This is Arty

Being a first time Mummy. What an shock to the system. A new life event you think you’ve been waiting for since you were 5 year olds, therefore you are so ready right? WRONG! Doing the pregnancy yoga, attending antenatal classes, reading ALL the books, you have got this..still no, no words or classes can prepare! Arty is the biggest (and smallest!) challenge I have ever taken on. How often I will be able to do this? I'm not really sure. I'm not even allowed to have my phone in my hand as we glaze into eachothers eyes talking 'goo goo gaa gaa'.

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Sleep deprivation

Motherhood, let me tell you this ain’t no easy job. Having a baby is an emotional war, one that no one can prepare you for. Sleep deprivation especially is great, what a wonderful thing. I am not complaining, I am genuinely blessed to have Arty that wakes and I tend to in the night. It’s just when I’m trying to use deodorant as dry hair shampoo, or take the baby out in the garden for a toilet break instead of the dog, I know, I need to sleep.

In my effort to handle motherhood with relaxed calm ease, I have wound my tired self in a unrecognisable bat shit crazy mofo with unwashed hair who couldn’t remember if she’d eaten breakfast. Some nights he doesn’t sleep, and neither do me or daddy. So out it came, Baby was napping and I took a moment to myself, but I felt better for it.

I read all these posts, ‘my baby girl angel bottom slept through AGAIN 👏🏻’. Yes that was me (smug as anything), Arty slept through from 5-16 weeks really. But trust me, sleep regression happens, and that bitch will catch up with you!

A health visitor actually said to me, it’s really important nutritionally for Arty to wake for a feed in the night. One night feed I am totally fine with, every hour on the hour from midnight because of that dam dummy slip, I am not.

After lots of trials and errors, I have come to the conclusion that routine is important for babies. Yes I have had success without a routine but it is short lived and temporary, with a routine I have found consistent success, sleep, and an overall happier baby. Maybe not having a routine works for some, but not this mumma and not this bubba. I am not military about my routine though and I allow a little bit of intuitive parenting here. I wrote Arty’s routine down, I also wrote a column for me so I was actively remembering to include me and my own tasks in the day.

The nights have been chaos but it’s not until the morning when your beautiful babble fills the house, and you grab my face forcefully with your chubby little mitts. Everyday I love you that little bit more and every single day I am privileged you are mine.

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Don’t do it Mummy

Leave the house in general

Your a walking zombie. You’ll hurt yourself or others. Or worse, people may engage in conversation with you. Na uh, not today.

Cook anything other than toast

Actually sack off the toast. Your better off just sticking to a piece of bread, it doesn’t get cold and you can’t burn it.

Never google your babies symptoms

What we think is just a common cold, after googling turns into total meltdown. Your baby is fine. Grab some snuffle baby and don’t panic.

Read a Gina ford book

This doesn’t WORK. Pregnant - Gina Ford was my main gal. What a baby legend. Trying to train a 6 week baby into a routine and orchestrating when they want to eat is just disastrous. Just burn all books in general.

Interaction with the perfect mummy

This is a really lovely thing to do. However with the irritable, tired, new you, the reality may be quite different. There will be other mums desperate to tell you all about their baby angels who self soothe, don’t cry and rolling over already. Just don’t it, you’ll end up feeling bad about yourself, or punching someone, neither things you want. This happened to me once, I almost keyed her pram.

Clean the house

I know anyone that knows me is smirking at this point in the blog. I KNOW I KNOW it’s hard, all the mess staring at you like your a big fat dirty slob. But it’s okay, it’s not really looking at you. Your baby doesn’t care and neither does anyone that loves you. So chuck all the shit into one cupboard and get on with that parent life.

Try find a matching pair of socks

This is quite a task at the best of times. But when you’ve been up practically all night, it’s now near possible. I have no idea where socks go in our house but I suspect they are in the same place as the sellotape and small spoons.

