Tales of Snails

It's 9:30pm, Jose comes up the stairs and finds, on the top step, one little girl dressed in pyjamas and, contrary to parental assumptiuns, very much not asleep. Nor sleepy. "I can't go back to bed, mummy. I'm not sleepy at all," she shrugs, and won't budge, stubborn little thing.
Five attempts down (stubborn mother), I cave in and offer the next best thing: How about we sit in my bed and chat about... things? Tara is all for it. Can her Baby Sophia come; she can't sleep either? But of course Sophia can come! The more, the merrier.

So we sit in bed, in the dark, holding our respective babies, and chat. Better, Tara chats. And chats, and chats and CHATS. She LIKES this!
"Mummy, is there a shark under your bed, and what is it going to do when..."
"...and then we grabbed the snails and squished them and they went *pop*..."
"...and the queen and the man-queen..."
At midnight I realise that my strategy of uhm-ing and aah-ing does not have the desired effect of sending her off to sleep. Neither works plan B, that of occasionally warning her how tired she will be tomorrow. I switch to plan C of doing all the talking myself. "Tell me the story of the four friends in the garden," demands Tara. "But that's a story in one of your books downstairs," I decline. "But it's also in your head," insists Tara. She is subborn and clever, and she's very sure of what's in mummy's head. At 12:3oam, the four friends have been to the beach, and the hospital, and Tara is asleep. Sophia too. I don't like story telling. I don't like the four friends. I do like Tara. She's awfully cool.

The next morning, I am a little bit tired. So little bit tired I lose track of what I'm doing. Like, I walk down the stairs with a vague feeling I've forgotten something. The empty push chair at the bottom of the stairs tells me that's my baby. I'm glad he's not dressed in pink, white and purple - I may not have found him in the mess, forgotten why I came back up in the first place, and/or grabbed Baby Sophia instead. You never know what a tired mother is capable of.*


* Not cooking, that much is for sure.

Ah! To Be Loved So! (Day 13)

Kuscheln Leo. All day long.

"Mami, can I kuschel Leo?" when she opens her eyes in the morning. "Mummy, I want to kuschel Leo!" when he's half dressed and cries for a feed. "Mummy, can I hold Leo now?" after breakfast, after lunch, after dinner. Even in the middle of the night, when Leo wakes up in bed with me, and Tara wakes up in her bed next door, I'm likely to get a very alert sounding "Mummy! I want to kuschel him!" coming round the corner. Any time of day or night, and any imaginable situation, Tara wants to cuddle her baby brother.

"He's very cute, actually," she said on day one. "I love baby Leo," she said on day nine. "Aaw, what a lovely baby brother I got, what was in mummy's tummy; Aaaw Leo," she cooed on day 11. She says it, and she means it. It's lip service in the nicest possible sense, with dozens of snotty, germ ridden kisses being planted on his little head, nose, lips, cheeks, daily.
Tara will bend over his basket, just to stroke his little face for a few moments before she returns to her play. Or, ahem, she will try to pick him up for an unsolicited cuddle. She has sung to him when he was crying, and Bah Bah Black Sheep did calm him down. She hushes and shushes and coos, "Shhhh, Shhh Leo, Schatz, hallo! Hallo, hallo! Hallo hallo, Schatz!" And I swear it's not regular English or German she speaks to him then, but proper Motherese.
My beautiful girl - brought up on love and cuddles, she knows how to love and cuddle. To say I'm proud and pleased would be an understatement.

I'm waiting for the day when Leo loves her back. For when his face lights up when she comes to see him, for the cooing and gurgling and patting when she kuschels him. I want to see Tara's face when she understands how much her baby adores her and looks up to her. I'd say I can't wait to see it, but I can: Every day is so full of blissfully enjoyable moments, of hilariously funny ones, or even difficult and trying ones when I need to pour out all the love and patience I can muster for my children - I wouldn't want to miss a single moment; not a single day, and not a single squished up, sleepless night.

Tara loves Leo. It's that simple.

