing in the garden next door as Oscar pushed through for his final descent. Surprisingly and incredibly, I actually did try to escape in those last minutes - to who knows where, and to what purpose not even I know, but I did - it seemed perfectly rational at the time. And just as all about me had convinced me that an escape might not be such a good idea, the final descent was over and our little man was there in my arms. All eight and a half pounds of him. He was expertly guided out at 3.59pm on May 16th 2016 by Midwife Madeleine (no tears, no dreaded episiotomy - phew!) while Midwife Gail whispered affirmations in my ears and held me steady. Literally. 


And once he was out...well there was only great joy and celebrations. More tea was made, a placenta delivered and cord cut only when the last of the goodness was transferred back to Oscar. Holly finally relaxed outside once my distressing vocals subsided, Alannah came home from the minder and wondered why mumma and dadda had been messing about in a paddling pool in the kitchen without her all day, and who the hell was that bundle of joy pressed against my breast? And life just settled back quickly to its easy pace from there on and we all stared as the tiniest and newest of us quickly captured our hearts and our minds and it was like he had never not been there before. Baby Oscar. Beautiful, beautiful boy...as John Lennon might sing. 

And as we settled in to the music of his coos, our beautiful midwives packed up their bags, tidied up everything, and said their farewells. Midwife Angela tidied up the main man Oscar and checked him over - that was the last bit - and then they were gone. And four became five.

There's plenty of detail glossed over here but for the purposes of this piece here's the take home message: call the midwife. If in doubt, call the midwife. If not in doubt call the midwife. Call them anyway. They have the power to ensure that one of the most important events in your life is one that is safe, calm, peaceful and natural. What a gift and what a great skill to have. Use it! 

Beautiful Oscar

Celebrating Oscar

The Irish summer is truly upon us - glorious sunshine and thunderous showers interspersed with periods of intense heat and then sudden wintry temperatures. And all in the space of five minutes! This is Ireland. And this is why our winter wardrobe also doubles us as our summer one - albeit without the gloves and scarves. 

We do have to be grateful however for the summer we had in May, those fabulously Mediterranean like days that beckoned the arrival of the newest member of the Holly Cottage brigade, the little bundle that is Oscar. 

"You talking to me?"

And this tough little man is testament to the truth that every child is different. Where Alannah required hourly attention, he is more than content to sleep for periods of hours in the daytime while the rest of us are busied with blowing bubbles through the hollyhocks, and stalking the emerging fruits of the Holly Cottage summer garden as we wait impatiently for their juicy, sweet delivery. 

Alannah has adjusted, though she does have a tendency to shout loudly into his face while hanging clothes pegs off his ears. He just stares in meditative silence. And she doesn't quite understand why we have to bring him with us everywhere we go - "leave him here Daddy, Oscar doesn't want to come" - just as well the 31 month old isn't in charge. Or is she? More of that again.  

Oscar just watches on, watching all stoically - and what does he see? At this stage it's only what lies within arm's reach. And yet somehow it feels he can see through us all. 

Our 42 days of togetherness has come to an end, and he is officially out of the newborn stage - already??!! The rabbit sized sleep suits of the earliest days are now giving way to more robust and manly outfits be-decked with dinosaurs and the cutest lions and elephants. This time is going to ebb and flow too fast. 

The nights are long but I am rewarded with the sweetest of secret smiles and unlimited hugs. And mummy's recovery from the guts of a year of carrying this handsome little warrior has been thankfully smooth and uneventful. Sore shoulders and lower back pain have returned - a sharp reminder of the challenges of nourishing a ravenous, exponentially growing human. But funny how the immense pleasure and satisfaction in watching him grow and develop cause all these irksome side effects - and the memory of nine months of nauseous pregnancy and intense hours of birth - to fade in the shine of his smiles and the light of his eyes. Mammy's boy, eh?

This is a time to celebrate. So here's to Oscar and the life before him, here's to the people who have helped us on his journey into this life, here's to the Holly Cottage brigade who are humbled at the gift of him and here's to the joy that he has already given. 

We are celebrating Oscar, heartfelt and wildly.