Kerstin Baker-Ash

The Working Mother

With the move over and things finally starting to settle down in Toronto, I'm left both cherishing my last week of maternity leave and looking forward to the new challenges ahead. So it's a bit clichéd, but it's my blog and I get to be philosophical when I want to be.

I've always been of two minds about returning to work. From the moment I saw the little blue line appear on the pregnancy test, I knew I wanted to take loads of time off to be with my little bundle. I didn't factor in the exhaustion of pregnancy or the heavy duty commute and the toll it took on my body. In the UK, I got fantastic maternity benefits, and was able to start my maternity leave at the end of October 2009. I used my nearly three months pre-baby to rest and relax and prepare to become a mother. Sure, it wasn't all rosy - especially when my aforementioned bundle was more than reluctant to meet and greet the world - but I really enjoyed my "me" time. 

When my daughter was born, it was a whirlwind of emotions. I did get the baby blues - nothing serious, but it was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before and it was gone in about two weeks - and my life became about her needs. I re-prioritized everything, and I loved it. Life is and was diaper changes and poosplosions and breastfeeding and learning how to collapse the damned stroller and sleep deprivation and baby cuddles and first everythings and more love than I ever could have imagined possible. My daughter is, in my no-holds-barred-very-biased opinion, the most awesome little creature and smarter than I could have imagined. 

But this post isn't about gushing about my fantastic daughter - it's about trying to reconcile her needs with my needs and our family's needs.

We moved to Toronto to make working work. I was not going to go back and work in London. It made no sense to put her in daycare for twelve hours a day while we would endure a pushy, hellish commute only to spend five minutes with our daughter before she had to go to bed. In Toronto, I am hoping to work hard to make a work-life balance realistic and manageable for both my family and my new employer (more on that in a later post).

So, it's with excitement, trepidation and sheer exuberance that I return to work - missing my baby terribly but knowing she's having a great time with friends and cherishing the time I do have with her that much more.

And Baby Makes Three

 

A watched kettle never boils, or so the saying goes. Our beautiful baby girl finally made an appearance on January 29, 2010 at 2.43 am in Hertfordshire, England. She weighed 8 pounds 14 ounces and measured a very tall 22 inches long. We're slowly getting into a rhythm as a family of three, and are absolutely and totally in love with our princess. I've posted a very long labor story below; if you're expecting and are thinking that you can jump in the birthing pool with the soft sounds of orca whales in the background while you push, read no further. 

I actually started going into labor on the 23rd of January. Like many first timers, it got going, going, going and then stalled abruptly. Excitedly, we had prepared for a very quick trip to the labor ward as the contractions were getting to the magical point of 45 seconds or longer and I'd had more than 3 in ten minutes for an hour or so. I was disappointed when they stopped so suddenly, but it seems our girl had very different plans for her arrival. We went to the hospital on Sunday morning after a show, but we were sent home with instructions to relax even though I was having contractions.

By Monday, I was getting more than a little impatient. I had heard that acupuncture could work, so made an appointment at a local clinic in Letchworth. It seemed to work; contractions started again in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, and my husband excitedly called his work to let them know he wouldn't be coming in. Labor then seemed to stall again; we went on a long walk, I had a bath, a shower and even bounced on my birthing ball... it just wanted to stall. I had another acupuncture appointment on Tuesday afternoon which made the contractions stronger, but no closer together.

I called my midwife and it was suggested I go in to get checked. I don't like the kind of examinations they perform when you're nearly two weeks overdue, but I was actually looking forward to being told how far along these contractions were getting me. Disappointingly, nowhere. My cervix was still posterior, I was no more dilated than I was a week before at just one centimeter. Gutted, we asked if my induction date could be brought forward by a day (it was scheduled for Thursday the 28th) and the doctors agreed that it was unlikely that I would get anywhere on my own. I was admitted to the labor ward and given the first round of medication designed to ripen my cervix and push Mother Nature along mildly.

We were entertained throughout Wednesday afternoon and annoyed by Wednesday evening by a family of Irish Travellers - a young girl was being induced at the same time as me - as the gas ran out, the girl got louder and louder. My only criticism of the Lister Hospital in Stevenage would definitely be the wait for the gas and air to be brought up by porters - an eight hour wait is totally unacceptable, and when you're in labor being offered codeine it just makes you want to bite the head, arms and legs off the midwife who says you don't need the gas just yet. There could be another reason that the Traveller girl's gas ran out - when she went to take a bathroom break, her baby's father started sucking on the stuff himself (and got a stern talking to by the midwife). Classy.

