Isaac barfed down my bra. Twice. Within 3 minutes.

Isaac also managed to crap mid-nappy, piss into my hand (yes, into my cupped hand), throw up mid-piss, sneeze the barf onto my arm, then barf again. All at the same time.

I spilt an entire pint of orange and mango juice on the carpet. The cream carpet.

Whilst using Vanish to clean up said mess, I managed to spray Isaac's toys and a bib.

Because of Amalah, I spend more time playing this damn game than I do making sure I don't smell. (I also want to spend more time with this game too.)

Isaac, Noah and myself ALL have colds. We are collecting for the Facial Orifice Fluid Society.

We get through approximately 15 burpees (muslin cloths) in a day.

Isaac may well be the world's youngest bulimic.

Thanks to Triple~A, my Funyuns addiction is now reinstated.

I have (most likely) consumed my weight in chocolate since Isaac was born.

Isaac is now 3 weeks old and I still keep forgetting to let his Granddad know about him.

At one point last week I was running on approx. 6 hours sleep in 3 days. *brag*

I am one seriously proud mother.
You'd think, given that it's been a week since I blogged, that I'd give you some kind of update(s) right?

Well I would, but shit me, I don't even remember half the stuff from the last three hours, forget the last week.

Needless to say Isaac is still frigging awesome, even if he does have a shit ass cold, and spends most of the night snuffling like a lil piggy looking for truffles (in my bra, no less). He's doing pretty well though, having gone through the night a couple of times (yes seriously, and he's not even three weeks old and people need to stop competing about whether a baby will sleep through the night already - do you think the baby read the manual? Um, nope.) and he feeds like I'm feeding him some kind of alcohol.

Awesome start to life, right?

*am awesome mother

Noah is somehow being seriously cool and yet somehow, evil child all at the same time. Whoever said terrible twos started at two, was lying through their damn butt cheeks. Unfortunately, he's discovered the joys of throwing kick ass tantrums (like, worse than the bitch tantrums he was throwing before), but because I am his mother the THE MUTHA, I have finally mastered "the look" that stops him in his tracks. It's a nice power trip. Must remember not to over use it I guess...

Fortunately, he's FINALLY started to try to say words, albeit the most random ones like oil, teeth, bath, one, two and ah-ah-achoo (thank you Imagination Movers). Of course, anyone else listening probably wouldn't have a clue what he's saying, but since I'm his mother, I'm obviously going to declare him a genius so bite me already.

I've calmed down (a little) from all the breastfeeding uproar and have decided that in future I will indeed whip my boobs out wherever and whenever my boy needs feeding, and if I ever get back into Mothercare Birmingham, I will make a point of feeding in the middle of the store. And I'll probably make a fuss about it too. Why make Mothercare suffer, you ask? Well they should sort out their damn shitty facilities, and they should also make other customers aware of the situation, rather than leave said customers to defend their shite incompetence.

But you know, no biggie.

I will, however, thank you (once again!) for your support, it's nice to know I'm not the only person out there with a real attitude for not taking any shit. And here I was starting to think it was just me who was wondering if being bolshy was all bad...

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go squirt some more milk into a bag and store it ready for my escape down to Gordon Ramsay's Restaurant in London. Yup yup yup!!
D, Isaac and I decided to brave shopping in Birmingham on Friday. Birmingham, Britain's second capital city, right?

Needless to say, right after D and I had lunch, Isaac was ready to feed. First port of call? Uh, find somewhere to feed him. John Lewis in Solihull has a full parent and baby room, with bottle warmers, changing mats, breastfeeding areas, toilets etc, basically everything a parent with a baby/toddler could ask for.

Birmingham has...nothing. When Noah was still nursing, I would go into public toilets to feed him, because there was nowhere else to go. These toilets were "supposedly" suitable, but usually meant cramming myself into a tiny cubicle with a toilet, sink, changing table and a fold down chair (because there wasn't enough room for a regular chair). Oh and also, a disco ball suspended from the ceiling.

