Tasting Better

I have to say, that I like being forty two. It tastes better than forty one. Maybe I prefer even numbers or maybe forteee twooo just sounds better, rolling off my tongue with an air of grace and sophistication and cleverness, or so I like to think. I barely uttered forty one to anyone but with forty two, I generously hand out the number like it's my Twitter handle (or my blog page). I simply like being forty two; it's how a good curry should taste the following day or a perfectly brewed cup of tea or a moist, crumbly slice of cake. It wears well on my skin, a realistic fit upon the comfy rolls of flesh. Perhaps I'm accepting middle age? Perhaps I've stopped resisting the linearity of time? Or perhaps I'm completely deluded? 

Twenty years ago, I'd just stepped into my twenty third year. It seems offensively young now. With stars and hope and intensity in my eyes - amplified by precocious swagger - I thought I had life sussed. Dream on younger self. If I could wind back time, I might impart the following wisdom to the more arrogant, impulsive version of me...

On the other hand, what's the point? I could share such philosophical insights as to the paradoxical nature of existence - how life is as random and meaningless as it's connected and laden with synchronicity - but I know younger me won't pay the slightest morsel of attention. Just know this twenty two year old fledgling, it generally all works out in the end, and stop blowing all your money on records, you need clothes too!

Anyway, returning to the present, my birthday falls exactly a month before Christmas, and is usually a rain soaked affair. This year I awoke to filmy blue skies and a pale yellow sun at half mast, a sure sign it was going to be a fine day. And I wasn't disappointed, my birthday haul included a stack of novels and a brand new camera no less! Who's a lucky hen then?

Younger Dad, Little A and I went for a stroll in our local park followed by a succulent roast beef lunch with all the trimmings at a local gastro pub. It was a very relaxed celebration, and as Younger Dad had taken a week off work, it turned out to be a very eventful week indeed with some surprising and not so surprising realisations...

(You'd better be paying some attention to this twenty two year old me.) 

I'm now a veteran at handling episodes of vomiting. Little A began throwing up on the night of my birthday. It began in earnest at 3.00 am - I will wake up and throw up and wake up again, and then, I will throw up and vomit and throw up again - with the last hurl around 8.00 am. Apart from the initial burst of undigested scramble egg, no other changed sheets were necessary. How so? Well I cocooned myself in a warm duvet next to her cot, and as soon as I heard a sniff of a stir, a croaky "mummy", I grabbed her in a torpedo hold, raced her to the bathroom - making it by the skin of my teeth - so that she could take aim over the side of the bath. By 9.00 am Little A had returned to life, raring to go on a bowl of Cheerios...    

As mothers, WE DESERVE the finer things in life. I don't feel I need to add much more to this other than I spent quality time rehousing my sullen wardrobe and treating myself to skin care luxury. I felt very worth it indeed.  

Little A is very, very loud... 

"THE DOGGEEE IS GOING TO GET STICK MAN. THE GIRL IS GOING TO GET STICK MAN. STICK MAN'S IN THE SEA. LOOK, IT'S SANTA CLAUS - IT'S SANTA CLAUS MUMMEEEE. IT'S SANTA CLAUS!!!! I'VE BEEN A GOOD GIRL - I'M GOING TO GET PRESENTS TOO!"

These were just some of  Little A's urgent cries during her very first trip to the theatre. In case you hadn't guessed, we took her to see a very charming live performance of Julia Donaldson's Stick Man. It was a joy to witness my daughter's sheer exuberance as she whooped and cheered and added her commentary throughout the unfolding story. And so wonderful to view the show through her captivated eyes.

I CAN roll with the punches. Change usually bothers me, especially if it's big change, and I will procrastinate until the final hour. But by the end of last week, our flat was on the market, and by the end of tomorrow we will have offered on another property. Not in a million years would I have predicted this as the outcome of my birthday week. And I have really surprised myself at how, so far, I've taken this turn of events in my stride. It feels very good. The timing is right. It's full steam ahead as we've boxed, cleared stuff out, booked decorators and carpet cleaners, made our flat spacious and presentable. So it's been a very busy time in our household, and the main reason I've been so quiet on the blogging front of late... 

Do you like your age?
What things did you learn last week?

Today Was A Different Day

The taxi rumbled outside as I finished my last mouthful of Cheerios and closed the lap top lid. I was as prepared as I could be. I knew my research. I knew my view point. Most importantly I had my personal experience to draw upon. As I hurried out of the flat dressed in a plain purple T-shirt, jeans and a new pair of Converse trainers Younger Dad tried to reassure me, "you'll be fine, you really know your stuff". I didn't feel totally convinced as the latch clicked shut behind me.

The chauffeur, a very burly, down to earth man named Dave held a rear door open for me. I settled myself on the back seat and gulped from a bottle of complimentary water as the cab drove away from the curb. En route to our destination Dave and I put the world to rights. We talked football. We talked Princess Diana. We talked conspiracy theories. It alleviated my nerves and kept me calmly distracted.

After an hour of crawling through rush hour traffic my carriage finally parked outside a modern building somewhere on the Isle Of Dogs. The towers of Canary Wharf engulfed the skyline nearby. I couldn't quite believe this adventure was happening. Only two weeks before some one had contacted me from a television production company. They'd asked if I would like to be a contributor on a fifteen minute pilot for a new chat show on Channel Five. The subject matter was older mothers.

A youthful assistant greeted me at reception and I was escorted to the Channel's offices upstairs. There, I was debriefed by the production manager, offered a croissant and juice, and then shown to the make up department. Heated tongs straightened my ruffled hair and a natural look applied to my flushed complexion. I wasn't so keen on the liner applied beneath my eyes. It appeared too heavy. But the overall effect was camera friendly. My armpits on the other hand couldn't be tamed in the morning heat. No amount of deodorant was going to prevent the two large wet patches appearing under both my arms. The make up artist kindly offered tissues to stuff into my armpits. It helped ever so slightly.

