Thank you midwives

Everyone knows our NHS staff are heroes.

The work they do every single day often goes unnoticed. You know they are heroes because they would play down what they do.

Recently, the NHS celebrated its 70th birthday.

I have had a lot of dealings with the NHS over the years - when I get poorly I don't do things by halves! But my most recent was when I had Peyton and, honestly, I can't praise the hard work and dedication of the midwives enough.

That first bit of skin-to-skin

My community midwives throughout my pregnancy were great, we built up such a good relationship over the nine months I was visiting them. I actually miss them now I don't see them every couple of weeks! I'm sure they don't miss me, though, I always talked so much I made them run really late for the rest of their appointments...oops!

It was the midwives at the hospital, who helped me during labour and Peyton's birth, that I will be forever indebted to.

As I have previously mentioned, we did hypnobirthing before Peyton was born to prepare us for labour. This is still a relatively uncommon/new thing, and we were aware before going into hospital that many midwives still didn't understand the concept of hynobirthing or the importance of staying 'in the zone'.

When we arrived at York Hospital, just after 7am on Wednesday, June 20, we made sure we gave the midwife (Clare) who took us to the delivery ward our birth plan. It stated, throughout, our requests regarding hypnobirthing. I'd included things like not using the word "pain" and keeping a calm environment. I wasn't sure how it would play out - staff at hospitals are so used to asking people "what would you rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?" I figured they'd still accidentally let it slip.

First cuddles

If I'm being completely honest, she could have asked me my pain and I just don't remember... But I'm almost certain she didn't!

Clare basically let us do what we wanted. We had taken some little LED tea lights to try and create a nice little ambiance in the room and some relaxing room spray. Tom put the tea lights round the birth pool and sprayed the Temple Spa scent around the room and on a flannel for me to sniff. Clare turned the lights down and, honestly, when I shut my eyes (and wasn't having a contraction) I could have been in a spa.

Enjoying myself in the birthing pool...

Half of the time, I forgot Clare was even there. She stood in the corner writing on my notes. I would love to know what she'd written, she was stood there the whole time! She just let me and Tom do our thing, occasionally popping over to check the temperature of the pool or to remind Tom to get me to drink something. She was so discreet when doing my temperature and blood pressure, she didn't interrupt my groove at all. Same with the examinations, she always managed to time them to a T so that I didn't even really notice I was getting out of the pool.

When she noticed my concentration was slipping, and I was forgetting to breathe through my contractions, she did the breathing we had practiced. She had seen me and Tom doing it and joined in with him in encouraging me and reminding me the long, slow breath in and the long, slow breath out. She would count with him and was forever telling me how well I was doing.

Hearing her say that, encouraging me and telling me how amazing I was doing, really spurred me on.

When we arrived at hospital I was already 4cm dilated. By midday, I was 6cm dilated. Clare said that, typically for a first baby, you'd dilate at 0.5cm an hour. I remember thinking that would take us until 8pm until I was fully dilated - and that felt like a long time. I didn't want to wait that long, I wanted her out sooner than that.

Team Kersh.

As it turned out, it wasn't going to take that long. My contractions started coming in thick and fast - and I was struggling to stay "in the zone". Clare kept asking me, in between contractions, if I wanted any pain relief.

"If you need anything for the contractions just let me know," she said.

I'd not had a single thing since my early labour started the previous evening - not even paracetamol. I was so determined we would get our money's worth from the hypnobirthing classes and I would put everything we'd practiced for those months in action!

As the contractions started hitting me harder, though, I opted to have some gas and air. I maybe had it for between half an hour and an hour, before it got too difficult. I wanted to pant using the gas and air, - to get as much as possible - but Clare kept reminding me I needed to continue with my controlled breathing. I couldn't do both, so I sacked off the gas and air.

Clare was an absolute diamond and by 3pm I was fully dilated.

"I might get to see your baby born before I go home today!" She said with such a big smile I thought it would reach her ears!