PS.: In the first week, there have been some iffy moments, with a few since, and decreasingly so. Sibling rivalry and dislike peaked in a moment when Leo had lost a sock, I asked Tara if she could put it back on, she pulled off his other sock too. That's the extent of it. And this entry isn't about the challenging moments, anyway.

Breakfast in Bed (Day 10)

Does anything compare to a mummy-trained, pancake-baking daddy who gets up first on a Sunday morning and delivers yummy jam pancake rolls for breakfast in bed with babies a little later? It certainly is a step up from toast in front of the telly, and we're enjoying it considerably. It's also a good way to start a Sunday, or the tenth day of your life: For Leo, there's loads of midnight snack flavoured milk now, and jam pancake roll flavoured milk later. Tasty!

Talking about food, the young gentleman has a healthy appetite and a very fetching degree of greed and sensuality. Is it that he likes to eat all the time? Or just cuddle and suckle? On occasion he will happily look around or look at and listen to me coo to him for a few minutes - he's a bit more impatient with his loving sister's cuddles that leave him a bit scrunched up in a womb style fold-over hug - but while awake, he usually calls for The Boob before he even bothers opening his eyes. Then, he goes into hour-long loops of drink - fall asleep - wake up remembering he was drinking and calling loudly for being rejoined to The Boob, which of course he is... can't refuse my gorgeous son his heart's desire WAH WAH WAH, or his tiny tummy's. The only thing that gets in his way are his little fists. Does he flail his arms in panick, worrying there will be no food? Does he try to catch The Boob and make sure it goes where he wants it? Either way, he tends to clap them into his face with a vengance, and I end up fighting little fists before I can feed him. Tcha, Leo, so much to learn in life; why don't we make that your first lesson: TRUST Mummy, no need to fight!


So much eating, of course, has consequences for the little man! Serious weight gain! By day ten, midwife Lou confirmed today at her visit, a breast fed child should have regained his birth weight - Leo has put on 165 grams to boot. I'm proud. I'm also a bit shocked I'm showing off such silly details - I'd quite forgotten what early motherhood does to one's view of things! It's a good job I never really talked politics before, so there's not much of a chance I'll put close friends off forever...
Also, of course, so much feeding has consequences for the be-boobed mother! Serious weight loss! By week ten I expect to resemble a stick figure, so bring on the pancakes, Jose... and I hope you never took stock of the chocolates we have in the cupboard or were, God forbid, hoping for a share? Erm... it was LEO who ate it all up!


PS.: The last picture is not exactly a mirror image of Tara's pic of being weighed - but they somehow do look like the same baby: see here for comparison.
For Tara's Day 10, click here.
... And I've let my precious child go hungry to write this, with only daddy's finger for a dummy / pacifier WAH WAH WAH - just like in the old Tara days like here.

So many memories! It's such fun loving two babies at the same time!

Rainy Saturday (Day 9)

It's the day on which Tara spoke the magical words: "Mummy, I love baby Leo!"
So here we are, rained in on a Saturday, slowly finding our places and turning into a family of four. It's as good a day as any for a brief family portrait, to try and catch a magical moment and freeze it in time:

Jose: Today he's our link to the outside world. Nobody else has yet bothered to get dressed, but one just had to go out for some bread (SOME BREAD! Not some bread and two bags full of other stuff, mostly treats!... But then, that's just what happens to all of us, each time we shop at the shop of the white and green bags... just part of the price you pay for frequenting the nicest and most expensive supermarket in the UK...). And anyway, one desn't feed a family of four on bread alone. So I say: "Smile, Papi, and lift up the booty!"

Alex: ... Or do I prefer to be known as MUMMY today? Forget about personal space, ego and individuality when I have such gorgeous children to contemplate, play with and cuddle? I mean, look at me: Still in my pyjamas at the end of the day, messy hair from lounging in bed or on the sofa all day, and a big silly smile going as wide across my face as it will... stupidly blissfully happy, one could say. High on hormones perhaps? High on baby and his sister? Don't know. don't care. For now, just 'Mummy' is totally sufficient.