A blond, animated character burst into the small mirrored room. She greeted me with a blustery "so you're the woman I'm debating with today". It was Carole Malone, journalist, broadcaster and celebrity Big Brother contestant. She's a vivacious, articulate woman and I began to doubt whether I had the intellectual muscle for a televised exchange with her. To her credit, Carole was very reassuring. She actually agreed with my positive views on older mothers but today she was going to play devil's advocate. What had I let myself in for? Facial enhancements applied, Carole vanished like a whirling dervish in black patent heels to warm up the small audience gathering in the studio. Meanwhile I was left stuffing more tissues under my sweating armpits.

Get ready. I'm debating with YOU today Older Mum. 

While I was having my makeup touched up another bright face entered. I instantly recognised the female form in the light floral print dress as Natalie Cassidy. She's the actress who played Sonia in East Enders. Natalie recently became a mum herself. She was hosting the pilot show and we went through some of the prompts she was going to ask. Natalie had a vested interest in the topic of older mothers. Her own mother was aged forty four when she had given birth to her. She tragically died from cancer when Natalie was nineteen.

In the studio a microphone was attached to my t-shirt and its battery placed in my back pocket. I looked apprehensively at the round plinth that housed two black chairs. Now I felt woefully under dressed. I had hoped for a table to conceal my jeans and trainers. My complete casual ensemble was going to be broadcast. But then I reminded myself that this was only a pilot. I was authentically dressed. In character. As a mum.

Carole and I took our places. My arms were pinned to my sides to ensure no exposure of the pools of perspiration etched onto my t-shirt. Then we were off. Natalie introduced the show and the debate began; how old is too old to become a mum? I don't clearly remember the exact words that escaped my mouth but I do recall not stumbling over my sentences as my heart pounded and my head drew an anxious blank. I definitely didn't swear. I actually surprised myself by holding my own against Carole. I was sparky. Lively. I had expected a panel discussion but this was a tabloid debate. Very Punch and Judy. And fun. I engaged with the heckling from the audience. I even received claps when I made a salient point.

After twenty minutes, it was all over. I hadn't even started. I wanted to express more opinion. To champion older mums. To thoroughly lay my argument out. The production team were pleased though. I came across well. I was concise and enthusiastic. I listened to the audience. 

And then I was out of the studio and back in the make up room wiping my face on again.

Dave was waiting outside. I was relieved to see him again. We talked about the nature of celebrity all the way home. He regaled me with tales of notable passengers like Annie Lennox and the first patient to receive a heart transplant in the UK. After another crawl through central London the cab pulled up outside my flat and I bade my jovial driver farewell.

And what was the first thing I did when I got home? I had a shower of course and can thankfully say that my lawless armpits have been restrained.

If the programme is commissioned I'm going to be invited back for an hour long show. Older Mum In A Televised Muddle might be transmitted into your living room.

Watch this space .....

Guest Post - 'The Notes Read High Risk'

Ellen Arnison writes a witty, evocative and popular blog, In a Bun Dance. She is a professional writer and author. Her book, Blogging for Happiness, was published last December.

Enjoy ....








THE NOTES READ HIGH RISK

My final pregnancy culminated in a C section not long after my 42nd birthday. And so I was an older mum too.

My first child was born in 1999 when I was 32, the second in 2002 at 34.

The subsequent years saw me on my own for a while before I met and married second husband - the Panther of News.

The PoN was lovely with my boys and I really didn't have a huge urge to have more kids... so we plodded on.

Then my dad died a couple of months after our wedding and we had a bit of a seize-the-day conversation after which I had my IUD removed. Then I forgot all about it.

It was almost ten months later before I started to feel a bit odd. OMG, as they say. I can cheerfully say I hadn't really thought it through.

All was well until I miscarried at 20 weeks. A post mortem showed that I had Protein S Deficiency - a blog clotting disorder. This probably had much more of an impact on how things were than being older.

Now it was impossible to forget about it and we, ahem, applied ourselves to the business of conception. I paid close attention to my cycles and learns that the field window of opportunity often comes earlier and earlier in the 28 days as you get older.

Three months later I was pregnant again and this time my notes said HIGH RISK all over them in red pen.

Bring pregnant was reasonably horrible. I was injecting myself daily with blood thinners, I had sore hips, a low placenta and an irritable uterus. Oh and the little chap stubbornly stuck in the sideways (transverse) position the whole way through. It was a very, very long gestation.

However, Boy Three was delivered healthily by C section - all 9lb 2oz of him.

I did have PND but I think that was much more to do with having such a tense and scary pregnancy coming quite quickly after a miscarriage.

I bottle fed the hungry little fellow from the off and he thrived like a thriving thing. Being older made me much more comfortable with that decision after struggling miserably to breastfeed the other two.

As an older mum I am definitely much more relaxed. The boy ends up in our bed quite a few nights a week but we don’t really worry about it. We don’t have routines and in a way the whole family is bringing him up.

In danger of sounding like Old Mother Time, I would say that parenting for 12 years so far has taught me that, within obvious limits, it doesn't really matter how you do the job of being a mum.

I've seen hippy go-with-the-flow babies, rigid Gina Ford tots and everything in between. By the time they hit the middle of primary school you can't tell the difference.

So in the words of my toddler "be lax mummy it'll be fine”.