Then they built a large Mothercare, where you would ASSUME there would be a parent and baby room. There was. It was out of order (the plumbing was screwed apparently). So I asked if there was somewhere I could nurse my (screaming) baby. "Yes of course!" they said. "You can use the changing room; there's a chair and plenty of space."

"Um...ok thanks..." Not convinced, but it was better than out on the street.

I was in there maybe 15 minutes, feet perched on the wheels of the pushchair, hunched over the boy trying to get a good position. No luck, but hey, he fed.

As I was putting myself back, D came in and said there was a customer waiting to try on stuff. As I came out, I apologised to her and said there was nowhere else to nurse. At which point (and forgive me if I start typing in caps here, I still get a little, um, IRATE when I recall this), she accused me of being SELFISH for feeding my baby in the changing rooms when there were people (just her I might add) waiting to try on clothes. Also, that she was now very late for whatever, because I'd been HOGGING THE CHANGING ROOM, and she's a mum too so she understands, but I should GO SOMEWHERE ELSE to feed my child instead of causing problems for everyone else.

I (amazingly calmly) told her that I had ASKED PERMISSION from the staff to feed Isaac and they had advised I used that (ONE AND ONLY) changing room.

I should point out that as I type this right now, I'm struggling to avoid tensing up completely and throwing something quite heavy.

She continued to moan and complain. I went and complained to the staff that I had just been bollocked by a frigging customer for their incompetence, and that they might want to think carefully about their facilities, and that as a shop devoted to parents and children, they totally fucking SUCK.

I am so frigging livid, they pissed me off so much I can't believe it, and this was 4 days ago now. I've actually decided that the next time I'm in Birmingham with Isaac and he needs feeding, I will plonk my ass in the middle of the SHITTY CRAP Bullring, or if I can be ARSED to make the walk, in the middle of BOLLOCKY RUBBISH Mothercare and feed right in front of everyone.

The irony is, I have no issues with feeding in front of people. I'll feed wherever and whenever, that's my attitude to breast feeding. It's the most natural thing in the world. My baby wants to eat; I will feed him. Do people go and hide in toilets/changing rooms to feed their kids solids? No. So why should it be any different for me?

So let me have it. Was I right for complaining to the staff? Should I have humbly apologised and walked away, and just leave it there, let it go? Should I in fact go back, sit in the middle of the store/shopping centre and nurse my baby for all to see, to make a statement? I would love your feedback, because it may just dictate whether I write a letter of complaint to the Council and/or Mothercare.

Breast feeding: it's not a crime. Or is it?
...cos Oh my GOD this kid is just nom-ness in every conceivable way. He is just over a week old, is almost sleeping through the night 10pm til 6am (one feed at 2am is all he asks), only cries if he's hungry or can't quite settle himself and FEEDS FROM THE BOOB.


Cos seriously. Omg.

That's about all I can say. Omg.

He's about 10 minutes old. And I couldn't believe what I had just achieved. Granted, the birth story I published is the edited down version (the full length version may actually be an epic novel) but sweet Jesus, there was so much more, and it blew me away.

Sure I didn't get the homebirth, hell I didn't even labour in water, but I did the best I could under the circumstances, and you know what? I am DAMN proud of myself.

Isaac Jay is SO COOL. His brother thinks he's pretty cool too.

And even though he's not so bothered a week later, he still gave his little bro a gorgeous welcome home.

I had my hormonal break down (as expected) on Monday, which was no fun. In fact it was freakin' shit. I knew it would come, and I'm not crying PND just yet, but I'm very aware of my wariness of the situation. It's harder trying not to think about it, and I'm trying to just enjoy the emotional roller coaster of becoming a mum of two (under two).

It makes me laugh how there are people snarking behind my back (or think it's behind my back...I'm not stupid, people...) saying that there's no way of doing 2 under 2, or I must be crazy, or I'll never cope, or whatever. But you know what? Shut up with your shit and just get on with it. That's what I'm trying to do. And at the moment, I'm loving it.

The whole breast feeding thing is going surprisingly well. He feeds each time like he hasn't eaten in years, and so my boobs took a bit of a beating, which they're now recovering from. He latched on straight away after he was born and fed immediately, and hasn't looked back. He dropped 5% of his birth weight (down to 10lbs 6oz) which he almost regained 3 days later (10lbs 11oz). Oh and did I mention he's a freakin giant? 2ft/61cm long? I sit him scrunched up on my lap and wonder how the hell he fit in.

