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New beginnings and no sleep …

The time came and went. 6 weeks has past and I’ve been busy adjusting to life with a disabled baby and a newborn.
I know, crazy right?

If I had a £1 for the amount of times I’ve been spotted out and strangers have felt the need to laugh and say “oh your glutton for punishment” or,
“You’ve got your hands full” I’d definitely be in warmer climates right now!

Yes I have my hands full, yes it’s madness, but do you know what I wouldn’t change it. Well, actually, perhaps the sleepless nights, but that’s it!

My official due date was 10th July, however I had an electric section 3rd July due to the Trauma of Ava’s birth. My experience of birth and motherhood has been that of a rollercoaster, we were handed this pink wriggling baby in theatre and we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Whilst I was being stitched up Steven took the baby to the recovery room to wait for me and I shortly joined them.

I finally got my first cuddle with him, 8lb8 of squidgy pink baby!
It was like a dream, we felt like first time parents yet I couldn’t help but feel sad. I was celebrating the birth of my healthy son but it was overcast by the trauma of my daughters birth. I couldn’t let my self enjoy the moment and that really upset me. I felt like a fraud and that it was distasteful to my daughter to be happy. Where’s the logic in that?!

I read a blog somewhere once that described how she felt about having a normal after the not so normal.
It’s impossible to explain, but, I’m not saying having a newborn is hard work but the hardest part is that he’s normal, that at night my partner and I sit looking at him and each other and ask – ” how do people say newborns are hard?!”

We struggle to leave him alone when he’s sleeping (just one more time to check he’s breathing, right??)
Don’t get my started on the panic attack I have when he “chokes” on his milk … Or was it just a cough?? Because let’s not forget if Ava coughs and splutters, you make a beeline for the suction machine, Hoover her out and then sit watching counting breaths. Is she okay? She’s okay right? She’s not blue?

To try and retrain myself and my brain to compute and accept that he’s okay, he’s not going to choke to death, he’s not going to go blue when he cries, and the most annoying thing I always do … I always pick him up so cautiously to make sure I don’t catch his imaginary gastrostomy – dammit!

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