Ellen Arnison On Twitter

Guest Post - 'Older Mother's – Or how to sell The Daily Mail'

Rachel Selby writes a beautifully eloquent and honest blog, Midlife Single Mum, about her IVF journey, life in Jerusalem as a single mum, and some really delicious regional vegetarian recipes.

Enjoy .....

OLDER MOTHERS - OR HOW TO SELL THE DAILY MAIL

There's a lot of folk wisdom surrounding the whole Older Mother phenomenon. My favourite example was an article in The Daily Mail whereby a first-time mum in her 40s gave all the reasons why it was actually better to have your children later in life – better educated, more mature, more settled, financially secure, more patient, done her thing and got it out of her system, etc….

A few years later the same woman, I can't even remember her name, managed to sell another article by doing an about face and admitting she got it all wrong. Now the mother of a lively young child she felt she didn't have the energy she once had, all her friends are starting to enjoy their second age of freedom while she is stuck at home, she has little in common with the mothers at the school gate, etc…

You've got to admire her cheek. She managed to make money out of first-hand experience on both sides of the argument.

My own experience seems to defy much of the folk wisdom on both sides. And of course being an older mother is never an isolated factor. In my case much of my experience is due to also being single and living in a different country to all my family. Other older mothers may have other older children, step children, health issues, older husbands, or ailing parents. The possibilities for a complicated lifestyle are endless. And they can apply to younger mothers just as well.

I didn't choose to have my first child at the age of 46, it just happened. I actually chose to have about six children fathered by an extremely wealthy husband and all in my 20s. Would that becoming a mother were as easy as shopping for furniture.

I am more educated as I got my MA in my late 30s. I am more mature but probably don't have the patience I once had for young children. I thought owning my own home would be more secure than renting – it is of course but you still have to make the mortgage payments every month and that's a worry. I was financially secure until I gave birth, then the hours available for work shrunk by about half. As for having done my thing, I did a lot of things but actually I always shortened my horizons in favour of hanging around for Mr Right who never showed up.

On the other hand, although I am old enough to be the mother of some of the other parents at the nursery school, I don't feel the generation gap and have made some terrific friends there. Most of them are actually only a few years younger than me, especially where the pre-schooler is their final child. I have fun with my daughter and am excited for her at every stage in her development, I imagine in the same way a young mother feels. We dance and romp, play in the park and build dens. We don't sit down to afternoon tea with scones followed by a game of gin-rummy (although I do intend to introduce her to card games as soon as she's old enough to count to 21).

My friends are indeed seeing their children grow up and flee the nest. They are once again able to go out (and stay out) without prior arrangement, go away for weekends and holidays. They have started reading again as they can stay in bed most of the weekend to do so. I am stuck at home because a) you can't go out too often as the little one needs the security of her mother, and b) I can't afford babysitters. I don't mind because a) I have to put in extra hours of work in the evenings anyway when she's asleep and b) I have discovered blogging and the virtual community that comes with it so I don't actually feel alone or cut-off completely.

Some of my friends are depressed at the prospect of moving on to the next stage of life whilst others embrace it with the anticipation of an adventure. Some of them envy me, some of them look at what I have ahead and say, "thank God we're done."

The best advice I ever got was from my doctor who told me not to think about the details of being an older mother too much. "One thing I can tell you," she said, "is that no one I know who has gone ahead with having a baby in untypical circumstances has ever regretted it so there's no point in scaring yourself out of it."

Motherhood is all I have ever wanted and I waited a long time for it. It wasn't cheap and it wasn't an easy journey. If I'd realised my dream earlier I wouldn't have the daughter I eventually brought home. Am I a different mother to the mother I would have been in my 20s? Probably. Am I a better or worse mother because of my age? Absolutely not.

Midlife Single Mum On Twitter

Guest Post - 'Less Risky Second Time Around'

By My Gorgeous Boys.

She writes a lovely honest warm blog about life with her two sons and hard working husband. The way she writes makes you feel like you are having a catch up over a cuppa with a good friend.

Enjoy .....






LESS RISKY SECOND TIME AROUND

I didn’t plan to become a mum late in life and don’t really feel like I am “old”! In my 20’s I was focused on my career (in IT) and generally having fun with friends. I loved going to see live bands, shopping on Saturdays, exotic travel, out for meals and going to the gym. I bought my first house when I was 27 after living in rented accommodation for several years as a student and spent the years after continuing to live like a student but with a salary! I did work hard at my career, gaining a 1^st class honours degree and then a MSc in Management Consultancy which I did part time whilst concentrating on my career. I couldn't really imagine having children but I think perhaps it also is about you being in the right place and with the person that you would want to have children with.

I met Gary when I was 31 and we got married when I was 34. I got pregnant very easily (on our honeymoon!) with a due date three months after my 35^th birthday. The pregnancy went really well with no complications and I planned a home birth. Throughout the pregnancy I went to aqua natal and yoga for pregnancy classes for relaxation. I was starting to lose motivation in my career at this time, although I did pass the PRINCE 2 project management qualification when 6 months pregnant. The home birth, however, wasn't meant to be and I ended up having an induction when I was 12 days overdue. I had gone into hospital to be monitored but they said the baby’s heart rate was dropping so he was quickly whisked out with forceps (ouch!). But we had a healthy baby boy weighing in at 6lbs and 7oz and he was just perfect. I wouldn’t say I fell madly in love with him on first sight although I did feel protective towards him I remember sitting in the labour suite wondering what on earth I was supposed to do with him. Mother Nature didn't come calling naturally!

I did find the early days of parenting very hard. I was sore from breastfeeding (had mastitis twice) due to incorrect attachment and I generally didn't feel very confident in my role as a new mum. I was also shattered, as most new parents are and, typically, he fed mostly at night and slept in the day. When he was asleep I used it as an opportunity to do things I wanted to do (rarely sleeping was on that list!) like catch up with emails and reading (mostly parenting books as I was convinced I would find answers in them!). I was finding the learning curve of motherhood very sharp and very hard work.

