It is what it is

I have long been a fan of makeover shows, 'DIY SOS' being a particular favourite. Who can resist a combination of sleek, Scandi-inspired interiors, burly 'trades' shedding the most genuine of tears and at the heart of the show, a family in dire need of help? Often, said family has been mid home renovation when their lives are turned upside down by a family member facing life-altering challenges. My own favourites are those with children with profound difficulties. The tears I shed are designer wallpaper-fuelled catharsis. I look on, full of admiration for the exhausted and beleaguered parents who are beyond grateful for a luxury ground floor wet room with space for a wheelchair and stylish tiles that belie the painful visual reminder of the wholly necessary equipment such as hoists and safety bars. I, like thousands of others I'm sure, feel desperately sorry for those for whom parenthood has delivered the cruellest of blows, whose lives have changed irrevocably. And then I turn it off. I forget about it. It's happened to someone else.

Until it happens to you.

I realise I haven't blogged since Dexter started school. I haven't shared on this forum our own life-changing event. I haven't 'joked' about the fact that at some point we may need Nick Knowles and the perennially emotional Billy the 'spark' and their crack team to make our tall, skinny house suitable for a little girl whose life we couldn't have predicted.

I actually think it was when Dexter started school that my gut started twitching: my 'mother's instinct' began niggling away at me that something wasn't right. As I started the school run with Delphi in tow, she was never awake. But she wasn't awake the rest of the time either. 

'Aren't you lucky!' various well-meaning fellow parents commented. 'And she sleeps through the night too. That won't last.' 

But it did. Around about October time, my sleepy little dormouse did become more active, but the violent body jerks and uncontrolled eye movements dismissed by three professionals as nothing more than common reflux, were in fact, infantile spasms - the manifestation of a rare epileptic condition called 'West Syndrome'. 

Our lives changed irrevocably.

I could write an extremely lengthy post on the MANY appointments we've attended, the number of procedures Delphi has been through and the variety of medications she's endured in her short life. I won't. I won't because as we face life with a child with very probable disabilities - neurological, physical and visual - a significant developmental delay and partially controlled seizures, we have learnt to live in the moment. The future is too overwhelming; the what-ifs too numerous; the worst-case scenarios too unimaginable.

So how do we live? We try to remain optimistic: no formal diagnosis of the cause of Delphi's difficulties means no clear prognosis for her future. Whilst she has a funny little brain (as seen on her MRI), who knows how those pathways will form and reform? I have recently been put in touch with a parent of a child with a similar story to Delphi; this little girl is making amazing progress and is a complete inspiration.

We keep a sense of perspective and a sense of humour. I have genuinely asked a very senior ophthalmologist if Delphi is in with a chance of having a 'special, clever dog with a luminous tabard who we can take in Waitrose.' At one of our many London appointments (Evelina Children's Hospital is an outstanding institution), during a very serious conversation with a senior neurological registrar, I asked if Delphi was ill enough to merit a One Direction reunion at her bedside. Turns out she isn't.

We are immeasurably grateful: for our families who are strong, supportive and loving; neighbours and friends for kindness and practical help; our wonderful NHS and its many committed, compassionate and competent staff.

We take pleasure in the ordinary. The banal. The mundane. I keep a 'happy list' to practise some mindfulness and remind me of simple pleasures. It features the smell of our fabric conditioner, the nectar that is the first cuppa of the day and Friday night wine (scrap that, just wine).

I listen to the radio. It's the beating heart of our kitchen. There is something so comforting about the combination of the spoken word and music. Through the wonders of social media and just because she's bloomin' lovely, I have developed a Twitter connection with Lauren Laverne. She checks in on how we're doing and I will forever be grateful for her dedicating Bob Dylan's 'Shelter from the Storm' to us during a particularly lonely and worrying hospital stay.

Social media has come into its own. Our girl has her own unofficial fan club on my Instagram and Facebook pages. People say the kindest things but I do steer clear of those who tell me she's a 'gift' or we've been 'chosen'. If I could fix her, I would. For her.

We talk. We're honest. We're open. We continue as a family. Delphi has been on A LOT of trains in her short life and train-mad big brother Dexter is more than happy to attend the London appointments - to be fair, I need him to navigate the South Eastern rail network.

And we love: our children, each other and life. It so happens that Delphi's journey is but a small part of very challenging times for our families. Amongst serious illness, stress, uncertainty and worry, we cling to the mantra: it is what it is. We both go out to work: Delphi has a wonderful childminder and we need 'normal' - whatever that is anymore.

I still tune in to the odd episode of DIY SOS. Some of the stories now resonate strongly. I still wonder if we might need Nick and team in the future. And then I bring myself back - to treacly tea, to the moment, to unconditional love.

