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Life is cyclical
Guess who is once again ' an expectant Grandmother'?
Text book
Eldest daughter is 'with child'. Due to her total irregularity, in all things, we only have a vague idea when baby will arrive but it's not for ages yet! Up until Tuesday she was well, then the hormones got to work and in one day she became tired by mid-afternoon, developed morning sickness, and went off tea and coffee. As a midwife I was delighted to hear of these positive signs, as her Mum I feel really sorry for her. On Monday I arranged her scan, discreetly, today my manager asked me how she is. 'How did you find out?' I enquired, apparently the Head of Midwifery told her. Brilliant, now I'm going to have her on my case. Daughter hasn't expressed a desire to have me involved, on the one hand I'm pleased, as I won't have the traumas of last time, on the other I feel quite sad. Having been so involved with Jack's incubation and delivery it feels like part of my Grandmotherhood rite and I just hope I don't feel less 'connected' to baby when s/he arrives. We are still in what I consider to be that 'grey' period. One half of you is looking forward to a new baby, the other half is urging caution, there is still a long way to go. I feel that I was quite lucky when I was having babies. You didn't know you were pregnant until about 10 weeks so you were never quite sure if you had been pregnant or just 'late'. There wasn't a feeling of loss, just disappointment, or relief, that you weren't having a baby. I also didn't have to make decisions about screening for abnormalities, I didn't even have any scans, but I really don't believe that I was any more concerned about baby, especially at the end of pregnancy, than women are now-a-days. There may have been huge developments in techniques but sometimes I wonder if they may cause more stress, particularly in early pregnancy when so many decisions, based upon probabilities, have to be made. Anyway, I'm keeping my fingers crossed, and eagerly anticipating searching for a tandem pushchair on E-Bay!
Caution - Badger crossing
When I'm driving around I often, at least once a week, see badgers lying dead at the side of the road. I've had deer leap out in front of me, rabbits stand and stare at my approaching headlights but I've never seen a live badger, until last night. Hubby is away on one of his golfing jollies and Eldest daughters partner, also a golf fanatic, has gone with him, so last night daughter and I spent a girlie night in at her place, eating chocolates and watching 'Lost in Translation'. It was certainly lost on me. To be fair Mother and daughter watching a film is not terribly condusive to an indepth understanding. There was much chat, relationships were analysed, new bathrooms planned and, obviously, her pregnancy featured strongly in the nattering. After Parky I took my leave and started driving the mile and a half home. I had debated walking to her place but as most of it is along unlit, wooded roads I took the easy way out and decided to drive. Half way home there it was, a badger, in the middle of the road just after a bend. I slammed my brakes on, the contents of my handbag distributed themselves in my passenger footwell, and I stopped. I sat there whilst this badger plodded slowly across the road, it was in no hurry, it couldn't care that a car was sittting a few feet away from it. I wonder, are they deaf, or hard of hearing? No wonder so many of them meet their maker on the roads if they all behave as nonchalantly as this one. Of I went again, took a sharp right-hand turn and there running down my side of the road, was a young fox. At least this example of native wildlife seemed preturbed to have a car following it, but it still didn't shoot off into the hedge until it had found a spot it liked the look of. Two, I kept thinking, where's the third? As a result I drove the rest of the way at a snails pace, convinced that at any moment some furry creature was going to lunge, suicidaly, at my assassin of a car. It didn't. In future, when I see a deceased badger at the side of the road, I will not be so quick to blame a reckless driver, badgers do need to move more quickly and, develop a fear of cars.
Instead of heading home, 5pm yesterday saw me summoned to the Mother-ship, where labour ward was in danger of taking over the rest of the hospital. 9 months ago, yuletide I believe, contraception, or caution, was obviously abandoned and the late pressies are all arriving now. In times of plenty, or if the unit it short-staffed, community midwives are called in. We are a different sort of human-being because we are capable of working a full 24 hours, without a break, and don't need to sleep. Anyway, having reported to mission control, I was allocated 'my lady'. Four hours later, following a broken tooth on the gas and air mouthpiece, 'bonding' through a mutual appreciation of Led Zeppelin, their little girl, 9lbs, was born. Everyone was happy, I waded through all the paper/computer work, and arrived home at 10.30. Twenty-five minutes later the phone rang, one of the homebirths was in labour and, gulping down my coffee, I was off again. At 6.30 I arrived home again, I had not eaten in 22 hours and my bed was calling me. After scrawling a note for Hubby telling him not to wake me, I snuggled into my little nest, closed my eyes, and it was midday. Now I am paying the price. Its four in the morning and I'm awake. My brain will not accept the change in routine and feels that since I was up last night, I should do the same tonight. Since it is my brain I do feel that it should also be aware that I have to work in the morning, not sleep. It should also have made the link between work and twenty-four working, that one can lead to the other, not that just because you will be working you have to stay awake.
