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

Let's talk body confidence

And let's start by saying, I have very little at the moment.

On a scale of 1 to 10, I'm probably around the 3 mark.

All through my pregnancy with Peyton I struggled with my body. At first it was getting used to having this little bump, then that little bump suddenly grew to an incredible size and I felt like a whale. I was forever the subject of comments about my size and it really, really got me down.

We went for a maternity photoshoot at the start of May, over 8 weeks before Peyton was even due, because I didn't want to be any bigger for the photos. I quite like the one above. I requested we try some silhouette ones and I was really happy with those.

We were very careful which ones we picked when it came to choosing them. Tom, bless him, just let me pick them as he know how much I hated my body when I was pregnant.

And it hasn't got much better now.

When Peyton was six weeks old I went back to Slimming World and the weight started dropping off me. I put on over five stone while I was pregnant and, within a few weeks of being back at Slimming World, only had around a stone to go to be back to the weight I was when I got pregnant. I carried on going, following it the best I could, until November. Then, it just got too difficult to go to group each week. I could never stay, and I didn't like paying £5 each week just to get weighed; when I could just do that at home. I told myself that that's what I would do, carry on at home and weigh myself each week.

Well, as you can probably guess, that didn't happen. Nope.

In fact, I only went and got a new battery for the bathroom scales two weeks ago.

Since we booked our holiday it has made me more determined to try and shift the rest of the "baby weight". I mentioned this in another post, but how long can you call it baby weight for and not just say it's cos you're a chubster who can't stop eating?

Peyton wasn't even two weeks old here. This shirt was my lifesaver in both pregnancy and the early days after she was born. I deffo still looked around six months pregnant for about three weeks, at least.

My problem when I'm at home is snacking. I am so hungry all the time and would rather snack on something naughty than fruit. I have a fruit bowl, and fridge, full of healthy snacks (which would probably fill me up more) but always opt for something more calorific.

I've made a conscious effort to stop snacking unnecessarily and, instead, have a glass of water. If I'm still hungry after that, I stand and stare at the snack cupboard, open and close the fridge a few times, look at what goodies are in the bread bin, then remind myself of our holiday and storm out of the kitchen (closing the door behind me so the snacks can't get me!)

I'm about a stone away from where I was when I got pregnant, and just under two stone away from my original Slimming World target weight (I'm going to start referring to it as my wedding weight, because I don't think it's a real, achievable target anymore!)

If I could get back to where I was when I got pregnant - which was after indulging hard on honeymoon - then I will be happy. If I can drop below that, then I'll be even happier.

However, it's not just about the weight. I need to learn to like myself again. I used to have so much confidence. After losing the weight for our wedding, and keeping it off for Soph's, I loved my body. I was a fan of high-waisted jeans and a crop top, and didn't hesitate about wearing a bikini on honeymoon.

Sob.

Double sob.

Now, the thought of wearing a bikini fills me with absolute dread.

I have so many horrific, horrendous stretch marks all over my tummy and hips. I know a lot of women have stretch marks and they're a sign of my body growing Peyton and I should be proud of them, I know all of that, but I don't like them. I don't like how they make me feel when I look at them, I don't like how they feel when I touch them, and I don't like myself when I look in the mirror and see them.

Some are really deep, some are still really dark, and, even just writing this about them, it makes me want to cry.

I really wish this was one of those posts where I sit in front of the mirror in just my underwear and show off all my stretch marks and say "here I am, I am proud of every mark because they helped give me my gorgeous girl", but it's not. Maybe one day, but not today.

Yes, I am so proud of my body for growing my baby for nine months, for keeping her safe and for delivering her; but I am really not loving what I am left with. And that makes me really sad to admit.

So, even if I can shed a bit more weight, I still probably won't be comfortable or confident. And I highly, highly doubt you will see me in a bikini when we are back in Dubai.

Here's a pic from Dubai when we were on our honeymoon - do you think I could get away with recycling these from September? 

