Bubbles... Big Ones!

David has changed the fun of bubbles forever for our kids.

At bath time, we sometimes add to the fun by blowing bubbles. David knows how to blow really big bubbles out of regular bubble bottles. Me, not so much.

So now, when David isn't around, my bubbles aren't quite good enough. I am met with unimpressed faces, and Adam demanding "BIG ones!" while I try to explain that he will need to wait until his Daddy is around for those to happen. In one ear, out the other...

Now there's a playgroup I've started taking him to. It's brilliant fun and he loves it. We do singing, sensory play, messy play, and story time. And towards the end, the leader brings out her bubble bottle.

The first time we were there, I could see that Adam wasn't impressed with the regular sized bubbles. The other children were all thrilled to be chasing and popping bubbles, but my son stood back and watched, with a somewhat horrified look on his face.

Imagine my embarrassment when he then strutted up to leader and shouted "BIG ONES PLEASE!"

She looked my way with a puzzled look on her face, probably hoping for an explanation of sorts. But it's hard to explain over the music and excited laughter of half a dozen children, so she is unfortunately none the wiser and he asks again every week.

Sometime I'll send David in to demonstrate...

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Easter in Vienna, from Emily's Travel Diary

Remember when we tried the kids out in the cold? We did go to Vienna, for five days over the Easter holidays. Here is Emily's report of the trip.

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When Adam Had Kawasaki Disease

Have you heard of Kawasaki Disease? If you're a Grey's Anatomy fan you may have. There was an episode in Series 9 where Sarah Chalke (Elliot Reid from Scrubs) plays the part of a mum who's son is sick with a mystery illness which eventually turns out to be Kawasaki. I had watched the episode, but I don't watch Grey's Anatomy for educational purposes.

Then a couple of weeks ago, on the plane on our way back from Vienna to be precise, Adam's temperature spiked. He was on fire and very uncomfortable. He had been cranky throughout the entire holiday but we thought it was just down to the cold weather.

I'm not one to rush my kids to the doctor when they have a fever. It's usually a virus which passes within a couple of days and it's not worth the panic. So I gave him Paracetamol and kept an eye on him. Two days later, fever still high (sometimes as high as 41 degrees) we took him to the pediatrician. She checked the usual suspects... ears, chest, throat were OK. It probably was just a virus.

So we went home and started alternating Paracetamol and Ibuprofen to try and control the fever. It sometimes worked, but the fever wouldn't go away. Four days later, Adam woke up with red eyes. (Enlarge image to the left to see clearly.) He was in a much better mood so I put it down to him still being tired, still trying to make up for lost sleep from our holiday and the plane rides, and the first few days of him being unwell. (There's always a reason isn't there?)

His lips were chapped and quite red - but then again, mine were still chapped from the cold weather in Vienna too.

Then in the afternoon, his fingers and feet turned a dark pink and looked a little bit swollen, as if they were hot. I thought this strange so turned to Dr Google and Kawasaki Disease popped up. When I looked at the pictures, however, it all looked SO much worse than Adam's symptoms, and let's face it - Dr Google is usually the last thing you should trust, so I closed the page and carried on. Hours later, his hands and feet were back to normal and the next day even his eyes weren't as red. Obviously Dr Google was making a big fuss of everything yet again.

But by the afternoon he was so not himself, the moaning hadn't stopped all day. Nothing interested him, he didn't want to eat or even drink. I was exhausted and in tears and called on a friend for a hug, and she convinced me to take Adam back to the doctor. By that point, I wasn't quite thinking straight. It had been a long week, and everything seemed to be blurring into a big irritable mess.

The doctor took one look at Adam's eyes and began to check for other Kawasaki symptoms. Having read up on it the day before, I realised what she was looking for. I turned cold. How could I have ignored it?

Kawasaki needs to be treated within ten days or risk of permanent heart damage increases significantly. We were on day seven. She wrote up a report saying that she suspected it was Kawasaki and sent us off to Latifa Hospital. We possibly owe her Adam's life, and she has been thanked. Repeatedly.

Long story short, Adam's wasn't a classic case of Kawasaki in that his symptoms didn't scream Kawasaki, but by the time he was admitted to hospital he had also developed a rash. He was treated with one dose of IVIG by day eight and his recovery after that was fast. I knew he was going to be ok when he woke up the next morning and asked for his cars. My boy was back.