The passage of time from Thursday morning gets a bit fuzzy for me. My contractions got pretty darned strong sometime around 4 am, and I don't remember my husband returning to the hospital at 8 am when visiting hours began. I was aware that he was texting my friend (who is a physician) to ask questions about the treatment being offered, but the gas and air is quite effective at making you higher than a kite. At some point, I was given a shot of morphine in my leg - again, I can't really remember it although I know I felt a bit better until I started vomiting.

At some point in the late morning, I was wheeled down in my bed to the delivery suite as my contractions were getting stronger and the midwives felt that I was ready to go down at 3 cm dilated. Despite strong contractions, they still weren't regular enough and the decision was taken to start me on a syntocinon drip. At this point, I was given an epidural (which I remember) as the synthetic drug produces excruciatingly strong contractions. Unfortunately, the epidural didn't take at first and I was being topped up regularly. 

At some point after the clock struck midnight, I had an incredibly strong urge to start pushing. I can't really describe the carnal feeling that "it's time", but I could not control my body any longer... I was just pushing. The midwives asked me to stop pushing as I was only 9 cm and as hard as I tried, nothing would stop what my body felt was right. As a result of the stress, the doctor told me I was in or had tachycardia, the baby's heart rate jumped up dangerously high and they stopped the drip to try to help us both get a bit more stable. I was pretty far gone at this point - morphine, gas and air and the epidural were making me pretty incomprehensible. I entertained the medical team in the room by asking for water and then spitting it out all over my husband, and talking about needing time off from work for a conference in June. 

When I was actually allowed to push, I remember being told not to scream as the energy used to scream would divert from the energy needed to push. Yeah. You try that. I did manage to quiet down a bit, but not quiet enough to stop scaring the women who must've heard my roaring in other delivery suites. I remember someone telling me that they would have to use a Kiwi Cup and to keep pushing. I thought I was going to pass out before I got to see my daughter, but just when I thought I couldn't push anymore, I felt a "pop" (among other things) and I looked down to see my baby. I couldn't hear her, and kept asking if she was okay. I remember my husband telling me she was fine, she was crying and she was perfect. Through the haze, I was so incredibly relieved.

They brought her to my husband, who held and kissed her for the first time and he showed her to me. During this, the doctors were saying that I needed surgery and I remember thinking that I didn't want my baby being fed formula as I wouldn't be able to feed her right away - they assured me she was fine and would not go hungry. 

For two hours, my husband sat with his little girl as they waited for me to get out of the operating theater and then I finally got to meet her. All ten fingers and ten toes perfection, my baby daughter was beautiful and wonderful and it was hard to comprehend that we were now parents.

More than two weeks later, I still stare at her thinking how lucky I am to get to be her mom. My husband and I, both university educated, now discuss bowel movements and vomit with refreshing enthusiasm (not our own, mind...). My own mother stayed for a week to help, and I've just done my first day just me and my baby. 

My baby. It's incredible - I'm blessed beyond measure, and so excited to journey with her as her mom for the rest of my life. Welcome to the world, perfect baby girl.

When You Think The Baby Will Never Come...

There have been a lot of tears in my house this weekend. Tears of frustration, tears of exhaustion and tears from a Vindaloo. There's an end in sight - I'm being induced on Thursday - but a lot of my upset stems from a rather stupid belief that my body is somehow not working the way it should be to deliver this baby. I feel like a complete and utter failure.

The baby is fine. Monitoring shows that Baby Ash is "textbook" - lots of movement, lots of increased heart rate when there's movement, and I've even tracked a couple of real, live contractions. They just haven't amounted to anything solid - even to open up just one centimeter more. So, the baby just isn't ready to greet the world... yet.

We've tried everything. Well, everything except for castor oil because the side effects scare me. However, last night's Vindaloo produced what I can only describe as comparable results to castor oil; there's a reason that the dish has "loo" in the name. What a stupid, stupid choice which resulted in a sleepless night and increased irritability. Still - desperate times call for desperate measures.

Everything seems to be able to piss me off (sorry about the language, I figure I can get a free pass at 9 days overdue, right?). There seem to be a lot of people due around the same time as me, and I've been seeing baby albums on Facebook and bursting into tears. At the hospital the other day, we saw two couples from our prenatal classes who were due one and two weeks after us respectively; one couple already had their baby, and the other were pacing up and down in the transition phase of labor. Tears again.