I had a tattoo done on my hip in 2014 - what a fucking stupid idea that was. I clearly wasn't thinking about what it would be like after having a baby because, bugger me, it looks nothing like it did before.

Before Peyton it was a cute little infinity sign intertwined in a love heart. Now? Well it's just like some black marks mixed in with, you guessed it, more stretch marks.

I lather on bio oil, creams, lotions and potions and nothing seems to work.

God, this is really depressing, I am so, so sorry. If you're still reading, you'll probably need a drink now.

This was my last bump picture and it was the day before my due date - eight days before she was born! 

And this was the first time I fit into a pair of pre-pregnancy jeans - 8 weeks postpartum.

Part of me wants to ditch the scales and say I'll just watch the change in myself and stop obsessing over the numbers in front of me. However, I know I need that motivation in the numbers to keep me going. If I don't, I will have a bad week but convince myself that my jeans are looser (they're not, Nat, you've just not washed them in over a week!) or that my legs are looking slimmer.

We are going to two weddings this year and I really, really want to feel nice about myself at them. I don't want to feel conscious about having to breathe in all the time, or having a muffin top hanging over. I don't want to look at photos and hate them.

I want to feel as good as I did at my best friend's wedding.

It was the most beautiful, beautiful day for the most gorgeous couple.

Look how young we look!!!!!!

I've become so critical of myself. My favourite comparison at the moment is that I look like a potato. I say it now without even realising. I'm so, so harsh on myself.

And do you know what? I don't want Peyton growing up hearing that. I don't want her growing up hearing me saying negative things about my body and my appearance all the time. Because then she'll think it's normal and she'll start saying negative things about her body and her appearance.

I remember at primary school thinking I was fat and trying to put myself on a diet. I stopped eating cereal for breakfast and would just have a Nutri-Grain (even now I still can't eat them because they remind me of that time!) I used to throw away my packed lunch at school and not have any dinner because I wanted to lose weight. This was at primary school. I must've been 10? Maybe not even that.

I do not want that for my daughter.

So, I need to work on myself. When Tom says to Peyton "aw doesn't mummy look beautiful" I need to stop replying "no, mummy looks disgusting" and I really must stop talking about my "disgusting" tummy.

I have tried to boost my self esteem myself. Most days I was just wearing gym leggings, a t-shirt and baggy jumper. Whether I was staying home, going out - that was my go-to every single day.

I actually quite liked this photo because it made my legs look slim. It's all about the angles haha!

And this one made my arm look slim.

I've put a stop to that now and make myself get dressed properly. Even if we aren't going anywhere I will put on some jeans/jeggings, I will do my hair and I will put on some make-up. I have tried to take more selfies again, too. This sounds ridiculous, but stay with me.

I used to be partial to a selfie, but not anymore.

However, I've found if I take a photo I see myself differently. I almost see the old me again.

I bought this pair of 'mom' jeans with a voucher I got for Christmas and, sometimes they're not the most flattering, but they did the job ok here.

I don't see the frumpy mum with the saggy tum that I often see when I look in the mirror. I see pre-baby Nat who loved to fill her social media feeds with pictures of herself.

It's all about the angles.

I really am trying to get my confidence back. If you follow me on Instagram you've maybe noticed I've been partial to a few more selfies of late. I need to see myself through less harsh, critical eyes. If someone was speaking about my best friend the way that I talk about myself I would punch them. So why is it ok for me to be so horrible about myself?

Anyway, I will try and share my journey to self-love with you wherever possible. Maybe next time I'll be able to talk about my stretch marks without wanting to burst into tears!

And if a selfie a day helps me along the way, then so be it!

Reflecting on 2018 - a year of firsts

2018 was pretty incredible.

I said it about 2017, what with my hen party, my best friend's hen party, us getting married, my best friend also getting married, our honeymoon, finding out we were having P... but 2018 topped that.

I always knew becoming a mum would change me, I just didn't realise how much. I've always been maternal and have always been so excited to have a baby and start a family.

