The Flying Mamma

You’re in a public toilet. You need to poo.  Thanking the Lord nobody’s in the ladies, you begin. Pooping in peace. Until, footsteps. The door swings open. Your bum clenches. Stage fright. Mid poo. You can’t go on. I listened to a hypnobirthing podcast when I was pregnant and this was one of the things I heard that I will never forget. Because it’s true. And it’s then and there you’re reminded of how much you take the peace and privacy of your own bathroom for granted. Because when we’re uncomfortable, when something doesn’t feel right, we close up (quite literally). Unable to continue per se. Labour and childbirth are no different. And going back to the checklist of birth preferences from my hospital, there were lots of simple, comforting things I hadn’t even considered before beginning my quest for a positive birth. Like the option of wearing my own clothes. Our sensory environment during labour and childbirth greatly contributes to our calm and ability to experience physiologica...

So off I went at 21 weeks. New hospital. New obstetrician - a queen in the delivery room I was told. “Have you thought about your birth plan?” Plan? Already?  I was surprised that she was asking me so early on. I knew at the very least I was aiming for a natural birth (now I know that “natural birth” is a massive umbrella term). But  she made me feel like my wishes were heard and taken seriously. That we’d be on the same page all the way through. Doc handed me a checklist of the hospital’s birth plan options as a guide for me to begin creating my own. That very night, I blew up Google with my relentless searches. Catherisation? What for? Labour augmentation? And what the fuck was syntocinon? I thought I just had to push and now I had all these things I might need to consider. Then I got deep. Deep into reading about physiological birth. Magical and euphoric. And then I got even deeper. Discovering the existence of obstetric abuse and traumatic birthing experiences. I always as...

An organised mess. That’s the way I’m writing these blog entries. All good, there are no rules here. Just sharing vulnerably in whichever way it comes out. Kind of how I do everything else these days.  Starting one thing here then seeing something else and getting a head start on that. Finishing what I originally started 2 days later. Drives my husband mad.  Anyone else? Yet somehow in my unconventional, systematic method it all comes together and shit gets done. But when I look at The Flying Mamma  Instagram page, I feel like it’s coming across a bit negative. Maybe it’s the monochrome mixed in with the emotional and fiery quotations.  I need you to know that there is truly so much passion where this is all coming from. I get so excited talking about all things pregnancy, labour, birth, breastfeeding, post partum and beyond! It just truly saddens me that a lot of women are cut short from the miracle of these experiences. Or haven’t informed themselves enough or at a...

It’s nap time. And I’m in between making a nutritious lunch for bubs while snacking on Hershey’s chocolate drops for mine. Lovely. I need to vent. I’ve been on ground for 5 days now.  I was  feeling grateful. Because if I had another job, I know I’d probably never have that much time off.  There, I said it. So I woke up this morning thinking hey, we survived that brutal long ass trip last week. Maybe we can do this. Maybe it’s not so bad. But then my roster changed. And the resentment, anxiousness and shitty mood erupted from every cell in my being. Knowing my son will wake up searching for me. Looking towards the door. Wondering where I’ve disappeared to again. He knows. Before the suitcase even comes out. It’s like he has a sixth sense about it. I try my hardest to masque my energy. But baby boy knows. I hate leaving in the night. I hate leaving in the day. I hate leaving full stop. I’m constantly torn between the way I would love to raise our son and the way it needs t...

I’m home! But before I could shower and curl up with my baby bear, I had a buffet of breast milk to sort and put in the freezer.  I’ll definitely dedicate a future entry to pumping, breast pumps and storage of milk; especially while travelling. How does that sound? So after stripping my makeup off and showering the remnants of the flight off me, I snuck into bed with my boys. Ahhhhh. Finally. 5 days craving for this very moment. I hugged my son gently, not wanting to wake him. But half hoping he would. One of my breast pump’s batteries didn’t survive the mid-flight pump (I swear I charged it!), so I had one side in need of a good emptying and hormonal wakeup.  Why? Because considering the amount of hours passed since properly pumping, it wasn’t bursting like it usually would.  I’m not surprised, after so many days of artificially stimulating breastmilk secretion with a pump. Without getting stuck into this (because it also deserves a dedicated entry,) it goes to show the ...