Back to School with George at ASDA

CHOSEN BY MUMS; TESTED BY KIDS; GUARANTEED BY GEORGE

Joseph has been attending our local preschool since last September. This year he will now be a big boy attending 5 mornings a week. When the kind people asked me to look at their uniform range, I was more than happy to. I am wanting to send Joseph more formally dressed this year to get him used to wearing a uniform.

We were given £20 to spend, with which I bought  a pack of two polo shirts, some brown trousers with adjustable waist, a blue jumper and a winter, fleece lined coat (which Joseph steadfastly refused to model on the basis that "it's summer mummy". I have to confess to shedding a tear to see him so at home in such formal school wear, another reminder that my little dinky dot is growing up fast.

From a premmie mum point of view I am impressed that the trousers fit, as did everything else. The smallest size was 3-4 years, and they fit fine. They could do with being taken up a little, but if you have a skinny minny like me, definitely try George at ASDA. Joseph also said "my new clothes are very comfortable mummy".

We were also given a plain bag to decorate and go wild with. Joseph is not into design yet, but I have to say, I quite like his Impressionist piece and he certainly had oodles of fun doing it! I think the use of colour, brushes and different techniques is most impressive, and you can certainly see it is all his own work! I resisted the allure of a blank canvas (bag) but might just seek my own out......

I was given a £20 allowance to spend online on the George at ASDA Back to School range as well as the canvas bag and some paints and crayons. All opinions are my own (and Joseph's!)

Skye's Story

I am reposting this about Skye, my friend Ruth's daughter born at 27 weeks gestation just a couple of weeks before Joseph. She has spastic diplegic cerebral palsy. Skye has recently had a consultation and her team feel that she would benefit from a surgery called Selective Dorsal Rhizotomy. Skye's mum Ruth will do a more in depth post about this at a later stage. In summary SDR is performed regularly in the States where it is accepted as a treatment for this type of cerebral palsy. NICE, the body that assesses and approves procedures, has stated that there is insufficient evidence to approve this surgery. This means that parents need to self fund this procedure.

Skye's family need to raise £40 000 for this surgery. I would be so happy if readers of my blog could help to make a dent in this figure. I also hope to do some fundraising events too. If you are in the position to help please do so here.

Thank you so much for reading. I have met Skye a couple of times, and she truly is a gem of a child, and extremely bright, and I know she would benefit so much from this surgery.

Skye's Story

Everything progressed normally with my pregnancy as 2009 began.  I was excited, but refused to get too emotionally attached to the baby growing inside me until I reached 24 weeks – viability in my eyes.   Also, I didn’t like to decorate, etc ‘just in case’.  There was absolutely no reason to think that the pregnancy would be anything other than perfectly routine and unexciting, but still the magic 24 weeks seemed to take forever to arrive.  After 24 weeks we began to prepare the house for the baby – beginning with our room as that would be where baby would spend the first few months.

During the Easter holiday I mucked in with preparing the bedroom for the plasterer - I scraped wallpaper off the walls.  As the first week went on I began to get some pains at night.  It was waves of discomfort, not unlike period pains.  It would ease off overnight, so I chose to ignore it and assume it was just pains as my body adapted to its extra passenger.  I did begin to do less DIY though!  We went away with friends over the Easter weekend.  Whenever I did too much walking the pains would increase, but by morning they’d ease off.  I phoned the delivery suite at the hospital once we were home, expecting to be told it was perfectly normal, and instead they told me to come in.  I went in and they monitored me for a while before telling me that I’d simply done too much DIY and I should go home and take it easy.

On Monday 20^th April 2009 I went into work.  Throughout the day I was having waves of pain so severe I could barely stand straight.  I kept reassuring my colleagues that it was simply that I’d done too much over the holiday, that I would be fine in a while.  That night they became even more painful and I experienced a small amount of blood loss, so I called the hospital again.  Back in we went!  They monitored me again and told me it all seemed fine but that the consultant would take a look.

He told me that they were going to try to stop my contractions, that I had very little cervical length left and that they were going to give me steroid injections and send me to the larger hospital 7 miles away.  His words were ‘Your first goal is to get there without delivering!’  At this point terror began to set in – I was 27 weeks pregnant and suddenly someone was talking about contractions and having a baby!  Luckily the drug they gave me to stop my contractions worked and as the ambulance drove the 7 miles, my contractions slowed down and stopped.

