Admitting you're not ok is sometimes the hardest part

If you follow me on Instagram you might have seen my post earlier this week about Maddox’s christening. And talking about PND.

I’ve never really openly spoken about PND; not even to my nearest and dearest. I didn’t even tell Tom - because I didn’t need to. He knew; and he actually ended up telling me. 

I only told my mum after I’d been to the doctor (who wasn't any help whatsoever, but I’ll come back to that later). 

And other than that, I don’t think I ever described it as what it was. 

I remember vividly walking with my best friend one day. We’d walked from Goole to Howden to go to Kitchen (a regular weekly jaunt) and we were walking back when I told her I felt really overwhelmed by everything at times and like I was struggling. And that was as much as I said. 

I think I was still in denial at this point, not realising that those things were postnatal depression. 

What sparked me to talk about it was Maddox’s christening. So we had him christened on Sunday and then went for Sunday dinner after. We had just 16 of our family and friends there and kept it really small. 

Peyton’s christening was the complete opposite. It was like our wedding all over again with 70+ people there.

In the run-up to her christening I was dreading it. I wasn’t excited. All I could do was worry about her and the day. I was anxious she’d kick off all day with being passed around, worried she wouldn’t nap, worried about how I’d feed her, anxious about how many people were going to be there… just about everything. And when it came to the day, I hated every second. 

I couldn’t relax, I didn’t want to socialise, I didn’t want to be there. I couldn’t wait for it to be over and us to go home. 

That was the November, and it wasn’t until the January that Tom finally said “I think you’ve got postnatal depression”. 

Some days I felt like I was drowning, like I was constantly trying to keep my head above water. Even the most simple of tasks felt like they were impossible. 

I remember one day trying to put the food shop away after it was delivered. Peyton was crawling around and crying, wanting to be picked up. She kept picking up bits of the shopping and either trying to eat through the wrapper/smashing it on the floor. Her crying got worse and worse as she was fed up of waiting. I was just getting the fruit out of its bags and putting it in the fruit bowl and could feel my heart rate going ten to the dozen. I had the plastic bags to put in the bin but the bin lid wouldn’t open. I kept hitting the lid but nothing was happening. She was still screaming. My head felt like it was about to explode. I burst into tears and finally the bin lid opened. I threw everything in and slammed the lid so hard, letting out a big scream in the process. The slam, and my scream, were so loud that Peyton stopped crying in shock. Then she looked at me and started crying even worse. It was horrendous. I remember picking her up and taking her into the lounge and just cuddling her, both of us crying. 

I felt like the worst mum ever. I was trying so hard but nothing ever felt like it was right. 

Just thinking about it now, writing it all down, is making me fill up (I’m sat in Kitchen on my own, enjoying a peaceful drink while Maddox is on his settling in session at nursery, so not the best time to be starting to cry haha!)

Anyway, when Tom finally realised something was wrong, I phoned the doctors. I cried down the phone to the receptionist as I said I wasn’t coping. She was lovely and so understanding. She booked me in to see a doctor and, when I saw her, I cried again. I sat and sobbed as I tried to explain what was wrong. It was hard because I didn’t know - I just felt like I couldn’t cope. I was overwhelmed most days. I resented Tom for going out to work and getting to do his own thing while I was caring for a baby on my own all day. But then I felt guilty for feeling all these things and like I was a failure for not enjoying motherhood and not relishing in every moment. 

But nobody tells you that you won’t love every second. Some days are fucking hard. Like really hard.

I spilled my heart out to this doctor, who gave me various options of medication. However, because she wasn’t fully qualified, or something, she couldn’t prescribe me anything and I’d need to see another doctor and tell them everything again. I felt crushed. I didn’t expect to be “fixed” straight away, but I’d hoped I’d come away with something to help.

She gave me some leaflets and recommended I look up PANDAS on Facebook for support. And told me to make another appt. In the meantime, she said that I should talk to my family and friends and get some support. 

I didn’t want to talk about it because I didn’t want to admit it. I had only just been able to admit it to myself, admitting it to others was out of the question. 

I never did go back and make another appointment. I confided a lot in Tom, and made sure I made more time for myself. Then it wasn’t long til I was going back to work, and that helped me massively. I finally had something for me. I had adult conversation, I spent days with my friends, I laughed, I used my brain, and I got to do something I felt good at. 

Over time, everything got easier. Peyton got easier too, which helped. Suddenly I didn’t have any of those thoughts or feelings any more. And it felt great. But I felt so sad that I’d missed enjoying so much of those early days with her because of how I felt.

This time around it’s been totally different. Tom was so aware of how I felt last time so went above and beyond to be there for me and to share everything so I didn’t feel the same way again. 

I haven’t felt anywhere near as blue as I felt the first time. I’ve loved every second of my maternity leave. And, typically, it feels like it’s gone by ten times faster. 

