Story of Mum guest post!

I was really pleased to do a guest post for the fantastic Story of Mum  on motherhood and identity, based on my first blog post on here. My expanded post can be found here!

Story of Mum is a brilliant site, dedicated to celebrating creativity and parenthood and I couldn't recommend it more. Get involved with the make-dates, and explore your own creative side!

October 15th

Today is International Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.  The aim of the campaign is to raise awareness of miscarriage and infant loss, but also aims to remove some of the stigma surrounding pregnancy loss. More than 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage, so you can guarantee that you know someone who has lost a pregnancy. Despite these high numbers, miscarriage is such a taboo subject. It's a cause close to my heart after having had a miscarriage last year and having experienced that stigma first hand. The choice to talk about a loss is a personal one, but people should be feel able to discuss it and should feel able to anticipate support and understanding.

Last year, we made the decision to start trying for a baby. We knew that due to health complications, I was at a high risk of a fertilised egg not implanting, so we held our breath and crossed our fingers when we got a positive test after only trying for a month. Things were going so well, then I had a little bleeding. I was referred over to the Early Pregnancy Unit and had an early scan at 7 weeks, but everything was perfect, lovely strong heartbeat, etc. We were told that the risk of miscarriage had dropped to 1 in 100. Who wouldn't love those odds? I've never been a gambling woman, but I felt like STATISTICS were on our side. Good ol' MATHEMATICS! You can't not trust MATHS, it's FACT!

I totally began to cash baby cheques my uterus couldn't deliver at that point, telling people left, right and centre, planning, naming, buying, etc. All my symptoms were really strong, my bump popped out so secrecy was out of the window, I was undeniably with child. We nicknamed the bump 'Ponyo' due to the resemblance on the scan to the tiny fish from the film. Towards 11 weeks, my nausea and bleeding gums tailed off, but my midwife said that was totally normal, nothing to worry about. My mum got married when I was 12w 6d, and everyone spent the afternoon rubbing my belly (which I didn't appreciate on my silk Monsoon dress, just after they'd visited the buffet). My new step-dad referred to becoming a step-grandad in his speech, etc. It was baby-tastic. We were so excited about this new phase in all of our lives.

Then the morning after the wedding, we'd stayed at my in-laws. I had a tiny, tiny amount of spotting. I wasn't concerned at all, but my partner made me ring NHS Direct just in case. My MIL said it was probably because I'd been dancing around the night before, which I thought was unlikely. NHS Direct told me to go to A and E (It was a Sunday) just in case, better to get the reassurance etc. So off we toddled, and the triage nurse in A and E treated me like some kind of neurotic head case trying to get an early scan, but took some bloods regardless. In fact, I was treating it as a chance to get an early peek, ahead of our dating scan on the Tuesday. After a few hours, they took me into a room, and started being NICE to me, so naturally, I started to panic a little. They didn't say anything much, just asked OH if he could drive me over to the local gynae specialist hospital, and said to him that if I started bleeding heavily or was in too much pain, to pull over and ring an ambulance. That was the point I started to panic a lot, but didn't want to worry OH so kept my qualms to myself.

We drove over and got taken into a little side room on the gynae ward and a lovely gentle doctor explained that my hormone levels were very low for a baby that many weeks along (she called it a baby as well, that meant a lot). When I asked how low, she said similar to what we'd expect at 6 weeks, and that she was so sorry. I knew what this meant, and started to cry, but OH didn't realise. She patiently explained that the baby had stopped growing at 8 weeks, but my body hadn't realised. She explained our choices, gave me a letter for my doctor, and sent us on our way. Having to tell my mum on the first day of her honeymoon that she wasn't going to be a grandma was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I felt so guilty, like my body had let her down, and that the anniversary of her wedding would always be the day before I lost the baby.

The next day, I went along again to the Early Pregnancy Unit for another scan. They confirmed the lack of heartbeat, and explained that I wasn't able to have the surgical procedure to remove 'the products of conception' due to a malformed uterus, so I had to have a 'medically managed abortion' using drugs to cause my body to expel the tissues. I had no idea what to expect. I'd never known anyone to miscarry. I was devastated at the loss of our baby, and terrified of the procedure but the overriding feeling was one of shame. That I'd have to tell people in work. What would they say? They'd think I was such an idiot for going public with our pregnancy. I was embarrassed by my own naivety. Instead of starting to grieve for my loss, I felt ashamed and isolated.

