The Fog: Birth of a New Life

"A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankroll smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten, and the future worth living for." Anon

The time has come. The moment you have been waiting for has arrived. You've been ticking off the weeks, days and hours, counting the minutes between contractions - or you've found yourself in theatre gear - ready to meet your baby. In one moment, your baby is still enveloped in the darkness within; the next moment, it is subjected to 100% sensory saturation. You breathe a sigh of relief; feel emotion encircle that moment in time. It is a moment that is forever imprinted in your mind. A flood of complex thoughts, feelings and emotions; coupled with a sense of completion mixed with the start of something new. It's not just your baby who is experiencing a new life: the entity of you as a family unit are a new life in which you are to move forwards together, feeling your way as you go. 

The following hours are filled with love, tears, euphoria, laughter, relief, pain, stress, sleep-deprivation, exhaustion, phone calls, text messages, visitors, medical intervention in one form or another... the fog of new parenthood is slowly descending around the new family. Gradually, it seems, the old life has faded away, and been replaced with something unknown, something new, awkward and a little-bit-massively scary. This fog has the ability to bend time, where two hours can feel like a day ago; it can change thought processes, where a seemingly simple decision (jam or marmite on your toast? Tea or coffee?) can feel like a confusing moment when the answer isn't as clear-cut as it could be. The fog sucks every aspect of life into a twisted, dense cloud of matter and emotion, to be cleared momentarily, only to build up again as soon as a challenge presents itself. Every decision suddenly feels like a huge responsibility, and is daunting even for the most practically-minded, clear-thinking, confident person. 

So much emphasis is based on the moments leading up to the birth, partly because it is almost indescribable to someone who has not stepped into the fog of brand-new parenthood. All that can be done is to read, educate and inform ourselves in whatever way suits us - be it through literature, through antenatal classes, television or through our family and peers - to prepare ourselves for parenthood. I've heard women say, "Why did nobody tell me how difficult this was going to be?" For me, my inward answer is, "because it's too difficult for us to hear before we've been through it". For many, just getting through the labour safely and holding their baby is as far as the mind is willing to travel. 

So many of us feel we have failed in some way: Either related to the labour; or feeding; or not changing a dirty nappy "quickly enough"'; or responding to a cry; or leaving the baby too long/not long enough between feeds; or sleeping through a feed;not realising the baby is hot/cold; or not being able to get dressed for an entire day because of a fractious, crying baby; or not getting out of the house all day because frankly, you're too tired, still in your pyjamas, or you think you look terrible; or because every time you put your baby down to go to have a shower they start to cry and so you have to go through the entire feed/shhh/nappy change/singing routine without wanting to cry, yourself - in the hope that at some point between now and your baby's first birthday, you'll get to have a shower, and brush your teeth. 

I personally find it hard to ask family and friends for help unless I have a problem. I'm hardwired to get things done no matter what. I don't see asking for help as a weakness, I see conducting my life without help as the norm. But that's me, and I can't change that, even if it isn't the easiest way of doing things. I hated the thought of anyone other than my husband being around in those early days where we were able to bond together as a family, and treasure those moments quietly, without fuss, scrutiny or judgement. Having had two caesareans, I found it highly irritating and frustrating that I couldn't "get on" with things - having to rest was hard, but it is what I needed, and what my babies needed. Here is an interesting article about how mothers are cared for in non-Western cultures, after birth.

I believe that the gentlest way of getting through the first days after birth, is to put no expectations on yourself, your baby or your partner. Live moment to moment. Sleep whenever you can - even if you feel you want to carry on - force yourself to sit or lie down and close your eyes. Eat well, drink plenty of water, indulge yourself with something that gives you a feeling of well-being, remind yourself how amazing your body is to have grown, carried and delivered a baby. If things aren't going according to plan, surround yourself with the support you need to overcome any difficulties. Remember that your hormones are going through highs and lows, and that by day three or four, you'll possibly be experiencing euphoria and sleep deprivation in combination with some stress; and possibly trauma of your birth experience; all in combination with the sudden realisation that you've hit the ground running.

