PhD Mums

It is December, and unbelievably, my baby daughter is nearly 6 months old, and my maternity leave from my PhD is over. I am now faced with the daunting prospect of returning to Sheffield and writing up the last few chapters of my thesis before my new submission date of March 2011. It still seems a world away! Once upon a time, I naively thought that having six months away from the thesis would give me a fresh perspective on it all when I returned. As it is, I've almost decided that everything I wrote before is now rubbish and feel the need to redo it all.
One thing I am looking forward to is the 'brainwork' required for a PhD. Not that motherhood is a brainless activity, far from it; I have learned so, so much about babies, about myself, my capabilities, and also about my parents which I didn't anticipate. But PhDs require a high level of concentration, the ability to focus entirely on such a specific topic in such detail, that you seldolm get to use those skills in 'normal' life - if caring for a 5 month old, very alert, curious baby can ever be considered normal to other students.
The hard part is going to be the juggling; caring for my daughter and giving her the attention she needs and craves as well as writing something that actually has to make sense. I am very proud of my baby, but I do want to be proud of my thesis as well. My priorities have changed, perhaps inevitably, but I remain determined to finish and be Doctor Mummy, even if most of the thesis is written during "nap time"!

Nelspruit/Mbombela

Today involved a mightily long journey from Johannesburg to Nelspruit to the farm where Shaun and Karen live. Shaun maintains all the machinary on a massive orange, avocado and macadamia nut farm, and they live on site. The place is absolutely amazing from our point of view, so lush and green. The perfect place for a kid to grow up, too. At the moment, Carl's neice, Lindsay is here as well. Lindsay is technically Miranda's only first cousin, but there is an age gap between them of 23 years! Lindsay is now married to Gerhard, and has three kids, Olivia (nearly 5) Abigail (15 months) and Gabriel (5 weeks!). So poor Karen has a houseful of babies!

Our journey should have taken us four hours, and would have done if it weren't for South African roads. These parallel Peruvian roads in their ridiculousness. The main free way out of Joburg has four lanes in either direction, and seemingly no speed limit. Worse, no one has any sense of lane control either, and we were frequently overtaken on both sides at once, which was more than a little unnerving. Outside Johannesburg, it got worse: two lanes in either direction, again with no lane control but also, no central reservation, so if you wavered over the painted line just a fraction, you could end up hitting a truck coming head on at 120kmph!
Of course, this sort of system invites accidents, and about 20 miles outside Nelspruit, we got stuck. We never found out exactly what happened, but whatever it was involved the police, ambulance and a massive tow-truck to remove the cars involved. And then they closed the road. Everyone still on the road (ie, us!) just had to sit there and wait for it to clear. We moved about 100 yards in 45 minutes!!! Aaargh. Poor Miranda had been asleep while the car was moving but woke up as soon as we stopped in the traffic jam. She was bored and hungry and had filled her nappy, and was highly pissed off. Her pissed off cry is deafening, but there was very little we could do about it at that point!We eventually got through the accident zone, and then promptly got lost. There is a new road, built for the World Cup stadium over the summer, which completely bypasses Nelspruit, and once you are on it, you can't get off. And there are no sign posts at all because they are trying to change the name from Nelspruit to Mbombela, and all the signs say Mbombela and we didn't realise it was the same place. And of course, my phone was rapidly running out of batteries, so we couldn't call Karen for directions for longer than a few minutes. And it was getting dark. And Miri was yelling her head off....

Once Carl had realised we were on the new road, he exercised his right as an almost-local to Insane Driving, and did a U-turn on the dual carriage way (sometimes the lack central barrier is a useful thing!). We randomly found a drive-thru KFC and parked there, tried to pacify Miri, and got Shaun and Gerhard to come and rescue us! Turns out we were incredibly, frustratingly close to where we needed to be, and that this new road actually cuts through part of the farm!! Never mind. We were welcomed with beer and yet more braai (exceptionally good boerewors!), and all three kiddies. Last time I saw them, Olivia was only 18 months old, and the other two hadn't even been thought of. Olivia is now a beautiful, sweet little girl and very much her own person, Abi has the most expressive face I've ever seen on a toddler and lovely spikey strawberry-blonde hair, and little Gabriel looks so tiny and sleepy in comparison with Miranda who is only 3 months older than him. Surreal. Miri seems fascinated with her new cousins though and got over the trauma of the long car journey very quickly when she had been fed, changed and became the centre of attention again! I think she will enjoy her stay here.

