Birth Trauma – I’m fine now, but am I?

Last night in a conversation with Marc, we briefly touched upon the labour and the birth I had with Ivy, and when thinking about it I realised that the last time we spoke about it was the night after it happened. In 9 months, neither of us have sat down and talked about what happened, the experience from both sides and how it has actually affected us.

And it got me thinking that, because I healed quickly and because when I tell people my story, often I get ‘Oh yeah I had that’, and therefor I almost feel like I shouldn’t be affected by it. But the fact of the matter is, I had a traumatic labour and birth and mentally, it has completely petrified me.

You may have read the story but to put it in brief, Ivy was 12 days late, I was induced in 3 different ways, in active labour for 16 hours, ended up delivery in theatre with forceps resulting in a third degree tear, followed by a haemorrhage of 2.1 litres and a blood transfusion. You may say ‘oh well that’s nothing, I lost 3 litres and had two transfusions’ or something worse than what I had, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a victim of birth trauma

I had two sweeps and they did sweet FA. At 10 days I was induced but the first method didn’t work. My waters were broken artificially and my contractions were irregular and therefor had to be regulated. My body would not physically go into labour by itself. It just didn’t want to, and it obviously didn’t enjoy being forced to. I then suffered a PPH because my womb did not contract back as it should do after delivery. So this has me thinking, does my body just not cope with labour and birth? We all know my pregnancy was perfect, so I know I can carry a baby with no problem, but the end result is the scary part.

It was really hard for Marc to witness because he was there watching it happen until he was physically thrown out of theatre by the staff with no explanation, and later when I was in recovery, I could see how much he was traumatised by it. At the time, I felt like I needed to be the strong one for him, to comfort him and tell him I was okay and he didn’t need to worry, because I didn’t want a big thing made of it – despite the fact it was a huge thing!

Ivy’s birth is something that comes across my thoughts everyday. I have always wanted two children, I am one of two and I am surrounded by friends who are one of two, its something that is in me to have, but the thought of going through it all again terrifies me to the core. People will always say ‘Oh it rarely happens again’ or ‘You can opt for a C-section if it was that bad’ but firstly, it could still happen again, and secondly, having a C-section doesn’t mean my womb will react differently, the same thing could happen again.

I’ll be treated as a high risk pregnancy with constant monitoring and will have to deliver on a labour ward, there will be no chance of a water birth or a birth centre birth, or even a home birth (not that I would have one but you know it would be nice to say I have the option). It’s such a difficult decision to make in life. I have seen so many posts recently about a family of 3 becoming a family of four with one girl and one boy and the caption ‘Our family is now complete’. What does that mean? Have I not completed a family if I only have Ivy? If I have another girl is it still not complete? Am I living my life half finished if I don’t have another baby?

Ivy is only 9 months, and probably from the day she was born people ask me if I will have another one and it is the most infuriating question. Ivy is my first born child, let me enjoy her, let me bask in her glory, let me take in everything it is to be a mother and have this small person growing up in front of you, and most importantly, let me heal. Let me heal physically and mentally, no matter how long it takes

Mummy Ruby x

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Giving you the 3rd degree!

After nearly a year of only letting my beauty therapist attack my eyebrow hair with her wax, I finally plucked up the courage to get my ‘down there’ back on track with the waxing, and in light of this momentous occasion, I thought I’d write a blog about my 3rd degree tear experience – because to be honest, all I can think about is it ripping wide open again from the wax!!

What is a third degree tear? Most women tear or get cut during labour to assist with the delivery of bubba, with most women experiencing a first or second degree tear which affects the perineum only. A third-degree tear is extending downwards from the vaginal wall and perineum to the anal sphincter, the muscle that controls the anus. Ouch right?

When I was initially informed I had a third degree tear (when I was completely high on drugs), I wondered what the bloody hell the nurse was talking to me about, then she shoved a leaflet in my hand which I knew I had to read when I was more with it. Do you get told about this before hand? Absolutely bloody not. This is the one thing that really really got my back up about my ante natal midwife and appointments. At no stage do you really get told about any of this! You only realise the extent of it when you google it – AFTER ITS HAPPENED!

Third and fourth degree tears cannot be prevented, and there are a number of factors which contribute to it. 1. Your first vaginal birth – check. 2. If you have been induced – check. 3. If you have a large baby – Check. 4. If Forceps or ventouse were required – Check. 5. If you had an epidural – check. So pretty much I was destined for this tear to happen! So what happens next?