I know people are excited to hear about this baby. So are we. I feel like unplugging our home phone line and just ignoring the world. I have some wonderful friends and family, and I don't like feeling frustrated towards their excitement; I'm so glad that I have people who care about me and who care about this baby. It's clear that Baby Ash is going to have a lot of admirers and friends when it finally decides to break free (queue Queen music here). 

The truth is, sometimes I feel like talking to people and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I feel like laughing about being so overdue, and sometimes I wish people would just calm down and stop asking me (or my husband, mother, father, brother, grandparents, etc) if I've had the baby yet. Honestly, with all the connectivity that exists - especially in the age of social media and my high usage of it - you're going to know not only when we go to hospital but when we have the baby (except from Friday night to Saturday night, sorry folks) pretty sharpish. I'd like to blame my mercurial mood on hormones, but it's more like frustration than anything else. 

There's so much else going on in the world - so many people who are in much more dire straits than I am being over my due date - I use that to get back into my happy place. I just wish that I could keep that at the front of my mind when people, lovely as they are, look for baby updates. I hope and pray that this is my last baby-free entry. If not, I can only just keep on trucking, right?

Stop Asking!

I'm overdue. Waaay overdue. I'm probably the first person that recognizes this, and yet people feel compelled to tell me "wow, you're really overdue!"  

Shut up.

Seriously - I've arrived at a really good place around this baby's anticipation build-up. It's not helpful to tell me you think it'll happen anytime now (I know... that's the nature of being more than 40 weeks pregnant...) or that you know how I feel (especially if you're a dude... wtf?). I'm taking it unbelievably easy, not entirely by choice as late pregnancy has some interesting side effects (not to do with the baby or blood pressure, don't worry), and my husband is being supportive above and beyond what's reasonable even from an overdue wife.

So we're good. Adding to the "letting go" is the fact that, come hell or high water, I will be having this baby in a week. I'm booked in for an induction on the 28th, and have already had what seems like an effective sweep.

I appreciate your good thoughts, but stop with the asking or "feeling" like today is going to be the day. You're jinxing it, and getting me out of my relaxed and easy place that I've worked so hard to get to and stay at. My baby is unique, special and wonderful, and it'll be ready when it wants to be. 

Playing the Waiting Game

One day to go. One day until I can justifiably feel a bit fed up of playing the waiting game, and potentially one day to go until we can finally meet our firstborn child. Every little twinge, every sign makes us jump up and wonder if it's go time, only to be disappointed a couple of minutes later. 

Things are happening - I had my 40 week midwife appointment yesterday and the baby's head is fully engaged, just waiting for the rest of my body to catch up and the baby to release those wonderful hormones which signal that it's ready to make an appearance in the world. It's an update from last week, when the baby's head was still palpable and only 2/5 engaged. So, we're not stuck in limbo; there has been a lot of progress.

We've been telling the baby that we're ready, and trying to entice it out with promises of snow (figuring this half-Canadian baby might be coaxed by the white stuff). It's missed out on the snow, so maybe it's waiting for the big thaw to be complete before it makes a grand entrance.

The baby is apparently as big as a watermelon and can weigh up to 9 pounds, according to the WhatToExpect.com iPhone App. I'm not going to pretend that I can't remember a time when that counter said 30 weeks to go, or when the baby was as big as a pineapple or even a pumpkin seed. Still, it's gone sloooowwwwlllllly. I'm sure I'll look back on this time and wonder where it all went, but at this stage I'm carrying a watermelon and feeling pretty huge. I can't wait to see the baby, which I suppose is the reason I feel it's dragging along.

So, watch this space. Hopefully the weekend will bring not only progress but a tiny baby to call our very own.

Still Pregnant, Still Waiting

It's funny, you know. My friends and family know me as a pretty web-savvy gal; I'm on Facebook, Twitter and I blog (although not as regularly as I would've liked to recently). My iPhone is permanently by my side, and I've spent a lot of time organizing my address book so that I can reach anyone I've known in the last decade or so in seconds.