FYI, I know I can't type much more because he's bound to wake up soon and scream for the boob (which is just fine by me).

He still doesn't have a pacifier even though I'm sure Noah had one by now (because I seem to recall having no sleep/sanity). Instead, Isaac seems to prefer this.

We had photographer Alan Bremner come round on Monday to take some pics to expand his portfolio. Needless to say none of my pictures are as good as the ones he's taking and has on his site but I cannot WAIT to see how they turn out. And incidentally, I may have taken an inspirational turn, but that's another story. Remind me to tell you more on this one sometime.

Until then, I'll leave you with these.

After a looooonnnng hard haul of a pregnancy, turns out Kiddo was pretty quick to come out when he had no choice about it!

Arrived at hospital on Monday 4th, 9:30, and had the pessary put in to start the induction at 11am. It's a one-off pessary, 24 hours. While they put it in they checked me and found I was already 2cm and soft (thank the Lord...)! They put me on a monitor to check me and baby, and everything was fine but no major activity.

It wasn't until around 5:30pm that afternoon when my mum was visiting and I started to wonder whether I should time the ctx I was having; they were a little uncomfortable.

By the time D came back to hospital at about 6:30pm the ctx were a little stronger and I was very aware of how frequent they were. They put me back on the monitor at about 8:30pm and I was hyper-stimulating; the pessary was causing me to over-contract. They were quite strong and literally back to back, and my back was VERY painful.

All of a sudden everything started to take off; at 9:30pm the contractions were really uncomfortable and I was vocalising through every one, and power walking as much as I could in between. They checked me - I was still only 2cm!!! I put the TENS machine on but it did little to help.

I begged to go up to labour and delivery to have the pessary taken out; I was having a LOT of pressure, the ctx had no breaks between them and no position was "comfy".

Finally went over to L&D 10:00pm, crouching on the bed, mooing loudly while being wheeled along the corridor, draped in a blanket! By this point I was in pain and fast getting tired. I couldn't sit on the birthing ball because the pressure and back pain was ridiculous; far worse than I had ever known, the TENS machine still wasn't helping so they gave me gas & air.

They examined me at 11:00 to take out the pessary (which had actually fallen out anyway  ) and found I was 7cm and the waters were bulging  within about half an hour I was ready to push. I gave one almighty push - and totally peed on the bed! (I was on my knees crouched over the head of the bed).

Gave up on the gas & air (I'd caught it on my gums while bearing down and was bleeding in my mouth; yuck) and was about to go for the 4th push when my waters EXPLODED. Everything was soaked; I thought someone had thrown a bucket of water at my bottom. Unfortunately, LO hadn't engaged until that point, and the force of the waters going meant that the head suddenly slammed downwards into my pelvis. This caused everything to shift drastically (thanks, SPD...) and had almighty cramp in my right hip, right the way down to my foot. Excruciating pain.

With 2 mw frantically massaging my leg and hip I pushed maybe 4-5 more times and the head slowly appeared facing the wrong way - baby was posterior. Then with one more push he was born: Isaac Jay Mountford 12:11am weighing in at a healthy 11lbs 1/2 oz, and 61cm (24 inches). Minor 2nd degree tear, no stitches, everything else absolutely fine. Latched on straight away, and although we're just working through some technical probs, he feeds great. Was let home Tuesday afternoon.
Yes it's a cheesy title but I don't care.

Anyway, yes, here I am at nearly 7:30pm on a Sunday afternoon, contemplating the events to happen this week. Tomorrow, assuming there's enough beds (thank you NHS), I'll be induced to deliver this child, which is waaaaaaaay overdue. I still can't believe I made it this far, and since Friday, I've become more and more proud of myself in a very strange kind of way.

I held on for all I could hope for within reason, I couldn't ask for much more, there have been many compromises along the way, some which I never thought I would have to do (Consultant Ms TinyHands has a LOT to answer for).

