Sexy cow

Went into town today with Neil and Albie. I left them in Costa so I could run a few errands and felt as free as a bird spending my life savings in 'Boots' and, what better, treating myself to new underwear. Yes, that's right, more nursing bras....
As I walked down to see if M&S had started stocking any bras with more thought gone into the design than a pair of long-johns, 3 lads walked past me, whistled and said 'nice arse'. I'm not sure if they were being tongue-in-cheek but I have been working out very hard lately and I thought that maybe, just maybe, they might have meant it. Well, I say I've been working out but what that actually entails is running on the spot in my own living room for 30 mins next to a moses basket, after wasting a ridiculously long time customising my own avatar.
I find it a little bit wrong somehow getting wolf-whistled as a mum. I feel like mothers should have a little more respect than that, like the kind you'd give a war veteran or something. Of course, I am in no way comparing myself to a war veteran, but I feel like I've just done something extraordinarily hard that deserves something more. On the other hand, the opposite sex still finds me attractive and I'm a little relieved that having a baby hasn't turned me into an ogre.
This is one of the things that I'm struggling with the most; my identity as a woman has been flipped on the head, like I've been slapped in the face with a giant sized nursing bra. Am I to be seen as attractive, or as a mother? Am I aesthetic or functional? I still want to feel good about myself; I want my husband to still find me attractive; I want to go out on a night out and feel good in a dress without the need for giant hug-in pants and I want to choose an outfit based on what looks good and not what is practical. I've noticed a lot of mums go to the extreme and either become some sort of 'glamour mum' or else find the thought of juggling another 'job' of choosing outfits and colour coordinating clothes so impossible that they just give up and go out in the equivalent of a brown paper bag. I'm not sure which category I fall into yet as I feel like a mish-mash of a young woman and a dairy cow. Still, at least I can still get a wolf-whistle, which would make me feel a little bit better if I weren't holding a carrier bag full of beige maternity bras.

I'm a failure.

Based on diary extract 19/4/11 (Albie 3 months)

I decided to try and breastfeed again last night - stupidly. True to form, I fed him for the usual 10 minutes before he kicked off and fussed and fussed. By the second time I was in floods of tears. I'm a failure. Neil took over and gave him a bottle and told me to get some sleep.
I rang my mum today and she was very sympathetic which is what I needed to hear. I feel like I need to hear it from her that it's okay to find things hard.
Neil left for football and I tried to feed him again with little success. I felt so fed up. I nearly rang Neil and told him to turn straight back around.
How can something so 'natural' be so hard? I'm perplexed how a phrase such as 'breast is best' came to be. No doubt it was invented by mothers with tiny angel babies who feed perfectly.
We decided to get a curry tonight to feel sane. We even got to watch tv for an hour before Albie kicked off for the night again. Still, it felt like a treat because that's what we used to do at weekends. It made me feel like I'm actually having one.

Don't call me Daisy

Based on diary extract 18/4/11 (Albie 3 months)

I feel like a bloomin' dairy cow. This combination feeding malarky is all good and well when Albie behaves himself but trying to find time to express milk when he's kicking off every 5 minutes is a nightmare! It would actually be so much easier to breastfeed - if only he fed okay!!

I know what you're probably thinking, that I'm a quitter. That I should endure for the good of my baby and I would be just opting for an easy life if I quit (yes, and?!). Don't worry, I would've thought the same of me before all of this.

I mean, let me get this straight, I'm not a quitter. I took my driving test 5 times; I fell off my bike about 10 times learning to ride a bike... but this? This is draining. It's not even like there's an obvious reward at the end.

Still, I'm hoping I heal up and try and breastfeed again. I'm not quite done yet... though I have to say, it's probably more to prove to everyone else that I will do what's best for my son even if it kills me, just like every other mother, right?! Wouldn't want people thinking I'm a bad mum now would we??!

It's weird looking back on this diary entry and seeing how I change so much from one day to the other (after reading the day before!). If I ever did it again I would hope I would feel confident enough to make the right decision for me, not just because of what others thought of me. If you're going through something similar, you shouldn't feel guilty for the decisions you make as a mother because the fact that it's a concern to you means that you are a good one. 

Booby Prize

Based on diary entry 17/4/11 (Albie 3 months)

So today I made the decision to give Albie a combination of expressed milk and formula. I feel like a weight has been lifted... literally. Well, two actually: the emotional one of feeling like I don't have enough food for him (and not having a clue how much he's getting) and obviously the physical one.
I don't think I care any more what people think of me for it. I'm over it. I've done my best for him and I've endured as much as I can take of the pain for long enough. Since I've made this decision I am happy and, in turn, Albie seems happier too.
The fact I'm expressing means that he's getting the best of both worlds and I am able to have help with the feeding... and maintain my boob job for the time being ;) Admittedly I am currently sat expressing which is still a bind, but hey, it's worth it. It's like I've won the lottery today... or some sort of booby prize at least.
I feel like this decision has been a total brain-wave, like I invented combination feeding or something. I guess I'm sick of having to choose between one or the other and then feel guilty either way. There is too much guilt put on mothers and I've had enough of it - as Lord sugar would say, I'm out. I'll take my booby prize and go.

What do you think about combined feeding?

Your kid's poo may smell of roses but it still needs clearing up

As a parent you will probably fall into one of two categories - although I'm sure there are exceptions to this rule. If there are exceptions then such parents are obviously very secure individuals who would not be reading blogs likes this and instead would be writing the next 'supernanny' manual whilst sipping a herbal tea and singing something out of Mary Poppins. If you're not due to release any guides to parenting in the next few months then you may relate to one of the following descriptions: a 'Martyrdom mum' or a 'My kid's poo smells of roses' kind of mum. These are, of course, only revealed when parents are pushed to their limits and are feeling somewhat challenged about their choices as a parent. Let me explain:

"My Kid's poo smells of roses" category:
Such mums like to rave about how much they love being a parent and how their little one can do no wrong. When cracks start to show in their parenting, or their child's behaviour, they resort to a sort of code red, undercover operation in order to conceal that both they and their children are in fact far from perfect.  They're the sort that when asked how they are finding life with a newborn they say 'yes, loving it!' (when they are secretly tempted to curl up in a ball on the pavement and sleep for 3 hours). Their child behaves far better than yours, is cuter than yours and has poo that smells of roses. They're the sort that answer questions like "How was little Tarquin's birthday party?" with "Oh it was fantastic - such a delight to have 30 energetic children in our cosy terraced house, all munching on the delicious double chocolate cake I made... Of course I didn't mind that they got it everywhere, I love cleaning. The entertainer didn't show up either so I had to play a clown for 20 minutes while the children threw custard pies all over my Karen Millen dress (fake chuckle) - I've had it a while, Im sure the stains will come out it the wash. It was hilarious, we'll definitely be doing it again next year!"

'Martyrdom mum' category:
These mums like a good moan. No child or baby could be worse than theirs and no life could be harder than the one they lead. They use phrases like 'my baby was up all night'. Really? All night, or just most of it? Their baby slept far worse than yours did, fed worse than yours did, had the worst colic known to mankind... and no one had as traumatic a birth as theirs, don't even try to compete on that one! After all, everything is backed up with hard medical science... or something they read in Grazia magazine once.

I'm definitely more of the latter, I like a good moan. I wallow in my own self pity about being up all night with my little one, until I pop round to see my pal who was up twice as long. At the end of the day we're all in this together. All I ask is that whatever category you fall into, you're honest. Sometimes you have days where you can't cope and you just need that reassurance that others are there to help...your kid's poo may smell of roses but it still needs clearing up.

Which are you?