As it turned out, Peyton hadn't yet made an appearance when Clare's shift finished, despite me having been pushing for a while.

"Liberty, who is taking over, will ring me when you've had the baby if that's ok?" She asked me before leaving.

"Of course," I said. I loved that she cared so much.

Liberty came in and her and Clare did a little handover, before Clare left; wishing us all the best.

Liberty was lovely - very much like Clare just letting me get on with it in my own way.

By the time they swapped shifts, you could see Peyton's head. She was close, but just wasn't quite close enough.

Liberty suggested I get out the pool for my next few contractions so she could watch what was happening when I pushed. As I stood by the couch in the room, Liberty noticed something on one of the pads on the floor. She was concerned that Peyton may have had a poo while making her way out.

She quickly rushed off, poo in hand (not literally, she took the pad!), and Tom and I worked our way through the contractions while she was gone.

She was back no sooner than she had gone and said it was definitely a Peyton poo. This meant she was in distress, and they needed to monitor her and get her out sooner.

Liberty and Tom helped me waddle across the corridor. At this point, I can't remember whether I was covered in a towel or had any clothes on or what - I just remember them both helping me to another room.

Liberty helped get me onto the bed and strapped me onto the machine. Every single thing she did, from attaching the bands to my belly to the sounds the machine made, she talked through with me and made sure I understood what was going on.

As I continued pushing, I could tell Liberty wasn't happy. Every time I pushed they could see Peyton's head, but despite giving it my all I couldn't push her out by myself.

"We're going to have to intervene," she said. "Is that ok, Natalie? We are going to have to do a ventouse delivery."

By this point, I didn't care what they did to me, I just wanted to make sure Peyton arrived safely.

"Does that mean she'll have a funny shaped head?" Was the only thing I managed to say.

"All babies have funny shaped heads but, don't worry, by tomorrow it'll be fine," she explained.

I don't know why I asked about her head. If she had said "yes, she'll have a strange shaped head for the rest of her life, like Hey Arnold" I would've still let them do it just to get her out safely.

Suddenly, the room filled with people. There was a second midwife and another lady who had a tray covered in instruments (not the musical kind!) and all sorts of other medical paraphernalia.

Liberty, once again, explained every single thing to me. She talked me through how they were going to do an episiotomy to enable them to have better access to Peyton and get her out easier.

I don't remember feeling scared or worried or nervous, and that's all down to Liberty. She made sure I knew everything that was going on and kept calm.

A male doctor then entered the room, right as my feet were in position in the stirrups facing the door. Hello, welcome to my birth.

"This is the baby doctor, he's just here to check her over when she's born," Liberty narrated. "He's got a resuscitation table with him but don't panic. We bring them in for every assisted delivery just to be sure, but nine times out of 10 we don't need it."

As the lady brought in to do the assisted delivery got to work, Liberty talked me through everything. She explained how they would attach the cup to Peyton's head on my next contraction when I pushed. After it was on her head, they'd wait till my next contraction and when I pushed they'd suck her head out. Once her head was out, I thought that was it.

"You need to push her shoulders out now, Natalie," Liberty reminded me.

As I mustered up the last bit of energy I had, I pushed her shoulders out.

Liberty grabbed her straight away, wrapped her in a towel and slapped her on my chest. I just had time to say hello before she was whisked away to be checked over.

She let out the biggest squeal as they were checking her over. I think Tom was unsure whether he could go over, so he was stood next to the bed with me.

"Go on Tom, go over and take some pictures," Liberty said.

I absolutely love that she said this, and encouraged him. I could see he was desperate to but didn't know if he could, and didn't want to be in the way. But she made sure we have those precious first pictures of her (even if she does look mightily unhappy on them!)

A few hours later - after all the stitching up and skin-to-skin - Liberty came back and showed Tom how to put on a nappy, vest and sleep suit. After Peyton was dressed, she helped me off the bed, got out my pyjamas and helped me get dressed. She brought me some toast and a hot drink and made sure we were all settled before our parents came to visit.