I was on a lot of medication from delivering in theatre and my PPH, so I wasn’t entirely aware of the pain it would cause for a few hours, especially as they knocked me out with Morphine to get me to sleep. However, before this, I was lucky enough to had an ice pack shoved between my legs because my ‘vulva’ was swollen. Fantastic, thanks for sharing that news with the family that have come to visit me. Then at around 6am a nurse came to take out the vaginal pack that was keeping things in place. The event that then unfolded, can only be described as when a clown pulls a long line of flags out of their mouth! This thing was bloody massive!! It must have been about a metre long and I honestly wondered when it was going to stop. Oh, and it hurt. Shit the bed, did it hurt. This was the discovery of what a third degree tear meant….

When I was whisked to the post natal ward, I was quickly instructed to do a urine sample. Everyone had warned me about the ‘first wee’ and how AWFUL it was so I was dreading it. Quick was also something that would not be a part of my persona for quite some time. In absolute agony I waddled somehow to the bathroom. Holding the cup, Niagara falls mixed with the red sea came out of me (no pain, just absolute filth). This was it, I thought, this is my life now. This is what no one tells you about, the reality of the after birth body and its disgusting functions and features

Being in hospital was hard. The pain down there was excruciating, and the more I kept reading over my leaflet, the more down I got about it. Why me? Why this extreme? 9% of women this happens to, why am I part of that percentage?

Having suffered from the PPH, I was put on iron tablets. Now we all know the affect these have on you (oh hey constipation) and how painful and uncomfortable it is. I was also put on lactulose solution to help open my bowels. This did not seem like a good combination. After about 2 hours of my first doses of lactulose, the worst thing happened. I FARTED INFRONT OF MY FIANCE FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER!!!!!! The shame!! Yep, that’s right, in the 3 and a half years we had been together, such a thing has never happened. And because he laughed, I laughed and I couldn’t stop! and the whole ward could hear my laughing and farting and the pain from the tear was unimaginable and that 5 minutes of my life was probably up there in the top 5 worst.

When I was allowed home I had to continue on the lactulose and the iron and the gazillions of painkillers for my torn open vagina and arsehole. There is nothing worse than watching people try to walk at the same pace as you when your down below has been ripped to shreds. A tortoise would’ve beaten me home. Then having to sit in the car, sit on the sofa, just generally sit and stand was proving too much. Three days PP and I was alone in the house, my OH had taken his two girls out when it suddenly hit me. This was it, I was about to go to the toilet. I would be lying if I said I ran to the toilet, but I moved in what was a hurry considering the circumstances before my living room became a sewer. I was petrified. I think I even cried. But thank god for Lactulose Solution! It was painful, I won’t lie, but nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be.

Because of the extent of the tear you can’t bathe in anything. Anything at all, not even healing salts. But you have to keep the area clean. So what does this result in? The most disgusting bath you’ll ever have. You can’t use anything to wash the area, and the shower head alone is tender, so you have no choice but to run a plain bath, get in, and have it fill up with the unspeakable. I’m sorry for the TMI but its how it is. So my ritual would be, fill a shallow bath, get rid of the gunk, and refill for an equally boring but clean bath.

I made my OH look at it all the time, poor guy, I don’t know how he finds me sexy after doing that, but it really gave me a peace of mind because I was too scared to get a mirror out and look myself. Especially as well as you only see the health visitor 3 times and they really only checked it twice!

Lucky for me, after 6 weeks of wetting myself, unclean boring baths, keeping Superdrug’s business open single handedly by buying their complete maternity pad stock, the inability to walk properly and the terrifying thought I looked like something out of Jekyll and Hyde down there, my 3rd degree tear healed.

I do wish I had been informed of the risks and extent’s of tearing prior to childbirth, as I felt that my 3rd degree tear was something sprung upon me, and something so major really should’ve been discussed not only before but after too. A third degree tear is a major part in birth trauma and coupling it up with the labour I had, I feel there is no aftermath to help you deal with it. I have been lucky it healed quickly and that I’ve been signed off to have a vaginal delivery in the future, but it needs to be spoken about more and more openly and honestly.

Anyway, wish me luck for the wax!!

Mummy Ruby x

My Views On Celebs ‘Bouncing Back’

This is a subject that causes A LOT of controversy and debate amongst mums and women …but the latest ‘celeb’ mum to get women’s backs up AND arguing among each other has angered me slightly and I felt like I needed to express my feelings about it all in this post.