The next day the consultant came to tell me I had an infection and would have to deliver the baby the following day.  However, he also added that there were no special care cots available, and that the nurses would have to phone the hospitals around to find one which had space and facilities to cope with such a small baby.  4 hours later, I was told I was transferring 75 miles to the closest hospital they could find with space!

I was transferred by ambulance and once there they told me they wouldn’t keep giving me the drugs to stop labour.  Apparently it wasn’t the way things were done in this PCT!  The next day passed in a haze of monitoring, at the end of which they told me I didn’t have an infection, I didn’t need to deliver the baby and so they were going to send me home the following day – after a more detailed scan of the baby as it was measuring small for my dates.

That evening, the familiar aches started again.  By midnight they were really ramping up and there was more blood loss.  I called for the midwife who told me that I was fine – I wasn’t having contractions at all and not to be silly.  When she realised how regular they were she decided to call a doctor to do an internal exam to check all was fine.  I was 3cm dilated so we headed down to delivery!

By the time they had found a heartbeat, I was fully dilated and ready to deliver.  I was told to push with the next contraction, so I did.  I remember the midwife saying ‘Slow down!’ and thinking ‘How am I supposed to do THAT?!’ before the midwife caught the baby!  I was thinking ‘It’s pink!  It’s screaming!’  I hadn’t expected either of those things.  As the baby was put inside a plastic bag to retain warmth and moisture all I could see was arms and legs pushing against the bag, and I thought ‘Feisty – a good sign!’

The midwife suddenly thought to ask whether baby was a boy or a girl and we were amazed to hear it was a girl – we’d assumed it would be a boy!  By the time we had agreed on her name – Skye Elizabeth – she had been ventilated, packaged in a plastic bag and incubator and was on her way upstairs to the SCBU ward.

I was able to stay in the hospital for a week, at which point they had to discharge me.  Luckily, due to our circumstances, my husband was also permitted to stay in my room for the week.  After that we were left to find ourselves hotel accommodation.  We spent each day at her side, updating friends and family daily through a photo website.

We had been warned that there would be good days and bad days.  The first bad day was on Day 4 when we were told she had an infection and needed a blood test to check her out and she might need a blood transfusion (luckily antibiotics worked quickly and she needed nothing else).  After this, however, we only seemed to have good days – the doctors were all really pleased with her, and she was doing very well.  This in itself made me feel guilty – I could see friends we had made in Special Care going through tough times with their babies, while we were having an ‘easy ride’.  All we wanted was to have her closer to home!

3 weeks after her birth, we received the news that she was being transferred back.  We had to learn the routines and rules of the new unit, but we were so pleased to be home.  Exactly one week later she was transferred again – from the higher level care at the larger hospital to the local SCBU ward.  I remember the feeling of shock I received when a baby went home from this room – it was a room babies went home from – soon it would be our turn!

We spent 5 weeks in that ward.  They felt like forever.  We gave her her first bath, we tackled breastfeeding, she moved from incubator to hot cot and then to a normal cot.  We even tried ‘rooming in’ to prove she was ready to go home.  What a disaster!  We stayed in a room on the ward, and had Skye in with us.  She didn’t sleep, wouldn’t feed and simply screamed the whole time.  At 4am I took her to the nursery in desperation and sobbed as one of the nurses cup fed her for me and suggested I go back to the room to get some sleep.  I felt useless – I was her mother but I couldn’t feed her or look after her.

Throughout the next week, however, her breastfeeding improved and we began to think that we might be going home soon.  A few days later, I went into the unit and was told she couldn’t go home until she’d done 24-48 hours without her feeding tube in, that she refused to cup feed anymore because she wanted to suck and that I should agree to let her have a bottle overnight otherwise she wouldn’t feed.  I was reluctant but was about to agree because it was the only way I could see of getting her home.  

Another nurse came along and asked me if I wanted to take her home.  When I said yes, she persuaded the doctor on the round that Skye was ready to go home, that she would feed fine once we were home, and that he should discharge her.

