So our little bundle of giggles is nine weeks old today and it’s true what they say, when you have a baby time slips through your fingers without you even realising. Gabriele is just over a stone in weight now, he’s wearing 3-6months clothes as he is so big, he’s very muscular, every part of him is chunky and thick and strong; he has a fantastic grip and can lock his fingers around hair and toys and it’s hard for us to get him to let go.
He had the operation on his little finger four days ago now and has a little bandage that has to stay on for another week. We have to keep his hand clean and dry which is a task in itself as when he gets hungry he’s forever trying to stuff his chubby fists into his mouth and suck them, and bath time is somewhat amusing trying to hold him safely in the water as well as keeping his arm up in the air. He never got on with the bath cradle which is a shame as it means it takes two of us to bath him, one to hold and the other to clean him down, but we’re not complaining as it’s a lovely thing for us to do together.
I really thought he would be grizzly over his poor little finger as I’m sure it must hurt, when I had my head stitched last month it was so tight and tender and you hardly use your head (insert lack of intelligence joke here) compared to how much you move your hands and wiggle and flex your fingers. He has butterfly stitches on his finger which we’ve not seen as his bandage has to stay on for as long as possible to prevent any infection, but the nurses said so long as his finger doesn’t bleed then all should be healing well if we leave it well alone. So well done our little chicken for being so brave and staying so cheerful, Mummy and Daddy definitely appreciate it!
He sometimes manages to drink 5-6oz at a feed now, but not always as he still has the occasional ounce every half an hour or so during the day which throws off the amount he can take at the next feed as his tummy is rarely ever completely empty but that’s just how he finds it most comfortable and we’ll continue to feed on demand until he starts on solids.
He did the messiest nappy ever this afternoon when he somehow managed to cover himself front and back and up out of the back of his nappy and onto his baby vest with bright yellow poo; which I immediately threw in the bin as the thought of putting poopy clothes into the washing machine with the rest of our clothes makes me gag slightly, and baby vests are ten a penny these days anyway and they’re hardly in them for long anyway.
Gabriele is smiling so much more everyday and he wakes up every morning cooing at us and kicking his legs. He is so much more content when he is awake now, instead of always needing winding as soon as he wakes or pacing up and down he’s now happy to lay on his back and look around. You can see him fixing his gaze on the objects around him and studying them as he glares, frowns, shifts about and arches his head to have a closer look. He loves his baby gym with all of the bright colours, toys, mirrors and a singing sunshine and it’s good for him to lay flat instead of being held or in a bouncer.
Last night I think he slept a lot more than usual, I say think because I’ve stopped clock watching now, because it used to make me want to cry when I’d check the time each time he woke for a feed and see he’d only gone an hour and a half since the last bottle, and then I’d count how many hours I’d have left before needing to get up to take Millie to school. So now I wake up with a fuzzy head and blurry burning eyes, feed and wind him as quickly as possible and put him back down again, and if my memory serves me correctly I think he only had one feed last night which would mean when I went to bed at midnight and got up at six I may have got three or four hours sleep in a row if he went half way through, or he could have even woke up at 5am and given me five hours sleep!? Either way I feel so much better than I have for the past two months and hope that this is the turning of the tides and I can start sleeping like a human again.
I’ve discovered the cure for insomnia which used to keep me awake all hours of the night, tossing and turning, thoughts whirling through my mind as I watched the clock and could never switch off, when all along all I had to do was have a baby and become so incredibly sleep deprived so that every time I even sniff a pillow I instantly pass out and snore like a caveman until our cheeky chubster decides to wake me up again. It’s definitely the best way to sleep and even after just ten minutes of collapsing it makes such a markable difference to your energy level and beats falling asleep whilst sitting on the toilet at 3am!
So here I have another video of our beautiful Gabriele at nine weeks of age so you can see how he is developing. I hope you enjoy!
And now for the weekly weigh-in which I dread that little bit more every week because I know as I get closer to my ideal weight it becomes harder and harder to shift those last few stubborn pounds and when I don’t notice a significant loss for my efforts it makes finding that extra bit of willpower for the following week all the more harder.
I know that if you lose a lot of weight in a short space of time it’s all the more easy to put it straight back on again through yo-yo dieting and I’m determined not to keep shifting between eating healthy and binging on junk food. But, it doesn’t help being female, it doesn’t help that one of the seven wonders of the world is cadbury’s fruit and nut, and it certainly doesn’t help that my hormones and body clock are so messed up they’re trying to celebrate the new millennium on my behalf.