Tara: The most beautiful girl in town is actually MY daughter! Three years in and I still can't believe it... So here she is, my Baba (Can't still call her 'baby' now, can I?), on to rainy day activity #34, colouring in one of the gifts that Leo brought her 9 days ago. In between activities nipping to the baby brother's basket for the occasional stroke of his little face or status update like "Mummy, Leo's eyes are awake"... "Leo is sleeping, his face is very worried!" What do I wish for her future, I wonder? A successful career? Many lovely babies? Or simply that she remain my little amazing girl forever?

Baby Leo: Aaaaw, he's so cute. He's so lovely to hold. His hair is so incredibly soft and beautiful to stroke! I love to tickle his soft little neck. And the little smiles I've seen so far? Just the sweetest! His chord came off two days ago. He's all himself now - I've got no clue what he's like, really, and who and what he'll be, but I don't care. We'll have him any way he wants to be.

And the other baby hanging over the rim of his basket? Anna-baby. Introducing Leo to all tof Tara's babies was rainy day activity #35.

So here we are, getting to know and love each other all over again, my little family of four.

Welcome, Leo!

Leo's Ticker: 19 1/2 Hours to Having My Baby

4/11; 9:30pm: So tired I'm shaking, I give up on the day and decide to go to sleep right away. By the time I've made it up the stairs, I've had the first mini contraction. Other signs within the next five minutes. Straight to bed hoping for a bit of sleep before it gets serious. Sleep never happens. Instead, Tara joins me. I take to wandering around, wondering how strong contractions should be - after all, Tara was induced so I have no idea what I'm looking for.

5/11; 1am: Finally worked up the courage to call the hospital (still feeling ridiculous as contractions are so painless if regular and long). I'm just planning on discussing the character of serious business with my midwife (whom I have to request via the hospital ward). They hear 'homebirth' and say that someone will call me back right away.

1:50am: I'm starting to wonder whatever happened to my call back as the midwife arrives. Bit more than I bargained for at this stage... I mean, I get to ask the questions I wanted to ask, but I'm still feeling a bit silly and insignificant, which her examination confirms: I'm only 2cm dilated and what I call 'cramps', she calls 'niggles', so two hours later, she is off back home, and I'm left with instructions to take a paracetamol, aim for some sleep, and call her back when the niggles become contractions.

6:30 am: Tara wakes up, I've slept for maybe an hour. I spend the next 2 1/2 hours lying on my side, suffering insilence for 50-70 seconds every so often, relaxing in between and dozing back off - totally lost all sense of time.

9am: Tara is off to nursery, I start timing contractions and work out that vocalising works a lot better than suffering in silence.

11am: Contractions have been strong, loud and regular all this time - in a sudden surge of panic I know it's time to request the midwife, Lou. She is there five minutes later, watches me, examines me and confirms: fully dilated. She expects the baby to arrive within the next half hour. I panic and want to cry: I can't imagine this happening, I'm scared of the pain, and I can't imagine, after all this, that there actually will be a baby. Contractions start to slow down.

12pm: The second midwife arrives (one for me, one for the baby). Contractions have slowed down to nothing much at all, but Baby Leo's heart rate is perfect - at least one of us is happy.

12-3pm: Another examinations shows that I am not fully delated after all - one tiny "lip" remains. The midwives are full of ideas as to what we can do to get the contractions back. I eat something. I eat enery bars and sugary stuff. I bounce on the ball. I walk around and up and down the stairs. I try every feasible position that makes use of gravity. Nothing but the odd short weak contraction. As a last measure, Lou breaks my waters - it scares me: This is how Tara's birth was kick started and it hurt a lot. Even more scary: There is a time limit attached to it. If I do not deliver the baby within the next 30 minutes, I will have to transfer to hospital for a hormone drip. I don't want to go to hospital. I'm scared shitless. I'm scared contraction-less. I do as I'm told and try and bounce and try but there is no contraction worth mentioning. I can't imagine this happening. I can't imagine the baby. I try to call up a mental image of my baby but there's just one big blank space.