Gaz from Geordie Shore and his partner Emma announced they were expecting middle of 2017. Throughout her pregnancy Emma was tiny, she had a really small bump and I genuinely felt sorry for her, and the abuse she was getting for ‘not looking pregnant’ (which triggered me to post my own photo of when I was 6 months pregnant looking like I’d eaten too much). I thought, the poor girl is tiny, and just because she hasn’t put much weight on doesn’t mean trolls can question the truth of whether she was actually carrying a baby! Even at 9 months she had to justify herself with proof of the midwife appointments and how the baby was growing. It must’ve have been really hard for her!

However. Fast forward 10 days after giving birth and she has posted a photo of her washboard stomach promoting Herbalife shakes saying she’s lost 28lb in 10 days….

*makes face* *reads pissed off comments* *makes another face*

Let’s cut the bullshit here shall we!? First of all, just no. There isn’t even a second of all, it’s all just NO.

I gained…I would say about 17-20lb when I was pregnant – quite lucky, I know! But I had no water retention and Ivy herself was 8lbs so my overall I didn’t put too much weight on. I didn’t really watch what I ate but I wasn’t a junk food animal either. But when you look at her photos before and during pregnancy, I really would like to know where this 2 stone was!

To then promote a dieting shake (breastfeeding shake or not) 10 days after giving birth, and claiming she lost such a huge amount of weight in that time, I do agree with a lot of mums is irresponsible. There’s a lot of young mothers out there or expectant mothers looking at that thinking ‘WHY? Why has that not happened to me, why has her body gone like that and mine hasn’t?’

I’m sorry, but it is in no way a positive image to promote.

As for the man in that house hitting back saying ‘mums are lazy and shouldn’t be eating chocolate and takeaways’…well to quote my girl Rachel Green ‘No Uterus, No Opinion’.

Ladies, we’ve all been through it! When Marc went back to work it was tough! I probably wet myself once a day at least, I only had a drink when I took my medication, food wasn’t even worth looking at let alone cooking. So I don’t know who this complete bellend thinks he is, but I can assure you now matey, when you haven’t got the money and the help to give you that time to exercise and make oh-so-nutritious shakes, it’s not as glamorous as you may believe!

I’ll wait for the comments that I’m jealous. I’m not. I’m not denying she looks amazing – I haven’t said that at all. What my issue is here, is the pretense, and wrong image it gives young girls who are expecting or will be expecting in the future that that is how we must look after giving birth.

This whole ‘she’s in that industry, it’s expected from her to look good’. NO IT’S NOT! Stop giving celebs the excuse that they have extra pressure on them! Stacey Solomon being the perfect example of being a big two fingers up to the ‘industry’. That’s a mother who looks amazing!

And for the both of them to be judging ‘lazy’ mothers. Well that’s just a serving of ‘I want to punch you in the face’ right there. I would much rather look how I do and have spent those 10 days eating chocolate and staring at the most beautiful thing in the world that I created!

Mummy Ruby x

New Year, Quick Nails

So many of you who have followed my Instagram or read my blog will know that I’m not really the girliest of girls, but the one thing that means more to me than anything (apart from my family of course) is my nails.

Having Ivy gave me even stronger and more amazing nails than before but there’s one catch…I don’t ever have the time do them! We all know what it’s like; we put them down for a nap, we take that brush out of the pot and they are awake before the first stroke. Then, we we do finally have 5 minutes to ourselves, we rush them so badly we might as well have got a toddler to do them.

Do we have time to go the shop? No. Do we have £500 to spend on gels and acrylics each year? No. We are mums, we are on the go, we do not stop. But that doesn’t mean we can have beautiful hands, amirite ladies??

So, I got to a point at the end of 2017 where my nails were as long as those fake witches nails you used to get for Halloween. I knew they were going to break but I just did not have those 5 minutes to cut them. Lo and behold, whilst cleaning, each one broke. Just like that. I honestly feel like a different person when I don’t have nice long nails. But, I guess, its a fresh start. Get them short and let them grow. But they look so ugly with no paint on and I don’t have the time to do them…

Cue my knowledge and finding of Leighton Denny Expert Nails. My now-favourite brand for anything nail-related. With the following products, I have just done my nails in 10 minutes. I will repeat that, 10 MINUTES LADIES. 10 minutes to do a file, paint and tidy up!! ‘This is absurd!’, I hear you cry. Trust me, it’s possible. And here’s how…

First I came across their Crystal Nail File. We’ve all bought emery boards from Superdrug – they break after one go – you’re practically sanding half your nail away! With this nail file, I needed the lightest strokes to get the shape I wanted, and because of its texture, it is PERFECT for achieving the square shape (my favourite nail shape). As my nails are short, they just needed a light tidy and we were off!