At 4 o’clock on Friday 26^th June 2009, we left the SCBU for the last time – but this time we took our daughter with us!  She was 9 weeks and 1 day old, which made her 36 weeks and 5 days gestational age.

The Post That Was Meant to Be Funny

I started thinking about this post yesterday after coming home from the doctor's with Joseph. I thought it would be a funny one about how my appointment went, which it has to be said, was hilarious. So perhaps we'll start with that. However this post has a serious side too, and I really need some help.

Late last week I started bloating and getting stomach pains. At first I thought it was my period starting, however it became apparent with every passing day there was something going on. I now look far more pregnant now than I ever did whilst actually pregnant. The pain is ever present. I am exhausted. So exhausted, bone crushingly tired.

Joseph normally attends preschool 3 mornings a week, but it's term time only. I never thought I'd be the sort of person to moan about summer holidays, but my lord it's been tough. Joseph's sleep pattern is changing and he's potty training, and I'm finding these two things tough to deal with on my own. I have work, my health and social care diploma, my blog and my charity work all on the go, and like most mums am dashing about spinning plates in the air hoping to God none of them smash on the floor.

I decided the time had come to see the GP. I had to take Joseph with me. Of course, because this GP is so wonderful, she's always late. So Joseph soon tired of the bead table and decided to tell everyone about his poorly mother. Thankfully the doctor soon appeared. Joseph took over for me "doctor doctor mummy has a very poorly tummy, you must fix it!". As she got me on the bed to examine me, Joseph was beside himself with worry. The doctor reassured him that I was ok. I have a provisional diagnosis of Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) and a prescription for Omeprazole and peppermine oil capsules.

I took Joseph out of the room and he dashed off into the waiting room, I assumed to have one last go at the bead table. Wrong. The waiting room is set out like a theatre with 4 rows of seats. It was heaving. Joseph took centre stage "Everyone, Everyone, please listen to me, mummy has seen the doctor and she has....." I quickly scruffed him, the audience was in hysterical laughter. Mortified is not the word.

All the stress started with our summer holiday in the first week of the summer break, which did not go to plan. Since then I have been feeling really stressed trying to be all things to everyone.

I am in tears writing this. I know, really, in the grand scheme of things, IBS is no biggie. I will learn to manage it, what to eat, what to do when it flares up etc. But its yet another chronic ongoing condition to add to my asthma and essential hypertension.

I'm in the process of reassessing how I manage my time for the next few weeks. I am going to trial posting less. I am putting myself under stupid pressure to post everyday. That is unnecessary. I am going to do a few review posts that I have outstanding and just post on pressing matters until preschool goes back, and then reassess again.

I really need to find some Kylie time. I can't tell you when I last did something just for me. I've always been good at getting the balance right, but lately I've failed. My hair needs cutting, I need new clothes (once the bloating has gone!) and I need to just "be". I am finding things such a strain, and perhaps the IBS needed to happen to give me a kick up the backside (no pun intended) and to slow down.

And, by the by, peppermint tablets are weird. They are enteric coated so they don't dissolve til they hit your stomach, but then you can taste peppermint all the time, which is well weird! It's like constantly having a trace of toothpaste in your mouth.

If anyone has any experience or tips in dealing with IBS that would be wonderful.

Thank you.

More Than One Way to Grieve

The Olympics has been amazing, and I've really enjoyed it, far more than I thought I would. I adored the bonkers closing ceremony too, but once Brasil had safely taken possession of the Olympic flag I went to bed. I missed the appearance of Take That.

Now I have to say I am not a fan. In the 1990's I was listening to indie on JJJ in Australia and they just weren't on my radar at all. When they reformed I was amazed at my friends going weak at the knees and fighting for tickets to concerts!

When Joseph was in hospital I had a collection of songs on my iPod that I had downloaded. I was expressing one morning and this song came on.

(Note: this footage is NOT from the Olympic Closing ceremony)

Without realising, I had tears streaming down my cheeks and then started to sob, it hit a nerve, and now every time I hear it, its like a Pavlovian response. That song, I know, means a lot to people who have lost babies, or have had premature babies. It resonates.