Walk the dog

I have my darling pooch trying drag me into the road to attack no. 72’s cat over the road, whilst pushing the pram. Not to mention the dog now thinks it’s his responsibility to fight anybody or any dog that dares to come near his precious baby Arthur.

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TRIBE

Behind all the Instastories, the filters and small perfect moments shown, the reality is very different. I truly believe we see about 5% of someone else’s world on social media. Or at least how they would like their life to seem.

Truth is, I spend most of my days in daggy workout clothes, and not because I’m dashing for coffee dates or lunching, but because being a Mama is a freaking workout in itself. So appropriate attire is essential. This uniform often has dribbles of sick down it. Gym leggings to hold in that Mum Tum, and any excuse to always wear a comfy sports bra. I am a contortionist most of the time, and squat with baby 29485 times a day. ‘Mum bun’ and hairy legs because I have a choice between sleep and shower/shave, and sleep wins every time.

My bag is filled the brim with nappies, butt cream, spare clothes for those Poonamis, and whatever toys I can grab to dangle in his face to keep him happy. Arty enjoys sucking on my shoulder, pulling my hair and watching Baby TV for strictly only 20minutes at a time in the bouncer before he is bored. But those 20 minutes, are golden.

One thing I’m realising about Mum Life is the tricky weeks come, but they go, so relax, stay calm and enjoy the ride.

They say it takes a village to raise a child, now I know why. It isn’t for the love, the nurturing, or the lessons they provide. It isn’t to be showered with gifts. Yes some of the above are important, but in searching for my tribe (something I have spent the best part of 5/10 years cultivating and filtering) I have found some amazing people, who are selfless, show up at your door, not when you’ve asked them too, but because they can tell you need it. Tribes are for generosity of time, patience and boundless friendships. Your faces and presence make my weeks seem a little more bearable. And you were the light at the end of a few grey weeks. So from me to other Mamas, find your tribe, and love them hard.

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My labour

Oh don't worry, it's quick. 5cm-fully dilated 45minutes quick. I was apprehensive to share my labour and birth story, but so many ask, I may as well share.

4am Wednesday 16th Aug, I wake with what I'm sure is sharp wind, Baby Daddy convinces me to call the hospital, it's early labour, 3 weeks early!

Right, time to clean, I'm scrubbing away, running the Hoover around, I catch baby daddy looking at me like I'm insane, ok ok let's go to the hospital. Quite honestly, I've passed wind and had periods worse than this! Fabulous! BRING IT ON!

The midwife measures me, 4cms, right let's go for a walk and get this bubba going. After wasting time until 3pm, I ask to go home. There are only so many squats I can do in the car park. The midwife urges we don't, but we do. I just need to sleep this off and have a good meal.

Baby daddy is busy making my fave, sausage pasta, with candles lit and a bubble bath running. Within 20mins of being home I am screaming bloody murder, unable talk through my pain or do anything really. Oh... Jesus.... here he comes.

The car ride to the hospital I have my head hanging out of the window, it's the only thing that appeared to be helping. Baby daddy parks me up, we try to get a wheelchair, shit we picked the dodgey wheel one, son of a.....we have a crowd of people trying to help, pretty sure I'm flashing all sorts in my dressing gown as I wriggle around in pain. I hop out of the broken wheel chair and run like a crazy person through the hospital, Baby daddy chasing behind me flapping my hospital notes in the air.

Baby daddy is busy informing friends and family, a line he repeatedly reminds me of 'put the phone down, it's you and me now' as I stare deep into his eyes, he knows shit just got real. I have become possessed. I am what only can be described as dry humping the back of the hospital bed. Aaron passes me the gas and air, thank god for that, oh no, I'm one of those unlucky people who just chucks up after every breath. If the labour support nurse tells me I'm a natural one more time, I will not be held responsible for my actions, this does not feel natural.

I'm checked again, and immediately taken down to the delivery room. This is very brief because I don't actually remember much.

Kat, my lovely midwife, who will forever have a place in my heart, starts running the bath for me as I insisted on a waterbirth. As I run to the loo, back and fourth, actually, I crawled, my legs just didn't work. Kat whispers to Aaron, it's time, yeah guys, I CAN HEAR YOU! No time for drugs, water or hospital bag, we start to push.