Baby Yoga

Miranda has started baby yoga classes!

I didn't have my camera on me, sorry!

These are run by Surestart, Yay for Surestart! I took her down to a local community centre, actually in a church, and a great deal further to walk to than I'd imagined! It started off with massage and the woman went to great efforts to show us her badge, as you have to be specially trained to be an infant masseuse. To be honest I was quite glad it was just massage because I was already tired from walking to the far side of South Park with 6.5kg of Miranda round my neck in the sling.

I got to cover her in olive oil! Quite bizarre, but apparently it is the best thing to put on new baby's skin (as opposed to synthetic oils, I suppose). And it doesn't smell too bad either. We got to do each leg, then each foot, then her prehensile toes and finally her tiny little ankles. She really enjoyed it! Lots of giggling and gurgling. It was extremely difficult to keep hold of a greasy little leg, particularly when the owner of the leg thinks it's hilarious to try and kick the trainee-masseuse or chew her own toes...

Miri was also fascinated by the other babies; there were three others there, all boys. Alfie, Ethan and Daniel. Alfie was only 11 weeks old, but absolutely huge, with a massive head. Good looking little boy but my deepest sympathies go out to his Mum! Daniel had blonde hair but nearly as spikey as Miri's! Miranda has seen plenty of other babies before, but only at Rhymetime where everyone is bouncing about and being noisy. This was far more calm and quiet (although the masseuse insisted on playing Enya!) and she got to really study them. She even grinned at Daniel.

After leg massage, we moved on to tummy massage. This apparently really helps to calm and relax babies and helps relieve colic. Well, DUH! I could have predicted the results really... Gently massaging small, oiled, excited babies in a downwards direction can only lead to one thing. Faaaaaaart! Very, very funny, four little babies all tooting in unison.

We only did a tiny bit of yoga, which involved bending her knees back towards her stomach. I do this to sort out trapped wind anyway, but of course this only exacerbated the group parping session. I'd love to take her back, but of course we will miss the next three weeks due to being in South Africa. Supposedly, if Miranda does a lot of this now, she should retain her baby flexibility. She loves chewing her feet at the moment, and I remember being able to do that when I was younger too. I can't do it comfortably any more though, and I feel I ought to!

Beautiful Bendy Baby!

Primark and The Daily Mail

Miranda has a few new words in Miri-Speak:
Eeh-Goo - "Ooh shiny thing!"
Uuneng! - "I've got farts!"
Ehgaah - "Yum" or possibly "I'm full!" after feeding....
Iyurl - "I'm bored."

She seems to be using the last one rather a lot at the moment. She is so alert nowadays and the downside of her sleeping through the night is that she is VERY awake, all day. This means I have to devote more attention to her (even writing this is extremely difficult) and I'm constantly trying to find new ways to amuse her. Granny found her a bouncer - as in, a swing on a spring that you clip on to the door frame, not a security guard - she is not to sure about it yet, but it amuses me no end!

With the aim of Entertaining Miranda, I head into town every day with no real purpose other than getting out of the house. Fortunately Miri is still interested in most of the shops in Darlington, so we traipse round for hours window shopping. The other day, however, we had a specific aim: Primark. I know you may grooooooan at this, dear reader, but I am aware that most of their clothes are chavvy and very probably made by Asian kids not much bigger than Miri... (though pretty much every high street clothes shop is guilty of that!) - but it is cheap. Since Miranda grows so quickly and needs new ones every other week, I can't afford to spend more than a few quid on Tiny Jeans.
Plus, Auntie Jo informed me of this:


Primark tells breastfeeding woman to use changing room or leave store

Ridiculous!!! 
Of course, I had to test our local branch but unfortunately for this groundbreaking research, Miranda was, miraculously, not hungry. According to Beryl from Coventry (see the comments on that article), getting your breasts out in public to feed is just attention seeking, anyway. This reinforces my already pretty negative view of Daily Mail readers, as you may imagine. Which actually attracts more attention? a) someone breastfeeding a baby, b) a hungry baby yelling it's head off, or even c) women wandering round with huge boobs popping out of Primark's cheap vest tops? Answers on a postcard....
Anyway, I left with a pair of very tiny grey jeans for Miranda for £4, and promptly disposed of the hideous pink belt that came with them. Babies do not need belts and my baby does not need pink! Actually, this is something else the Daily  Mail, or at least, it's bloggers, disapprove of: babies wearing jeans. Apparently I am making Miranda into a mini-adult by dressing her in jeans. On the other hand, they are warm, practical and generally Not Pastel....

