My New Pal Rodney

health, Life, lifestyle, Working parents

I have never been into cycling, even as a kid, and I have always been so scared to even think of riding on London roads on a skinny little frame with no metal casing around me, no music, no airbags… (Do you like my priorities there?!). I’ve always loathed cyclists as a pedestrian or a driver in London. Most of my near-misses have involved cyclists not abiding by the rules of the road. I find it insane that they can risk their lives and be above the law just because they’re not polluting the earth with fumes or adding to the claustrophobia of travelling on public transport. I remember one of my ex-colleagues got caught by the police riding through a red light once and I was secretly really chuffed that it happened! Weaving in and out of traffic, undertaking buses, busting through red lights and risking other people’s lives just to be that much further ahead? Is it really worth it? (I have to preface this by saying that I know not ALL cyclists ride like this in London, and I do appreciate the really good ones.)

I never wanted to be ‘one of those people’. But now I am, up to a point!

I signed up for an e-bike contract through work earlier this year on a total whim after taking part in a demo from our supplier. I have been looking for a way to get fit that I actually enjoy, and I thought cycling ticked all of the boxes. All-over workout, practical, money-saving, a nice way to see the city, easy, traffic-dodging and I would have an e-bike, which has power and will be easier to ride as I gained confidence and strength to start pedalling properly and really doing it as a workout rather than a cheap and fun way to commute to the office.

My first ride after receiving my e-bike (now named Rodney) was along a short stretch of the Grand Union Canal, from my office to Ladbroke Grove and back again. I really enjoyed the feeling of the wind in my face and the speed I was travelling at but hated the close proximity to unpredictable pedestrians and other cyclists whizzing past. When I got back, I spoke to a few seasoned cyclist colleagues who ALL said they hated riding along the canal. I thought, ‘If I can do that, then I can surely do road riding’.

So, I took Rodney home in the boot of my car with the idea that I’d cycle on the more familiar roads around my home and gain confidence slowly. That way, I would always know the way to safety if I got the wobbles! It took me a while to bring myself around to getting on it, but eventually, I rode to our local shopping mall and back, and I LOVED it. I learned more about Rodney’s abilities and what to do when I came to a hill (!). It was on a quiet Sunday afternoon, so I didn’t have a lot of traffic to contend with, but I gained confidence quickly and then wanted to do it more and more!

Cut to a sudden burst of bravery later, when I decided to ride to work one morning. I had planned to leave extra early so that I could take Rodney on an Overground train part of the way (which you can only do pre-7.30am in London), then cycle from Shepherds Bush station to the office, which is about 2.5 miles. I used my new phone holder to, well, hold my phone while I relied on Google Maps to take me through the cycling route. Again, I absolutely loved it! I saw parts of London I’d not seen before, around the Ladbroke Grove area, and was able to take it all in while taking a steady pace to the office. It took me about 15 mins to get to work and I felt so, so proud of myself. Sadly, during this ride, I pulled my back really badly when I lifted Rodders on to the train, so I was out of action for a couple of days following. After a full recovery, though, I planned to get back on the bike (which was still locked up at work) and ride home. All the way, this time.

So, the following Monday, I did it. I rode the 6 miles from my office to my flat. And it was amazing! My poor partner was probably worrying all the time I was on that journey, so I told him the moment I’d made it back safely. My highlights were Hyde Park and passing Kensington Palace, then whooshing past the traffic (carefully, of course) on Wandsworth Bridge Road, which I’d usually be stuck in if I’d been in the car. I rode on really busy roads and found that the vehicles were really kind to me. I know this won’t always be the norm, but I’m thankful for any kindness I receive! I also had a very nice cyclist behind me when I had to stop a bit abruptly at a zebra crossing. I suddenly, at this point, realised that bikes don’t have brake lights…

So, why am I like ‘them’ only up to a point? Because I’m a driver. And a pedestrian. Have been so for a while now! I know the rules. I abide by the rules. I stop at red traffic lights. I am cautious. I am aware and respectful of other road users and pedestrians. I know what it’s like to drive alongside a bike and I know what it’s like to cross a road and have to look every which way in case a speeding cyclist suddenly appears and doesn’t look like they will stop for you, despite you having right of way. I also know what it’s like to walk along pavements and no-cycling paths with small children and come across a cyclist breaking the bylaws. I know how dangerous it is to cycle like that. I don’t want to be like that. I have a family who needs me and I want to get home to them safely every day.

I’m hoping that, in a few months, my regular cycling will improve my health and my fitness levels as well as shedding a few (gazillion) pounds of flesh! I’m really excited to have found a form of exercise that I enjoy, and I hope it will be the start of a whole new lifestyle for me. For my sake and the sakes of my kids and partner, before I become an actual potato.

As always, thanks for reading,

NSGx

NSG is back!

Parenting

Wow! It’s good to be back! Same place, new logo (Do you like it?). How has everyone been since December 2019? Only 2 and a bit years since my last post…!

