So it’s the little things.

So here we are. Being a mother is the hardest thing I have ever done. I have found a whole new level of respect for my mum who had 7 (yes, 7) kids. She not only had 7, but she also totally bossed it on her own. She’s a superwoman and my biggest inspiration.

It may be the hardest thing but it’s also the greatest. I decided to make a list of some of the little things I love about being a Mum…

⁃ The firsts…first smile, first time Arthur grabbed a toy

⁃ The poo face gets me every time

⁃ The smile he gives me when he first wakes up in the morning

⁃ When he’s sucking his dummy and he just stares at me

⁃ How he loves singing

⁃ His smile in general

⁃ The noises he makes when he eats

⁃ How he loves bath time

⁃ Taking pictures together

⁃ Cuddles

⁃ When he’s feeding and he keeps holding on to me

⁃ Seeing him smile at his family

⁃ When he goes all shy, smiles then puts his head down

⁃ Reading stories together

⁃ How he loves mouths (not just his own, everyone’s, he’s fascinated!)

⁃ How clapping makes him blink

⁃ Dancing together

⁃ How he’s like a little hot water bottle

⁃ That crossed eyed surprise look

⁃ All the noises

⁃ Travelling, going places together, anywhere!

⁃ All the tickling!

⁃ When he farts really loudly (mature I know hehe)

⁃ On the subject of farting, when he lifts his legs really high and farts hehe

⁃ His chubby cheeks

⁃ Those tiny fingers and toes ❤️

I could go on forever. Joy will come to different people in different ways, whether your a parent or not. For me, Arthur, you are my joy. You have brought me so much love, laughter and I could not be more proud of you. Thank you for teaching me to enjoy the little things. You are my greatest achievement, now and forever.

Stay tuned for another one peeps.

Love, Kate x

So always trust your instincts.

So there we were. Arthur went through a lot at the beginning of his life. He had rotavirus, norovirus twice and bronchiolitis leading to a hospital admission. Every time he got ill my anxiety would go through the roof and I would often feel very low in mood. I feel like we battled a lot and if we hadn’t of faced everything that we did we might have got home sooner and I might have been in recovery sooner. But what matters is that we’re here now. But for now let me tell you why I think we should always trust our instincts…

I remember when Arthur first got rotavirus. He was pooing every hour. I knew straight away something wasn’t right. He pooed about 3-4 times in the day and maybe once or twice in the evening but the first day he just could not stop. I remember telling them on the unit and they suggested they would have a look next time he went. So they looked and said it looked really normal for a breastfeed baby. They said how often babies could poo once a week one week and then several times a day the next week. Something still didn’t feel right but we carried on. He seemed well in himself and was still feeding, nothing else was out of the ordinary. The next day, the pooping seemed to of died down a little, however a member of staff asked if they could take a poo sample next time which of course I agreed too. They said they just wanted to check. Then somebody else said they didn’t need too. So they didn’t.

A couple of days passed and he was still pooing more than usual and I flagged it up again, my gut instinct was telling me something wasn’t quite right and I became very worried that he would become dehydrated and start loosing weight. Eventually they approached me and took a poo sample which I happily gave, the next day it came back as positive for rotavirus and Arthur had to be put in isolation. When you suffer from anxiety I think at times it can be hard to see what is a real worry and what is not. I know sometimes it can manifest itself convincing you there is something wrong when there isn’t. But I think we should always trust our instincts. Whether your a parent or not.

Unfortunately Arthur became quite unwell with rotavirus and began vomiting and not wanting to feed much. I remember I started to cry late one night and couldn’t sleep because he kept vomiting. I was convinced he was going to choke whilst he was sleeping. I felt like I had to watch him all night which I know was not rational but at that time I couldn’t think rationally. Immediately I thought of the worst case scenario and was convinced I was going to lose him. It was a horrible time and I had to do a lot of talking through it. That’s what anxiety does, it creates a tornado inside your head, it’s exhausting.

Thankfully we got through it. Our next big battle was bronchiolitis. Watching you baby struggle to breathe is the hardest, most horrible thing. Breathing is something we all do, for most of us it’s not hard, it’s easy. When your tiny baby is using all their strength and muscles just to breathe, words can’t describe it. Arthur started with a cold and the cough gradually got worse. Then he started to struggle to breathe, he was really working hard with every breath. I told them I was concerned and we went to A&E. His respiratory rate and his pulse was up and you could see how hard he was working to breathe. They diagnosed him with Bronchiolitis but said because his oxygen levels were okay and he was still feeding we could go back to the unit but we could return if we were concerned again.