Still, I'm getting phone calls and e-mails from very well-meaning and excited relatives and friends asking if I've a) had the baby b) gone into labor or c) had any feelings it was about to start. I'm not angry by any stretch, but seriously folks... we will let you know. It might surprise you, but we're waiting with bated breath for the arrival of our firstborn, too. We haven't forgotten, and we certainly won't forget to send an update on Facebook, Twitter or by phone call or text message for the following:

1. When I'm in labor.
2. When I've given birth.
3. All the details - gender, name, weight, length, hair color.
4. The first photo.
5. When we're heading home from the hospital.

Absent these updates, please assume that I've not yet gone into labor or had the baby. My due date is Saturday, January 16th, so asking me beforehand (especially when first babies are notoriously late) is a bit futile, no? :)

I am the Walrus

At 7.5 months... I dread to think how much bigger I'm going to get before I finally pop. 

A Quick Update

Here's me thinking I'd have all this time on my hands once I started my maternity leave. Yeah, right. I'm only eight weeks away from Baby Ash's grand arrival (or it's anticipated one, anyway), and I've got so much more to do.

There's a reluctance to get the baby's room ready - some cultures and religions believe that it invites the evil eye on the fetus, others believe it's just bad luck. For the most part, we've done little to the baby's room, although there are some things you can't wait to buy until just after the baby is born. 

Also, three decades ago my grandfather made me a cradle - my cousin has used it for her two girls already, and we're looking forward to using it for our baby (that's me in the cradle). Granted, we haven't put it back together again, but it's not something you can put off having if it already exists! Wardrobe also needs to be a consideration. We can't really show up at the hospital without an outfit for the baby to spend the night in, nor would it be the pinnacle of parenting to bring a child home from the hospital wearing only a diaper in the middle of January. Right?

There's also a niggling feeling at the back of my mind that says I won't have a lot of time to do much of anything when the baby comes, not least cooking. So, I've been cooking up a storm and freezing the heck out of everything in our garage chest freezer. I've got lasagnas, penne, Mediterranean chicken, chickpea stew, eggplant parmesan, turkey chili and Red Velvet cake that even Paula Deen herself would approve of. 55 meals in total, which are grabbable, cookable and yummy from frozen. Which means that when I'm covered in baby spit up and can't remember my own name, I'll know that I can have a healthy, cooked meal with no preservatives ready in less than an hour.

I'm trying to organize photos, videos and music before I can't anymore - we had a huge problem with our LaCie hard drive (wouldn't entirely recommend them based on shoddy customer support in the UK). It wouldn't mount to the disk, it wouldn't even start spinning. Thankfully, we were able to go to the Apple Store in Brent Cross to get the data (9,000+ songs, several gigs worth of photos and videos), and it was transferred to a new drive. We also bought a portable hard drive (500 GB) which will be our redundant drive. It's scary to think that we could've lost everything on that drive without a proper backup, so we've now been doubly careful to back everything up twice. We have several years worth of photos that haven't been printed out in an album, as well as videos from weddings and trips that we haven't compiled yet, so that's my next big project after cooking.

I'm having lunch with a childhood friend this week, then my mother and stepdad come the week after for a pre-baby holiday visit, and my dad and stepmom round off December with a visit on the 22nd. My husband has his company party on the 19th in Wales, and we're heading back across the River Severn for the 31st - our last trip "out of the country" before the baby comes.

I had hoped to blog a bit more, but for some reason things keep getting in the way. Maybe when I've sorted through my music, cleaned my house up and down and put together the baby's cradle I'll have time to blog about holiday PPC or lazy recruiters contacting me on LinkedIn without reading my profile. In the meantime, if you'd like to guest blog (anonymously or with your name in big lights), let me know!

Maternity. Leave?

My maternity leave starts around 6 tonight. Maternity leave? No work? No commuting? I know most women would be ecstatic - and to a certain extent, the possibility of cooking, napping and resting before Baby Ash arrives makes me ecstatic, too - but I'm a bit terrified.

Why would I be terrified? I'm moving on to a stage in my life that, although desperately wanted, leaves a very longstanding and comfortable routine and reality behind. Work, couple time, seeing friends on a whim - that won't exist anymore. Let me clarify that I'm not in mourning for my old life - I'm beyond excited to start a magnificent journey as a mom - I'm just wondering about the unknown.