The NSG family has been through a lot. We have lost beloved members of our family, we have adjusted to new routines and jobs, we have all had Covid at the same time, we got through remote schooling and lockdowns, working from home…

We have to be proud of that. We got through it all and we’re still here and smiling.

Why did I stop writing my blog back in 2019? It was a number of things. I went into a full-time job around November 2019 which took up a lot of my time, energy and brain power, leaving no real quality time to write. I also received a comment about my blog posts – that they were ‘a bit much’. I’m still not really sure what that meant, but it made me doubt myself to the point where I just didn’t think my writing was any good and no-one would really want to read it. I forgot, in that moment, just how much I enjoy writing and how it can be so therapeutic, which was the main purpose of this blog in the first place. I just thought ‘I’m not good enough to do this, so I won’t’.

Why am I back now? I have been wanting to find the space and time to pick up where I left off with the blog for ages now, and I think I have finally found it. I have about 8 draft posts which are mostly irrelevant now, all written when I had a moment of inspiration. Some are unfinished, but others were not posted simply because I was afraid of them being ‘a bit much’, so they remain in my drafts folder to this day. I am now making this hobby a priority and getting back into the joy of writing, researching things to write about, and sharing some words which might help others (even if it’s just to entertain!), as well as picking up on my Spanish through Duolingo, working full time managing a brilliant office and raising my two sons!

So, watch this space, share, follow, like and, most importantly, enjoy!

It’s good to be back :),

NSG xxx

Rain, rain GO AWAY!

Life, Parenting

I want to start this post by saying that I actually love rain. Rain is so important and vital to the smooth running of this planet. I remember being in Malawi during a terrible drought and, when the rain finally came, we were all so happy to see it! Even us miserable Brits.

I love rainy days indoors – Chilling on the sofa with a cuppa and an old movie, occasionally looking smugly out of the window at the poor unfortunate souls having to travel and go out in this oppressive weather. You really can’t beat that.

But yesterday, my relationship with the rain became soured. As did my relationship with Uber… which was already souring quite rapidly after a ridiculously expensive trip home from my local Asda about a month ago. Let me tell you all about it…

My eldest son started school last week. It has been a huge change for all the family, and we are really having to pull our socks up more than ever before, despite being exhausted after all the laundry, ironing, organising, planning, getting him to bed and school on time, etc. We have always been a bit relaxed about getting out of the house, mainly because it stresses me out so much trying to get everyone out of the door in a relatively decent state. We try to make vague plans to meet people and I recently found out that my friends are telling me to get places earlier now because I am often late (which is NEVER my fault). Anyway, I digress. So, yesterday morning, the heavens opened and we decided that we should get an Uber to take us to the school because we didn’t want Khaya to get his uniform too wet and turn up to school looking dishevelled. We checked the time of the wait for a driver, and booked with enough time to get ready, meet the driver outside and get to the school for 8.50am. The driver cancelled at the very last minute, while he was on his way to us. I guess it was too short a journey. Thanks, buddy. If we left at that time once we knew we would have to now walk to the school, we would just make it at Khaya’s pace. So, we had the genius plan for me to push him in the buggy, which would have shaved off lots of time and we would have managed to keep him dry and looking crisp in his uniform.

I got soaked. Completely through. I had to peel off my clothes when I arrived home, despite having a raincoat on the whole time. I must have looked like a cat who had fallen into a bath. My boots (with whom I have also got a soured relationship) were not very waterproof so I got sopping wet socks from walking through a deep puddle. Then, to add insult to injury, they were a touch too big so I now have two very painful blisters on the back of my heels. Yay.

When I got home and changed, I sat down, switched on my computer and was asked by my partner, ‘Isn’t it time to take Nathi to the hospital for his eye appointment?’. Ugh. I hadn’t eaten or had a cuppa, so I felt like a zombie. We got Nathi up, dressed and out of the door (and even got him to wear his glasses!), and we were off. Everything went well after that, except for mis-predicting how long it would take to get to the school to collect Khaya at 3pm. Nathi and I were out, so we hadn’t done that journey before. Needless to say, my partner had to stop work to go and get him (Sorry, darling). But, we all met up at the school and went to the pub together. We watched the poor unfortunate souls through the window while I sank into my Pinot Noir and nursed my aching heels.

I hope all of you have had more successful school runs. And, if anyone has a car they want to donate, please let me know.

NSG xxx

Photo credit: Pete Nowicki on Unsplash

Thank You!

Life, Parenting

Happy Hot Day, everyone. I hope you’re all keeping cool somehow. If not, wait until tomorrow when the temp will drop by about 10 degrees!

I had a nice start to the day today – I woke up this morning to notifications from WordPress telling me that my blog had been visited more often than usual for a Tuesday morning. I had loads of views at around 7am. I have spent ALL day trying to work out why – Was it something I tagged in a post that is currently trending? Nope. Did someone famous signppost their Twitter followers to my blog? Nope.

Then I had a brainwave about an hour ago.