I worried that I might find things hard again this time, if not harder. Especially as I haven’t had anywhere near as much “me time” away from Maddox as I did with Peyton. Tom and I have only been out once for a meal without either child, whereas we did it loads when Peyton was a baby. And I’ve only left him a handful of times. With Peyton, my mum used to have her all the time when I had nail appointments or even just so I could go to the supermarket. 

Sat writing this, on my own in a tea room, feels so weird. Maddox has basically been joined to my hip for the last seven and a half months. He’s come to my hair appointments, my nail appointments, my blood taking clinic, the doctors with me, Peyton's gymnastics classes… 

He starts nursery in less than two weeks and is there having his first solo settling in session today! By this point with Peyton I’d basically weaned her off the boob onto formula and was fully ready for her to start - and me to go back to work. I think, again, that was my PND as I was trying to rush through every stage to get to the next in the hope that everything would be less foggy.

This time, I haven’t even thought about weaning him off the boob, and I definitely don’t feel as ready for him to be leaving me. But I know he’s ready and I know he’ll love it.

It’s selfish of me to want to keep him with me because everyone else needs to experience what an absolute delightful ray of sunshine he is. 

I start a new job when he starts nursery, which I’m very excited about! 

I’m so glad my maternity experience has been so much better this time. Although sad that I couldn’t have felt like this with P. 

To anyone else who might be feeling like I was, I really recommend finding someone to talk to. Someone you’re close to - or even someone you’re not. Often it’s easier to open up when the person doesn’t know you that well. 

I’m always here if anyone needs to offload or vent. I wish I’d taken up people’s offers of that before, then maybe I wouldn’t have got to feeling as bad as I did. Because it wasn’t just about feeling overwhelmed and like I couldn’t cope and just like everything was against me, I felt embarrassed. And there’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s ok not to be ok! And admitting you’re not ok is sometimes the hardest part. 

What's it like going from one to two?

 After "how was your labour?" this is the question I get asked all the time!

In all honesty, I have found it so much easier than going from none to one.

When Peyton was born, every single thing was new to us. Feeding, sleep, winding, changing nappies, bath time, putting on a vest... We second guessed ourselves on every single thing. Was she getting enough milk? Is it normal for her to be sick like that? Has she got colic? Has she got reflux? 

Nobody tells you any of the things you really need to know when you have a baby. Nobody tells you about the fourth trimester, which is arguably the thing that all new parents need to know the most about!!

I read a post on Facebook the other day by a breastfeeding consultant, who said that the most common time new parents went to her for help was between three and eight weeks. She listed all the things that I remember finding/thinking/worrying about with Peyton.

I found those first couple of months with her so hard. I didn't know if anything I was doing was right. I didn't know if breastfeeding was going ok, questioning whether it was 'normal' for her to feed so frequently or only want to fall asleep on the boob.

When I read back on some of my blog posts from those first few months I feel a bit sad. Sad that all I really focused on was the things I was finding hard/struggling with, rather than all the amazing things we were experiencing, that she was teaching us, or that she was doing.

This time, it couldn't be more different.

I mean, Maddox is a completely different baby altogether. He is so chilled. But I am wondering if that is, mainly because, I am more chilled.

I know what I am doing, I've done this before. I'm not worrying about every little thing he does and I'm not questioning myself.

When I read that post on Facebook, I realised I didn't have any of those worries or thoughts this time around. I trusted myself and I trusted what we were doing.

Don't get me wrong, it's been difficult at times feeling I need to split myself in two. Thankfully Peyton has been amazing at understanding that Maddox needs me sometimes and she hasn't been jealous, which has made everything so much easier.

I still make sure we have time just me and her, and involve her in everything as much as possible so she feels like she's helping rather than left out.

Jumping from one to two was something I was worried about when pregnant, but I really needn't have been.

Maddox has slot right in, it feels like he has always been here. He's super chill and is so, so happy. This last week we've started getting loads of smiles; although Peyton always gets the best ones!

He's now six weeks old and I honestly can't believe where the time has gone. 

We're starting to get into a little bit of a routine now and I just can't wait to enjoy all the milestones that are still to come. The newborn baby bubble lasts such a short time, but I'm so glad I spent it this time around soaking it all in rather than doubting everything I was doing and worrying.

Maddox's birth story

 Wow. It's been a while.

I have so many draft posts saved on here, many that I wrote while pregnant, but never actually finished or posted. This post isn't about being pregnant, so I won't dwell too much on that, but it was a very different experience to my pregnancy with Peyton.

I've not written on here since February 2020. When Covid happened and lockdown hit, like many, life just went crazy. We were both working from home full-time with a toddler home 24/7. I just didn't have the time to spend on this and, also, didn't really know what to write about. 