And then, just like that, she was gone. Her shift was over.

She was like a fairy godmother who came when I needed her most, and then disappeared when everything was completed and everyone was safe.

I honestly could not thank Liberty, and Clare, enough for everything they did during those nine and a half hours in hospital. They were amazing. So supportive of our hypnobirthing, so friendly and so keen to make sure that we were in the know. They didn't want us to be scared, or worried, about what was happening and made sure that we knew what was going on at each stage so that wasn't the case.

Midwives all over the country deliver babies every single day. They go above and beyond the call of duty, often staying on shift longer than required to see the birth of the babies they have invested so much of their time in.

I couldn't have done it without their help, support and encouragement. Our birth plan didn't quite go to plan, but where possible they made sure they followed through with our wishes.

So, thank you to my midwives. Thank you for bringing our daughter safely into the world, for looking after me, and for looking after Tom. We wouldn't be the family we are now if it weren't for you.

Am I old? Or am I sensible?

I had a realisation the other night, while watching Pointless, that I am old. And no, it wasn't watching Pointless that made me realise that.

Okay, maybe "old" is an exaggeration, but I am definitely (more) sensible now.

It was a "celebrity" special - aptly named Pointless Celebrities - and Fern Britton was on it with her daughter. As they swapped places behind the little podium, I noticed what her daughter was wearing.

"My god, her dress is short!" I said to Tom. "You'd almost be able to see her bum if she turned around."

And that, right there, was when I knew. It was so funny because my housemates from uni even messaged our group chat with old photos from uni and we all said how short our outfits were and how we'd never wear anything like that now.

From the age of 17 to around 21, I would have worn that dress Fern Britton's daughter was sporting. I would have probably worn it so that it just covered my bum cheeks. Hell, I sometimes used to wear t-shirts as 'dresses'. I wouldn't have batted an eyelid - the shorter the better was always my motto.

When I look back at what I used to wear, particularly at university, I never, ever wore anything that wasn't short. And I don't regret it, not for one second. But gosh, you wouldn't catch me in anything like that now. I get paranoid when something goes too high above my knees!

But when I was younger, and I felt like the most grown-up person in the world, I was far more confident. Confident about my body, about myself, and about pulling risqué outfits off. I look at pictures from uni where I am wearing leopard print hot pants and I can see how confident I was in my smile, my pose, and my whole body language. And what reason did I have not to be confident? I was happy in myself and, sure, I could pick flaws - but what girl couldn't?

I still have those leopard print hotpants. Not to wear again - I don't think I'll ever see the day I leave the house in them again. But to remind me of how happy and confident I was to wear them.

I remember someone saying to me they were worried if I was "ok" after seeing some of the outfits I wore when I was at uni. I was more than ok - I was so happy.

We're too quick to judge women based on what they wear. I've said before that the argument that a woman is "asking for it" just because she's wearing something short, or revealing, is absolutely barbaric.

I wish I still had the confidence - and the body - to pull off some of the outfits I used to wear. But, then again, I'd look a bit overdressed for walking around Morrisons and sitting in Costa with an iced latte; and they'd just end up covered in baby sick! At least it would make a change from my own...

ABC - after birth, breastfeeding and colic

Since I wrote about my breastfeeding struggles the other week I have had so many lovely messages from people - some friends, some family and some complete strangers. So, thank you, if you got in touch/commented with your own experiences/support.

It's so comforting to know that the difficulties you are experiencing are not unusual and have been felt by others.

Being a first-time mum is hard. Peyton is one month old now and we still have no idea what we're really doing.

Throughout pregnancy you're prepared for birth but not for any of the stuff that comes after. Not just the stuff with the baby, but the recovery your body has to go through too.

After Peyton was born, and I was being stitched up, the midwife showed Tom how to put a nappy on. She came back later after our few hours of skin to skin and showed Tom how to put on a vest and sleep suit while I got myself dressed. That night, when we got onto the ward, Peyton needed changing and I had no idea what to do. How do you get the vest over their head? How the hell do you get their wriggly little arms through the arm holes? How do you get them to keep still while you change a nappy? I had no clue.