3:00pm: Another mercyful 15 minute deadline to calling the ambulance. Jose is getting the bag together as per my instructions; I'd only packed the bare essentials before. This nightgown. Those pyjamas. Waterbottle. Snacks. Jeans.

3:15: They're calling the ambulance. I start crying and can't stop. Jose panics. He's convinced I'll end up with a cesarian if I waste my last energies on howling like this. I'm full of horror scenarios too - I'm already right inside one. Lou jokes about how rickety ambulance rides often bring contractions back, and how babies are born in them. My baby is not among them, even though we travel in style, and my body rewards the ambulance for switching its sirens on for us with a few contractions.

4pm: Handed over to hospital staff, examined, hooked up to drip and monitors. I let them do as they see fit -I don't fancy any of this any more; it's not my labour any more. Mayby I should some consider pain relief now.

4:15pm: Labour resumes with proper contractions. I'm still frustrated and tired and rather disinterrested, except when Leo's heartrate dips to what sounds like close to nothing. Very scary. Ca 4:50pm, pushing starts and I'm fully alert within a second. It's happening! I'm no longer worried about pain but sucked into the intensity of the experience. I feel his head making progress. I feel it crowning. I ask for his hair colour. I remember in an abstract way how it hurt with Tara, and how i was shouting "I'm burning I'm burning!"... I feel his head coming through... brief panting... a little body slithering out...

17:00 (sharp): ....within one eternally long push contraction, Leo is born and delivered right onto my chest. I greet him with an avalanche of made-up terms of endearment that all sum up to the same thing I greeted Tara with: "My baby! My baby! My beautiful baby!"



19:30: Leo has suckled for 90 minutes (5 blisters for me to start off on), and we've chosen Gabriel for his middle name. Tara Olivia and Leo Gabriel. I have a shower and stand there smiling to to myself: He looks like a copy of Tara, and that is a very good thing. When I come back into the room, feeling like I've been miraculiously restored to being a whole healthy person after a long period of illness, Jose greets me: "I've already called him 'Tara.'"
Our boy, Leo. I hope life treats you well. We will do our best.



Tara's Ticker: 27 Hours to Big Sister

5/11; 6:30: Tara wakes up and says: "Who's coming to our house today?" "I think Baby Leo is coming today, and Oma Gisela is coming tomorrow," I reply. "But I want Oma Gisela to come today, and Leo tomorrow," Tara complains. I agree, but there's not much I can do about it now. Tara takes off to find her dad and request daddy-made pancakes for breakfast.

7:30: Tara is back on the bed for a cuddle. I'm in the middle of a contraction and tell her not to touch me right now. She cries and is comforted after the contraction ebbs away; I'm glad we've discussed her brother coming out of mummy's tummy and it hurting before. Would she like to go to nursery to play with her friends, or would she like to stay home and wait for Leo? Nursery, she chooses happily, and is off to play with dad some more.

8:00: Nursery opens. I phone to ask how soon I can drop Tara off. Right away. It's a relief. Can I get this birth over with by 3pm?

8:30: A very chirpy Tara is off to nursery. I miss my good-bye-have-fun kiss.

14:30: Call to nursery to confirm Tara can stay till 5pm (instead of 3pm).

16:15: Call to Rebecca. "Are you in labour?!" - "I'm at the hospital. Can you pick Tara up?"

16:39: Text from Rebecca: "I've got Tara we're waiting for Caden to finish football and then we'll go home. She's fine so far so don't worry. x"

17:27: Rebecca: "Tara is very pleased with her new brother. We've taken her to tell nursery she's cuddling Carter now!"

17:50: R: "Tara is home now playing. She's fine here as long as you need. I'll put her in pj's and she can sleep with Carter or on the sofa. She's going to have some chips and watch peppa pig! Don't worry about Tara and well done! x"

18:43: R: "Take your time she's fine. She's no bother at all.x"

18:??: R: "Tara happy eating chips and beetroot. We're impressed!"