I will never forget what happened next. When we got back to the unit he was exhausted, we put him to sleep and me and Jord both closed our eyes too. Arthur was making a lot of noise when he was breathing but suddenly it went quiet. Me and Jord both realised at the same time, we looked at each other and both jumped up, we rushed over to him, Jord put his hand on Arthur and he gasped and starting breathing again. That moment will always haunt me. Words cannot describe how scared we both were. I barely slept that night, constantly watching him, terrified it would happen again, thankfully it didn’t.

Arthur did however continue to get worse. He didn’t want to feed, he was fighting really hard and I knew people thought it was my anxiety that was making the situation seem worse that what it was. However I decided we needed to back to hospital, this was the third time. When we got there, Arthur’s respiratory rate was high, his pulse was 190-200, and his oxygen level was 84%. They gave him oxygen and it gradually went up to around 92%. We would have to stay in hospital. I was relieved that they were finally doing something because all that time I felt hopeless just watching him struggle, but I was also heartbroken that he was in this situation in the first place.

All the things he has faced he has fought so hard. But I remember feeling so angry. I felt like I was being punished for something. My little boy, who had barely been in the world had already faced so much that he shouldn’t have and I didn’t I understand why?! It didn’t seem fair. I blamed myself. Part of me still does. But I know now that young babies do get ill. Their little immune systems are still growing. I remember looking at him in his massive cot in the hospital just wishing that he didn’t have to go through anything else. I would have done anything to take his place. For the first two days I didn’t even hold him, he had no physical strength left and he would just lie in his cot, tilted upright to feed and then he would just fall straight back to sleep. It was heartbreaking. But once again I was in awe of how strong he was. How brave he was.

When he was discharged from hospital we were so happy. He was so much better. However as the evening went on I became more and more anxious. I realised we went in the hospital with all the nurses and doctors. There wasn’t the equipment we needed there if something went wrong. It came to the night time and I couldn’t put him down. Convinced he was going to stop breathing if I did, I explained I was never putting him down. Something that was impossible but I just couldn’t face it. I was crying and so scared that I couldn’t think rationally. My anxiety was rearing it’s ugly head once again. It was consuming me. With the help of the staff and Jord I managed to calm down. It took time but eventually I put Arthur down. Day by day he improved and got through it.

My anxiety heightened moments of these bad situations. But I knew something wasn’t right with our boy. I knew he was going to need a little bit of help to get through this and I am so glad I trusted my instincts with the bronchiolitis and kept going back to hospital. I am a nurse but I’m an adult nurse. I don’t know babies, but I know my son. Trust that you know your babies and children. If your pregnant and worried about telling your midwife something, trust you know your body, and you know your unborn child.

Even if your not a parent or a parent to be, trust yourself, trust your instincts, go with your gut.

Stay tuned for next time peeps.

Love, Kate x

So yeah, then I pooed myself, twice.

So there I was. Yes, yes you did read the title correctly. This post is also very honest, but it’s about something different. So after having Arthur it seemed all my bodily functions were a bit all over the place.

I had to have a catheter when I was in hospital because I had a spinal injection (such a lovely thing). I was completely numb from the waist down so I wasn’t going to feel when I needed to wee. I’m not going to lie…That first night, not having to get up to pee, it was amazing haha. I was so exhausted and I could just lie there in bed, feed and cuddle Arth and that was it. I could reciprocate a little.

After having Arthur I felt like my dignity wasn’t really there any more. When you have a baby they really don’t tell you how many people will see your body parts! Not just your foo-foo (yeah that’s right I said foo-foo) but also your bum, your boobs, your jelly tummy, everything! When my catheter was taken out I thought how I really didn’t mind people seeing down there any more. I also thought i would be okay going for a wee. So I didn’t go for one for ages. I needed to go but I was feeding Arthur on and off and I thought – oh I’ll be fine to hold it for a while. Wow how wrong was I! Yep you guessed it, I peed myself too. And I’m not just talking about a little, I mean the whole sha-bang haha.

Peeing myself was a low point for me and I cried and cried. Your probably wondering why I am telling you all this? I guess I just want to get the message out there that it’s okay to cry if you pee yourself after having a baby! I’m not saying you definitely will but you might and if you want to cry about it you bloody well can! If you want to laugh you can do that too! It’s your body and in that moment, for me, I felt like I had no control over it any more. I was scared this would be a permanent problem. But thankfully it isn’t. But if it happens to you, it happens. I felt like I had absolutely no dignity left but the midwives were so lovely. They understand, they’ve seen it all before.

Then, I pooed myself. Yep. Twice. At this point I cried again a little and then I just laughed. Everybody does it once or twice in their lifetime right haha?! I realised then my body needed a bit of adjusting after having a baby. I also realised I needed to cut myself some slack. And when I felt like I needed the toilet I should go right away haha. I had a third degree tear, I needed to let my body recover, and in time, it did.

