Beb was six weeks old yesterday. I know. Where does time go?
I woke up today feeling
tired pleased that we have got through those first, few weeks, relatively unscathed and all in one piece.
I am sure there are women out there who find birth and babies is easy. I am not one of those women.
It weighs heavily on me, the responsibility of that tiny person who is entirely reliant on you.
I do suffer from something though which I have called the first six-week newborn-neurosis.
I am quite neurotic anyway-feel sorry for Hubster please.
However the lack of sleep and raging hormones in that first month and a half, really ramps up my quirks to a whole new level.
Convinced my baby might be swapped in the hospital, I took a bottle of nail varnish in my hospital bag, planning to paint one of the baby’s toes so I could prove he was mine.
I didn’t end up painting his toes thank goodness though as his nails were too small and I worried the nail varnish chemicals might seep into his skin. I know.
Then came the news. As soon as I came out of hospital until last week, the trial of that man in New York filled the headlines who has been found guilty of planning to bomb the Arndale Centre in Manchester.
Cue my almost reclusive phase. Not being able to drive helped but the thought of taking my children to a shopping centre made a panic surge inside me.
What if a bomb went off? The worst thought I had was what if they die and I don’t?
I admit this neurosis hasn’t entirely left me. I usually love the Trafford Centre but I can’t bring myself to visit yet. Even though I heard a new Lakeland shop had opened there.
We have managed trips to supermarkets
We even went to our local garden centre last weekend but, for now, that is as far as I am comfortable with. Yet.
I plan to take Beb into work in a couple of weeks to Manchester city centre. I wonder how I will cope there. I may have to take a paper bag with me incase I hyperventilate.
Needless to say, I stopped watching the news. It was making me worse. I will watch the headlines but I don’t want to worry myself with much else for now.
All new mums worry about their babies to some point and I am guilty of this. I remember taking Boo to an out of hours doctor because I thought she was breathing more heavily than usual.
You would think I would relax more with number two and I have but, Beb has still been to the doctors because of his breathing.
The doctor first time around said the worst thing you can do is listen to a baby breathing but come one, is that not an Olympic sport for new parents?
I lie there every night listening to him.
Any tiny squeak makes me prod and poke the poor little thing to make sure he is ok.
I have fully taken advantage of Facebook this time around. Honestly, it’s like Google but without the horror stories.
First I asked what size clothes to take when I was packing my hospital bag.
Next I asked what documentation I had to take to the registrar to register baby Beb.
My favourite so far however was my panic about the baby sleeping bag.
I know they supposedly help reduce cot death (don’t even get me started on my almost, constant worry about that one) but he looked so tiny in it and I worried he might hurt himself.
So I took a photo of him in the sleeping bag, complete with my finger pointing to where his feet were.
I had so many amazing tips from real mums, I felt so happy afterwards and Beb has slept better in his little bag because he has been unable to kick his covers off.
I bet you are wondering how I actually got through these past six weeks. I honestly feel better now. I am a worrier though, it certainly comes with the parenting job description.
Let’s hope the next six weeks are less worrying. Who am I kidding?