On Sunday night Take That performed that song. Speculation had been rife that Take That would not appear, as Gary Barlow and his wife Dawn had sadly lost their baby Poppy, stillborn,  in the week prior to the ceremony.

As can be expected there have been some snide comments on the internet and some, that quite frankly if they appeared any other media would be libellous, about how its a contrived performance to help secure Gary's knighthood, how he put money before his family (the fact that the acts weren't paid for their performance seems to have passed the hairy trolls by)

No one has put it better than Jason Manford about these sad bastards with nothing better to do than pour hate onto somoneone's grief. 

But, and here lies the point of this post, there is more than one way to grieve. I've now watched Gary's performance on that night with Take That (with tissues). I think, personally, it's clear he was singing that song for his wife, for Poppy and his children, his mind wasn't on the Olympics, it was on them. What better tribute for Poppy, his beloved daughter, than singing in front of a world audience.

Grieving is an intensely personal experience. Some people need to curl in a corner, stay in bed, hide away. For others getting out there, keeping on going, is helpful and what they need to do to make sense of what has happened.

Like it or not, Gary Barlow and Take That are national treasures. He did what he had to do and did it well, with grace.

My only little nagging concern is that sometimes we have such a "keep calm and carry on" mentality that emotions are suppressed, grieving doesn't take place fully, and then there's pressure, especially on men, that they should just shelve it all and get back to work.

There is, most definitely, more than one way to grieve, and for those supporting those that grieve, our role is to nurture, to understand, to empathise and support.

Haters are going to hate I suppose, but we are seeing too much of this.

And it has to stop.

The Premmie Parenting Pentathlon

There's a silly funny Britmums blog prompt today which I thought might be fun to join in on and would love to hear some other ideas too.

So the Modern Pentathlon - Fencing, 200 metre swim, Showjumping, 3 kilometre run whilst stopping 3 times to shoot a target. Pah! Easy!

The challenge the lovely Karin who blogs at Cafe Bebe suggests we design our own parenting pentathlon! I think to truly reflect the Herculean effort in being the parent of a premature baby we would need more than one round.

Premmie Parenting Pentathlon round 1 - Intensive Care Unit

Express a pot of breastmilk, whilst checking Facebook and phoning the unit to see how your baby did the night before.
Run into the unit, dodging doctors, nurses and any other obstacles to see your baby.
Wash your hands, 3 times, with antibacterial soap, whilst catching up on the latest update, taking note of billirubin levels, CRP results and agreed action plan.
Change nappy, through the incubator portholes, with foot probe, umbilical line and long line in situ. Points will be deducted for allowing wee or poo to escape into the incubator.
Find a spare breastpump and pump a pot of milk, without being seen by any said doctors, nurses or other passers by, leaving it for your baby before preparing for round 2.

Premmie Parenting Pentathlon round 2 - Nursery/SCBU 

This is day 50 so bear in mind you are already fatigued, worse than Mo Farah doing the 5000m.
Catch bus one to Bury Interchange, change swiftly at Bolton Interchange, a quick changeover here is essential, arrive at hospital.
Sprint up from the bus stop into the unit, avoiding any delays on the way.
Prepare bottle (or breast as appropriate) for baby, ensuring you comply with current millage requirements, mistakes here could prove costly.
Feed baby, avoiding all distractions, wind by chosen method preparing arguments for the 5 nurses who will tell you you are doing it wrong.
Place baby back in crib. Any vomit at this stage will incur massive penalty points.

Penultimate Premmie Parenting Pentathlon round 3 - Preparing for Discharge

Time starts when you are given discharge plan.
Calmly leave unit rushing to Boots and Mothercare, buying crib, carseat, layette and essentials.
Arrive at unit and complete your neonatal resuscitation training. Panicing at this point will be costly.
Find the rooming in room and set up to your satisfaction.
Obtain pre-prepared baby and sit. First one to move and do something loses.
Spend night with baby, points are awarded for every successful hours sleep you have, with gremlin sounding baby. 