We started going to our local Sure Start centre playgroups and I met up with lots of other mums with babies the same age. Before children I hadn't involved myself in the community where I lived at all so it was really nice to chat to other mums who were going through the same thing. Most of mine and Gary’s family live quite a drive away (at least an hour or so) and Gary works long hours in the computer games industry, so without this support my friends became like extended family. We took our babes shopping, swimming, to playgroups, on walks and it was these relationships that kept me going in the early months.

I had my second child two years later at 37 years old, he was born at home weighing 8lbs 13 oz and I was in love with him as soon as I saw him. He fed and slept regularly and I never had any sort of “baby blues” with him at all (didn't have the time!).

Interestingly, I had the nuchal translucency scan at 12 weeks with both pregnancies as this is standard in Nottingham hospitals to be offered to mums over 35 years. I can’t remember what the odds were but the funny thing was they were much lower in my 2^nd pregnancy that with my 1^st (which is surprising given I was 2 years older and statistically the odds should have been higher!). I put this down to me being more relaxed with my 2nd pregnancy that I was with my 1^st and also possibly healthier and more relaxed!

For various reasons I didn't return to my job after children. Because I am older I know how quickly time goes and at the moment I don’t want to work and miss out on them growing up. With children you don’t have the same lifestyle so we survive on one wage. I do really miss earning my own money and having that financial independence though. Being a full time mum is definitely not what I would have envisaged myself doing before becoming a parent. Although it is incredibly hard work, it is definitely the fun option!

I don’t know if being an older mum has made me a better parent than I would have been if I had had children earlier although having life experience must have some effect on my attitude. I am relaxed in some ways, co-sleeping with them both when they were young as I found it the easiest way to minimise sleep deprivation! On the other hand I know I did, and sometimes still do, set quite high standards of myself subsequently putting myself under pressure. At times that can be very exhausting and destined to failure. Having time at home has reignited my love of writing, which led to starting up my blog writing about things we are doing and what we are going through and I love reading other blogs. This has been great for getting my brain working again and gives me a sense of focus and, even, achievement that being a mum can’t. I guess it is just that it is good to do something for myself when you feel so enveloped in the world of small, gorgeous but quite full-on, children!

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Guest Post - 'Diamonds, Pearls and Babies'

Harriet Kelsall runs a highly acclaimed bespoke design jewellery company specialising in engagement rings.  Her business has won many awards including the 2011 UK Jewellery awards and Harriet has been named as the Everywoman Retail ‘Woman of the Year’.  She juggles this with 2 young children (Thomas is 6 and Eleanor is 2) and talks about her journey into mother hood.


DIAMONDS PEARLS AND BABIES

When I set up my business at 27 I didn't really consider that I might want kids in the future; I was just busy trying to scratch a living.  But the business flourished and I was soon taking on premises, employing people and carving out a niche making affordable bespoke jewellery.

At around 32 I realised that if we wanted kids I needed to plan how to manage it. I was I was working super-long hours starting at 8am and finishing at 11pm 7 days a week. Running a business also meant maternity cover wasn't a viable option. The only solution was to try to come back to work about 2 weeks after childbirth.

I started trying when I was 34. I got pregnant the first time we tried but sadly lost the baby at 11 weeks. It was a bit traumatic because I didn't realise you had to go through a teeny-tiny mini labour if you miscarried so early.  I suddenly realised that I wasn't that young and blamed myself terribly thinking perhaps I was working too hard.

My dad reminded me that many women in the world work a lot physically harder than me whilst pregnant and also that my great-grandmother didn't started her family of 4 until she was 42.

When I was finally pregnant with Thomas, the tiredness that I experienced being older pregnant mum-to-be certainly redefined tiredness all over again!  I had a really long pre-labour and labour with Thomas who took about 3 days to arrive.  (Actually he still seems to take about that long to get dressed in the morning). I was 35 when he was born.

I was determined not to have an epidural as somebody I know was very badly affected by one. So despite two nights without sleep Thomas was finally born on gas and air and a lot of will power!

I remember feeling completely amazed when they placed Thomas on my tummy.  Had that perfect tiny baby really grown inside me?  I couldn't sleep. When I got up onto the ward at 2am as I just couldn't stop looking at him in awe at his very existence.

The first 2 weeks were a bit of a blur.  I remember lots of tears and a strange lack of understanding between what was day and what was night.  I remember home visits from work colleagues calling with gemstones for me to price.  I struggled with breast feeding and ended up expressing for every feed at all hours.  It was just such a crazy time.

Then somehow I was back at work for three hours a day just two weeks after Thomas’ birth.  I remember worrying because the work was already really piling up and I couldn't bear to let anybody down.  But there was also no way I was going to compromise on the time I could spend with Thomas. I do think though that being an older mum helped me cope with this kind of extreme multi-tasking..

Thomas was really quite a challenge because he had what we thought was reflux (actually when he was 3 we discovered he was allergic to milk).  There wasn't much sleep to be had in our house for the first year of his life.

When I went along to my first toddler group, all of the other mums seemed so much younger than me.  I suddenly felt quite lonely as an ‘older mum’.  Many of my friends were at a different stage of their lives or I had left them behind in London when I moved away.  I wasn't sure I could relate to these younger mums as our lives were so different. However, I soon met a couple of mums of a more similar age to me at a different toddler group and we have since become good friends.

Sadly there followed quite a lot more miscarriages.  The specialist at the time said that it may well be happening because we are both a bit older (my husband is 6 years older than me).  But we had various tests and there was nothing specifically ‘wrong’.