I regularly receive the Nappy Valley Net weekly e-newsletter, which is aimed for parents in the SW London area. A couple of weeks ago they posted an article/discussion about something that was written about my grandparents in the press (They live locally, too. Upstairs, in fact). The article said that my grandfather was sad to have to sell their Wandsworth home. This wasn’t true, and the words that were actually spoken were taken way out of context. I’m sure it went along the lines of ‘We probably should downsize, but we can’t bear to leave this house’. The discussion on Nappy Valley Net garnered a lot of lovely comments from local parents who have enjoyed their Great Canal Journeys programme and showed real compassion for their situation. I felt that I had to set the record straight about them – That they are not reluctantly selling their home at all. So, about a week or so ago, I posted a comment on the discussion.

Early this morning I received the new Nappy Valley Net e-newsletter which contained an update on that story mentioning me and my comment! And, because I posted as Not So Goldilocks, I guess some of the other parents who were browsing through the newsletter at the crack of dawn, like myself, wanted to see who I was (now that they knew where I lived!).

And that was it! My ‘Eureka’ moment.

So, thank you so much to Nappy Valley Net and all of its followers – Not only for the welcome traffic, but for the beautiful and supportive messages you have posted about my grandparents. I will pass them all on.

NSG xxx

Talking Honestly about Death

Life, Parenting

I have just listened to the wonderful second episode of Clemmie Telford’s Honestly podcast (I also highly recommend the first episode with the brilliant Father and Mother of Daughters, Simon and Clemmie Hooper). Clemmie’s Honestly podcast is about speaking honestly about those subjects which are often taboo or brushed under the carpet; subjects which can be tough to talk about or difficult to bring up, maybe a bit embarrassing to talk about in front of friends or family. But, they do need to be talked about.

This episode deals with that subject that we all avoid – Death. I know I avoid it, as the sheer knowledge that I will die one day frightens me so much that I can’t bear to even think about it. It has scared me from a young age. I recall driving home from my grandfather’s house one dark, rainy evening with my mum, dad and brother. I must have been about 6 or 7 years old. I started crying for no apparent reason. When my parents asked me what was wrong, I said ‘I don’t want you to die’. It really, really upset me to think this would happen one day and there would be no way I could stop it. The thought of living without them traumatised me.

As we get older and our families grow, we tend to change the way we feel about death. I guess, as it becomes more inevitable, we learn to accept it and face it head-on. But, becoming a mother makes the whole thing so much harder. Now we have to think about our children losing a parent as well as us losing our relatives. I don’t think I have ever really talked about this with anyone before because I am blocking it out of my mind completely as a way to avoid having to deal with such a huge fear of mine. My biggest fear. And I don’t know why I fear it. Why do I feel scared of dying? As the man in the song ‘Great Gig In The Sky‘ by Pink Floyd says, ‘Why should I be frightened of dying? There’s no reason for it, you’ve got to go sometime’. And I have lost some amazing people in my life. My grandmother died in 2002. We were close. She was strong. I thought, if she can do it, then it must be OK. And it happens so often, almost as much as people being born. The world daily death rate is 151,600 people, according to http://www.ecology.com. That’s per day!

I think the fear is the unknown. Not many people can tell us what it’s like to die. People die for a moment before being brought back to life, which is incredible, and that’s the closest we will get to being able to understand what happens. In Clemmie Telford’s podcast, Louise Winters and Anna Lyons talk openly and honestly about their jobs as an alternative funeral director and end-of-life doula respectively. Both deal with death and grief every day. Listening to their take on it all, and the way it should be discussed, was really refreshing. So much so that I had to write this blog post immediately in order to share with you, and signpost, some of the things they said. Anna Lyons’ post on Clemmie Telford’s blog, Mother Of All Lists, was mentioned in the podcast episode, so I went and had a look. It is an honest guide to death and all the things surrounding it. Here is the list for you all to read (and I feel it is important that you do): What Death Has Taught Me. I won’t spoil it for you, as it is really an amazing read, but I was surprised to hear, on the podcast and in the article, that you can have a funeral anywhere, you can be buried in your back garden and, most unexpectedly, you can remain at home after you die, not in a mortuary, as long as you’re kept cool and the cat isn’t allowed in the room (Apparently they begin to eat dead bodies after the heart stops – Ewww. Although, this won’t stop me from loving cats).

Listening to the Honestly podcast has made me think about mortality, grief and life’s fragility. These would normally be grave subjects to think about on a Wednesday morning, but today I am thinking about them in a different, new and refreshing light. It doesn’t have to be taboo or forbidden to discuss it, and I totally agree with Anna about talking openly and honestly about death with our children. I have thought about it many times, when the subject arises, but I realise that they’re not stupid and shouldn’t be shielded away from the subject of death. It will only increase a fear in them. My eldest is really obsessed with The Lion King at the moment, and he refers to the death of Mufasa as him ‘getting stuck’. So now, any time there is a perilous or sad part of a film, he asks if someone is going to get stuck. *LION KING SPOILER ALERT* We tell him that Mufasa died because Scar pushed him, and he blamed it on Simba. He understands now that Mufasa died. These things do happen, so why lie about them? I think having children has made me begin to feel differently about death – When I talk about it with them, I don’t want to scare them like it scares me. I want them to feel comfortable with the inevitability. It is inevitable and it doesn’t need to be scary. My boys will find their own way to deal with these things – the death of relatives and their own mortality – and we will be there to support them through the tough times and to try and explain things to them truthfully when they ask questions. As they say in the podcast, understanding what happens in death allows us to feel more comfortable with it. It helps us to imagine, as best we can, what it might be like and that gives us a better personal connection with our inevitable end.