But in my opinion, the best gift a prospective parent can give themselves, is kindness. Kindness for themselves, and their partner. It is this kindness that will nurture you in those early days and weeks after the birth of your baby. The kindness of remembering that you don't know what you don't know; so how can you get things right straight away? Your baby can only cry to let you know that something isn't right - even the baby doesn't know what it actually is that doesn't feel right - so how can you, as a brand new parent, expertly identify what that need is? 

The kindness of recognising your limitations - and your success - and allowing yourself to take things moment by moment. 

The kindness of knowing that things will change. You will get to a point when the fog will start to lift, the tiredness will ease, the confidence will build, and you will look back on those early days with wizened eyes. 

Routine

I read lots of stuff about baby-rearing the first time around; however, although I tried to fit a routine into my second baby, it didn't quite fit. It seemed that most parenting books focused on the first-time mum - as if anyone who has ever had a baby will automatically go to the top of the class for knowing-it-all as soon as they experience the first bout of morning sickness.
Imagine the sheer audacity of absolute knowledge of all-things-baby in a second-timer; compared to the wilderness of know-how for a first-time parent. It couldn't be easier to fit a baby into the packed, busy life of a mum with a child, work, and family life to juggle, can it? What could be simpler than trying to feed a baby at set times, in between taking their older sibling to preschool/school, or picking them up from after-school clubs or play-dates at their friends on the other side of town? How effortless it is to be able to do the school-run, go shopping, feed the baby, do the housework; and prepare a family meal at the height of the "witching hour" of colic between 5 and 8 every evening, whilst fitting in some quality time with the older child, helping them with homework, bathing them and putting them to bed; then settling down for the evening for some grown-up time with their partner, for some scintillating, intelligent conversation. All on 3 hours of broken sleep, with a big, beaming smile on your face, clean, ironed clothes which don't have any stains from milky vomit, or felt-tip pen marks from a fearsome colouring-in session at the table with the older child (one handed, naturally, as the other arm is occupied with holding and feeding your baby). The second-time mum knows Everything There Is To Know About Routine, right?
Nope.
Well, not me, anyway.
I am not going to name names as far as baby-rearing books go, but generally, there are two camps to choose from. In my first pregnancy, the books I looked at from the first camp were laughed over and thrown away within two chapters, as it was so rigidly prescriptive, I couldn't imagine ever trying to raise a baby with the suggestions put forward; the second was better and helped me to establish myself later on, when my daughter was a few months old, and had naturally settled into a routine of her own. It was this book I tried to follow after my son was born, but I put it down and ignored it within a couple of days as it just did not fit my routine at all. Why? Because I was taking cues from my son, and letting him show me the way.
Baby-led, or demand feeding is the ideal way to breastfeed your baby. Your baby knows when he or she is hungry. He knows that something doesn't feel quite right, and learns quickly that if he suckles on his mummy's breast, he will get something warm, comforting and tasty as a result. Your baby knows that the breast is a source of survival, and she will tell you when she needs it. Amazingly, your baby is working alongside your body so that your milk production is just at the right pace for that particular day, hour, or feed.
How?
Your body has been preparing itself for breastfeeding for several months before your baby came along. When your baby is born, your brain switches on the hormones that make milk. This means that any stimulation to the breast (sucking, licking, pulling at the nipples during skin-to-skin contact) will trigger milk manufacture. So after your baby has been born, even if you don't attach her to the breast straight away, the movements and nuzzling at the breast is enough to get things going. The more the baby does this, and the more the baby attaches and suckles at the breast, the more the hormones (oxytocin, which is the hormone that causes the "let-down" where milk is released from the breast's milk ducts, and is the hormone which makes you feel that devotion and love towards your baby; and prolactin, which stimulates the milk ducts to make milk) are released. More frequent feeding will release more hormones, which make and release more milk. Your baby will want to feed frequently for several days after birth, so allowing that process will result in several things:
Your baby will feel comforted and satisfied
Your body will be ramping up the milk-making process
You will be full of oxytocin, which induces feelings of love, and with the bonding process between you and your baby
Your body will be working hard to get back to its pre-pregnant state. Oxytocin helps to shrink the uterus back down again (some women feel "let-down" pains in the early days during breastfeeding, due to the oxytocin release, which can be painful for some, but do settle down)