I don't remember much about the actual day of the procedure, other than moments of dark, bleak humour. The lady in the coffee shop seemed indignant that I'd spent so much on a puzzle magazine, which amused us no end for no particular reason. The hospital room had a TV with some innocuous cookery program on. I'd spent the week avoiding anything too emotional or baby related. It was showing some Hugh Fearnley-Whittwhatshisname program, so I thought I was safe. Until the bit with a miscarrying goat on it. I found it somewhat amusing, 'FML' has never been a more appropriate phrase. The actual procedure was painful and undignified. I'd had a sleepless night of excruciating cramps to no avail, but after another dose of drugs, my body finally let go of Ponyo. I couldn't bear to look too closely at her (turned out Ponyo was a girl), but couldn't believe how perfectly formed she was.

The worst part of losing the baby was trying to return to normal life afterwards. My family and friends were fantastic and allowed me to speak openly and honestly about what had happened. Going back to work was more difficult. People found it hard to look me in the eye, and mostly ignored what had happened. A few colleagues implied that I'd cursed myself by going public with my pregnancy, which just made me angry. It was treated as if I'd had a medical procedure that I was physically recovering from. There was little understanding of the grieving process that I was going through. My shame and guilt at losing the pregnancy was compounded by these attitudes, and if it hadn't have been for my wonderful family and close friends, I don't know how I would have coped.

This is why days like today are important. A miscarriage is far more than a biological process. It's the loss of dreams, hopes, an imagined child and future that no longer will come true. You don't grieve for the physical loss, you grieve for the child that will never be.  Miscarriage happens to so many of us. It shouldn't be taboo or secret - it's hard enough as it is without having to cope with other people's embarrassment. Also, it's not just parents who experience that loss. Grandparents, aunts, uncles - a miscarriage effects many people. Thankfully, the NHS has excellent teams who are supportive and understand the significance of a loss but there are also some amazing independent organisations who offer support and advice to families who have suffered a loss, and part of today is to raise awareness of these services for families.

Baby Loss Awareness Day

ARC (Antenatal Results and Choices)

The Ectopic Pregnancy Trust

The Miscarriage Association

Sands Stillbirth & neonatal death charity 

Saying Goodbye 

I'm so fortunate that I've since gone on to have my own rainbow baby, but I'll never forget Ponyo. Tonight, at 7pm, I'm going to be lighting a candle for her to join the wave of light.

Join the international Wave of Light (Taken from www.babyloss-awareness.org)

October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day across the world. We would like to invite you to take part in the global 'Wave of Light'. Simply light a candle at 7pm and leave it burning for at least 1 hour to join us in remembering all babies that have died during pregnancy, at, during or after birth.

This can be done individually or in a group, at home or in a communal space. Wherever you do this, you will be joining a global wave of light in memory of all the babies who lit up our lives for such a short time.

As Halloween approaches...

The Kraken slumbers peacefully for his afternoon nap. I'm settling downstairs with my lunch and a brew when the monitor goes off. I stop what I'm doing and listen to the sounds of the Kraken chunnering in his sleep. The chunners settle down and a lovely peace descends upon the house. Then I hear it. The floorboards upstairs. Creaking as if someone is walking around.... o_0

Reason dictates that it is nothing but the floorboards settling, the heating's on so of course the wood expands, blah blah blah. However, I've seen Paranormal Activity too many times. This is how horror films always start...so I followed the only sensible course of action. I tweeted about it.

The fab Lisa at How To Be A Domestic Disgrace has recently written a blog about spooky happenings, and tweeted in reply to my peril, so I thought I'd share my own personal tales of the supernatural.

My friend, the lovely @Chocolatewestie, used to live in a very old house. It was a beautiful old farmhouse, and came with many tales of ghosts and tragic happenings. Me and @Chocolatewestie were absolute besties and I used to stay at her house at least once a week. One morning, I got up quite early to let Sophie, her dog, out of the room. I went back to bed, snuggled back under the covers and suddenly I felt frozen from head to toe. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I couldn't even get my breath. At the foot of the bed was the indistinct figure of a young girl. I couldn't see her clearly, except for her eyes. She didn't move, or speak, just stared at me with those big, black eyes. I've no idea how long I was frozen there, but just as abruptly, I snapped out of it and came to. @Chocolatewestie woke up, and asked me what was wrong, as I was white as a sheet and trembling. I explained what had happened and we became as hysterical as only you can at the age of 14 and you're spooked out of your tree.