The thing is, childbirth is an incredible thing, but your body usually does need time to recover. Some people will not poo themselves a couple days after having their babe, some people will. Some will poo themselves in labour, some won’t. You might have to wear adult nappy pants, or be on bed rest. You might snap right back to your original weight. You might have a tummy like jelly. You might love your new boobs, you might not. Could have wonky boobs. The point is – it’s all okay. Be kind to yourself. Housing a human for 9 months is hard, then you have to get them out one way or another. But trust me, they are so worth it, poo an all.

Also if you want to stay in bed for a week that’s cool too. You want to get out there and see family and friends, do it. You have to figure what’s right for you. Everybody is different. But it’s okay to live in joggers for a while, to have family cook for you, and help you clean. It’s all okay.

So I thought I would do a slightly lighter story. But still a very true one. Stay tuned peeps.

Love, Kate x

So then my world came crashing down.

So this is a very honest post. It was hard for me to write and I’m sure some people might find it hard to read. But it’s the truth. I said I would be honest and I certainly have been.

So when I was pregnant I remember reading in a book about the first few months of parenthood how this lady thought about throwing her baby against a wall, but she didn’t. She spoke about how these kind of thoughts were normal as long as she never acted upon it. I remember the first time I had a thought about harming my own son. My whole world came crashing down. I felt so ashamed, disgusting, I felt evil. I kept telling myself it was normal, I kept going over what I read in my head. Kept thinking, it will go away, it will pass.

But with the dark thoughts about Arthur also came thoughts of killing myself. I wanted to die because I couldn’t face being alive and having these thoughts in my head. They just kept getting worse instead of better. But I loved my son, I loved him from the minute I saw him, so why was this happening? I would never hurt him. I wanted to protect him forever. I couldn’t understand what was going on in my own mind. I felt like I would never truly be happy again. I didn’t want to do anything, eat, drink, go anywhere. I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

I thought about how my son would be better off without me. How my partner Jordan would too. For me, they didn’t deserve for me to be alive and in their lives. I wanted them to be free. And I wanted to be free from those very dark thoughts.

I told my partner about these thoughts, he was so supportive from the very beginning. We decided they would hopefully go away, that I needed to rest as much as I could because I was so sleep deprived. He spoke to his Mum who said the same. I told him next time I saw my midwife I would tell her. About a week later, the day before I was due to see my midwife, I realised I couldn’t wait any longer. I was going to kill myself. I had many ways in which I was thinking of doing it, I just hadn’t decided which yet. I was broken. Exhausted mentally and physically, I needed help. I told Jord I wanted to kill myself and I was going to do it unless I got help immediately. He spoke to a midwife at our local hospital and she said I had go to A&E. For me, it was really difficult because I had to go to the hospital that I worked at as a nurse. I was petrified of seeing my colleagues. I was petrified at what they would think of me.

However, when I got there the midwife had already informed them of my situation, they were expecting me. From the moment I stepped in there, everybody was so supportive. So understanding. Not one person judged. So then came the moment I had to tell a member of the acute mental health team how I was feeling. With the words came so many tears. They promised to help, they assured me I would get better.

They decided that the best option for me was to be admitted onto a mother and baby unit. This was exactly what I wanted too. I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from Arthur. Then came the good news – there was a bed! It was really close and they were sure I was going to get it but they just had to check with them, they were going to call around 9. So we waited a very long wait. 9 came and went and I only became more and more anxious, convinced we were going to be told bad news. Unfortunately I was right. The bed was gone, it was given to someone who needed it more urgently. I was beside myself. I wanted help so badly. So then they searched. And searched and searched…

Finally they found a bed again. It was in Nottingham. I was from the south. Nottingham would take over 4 hours to get there from where we lived. I was given 2 more options, go home and wait and see if a bed became available closer to home. Or be admitted to an acute mental health ward on my own, 20 minutes away from where we lived. Arthur would be able to visit for 2 hours a day. I didn’t have to even think about it for a second. I wasn’t going to be without my son. I couldn’t. I knew I would get worse not better. But I knew I couldn’t go home either. I had to go to Nottingham. My heart was torn, I was finally going somewhere that was specialised to help me, but I would be very far away from my loved ones. Jord was devastated. He begged me to go home, said he could look after me, I would be okay. He said I wasn’t going to take him son away from him. But I couldn’t go home. I needed more help then he could give me. I needed professional help. We spoke about it and he realised it was for the best.

When Arthur came into the world I was so happy. Then I was cruelly robbed of my happiness. I was terrified of admitting I needed help but I am so glad I did. I didn’t know it yet, and there were days when I didn’t believe it but this was the start of me getting better. This was the start of my mental health journey. The hardest part was admitting I needed help. If you are struggling please, please speak to someone. Once you have got the words out for the first time, every single person you meet will want to help you.

So as for me, there I was, on the mother and baby unit. Stay tuned for the next chapter peeps.

Love, Kate x