So how can demand-feeding a baby be possible when there are lots of other factors to take into consideration (for example, an older child)?
Well, it may not be easy to start, but in the long run, you may find it works better than trying to slot a feed into a space where your baby doesn't want to; or worse, try to do other stuff whilst your baby is hungry, but as far as you're concerned isn't "due" a feed. This goes for night-feeding, too.
Try to invest in a good quality sling (please read this guide to buying slings before you buy one). Slings are great because they keep your baby close to you. Your baby wants to be near you in those early weeks. They want to feel your warmth, they want to hear your voice, your heartbeat, and they want to feel safe. They have their security and comfort with you, because that was all they knew, until they were born. You are not "spoiling" your child by having them close to you, and they won't learn bad habits. If anything, they will feel safe and calm and be more settled, than if you are trying to get them to go to sleep in a cold moses basket, away from you. Also, when you are happy with breastfeeding, you can feed them in the sling whilst you play with your child. Or go shopping (just be careful if you have to reach shelves above head height, to avoid slurping noises, followed by accidental breast exposure, shocked onlookers and a cross baby. Not that I'm talking from experience, or anything...).Or when you're making dinner. My son loves watching me cook, chop and stir, which I attribute to his observations in the sling when he was a baby, because he wanted to be near me whilst I cooked the evening meal. I can safely say that it cut down on the witching hour aggro considerably, and probably prevented me from going bonkers.
This form of parenting takes a little getting used to, and some patience. But I found that it revolutionised my own routine because as soon as I accepted that I couldn't squeeze my son's feeding regime into convenient blocks of time around the rest of my life, a weight was removed from my shoulders. I fed him whenever and wherever he needed to be fed. I even attached him whilst in the sling, on my way up the hill for the school run. Nobody knew. He'd had his fill and fallen asleep by the time I got to the gates, the result of which was one happy boy, one happy girl who had a bit of time with mummy before her baby brother woke for his next feed, and one guilt-free mum who wasn't beating herself up over how inadequate she was at not being there for both her children when they needed her.
Here is some information about baby-led feeding, including recognising when your baby is asking for a feed.
Here is some information about biological nurturing, or laid-back feeding, which you may find helpful.
Please note that I am supportive of breastfeeding, but skin to skin contact and slings are just as helpful for babies who aren't breastfed, too, it's just that you may need to be a bit more resourceful when it comes to feeding and looking after older children. I don't judge, just offer a different option!

The Arrival

On one, dull March lunchtime seven years ago, I went to my midwife appointment for my 40-week check. I had been having contractions throughout the morning, so I asked my husband to drive me. He didn't really believe that I was in labour, which meant either I was hiding it well, or he was in denial. The midwife checked me over, then confirmed that I was in labour, advising us to contact the hospital to let them know. She added that we might like to do this, quite soon.
We went home, had a cup of tea and some toast, watched Neighbours, and listened to the silence of the house. My partner put the bag into the car, went around the house checking windows were locked, turned lights on, and put the radio on - the routine he did when we went on holiday! I remember feeling excited, nervous, and apprehensive. A sense of calm had descended around me, making me feel like I was in a protective bubble. As we left the house and I shut the door, it occurred to me that when I next walked through the door, I would be a different person. I felt as though I had shut the door on a part of my life which had passed.
I remember three things about the car journey:
1. It was the most uncomfortable trip of my life
2. I had a contraction at a set of traffic lights, where a man in a white van next to our car was watching me with an expression of fear mixed with fascination
3. The trees along the road leading to the hospital were budding, awaiting the signals of the arrival of Spring