That last miscarriage was quite upsetting for my husband. I had to be admitted to hospital and receive 4 units of blood and emergency surgery.  So we decided to give it one last try and if unsuccessful possibly consider adoption or Thomas would remain an only child.

Fortunately I found myself pregnant again and for longer than 12 weeks which was brilliant!

We had the usual scans but were told there was quite a high chance that the baby could have Downs Syndrome.  This was worrying and confusing because we didn't really know much about Downs.  I didn't want to have the invasive test because of the small chance it could lead to yet another miscarriage.  But we quickly learned a lot about Downs and decided that actually, if our baby this condition, then this would be OK and something that we felt we would be ready for.

When Eleanor was born she didn't have Downs.  But having come up so ‘close’ to facing a baby with Downs I feel I have a lot more understanding about it now. I view this syndrome very differently and more positively now.

By the time I had Eleanor at 38 I had worked hard to get the business functioning more independently from me. Consequently I managed to take 3 months off work with only e-mail/phone calls to attend to. This worked well especially as the business now 25 staff and a very good General Manager.

Now that Thomas is at school and Eleanor is 2, I am starting to feel a bit more human again and lots of my energy has returned.

It is impossible for me to look at my children and not remember that I am very lucky.

Harriet Kelsall On Twitter
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Guest Post - 'Confessions Of An Older Mum – or – Lessons In What Really Matters'

By Anne Whitehouse author of The Life Alchemy Blog.

Her fascinating blog based on her experience as a qualified therapeutic healer delves into all aspects of holistic and spiritual healing for mothers and offers practical guidance for making positive transformational changes in our lives.

Enjoy .....




CONFESSIONS OF AN OLDER MUM - OR - LESSONS IN WHAT REALLY MATTERS


It's a normal Saturday afternoon, and I am sitting in front of the television cuddling my four-year-old daughter.  An advert for a well- known moisturiser - the one that fights those seven signs of aging - comes on.

"Mummy, you must buy that," she pipes up, "so your skin can be beautiful." Oh dear, I think.  "Isn't Mummy's skin beautiful already?" I ask her.  My hopes aren't high...

"No Mummy, yours is all splotchy," she answers, innocence oozing from every pore of her perfect peaches-and-cream complexion. "If you buy that cream, you can be beautiful."

"Your skin is already beautiful, Mummy," counters my eight-year-old son hastily. (I've been training him for a lot longer!)

It's true, I'm an older mum!

So, what put me on this path to delayed parenting? Well, quite simply, I was the proverbial career woman. A baby would have ruined  my scientific career.  Although I knew I wanted a family at some point, it definitely wasn't going to be in my twenties.  However, when I turned 32, my biological alarm clock went off: I wanted a baby and I wanted one now!

Alas, nature isn't always on board with our plans, and it took me over two years to conceive. I then discovered that I suffer from childbirth phobia (tocophobia) which produced panic attacks, nightmares and palpitations. I suffered excruciating pain in my pelvis - my ligaments now had the consistency of over-cooked pasta - and I found myself struggling around on crutches.  They advised a C-section, but I had some deep-seated belief that if I didn't give birth 'properly' I would have failed. Understanding is power, I told myself, and I began researching every single empowering technique available to the aspiring Earth-Mother.

So, armed with another hypnosis tape, homeopathy, aromatherapy, music, flower remedies and a crate of Lucozade, I confronted my fears and embarked on a 'natural' water birth.

What a disaster! I won't dwell on the birth. Suffice it to say that a large-headed baby wedged in an OP position in my pelvis, a quick first stage labour and no anaesthetist on the ward resulted in an agonizing ventouse birth.  The good news: both I and my son survived.  The bad news: permanent damage to my pelvis, and PTSD for me.

Still determined to be a good mother, I attempted breastfeeding. Would he latch on?  Would he hell!  So, I began an intensive regime of expressing. But six weeks later, I was struggling to produce even 50mls of milk a day.  Instead of feeding being a close and loving time between us, it had turned into one huge nightmare.  I felt depressed, stressed and inadequate, and I was completely preoccupied with my utter failure as a mother.

Thankfully, one day I woke up to what I was doing. Looking at my son's little face and big blue eyes, I saw that I had got my priorities completely wrong. Did it really matter that he had been wrenched out of me with a glorified vacuum cleaner?  Did it really matter that I couldn't even produce enough milk for an hors d'oeuvre? Was I really going to allow these trivial details to ruin the experience of having my long-awaited baby?

....That day I ditched the expressing, and remembered that I had been given the most wonderful gift in the universe.

Pregnancy number 2 aged 36: this sadly ended in an early miscarriage.

Pregnancy number 3:  I was now 37, but I conceived easily.  After my first traumatic birth experience, I was offered an elective C-section which, this time, I accepted. My daughter was born at 37 weeks: another huge-headed baby in the wrong position!  I tried to breastfeed, but she had no more intention of latching on than her brother had done.   I gave up after a couple of days, put her onto bottles, and we were both happy.

This time there was an important difference - I had learnt that having a healthy baby is all that really matters.  It isn't an exam: there's nothing to prove. The result: instead of beating myself up and ruining those precious days, I simply enjoyed the wonderful gift of my little girl.  I recovered far quicker, I was happy, relaxed and confident. I even had more energy, despite having to look after my boisterous son at the same time.  I had learnt that if I needed medical support and powdered milk, then that was ok, and I was grateful for them. This time I honoured the needs and limitations of my body and was able to embrace motherhood with a joy that had escaped me the first time.