I don't do all my shopping in Primark, by the way. Most of my clothes, and now Miranda's too, come from all over the place. She was so exhausted here, I couldn't get her out of the sling!

Miranda wears jeans by Primark, "My Mum Rocks" t-shirt from Pandemonium in Whitby, Poncho from Some Efnic Stall Outside Sheffield Student Union, and sling by Infantino for Boots. Socks, model's own. Styling by Mum at Caffe Nero.

Decisions, Decisions....

Help. Brainache.
I hate making decisions like this at the best of times, but now Miranda is here, my decisions carry more weight than usual, because whatever I decide affects her as well. I want more than anything to do the best I can for her, but sometimes I am not sure what that is.

This isn't really a Miranda-blog post (she is doing great, growing incessantly, eating tons and filling her nappy at inopportune moments and then looking very proud of herself!) This is more about my own insecurities! My issue at the moment is What Happens Post-PhD. I am supposed to go back to it after maternity leave in January, and get it finished by April. But of course, as soon as I finish it, my funding dries up. It's a daft situation that gives no incentive to finish the thesis at all...The end of uni means suddenly losing a very large proportion of our joint income, and Carl cannot support all three of us.

The most logical thing for me to do would be to pursue a career in academia, although at 27 with only a years' experience in a graduate job to my name, I think I am past the point at which I can use the word "career" with any degree of plausibility. I've applied for four academic jobs now, lectureships in Sheffield and York, and the average salary for that sort of job would mean that I could happily support us all, so Carl could give work and spend time with Miri. He would revel in that, I think. It would also have other benefits like moving house and getting out of Darlington finally. However, I did not even get shortlisted for any of those jobs, and one had NINETY TWO applicants. It is utterly hopeless, especially since there are so, so few of them in the first place.

Unless Carl miraculously finds a better job; we can't afford for me not to work. The very last thing I want is to have to find a job that I don't want to do, just to pay the bills, especially when that would also mean a huge chunk of my wages would go towards childcare for Miranda. It is counter-productive and not something I want to consider at all. She's too young!

My coffee van isn't the answer either. I at best make pocket money off it at the moment, just doing the markets. Even if I tried to do more with it, the bigger Miranda gets, the more impractical it would be. I can't entertain her or pay her much attention when I'm serving coffee at the same time and she'd hate sitting in the van all day on her own, it wouldn't be fair on her. And I couldn't inflict winter market stalls in the snow on her either.

So, I did come up with another option, which is, running my own business and finally setting up the cafe I've been on about for years. Unfortunately this has to be in Darlington which I know is not the best place. However, the one thing that I do love about this place is my wonderful collection of completely batty friends. Two of them are coming on board with this project as well. We are planning on sharing the rent on a retail unit, and opening as a cafe and writers' workshop by day and studio for Burlesque classes by night. It's called Afternoon Tease. I am completely in love with the idea, not least because it is an opportunity to do what I love, but also gives me the freedom to take Miranda along with me, thus avoiding having to pay to abandon her with strangers.

But it is not as simple as that. Due to the disinterest of the landlord, we haven't managed to get in to the unit we wanted, which is more than a little frustrating especially since there isn't actually any real reason other than this guy's slowness. Plans for getting round this hurdle have included Body Parts Squashed In New Pannini Machine, and so on. On a more practical level, we looked round another unit today. It would do us very nicely and has a lot of advantages, but it is three times the price and involves signing a terrifyingly long lease agreement.