I have to, finally, give a special mention to Louise Winters’ beautiful answer to Clemmie Telford’s question, ‘Death is…’

‘The full stop at the end of a life sentence’.

As ever, thanks for reading,

NSG xxx

Cover Photo by João Silas on Unsplash

Book Review: The Mummy Lessons by Helen Wallen

Parenting

Firstly, I want to say that I only found out yesterday that The Mummy Lessons is the second book in what is hopefully a whole series, following the motherhood experiences of three childhood friends, Emily, Liz and Molly. I am clearly very late to this party! But, like many parties, it’s better to be late than not turn up at all. And, even without knowing the hosts, I still had an awesome time and ended the evening feeling like I knew them well. Plus, it left me wanting to go out and get that first book…

OK, that’s enough of the party metaphors.

It’s true that all three ladies in the book are completely different people, all doing the motherhood thing differently, but you can’t help but sympathise with them all in some way. As a mother, I have probably felt the same way as all of them at some stage in my own experience, and I think other mothers (and fathers) will find this, too. This is how Helen Wallen draws us in to the story – She makes us fully empathise with the characters. I am not going to spoil the story in any way, as that would be just mean (and make my partner, who is a writer of stories, very angry with me!), but it felt like I was reading the diaries, Whatsapp chats and blog posts (and witty poetry!) of my dearest mummy friends – Content that I’d heard, felt and seen before, but this was portrayed by other people… so WE ARE NOT ALONE then!

This is one of the main things that I loved about this book – Its familiarity. It made it a real joy to read. Even at the end of a day (or sixteen) where I have felt so tired and fed up, this book brightened me up and made me laugh out loud before bedtime. Helen’s language and her ease at telling her characters’ stories made it easy to follow and kept me entertained throughout, even when things weren’t going too well in the story (Again, no spoilers).

The book also reinforces the importance of mummy friends, and I think every mum will read this book and feel ever-more grateful for their village. I know I did. I don’t think any of the characters could have gone through these stages of motherhood without each other, and I genuinely feel this way about my own mummy group. Just reading the Whatsapp conversations about babies that won’t sleep, and getting messages at 4.30am and actually responding to them… I remember it all so well!

What sets this apart from other books of its kind is that it is completely fictional (It seems that most others seem to be either autobiographical or an advice book rather than a story), but there is still a hint of ‘hmmmm’ about whether Helen Wallen has used some of her own experiences to create the stories of her characters. I can imagine that most of the parents out there could split their crazy experiences across three separate and totally different characters and still manage to make the stories feel so real.

I genuinely enjoyed reading this book, and was sad when I’d finished it (Although I got a little taster of Helen’s first book, Baby Boom, at the end – Nice touch!). It made me feel warm and cosy, but also sad and empathetic at times. This crazy journey we’re on as parents can only be fully enjoyed with laughter, jokes, not-so-candid conversations about baby weaning and a few swear words, and Helen Wallen has brought that into print for us all to enjoy, and for really not that much money! If that’s not a tonic, I don’t know what is…

NSG xxx

Where else can you follow Helen Wallen aka Just A Normal Mummy other than physically stalking her and her family?

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Links to the books on Amazon can be found in their titles, above. The Mummy Lessons is available on Kindle for only 99p for a limited time only – Get your copy asap!

Cesarean Awareness Month – My Story

Parenting

After finding out that April is Cesarean Awareness Month, I felt compelled to share my story. The highs and the lows, but with a very happy ending. I just felt I should add that now before you read on.

First, a bit of birth history…

I got pregnant with Khaya about three months into my relationship with my wonderful man. The pregnancy was awesome, the birth was even more awesome. It was quick, easy and relatively pain-free. My labour started around lunchtime on a Wednesday, and Khaya was born at 6.54pm that evening! In a way, I wonder if this easy process added to the problems I had later with post-natal depression. Was it too easy? Had I been spoiled? Did I therefore expect everything to be perfect or, at the very least, easy and natural? I have been playing that all over in my head a lot over the past few years.