2018 just fulfilled all my dreams and wishes. It was incredibly hard, don't get me wrong. Whilst my pregnancy was quite smooth sailing compared to how others have it, I did struggle being pregnant. I struggled with how much my body changed; and how rapidly. My size was a big issue, not only to me but to other people it seemed. People seemed to find it okay to comment on how big I was and pass judgement on how far along I looked, how big they thought my baby would be and when they thought I'd give birth, because "surely you can't go to full term if you're that size already".

It was horrific and sometimes it really got me down.

My body is still something I struggle to accept now. I hate my stretch marks, my saggy belly, my ginormous boobs... I have found myself being really critical of my body, something I got out of the habit of doing a long time ago. I really must stop, though. Not only for me but for Peyton. I don't want her to overhear me saying how much I hate my body and her to grow up thinking she has to feel the same way. I don't want her to think she has to conform to these unrealistic images we are drip-fed every single day, brainwashed into thinking are real life when, in reality, there's a hell of a lot of editing and filters been applied to the person before us.

I'm so thankful that I didn't grow up in a world with social media. MSN, MySpace, Piczo and Bebo were about as close as we got but even they weren't as readily accessible as it all is now as we didn't have internet on our phones 'back in those days'. I really want Peyton to be body confident because I know that, no matter her shape or size, she will be beautiful.

Right, enough of the deep shit! Back to reflecting on 2018!

Our first daughter, our first child, born June 20th. She was one week overdue and it was the longest week of my entire life. I won't go into my birth story again because I've gone into that, at length, before. If you'd like to read it again here is my version and here is Tom's version.

From there, it was my first birthday as a mum; her first bonfire night; her first trip to Selby firework display; her first time meeting Father Christmas; her first holiday; her first foods... all the firsts have been incredible.

She managed to squeeze one more first in, too, just before 2018 ended - her first tooth!

Yep, that's right, our baby girl has an actual, proper gnasher!

I spotted a dark hole on her bottom gum the weekend before Christmas and said to Tom I wondered if a tooth was on its way through. On Christmas Eve I could feel something bumpy on her gum, where the hole was, and by Boxing Day it had come through enough to be able to see it!

It's bloody sharp for a teeny, tiny tooth. Thankfully she hasn't bitten me while I've been feeding her, but I can sense it is coming. Each time I go to feed her my toes curl as she latches on in anticipation for the bite.

Her first Christmas thankfully wasn't ruined by the arrival of her tooth. She was still in great spirits; so much so that she was having way too much fun to nap at all during the day so went a steady 14 hours without any kip. Needless to say that she started to wear out around tea time and bedtime was welcomed when it came!

It was so lovely her first Christmas. We all went to my mum and dad's - both my family and Tom's. We did the same last year and my dad built a massive table to fit us all around.

It was so nice to be all together again this year, especially with it being Peyton's first Christmas. Her little face when she was presented with all her new toys was amazing. I could see she didn't know what to play with first.

Our house now looks like an off-shoot of Smyth's Toy Store, there are toys everywhere you look. Yet, despite all of that, her favourite thing to play with is a packet of Haribo and the tv remotes. She could have hours of fun with a bag of sweets, bless her!

2018 is going to take some serious topping. We've nothing even firmly planned yet for this year. We would like to go on our first family holiday abroad, so I expect in the coming weeks we will look into that and try and get something booked. Towards the end of the year I expect we'll maybe be starting to discuss/think about a brother or sister for Peyton (although it does heavily depend on how she is because if she's an absolute sassy diva nightmare we are waiting until she's older!) Before we can even think about baby number two I think we would probably need to look at moving house. We could stay where we are now with another baby but it would be way more cramped than I would like.

Suddenly 2019 feels like it's going to be filled with a lot of stress...!

Forgetting all of that for now, I'll worry about that when the time comes around, 2019 will see our baby girl have her first birthday, no doubt her first steps, her first word(s), her first day at nursery... there are still so many firsts that we have to look forward to; and I cannot wait!