I am worried about this. I have got some much riding on this, because the cafe idea honestly feels like my only option. But then, is it a good idea to try and bring Miranda up in a coffee shop? Would I end up neglecting her? Shouldn't I be revelling in New Motherhood and not worrying about working again given that she's only three months old? I just don't know. And then there are the financial worries. The long lease means agreeing to pay a very high rent for a very long time, and I lack the confidence to trust in the fact that a coffee shop could make a lot of money relatively quickly. Without Miri, I am sure I wouldn' be worrying about this anything like as mucb. I do still have an income that can buffer the worse of the financial hardship we are likely to encounter, and I won't need to actually make a living off this for quite a while yet. But I don't want to get tied down into something I can't afford for so long.

I don't know what to dooooooooo!!!

Granny, Mummy and Miri outside what could be the Afternoon Tease coffee shop.

DO IT!!!

Being Female

Our baby is 11 weeks old! We have been to visit the grandparents AGAIN this weekend, a flying visit but they were insistent and I know it will be quite a while before we can see them again. The visit did incorporate Miri's first swim however. I armed myself with waterproof nappies and mentally prepared for Miranda to scream the place down. But she didn't! She was very well behaved; a little unsure at first but certainly happy to try and she kicked her legs about enthusiastically enough that we took her again the next day. Actually I think she just liked the excuse to rid herself of her clothes and nappy, she does love being naked!

As usual, she got admired wherever she went but fortunately no-one thought she was a boy this time - possibly because she was wearing the little purple dress I got her in Guatemala. I was ranting on Facebook the other day about this and sparked a bit of a debate. It annoys me that people assume that Miri is a boy, not because I have any objection to her being masculine in character if that is the way she turns out, but because I know that assumption is based solely on my refusal to dress her in pink, and preference for comfy, practical baby trousers. The lack of pink isn't even a feminist statement, I just can't stand the colour. But people see her wearing baby jeans or black t-shirts and ask "how old is he?" This winds me up no end.

I have even been advised to put a ribbon in her hair "just so you know". Now, which is more infuriating, the fact that ribbons in hair must denote gender, or the idea that babies MUST be seen to be one gender or the other? She is 11 weeks old! Surely we shouldn't be inflicting constructed social dichotomies on her just yet? I don't think of her as being feminine yet, or masculine for that matter. She's just my baby, and she's beautiful. And until she can choose her own clothes, she can wear what I think is cute, which is predominantly purple and black. Her gender isn't really part of her personality yet. Of course, her name gives it away, but really that is a social norm that it would be too cruel to break. A little girl going off to school named Donald or Keith or something will be teased even more than if she were called Ophelia or Esperanza or any of the other names I loved but we decided were to weird to inflict on her.

A comfy baby, with pink socks on "just so you know"!

I don't wear pink, and I rarely wear dresses, I do wear giant boots though and I am very tall, and yet few mistake me for a bloke. (I did however once convince people I was a very passable transvestite, just so I could use the men's loo in a oub and avoid the queue...but that is a different story!!). Pre-pregnancy, I didn't even feel very female, although I have never been sure exactly what that is supposed to feel like anyway. I did a project for a gender studies class years ago about transexualism and gender identities. One friend in an interview put her views very succinctly: "I am Me, my body is female. That's about it.". I almost subscribe to that view myself although I am dimly aware that it is never that simple.

At the moment, I am feeling more female than I ever have, and it's all to do with being Mum. Ooo and now I can hear my more feminist friends howling in the background.... Miri's Uncle Ol already accuses me of being anti-feminist, I am never quite sure where he gets that impression from. I am not anti-feminist; most of the time I am just apathetic to the whole issue because it's never been an issue in my life. Selfish, I know, but there we go. Now, though, it throws up a whole new set of dillemmas. I am suddenly feeling Female, because I am a mother and I am breastfeeding my child, which is something you have to be a woman to do and really understand. And I really, really love it. According to some branches of feminist argument though, it is breastfeeding and child-rearing that 'holds women back' and is used as a justification of female oppression. Instead, I should be striving at least for equality (read: getting Carl to share half of the Miri-minding - which I have no problem with if it wasn't for more pragmatic things like the fact Carl has a job and I don't)  - if not matriarchal dominance. And feeding her would obviously have to be done with formula milk and a bottle, thus 'empowering' mother to go back to work, of course....

Caca del toro!

This is another idea that annoys me intensely. I can't think of anything more empowering than being indispensible to your child, able to provide her with everything she needs, adapting as she grows, for free and on demand, particularly when men are incapable of doing the same! If that does not fit in to the routine of the (male-dominated) workplace, then it is the workplace that needs changing. Or better still, I'll just invent myself a job that I can take Miranda along to!