Were the self-help therapies I had used in my first labour useless?  Absolutely not!  They empowered me to face my fear.  Had it not been for the position of my son's head, those techniques may well have given me the natural birth I had wanted. It just wasn't meant to be that particular time. I realise now that my experiences were necessary, as they have led me to help other women recover and reclaim their happiness after miscarriage and traumatic births.

Today, at nearly 43, I have my precious son and daughter, aka Lego Ninjago Boy and Fairy Princess.  I don’t have the time to feel old!  The joy our children have brought into our lives is indescribable. As for the timing...it was simply perfect;  I had already had my 'high-powered' career, my husband and I had already had ten years together.  When we finally had our family, we were ready to do the parent thing whole-heartedly, without
reservations, resentments or regrets. Being an older mum was definitely the right choice for me.

Looking back on it all, I realise there was another lesson too.  While it would have been nice if I had done it all the natural way, it doesn't matter that I didn't.  I learnt that there is only one thing that defines what kind of mother you are:  how much you love your children.  I love mine to bits and am thankful for them every day.

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Guest Post - 'Old, Overweight and Pregnant'

By ExFashionista.

Her blog spills the beans about her previous life as a buyer in the fashion industry and new life as a mother. Its a really well written and interesting read.

Enjoy .....



OLD, OVERWEIGHT AND PREGNANT

I had a relatively un-eventful pregnancy much to the disgust of my Consultant/Registrar.  You see not only was I old (35) and pregnant, I was also overweight.  The conception of my daughter was surprisingly easy and I fell pregnant the first month we decided to start trying.  Like many older women I had been convinced by the mass media that I would have great difficulty falling pregnant, so had been doing my best to mentally prepare myself for months of negative pregnancy tests.  I was
concerned about the possibility of declining fertility and had also read that women who are overweight can find conception difficult.  After further research on the issue of my weight I found that this assumption is largely based on the premise that overweight women can suffer from erratic cycles in exactly the same way that women who are considered underweight can. My cycles were extremely regular so I was less concerned about this as a potential barrier, than my age.  I was however prepared to lose weight if it proved necessary and had also been taking folic acid for a number of months.

My first Midwife appointment took place at 9 weeks.  It was at that point I realised that my weight was going to be an issue.  I’m not a fan of BMI, primarily because I think it’s bias against those of us who are short of stature, but also because I don’t like being labelled.  I particularly don’t like being labelled as “obese” but unfortunately as I was, the whole world thought that they could make an awful lot of assumptions about me and my health.  I was told that I would have to be managed by a Consultant as I was considered a “high risk” pregnancy. The Midwife then took my blood sugar and complained that it was too low, followed by my blood pressure, also low. I saw the irony, but it was lost on her. My first appointment under Consultant care was with the Anaesthetist.  I walked into his room and sat down and his first words to me were “Why are you here, you aren't even big?”.  What a lovely man, I instantly felt better.  Incidentally, I am a dress size 16/18.

My next appointment was supposed to be with the Consultant. Unfortunately, the Consultant wasn't available that day so I was lumbered with her Registrar.  I took an instant dislike to her, she spoke to me as if I was a child and lectured me about obesity without asking me any questions. I’m convinced she thought I was surviving on a diet of fish & chips, chocolate and sweets.  In fact the opposite was true, I ate extremely healthily when I was pregnant and actually lost some weight in the first few months.

During my appointment she checked my blood pressure (normal) and blood sugar (normal) and gave me a lecture about pre-eclampsia and gestational diabetes.  During my second appointment with the same Registrar, the same checks were performed and this time she also reviewed my scan results.  Everything was absolutely fine. I decided to raise the subject of using the Birth Centre and she was horrified.  Clearly as I was overweight and old, she was of the opinion that they should intervene in the birthing process as much as possible.  I went home that night and cried. My third appointment was much the same although my husband was there for moral support. When I remarked on the normality of my pregnancy she replied “We’ll see what happens with your glucose test”. Thankfully that was normal too.

Eventually I spoke out about the treatment I had received from the Registrar and was encouraged to make an appointment with the Consultant Midwife to discuss both that and the use of the Birthing Centre.  The Consultant Midwife was sympathetic and ensured me that she would discuss my complaint with the Consultant and insist that my next appointment was with the Consultant, not her Registrar.  It was also agreed that I could use the Active Birth room for delivery. For the first time in my pregnancy, or so it seemed, someone had actually listened to what I had to say, rather than seeing me as two simple numbers on a piece of paper, my age and BMI.  I was subsequently discharged from Consultant care because it was determined that my pregnancy had progressed perfectly and it was no longer required. I also received an apology for the way that I had been made to feel by the Registrar.  I told the Consultant that I understood that there could be complications with pregnancy in older women and indeed women that are over-weight and from that perspective they were being cautious.  However, there are ways of managing pregnant women that don’t involve treating them like either cattle or naughty children.  I’d like to think that this had some resonance with her, but suspect that is pure vanity on my part.

In the event my daughter was delivered via cesarean section as it was discovered that she was breech at my 40 week appointment.  I was incredibly disappointed not to have a natural birth, but I did manage to have skin-to-skin contact and breastfeed while they stitched me up.  I love being an older mum. I feel experienced and confident in my own opinions and decision making processes.  I have had a career, travelled the world and partied with the best of them. Therefore, I don’t feel I am missing out on anything at all, as I’ve already done it. I am entirely content spending my days with my beautiful daughter, I don’t feel desperate for a “break” from her and rarely go out on the town.

Why would I want to go dancing and drinking when I can cuddle up with my little one and watch the “Bedtime Hour” on CBeebies?  A few years ago that sentence would have been unthinkable, but I guess that’s the point. Several years ago I was doing exactly what I wanted and it was all about me, now it is all about my little girl and her happiness comes first. I like it that way.