Theres always the question - did it hurt? Yeah, it fucking did. I felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head. Within seconds out pops Arthur Rowe, covered in gross stuff. Aaron looked at me and we scream/hysterically cry together. This is what we had been waiting for for 9months. The feeling of absolute euphoria. I'm handed our little boy, my life suddenly has so much meaning. I wish I could relive that little moment over and over. He was the most beautiful wrinkly, red, screaming gremlin ever. I should mention he was so quick, the bath is still running for my water birth. Nevermind. We did just fine on dry land.

Baby daddy enjoys his first cuddles whilst I do the other bits no one warns you of, birth to the placenta, and a big white light up your bits for your stitches.

I spent the next two days in a daze.. I feel so powerful and strong. Not only did I make him but I squeezed him out in 30mins too. The midwifes are sure I will have to have a home birth next, we will see, let's enjoy Arty first.

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The things we do

I am the world’s biggest worry wart. I diagnose my son with something new every week, when in reality he’s absolutely fine, he usually needs a big fart. Being a new mum is so hard and knowing what’s normal and what’s not is even harder.

Taking 747484 pictures of him in the exact same position, everyday, yep, that’s me. I'm sure you all know this by now. I mean there was nothing more annoying than being shown a hundred pictures of a baby which are all the same, but I am now that person who thinks each picture is just even more cute than the last.

I always thought we had to be dead silent whilst our babies slept. So there we are, creeping around the house while Dear Son sleeps. Baby Daddy needs to sneeze, urghhh! Dam fool! (Jokes, I love you). Any loud noises send me into an instant rage. It's not until one day it clicked. Whenever I hoovered Baby Boy slept! So now we play him the YouTube clip of Henry the Hoover running, and we are winning.

Picking my son up as soon as he cries, I am guilty! Arty's cry it sends shivers down my spine and I honestly feel like my heart is hurting and I could bust out into tears with him. His little bottom lip protrudes and his face screws – how could I ever leave him to cry? I immediately scoop him up.

Apparently the only interesting thing I have to talk about now is Arty's poo. I love to describe my son’s latest bowel movement to anyone that will listen. The colour, the smell, the texture. Explaining how it exploded onto my leg, the rug, up his back, on the dog and the sofa!

The one thing mothers obsess over - the baby smell. Each and every mother would say to me, ' oh you just wait to smell that baby smell when they first come out!'. Say... whhaaaaattt? No you weirdo. WELL.. if I could bottle any smell in the world and keep it forever, it would be when my baby boy shot out, smothered in god knows what.. the smell really is like no other in the world. Now I'm one of those weirdos. Doesn't matter how many times I bath Arty, his head and neck will always smell the same, fluffy freshly washed baby linen. I can't physically stop sniffing that head of his.

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Competitive mummies

I'm pretty sure I actually don't know the half of this. The dreaded primary school playground pick up! But I have sure had a taste just being pregnant and Arty being short of 3 months old.

Don't get me wrong I have met some lovely mummies and mummy to bes along the way! Who are amazing and bossing it. But I've also come across some rotten eggs.

This is not a competition ladies!

I have been quizzed about my birthing plan, what family car I plan on driving. And at each exchange we have, not asking about me, or how my baby is. Some people are very happy with their two door run around and don't see a baby as an excuse for a 4X4.

Babies don't care that they aren't sitting in the latest musical bouncer, that mummies changing bag is REAL leather and retails at £400+, or that dear Mother popped me out on just gas and air, one day the entire labour story will gross them out and bore them! Arty doesn't use half of the shit we brought him (blog to follow on this subject!). Bubbas need copious amounts of love, cuddles and milk.

I found happiness in talking to real mums who were telling me it's normal to fuck up along the way, and offering advice. Not just wanting to know the ins and outs of my pram and it's suspension.