So, here I am. Breaking my way back in to share with you my birth story. I mean, some of you might have not even known I was pregnant again, let alone had had another baby! 

One of the first things people have asked me when they've seen me since giving birth has been 'how was your labour???' I genuinely love hearing and reading other people's birth stories. So, if you're as interested as me, settle down with a brew and some biccies - cos it's going to be a ride!!

Maddox Jack Kershaw

Born Tuesday 18th May 2021 at 12.46am weighing 8lb 2oz

I'll give you a brief (lol, who am I kidding, probs won't be brief!) overview of my pregnancy before we dive into the birth.

We found out I was pregnant again in September 2020; two days before my sister-in-law's wedding to be precise. Obviously we didn't tell anyone until that was out of the way, so avoiding the fizz all day was very difficult! Thankfully I'd volunteered to drive so got round it that way! I was already much further along than when I found out with Peyton, so quickly got a date for my 12 week scan - which was the same week as my birthday.

Because of Covid, Tom wasn't allowed to be with me at the scan. He had to stay outside in the car. So, prior to the NHS scan, we went for a private scan. I was around 10ish weeks when we had it and Tom was able to be there. Neither of us wanted me to go to the first scan alone incase there was anything wrong and I had to find out alone. At the private scan, the sonographer said she could see, what she thought was, a bruise in my uterus. She said it could often happen when the embryo implanted itself and it wasn't a worry to her, so we thought nothing more of it.

Nothing was mentioned at the 12 week scan, other than baby looked happy, healthy and "wild" - another wild one, excellent! I had a little cry when I saw baby on the screen then. Not sure if it's because I was on my own, but I just felt such a sense of relief that everything was ok. The weeks leading up to it had been pretty crap for some of our closest friends and family, so we felt something was sure to go wrong with us; and almost felt guilty that we could be happy while they were all going through so much. (That's what one of my draft posts is about!)

Fast forward a few weeks to Remembrance Sunday (approx 16 weeks), and I had a bleed. It was the Saturday morning when I went to the loo. I kept checking every few minutes afterwards, and there was nothing more. So I thought no more of it. However, Sunday morning was the same; but more. You can imagine how I felt. I told Tom, and he was convinced something bad was happening.

I called 111 for advice, given that it was a weekend and I wasn't yet at the point where you could ring maternity triage. Honestly, I wish I hadn't. The initial call handler was really helpful as I explained to her, through my tears, what was going on. A doctor called me back almost straight away and I really wish I'd got his name because I would've registered some form of complaint against him/recommendation he works on his communication skills.

He basically told me that there was nothing anybody could do. Because of Covid, the Early Pregnancy Unit wasn't seeing anyone for bleeding unless they also had severe pain; which I didn't. He said that "it sounds like it could be a miscarriage but you just need to wait two to three weeks then take a pregnancy test to see if you are still pregnant". I had no words and just burst into tears. I'm no medical expert, but surely there must be a better way to word that?! He could obviously tell he'd been a nob because he quickly added: "Or you can ring triage for a second opinion". Yeah, cheers pal, you better believe I will.

I rang triage and they said that, unfortunately, what he said about not being seen by Early Pregnancy Unit was right; but agreed he should have picked his words better. They said they would speak to the unit when they opened that morning and ask them to get in touch with me and, while looking at my case notes on the computer, spotted that I was rhesus negative. That basically means I have negative blood and if I have any episodes of bleeding or bumps to my tummy need to go in for an AntiD injection. 

Early Pregnancy Unit rang me back shortly after and asked me to go in for my bloods taking and injection and said that they had a space for a scan that they could book me into to check everything was ok. We all bundled in the car and headed to York. Tom wasn't allowed in with me again, cos of Covid, so I went by myself. He took Peyton to McDonald's and the park while I was there. I think it was the longest few hours ever for us both. But, everything was fine. They said they could see no reason why I was having the bleeds but said baby was happy and healthy; which was all that mattered.

At 20 weeks, my scan showed the reason for the bleeds. I had a blood clot at the back of my uterus. I think this is what the private scan picked up when they said it was a bruise. I was already under a consultant due to blood loss in my delivery with Peyton, so he kept a close eye on me with extra appointments and scans to monitor the situation.

He said there was a chance my waters could break early, due to the clot, and it was likely I'd go into labour early, too (remember this remark when we get further on!!!)

I had a few more bleeds after then; one on Christmas morning - far from ideal, Every time I had one I had to go into hospital, alone, to be checked over and have my AntiD.

Because of the clot I also had more growth scans. Towards the end the rules changed and Tom was allowed, once again, to come to appointments with me. So that was nice. But, other than getting to see the baby more, the growth scans were a complete and utter waste of bloody time! Not only did each appointment leave me sat waiting for hours, but the scan itself said something different every time.