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Again, did I mention as mums we don’t have time? We can’t sit there doing the perfect strokes, making sure we only get the varnish on the nail, no, we pretty much close our eyes, hope for the best and pray no one notices we’ve painted half our finger aswell. Not any my beautiful mummies! Leighton Denny’s Precision Corrector means once the paint is dry, I can clear up the dodgy finger varnish easily! The fine brush supplied with the correction fluid means it touches up the sides of your nails without even touching the nail itself, so there is no issue of smudging the varnish. You’re simply getting rid of the mess, and come on, we’re mums, we’re experts at getting rid of mess!

Obviously you need to wait for the paint to be dry to use the Precision Corrector, and I know your thinking…’well I can’t sit there blowing them all day!’ Neither can I. Which is why, my last product, and quite possible my new found love (sorry Marc), is the Leighton Denny Miracle Mist Spray. After your top coat has been applied, wait one minute for everything to set, position the can about 20 cm away from your nails and spray from left to right. Repeat on both hands, and that ladies and gentlemen, gives you touch dry nails within seconds. I was skeptical about using the precision corrector so quickly, but the efficiency of the mist meant my nails were good to go and dry enough to be corrected.

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So there we have it, 10 minute nails all thanks to Leighton Denny Expert Nails!

Mummy Ruby x

Body Hang Ups: Permission To Have

At the start of this year I made a resolution to eat better. Not to diet, but to just generally eat better – no more chocolate, no crisps as snacks, cut down/out fizzy drinks. Better breakfasts, only one takeaway a month as a little treat, and better lunches and dinners in general. But eating better isn’t going to help how I look on the outside.

You see, the thing is, I have zero confidence after having Ivy. I really don’t like how my body looks. But I can’t ever talk about it because I get shut down: ‘There’s nothing wrong with how you look’ ‘You’re so slim’ ‘Shut up, there’s nothing of you’. Yes, in photos I might look slim, but no one sees me for me. In real life with no clothes on.

It’s hard being a slim person and having body issues, you almost feel like you’re not allowed to have them, and it’s been like that for a very long time which has got me thinking a lot recently.

I joined the gym last week and my first session is today. Now, I don’t need to lose weight, I am a healthy 9 stone at 5″9 so losing weight is not what I want to achieve. I simply want to lose the mum tum and generally tone up everywhere. I’m getting married in July, and the way I feel at the moment, I wouldn’t even want to put a wedding dress on.

Last night I made my other half take photos of me so I can track my progress weekly/monthly. After he took them, I had a glance and just burst into tears. He tells me all the time I look amazing and there’s nothing wrong with me but I couldn’t help looking at the photo thinking ‘how can he even think that’.  But again, I feel like I’m not allowed to have these hang ups and to think that at 9 stone I don’t look nice. I know its not fair on him when he’s complimenting me, and I throw it back in his face, but it was just one of those moments.

In October 2011 I had a boob job. I was 21 years old, I had saved up since I was 18 years old having known I wanted them done since the age of 16. Secondary school was a tough place – especially being an all girl’s school. Obviously at the time I didn’t know it was body shaming, but you don’t realise how often it happens at such a young age. I think it was in year 8 that I got called an ironing board – I was 12! 12 years old and being told I have a flat chest – well duh, what else was I going to have? But unfortunately as puberty hit and my ironing board figure continued, comments were made and I felt that small boobs were not a thing to have. With friends who had big busts and my mum who has the biggest boobs in the world, I just hated what I was living with. Even after going on the pill and them growing slightly, I still could see the 12 year old flat chested person when I looked in the mirror. It was hard on my mum. We argued about it when I was 18, and I was frustrated that she couldn’t understand why I wanted to do it. Trouble was, back then it was still frowned upon somewhat, and boob jobs were linked with the likes of Jordan who looked ridiculous. I didn’t want to be big – I just wanted to be in proportion. Luckily after 3 years of begging, she gave in. She knew it was something I really wanted and I have never at any point on my life regretted it.