I ended up pressing the buzzer and getting someone to come and help me. I felt like such an idiot, I didn't even know how to change and dress my own baby. 'I bet they think I'm a terrible mum,' I thought. 

So when I struggled to feed her as well, I felt even worse. Not only could I not dress or change her, I couldn't feed her myself either. It's so overwhelming those first few hours after having a baby. I couldn't believe this tiny person who I'd felt wriggling inside of me, growing by the day, for the last nine months was finally here. I'd not slept for two days, Tom had gone home for the night and me and Peyton were in the room on the ward on our own. Suddenly I was left in charge of this tiny person who was so fragile, so delicate and so loud when she cried.

Barely an hour goes by when I don't have to Google something. Whether it's how foods I eat can affect my breast milk (I have quickly learnt that strawberries do not have a positive impact on my breast milk and create an awful lot of shit, literally); how we can help improve colic (I must Google this twice an hour hoping someone will come up with some new, innovative technique that works a treat first time and wasn't there the last 50 times I looked! Seriously, anyone has any tips pleeeease hit me up!); how to store my expressed breast milk properly; is she allergic to the cats?; why is she still crying?; does she have reflux?; how do I safely put her on her tummy for tummy time?; are my iron tablets making her unsettled?; why do I sweat so much at night? (apparently postpartum sweating is super common as it gets all that extra fluid out of your body - who knew?!); has she been asleep too long?

I swear, I literally know nothing. I don't know how my mum and dad raised me and my brother without Google?!

Someone gave us a book called First Time Parent and, honest to God, it's the closest thing to a baby instruction manual I think we could have got. It's got everything in there from how to change a nappy (probably should have read it before she was born, in hindsight!) to how to wind them, what to do if you, or they, are constipated, and so much more.

But what about all the stuff your body is going through? Nobody tells you about any of that beforehand.

I've seen videos and blogs before where women have talked about the post-birth traumas, but nothing can really prepare you for the after effects of birth. I had an episiotomy, so obviously have the healing process from that as well as the general recovery of pushing a 7lb 12oz baby out of my foof. There's the anxiety around your first trip to the toilet, the extra long period your body seems to have to make-up for having nine months off, the abdominal pains as your uterus retracts back to its previous size...

I knew it wasn't realistic for you to snap back to your pre-baby body and be in your pre-baby jeans a week after giving birth, but I didn't anticipate it taking so long to at least stop looking a bit pregnant. Granted, a lot of what I have to shift will be general weight gain since I adopted the mindset of "if I'm going to get a big belly anyway I may as well eat what I want and enjoy it"... but still!

I've touched on it already here, but let's go back to breastfeeding for a minute.

We are still going with it and, honestly, it is getting much easier now. She is settling into something of a routine and we both seem to have got the hang of it a bit more. She is still a bit lazy with her latch sometimes, and that makes my toes curl. She can also be super fussy, pulling off and going back on, then off and on and off and on...

On the whole, though, I think we have finally cracked it. I could have so easily given up a few weeks ago, primarily because I didn't know what was happening was normal.

I don't want to take anything away from the community midwives or the midwives in hospital because they do an extraordinary job under really difficult circumstances. However, I do feel they push breastfeeding at all your appointments but they don't tell you any of the realities to expect.

They don't tell you how tiring it is. They don't tell you how frequently they will want to feed. They don't tell you that cluster feeding is completely normal, and doesn't mean that you aren't giving your baby enough milk. They don't tell you that you will pretty much sit constantly with one boob out feeding your baby for the first two weeks. They don't tell you any of the bad stuff - but it's the stuff you need to know.

If you were better prepared, you wouldn't stop because you thought you were doing it wrong/not giving your baby enough milk/your baby wasn't satisfied. Thankfully I spoke to a midwife about what I thought I was doing wrong the morning after a particularly bad night where Peyton just cluster fed for about five hours solid. We eventually gave her a bottle of formula and she guzzled it. I assumed I couldn't give her the milk she needed, but I was wrong. She told me it's completely normal for them to feed like that. And formula top-ups will always be guzzled, regardless of how full they are.