I was told he was going to be huge, that his weight had dropped, and then again he was going to be big.

Three days before my due date they told me he was already 9lb 2oz...! So as I went more and more overdue I was panicking about having a 10lb baby!!

So, onto my labour. Having done hypnobirthing with Peyton, I decided to do a refresher course this time around. We opted for an online, digital course which covered everything again.

I was pretty relaxed about labour again. Probably because we were trying to get our house move sorted at the same time, so didn't have time to worry about giving birth!

I ended up going past 40 weeks, which I was surprised about. Not only because of my consultant's words, but because I felt like I was carrying so low. I had a sweep at 40+4 (Tuesday11th May) and, that night, had a bloody show. The next morning I felt like I'd lost my mucus plug, so started to get excited things were starting! 

That afternoon I was woken up from my afternoon nap by tightenings. Now, I'd been having Braxton Hicks for agesssss, so I didn't get too excited initially. But when they continued to come every 10-15 minutes, even when I changed position/moved about, I wondered if it meant things were getting going. I text my mum and we agreed we'd take Peyton to their house after nursery just incase we needed to get to the hospital in the night. We dropped her off and went for a walk when we got home, still getting the tightenings every 10ish minutes.

The Thursday morning I was disappointed we'd not had a hospital dash in the night. We walked to Lidl (for the bakery) and things felt like they were getting closer together and a little more intense. However, when we got home, everything stopped completely. I said to my mum we'd get Peyton as it seemed pointless her staying there if nothing was happening. She dropped her home, but soon took her back after she spent 45 minutes crying saying she didn't want to be at home and wanted to go back to nana and papa's house!!

I picked her up on the Friday as, still, nothing was developing. Just the same pattern as the previous two days. 

I had another sweep on the Saturday (15th May) morning and the midwife said I was about 3cm dilated and fully effaced. It sounded as though my body was ready, baby just wasn't! We discussed induction and agreed to book me in for the Monday if nothing happened over the weekend.

Had we not been moving house that week, I probably would've waited and just let baby come when he was ready. But I was very aware of the fact the move was a week away and I didn't want to be in labour/giving birth while we were meant to be moving. 

Nothing happened over the weekend, so on the Sunday evening we went for tea at my mum and dad's house before leaving Peyton there. I felt really emotional driving home. I think it's because I knew the next time I saw her she wouldn't be the baby anymore and would be a big sister. But also because I didn't know how long it would be until we saw her, not knowing how long being induced and my labour would take, but also if I would need to stay in hospital after the birth.

On the Monday morning, I rang the ward at 7.30am and was told to go straight in. We had been worried that Tom might have to leave if I didn't go in early enough. Because of Covid partners of those being induced had to leave at 8pm if you weren't yet in established labour. So I was hopeful that, by then, things would have got started. Especially as I seemed so close already!

We arrived at the hospital just before 9am and took all our luggage in. Tom said he felt like he was at an airport as he pulled the bags through the car park.

We got to the ward and were shown to our room. It was really nice! It had a bed, sofa, birth ball, and a bath. I was put straight on the monitor so the midwife, Sophie, could see what was happening. I was having tightenings while I was on it, which she could see on the graph when she came back in. When she examined me she said I was around 2-3cm dilated. She was unsure what course of induction to take, and I did make it known I preferred the most natural ways possible (mainly wanting to avoid the hormone drip!)

We decided on the gel, which is basically the hormones needed to kickstart labour put directly onto the cervix. She put it in and we settled down and got relaxed. Well, I say we got relaxed, we watched Line of Duty! Not the most relaxing! I bounced on the ball and tried to stay as active as possible. I noticed the tightenings getting more regular, but were still not at the three in 10 stage.

I had lasagne and chips followed by apple crumble and custard for my dinner, watched Pretty Woman, and ate a load of pick n mix sweets. I was loving life. I must say, this side of being induced was great. I liked that we were able to get Peyton organised and settled as well, rather than everything being a mad dash.

They'd decided to move me to the labour ward at 4pm to have my waters broken, so we gathered all our stuff together. My preference was for a water birth, so we asked for a pool room. When we got over there we had a lovely room with a pool and a bed in. When I had Peyton, the room only had a pool so meant any examinations etc had to be done on the sofa - which wasn't the most comfortable! 

This room also had amazing lights and a light projection show. Everyone who came in said how 'zen' it felt. I was loving life.

My waters were broken around 5pm and, wow, what an experience that was. With Peyton, my waters broke when I was in the pool. So I didn't really get to experience, as such, what it was like.

This time Laura, the midwife, broke them for me with a little plastic hook thing. It was the strangest sensation. As she pulled the hook out it was like Niagra Falls. My waters literally shot up and out and across the room. Poor Laura was bloody soaked!! Honestly it was so strange. Every time I moved more gushed out, and with every contraction I felt more too. 