19:55: R; "Tara fed, washed in sleepsuit given to her by Carter and has a new green toothbrush. And fast asleep on my sofa. No rush she'll be fine till Jose is ready.x"

6/11; 9:30am: Tara and Papi arrive at the hospital to pick Leo and Mami up. When I hear their voices outside the room asking for us, I start crying, just a little. Tara climbs right onto the bed, beaming smiles, stretches her arms out for her brother, holds him and gives him a kiss.

Let the Blogging Resume!

One week ago, I was still in the middle of giving birth to gorgeous baby Leo (with the threat of a hospital transfer hanging over me, but still hoping and working towards having him at home), and today, same time, I'm looking at my fashionably dressed little man in his basket by my side, sound asleep, and wonder what level of clothing will be appropriate to take him out in - we have one big sister to fetch from nursery and deliver the promised little birthday party (complete with balloons and party bags) that I had planned for the end of the successful home birth.
Leo and I are on our way to working out how this feeding business works for us, and I'm remembering how to blog one-handed with a baby snuggled up close. Much to record and report!

One small reminder: If anyone wants to send us a card - if you have the address starting with "8 The..." then it's the old/wrong one!

I've been sitting like this for over an hour now, and can't for the life of me make myself get up and do anything other than looking at him and nuzzling him. Digging my own grave no doubt, out for a blue repetition of the pink cuddle disaster. But grave digging has never been this sweet!

Snap: Aaaaw!

Skin to skin

...and mum is staring and staring and marvelling.

Ready for Take-Off, Mr. Stork?

Ready for take-off, Mr. Stork?

*Ouch*
Tummy cramps! And they started only half an hour after I finished the last entry and a chocolate bar, swell. So, Mr. Stork, I hope you're ready for take off, to go and deliver one beautiful baby boy.
Of course, just in case one stork is not enough help with the delivery of baby Leo, I'll also call the midwife. Just for a little chat about pain, the (for now, lack of) intensity thereof, and other delicate details pertaining to the birthing region. Sleep is much desired but somehow not on the agenda, it appears.

There is no official birthing playlist. I was thinking about putting Leona Lewis on, briefly... Tara:"I wish I had a voice like that!" Me: "Yeah me too" Leona: "... You cut me open and I - keep bleeding, keep keep bleeding..." That put an end to official playlists, but here is one of the songs I've been playing a lot recently and moving myself to hormonal tears every time without fail (click on the title to listen in, sing along, and maybe shed an emotional tear or two):

Look no Further

"I might have been a singer
Who sailed around the world
A gambler who wins millions
And spent it all on girls

I might have been a poet
Who walked upon the moon
A scientist who'd tell the world
I'd discovered something new

I might have loved a king
And been the one to end a war
A criminal who drank champagne
And never could be caught

But among your books, among your clothes
Among the noise and fuss, I've let it go

I can stop and catch my breath
And look no further for happiness
And I will not turn again
'Cause my heart has found its home

Everyone I'll never meet
And the friends I won't now make
The adventures that there could have been
And the risks I'll never take

But among your books, among your clothes
Among your noise and fuss, I've let it go

I can stop and catch my breath
And look no further for happiness
And I will not turn again
'Cause my heart has found its home"
(Dido)

Call me a tacky soul, but let me put it this way: Tonight I have no regrets.

Ready for touch-down (*ouch*)

Big Mama's Big Girl & Big Girl's Big Mama

Today is Leo's due date (rah rah, baby boy, rah rah rah!?), and since he's not making any move in the right direction (down and out, my boy!), I've still got time to write about my precious princess before I get sucked into the wonder of having TWO amazing children to love.
Ah, my big girl!

Story time: "Baby Wolf and his mum and dad..."