He has had a follow-up ECHO (heart ultrasound) in the meantime which shows that there has been no damage to his heart and his blood results look the way they should for the second week of Kawasaki Disease. He is on a low dose of Aspirin for two months (during which we need to try and keep him as healthy as possible because any virus could cause further problems) to avoid an aneurysm, and he will be monitored throughout. But he is very much himself again, my cheeky car-crazed monkey.

It's been a hard few weeks and I'm not writing this to drag it out any further. I do want to remember the way it unfolded, but I also want to put this story out there for anyone in a similar situation who might one day read it.

These are the signs of Kawasaki Disease:

HOWEVER. Adam's lips looked nothing like that. His lymph nodes were nowhere near that swollen. His hands and feet were nowhere near that red. His eyes were redder, his rash looked like it's pictured above. But symptoms don't always happen at the same time and they are usually gone by day ten.

So just know that these symptoms showing up within a certain time period may mean danger and ask your doctor. It's rare, but it does happen.

No one knows how anyone gets KD, it's not contagious and it usually affects children below the age of 5, but there have been exceptions.



We are fine. We are surrounded by some awesome friends, and I am so grateful to everyone who helped in whatever way they could... be it babysitting Emily, visiting me in hospital with goodies, talking on the phone, hugs, hugs, hugs, and also putting up with the way my brain has become a sieve since this happened. Thank you. Love you all.

The End of the Day

I hit Pinterest tonight for the first time in a long time and came across this quote. It got me thinking about how, despite being the slight cleanliness nut that I often can be, I have learnt to let go. The kids get to make a mess and be dirty, roll in the grass, run down footpaths with no shoes on, explore mud and muck, hell - they even get to play in the sand on a regular basis. And I sit back and calmly watch them be.

Some of my fondest childhood memories involve "baking" mud pies and cooking up leaf soups for anyone who would pretend to eat them, and I'm more than happy to be able to do the same for my children. Children should be dirty, messy, and yes, their eyes ablaze from all the adventures they've had, and all the stories they can tell about the amazing things they've done. They should go to bed with huge, tired grins on their faces.

I'd like to think that is what childhood is all about.

Too Much

I sit back and watch my kids get spoiled. It's not a good feeling. It's not that feeling of satisfaction knowing that so many people love my children. It's too much. It's gluttony, it's confusion. I seem to spend the year clearing out toys they never use, only to get to Christmas to fill up any space I've finally claimed, and watch them flit from one toy to the next because there's just so much, too much, to allow them to focus on one thing alone for any amount of time.

And so I find myself making a decision. There will not be a neverending amount of gifts under the tree next year. Family members and friends will only be "permitted" one gift for each child. Santa might be allowed two. (I'll have to think about that.)

I am of course grateful for gifts. People are kind, and generous. But I'm not being cruel, I believe I'm being kind. I believe my children be better children for it. They may even play more, ask to watch television less, be more focused, appreciate more.

This was a good Christmas. It was the best Christmas in all the Christmases we've spent away from family. And I believe next Christmas will be even better.

"Just a Second"

I sometimes feel like the most repeated phrase in our house is "just a second", closely followed by "just a minute". (I'm not really helping my children's warped concept of time, admittedly)

The kids always want my attention. A cup of milk, a snack, a book read to them, "look at my dance/my picture/me."

It's simple. I can't always stop what I'm doing. And these kids seem to know exactly when the most inconvenient moment to demand my attention is.

We are surrounded nowadays, I feel, by people and advice telling us to stop and give children time. They won't be young forever. They won't ask for us to look at their pretty pictures forever.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

I know this and I dread the day the demands for attention will stop. On those rare occasions when Adam falls asleep on me, I will stop and take it in for as long as possible. When Emily needs an extra long cuddle after school, she will eagerly get it,

BUT.

I also don't want my kids to grow up (in a world that has no time for them) thinking that anyone will stop and give them a minute whenever they demand it.

I don't want my kids to think they are the centre of anyone's world. It's not always all about them, They need to learn to wait; learn patience.

They won't be kids forever, no. But if I make my bladder wait any longer, it may very well explode. If the pasta doesn't get drained right now, dinner will be mush. If I don't keep my eyes on the road, we won't make it there alive. And bloody hell, if I don't sometimes zone out and check my phone for what may well be a mind-numbing Facebook update, I might just lose my mind.