Add to that my emotional state where I go from happy to sad in ten seconds flat each day, not through post-natal depression or any such like but because I’ve always tried my hardest in everything that I do; and when I get an idea or task in my head all I want to do is finish and finalise it and move on, but having two children and a home to look after I have so many distractions that seldom allow me to ever actually finish what I’ve started. In my mind I feel like a circus clown spinning hundreds of china plates in the air on sticks, and instead of waiting for one to finish I keep adding more and more and panic as I watch them all crash to the ground around me. And why do I add more plates? I don’t know! Maybe because I’m downright stupid, unrealistic, setting the bar too high and not giving myself the space to breath; or maybe it’s because I’ve always wanted to go that one step further, try that little bit harder and the day you realise you’re no longer capable of doing everything that you once used to, it becomes incredibly hard to face and it’s something you refuse to accept.
But as far as my body is concerned this is the one task out of a million that I can be sure to see through to the end. If I didn’t have to wear it all the time and see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night it wouldn’t concern me as much. Like a pair of old trainers at the back of the cupboard that you only put on when absolutely necessary because you don’t want people to laugh at you, only I wear my old trainers as a body everyday and there’s no hope of ever taking them off!
So there goes my mind rambling off on it’s own again as I write my blog at 10pm after another confusing and tiresome day. But back on track, I’ve just weighed myself and surprise surprise the scales are obviously in tune with the splendid cold and rain that we are having this July and have become frozen on the exact same weight as last week. Hoorah for minus temperatures! At least I haven’t put on weight but I can’t say that I feel entirely rewarded for the amount of effort I have put into keeping active and the total amount of nothing that I have got out of it in return.
So looking at myself in the mirror, what has changed since birth? My thighs are still wider than I’d like and my hips are making too many muffins for my liking so I’m still avoiding my favourite jeans for fear of my belly spilling out over the top. My skin is gradually tightening and my belly button doesn’t feel so much like an exploded bowl of jelly, more a loose pancake as my body attempts to turn the floppy wide-open crevasse into what slightly resembles a tummy button once more. I guess it’s no mean feat turning a belly button outside itself when you are pregnant and it then having to migrate itself back into the body sometime after birth.
My breasts look and feel sad to me, they’ve lost their youthful perkiness and plumpness and instead they look like two depressed bald eagles starving on the edge of a cliff. Thank God for silicone and hold up bras for keeping my lady lumps above my knees when clothed!
My period still hasn’t returned and I guess that may slightly be to blame for my confusion, frustration and ever-changing emotions. I actually can’t remember what it’s like for my head and heart to sit down nicely and work together for once because these days it seems all they do is contradict and fight each other and all I can do is go along for the ride. In my relationship with Luca each day is like a washing machine cycle, we start off all wet and soppy cooing over Gabriele and Millie, rushing around a million miles an hour doing everything at once. The spin cycle is endless as is the list of chores and obstacles to overcome daily, and by the time the wash is over the drenched, cold and knackered clothes slop out of the machine and into the peg basket. Every night we drag ourselves up the stairs destroyed and tortured, both longing a quiet nights sleep and both knowing the other stands in the way of peacefulness. If I want to sleep it means that Luca can’t, and if Luca wants to sleep then I can’t because somebody must always be on the baby shift.
So regardless of how happy we are throughout the day, every night without fail as the dreaded clock creeps it’s way ever closer to the early hours we become more and more desperate to plead our case to one another in order to convince each other that each of us is in most need of the valuable seconds of sleep. Do we shout? Yes, but not in front of the children. Do we swear? Yes, through sheer desperation and pleading. Do we storm off like stroppy teenagers halfway through the argument? Yes, because we both know it’s hard for each of us as whoever gets to sleep is depriving the other. But do we still love each other? More than anything in the world and we wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s hard having a baby; it’s hard having a toddler, a child, a teenager or a fully-grown adult. But it’s the most rewarding thing ever at the same time. It’s like absolutely drooling over a bar of chocolate and then trying to zip up your jeans afterwards, pleasure and pain at the same time. And I’m guessing that nine out of ten parents are exactly the same as us at night with a young baby, we turn into werewolves as soon as the moon shows it’s face and by morning we are a fair maiden and prince charming again. A part of me is desperate for the sleepless nights to be over so that this battle can finally end, but at the same time it gives us a rare opportunity to talk openly, frankly and extremely bluntly to one another and voice the things that annoy, destroy and upset us. And every girl secretly enjoys a good row every now and then anyway even if she doesn’t admit it.
So anyway, I still don’t have a waist, my scales are still lying about my true weight because I’m pretty sure I’m really seven stone, and my double chin still shakes when I laugh too much. But I’m happy, the kids are healthy and Luca and I have yet to smash a window or throw a dinner plate at the wall so all is good in the Kiss household. Thank you and goodnight. It’s werewolf time – ahhhhh-wwooooooooo!! x x x x