February 2008 Archives

Everyone knows 'breast is best' for feeding babies but only one in five mums stick at it past the six weeks mark which shows you just how tough it can be.

Some days I feel very cow-like (not helped by the fact my brain has turned to mush) and catch myself staring longingly at the tubs of formula in Boots.

My motivation was slipping this week until I discovered that breastfeeding women need an extra 500 calories a day. 500 calories! That's a whole extra dinner.

It's also:

One giant bar (100g) of Cadbury's Dairy Milk (530 calories)

Two x Krispy Kreme original glazed donuts (428 calories)

One McDonald's hamburger and fries (480 calories)

Hmmm, maybe I'll persevere...

My comic-loving husband is down Holliday Street today, registering our daughter's birth.

Readers of my earlier blog What's In A Name will know this is a deeply worrying time for me.

I just don't think Princess Leia Supergirl Farncombe is a suitable name for a future prime minister...

As a very neurotic new mum, I was relieved to hear this week that cot death should no longer be a concern of parents who take on board the latest medical advice.

As long as you don't smoke, bed-share or put your baby to bed on her tummy, the risk is negligible.

Professor Tony Risdon, the country's only forensic paediatric pathologist at Great Ormond Street Hospital said: "If every parent followed the advice on safe sleeping environments and so on, this problem would probably disappear."

It hasn't stopped me anxiously checking the rise and fall of Mollie's sleeping chest every hour or sitting in the living room with the baby monitor attached to my ear but I do sleep a bit easier at night.

Well, it's happened! Last Thursday my little girl finally arrived, making me the proudest mum in Brum.

There are just no words to describe holding her for the first time.

Her birth was quite traumatic in that she was born with a fever and whisked away to the neo-natal unit for tests and antibiotics.

But after a week in hospital she's in the clear and we're finally back home.

Vital statistics

Name: Mollie Valentine

Weight: 8 pounds 2

Likes: Milk, cuddles

Dislikes: Being prodded by her neurotic mother every five minutes to check she's still breathing.

Along with fretting over impending labour and whether I'll make a good mum, I'm seriously starting to worry about Mr F.

Disregarding the docs who have calculated our baby will come on Valentine's Day, hubby has found a new way to determine my due date: The orchid.

The orchid in question has pride of place on our stairs landing and has slowly been coming back into bloom.

"The day it fully flowers is the day you will give birth," says Mr F.

Every day he trots past it on his way to work and yells me back an update.

"Not today, darling."

More worrying still, I believe him.

Far too many babies are being born to Enya. Let's right that wrong right here with Vix Mix: The Birth Collection.

1. Stronger - Kanye West. Purely for the lyrics: "I need you to hurry up now, cos I can't wait much longer."
2. Labour of Love - Hue and Cry. You may not recall two-hit-wonders Hue and Cry but according to my brother (their number one fan) they were ' the Beatles of the 80s'. This song has been chosen mainly because it has the word labour in the title.
3. I'm A Survivor - Destiny's Child. Channel the force of Beyonce when the going gets tough.
4. Things Can Only Get Better - D:Ream. Never has labour needed a campaign song more.
5. Push It - Salt n Pepa . Widely regarded as the ultimate birthing song.
6. Don't Stop Me Now - Queen. One for the baby as he/she is whizzing (yes, WHIZZING) down the birth canal.
7. I'm Coming Out - Diana Ross. Another one for baby. Unless hubby's been living a lie.
8. What A Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong. Ahh, the nice bit (fingers crossed I get to hear this one).
9. My Way - Frank Sinatra. For boring friends with the 'birth tale' afterwards.

Any suggestions for Volume 2?

I'm a wimp. I can't even pull a plaster off without needing a general anaesthetic. But somehow I've convinced myself I'm going to pass up the epidural.

It's all thanks to Paula Sims who runs an Active Birth Yoga Class from her spacious Victorian flat in Moseley.

Every Tuesday lunchtime, a gaggle* of us expectant mums can be found heavy breathing and rotating our hips like Elvis.

"Dance your baby out," cries mum-of-three Paula, an earth goddess with long, red hair.

1. You wake up and feel the need to bleach

2. Strangers smile and nod knowingly in your direction.

3. Cranes and pulleys are needed to roll you out of bed in the morning.

4. Friends and relatives answer your phone calls with a (pause for excited breath): "Hellooooooo?"

5. Daytime TV is actually quite hard to follow...

If you go down to the women's hospital and sit in the antenatal waiting room, you'll be treated to Baby TV.

On a loop, it's a series of adverts for prams and whatnot, interspersed with gems of advice from a truly terrifying doctor lady. Actually she might be a nurse or a midwife, I'm not sure. All I know is she is TERRIFYING.

She never smiles and dispenses warnings about baby care with a voice of doom. Just watching her turns me into a drivelling, neurotic mess convinced I'm going to mess up and Kill My Baby.

Lately I've taken to plugging my fingers in my ears and la-la-la-ing every time her stern face comes on screen with its talk of cot death and sterilising and breast pumps.