But it definitely got things started. My contractions started feeling more intense, with me needing to focus on my breathing in between, and were definitely getting closer together. My preference throughout labour was to remain as active as possible - so bouncing on the ball, moving around the room etc. I didn't want to get into the pool too early, like I did with Peyton, and didn't want to just be lying on the bed. 

However, it soon became apparent with each contraction that baby was struggling. His heart rate was dropping and taking a while to get back up. Laura (the midwife) suggested that I try sitting on the bed to see if that helped, which it did. So we moved the bed into a sitting chair position and that was me. I think this was around 6pm.

Shortly after, and with his heart rate was still dropping with the contractions, it was decided to put a clip on the top of his head to monitor him directly. This meant that I had to stay on the bed, and couldn't move around. But also meant I wouldn't be able to get in the pool. But this was fine. I was far more open-minded about this birth, having seen how my 'plan' went awry with P's labour. This time I didn't have a birth plan, I had preferences. 

When I was examined again at 8pm I was found to be 4cm dilated - which meant active labour. Hallelujah! The midwives swapped over around this time so Laura went and Chelsea took over.

From then, my contractions really felt like they were ramping up. I was really having to focus on breathing through them and was finding them way more intense. I was even starting to moo through them, which is the weirdest, most involuntary sound ever. It really felt like I must have been dilating quickly. 

I was trying to keep my energy up so was making sure I was eating and drinking plenty - flapjack was my go-to snack! I remember at one stage Chelsea coming back in whilst I was mid-contraction eating a piece of chocolate flapjack. She couldn't believe I was sat eating halfway through my contractions!

At 11pm I was examined again and was fully expecting to be, like, 8cm dilated. But no, still 4cm.

I won't lie, I was disappointed. I didn't see how I could still be the same as 3hrs earlier when everything felt so intense and close together. But I tried not to get too disheartened. 

Chelsea suggested that we try the hormone drip to try and get things moving along a bit. She said she knew that I didn't want to, but thought it might help get me going a bit quicker. I agreed, and we decided to just introduce a tiny little bit at a time to see if it would help.

By midnight, baby's heart rate was struggling again. A doctor came in who'd been watching the machine from outside and said he was a bit concerned. He asked if he'd be able to examine me and 'tickle' the top of baby's head to see if it helped his heart rate pick back up. He did, and it can't have had the desired effect because he came back wanting to do something else.

By this point, I was absolutely exhausted. My attempts at eating and drinking to keep my energy up didn't seem to have worked as I just felt completely burnt out. I was falling asleep between contractions, even though they felt like they were coming on top of each other. Those brief seconds where I wasn't having one I was straight off.

The doctor came back about 12.15ish and asked if he could do a procedure to take some blood from the top of baby's head to test his oxygen levels. He said it would show one of three things which would indicate whether things were ok or if they needed to get him out ASAP via a caesarean. 

“I have too much to do this week to have a caesarean!!!” I said to Tom.

To do this procedure, he needed me to lie on my side. I'd already tried moving onto my side to see if it would help baby's heart rate during the contractions and everything felt so intense I couldn't do it. But I dug deep, rolled over and, once again, held Chelsea's hand through the contractions. The doctor confirmed I was still 4cm (thanks!) and did what he needed to (it was like a smear test, essentially!)

Once the procedure was done, I rolled back onto my back. And this is where things really started to ramp up. It must've been about 12.30am by this time.

All of a sudden, the pain felt unbearable. It was a totally different type of pain to what I had been feeling all night. It felt like it was all in my bum.

I remember this overwhelming urge to poo, and apologising to Chelsea and Tom because all I felt like I wanted to do was poo. (Sorry if this is TMI!)

I started getting upset with myself, saying I couldn't do it. All I could think was 'if this is what it feels like at 4cm, how can I get to 10cm?'

Chelsea assured me that this was my body doing what it needed to, and I now realise this was the 'transition' period. But, at the time, I couldn't see how I could do it.

"I really feel like I need to push," I remember saying. Chelsea told me to listen to my body and push if I needed to. At this point, the doctor came back and asked if I wanted any pain relief, like an epidural. Chelsea told him to leave as the baby was coming so it was too late.

She told me she could see his head and called for another midwife to come in for the delivery.

I was absolutely exhausted and wasn't sure whether I could muster the energy or the strength to push him out, but somehow I did! And with just a few pushes his head was out, followed quickly by his shoulders. And before I knew it, he was on my chest; eyes wide open, looking around. Literally minutes after I was still just 4cm, I'd stormed to 10cm and he was here!

He didn't cry, he was just super chill taking it all in.

