A Day in the Life, of a Newborn

So you guys know how it is, right?
One day you find a nice lady, and you decide to make her your home. You even come up with a sort of a pet name for her - Home Lady. Everything's going swimmingly!

And then one day you wake up, and the walls are closing in on you. Like, actually physically closing in on you.
Hey, Home Lady, knock it off! Please? Look, I'll stop playing my music so loud. And I won't put any more posters on the walls, honest.
But she insists on going through with it, and next thing you know the world is a bright, noisy, cold place! Luckily, you've been clever enough to let out some rope behind you so you can find your way back, but the Big People have spotted it and they actually cut it right there in front of you! You make a note to add it to your list of complaints should you be able to find a supervisor.

And you know what, the next 24 hours are not gonna be easy either.
First, one of the Big People puts these things with writing round each of your arms and legs. Then, every time you fall asleep, they wake you up to see if they're still there and still say the same thing. Really? You think maybe they fell off while I was rock-climbing and I just asked the nearest counterfeiter to hook me up? Unlikely.

We are not even gonna talk about how it feels to basically have tar come out of your butt. Just, no.

Later, while you're just lying around looking at everything within 10 inches, the thing in the middle of your face explodes!! Yes, it explodes. The aftershocks run through your whole body and you're sure the Big People will finally step in and help.
Alas, no. Even Home Lady just smiles and says 'cute'. What the-? She's taking a picture? My face just damn near fell off and she thinks it's a Kodak moment? You've changed Home Lady... :(

Oh here comes another Big People. I wonder what she wants? She's taking my socks off while saying nice things to me. Weird, but whatever. What's that? She's putting something in my mouth, it's so sweet and tasty. I LIKE this Big People. She's super- OH MY GOD SHE STABBED ME IN THE FOOT!! OUCH! Now she's trying to make it better by squeezing it. You're just making it worse you amateur, bring me back to Home Lady or else!

There is no way I'm staying in this weird place. I had a good thing going all by myself - I don't need any of you Big People around so just leave me alone.

Oh hello again, Home Lady. Oh a snuggle. That's better. And she's singing that song about the rain falling like a memory. Makes no sense to me, but I still like it. She smells kinda sweet and warm actually. And she's soft and squishy. And I really like when we get to hold our cheeks together and she rubs my back.

Well, ok, maybe I'll give this *yawn* place another chance. Maybe it'll all be ok in the... Zzzzzz

Baby brain

So, baby brain.

Is it real? Could something as simple as progesterone cause a woman to become more forgetful? Are heightened tiredness and distraction during pregnancy a more likely cause?

I have no idea, actually.

All I know is that it affects me (and those around me – sorry for all the cold dinners Hubby!) in every pregnancy.

Mostly it’s fairly simple things. A pair of glasses found nestled in the fridge or the wardrobe is a great relief. Until I wonder what that means for the eggs or T-shirt I’d been carrying at the same time.

There was the day that I tried and failed four times to simply put a chicken into the oven for dinner. There are many, many instances of my putting the dinner into the oven, but not actually turning the oven on. There are evenings when we eat quite late in my house.

But the story I tell most people when they ask about baby brain is one from when I was pregnant with Little Man.

At the time, I drove the best car in the world. A 94 Toyota Corolla. I loved that car and still miss it terribly. The only problem it ever had was caused by me. While pregnant I simply could not remember to switch the lights off when I got out! And I’ll be honest, this bothered me. That little beep when I opened the damn door was another reminder that I was losing my mind. Remember, at this stage I couldn’t be sure it would go back to normal after Little Man was born.

So, every time I got into the car I’d drive along thinking “Turn off the lights, turn off the lights, keys out of ignition, turn off the lights”. This was WAY less effective than I hoped it would be. It had a failure rate of nigh on 100%. Not ideal, you’ll agree.

And then one day, I drove to the Spar in Citywest on my lunchbreak. I parked the car, opened the door and… silence. In your face stupid beep! I was a functional human being who was entirely capable of turning off lights after all!

My happiness was short-lived. In the time it took me to get out of the car and close the door, I’d lost my keys.

Checked pockets.

Nope.

Looked in handbag.

Nope.

Resigned self to rooting through overly-large handbag properly.

Wallet onto roof of car.
Two novels onto roof of car.

Emergency novel onto roof of car.

Still no keys!

And then, a good Samaritan came along. “Here missus! Are ya lookin’ for your keys?”

Thank heavens! He can see them, that means I must have dropped them on the ground. I thank him profusely while looking around my feet and under the car.

“Eh, no love, it’s just that… well your engine’s still running.”

It’s hard to tell who was the most embarrassed. The poor man really felt sorry for this incredibly round woman who was clearly an imbecile. I thanked him quickly and we went our separate ways, both I’m sure, thinking of the silly story we’d be telling later on.

And tell the story I did. Repeatedly. Hubby and I rolled it out on a regular basis, to much hilarity.

Until one day, when we told a favourite uncle, Ciarán, what had happened. Like everyone, he laughed and threw his eyes up to heaven and sympathised with my plight. And then he quietly, casually, asked one simple question “So had you actually turned off the lights? Cos if the keys were still in the ignition, it wouldn’t have beeped.”

I looked at Hubby, horror stricken. And I guess we’ll never know!