The second, absolutely true, spooky tale happened many years later, when I was working as a barmaid in my local pub. We always used to joke about the 'pub ghost', and had the usual odd but easily explainable things happen, like keys go missing to turn up in the same place you left them, almost seeing someone out of the corner of your eye, etc. It had been my turn to close up the pub one quiet Thursday night, as the bar manager hadn't been able to stay the night in the pub. I'd done all the usual checks, locked the internal doors, checked the safe and the cellar, then locked all the outside doors with the only spare set of keys. One of the locals, a mate of my mum, had stayed to walk me back to my house so I got home safe. The next morning, I woke to a phone call from Karl, my highly pissed off manager. Why the hell had I taken all of the pint glasses down from the overhanging shelf and laid them out along the bar? What the frig was I playing at? He'd had to spend an hour putting them all back, did I think I was funny? I protested my innocence, but I can see why he'd thought it was me. I had been the last in the pub, and no-one else but us had a set of keys... He only believed that it wasn't me, when my friend who'd walked me home verified my story...

So there you go, my two, absolutely true tales of ghostly happenings. As for the footsteps upstairs? Er, next-door's cat had got in and was exploring.

Have you any spooky tales to tell? If so, link back to Lisa's blog here

Mum Life-Crisis

After much deliberation, I've decided to add my dribble to the giant puddle of the blogosphere. I've had various blogs over the years that have never amounted to much, probably due to my utter lack of blog writing. Hopefully, as I'm currently on maternity leave, I'll show this one a little more care and attention. I'm not blogging with any sense of purpose or theme. More using it as a space to think out loud about THINGS. Dunno what THINGS I'll think about yet either. I'm freestyling.

It's hard to know where to begin this blog. Perhaps with some context. I'm 28 and a new mum to a shiny, brand spanking new baby, affectionately referred to as The Kraken. This name stems from his early days in the moses basket. He has a tendency to wiggle and growl as he comes round, and all we would see when he woke were flailing limbs emerging over the side of the basket, accompanied by squawks, gurgles and roars worthy of any mythological deep-sea creature. 'The Kraken doth awaken' became code for 'Your turn to change his arse' and lo, the legend was born.

So far, I'm finding motherhood to be...interesting. I adore The Kraken. He was a very much longed for baby, and after a bit of heartache and uncertainty, we both feel very blessed to have him. We've got our little routine worked out, things are settling down after the first few crazy weeks and I'm slowly adjusting to motherhood. It's so strange but nice to think of myself as a plural, rather than in the singular. Lately though, I've noticed a change in the way I behave. I've termed it 'The Mum Life-Crisis'. I'm dying my hair turquoise (when I get a few hours to myself, new baby innit?), dressing in a style that I've not worn since I was 19, and listening to music from the glory days of my youth. KoRn, System of a Down etc. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I even downloaded a Limp Bizkit song just because it reminded me of dancing round like an utter knob with my friends back at Maximes Rock Nite circa 2002. It's as if the arrival of SCARY REAL GROWN UP LIFE has sent me running mentally back to my happy place, dancing like a hussy to NIN's Closer, with jeans wide enough to camp in and a quart of badly applied black eyeliner, clutching a pint of Red Witch and snogging some lad who 'plays guitar in a band'. In real life, I'm dancing to the Baby Jake song, in jeans with a wide enough waist to fit a baby bump in (still not relinquished my maternity jeans), clutching a breast pump. The eyeliner is still there, however I now embrace the 'less is more' maxim, and the boy who plays guitar is there - not so much snogging now though (again, new baby innit?).

Don't get me wrong. I love being a mum. The Kraken is quite clearly the best little boy ever to grace the planet, and is obviously going to be a handsome genius when he's older. I just can't seem to accept the fact that I'm someone's MUM. I am a mum. I am apparently old enough, and responsible enough to be raising a child. I keep thinking they'll find me out. (Not sure who 'they' are, but you know what I mean) It's hard to reconcile the 'me' of the past with this new 'me', hence my longing for all the things that represent the young, carefree, drunken me.

 I am officially in the grip of a 'Mum-life Crisis'. Send help, more eyeliner and a copy of a Lost Prophets album. \m/