Feeding your baby is a minefield, and it's not one that I feel new mums should be thrown into without the correct information, support and advice. Regardless of whether you choose to formula feed or breastfeed, nobody should be judged and everyone should be supported. Even formula feeding is hard - how much, how often, what kind of bottles, what kind of formula, how long you can let them still go on a bottle after initially starting it... What works for one mum, and one baby, won't work for another. I saw this the other day on a Facebook breastfeeding support group I am part of and really resonated with it...

If you and your baby are happy and thriving, at the end of the day that is all that matters. When I had Peyton weighed at 16 days old she had put on almost 1lb - they were really pleased with her; especially after our feeding struggles at the start. I'm taking her on Tuesday to be weighed again, so I'm hoping for a similar sort of gain then.

On the public breastfeeding front, I feel so good with that now. Tom had this week off work so we went on loads of days out and spent so much lovely, quality family time together. I fed in the courtyard at Nostell Priory, on a picnic bench in the Shakespeare Rose Theatre in York, in a restaurant, in Cafe Nero, and on a bench outside The Deep; amongst other places.

I must add, feeding on the bench outside The Deep came after storming out of the cafe there because everyone was staring at us. Granted, Peyton was screaming as she was more than. ready for some boob, but it was so busy we had to sit right in the middle of all the tables and everyone was staring while I was trying to get her latched on - which made it even more difficult.

Other than that hiccup, it's been a walk in the park since my last post.

Now we've cracked breastfeeding, we've encountered a new battle - colic.

It has been truly awful, but I think we have it under control a bit better now.

The other Friday, she woke at 3am - which is normal. I fed her and changed her and she usually goes straight back down; not this time. She started screaming and crying and nothing could console or settle her. Eventually she went to sleep just before 7am. Tom had gone to sleep downstairs about 4am because he was at work that day. She napped on and off until 9am, woke for a feed and then was crying and screaming without any break from 10am until 10.30pm. If she stopped it was to feed briefly and nap for five minutes. She was clenching her fists, pulling her knees up to her tummy... it was just awful. She seemed in so much pain.

I lost count of how many times I cried that day. It was awful.

Before that horrific day, she used to scream and cry every night from about 5pm until 10pm. After some trusty Googling - I found a great website called Cry-sis which offers advice and support for crying and sleepless babies - I realised it was maybe colic.

We'd bought some Infacol before she was born "just to have in" so we started giving her a drop before every other feed from that horrible Friday. I also slightly adapted my diet, cutting out foods that Google told me could affect a baby. It took a few days to notice a real difference, but now she is so much better. Her wind comes up so much easier and she's much happier in herself. She actually spends time awake now when she isn't crying/screaming and is nice and playful, which is lovely! She's also started cooing and making cute little sounds. She's changing so much everyday, it's amazing.

We are starting to get into a little routine with her now, which is nice. Bedtime starts at 9pm when Tom baths her (I get to have a shower and wash my hair at this point, which is bliss!). Tom would then give her a bottle of expressed milk, as we really wanted him to get that bond of feeding her too. However, the last few nights she has stopped taking the bottle as easily so she has been having her nightly feed from me, instead. She falls asleep between 10pm and 11pm, waking up at 3am/4am for a feed and change. We also like to read to her before bed. She doesn't understand at the moment, obviously, but we're hoping it won't be long till our funny voices and faces when reading will get little smiles from her.

You may also like: My birth story

What a difference a decade makes

I had to renew my driving licence the other day. I got the letter in the post a few days after having Peyton, shoved it in my handbag and tried not to forget about it.

The letter stated my licence needed renewing as I had held it for 10 years (TEN YEARS?!) I couldn't believe. I remember it like it was yesterday applying for my provisional and getting it through the post a couple of months before my 17th birthday.