Pregnancy myths

So I've been catching up on Grey's Anatomy and I was quite amused by the way they've been showing Meredith Grey's pregnancy.
Christina noticed the pregnancy because of Meredith's 'massive boobs' as well as the fact that she's been crying at the drop of a hat. Totally Hollywood, right?

Real pregnancy is completely different. I mean ok, my maternity coat is fine on my tummy and won't close over my boobs, but that's probably a coincidence, right?

Anyway, a typical day in my life is nothing like Meredith Grey's sobfest.
Take this morning: It is perfectly reasonable to have a little cry because my laryngitis means that baby is not getting to know the sound of my voice right now.

And honestly, who *wouldn't* have cried after driving an hour to the hospital only to discover she'd left payment for her ultrasound at home?

Also, tears of joy when looking at 'textbook' images of the four chambers of your child's heart? What am I, a stone?

Still, I smiled so hard on my way back to my car that my face actually started to hurt. Definitely a good sign. I beamed and wiggled my head along to the radio on my drive home. The epitome of reasonableness.

And then, at the Red Cow, a white van in front of me crashed into the estate car in front of it. Well, that's clearly unfair. I mean, there I was ten feet away, full to the brim with joy and these two people had just had their day ruined! So I shed a little tear for them. Maybe two. Look, who actually *counts* tears anyway?

So yes, I think Hollywood has a long way to come in depicting the realities of pregnancy. Silly melodramatic scriptwriters! It's almost enough to make a girl cry...

Childhood friends

There is a childhood friend that I've neglected in the past few years. One I'd almost forgotten I ever used to love. The passage of time, the geographical distance between us has led us apart. And yet I know that my stalwart friend is still there, patiently waiting. Making friends with others, being an important part of their lives, and always being ready to embrace me once more when I return.

This friend is the King Oak in Charleville Forest. Somewhere between 400 and 800 years of age, it has been climbed on, sat on, wept on, and transported happy children to unending adventures.

When I was too young to go on school tours like my older siblings, my Dad and I would pack a lunch (ok, it was an iced bun in a blue tupperware box) and head off for an adventure to Charleville. Just the two of us. Our first port of call, always, was the King Oak. Gnarled and majestic to an adult, to a (short) four year old it looked as giant as anything could possibly be. Obliging old friend that it is, it has two branches spread out quite low over the ground - absolutely perfect for even smaller kids to climb aboard the horse, train, whale... whatever their imagination called on it to be that day.

Even in my teens, my sister and I would walk to visit friends on the far side of town, and then we would go for a picnic (ok, a bottle of Cola and whatever ice-cream was in fashion at the time) and just sit and chat by, or on, the tree for hours.

I will bring my kids to see my friend the King Oak. They will climb, and I will worry. They'll jump, and I'll catch them. They will hug the tree, and I will smile, and hope that one day they bring their own kids to visit our family friend. And hope that he'll still be there, waiting patiently.


The King Oak in Charleville is currently in competition to win the title European Tree of the Year. Being a tree, it probably doesn't care if it wins or not. But it's nice to think it allows us to remember our friend again, and to honour him in some way. You can vote here http://www.treeoftheyear.org/?lang=en

Breast Cancer BS

Banana my goddamned backside! People are AWARE of breast cancer. We don't need games, and pink umbrellas and branded bottled water to be AWARE that cancer is there, that it can be deadly.

We need money for research, for treatments, for cures. We need to save lives.

We do NOT need giant TVs in the breast-screening waiting room in St James' hospital, and for 'fun' games to 'go viral'.

Put your money* where your mouth is and make a difference.


*The Irish Cancer Society in no way endorses my rant.

Enquiring minds

I've posted before about the varied topics of conversation Little Man and I enjoy on our journey home from crèche. (Little Lady tends to take a backseat to these chats, and flourishes more in one-to-one situations)

While answering the endless questions can sometimes be a challenge, on days like today I find myself wishing that our journey was just a little longer, just to see how far our conversation could travel too!

First, we started with why baby kangaroos (wallabies really) hopped away from us at the animal park.
- It was in case we stepped on their babies by accident, I explained.
- What would happen if we stepped on little baby kangaroos?
- Well, they'd be hurt and would have to go to the vet.
- But kangaroos don't have telephones so who will call the vet for them?
- Probably us or the park ranger.
- Do kangaroos not know that we're not bad guys?
- No, it's very hard to tell who the bad guys are sometimes.
- Well, if I see a bad guy and I know he's not a good guy I will shoot him with my Black Widow gun and the Black Widows will poison him and he will die forever and not hurt baby kangaroos.
- That's a good idea.
- Why are the clouds hiding the moon?
- The clouds are being blown in front of the moon by the wind.
- But why can I not see the moon?
- Because the clouds are closer to us than the moon is.
- Why is the dark black?
- .....?

Happy Anniversary to me!

For the second time in a week, Hubby has forgotten our anniversary.

Today is the 9th anniversary of us moving in together for the first time. Last Thursday was the 5th anniversary of a positive pregnancy test when I was expecting Little Man.
I know. I can't believe he forgot them either.

But, being the amazing wife that I am, I have decided to forgive him.

Instead of tears and recriminations, I'll gently remind him tonight at home as we prepare our dinner. He won't say much, he's that stoic sort of man. But he'll give me a tender kiss on the cheek, and a gentle hug, and I'll hear the words he simply doesn't need to say out loud:
"Oh my darling wife, we'll get you the best help money can buy..."