Fast-forward to our rather risky trip to Swaziland in November 2016. I was 7 months pregnant when we left, and the plan was for me to return to the UK in my 36th week of pregnancy, just before Christmas. I had a letter from my GP to say that I was fit to fly, and it was OK with the airline. Nothing could go wrong, right?! Well, how wrong was I…

When we left for Swaziland, I was in the process of selling a flat I owned with my ex-husband. It was stressful. I didn’t want to be in contact with him, but there were things that needed to be done in order to get the process underway. We had some viewings, some interest, and then we had an offer. It was slightly lower than I wanted, but it would still mean a little bit of a profit for us both and, most importantly, closure. Being so far away, and having minimal access to the internet, was tough. I was able to contact the agents as and when I had reception (most of the time from a local bar/cafe in Mbabane – Thank you so much to them for their help!). I remember some rather stressed conversations with the agents as a result of my ex-husband dragging his heels on some paperwork, although he denied this at the time. I then had a heated FB Messenger conversation with him about it all, and it was not a nice experience. Being 7-months pregnant and having to deal with all of this as well as the soaring heat in Swaziland was not the best situation for me to be in. I rested as much as I could and Khaya, then a toddler, was upset that I wasn’t playing with him as much anymore. I felt miserable at a time when I should have been happy.

I woke early one Monday morning, around 3am, with a very wet patch around me in the bed. I went to the bathroom and realised I was leaking fluid. At this point I wasn’t sure if it was urine or amniotic fluid. Had I just lost control of my bladder?! I was only in my 35th week of pregnancy. The baby wasn’t due yet. The fluid kept coming, so my partner found the number for a clinic to get some advice. He called the Women and Children Hospital in Manzini, a city about 20 minutes’ drive away from where we were staying with my partner’s aunt (in Lobamba, a beautiful rural area with mountain views and lots of peace and quiet, except on Sundays when all of the churches in the area would have their services). The hospital said I should rest and sleep until the morning and then make our way to see them for an examination. Khaya had woken up, too, so we could all do with a proper sleep for a few more hours. The leaking subsided a bit but it was still coming out. We got up later in the morning, got dressed and made our way to the hospital in the family car.

Manzini’s Women and Children Hospital. I swear we spent longer in this waiting area than in the hospital itself!

As we arrived at the hospital, it looked really nice. New, clean, with a TV in the waiting area. I was happy that my partner had chosen this hospital for our check-up, despite it being a little further away than other clinics. They asked for money when we arrived. We couldn’t see a doctor until we paid. So we paid and we waited. We were called in and I was examined. The doctor confirmed that it was amniotic fluid and that I would need to be admitted because I was probably about to go into labour. After much negotiation with the receptionist and accounts administrator about fees for the admission, we finally got in to the ward where I was given a bed. They told me that I would be in for the night and would just now need to wait for labour to start naturally before they decided on what to do next. By the next morning, nothing had happened. I was induced. Nothing. Then I was induced again at lunchtime. Things then started happening. I was feeling contractions and they were getting more intense. I remember the doctor saying to me, ‘Why are you smiling and laughing? You should be screaming in pain!’. I replied, ‘I’m about to meet my son, why wouldn’t I be happy?’. But, upon examination about four hours later, the doctors found that I was fully effaced but only 1cm dilated. My son didn’t want to come out yet. He wasn’t ready! The doctor told me the words I really didn’t want to hear – ‘We are going to have to go into theatre and get this baby out. It has been too long now since your waters broke. We will need to prep you now for a cesarean’. Shit. My happy, laughing self turned into a wreck. I was completely nervous. I felt so vulnerable – A complete flip from my first birth where I felt that my body had this, that it was working well to get the baby out naturally. Now I felt as though I had failed. My body had misread some signals and thought my son wanted to come early when, in fact, he was totally happy in there. It makes me sad to write that, you know. I still feel very sad about that.

Waiting for our son to arrive naturally the night before he actually did!

So, I was prepped for theatre. It was the first time in a while I’d been shaved ‘down there’, which I managed to joke about to the lovely nurse who had that awful job! I also remember not having any more contractions. It was as if my body knew it could stop now. Perhaps my son knew that it was futile trying to do anything about getting out. Perhaps he just didn’t want to. I was given a gown to wear and I had to take off all of my jewellery. My partner had to sign a consent form to say he was happy for the operation to go ahead. He always tells me how frightening that was. I was wheeled down to theatre with my partner by my side (Khaya was staying at the house in Lobamba with his auntie and cousin). In the theatre I met the anaesthetist – A lovely man with a bubbly personality which really helped at a time when I was feeling so scared and nervous. Both doctors who I’d met and got to know were performing the operation. I felt safe and looked after. I was lifted on to the table and I started telling the anaesthetist how scared I was about having an epidural, as I’d heard that they really hurt. He reassured me, and we went through the process. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as I thought it would, so I was relieved. Then I lay down and started to feel the pins and needles and numbness as it happened. First in my feet, then up my legs, then finally up to my waist. I only recall bits and bobs about what happened next, mainly involving me talking to the staff about complete nonsense and being extremely nervous. I didn’t let go of my partner’s hand the whole way through. I said to him, ‘Let me know when he’s out’, and he replied, ‘He already is!’. He had been watching the operation, like the brave bastard that he is. I saw a very long baby being brought over to us for a kiss, then he was whisked away to be checked. My partner went in to check how he was doing (asking for my permission, bless him) while they sewed up my wounds. The doctor said that she would only put a couple of stitches inside as she wanted it to heal more by itself, and then she stitched up the outside with more sutures (One of which stayed in there until a couple of months after I returned to the UK – I went to the doctor to find out what this vein was that was running across the underside of my section scar, and she found out it was a long blue suture that had been left in there after the removal of my stitches). I remember saying to the doctor that I could feel something putting pressure on my chest. It was overwhelmingly painful. She told me she didn’t know what that could be, as she was dealing with my uterus at the time. And then I started to get the shakes. Really badly. I was shivering, my teeth were chattering, and I couldn’t speak properly. They were worried about me, but I kept cool, took deep breaths, and all was OK in the end. It took a while to wear off. I think my body was in shock. My partner told me that our son was OK, but needed some help with his breathing. His lungs hadn’t fully matured, so he would need to go into ICU for at least the rest of the night. His birth time was recorded as 7.24pm, exactly half an hour after his big brother was born 21 months before, almost to the day. Once I was stitched up, I was lifted back onto my hospital bed and wheeled back to the ward. I was told I couldn’t have a pillow and that I had to keep lying flat without lifting my head for the next 24 hours. This was to avoid some major headaches, which were a side effect of the anaesthetic they had used.