I'd just finished school and was about to start college.

Here's a selfie from 2008 - proper MySpace!

Note my Beanie Baby in the corner...cute!

As I stood in the Post Office renewing it (I know I could've done it online, before anyone jumps in, but I couldn't remember my login details.) I thought about how much had happened in those 10 years. College, university, graduation, starting my career as a journalist, buying a house, getting engaged, getting married, having a baby... I also thought about how much will have happened by the time I renew next time.

Peyton will be 10 -at this moment in time it seems absolutely ludicrous to imagine having a 10-year-old daughter - and will probably be relishing in all those pre-teen hormones that will either make us best friends or her hate me. She may also have a brother or sister - maybe more than one. But let's not count our chickens before they've hatched just yet, ey.

We'll probably have moved house, too, and definitely will have changed our cars again. Will we have more pets? Ask Tom, he'll say we'll never get a dog, but he may be persuaded.

I've glossed over the biggest shocker, though. I will be 36, almost 37, and Tom will be 37. Late thirties, holy hell.

It literally feels like five minutes since I was 16. I remember, like it was yesterday, finishing school, going to prom, getting my GCSE results, starting college, going on my first night out...

A photo from said night out. Facebook has just informed me it was September 26, 2008.

FYI, my first night out was in Goole and I wasn't quite 17. I remember thinking my hangover the next morning was the worst thing ever. LOL at little young, naive me. I remember sitting in my dad's car after he picked me up from my friend's the next morning drinking fizzy Lucozade and eating a Mars Bar while my head felt a bit fuzzy and I was tired from little sleep. Oh to have "hangovers" like that again!

10 years ago was also when Tom and I met at college.

This picture isn't quite 10 years old, but near enough!

It's amazing to reflect on all of the things that have happened in the last decade. Hell, at the moment it's crazy enough looking at everything that's happened in the last 12 months.

Part of me wishes I'd started this blog years before I did, so I could relive some of my thoughts and feelings from college and early uni days. Even now when I look bucket some of my earlier blog posts it makes me smile (and sometimes cringe) at what I used to write about. Reading them back, I can so clearly remember my mood and the place I was at in my life when I wrote each post. I love how the topics I write about have evolved as things in my life have changed.

My blog has always been like a diary for me - or just really cheap therapy - and often the big things happening in my life are the things I write about most. Right now, it's baby-related. Of course, when I was 21 and graduating university I had no reason to write a blog about breastfeeding! Other things I've covered in recent years have included Slimming World, wedding planning, pregnancy...

I've never had a specific genre for my blog. By that I mean it's not a place solely for fashion/beauty/make-up tips (I know sweet FA about any of those things so definitely wouldn't be able to string enough sentences together to create regular blog content!)

In 10 years time I can't wait to read back on all these posts I am writing at the moment and remember everything that's happening in my life now. The things that, at the time of writing, seemed to significant and important but, in reality, will be long forgotten in a decade's time.

The queue in the Post Office was really long, incase you didn't guess.

Also, on a side note, getting a new driving licence means my photo no longer looks like I have a floating head. Yes, 16-year-old me went to the Post Office to apply for my first licence and get my photos taken in a cream turtle neck top. This, against the creamy/white background in the booth and the black and white effect on the photo, made me look like a floating head on my licence. It was always a source of a joke from someone when I showed them my ID.

The trials and tribulations of breastfeeding in the first fortnight

By the time Peyton was 12-days-old, I was ready to throw the towel in with breastfeeding. I was exhausted both mentally and physically.

Since we brought her home from hospital, at one day old, she has been fed from the boob. And let me tell you, it's bloody hard work.

All the way through being pregnant I said I wanted to breastfeed her. I have always admired people who have breastfed their babies and loved seeing well-known public figures normalising it and not shying away from the fact they fed their babies on the boob. I also always loved seeing women feed in public. It's something I've always been apprehensive of, but I'll come to that later.