What does maternity leave when you've got nobody to take care of yet shape out to be? I had visions of whipping up Bree Van De Kamp-esque meals, taking long walk through the Hertfordshire woods and sleeping in. If I'm honest, I have very little energy for anything beyond short spurts of cooking and cleaning, and forget the sleeping in. Baby Ash has a single-minded schedule of kicking, rib grabbing and bladder bouncing (arguably it's favorite activity) that makes any regular sleep pattern rather difficult. I know, I know - it's preparation for Baby Ash's grand entrance into the world of nighttime feeding and changing - but can Mom get just a bit of rest to build up her stores in advance? It would seem nature has a cruel, alternative agenda to mine.

And what happens to Work Kerstin? I've been working pretty much since I left university, and the notion of unemployment - paid unemployment, in fairness - is a bit daunting. How do I define myself beyond mom after the baby is born? Am I still an account manager, a search engine marketing geek, a speaker? Of course, many women have come before and managed to carve out a delineator between motherhood and careerhood - I'm just wondering how exactly that's done.

I'm sure the answers will come to me soon enough, and that I'll not only be Baby Ash's mommy but a woman with professional ambition and skills that I can still call my very own. When staring at a very different reality, it's hard not to get philosophical about the changes you'll be making in life as you know it. My comfort zone changes today, and for ten weeks I get to define what that is. In ten weeks' time, Baby Ash will define that new reality, and I can't wait.

Roll on January.

Privacy and Blogs

My husband and I have been discussing this at length recently, given our impending change in circumstances from a married couple to parents in just about three months (!). What level of information will we give out about our new bundle of joy? The gender? The name? The details of the birth? 

We want to keep the baby as private as possible to protect our child. We won't be revealing the name in public, or linking to a newly bought domain name just for Baby Ash. Sure, we'll tell you if the bundle was pink or blue and maybe post a single picture from the hospital (babies faces tend to change rather rapidly, we're told), but apart from that I'll be keeping mum (aren't I punny?) on his/her details.

Why? Call me an over-protective mother if you like, but there are some things that I believe don't belong in the public domain unless both parents agree that it's in the best interests of the child. My husband does not operate much in the online space - he's as clued up as an actuary can be about search engine marketing, but prefers to keep his life, family and thoughts private. On the other side of the spectrum, I post about a lot of things my husband wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, but we meet in the middle when it comes to our kid.

There are a couple of people we've taken a cue from when it comes to posting online about the baby. We're nowhere near as well known as them online, but they've given us three different approaches to acknowledging their children in their public blogs. 

First, there's Michele Henry from the Toronto Star, who blogged about her pregnancy and is now blogging about her son on Pregnant Pause. She mentions him by name frequently (although I suspect the kid has a different last name from her, otherwise he'd be Hudson Henry...) and has posted a photo of him on the blog (he's more than adorable, by the way). The blog is informative, hilarious and an extremely good read for anyone (I've been reading it throughout my pregnancy), but I wonder if we'd be as comfortable as she is posting photos and details of the baby online.

In the middle part of the spectrum, there's Hadassah Milner. A warmer, kinder person you couldn't find, and she's been documenting her life for a while, including her four boys and her husband on In the Pink. While she frequently acknowledges the men in her life, she uses pseudonyms and grazes over their neighborhood (Montreal is a pretty big city) in an effort to share as much of her life as she's comfortable with. Crucially, she never posts photos of her kids on her blog - something I agree with (while acknowledging that everyone has their own personal opinion on).

At the very private part of the spectrum, there's Barry Schwartz - a guru in the SEM industry and new father to a baby girl, blogging on Cartoon Barry. That's all you know about the kid, apart from references to her gender and when she was born, and a photo of him holding a bundle with hair at the hospital. This is the route we think we'll be going with - people know we have a son or daughter, when he or she was born, but no names, no pseudonyms and no photos apart from the requisite hospital shot.

We'd prefer to use walled gardens, like Facebook or iWeb, which we can password protect for our baby. This isn't to say we don't want to show the world just how gorgeous and amazing he or she is, we just want to control how much exposure the baby has until our kid is 18 and can decide for himself or herself just how much information they want publicized about themselves online.

The pictures here are of two people (myself at the top, my husband on the left) who are well over the age of 18 now, and who have consented to publish some information and photographs of themselves online. We want to give the same decision to our child about how they want to be known online, and inform them of the potential dangers of exposing yourself to people who might not have the greatest social filter in what is and isn't appropriate.

What do you think? What is your advice to two new parents? Are we being too overprotective of the baby, jumping to conclusions about nasties on the web and wanting to keep the child private? Or, are we doing the right thing by controlling the exposure our child has to the outside world before he or she can make an informed decision themselves?