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Guest Post - 'Being An Older Single Mum'

By Older Single Mum.


Her blog is witty, sassy, compelling, sincere and narrates everything from her 'sh*tty ex husband' to romancing her lodger and her talents as a healer.


Enjoy .....







BEING AN OLDER SINGLE MUM

Being an older mum is a privilege that some young ones just don’t get.  And that’s why we tend to be overprotective and over grateful for our little ones, tending less to hand them over to anyone, even their Dads!

I spent my thirties believing that my chances to have children had passed me by, but in my dreams (real night time ones), there was a baby waiting for me.

I endured two miscarriages, then he came.  I was 41. And then, in the throes of an awful marriage, which I only clung on to because there were further (clairvoyant?) dreams, that there was still another child to come yet, I suffered a third miscarriage, by which time I thought I would die with the heartbreak and confusion.

On a one off night with my hateful husband, I fell pregnant and it is truly conceivable that Fate intervened because my second child came at, by now, age 45.

I had lost all three babies before the end of the first trimester and I thank Heaven for that, but I was still reluctant to deeply enjoy being pregnant, just in case, which is a shame.

I was healthy and well throughout both full term ones and didn't go for any of the tests being thrust at me to detect any myriad of problems or diseases, because the results would naturally come up ‘high risk,’ giving rise to an even more worrisome time, and also because I knew, given my history, I would never terminate, no matter what.

Having cemented the statistic in my mind that 98% pregnancies end in perfectly healthy babies, I also paid for Acupuncture (to help ‘hold’ them) and regular Osteopathy to keep baby and me in the best possible physical shape.  The latter helped my heartburn no end, kept me truly comfortable and no doubt was the main contributing factor in two perfectly natural text book births.

The trauma and shock have never left me though!  I don’t think it’s easy to give birth at any age, but my mind was certainly stronger for being older and going against the grain.  My first, Robson, was born safely at home, but I relented for the second, having contracted the potentially fatal Strep B infection, so eventually turned up at the hospital 20 minutes before baby Aiden finally came.

My regrets are few. I do wish I’d had my children when I was younger.  However I was brought up in the ‘career first’ generation, made it as a Money Broker in the City, earning a packet and travelling a great deal, but overall I felt hollow.

No one tells you that independence doesn't make you happy. And it can be very lonely.

It wasn't obvious to me – throughout my child bearing years what it was I was actually craving.  It wasn't until having children that I have become more fulfilled than anything
material can ever give you.  No career gives you back what they can!

I regret the years spent exercising myself almost to death, because, in hindsight, by the time my children came I was well and truly knackered and I believe that the energy we have when we are younger is, indeed, given to us for bringing them into the world and raising them.

And I regret not having my children with someone with whom I could be closer, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.  Their father and I are now divorced.

Being an older single mum has meant co-sleeping was no issue whatsoever until their fidgeting was unbearable (about one year), breastfeeding could be done on demand (again approx. one year) and neither of my children ever had a bottle of formula milk.   All of which took guts which have come about only later on in my life.

I consider myself very lucky to have my children at all and regularly read about women my age who have missed the opportunity.  IVF was something that I wouldn't consider,
nor was stealing sperm as featured in Liz Jones' column in the Daily Mail!

I think the call inside is so strong and it starts earlier than we might like to admit to ourselves nowadays, that we ignore it at our peril. To have children with someone you love, should be every girl’s dream.

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Guest Post - 'Why I Became a Mum at 37'

By Minibreak Mummy.

Her blog eloquently and succinctly chronicles life with her toddler son and she has an aesthetic eye for a unique second hand bargain to boot! 

Enjoy .....



WHY I BECAME A MUM AT 37 

My husband, H, started to get really broody about 4 years ago. We talked about this, and it was clear that H would be disappointed if he never got chance to be a dad. And I started to realise that I would be sad if someone so obviously suited to being a good father never got chance to do this. But I was worried about the potential impact on my career, which has always been important to me. So I asked H if he would be prepared to consider working part-time and/or taking a career break if that was what was required in order for us to become parents. He said he would.

So this is how we got to where we are now. Me in a senior job and H taking a career break in order to be a stay-at-home dad for our lovely 3 year old boy, born when I was 37. Full-time childcare at a nursery or childminders wasn't really an option for us as our son has had some health problems (asthma-type symptoms in response to allergens and viruses).

Some people may think I'm extremely weird/selfish/unfeminine to be leaving the bulk of the responsibility for childcare to my husband, but it works for us. It doesn't mean that I love my son or my husband any less. The best thing I can do for my family is to be the breadwinner during the working day and be the best mum I can be outside work. I actually got my current job after maternity leave. Somehow, after surviving an emergency c-section, a job interview seemed much less scary.

There have been some challenging times with broken nights and expressing milk at work, but if I had been at an earlier stage in my working life it would not have been possible for us to manage on one salary. There was no way that I could have had a child in my early 30s in any case, because life was going a bit pear-shaped back then. I had to get myself sorted out before I could even think about getting pregnant.

There were only a couple of downsides to being an older mum from my point of view. I was put under a lot of pressure by NHS staff to have tests I didn't want. I held my ground but it was tough. Also, my father-in-law died last year, so our son missed out on growing up with his grandpa. But he still has three remaining grandparents who love him to bits and spoil him rotten.

Overall, I am very pleased with the way things have turned out. I think I'm a better mum to my little boy than I would have been if I were younger, probably more able to be patient with him. And I really enjoy spending time with my little boy and watching him
grow.

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Guest Post - 'Being An Older Mum'

By Polly of Caught Writing.

Her blog is emotive, thoughtful and and highly observant.

Enjoy ..... 







