I'm Doing It Wrong... And Loving It

Caution - baby talk ahead. You may want to click away.

Alternative titles :

 'Confessions Of A Second Time Mum'

or

'Feel Free To Judge'

With only two children under my belt (literally - I've the scars to prove it!)

 I'm no expert.

But, I have read, listened to and tolerated many an expert in the last four years.

(Hey, I may even have thought I was one in my pre children years.)

According to many of the experts on childbirth and motherhood,

I am doing all the 'wrong' things this time round.

For some reason though... I feel freaking fan.tas.tic.

For some reason though ... my beautiful girl is feeling fan.tas.tic.

My Magoo is a godsend and such a joy in my life - but our 'beginnings' were tough.

(Tough, not tragic. I am most grateful for that.)

Until last week, I didn't truly realise just how tough.

I delivered Magoo naturally - and suffered some, ahem, serious repercussions as a result.

For quite some time.

(The delivery and the repercussions.)

I persistently breastfed Magoo through incompetent nipples, ridiculously low supply, his infant reflux, oversized adenoids, a throat condition and an allergy to cow's milk protein.

Neither of us enjoyed the experience.

But I agonised when it was recommended that Magoo be put on a prescription formula.

I let well meaning (I assume?) advice from left, right and centre

drown out my own instincts when Magoo was unhappy and unhealthy for months.

I was treated like the anxious, neurotic mother that I very nearly became 

 - until I finally met the right specialists and a simple surgery changed our lives.

I suffered on through pain, splints, OT and repeated cortisone injections in both wrists brought about because my baby needed constant comforting and settling.

Blah, blah, blahdey, blah.

I wouldn't change the history and incredible bond Magoo and I share for the world

- but I won't let the expectations of others dictate the decisions I make for my family any more.

My Missi was delivered via caesarean on the advice of my ob - and to my relief.

It was a fabulous, moving occasion for Hubby, myself- and evidently Missi.

I had hoped that breastfeeding would be different (and just a smidgen successful) for us this time around

- but it has taken a nosedive.

A blistered, excruciating nosedive.

Despite the gorgeous olive complexion and dark hair - my Irish genes are shining through.

Sister can drink...and drink...and drink.

The milk bar here couldn't meet the demand and has outsourced supplies.

Missi is drinking formula.

We are both enjoying the experience. Immensely.

I refuse to be brow beaten by the 'right' way of doing things and am intuitively finding my way.

I am in awe of the intense, comfortable connection I feel to my little girl

and am brought to tears by how beautiful these early days have been for us.

 

At this stage, it appears all the wrong ways - are the right ways for my family and I right now.

Apologies for any offence caused. None intended.

Shar :-)