Premmie Parenting Pentathlon round 4 - Homecoming

Bring baby in front door, and show around the house, talking continually.
Set out medications, formula, any agreed charts, syringes and other equipment.
Take baby out, it is imperative no one touches the baby - approved Olympic standard methods are sling, pram or baby carrier, rain covers are allowed.
The antibacterial swoop - someone will, inevitably, try and touch the baby, points are awarded for the fastest production and successful application of antibacterial gel.
Time and person management challenge, arrange visit from neonatal outreach sister, delivery from pharmacist (who will subsequently send you Christmas cards), and visit from Auntie Agnes whilst feeding baby on 3 hourly schedule and tending to your own needs.

The Premmie Parenting Olympic Committee have decided that anyone who achieves all this, regardles of time, will be awarded a gold medal, in the form of a rewarding smile from your precious baby.

The Day I Ran with Mo Farrah

At the end of May I did the Bupa London 10 000, through the streets of London. Before the race as we all gathere, all talk was of one runner, Mo Farrah.

What I love about running is its inclusivity. It doesn't matter where you come, unless you are seeking Olympic selection, it's all about personal bests, about the buzz, and for a lot of us, about fundraising.

I am not a runner. I was always the slowest at school, cumbersome, wheezy and most unathletic. The irony was, I always enjoyed PE, and playing sport and attempting to run, but found that I struggled. It seems amazing now that more and more children are asthmatics, that in my class I was the only one.

Back to our Mo. Mo finished that race well over an hour before me. He passed me though.....running the other way doing his cool down, looking like he could quite easily do another 10k! When I was watching his runs in the Olympics I just felt so proud! And proud too that I have got off my considerable rear end and done a 10k too, if not as fast and in as much style as our Mo!

I think Mo captures our imagination because he's a genuinely humble, lovely guy. He came to this country with nothing. He's worked hard to overcome a language barrier, he's also overcome bullying too, I heard a very interesting interview by his PE teacher from school, about how he tried to get him running instead of hanging around getting into trouble, and recognised his talent.

Mo has gone on to succeed in the 10, 000k and the 5, 000k and also to establish his Mo Farrah Foundation
working in  East Africa.

Like most of the country, I have been held captive by the Olympics. I have loved every minute of it, and it's been amazing to see London light up, and come together. It's also been amazing to hear some truly inspirational stories of triumph.

I can't wait for the Paralympics, where I am sure even more amazing stories will come out.

So thank you Mo, and all the other incredible athletes who devote their time to training, competing and inspiring us all.

£30 TKMaxx Challenge - Dressing Joseph

It's no suprise to readers of my blog that I am a huge fan of TKMaxx, so when Britmums asked bloggers to take part in a £30 challenge, I was very excited. The challenge was to create 3 fun looks for £30.

Here's what we bought

* A pair of incredibly cool jeans
* A snuggly zipped hoodie complete with "London" motif, very apt
* A long sleeved top with "The Rewards are Well Worth The Effort" print
* A beautiful v necked green t-shirt with a summery ferris wheel print
* Grey t-shirt with incredibly on trend campervan print

I started with the jeans and made these the base for all three looks.

A late summer walk

 Up here in the North West, you always need to layer up, and I thought this jacket was ideal. And when it gets too hot, you can toss it!

Football with the Lads

 

This top was the first thing to fly into my hand when I walked into the store. I really loved the colour, the cut, and the slogan is just awesome. I wish I could convey just how soft the fabric is, it feels so comfortable on the skin, I want one for me!

Baking with Mummy

We are not apron/pinny people, so for baking I went for short sleeved, bright coloured, easy wash! The bowl just so happens to be from an earlier trip to TKMaxx!

 

The Experience

We went to our local store on a Thursday morning. Joseph had great fun playing with the toys whilst his personal stylist (ie me) perused the rails. There were plenty of staff around to help, and everything, as you can see, was well organised and laid out. I do love our local store so much, it had a big refit several years ago now, and is just a joy to visit.

Joseph did come and check on me from time to time and he found the awesome jeans!

So much did we spend? £29.98! Am I good or what? You have to agree that is remarkable value for 3 tops, jeans and a hoodie, and I estimate (the original prices weren't on our garments) that I must have saved at least £70.

The range in store was really great, and the girl range was really lovely too. I'd highly recommend TKMaxx if you are looking for an outfit for a small person.