I couldn't believe it. It felt like such a different experience to Peyton's birth. There was barely anyone in the room this time, compared to with Peyton. When she was born she came out screaming the joint down, whereas Maddox was so quiet. And with Peyton I literally held her for a split second before she was taken away to be checked over. Whereas, with Maddox, I held him for what felt like hours before he was taken away to be weighed.

"What time was he born?" I remember asking about an hour later - I'd lost all track of time.

"Today!" Tom answered.

Well no shit, Sherlock!!

12.46am, Tuesday 18th May. 8lb 2oz.

11 days after my estimated due date. 

Born at York Hospital.

He came out with his hand up by his face so I had a little graze which required two stitches, but that was it. I hiiiiighly recommend doing your perineum stretches in the weeks leading up to your due date, ladies. It made the world of difference this time - no need for a cut and no tear!!

Just a few hours later I was up and about and in the shower. After that, I walked to the postnatal ward pushing Maddox in his little crib. With Peyton, I couldn't walk properly for at least 24 hours! And had to be wheeled around to the postnatal ward.

I was obviously glad that I felt better down there after giving birth this time, but more so because of the rules regarding partners visiting on the postnatal ward. Tom was only allowed to come in for a two-hour visiting slot which he had to ring and book at 9am. I didn't even need to look at my watch to know it was 9am as the phone on the ward started ringing off the hook as desperate partners tried to book their slot to come in. It was really sad.

If it had been like that with Peyton I'd have been stuck as I couldn't get out of bed or do anything by myself. Tom was back at 8am the morning after she was born, which was a godsend! 

We were hopeful that we wouldn't have to stay in this time, which we probably wouldn't had he not been born in the middle of the night. But because they needed to do his hearing test and other newborn checks before we could be officially discharged, it was recommended we stay as opposed to having to come back the next day.

As it transpired, we were out just after dinnertime anyway. So it wasn't too bad at all.

We were straight home to get settled and introduce him to his excited big sister.

Again, my birth wasn't exactly as my preferences had set out; maybe if we go for number three I'll manage a water birth then! But I had gone into everything much more open minded this time. I knew that things could take a turn, and as long as me and baby were ok they could do what they wanted. 

I managed to do my entire labour without any pain relief, not even gas and air this time. Even when I had my wobble right before he was born, I managed to calm myself, focus and breathe through it. I remember Chelsea saying to me "you've literally just breathed a baby out!" I know she probably compliments every woman who she helps to deliver a baby for, but she really made me feel like superwoman haha!

So, there we have it! I'm now a mum-of-two. And, in true mum-of-two style, it's taken me 17 days to write this hahahaha! Hopefully it doesn't take you as long to read it...!

Lots of love,

The Kershaws

xxxx

You may also like: Peyton's birth story

I'm not the mum I thought I was going to be

Before Peyton was born, and even before I got pregnant, I always imagined the kind of mum that I would be.

I thought I'd be this patient, calm parent who spent her weekends baking, doing arts and crafts, and snuggling on the sofa reading nicely.

In reality, I probably couldn't be further away from that.

My patience is as thin as my postpartum hair and any moments of calm are quickly disturbed by Peyton trying to climb on the kitchen table/pull the cat's tail off/opening the oven door/turning the washing machine on/throwing her plastic toys at the TV screen. I shout way more than I thought I ever would and lose my temper quicker than she loses her socks.

I don't think I've baked anything since she was born. I fondly remember, when I was overdue, baking cookies one afternoon (and eating them all to myself, but that's neither here nor there) and thinking how lovely it would be to do that with Peyton once she was here.

But nope, I barely have time to make us a proper meal some days let alone spend hours baking (and then cleaning up the subsequent mess afterwards).

I always said that I wouldn't let her watch TV while eating or things on our phones while we were out. I swore I'd never let her eat snacks while she was in her pushchair, and definitely wouldn't let her eat things out of the shopping on the way around the supermarket. Oh, how naive I was.

I don't think a meal time goes by at home where she's not sat craning her neck in the highchair in the kitchen trying to see the TV in the lounge. I think she thinks that the TV is broken when it isn't turned on, because it's literally on all. the. time.

And when we're out, especially if it involves her sitting still at a meal, we always resort to the good ol' CBeebies app and plenty of episodes of Bing, Teletubbies, and anything with Justin pissin' Fletcher. It's the only thing that stops her climbing out of the highchair/trying to run amok/kicking off; and even then it only buys us half an hour.

It's all well and good having all these 'ideals' in your head before coming a parent, and all the things you would and wouldn't do, but in reality it's all so much different.

In reality, I'm often chasing myself around so much that I catch myself coming back. Between working full-time, making sure there's food in the fridge/cupboards, keeping the house clean and tidy, keeping on top of the ever-growing washing pile, organising childcare and making sure Peyton's always looked after, and looking after Tom (that's a full-time job in itself!), I sometimes have to resort to leaving Peyton to watch CBeebies just so I can get anything done.