When we got to the hospital, the birthing pool was occupied, so I waited, hoping that it would become available soon. But the calm, quiet birth I had hoped for wasn't to be, and so several hours later I found myself in theatre having an emergency caesarian section. The sensation of being in indescribable pain in one moment, and feeling completely numb the next is a surreal experience. My daughter was delivered, bundled into a towel, and handed to my husband.
I waited an hour for my first cuddle with her, and later was sent up to the post-natal ward. My daughter and I were separated by a cot, the spinal block that prevented me from moving for several hours, and a "no lifting" policy which the staff told me meant that they were unable to help me sit up to attempt to feed my baby. They were too busy to help me, so it was hours before I was able to properly cuddle her and feed her, giving her the skin-to-skin contact she needed. Needless to say, within a couple of days she became jaundiced and required a few periods on the bili-bed, of which I was given no warning, other than the NICU nurse arriving suddenly late into the evening, stripping my baby girl down to her nappy, and putting her onto the bed. The nurse left without explanation. I was furious, confused, and upset.
In my mind, I had failed my daughter. I had failed to bring her into the world quietly and calmly; I had been unable to give her the skin contact I wanted to; and I had failed at feeding her enough milk, resulting in jaundice which required medical intervention in order to make her better. When I reflect on this experience, as a trainee breastfeeding counsellor I know that the problems I had with feeding her - painful nipples, difficulty latching on, and later mastitis was because I wasn't attaching her correctly to the breast, and she was unable to suckle properly. The midwife breastfeeding co-ordinator at the hospital was simply too busy to spend any length of time with me to observe a feed and help me with positioning and attaching, but she did, at one point, grab my boob and push my daughter's head onto the breast! I am pleased to say that this is a no-no, nowadays - but at the time it added to my feelings of failure and lack of confidence.
Four years later, and I was about to have my son, this time as an elective c. section. We had moved to a different part of the country. My midwifery care was excellent all the way through the pregnancy. I was told about a "natural caesarian" where the baby is placed onto the mum's chest after delivery to optimise skin-to-skin contact. I opted for this and had a wonderful, beautiful, calm birth. This time, though, I didn't have my partner with me, as our childcare for our daughter had fallen through at the last moment, so he stayed with my daughter. The staff invited them to sit on the "sidelines" of theatre, separated by a screen. After spending some time nuzzling and staring at me, my son was taken to meet his daddy and big sister. Behind the screen, his cries were hushed as my daughter quietly sang "twinkle twinkle little star" to him. It was a moment to cherish, and one we remember and recount to our son.
The staff helped me with skin to skin contact, breastfeeding, and put all of my ghosts of the birth of my daughter, to bed.We spent hours just staring at each other, my daughter and partner getting close and cuddling, too. He attached himself to the breast and with some jiggling around a little, and some slight shifting about in the bed, we got going very quickly, and with only a little discomfort. It was a fantastic experience!
It seems that, within a comparatively short space of time, care and practice for skin to skin contact has advanced and improved greatly. Skin to skin contact after delivery and in the first weeks of life help with all sorts of things. Immediate placement of the baby onto mum's chest (or dad's if mum isn't able to do so) helps to mix the parent's natural skin bacteria with the skin of the baby, which helps with the newborn's immune system; it also helps to regulate temperature, raise the baby's blood sugar levels; regulate heart rate and breathing, and any nuzzling, suckling, or even touching the nipples by the baby will help to stimulate the hormones required for milk production (International breastfeeding centre). You can read more about the importance of skin to skin contact here.
What could be more rewarding than, at the end of labour, to snuggle up with your baby on your chest, resting, staring into each other's eyes, with partner and siblings cuddling and stroking your newborn's skin, and getting to know each other...apart from a cup of tea?!