Baby Nkosinathi, only minutes old.

For those 24 hours, I mainly slept. My partner was told to go home as there was nothing he could do now. I would be asleep, and our baby was being well looked after in the ICU. My partner needed to be back with our other son at home and could come back in the morning refreshed. Poor Khaya was probably wondering what had happened to Mama, and whether there was a new baby yet! As I lay down that night, without really being able to move, I heard babies crying in the ICU. I wondered if any of them were my baby. I later found out that the staff weren’t able to pick the babies up to comfort them, and this really made me sad (Still does). When my partner came back in the morning, he went into the ICU and took videos and photos of our baby so that I could see him. He also got some updates on his progress. They thought he would be able to join me the next morning, which was great. By then I would be up and about and we could start on the feeding.

One of the photos taken of our baby son while he was in the ICU without his Mama

That night, it was time for me to get up and start walking. I had a catheter inserted during my operation and recovery but this was removed when the anaesthetic wore off. I was then expected to try to walk to the bathroom by myself. The most wonderful nurse was on duty that night – Sister Emma. I will never forget her. She and my partner helped lift me up to sit, which was extremely tough. Then I had to step down from the bed and walk across to the bathroom by myself. I needed so much help. I was broken! Not only had I been opened up to get my baby out of me, I had also been lying down, pillowless, for 24 hours. And, yes, I still got those awful headaches which the doctors assured me would be much worse if I hadn’t laid so still for that long.

My body hadn’t caught up with the event that occurred the previous evening. I didn’t have my baby with me! My milk hadn’t started coming in yet. But, the next morning, he was back with his Mama, still connected to a drip. This tiny little skinny thing with a dented chest. He looked so unready to be here. He even seemed a bit pissed off about the whole thing. If you know him now, you could understand that – He’s a feisty and stubborn little boy! We worked on the feeding all day, and started our bonding process. It was lovely. Then, my partner brought Khaya in to meet his little brother for the first time. He thought the baby was really funny each time he moved. It was also the first time that my partner could hold his new son. We discussed names for quite a few days. I wanted one of his middle names to be chosen by my partner’s aunt, as she had been so good to us, looking after us during this hard time. In the end, we decided that the name she chose for him would be his christian name – Nkosinathi, meaning ‘God is with us’. We shortened it to Nathi.

We were in hospital for a week. I was discharged on the Friday and Nathi was discharged on the Monday. I had to make an appointment to come back to have my stitches removed and we had to come back after two weeks with Nathi for a check-up. It was all very expensive. The bills were huge. We had been told the cost of a c-section when we arrived and it wasn’t much more than a natural delivery. It was affordable. But, they added on so many things, even each pair of latex gloves used. Even way after we left they added more and more fees. We had to borrow money from all of our relatives to pay the fees.

At this point, I want to tell you what I know about births in Southern Africa. I have heard many things, but the main thing I hear over and over again is how doctors try to convince you to have a caesarean. The reasons they give probably include increased health, safety, precision, no potential unnecessary trauma, knowing the day your child will be born… The real reason is that they are able to get all of their buddies some scheduled work. The surgeons, anaesthetists, nurses… All of them would be able to book the operation into their calendars and be guaranteed a wage. Most people in Southern Africa have Medical Aid, a health insurance that covers most of their medical needs. Some people cannot afford this monthly payment towards their healthcare. These people have to use the government hospitals which have less reliable care. Obviously, the Medical Aid only covers so much. I know a family in South Africa whose twins were very premature and ended up staying in hospital for over three months. Their Medical Aid only covered a portion of the total cost of the care and the total bill came to millions of rands. I wrote a blog post (Why We Need To Vote To Save The NHS) in June 2017 about how important it is for us to save the NHS for this very reason. I have learned in our international family living that there are so many differences, pluses and minuses of both lives. The NHS is a huge plus to life in the UK and we really need to know how bloody lucky we are to have such a reliable service for those scary and nerve-wracking times in our lives – Times when reliability and reassurance are most vital.