Unfortunately today has been quite shit; numerous things occurring which I shan't go into (but involve being pushed VERY MUCH over the edge - hello? Stressy pregnant lady does not need your shit right now, thanks) and was really not how I'd hoped to spend my (potentially) last day as a mom of 1.

I'm slightly terrified of coping with two sometimes, but yes yes, I know, you just have to get on with it blahdy blah...but I'm allowed to stress and worry a bit ok? I doubt myself All. The. Time. I have no idea how I'll cope, or what I'll do to make sure I'll cope. I'm obviously excited, for so many reasons, but at the moment, I can't seem to see past tomorrow. Maybe that's a good thing; maybe taking one day at a time is just the best way to do it.

There are so many things whizzing around my head, I actually feel sick and dizzy with it all. Not because of what's to happen this week, but, I dunno; just trying to make sure everything is organised and runs as smoothly as possible, both at the hospital and at home.

Noah has been "delightful" lately; he's going through this annoying fussy eating phase, and it's like you have to tackle him at just the right speed, otherwise you can forget it and you'll be cleaning pureed crap off the ceiling. Alongside this, he suddenly seems to think he has opinions and choices and can actually have his own way most of the time. Needless to say, my response is hell to the freaking NO.

Well actually, he does have choices, but they're restricted to the ones I set him. Of course.

So anyway. I have no further plans for the evening, apart from to hope to god in heaven that I get some rest, to enjoy the bath I've just run (which is now probably cold) and to just chill. Which we all know is very unlikely.

To those of you following my story with mild interest, thanks :) I'll hopefully update as much as I can via twitter; that's assuming my MDA doesn't die (or if I can even get it working in the first place).

Buh bye, world of minimal sanity, hello life of utter chaos.
Due Date: 04/21/2009
Week: 41+3 days
Month: 10
Trimester: 3
Fetus Age: 39 weeks
Time to Go: 2 days to do it naturally. You know, before eviction papers are served.
Size: I don't think they care anymore.
Time til SCHEDULED induction: 3 days

I'm STILL AROUND!!!! Nyer nyer, bet you thought this whole farce was finally over and I would stop my whining, huh? NOPE!! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAHHAHAH!!!AA!!!!11!!!!

Ok so today did NOT go anything like D and I had speculated. FIrst of all we didn't get to see Consultant Mr. U., we had this lady who was actually very nice. She was fine with not wanting to induce just yet, and was also fine in not recapping the horrendous horror stories which we've heard a million times already.

She tried to push a bit to do a sweep, but respected that I was determined to go completely natural until the (bitter) end. However, of course, she was very pushy to do an internal. I wasn't keen but ok, I can cooperate.

She had the tiniest. Hands. Ever. Which, as some people on twitter have noted, surely this is better than having king-size ham hands, right? Uhmmm, no. See, the smaller the hands, the um, more effort it takes to uh, "reach the destination".

If I didn't waddle before, I sure as hell do now. And you know what? She didn't even buy me dinner.

So anyway!! Everything is the same as last week, there's been no change at all. Oh joy. So she couldn't even do a sweep if I'd allowed it. But needless to say, the final countdown is now on, and I'm officially scheduled for induction on Monday morning, 4th May. I have approx 24 hours in which to go in to established labour, and after that they will "discuss" other "options".

You know how I feel right now? I feel...great. I feel like we've...won, somehow. Sure I haven't gotten the home birth. Sure my Mary Jane is fast becoming public property. But you know what? I've managed to give my body the full chance that I wanted to go into labour BEFORE I know it's officially out of my hands. I accept that if I don't go into labour before Monday then it's out of my hands. I understand that, totally, and I don't have a problem with it either.

I guess it's kind of like a back-handed win. I reached the last of my goals, my targets, and even if it didn't go my way, like I said, I had (and took) every chance possible within safe reason. I wanted to get as far as possible without, without intervention, and that's what I've done.

I know you're all sitting there rolling your eyes and thinking "yeah whatev, dude, you totally lost out". That's fine, think what you like. But in my warped little mind, for the first time in a LONG time, I actually start to feel good about stuff.