I saw an article recently about someone who'd been on This Morning saying kids under a certain age (I want to say three, but I can't be certain) shouldn't have any screen time as it's bad for their health/development/something else that sounded important.

It riled me. Not least because I wish I lived in the perfect world that she must, to not have to resort to Justin Fletcher parenting your child for 20 minutes so you can have a poo in peace, or quickly put a load of washing on and empty the dishwasher; and to be able to take your child out for a meal and not have to stick the iPad in front of them just so you can wolf down your food before the inevitable kick-off because they want to run around the place causing havoc.  Imagine.

The comments on it were, surprisingly, all in favour of this woman and her screen time rules. I thought more people would be of my viewpoint given the fact that, you know, they were watching This Morning and taking time out of their day to comment on a social media post...!

Despite my reliance on CBeebies to get me through day-to-day life, and my inability to throw a Saturday afternoon baking activity into the mix, I don't think I've strayed too far away from my pre-parenting parenting ideas.

I am totally that mum who waits for the given opportunity when I can get my phone out and show off the most recent photos and videos of Peyton, I talk about her all the time, I think about her all the time when I'm not with her, I constantly worry about her, I love her so much that I genuinely can't imagine ever loving another child the same, and I'm totally and utterly obsessed with her. I love when she comes over to me for a cuddle and a kiss, I love when she walks down the street and reaches up to hold my hand, and I love the way she stands at the end of her cot waiting for me to go in and get her on a morning.

Yeah, she can be an arsehole sometimes and already, at not even 18 months old, knows what exact buttons to press with me (and the TV remote!), but she's such a funny, clever, little character and my world wouldn't be the same without her.

Ok, maybe it would be less expensive, less tiring, less busy and way less chaotic, but how boring would that be?!

So even though I'm nothing like the mum I thought I was going to be, I still think I'm doing a pretty good job.

Travelling with a small person

When I told people we were going to Dubai as our first family holiday, I was met with a few faces of concern. I could see them panicking for me at the thought of an eight-hour flight with a one-year-old.

I was worried, too, I'll admit.

Since stopping breastfeeding she's stopped being such a cuddler. It's like she punished me for taking away the boob by taking away cuddles!

She stopped sleeping on me and wouldn't sit still at all on my knee. I wasn't sure how the flight would go, especially in terms of sleeping, given that she likes her own space for that now.

I was also worried how she'd cope having to sit on mine or Tom's knee; because she's under two so didn't get a seat of her own.

However, I remained calm and confident that all would be well; I knew if I was stressed she'd pick up on that and would be a nightmare.

I was well prepared for our travels. Probably too prepared.

We were able to take a piece of hand luggage each, so I rammed three bags full of toys, changes of clothes, Calpol sachets, teething granules, nappies, wipes and snacks.

And I took wayyyy too much.

But, I would always rather have more than I need than be caught short.

Before we went I bought a 'Keep Em Quiet' bag (here's the link if you want a nosey).

They basically put together bags for little ones for travelling filled with snacks, toys, books etc. They're all based on your child's age and there are different sizes depending on the length of your journey.

I went for the long-haul one which was £19.99. Every one is different, but mine had:
- Stacking cups
- A plastic toy giraffe
- A soft shark toy
- A little bag of snacks
- A wooden caterpillar
- Plastic velcro food
- A 'surprise' toy (it was a rubber duck inside a plastic egg)
- Books
- A Bing colouring book
- Colouring pencils

I have a feeling there was something else, too, but it's that long ago now I genuinely can't remember.

However, I felt it was good value for money. I packed everything, along with other small bits I had bought (a slinky, a little wooden car) and was prepared to get something new out every so often.

In reality, she wasn't at all bothered with toys, really. While we were away, the toys were a lifesaver. She played with them in the room while we got ready and took them to the pool/beach, too. However, for the flight itself, she wasn't too interested.

The iPad was an absolute godsend. I'd downloaded loads of her favourite CBeebies show on the BBC iPlayer app and we watched a few of these as everyone else was boarding.

I got some milk from a coffee shop at the airport to give her during take-off, to help with her ears, but misjudged how long we would be taxiing for and she'd downed it before we'd even left the ground...! She was fine with take-off, though, and just snacked through it (a trend for the whole flight).

Within minutes of us taking off she was asleep.

She slept for almost two hours, I think. I was amazed. And uncomfortable.

My arm went to sleep with her and it took a good while for me to get the feeling back in it.

I managed to watch (almost) a whole film while she slept.

She woke up and we had about five hours left. Five hours which she spent eating.

Honestly, I've never seen the girl put so much away.