Being pregnant my boobs grew, and when my milk came in I honestly wondered how I was going to survive with two ginormous melons (hard as rocks) sitting on my chest. After my milk disappeared and everything settled, I was left with two slightly unperky boobs. Due to the stretching of the skin my implants now don’t sit properly, which caused a slight mishap when Ivy managed to kick my chest and flip an implant over! Luckily it flipped straight back but it just showed the change that pregnancy had on my boobs. And now, I don’t like them,   but I half accept them. In 3 years or so, I will definitely be having a re-augmentation. I don’t promote surgery…I worked for a famous UK surgery company and I saw girls go too far with what they wanted. But why shouldn’t I change something if I can? Why can’t I go through the surgery again to be comfortable with my body?

Going back to secondary school, the second lot of body shaming I experienced was the ‘You’re so skinny’ comments. Again, at the time I didn’t even know being skinny was a bad thing! Looking back – it’s not nice, it hurts. I was never skinny on purpose, I ate junk food, I loved chocolate, I was just a normal teenager eating normal things and enjoying P.E and sports club. But the comments were always made and I never understood why it had to be said. And now I think having spent so many years being the ‘skinny one’, I find it hard when I notice changes with my body.

I’ll admit it now, I could spend hours scrolling through instagram looking at other girl’s bodies. I don’t know why we do it to ourselves: we are all different, I’m never going to look like them because I am a different person. I’m a different shape, I have different curves to them, but I still cant help but think ‘what if Marc finds someone like that’. He’s marrying me, I’m the luckiest girl in the world, but like every girl, we all have our worries and dreads.

Now I know people are going to read this and think ‘for goodness’ sake – you’ve had a baby, you should be proud of what your body has achieved, etc etc etc’ and don’t get me wrong, I am. I am so proud that I carried Ivy and that I got through an awful labour, but I’m still only 27 years old.

I have a wedding dress that I want to look and feel like a princess in, I have a honeymoon where I want to wear some seriously knock out dresses and feel like a queen, I have a long time before I start ‘giving up’ on how I look. So just because I’m slim, just because I’m a size 10, just because I’m 9 stone – does not mean that I’m not allowed to have my hang ups. No matter who are you are or how you look or what your body has been through, everyone is allowed to have body confidence issues and we should be allowed to talk about it. Being knocked down and silenced just makes things worse.

So, here we are: 8th January 2018, starting my gym routine in a quest to get my confidence back. Thank you for reading ❤

Mummy Ruby x

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Happy Half Birthday!

I can’t quite believe that I am actually writing this already, but today, Tuesday 2nd January 2018, Ivy is SIX MONTHS OLD!!

I just don’t even know how to process this. I have a 6 month old? How? When? What even happened to the second half of 2017? I feel like I literally blinked and missed it all. Of course that’s an exaggeration, what mother doesn’t remember every moment of how difficult but rewarding these 6 months have been! So, here’s my month by month reminiscent of Ivy Chops….

Month 1: July – Tough. Very, very tough. 3-4 times a night waking, changing, feeding. Fresh tear making it difficult to walk, milk coming in making it difficult to do anything (I’d take another boob job over milk coming in any day!), a phase of constipation meaning tummy aches, changing of milk, helping her go to the loo, doctors and health visitors giving no information whatsoever to help. But, that first month when they are so precious and tiny, you couldn’t help but watch them all day and wonder how you had created something so perfect.

Month 2: August – Our first holiday! The realisation that taking a baby somewhere means taking your entire life. My god do babies need a lot! Still regular night feeds but slowly going down. First smile – the moment your heart just melts into a massive puddle of love and affection. No more constipation and onto the Tommee Tippee Prep Machine (best thing everrrrr, amirite ladies?). Tear has healed, and finally feeling normal, discharged from all post natal care YAY! 8 week injections – oh no, someone’s going to stab my baby with a needle – THEY ARE A MONSTER. Oh, okay it wasn’t too bad.

Month 3: September – Neck is definitely getting stronger, but we are hating on tummy time – please stop it mummy, it’s not going to happen. 10 hour sleeps through the night – go on my girl! That little smile appears every morning and some cooing and gurgling noises are coming on but not too many. We discover Moana, we like Moana, we love Moana. Moana goes on every day. Starting to like songs and music but still not too fussed about toys. 12 week injections, better than the first, not even bothered

Month 4: October – Growth spurt. A tough time for us. Restlessness, teething, bored easily, waking in the night, refusing feeds but always hungry. This was a difficult one. Old enough to need distraction and entertaining but not old enough to be interested enough in her toys yet. Having spent 6 weeks plus sleeping through the night, it was then hard to be waking up at half 4/5. First Halloween and the discovery that Ivy HATES cute headbands….