BEING AN OLDER MUM

To be honest, I didn’t consider myself to be an older mum at first.  I only became aware of it as a result of other people’s comments.  A colleague at work, on hearing of my pregnancy, commented that I was “a bit old for all that.”  Someone else was stunned into saying that they thought I’d already gone through an early menopause.  I was 38 at the time.  The number of women choosing to have babies in their late 30s and older is increasing and it’s no longer the rarity that it once was.  There are many reasons for  this, from wanting to build and become established in a career before taking a break, to not being sure of the desire to be a parent until later, to meeting a suitable partner a little later and wanting to build that relationship before having a family.

I was 39 when my little chap was born.  I was already 34 when I met my husband and it took a while for him to decide that marriage and children were what he wanted.  Having made that decision, we then had trouble conceiving and unfortunately lost our first child at 14 weeks.  By this time I was nearly 38 and faced with the very real prospect that we were going to find this process difficult and that, biologically speaking, time was getting shorter.

There may have been a few comments from friends and acquaintances about my slightly advanced age, but I encountered nothing but support from the NHS.  I was never treated with anything other than dignity and respect and my age didn’t come into any discussions with any of the health professionals, apart from the obvious increased risk of conditions such as Downs. Thankfully, following a blood test, my risk for Downs came back as minimal, so there were few worries about that.

I sailed through my pregnancy and most of the birth.  I had none of the problems that other women seemed to experience.  I felt vaguely sick for most of the first 14 weeks or so, but was sick only once and I had none of the other symptoms commonly associated with pregnancy.  I remember commenting to one doctor when I was about 22 weeks pregnant that I hardly felt pregnant at all and it was true. I felt very, very healthy.  I wanted a home birth and did achieve a home labour, but 12 hours into the labour, 24 hours since I’d last had any sleep, the contractions stopped and I was taken to the hospital, where the little man was born twenty minutes later by ventouse.  I defy anyone of any age not to need a little help after more than 24 hours without sleep, 12 of which were spent in labour, and I don’t believe that was related to my age.  Many younger women have longer and more difficult labours.  Mine was as tranquil an experience as it could be, spent at home with my husband and two midwives.  In fact I remember one of the midwives commenting that she couldn’t believe how calm I was.

Once we bought the little man home, we settled into parenthood very easily.  I had already decided that my life was now his and I devoted myself to him.  This made things easier, I think, as I wasn’t trying to get back to work, keep up a social life, or fit the baby into my life.  I fitted completely and easily into his life, and just went with the flow.  I certainly had the confidence at 39 to declare that this is how it was going to be, whereas when I was younger I might have been more easily swayed by other people’s opinions about how it was “meant” to be.  I knew exactly how I wanted to nurture my baby and that was largely led by his needs and requirements.  I remember those early weeks as being calm, quiet and peaceful, just me and him, and my husband in the evenings and at weekends, getting to know one another, cuddling up on the sofa all day.  I don’t think I stopped looking at him or carrying him around for the first year of his life.  I was so lucky to have had that time.

I don’t think I had less energy being an older mum than I would have as a younger one.  For one thing, I was much healthier at 39 than I was in my twenties; closer to my  healthy weight, better nourished, less stressed.  I remember telling my husband that, despite he sleep disturbances that come with a new baby, I had never felt so alive or energetic.  It was amazing to me, but the whole experience gave me such focus and positivity.  Our little chap is such a joy and has bought us nothing but pleasure.  We are lucky to have these experiences, at just the right time in our lives for us.

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Guest Post - 'Tick Tock'

The first in a series of Older Mum guest posts is by the wonderfully witty and thought provoking Flossing the Cat.

I can't recommend her blog highly enough and I thoroughly look forward to reading her every week.

Enjoy .....





TICK TOCK

Once upon a time there was a young woman who didn’t want babies. She was too much of a fantasist, too selfish, too skint. But one day, when she was thirty-four, she woke up with a funny sound in her head. Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock. The sound stayed with her the whole day, and the whole of the following day, and the whole of the day after that. If anything it got louder, much louder, eventually spreading to every part of her body. In her stomach it was like infrasound, making her feel sick. She could even feel it in her fingertips, when she touched things. She mentioned it to a friend, who said, “Sounds like the biological clock. You need a baby.”

Now that she had let the thought in, she knew it was true.  In fact, it seemed like the only true thought she had ever had. Her writing fantasies were nothing. Her PR job was nothing. The idea of travel, and adventure, and parties, and success, was nothing, less than nothing. She now saw them as hateful pursuits that had diverted her from becoming a mother. She gave her copies of The Female Eunuch, The Dialectic of Sex, The Second Sex, and The Rights of Woman to a charity shop. She hated her other dreams. She hated herself.

For a year, every time her period came, it felt like dying.  She would dream of flowers that had lost their petals, and bare white rooms, and deserted landscapes. In work one day, she was so stressed she couldn’t remember her telephone extension, or how to boot up the computer, or how to count money, so she went home. And she stayed home. Her relationship deteriorated, as did her sex life. Sex was all about ovulation, and basal body temperatures, and sticking her legs up, desperately, in the air. Her partner lost interest. She couldn’t blame him. For a while they split up, then got back together again.

When she hit 35, it got worse. Everywhere she tuned there  were apocalyptic stories about the declining fertility of over-35 year-olds. Fertility halves by the time you’re 35, said one expert. She googled stuff late into the night, desperate to find stories about older mothers, women who had beaten the  odds. When she finally became pregnant, a month or so after her 35^th  birthday, she was so shocked that she did the test four times. At the same time, she knew it was true. All along, she had known it was possible, even probable, even likely.

She was an older woman. She was pregnant. She was great.

There was a child inside her body and she was great.

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