During Cesarean Awareness Month, I will be thinking of my experience which, despite the fees and the downsides, was actually a mostly-positive experience. We were well looked after, we were safe, and we had amazing support from everyone around us. Despite all the ridiculous claims that a cesarean birth isn’t a real birth (I blame Shakespeare for this – All that shit about ‘none of woman born shall harm Macbeth‘ – It turns out Macduff’s mum had a c-section), or it’s the easy route, it is important for us all to share our stories about our own experiences with cesareans and how it really isn’t ‘the easy way out’. It has just as many ups and downs as a ‘natural’ birth and should not be seen as a failure. It took me a while to see this, as I was disappointed that this was the path we had to take in order to have our second son, but I have no real reason to feel this way. He was born, he is healthy. He might not have made it if we’d carried on trying to do it the natural way. I might not have made it either. Surely, that’s the important thing here. If there is a way to do this safely, with the best and healthiest outcome, you’d surely have no choice but to do it this way.

I hope that this somehow has a positive effect on my readers. I would hate to think that I might put people off cesareans after hearing my story. I admit I still have moments, and writing this post has been hard, but I was already suffering with anxiety, depression and stress at the time of Nathi’s birth. That aside, the birth went really, really well. My physical and mental scars have practically disappeared, and Nathi is a fantastic, hilarious and extremely strong little boy.

Nathi today. Two years old and stronger than all the rest of us put together!

Thanks for reading, and please support/share/encourage others to talk during this month of awareness. For more information, please visit: the International Cesarean Awareness Network.

Thank you,

NSG xxx

A Different Approach to Parenting

Parenting

I have just read an article which I’ve had saved on my Facebook account for about a week (We all know how difficult it is to get around to these things!) – An interview with the psychotherapist Philippa Perry (who is also married to the rather brilliant artist, Grayson Perry) about her new book, The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read (and Your Children Will Be Glad That You Did). I felt compelled to share it with you all (just click on the book title to be taken magically to the article), as it really resonated with me. I am sure some of you other parents will also feel the same way when you read the interview. In fact, the interviewer herself, Robyn Wilder, draws upon her own very personal experiences as a child and a mother.

As a mother who is sometimes, or often if I’m being really honest, lacking in enthusiasm to engage with my children, this article really struck a chord. She is completely right, of course, and I know that I have some work to do to make sure that my boys don’t grow up to be depressed, anxious and, well, like me. Although, saying that, I read the article aloud to my mother, and she only commented on the fact that she never drank coffee (See the article for context)! The truth is that my mum gave her all to us when we were growing up, and put us before everything else, yet I still came into adulthood having bouts of depression and anxiety.

During the parenting journey, we probably don’t realise that the things we do and say can have such an incredible impact on our children. Perhaps we don’t realise until it’s too late. But, what Philippa Perry says is not to fret. We all make mistakes, we are all ‘bad parents’. Even the parents we think have it all sussed out have failed now and then. Sometimes, even on our really off days, we can still succeed. In this day and age of alternative parenting techniques, often written by people who don’t have children, this is a refreshing and rather logical book of ‘advice’ coming from a psychotherapist who has been working with people with depression, anxiety and other mental health issues, as well as being a mother herself. Needless to say, I immediately followed the link to buy the book only to find out that it is currently not available. I hope that means that Philippa Perry has completely sold out and is now waiting for more books to be printed!

If you can, grab yourself a copy. I think it will be an interesting read for any parent and very different from the usual parenting advice books. If any of you have any other recommendations like this book, do let me know in the comments section of this post. I’d love to hear from you. Thanks!

Have a good week, followers and chums,

Not So Goldilocks xxx

What has NSG been up to this week?

Parenting

Hello followers! How are you all? I hope you’re having a good week, whether it is raining, windy, sunny, or all of the above.

It has been an interesting week in NSG Towers. Khaya turned a magnificent FOUR on Monday, and we took a rather brilliant trip to Hamley’s on Regent Street in order for him to choose his birthday present. We also promised Nathi an ‘unbirthday present’, which is a tradition in my family. Here are some of the highlights:

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We have also been busy seeing family, and making Baba Bear feel comfortable in his London home after being away for over a year.

Mama has been on a bit of a fundraising jolly, having raised over and above my goal for Ovacome through my birthday fundraiser. We now have an active family fundraiser for Comic Relief through JustGiving, which went live this evening. The boys took part in a cake sale at their nursery today, and we will all be tuning in to the Comic Relief live show on BBC1 tomorrow evening.