Month 5: November – Though we believe Ivy has recognised us for a while, she is really now starting to know mummy and daddy. And how we love daddy’s face – the big smiles come out! First laugh – when I thought my heart couldn’t melt anymore, it did. Routine now being put into place with an early bedtime meaning daddy and mummy time together (so important). Feeding more regularly also, roughly every 2 hours, but seems perfectly happy. Nearly sitting unsupported, but back and neck strength incredible – still hates tummy time

Months 6: December – The festive period and an extremely busy month! Ivy is now playing with toys better, seems more interested in them and loves anything with a rattle – though her strength is shown by the aggressive shaking of ANYTHING SHE HOLDS ONTO, so soft toys are preferred. She needs to grab everything, your plate, the remote control, the cushions, the phone, your face (no Chops, you cannot put my chin into your mouth). And finally, after a good 3 months of going through around 1,000 bibs a day, on the 1st Jan 2018….WE FELT A TOOTHY PEG!!

So there’s my 6 months with my amazing girl. She fascinates me everyday how much she is growing and the new skills she develops. Here’s to the next 6 months and making every day of her life the best we can!

Mummy Ruby x

 

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20 Weeks in, 20 Weeks Out!

19th November 2017, Ivy turned 20 weeks old. All mums will agree with me here….where on earth has 20 weeks gone?! Time needs to slow down because at this rate, she will choosing where to go to Uni soon. Anyway, I had some time to reflect on this time frame and thinking back to when I was 20 weeks pregnant, and thought I would share some of my feelings and experiences….

Our 20 week scan date fell on the day of our 3rd year anniversary. When I opened the letter and saw the date, we were both so excited, what a way to spend an anniversary! We both knew we were going to find out the sex of the baby, I know some people are against this or like the surprise, and trust me if I had the will power I wouldn’t have found out – but I don’t so I did. After the 12 week scan, we both said we thought we were having a girl. Don’t ask me how, but I definatley believe in mother’s instinct, I just knew the words I was going to hear that day were ‘It’s a girl’. The 20 week scan is such an amazing moment. The difference in the size and the features from the 12 week is just incredible, and I could see her perfect button nose. The sonographer said the words we knew were coming, and we were just so excited

I still wasn’t really showing and I hadn’t felt any kicks just yet but seeing that little belly, the perfect face and the strong heartbeat just overwhelmed me knowing I was half way to meeting my daughter! Marc and I celebrated that night, 3 years of being with each other and our new little GIRL on the way.

Fast forward to 20 weeks OUT. What can I say. Its been a whirlwind, an absolute roller coaster of emotions. At 20 weeks, Ivy is starting to chuckle, the noise that comes out of her mouth when her daddy makes her laugh is just everything to me. Its clear she is close to wanting solids (yes we are waiting until 6 months, so please don’t jump down my  throat about early weaning), everything needs to go in her mouth. We had a pub lunch and she was just looking around the table wanting to touch something or put something in her mouth. She absolutely loves Moana, she loves when we sing ‘A little Respect’ by Erasure to her, she enjoys the tune of ‘I’m forever blowing bubbles’ when shes being cradled to sleep, her hand to eye coordination is slightly off but she is bloody strong when it comes to grabbing things!

Her development has been a pleasure to watch, just how much she is growing each and every day. I honestly never knew how much a baby, a small tiny human, can learn in such a small amount of time. When your holding them at just a few days old you think ‘well this is how it is for a while now’ you don’t realise they are taking in everything you say. She recognises her name, she knows a familiar song when you sing it to her, she remembers people’s faces and knows when someone is new. She fascinates me every single moment and watching her grow makes me so proud to be her mum.

I read an article this week about a parenting technique which involves treating babies like adults from the moment they are born, so no ‘baby talk’. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Making silly noises and talking in ‘baby talk’ provides me and Marc with the worlds biggest smile on a daily basis! We baby talk so much we end up talking to eachother like it!!

So, from 20 weeks in, to 20 weeks out, I thank you Ivy for providing me and your daddy with so much happiness and laughter. Here’s to the next 20!

Mummy Ruby x

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