Coping with two?

I started to draft this post weeks ago on my phone. The pictures above document the first day I 'flew solo' with Dexter and Delphi, when Mr W returned to work: 28th May 2015. Well, we survived. I studied the relevant chapter from 'Coping with Two' the night before and we managed to do a supermarket shop, park visit and walk to the village for ice creams. It feels like a million years ago now. 

Delphi is eight weeks old today. I am due to take her for her immunisations this afternoon; Dexter is at pre-school. I never did get round to sharing surviving the first post-paternity leave day on here. A month and a half on, I'm wondering why I built it up to be such a big deal. Instead, inspired by one of my new favourite blog reads, 'Mother of all Lists' (v.funny), I thought I would list the things I have learnt/realised/discovered/accepted since becoming a mother of two.

Disclaimer: by reading this list, you will learn absolutely nothing about actually coping with two.

1. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Aside from the disruption to sleep, newborns are pretty straightforward. To quote my dear friend, Hannah, whom I met at NCT classes the first time around: 'What were we so SCARED of?!'

2. Some days, simply surviving is both okay and an achievement. To quote another lovely buddy and fellow breeder of two, Stella: 'As long as you are all alive at the end of the day, you've done a good job.' Preach.

3. I've found my own rhythm as a mother and don't feel the need to justify myself. Delphi is bottle-fed out of necessity and personal choice. She has slept in her own cot in her own room from five weeks. Dexter knows the code for my iPad. He often watches it in bed, pre-story, while I sort Delphi out.

4. I am still amazed that nobody has questioned the fact that I seem to be allowed to be in charge of the welfare of two tiny people. Yet.

5. Sibling bonding is not immediate but just heart-melting when it happens. We went from this...

...to this. Dexter asks, 'Can we keep Delphi?' almost every day.

6. Matching pjs are never NOT cute (see above).

7. I am NEVER in control of the washing.

8. My kitchen floor is NEVER clean.

9. I am always hungry.

10. I imbibe sugar, caffeine and wine almost exclusively.

11. I only ever have one glass of wine at wine o'clock, just to take the edge off. The mere thought of an actual hangover fills me with horror.

12. Waitrose is still my happy place.

13. A newborn's car seat weighs more than me - even without a baby in it.

14. Delphi spends most of her life in her car seat. One of my biggest fears is that she will grow up in the shape of an actual car seat.

15. Our pram does not fit in my car.

16. I still put the pram in my car.

17. I can have me and the 'Double Ds' (fabulous friend, Sazzle's term for Dexter & Delphi) dressed and ready to go out in the time it takes for Mr W to have a shower. During this time, I have probably also emptied the dishwasher and loaded the washing machine.

18. Without Mr W, the rubbish would never go out, nothing would be recycled, the garden would not exist and our finances would be in complete chaos. Oh, and Team Wayne would be incomplete!

19. My own finances are in complete chaos.

20. Some days I would gladly be at work.

21. Some days I don't want to leave the house.

22. Sunny days with the two smalls and great friends & family are priceless.

23. I lost the 'baby weight' immediately (sheer luck). People are unable to fathom this.

24. My post-partum hair is horrific. Fortunately, people do not comment on this in the same way as above.

25. I rarely put make-up on any more and I have no 'school-run' uniform': my goal is to not be in pjs/naked. Oh, and to have brushed my teeth. Maybe.

26. People love a baby and like to stop and coo/chat.

27. Most of these people think Delphi is a boy.

28. My brain fell out with my placenta.

29. I fear I may never read an actual book again.

30. I can only cope with following the 'plot' on 'Love Island'.

31. I will probably never send a thank-you card again.

32. The four year gap works for us. I would never have been able to attend all of the transition and settling-in sessions for Dexter's school apart from anything else. Also, he was REALLY hard work as a toddler.

33. Keeping Dexter in pre-school three days a week was a really, really good idea.

34. I have the fear about the summer holidays when Dexter's wonderful nursery closes FOREVER.

35. I can leave the house with little more than a brilliantly handy nappy bag, no bigger than a handbag, made for me by talented seamstress and fellow mother of two, Jo.

36. When your husband goes on a five day stag do to Barcelona, the world doesn't fall apart, largely due to marvellous mates (cheers, Cathy, Stella, Becka & Sara).

37. I'm not sure how I feel about the proposed annual revival of the above.

38. 'Shout' is a far superior stain remover to 'Vanish'. Thanks, Mum.

39. I can only remember everything by writing it on one of those multiple column family calendars that my mum has always used.

40. I am turning into my mum.

41. Beyonce was right: girls run the world. Well, without the putting out rubbish part.

42. I have only opened my 'Your Baby Every Day for a Year' book, twice.

43. I have become obsessed with storing food in plastic tubs in the fridge in a bid to appear organised and to always be 'picnic-ready'. Possibly more of this in a future post...