I took Quavers, Ella's Kitchen snacks, Kiddylicious wafers - the lot. She ate a whole bag of the melty puffs, a whole pack of melty sticks, two packs of Quavers, two packs of the Kiddylicious wafers... I was actually starting to panic that we'd run out of snacks before we landed.

Thankfully, we were ok!

She was good as gold the whole flight, and I was so relieved.

She got a bit crabby at times, but that was mainly when she didn't want to sit still any longer. Long flights are hard for adults so they must be even more difficult for little ones.

I found that taking her on little walks around the plane helped, and the cabin crew were amazing with her! So were all the people sat around us, actually.

When she was having a whinge nobody glared or was rude or looked like we were a nuisance.

There was a lady sat across from us who kept passing Peyton things to play with and another lady who started playing peek-a-boo with her. And the couple behind us, bless them, had to endure her stood up poking her head over the seat shouting "iya' for a good chunk of the flight. They must've wanted the world to open them up when they walked into our hotel reception and saw us in the queue in front of them. They were lovely, though, we actually kept bumping into them loads!

Where we were sat on the plane was absolutely ideal - we had loads of leg room. I made a little play area for P with some of the toys we took but, as I said before, she wasn't really interested in them. She'd entertain them for a few minutes but really just wanted to be off wandering.

However, the extra leg room was ideal for travelling with a small one. It meant, at times, I could sit on the floor and she sat on my seat. The couple next to us had a little baby who was around 11-ish months and they got a bassinet for him to sleep in. It clipped onto the wall in front of us and was basically a cot for them. If Peyton hadn't been so big (and heavy) I'd have got one for her too, but she was a bit past that.

Emirates were great, though. When we boarded we got a little pack with wipes and nappy cream and stuff in, and also a little blanket and soft toy. They have baby milk on board and baby food pouches. The only downside was, because she was under two, she didn't get a proper meal. But, we didn't pay for a seat so I have no complaints about that! Had I wanted any pouches for her, they would've been able to give me as many as we needed.

All in all, I wouldn't be put off about travelling long haul with a small person. Our flights were through the day time which worked ok. When we were booking it I was insistent we didn't want night flights. We booked it in January when she was still up countless times in the night and the thought of her sleeping through seemed too good to be true. However, now, night flights would have probably been better as she would have just slept the whole way, as opposed to sleeping for a fraction of the time.

Despite this, it wasn't bad at all. She didn't have any major meltdowns, she didn't cry for long periods, and she didn't cause any scenes. She was a bit grumbly when we were landing in Dubai but I think she was shattered by this point, and I had no provisions for her ears for landing.

On the way back, she was a bit more unsettled and restless, but me and Tom were, too. Despite this, there were hardly any tears. Still, she had two sleeps of around an hour and fell asleep an hour before we landed. Despite her burning her hand on our food when it came out (this resulted in a good 15 minutes of screaming) she was as dreamy as she was on the way out.

Incase anyone is set to travel with a small person, or is just nosey like me and wants to know what I packed in my hand luggage, here's the comprehensive list...
- Nappies (x10)
- Wipes (1 pack)
- Nappy sacks
- Cotton wool pads
- Sudocrem
- Blanket
- Muslin cloths
- Change of clothes
- Clothes for arrival
- Snacks
- Bib
- Cup
- Bottle
- Calpol sachets
- Teething granules
- Spoon
- Changing mat
- Toys and books
- iPad

I definitely had too much.

To the point where, on the way back, we said we'd only take two pieces of hand luggage.

We had too many nappies, too many toys, and just too much stuff in general. It was hard knowing which bag we needed for what, and I could tell Tom was regretting sitting on the aisle seat and being the one having to get everything out of the overhead lockers for me...!

However, you can guarantee if I'd gone streamline she'd have had the shits and we'd have all ended up landing in Dubai wrapped in Emirates blankets because our clothes were destroyed and we ran out of nappies.

My top tips would be:
- Pack toys they've not seen before
- Take lots of their favourite snacks - snacks saved the flight for us
- Take a change of clothes for you as well as baby (the lady next to us, her little boy projectile vomited all over her on the way back...! I was so thankful it didn't happen to me because I had no change of clothes for myself!)
- Download a variety of their favourite episodes to keep them distracted
- Try and stay calm. Travelling in itself can be quite stressful and make people anxious, but it's even worse with a small person, too. But I was prepared for every eventuality and kept calm, and everything was plain sailing.
- Give Calpol half an hour before take-off (it helps with the pain of their ears)
- If you can, ask a coffee shop to give you some warm milk in their bottle for take-off (again, helps their ears)

I feel like I've rambled on about a load of absolute bollocks there, so sorry if this isn't the most exciting blog you've ever read.

It's taken me long enough to write, you'd think I could've made it a bit more exciting - but nope!

Basically, don't be put off by long haul flights with a little one because, honestly, it's nowhere near as bad as you think.