Walking
Today I bought a pedometer. Sometimes when I'm walking back from the shops carrying too many bags, and my arms feel like they are going to come out of their sockets, to keep myself walking I count my steps. Then I saw the MacDonalds advert where they were giving pedometers away. I wanted one, not enough to buy a Happy Meal, but enough to canvass everyone to buy an obesity aid so that I could be the proud possessor of an instrument that would count my steps for me. I have to report that no one came up with the goods. Once the idea was in my head though it would not go away, and then I saw one. Why the urge? Well, I'm really competative, against myself. I set myself tasks and then set out to keep going. I see the acquisition of this little counter as a way to encourage myself to walk. Everyday I shall see how far I've walked, and then I shall attempt to beat it the following day. I've already got little ploys worked out, instead of parking outside a patients house I shall park slightly down the road, I won't park in the car park infront of the maternity unit, I'll park in one further away. It's going to be easy on Sunday, we've got Jack for the day, and if he's anything like last time I shall be roaming the streets for about 12 hours pushing him in his stroller. Since I purchased the pedometer, about 5 hours ago, I have taken 398 steps, not bad when all I've done is cook dinner. It's going to go up shortly though as I take my Thursday night ramble to meet Hubby from the pub, I can't wait to check it when I get back. How sad am I?
Following my sleepless nights of Monday & Tuesday, Wednesday night went much the same way. Initially, it was due to the reverberations emanating from Hubby's mouth and nose (he snores) but once awake I realized I could hear metal clanging and drills whirring. Pulling on my joggers I went to the top of the drive, righteous indignation took control, who was so unsociable that they would be undertaking DIY at 2am? I strode off down the road (shame I hadn't yet got my pedometer) in search of the meanie. As I marched the noise got louder, and I became more indignant, boy would they be in for it. The arc lights made me suspicious that this may not be some errant householder demolishing a wall, and when I turned a corner I became contrite. It was a burst water main and the water board were there fixing it. Smiling sweetly I strolled past them, commiserating with them on the chill in the air and the fact they were toiling through the night. I like to think that I brightened up their night, flip-flops, jogging pants, a fleece, and a nightie must have given them a few laughs. I returned home, got back into bed, put my ear-plugs in and settled down. Hubby hadn't stirred. I could get up to anything in the night, I could lead a double life, if I had the energy.
Dismal failure.
I'm unhealthy. My pedometer is telling me that the most I walk in a day is 5,160 steps, only half of what the government, or someone recommends (I can't see 2 jags Prescott doing 10,000 steps a day). Also, I am allergic to whatever the meter bit is made of. I'm now sporting little sore areas at the top of my buttock, I'm going to try putting vaseline on the back of it but I wonder if it will still count steps as it will be sliding rather than tapping. Oh yes, thats the other thing, it clicks as you walk. I can remember, as a child, walking alongside my Mother when she was wearing corduroy trousers and becoming increasingly annoyed with the sound her thighs made as they rubbed against each other, it was all the more worrying as my sister and I were dressed in the same outfits as her so I was certain that I must sound the same. As a result I can't wear cords, in case I make a noise when walking. Instead, I now 'click' as I walk along, no one has commented, yet.
Bestest Boy
I know that this is a fiercely contested title but I will defend the bestowing of it to the hilt, this week. The receipient of this favouritism goes to - my Grandson Jack (no surprises there then). The reason he is awarded this superlative is due to his stoic behaviour on Sunday. His Mummy and Daddy went off to the Bike racing on Sunday and left my little hero with his doting Grandparents (me and Hubby). Daughter had been unable to express any milk so we were left with cartons of formula, these were new to Jack, and also some pureed carrots. Leaving baby and his rations off they went, at 9am. All went really well, eldest daughter and son came round to check up on us oldies and cuddle their nephew, that kept him amused and not thinking of sustenance until 2pm. He then decided food might be a good idea, the bottle was rejected, his beaker followed suit, as did his Nanny's house beaker, a different teat in the bottle and cup-feeding. Having smelled the formula I was not surprised, there was nothing left for it than to go for a walk. Off we strode, pedometer clicking noisily, and two hours later we returned, Tottenham v Chelsea and the Ryder Cup called! Once home we went throu7gh the whole rigmarole again, still no go. I warmed up the carrots, the grimaces revealed Grandsons total abhorrence of that particular delicacy, surprise! surprise! Nanny had a secret weapon though, baby porridge, mix with water not milk. Yes, it was acceptable to Jacks palate and he took 1 tablespoon. Into the bath, loads of chuckles and an inclination to drink the bath water and it was 7.30pm. Daughter had said that they would phone as they left Donnington, a 2 hour ride away, we had heard nothing. Jack was beginning to show his disapproval regarding the lack of milk. The worst thing was not the crying, but when he turned tear-filled eyes towards me and seemed to be pleading with me to do something. My brain was whirring frantically trying to find an answer, I was just doing up the last popper on his babygro when I heard the most wonderful sound, a motorbike roaring down the road and turning into the drive. Jack looked at me and smiled and I gave him the biggest hug ever. Daughter was hardly through the back door before Jack was thrust into her arms with the plea 'feed him, please'. During this 11 hour visit to Nanny's Jack had less than 2ozs of milk and 1 tablespoon of porridge, he cried, in total, for about 30 minutes. For this wonderous display of tolerant behaviour I believe that he really is 'THE BESTEST BOY'.