44. Dexter regularly requests a 'picnic tea' (chopped peppers, fruit and popcorn) eaten in the car (from underneath the pram) on the way home from nursery. I see this as the epitome of multi-tasking and it means I don't have to sweep the kitchen floor AGAIN.

45. Internet shopping is a dangerous thing. PayPal is a complete enabler.

46. Social media is both a massive, heavily filtered lie and a place of huge community spirit, kindness and support.

47. I somehow think it is an acceptable sartorial statement to wear a huge bunch of keys on a lanyard around  my neck in the manner of a PE teacher/caretaker/prison officer.

48. I do a head count every time I get in the car - even if I am travelling alone.

49. There is not a single printed photograph of Delphi/us as a four; there are approximately 8 million digital/Instagram pictures.

50. No matter what, they will always, ALWAYS be my babies.

The first week...

As we rapidly approach Delphi's two week birthday, I am acutely aware that the 'newborn' phase is beyond brief: blink and you miss it. The halcyon days of baby being asleep more than they are awake and being small enough to nestle vertically in the crook of your arm, are fleeting to say the least. This evening, I have washed and dried all of her newborn sleep suits and put them away as her tiny toes are already at the end. *weeps*

Some reflections on our first week as a family of four. And yes, it does feel like she's always been here.

A very early picture. All I can think is: crusty.

Box-fresh newborns sleep a lot. Delphi couldn't be bothered to wake for anything, including to be fed...

Proud grandparents. My parents were travelling down anyway on the day Delphi was born. I phoned them at 6.30am to tell them they had a new grandchild. I was very confused by the fact they were driving through Birmingham; I was off my face - see previous post.

Discharged from hospital on the evening of Delphi's birthday.

Yoda

It was my choice to stay at Crowborough Birthing Centre for two nights of post-natal care. It was sort of like a spa mini-break, minus the facials and pedicures. I had a lot of hot baths, hot cups of tea and hot dinners. I thought I had established feeding. This was the moment Dexter first met his baby sister*

*realised that her crib contained a pile of gifts for him. Who knew babies had the capacity to buy toy dumper trucks from Amazon?

Second time around, I was really keen to be at home.

My face is the accurate reflection of how Dexter has taken to his baby sister...

Another grandparent visit - Nanna Veronica this time: plus another dumper truck...

Then on Saturday, things went downhill. My (lack of) milk wasn't enough for darling Delphi who was already proving to be as laid back/lazy as her brother when it came to feeding. A 14% loss in birth weight meant she was running on empty. By the time we'd decided to crank up the steriliser and give her a bottle, she was too weak to take it. At 9pm on Saturday 16th May, Delphi and I were back at the hospital for an overnight stay. She received the best care. I cried - a lot - but actually got some sleep in between the three hourly monitoring. We were discharged at 5pm the next day. Mr Cameron, please look after our wonderful NHS.

On Delphi's actual due date (18th May) we took a family trip to Pizza Express. It took us an hour to leave the house. I insisted on Team Wayne coordinating with the staff #stripes

A week old: a visit from Hannah and Little Miss Molly, aged 16 weeks. Ocular proof that babies grow, change and develop the most in the first two years of their lives. This photo cracks me up - one for their 18th birthday...

Maternity leave = coffee and cake.

Actually blowing kisses*

*wind

What a week. Thank you for all of the lovely messages, cards and gifts. Am finally getting round to draining a bank holiday bottle of pink fizz... Cheers!

I'm back - and I've given birth!

It's been over a year since I've posted on here. Blogging mojo lost; no computer at home; inspiration drying up: yadder, yadder, yadder. Well, I'm currently off work and more obsessed with blogs, social networking and the virtual world than ever. It was my birthday this month and Mr W kindly bought me a Chromebook, in part to encourage me to blog again. And as for inspiration, well, Dexter continues to go from strength to strength, defying expectations, and we have added to the Wayne clan with the very recent arrival of our little girl.

Whilst I have no intention of attempting the madness that was the daily blogging mission of Brighton Ramblings, I am feeling inspired by the newest family member/lack of having to go to work, to do a bit of over sharing and capturing some of the snippets of daily life - the very reason I started this blog.

Well then, where better to start than with a birth story? *sound of laptops being snapped shut*
Don't worry, it's not going to be that graphic: I teach teenagers remember. A push-by-push account of my second-born's arrival into this world definitely does NOT feature on this crazy government's latest curriculum update. However, I love a birth story and given that Dexter got a whole year of his life immortalised in writing, the least Little Lady Wayne deserves is an account of how she graced us with her presence. Ten days on, it's still remarkably fresh in my mind...