"If a multnational company developed a product that was a nutritionally balanced and delicious food, a wonder drug that both prevented and treated disease, cost nothing to produce and could be delivered in quantities controlled by consumers' needs, the annoucement of this find would send its shares rocketing to the top of the stock market. The scientists who developed the product would win prizes and the wealth of everyone involved would increase dramatically. Women have been producing such a miraculous substance, breastmilk, since the beginning of human existence, yet they form the least wealthy and least powerful half of humanity."
(from "The Politics of Breastfeeding" by Gabrielle Palmer.)

Miranda's First Week

  Very Fat. Very Fed Up.

Hormone Rush - RELIEF! She's here!

One Eyeball...

Finally coming home from hospital

Besotted New Grandparents

Her Guatemalan sling - I may looking like the Hippy Mom but it is so much easier than a pushchair!

Still cannot get over how big her toes are...

The Burrito Wrap

Mini New Rocks!

Meeting the Auntie Jos...

Totally Unimpressed by the playmat

Biohazard nappies....

After her first bath (she hated it)

VERY proud Dad.

She's arrived!!!!

Miranda Dione, born 13/06 at 12.14pm, 7lb 2oz....

She finally arrived! And a week early!

She has seriously massive feet (like me) with really long toes, and also loads of dark hair and although everbody says this about their babies, we are convinced she is the cutest most beautiful little girl in the world!!

My labour was absolutely nightmarish though - it is not true, you do not instantly forget the pain. TWENTY EIGHT AND THREE QUARTER HOURS!!! My waters broke around 8am on Saturday 12th, and I started having contractions almost immediately. We went in to hospital, but after checking me over, they sent me home saying come back in a few hours when I was in stage 2 of labour - ie: 3-4cm dilated. By half past 4 the contractions were so painful I couldn't cope any more, so we headed back to the hospital, but I still wasn't dilated. The midwife wasn't actually very simpathetic and told me I shouldn't really have any pain relief until I was more dilated. So I got in a bath at the hospital - hot water really helped the contractions so I sat in that bath for three hours!!! I refused to get out until she'd give me some drugs!! Fortunately by 7pm I was 3cm dilated, I got set up in the labour room, and given gas and air, and a TENS machine. I didn't really get the point of them - it's a little thing that gives you mild eletric shocks in your back. You turn it on when you have a contraction, and whereas it doesn't actually stop it hurting, it does distract you. After a while I forgot I was wearing it, but then noticed as soon as I took it off!

I was only 4cm dilated by 9pm, and worse still, baby's heartrate was really really high, sometimes going over 200bmp. Doctors were worried that she was stressed, and gave me a saline drip to rehydrate me, in case that was what was stressing out Baby. It didn't seem to help, however, and they ended up having to take blood samples from the baby's head to check on her. That was absolutely excrutiating from my point of view, especially because I was so nervous and tired anyway. Fortunately all the tests came back fine.

INCREDIBLE PAIN continued all night - I eventually got on Remifentanil - the new morphine based drug which you self-administer, dosing yourself when you need it. It was absolutely WONDERFUL. Didn't actually stop you feeling pain but does stop you caring about it. I got absolutely sky high, thoroughly amused the midwife by talking utter rubbish, insisting on Carl playing Rammstein songs to me on his phone and dancing in the bed, I even started seeing things - including Nelson Mandela on a bicycle... blooming weird  but there you go. However, my labour was still not progressing very fast, and by the small hours of the morning, I was just too tired to continue, and the morphine made me throw up everywhere!!