I was also very moved by the awful Ethiopian Airways plane crash this week. It was, quite frankly, way too close to home. Not only have we used that airline, and possibly that very aircraft, in the past, but my partner told me that he could have been on that flight if he’d decided to stay in Ethiopia a little longer for a work launch. He said that he would have flown any route to get him back to the UK that didn’t cost the earth, which very well may have included flying from Addis Ababa to Nairobi for a connecting flight. I can’t imagine what the families of those poor victims are going through right now. My thoughts are with them.

I have ordered more merchandise for my company, just for me, and have been working on a business plan to find out what I can do next. What kind of journey will this venture take me on? I never saw myself as someone who would need to know anything about business, but perhaps this is what I was meant to do after all.

I am currently halfway through my amazing Start Writing Fiction course, which I signed up for through FutureLearn. It is free, and it is run by the Open University. I am really enjoying it, and am getting lots of interesting and useful guidance for my fiction writing. And, did I mention, IT’S FREE! I urge you to go to their site and see if there is a course for you. I bet there will be. Here you go: https://www.futurelearn.com/.

And now, we are gearing up for our friends at Two Gents’ production of The Importance of Being Earnest at Tara Arts Theatre in Earlsfield, SW18, which closes on Saturday night. If you’re local and fancy a night out, please book your tickets here. It’s a two-hander, both females, and should be a very interesting and entertaining night of theatre!

So, I hope everyone has a great weekend, and please donate anything you can to our Comic Relief fundraiser over on JustGiving. It all goes to the people who need it the most and, as much as I believe that this shouldn’t be how the world is in 2019, every little will help. Thank you, and goodnight.

NSG xxx

PS. I learned a little lesson in reblogging today, and how not to do it. I reposted a lovely post that I had enjoyed by another blogger on WordPress, but hadn’t made it clear enough that it wasn’t my own post… Needless to say, I had a concerned friend contact me by text about it, so immediately took it down again. Huge apologies to the blogger who wrote the original post – I am still learning!

World Book Day

Parenting

I am a book lover, so is my partner. Therefore my children had no choice but to be book lovers themselves! We frequent the marvellous local libraries in our borough and we have a lot of books that we read over and over again. I wanted to use this opportunity to show you all our top five favourites (in alphabetical order, links to purchasing sites when you click on the titles)…

1. BURGLAR BILL by Janet & Allan Ahlberg

One of our favourite books, namely because Mama loves doing the voices of Burglar Bill and Burglar Betty (Got to love a glottal stop, or seventeen!). And we love ‘Boglaboll’. Janet and Allan Ahlberg’s books were really popular when I was a child, and they always seem to get it right. Their stories are timeless, and this is one of the classics for sure.

2. CHARLIE & B by Helen Webster

This book is very special to us. It was written by the mum of a very dear friend, who lives in Johannesburg. It is set in Swaziland, where my partner grew up and where Nathi was born. It reminds us of the wonderful landscape of the country and features some indiginous creatures like porcupines and caracals. It’s funny and gorgeous, and the illustrations by Jess Jardim-Wedenpohl really capture the beauty of Swaziland… and dogs!

3. THE GRUFFALO by Julia Donaldson

Julia Donaldson never gets it wrong. Her stories are so easy to read, so entertaining and imaginative. The Gruffalo will be on many of your top-five lists, I’m sure. It’s a wonderful story with a very brave and courageous, and slightly cocky, protagonist!

4. POO BUM by Stephanie Blake

I think this is my favourite children’s book ever. When I first read it, I howled with laughter. Originally written in French, with the title ‘Caca Boudin’ (which is wonderful, isn’t it), the book follows a young rabbit who can only say ‘Poo Bum’. So, when a wolf wants to eat him, he replies ‘Poo Bum’. He is then subsequently eaten by the wolf, who then becomes poorly and calls the doctor. I won’t spoil the last part of the story because you need to find out for yourselves, but I urge you to find a copy of this book asap.

5. THE TIGER WHO CAME TO TEA by Judith Kerr

A childhood classic for generations and generations. I love this story because the family just seem to be OK about a tiger coming to tea. I admit I have never really understood the underlying message of the story… Is Sophie telling her daddy a story (which would seem plausible given the language of the writing)? Was it a story to cover up the fact that Sophie and her mum had a massive feast and ate everything in the house? Or is it simply a girl’s idea of what it would be like if a tiger did come to tea? Any suggestions welcome, and I’m sorry if I seem dense!

So, these are our top five. What are yours? Do you have any books that you read over and over again, to the point that you don’t actually need to physically read them anymore? I often read ‘Poo Bum’ to Khaya when we didn’t have the book, and I remembered it word-for-word. I also remember being in Cape Town with my partner’s cast mates and asking them all to take turns to read it in their own way. It was very entertaining! I think my partner reads it best. His wolf voice is perfect.

Happy World Book Day to you all, and I hope you have all had fun, not stress, getting your kids ready for the celebrations at school! Let’s all keep our libraries going by regularly visiting and borrowing books. Kindles are great, but you can’t beat a proper book, especially for children.

NSG xxx