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In the night

'Sleep when he sleeps' they say. HAHAHAHA. Don't make me laugh. When Arty sleeps in the day, I'm racing around for the next hour (two if I'm lucky), making sure my toilets sparkle!

Even when Dear Son is dreaming at night, I never sleep properly, and here's why.

Ewan the sheep. Friend or foe? I really thought this singing sheep was some kind of hero. Not when he cuts out in the middle of the night and wakes my Son. I reach over trying to press his back left foot, this is the only tune Arty goes into a deep sleep for. Phew he is back on. Oh no.. no Ewan is running out of battery for the 19374 time we've had him. Baby Daddy rushes down stairs to dissect his tummy with a screw driver and replenish the batteries at 3/4am.

THE DUMMY. My biggest regret. Not because ' it doesn't look very nice', my boy can have whatever he wants to make him happy. But for when it slips out of his mouth in the middle of the night. You try poking a dummy into a teeny little mouth that's frantically searching for gold in the pitch black when you are half asleep, thank god for Next to Me cots. Ps just sniff the dummy when Bubs has been sucking on it, baby breath is my favourite.

The strange noises my Arthur makes. Grunting, farting and squeaking, all through the night. Are you kidding me?! Arty's cough used to be the funniest, cutest thing I've ever heard, now I just think it's dramatic and unnecessary. Not to mention, Dear Son sleeps with his eyes open from time to time so it's hard to tell if he is actually asleep.

And finally... the night feed. Something people warn you about. I was convinced this wouldn't bother me. Now when I try to restuff the dummy back into my Son's mouth and he immediately spits it out, I know it's time. Please no... not yet. The amount of times I have almost broke my neck stumbling down the stairs half asleep to make his bottle. Formula powder everywhere, actually found it in my hair once. I am so very grateful that Arty has only ever wanted one feed in the night, and almost always goes straight back to sleep. There have been a few times he's stayed up for a further 3 hours, looking at me completely wired and ready for chats. You're ready to cry or collapse, and then they give you that little cheeky smile, and nothing matters. All is forgiven.

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The ever changing shape and size of my boobs

In all honestly I've always been someone who may have fancied the big, rounded, perfect boosums created by the hands of a surgeon. The last 10 months has changed my mind. Thank you Dear Son, Arty Rowe.

Early days of pregnancy

I've been gifted with all I've ever wanted, big, hard titties, fabulous! Katie price eat your heart out. Actually let me go back and emphasis the word HARD. I can't roll onto my front or side when sleeping. I can't even enjoy a firm hug without wanting to burst out in tears, because they are that sore.

Mid pregnancy

Shit! They get bigger?? Right now I'm hibernating at home because I don't have bras that fit. Good ol' Baby Daddy kindly suggests he goes out and fetches what I need. What he comes back with can only be described as new comfy hammocks for Stanley the border terrier to relax in.

Those last weeks of pregnancy

My boobs are huge, but a slightly floppier version. There they rest beautifully on top of my bump. Think carefully about colours of clothing ladies, my pre baby BBQ I spent the entire day with tissue resting under my boobs soaking up the sweat. Not to mention everytime I tweak my nipple I am producing milk. #partytrick

Hospital

He's here! Breastfeeding was a bag of laughs - not. Something that I always thought was so dam easy, most definitely wasn't! I had Aaron, and two midwifes trying to tweak and stuff my nipple into Arty's mouth. In the end I was just walking around the hospital room for three days in just my pants.

Week 5 of breastfeeding, we decide it's not for us, well Arthur decides it's not for him. I felt completely heartbroken, but now I know it was the right decision for us both. After weeks of pornstar tits and leaky nips, we throw in the towel.

So who's ever just stopped breastfeeding?

I wake up in a daze, my milk supply had soaked through my pads, feeding bra and pyjama top... there I am changing into fresh clothes when I hear Aaron, 'Ellie what the hell is wrong with your boob?! I look down and scream. I have one breast that resembles a shrivelled prune, and the other what can only be described as a water melon! Oh my god, I look like I've had some back street dodgey boob job gone wrong!