I decided to have an epidural just so I could sleep through the contractions. They set it all up and took my beloved remifentanil away. But - the damned epidural didn't work!!! it was ridiculous, I dunno what happened, but they had to refit it and give me a second dose - in the mean time, I had about 45 minutes of contractions every 3 minutes, with no pain relief at all other than gas and air. I SCREAMED THE PLACE DOWN. Carl was completely freaked out, though I didn't do the stereotypical swearing at and blaming him for everything; as far as I remember, it was along the lines of "MAKE IT STTOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!!!!". I honestly felt like someone was trying to saw me in half. Eventually, however, the second epidural kicked in, and I calmed down and managed to get a bit of rest.
By 10am, I was still only 7cm dilated, baby was still stressed with a high heart rate, and a consultant was called in. She said she would give me another two hours, and if I STILL wasn't fully dilated by then, they would give me a C section. I could have cried!! I sooooo didn't want a c-section, especially after suffering all that labour already. Fortunately the midwives were brilliant - like a pair of cheerleaders!! I started to get some feeling back as the epidural began to wear off, and they started encouraging me to push. By 11.15, I was 9cm dilated, and so determined, I screamed and screamed and screamed, and managed to get her out, on my own with no caesarian, no 'assistance' (ie: forceps etc) and no more drugs by 12.14!!! I did tear though, and had to have an episiotomy. I now have stitches in a place no-one should EVER have to have stitches!!!

I was soooooooo proud of myself and Carl (who had been with me the entire time) was absolutely over the moon and nearly cried. He cut the cord, and we finally got to hold our beautful little daughter. I cannot describe those emotions, it was just mindblowing. She's perfectly healthy, bright and alert, and we are all completely blissed out now!!! You don't forget the pain, you just realise it's all worth it...

Just Waiting...

So, that is it. I am done!
Just got back from my final trip to Sheffield prior to Cheese's arrival, and baby is due a month today! Official Maternity Leave from now until Christmas.

I am actually feeling quite sad. I do love being in Sheffield (although, without wanting to jinx things, I have found a seemingly perfect job to apply for which would allow us all to move down there, but it is a long shot!). I had a lovely evening catching up with people at uni, sitting in a sunny beer garden drinking orange juice - more's the pity. Most of my friends there are close to finishing their PhDs as well; stress is rife, and I am certainly not alone in being a little concerned about what to do next and what the future will bring. Perhaps it is even more worrying for me now as well - I have quite a few more responsibilties than most. The Real World is a scary place that none of us have visited in quite some time! I will miss the comfortingly safe bubble that is academia.

It is going to be highly odd NOT having deadlines and 10,000 word chapters to negotiate and hundreds of references to meticulously cite. As I write, I am sat in my usual spot in the coffee shop armed with the laptop, exactly as I usually am, except this time this blog is open on my screen, and not pages and pages of academese, or a hastily designed Powerpoint seminar or incomprehensible ejournals in PDF format. Miranda-Cheese has got hiccups, possibly a result of me drinking iced espresso. It's quite distracting, but this is the first time in a long time that I can actually enjoy distractions. I don't have to actually DO anything at the moment, it's unnerving. Put my feet up, relax, and dare I say it, "look after myself". Quelle horreur! And wait of course.

I do get the impression this next month is going to be a long one. There is still a fairly good chance she'll be late turning up anyway - a family failing. I could be waddling about, blimp-like, for another 6 weeks at least, rather than the month I am hoping for. Nevertheless, we're off to visit the Soon-to-be-Grandparents at the weekend, and taking my emergency hospital bag and the baby car seat *just in case*. The bag in question has a note stapled to it: "In case of Cheese-Related-Emergency, GRAB THIS!" Just in case Carl is panicking too.

Talking of panics, I stayed overnight in Sheffield with Cheese's honarary Uncle, who in a fit of early morning daftness, managed to set his own fire alarm off at 8.30am. Poor little cheese really jumped at the noise! My whole stomach bounced, it was so weird!! Proof enough that she can hear alright in there I guess. It was pretty uncomfy from my point of view - like being jabbed in stomach hard, but from the inside, out. Carl thought it was highly amusing, however. He's now taken to just staring at the belly going "we're really going to have one of those little Things soon, aren't we?". It is obviously becoming real now, even to him. Quick on the uptake, as ever.....

Bump Contents

Here's some pics of our little one! Really wish we could have had more scans!

Cheese at 11 weeks, 3 days

Little Skeletor? 20 weeks and 1 day

It's a girl!

Two more, that maybe you don't want to see!!

Guess which one contains the baby, and which one contains a very large dinner?

The bump at 32 weeks - not actually that huge!

The "Cheese" is very active and healthy according to all my check ups, and despite my bump not being overly huge, she is a good size in there. She also seems to have Very Large Feet (takes after her mum) and boots me all night with great glee!

Pictures outside the womb due very soon indeed!!