Baby Wayne's due date was 18th May 2015. However, Baby Wayne was a bit of a madam in utero and, after a straightforward time, I developed obstetric cholestasis at 34 weeks. Basically, my liver (despite extensive stamina training in the form of a pre-pregnancy nightly glass of wine) objected to pregnancy and failed to process bile effectively, resulting in itchy skin and a monitored pregnancy and subsequent hospital birth. I was required to have weekly blood tests and monitoring from a consultant. I was lucky really and it was nothing more than mild itching and equally mild inconvenience. In some ways, the additional monitoring was reassuring - I had a late scan for one thing - plus, I knew I was never going to be allowed to go beyond full term. Given I was the size of a small water buffalo towards the end and I'm generally rubbish at being preggers, this was no bad thing.

What proved to be my final visit to the consultant on Tuesday 12th May, saw me being booked in for induction on 15.05.15. - a terribly pleasing numerical portent in my book. My consultant was also prepared to, ahem, give nature a helping hand. I am not going to go into detail here, suffice to say, for five minutes that afternoon, I was a human chimney...

Well, that seemed to do the trick. I left the hospital feeling more than a little odd and distinctly queasy. By the time I got home from collecting Dexter from nursery, I was in considerable discomfort and lay on the kitchen sofa groaning whilst the poor boy entertained himself with his extensive train collection.

Fast forward to later that evening and I felt almost certain I was in early labour. By about 8pm, I was sobbing on the phone to the labour triage midwife who was insistent I wasn't ready to come in to hospital but invited me in to shut me up. Having sorted out childcare with a lovely friend who came round, we drove to the hospital. I was on all fours in the back, lowing like a cow. Poor Mr W had to drive and attempt to rub my back in between changing gear. 

I remember hating the bright lights and sterile atmosphere of the hospital: like any 'labouring' woman, I wanted dark, warmth and cosiness. The triage midwife was firm but kind and, with hindsight, proved to be exactly what I needed. She examined me, gave me painkillers and sent me home, despite my best cat from Shrek face. She was insistent I had to eat to keep my strength up: there followed an impromptu stop at our local drive-through McDonalds - which itself followed an earlier impromptu stop for me to throw up outside someone's very grand house: Codeine and I are not friends. Having managed to eat exactly three McD's fries and half a chicken nugget, I made my nest in the dark and warmth of the guest bedroom, tucked away at the top of the house. The husband bedded down with me and we spent a wretched night of sleeping for ten minutes at a time interspersed with pretty rabid contractions, more bovine lowing and enforced conjugal back-rubbing. Dexter slept through the entire thing - thankfully. 

At about 4am, I flew into a blind panic: I hadn't felt fetal movements for ages. In reality, I was probably distracted by the contractions to concentrate on it. However, Mr W phoned the hospital and they said to come straight in.

Thank goodness we did as what followed was very quick. Arriving back at triage at 5am, I was immediately strapped up to a machine which monitored the baby's heart rate. I remember the midwife saying the baby was 'liking the contractions' - what, like some sort of thrill-seeking ride at Alton Towers?! I also remember vom central again when I was given more painkillers. At 5.15am, my waters broke - this could have all been happening at home remember. I was ushered very quickly onto the labour ward by our lovely midwife, Clare. All I wanted was gas and air - I'm a massive fan. A few big swigs of that and I stripped off, clambered onto the bed on all fours yelling, 'Right, let's have a baby!'

I am a hideous, attention-seeking show-off at the best of times, but hook me up to a massive cannister of Entonox and I'm a complete maniac. I have vague memories of dissing the government, blessing the NHS, declaring I was 'off my tits' and being very suspicious of the student midwife and doctor who had joined us in the room. I was draining the gas & air so much that I lost a veneer; thank goodness for that maternity dental exemption card.

Poor old Mr W had to put up with this monster on the bed before him (still insisting on regular back rubs) and with the slightly frightening moment baby's head delivered but body got stuck. A senior midwife was quick to arrive and I was 'McRoberted' (look it up) - and had to push for my life...

And out she popped, at 6.26am - all 8lb 3oz of her. I was so off my face at this point that even as she was handed to me, I asked if they'd got her out. Mentalist.

She looked exactly like Dexter as a newborn: to quote their father - 'Our children look like tiny Korean dictators.' Hopefully, she'll grow into her looks like her brother. We had the best tea and toast and I had a lovely shower. We were discharged later that evening. I had opted to go to the local birthing centre for some post-natal care and some help with feeding and thus began a slightly more dramatic chapter in the life of Baby Wayne. But that's a whole different post.

For now, Delphi Nel Wayne had arrived!