I also thought that breastfeeding was the easy option, compared to formula feeding. LOL. How wrong was I.

I thought it would be easier than feeding her formula because it meant no sterilising, no waiting for water to boil and then to cool, no re-heating bottles, no faffing about, no need to worry about going out for the day and forgetting a bottle...

As it turns out, breastfeeding is bloody hard work. And I commend all women who try it, persevere with it and manage to feed their little ones for long periods of time.

When Peyton was born, during our initial skin-to-skin contact I tried breastfeeding her straight away. She wasn't having any of it. She just cried and cried and cried, getting really, really distressed. She just wasn't latching properly and the more I tried, the more distressed she got. We tried through my first night in hospital, with four different people coming to try and help. Each of them told me something different, which made it even more confusing, harder and distressing for us both. In the end, she ended up having the pre-made bottles that we'd taken in with us as an emergency "just incase breastfeeding didn't work".

I felt so relieved when she was guzzling away on the bottle as I could tell she was really hungry. Each time she needed a feed, I tried offering her the boob. We did skin-to-skin beforehand and tried every different technique to get her to latch, but nothing worked.

When we got home the night after she was born I tried to feed her myself again and, to my amazement, she latched on straight away and guzzled away for 20 minutes on each side. I couldn't believe it!

We spent our first weekend at home practising breastfeeding. Basically every visitor to our house got a glimpse of boob/nipple over those first few days. I've learnt it's the quickest way to clear a room sometimes, to say she needs a feed and to start unfastening my top! Her latch still wasn't great, though, and I was starting to get quite sore. A trip to the midwife, armed with pictures and videos of how she was feeding, and I felt loads more confident.

That was, until day 12. Day 12 was horrible. It has been so, so, SO hot and, on the hottest of days, Peyton has been feeding every 45-60 minutes once we pass dinner time. Day 12 was the worst day so far. I was absolutely exhausted - both mentally and physically. In between feeds - that little break I got - she was so hot and over tired that she just couldn't settle. From 9am until 7pm she had two small 30 minute naps and that was it. It was about 4.30pm when I broke down and cried.

I didn't feel like I was producing enough milk for her, and that's why she was feeding so regularly. I couldn't go for a lie down to recharge my batteries, because no sooner had I put her down and got upstairs then she needed feeding again. I was getting so sore again and so, so tired. After she finally fell asleep at 7pm, I felt so much better. I needed the rest (and to keep my boobs to myself for a bit!) I also felt stupid for getting so upset - knowing full well it wouldn't help either of us.

I joined a group on Facebook that was for breastfeeding support and suddenly realised there was nothing wrong with me or Peyton. Everyone on there was saying the same thing - it was the heat. I felt such a weight lift off me and didn't want to let this shake my new-found confidence.

I was trying to build myself up to feeding in public, as I knew that would be a big hurdle to get over.

Last Sunday (11-days-old) we went to Howden Show and I fed her on a bench at a park in Howden. It was probably the quietest place in the whole town - we didn't see a single person. Two days before that we'd been to the seaside and I fed her in the pub we had lunch in. I wasn't overly confident at getting her latched on in public, and we were sat right in the middle of loads of people, so I took her into the baby change to get her latched on. Once she was happy, I threw a muslin over us and carried on feeding outside.

By day 13, I'd turned a corner and fed her in public in the tea room at Yorkshire Lavender. The following day, I fed her in Starbucks (completely on my own this time!)

As I was feeding her, another lady with a pram approached me and asked if she could sit with me and feed her baby, too. Everyone who passed us looked at us and I was worried they'd think we were some sort of breastfeeding mafia taking over the corner of the coffee shop. Instead, they all smiled our way. I felt so much more confident right after that, like I could really do this breastfeeding thing.

The first two weeks have been really hard, don't get me wrong. There have been times I've wanted to just give up and reclaim my boobs as my own, but I'm so glad I've persevered through it. It's still really hard. Today has been another tough one, with it being so hot again. I think I must be one of the only people in the country desperate for it to cool down and rain!!