Actually, she's floating in between big and pretend-small these days. Have I ever introduced her alter ego, "Baby Lola"? Baby Lola is a good few months old already and pops up whenever Tara feels particularly cuddly. She doesn't do much talking but a lot of cooing and snuggling, likes to be carried and extra amounts of attention. "I'm not Tara, I'm Baby Lola," she announces in a sweet little voice. "Tara is in Ferien (on holiday) with Oma Gisela." We see a lot of Baby Lola in the morning or in the evening, when Tara is tired. And oh, just how handy did that old dummy come in that we found when unpacking her old stuff?! Too old for Baby Leo, too big for Tara's many babies, and Tara herself sure never had any use for it when she was small... but Baby Lola? It's the must-have gadget of the day. Ah, week. Ah, month.

"Baby Lola" shares a cuddle with the bump (today full term)

The real Tara, of course, is a lot older than that. Old enough, in fact, to have many a baby in her own tummy that pop out ("Baby Tina, she already came out") or pop back in, depending on what is more convenient ("Mummy, Daddy, I can't pick the puzzle up off the floor... I have einen dicken Bauch (a big tummy); I have a Baby in my tummy...."). And since having a feel for, or a look at baby Leo movement has become old news, she sometimes treats us to a feel of her own baby ("Mummy, my baby is kicking now, you can feel it if you want") - lifts her top up, pokes her tummy out and wobbles it a bit while making a serious and important face. I always, always take her up on her kind offer - those are my grandchildren in the making, after all!
But she's big in other ways as well, looking after her old mother and treating her with kindness. Example? Last week, when tired and keen on playing with mummy on the floor, she threw a massive tantrum when I told her I couldn't sit in the specific way she wanted me to, that little bossy thing. Two days later, wanting to play on the floor again, she offered me lots of different position: "Can you sit like this? Can you sit like this? Or like that?... Ok, you can sit like that then. Come and play with me!" And another day later: "Mummy, can you come and play with me? You can sit any way you want!" I'm so impressed by such consideration that I fall to my knees and play on the floor until my legs go numb.
I do wonder who I will see more of once Baby Leo is with us - Baby Lola or Big Tara?

Last week was term break at nursery, and since I was at home and felt guilty about sending here when there was no need, I'd reduced her hours to morning-only. We spend a lot more time together than I'm used to, and it wasn't even half as hard as I thought it would be. The library, the park, story telling time, making new friends down the road that we'd noticed months ago but never had the time to talk to, tons of cuddles - it was a bit like honey-mooning with my girl, just the two of us before we become three/four. I spent half the time just staring at her thinking, wow, you're so amazing, and feeling very much in love with her. My girl!

And then, of course, there's her baby brother, my boy. Still snug inside my enormous tummy, with his perfect little heart beat, perfectly average estimated size, still giving me probably rather average amounts of stretch marks (*sob*).

"Hey, Papi! It's Leo's due-date! Foto session time!... No, fotos first, then dinner, come on, I'll be way too tired later!"

All covered up - not looking too impressive...

...so I'll get it out into the open, and have it kissed while we're there...

... looking big? Looking small?

If I've got anyone thinking it's a small tummy, let me reassure you: It's the perspective. It's huge. And very nearly at its peak. 3/5ths engaged, says the midwife, who came round today, and since second babies often only engage fully during birth, not before, it's a sign that we're very close to meeting each other, finally. On Saturday, we have agreed, after Oma Gisela has arrived for a spontaneous weekend support visit, and after the midwife's favourite dance show is over. Starting 9pm, finished by midnight - sounds all very good to me. Not tonight, please, I'm too tired now: Instead of resting while Tara was at nursery, I went into Broadstairs to enjoy the sunshine and a pretty walk. Would that be fine by you, little man?

Your due-day, Leo, was a beautiful crisp and bright sunny day. There was spag-bol for dinner, made with tomatoes from our garden. Papi had some sort of fume exhaust emergency at work and got home late. Tara chose lots of books about babies to read, Mum drank chocolate tea and listened to Norah Jones. A good day to be born - but just as good a day to give to mum to enjoy and keep looking forward to meeting you.

Snap: Talking to Tante Claudia