Eventually the breasts did revert back to normal. Now they are smaller than the originals, with a few stretch marks underneath, of course. If I'm totally honest, they are my only stretch marks, and I love them, they remind me of my baby boy and the many funny stories my breasts have brought.

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How did it start?

Firstly this not because I am some sort of baby/mum expert, and I am definitely not preaching to anyone! Come and spend the day with me and you'll realise. Sure the neighbours have a field day just watching myself and baby daddy packing into the car with bags, baby and a dog just for a Sunday lunch out.

Don't get me wrong I know some fantastic bloggers, but this was never my intention. And the classic ' mummy blog' is so cliche.

Writing down my feelings was something the health visitor suggested. So that's what I began to do. And those moments that seemed so awful at the time, I read back and now I laugh.

Someone close to me read what I had written, and said I should put them into a blog and share these moments. So this is what I'm doing. Being a mama and having Arty is something I've always wanted, it's hard but it's better than I ever imagined and being honest with yourself and others is crucial.

My life goal is to make my Dear Son happy and proud, just like he makes me everyday.

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Reasons why..

No don't worry I'm not part of some Netflix series where I'm about to take my own life.. YET.

Why I am starting to write about my Dear Son, Arthur William. The classic 'Mummy Blog'. Writing down my mummy feelings keeps me sane, and because most days I'm strapped to the sofa because my son screams at me when we break eye contact.

Why else?

1. Because I can't have a shower without hopping out butt naked just to stuff his dummy back in his mouth. This is normal Mums.

2. Because I spent 20minutes beautifully placing his outfit together, and seconds later, he is sick all down it, AND ME. This is also normal.

3. Because I can't watch more than 10minutes of Xfactor without Arty doing his own version of the Earth Song right the way through, and then he sleeps. This is STILL NORMAL.

4. Because at 2am when I'm trying to nurse him back to sleep after the slowest feed of his life, it's okay to want to chuck him out of the window. (Don't worry - it would be seconds before I went to fetch him, I'd miss him too much). NORMAL.

5. Because quite frankly we ALL feel the same. And because of social media, & other ' perfect mummies' we feel like we are failing and we are not. Keeping sane is an achievement in its self, and if you are managing to even get mascara on in the first two years of their life's, well hats off to you.

Here's why not...

Not because I want to be one of those ' lifestyle blogger mums' using Arty as my latest accessory. I continuously take pictures of my babe because I'm totally obsessed, not to captured him strategically in his 100% cashmere sweater that cost me a bomb or his new Gucci booties.

And most definitely not because I know it all. To be honest, I thought I would kill this 'mum life'. Some days I do, and some days I don't. What finally made me feel okay was actually speaking to other mums, hearing their funny stories, phew... it's okay I feel like this! Actually none of us have really 'got this', because we aren't a wrinkly little ball of love weighting 10lb-ish, and there is actually no such thing as a baby whisperer, you are just good at guess work.

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First time Mum

Weeks 1-4, a breeeeeze, we were killing that parent life. That’s because Arty was so small, and was still getting used to the world, also being 3 weeks early. Then we entered week 5, kid gets a cold, he discovers what he likes, he knows mine and Aaron’s smell and he cannot be fooled. Honestly, the hardest weeks, but you are quickly rewarded with moments of pure happiness.

Here we are at Week 9, and we are back on a roll, smiles, laughing, talking in baby language to one another, and finally having more an 1 hour of sleep at a time through the night. Having said all of this, I think those hard days enable you to know them inside and out, and gives you this power to want to do absolutely anything for them, I think I would throw myself of a cliff edge to ensure Arty was happy. Entering motherhood really does turn you into a crazy bitch - isn’t that that right Aaron? 

Anyway, the conclusion is Arty, I love being your Mama more than anything in the world! I sometimes feel as if I turn to mush and my eyes resemble lovehearts just by looking at you, and when I think my heart couldn’t get any fuller.. it does!