They do of course get my attention - a lot of the time. Just not every second of every day. They can learn to wait. They can learn that they're not the only ones who need me. They are two siblings who need to share me, their father also sometimes needs me, I sometimes need me.

So enough feeling guilty for not spending every moment of my day giving them my undivided attention. Out with the guilt when I hear Emily tell Adam to "wait a second" before she goes over to help him. (LOL!)

So be it. They are loved. Deeply and desperately. I would do anything for them. It just doesn't always have to be right now. 

Beth and Julian

I imagine every now and then, what it'd have been like to have given the kids the names we'd originally planned for them. Things would have been so different! They are, now, SO Emily and SO Adam it's hard to imagine that once upon a time when they were busy kicking away in my belly they were going to be called anything different!

Beth and Julian?

Faye and Aiden?

Chloe and Jacob?

Hannah and Michael?

Emily and Adam.

Behind the Scenes - The Ongoing Battle

There's a lot I haven't said over the past few weeks. I can't and won't keep quiet any longer. Here goes. 

When I was an Emma's Diary blogger for a short time, one of my posts focused on the excellent maternity care I experienced at Medway Maritime Hospital in Kent. Here is part of that post.

Dear Midwives,

A short thank you note. For listening to my every request (coherent or otherwise). For taking the time to read through every word of my birth plan and discussing points you were unsure of with me. For offering advice, but not forcing it upon me. For speaking to me calmly and encouragingly. For our chats and jokes between contractions. For always being there and for explaining every little thing that was happening. For never letting me feel scared. For trying your very (very) best to honour my every request. For your caring, calming, smiling faces.

For my toast and tea once Emily was born. Nothing has ever tasted so yummy.

Sincerely,
Clare

[Full post here]

Reading that back right now has me in tears. It's nothing to do with hormones, sadly. And they're certainly not happy tears. My situation at the moment couldn't be more different...

This time, in Malta, I am dealing with a gynaecologist, not a midwife.

This time, my sheer mention of a birth plan has been smirked at. "Rip it up," I was told.

This time, I am fighting to be allowed the chance to labour naturally. Excuse after excuse has been crafted to push me into having a c-section. And when that failed, more reasons found, this time to attempt to convince me an induction would be needed. All still hypothetical of course but not exactly the start you want. (The first time my gynaecologist talked to me about the non-surgical childbirth procedure at the local hospital was yesterday, at my 36 week appointment - because I specifically asked her for details.)

Last time, I was relaxed and focused on what was about to come. This time, I am fighting what feels like an often losing battle simply to give me the chance to labour without unnecessary intervention.

Medicine is an amazing thing - but to support, and not replace, nature.

Sadly it seems that here in Malta childbirth has been turned into a production line, with surgeons waiting, scalpel in hand, for any little reason they can find to cut. I've spoken to so many woman over the past few weeks who have been pushed into c-sections for very vague (and sometimes unknown) reasons. It's shocking. Childbirth and nature are a beautiful thing, and so many women here are denied the chance to ever experience it.

These last couple of weeks, I have felt like a helpless, caged animal. I am full of despair and very much saddened. And the worst part is that because of everything they've tried to convince me will go wrong, it has begun to affect my confidence in my body's ability to do what it was made to do. Don't get me wrong - I'm not trying to be irresponsible. I am in no way trying to put my life and that of my son at risk. Should intervention be necessary, I will welcome it. But I want to know that the people making the decisions can be trusted not to be too scalpel-happy. I need to feel like I am in safe hands, which I currently don't. And to be told that intervention will happen regardless... that just doesn't sit right with me.

And to those who will still try and convince me that it doesn't matter, that all that matters is that me and my baby are safe (which is of course of utmost importance too, but still no reason to override nature for absolutely no reason), I only recommend that you read this: The Pot Plant Analogy

And if you want to argue that I am hallucinating or paranoid (as my gynae tried to do), remember that the C-Section rate in Malta in 2011 was 32.3% of births, and currently the highest rate of inductions in the EU. And here's some more light reading: 
Malta almost sees pregnancy as an illness (MaltaToday, 2012)
Induced births and high rate of births by Caesarean section (Times of Malta, 2011)
Malta's C-Section rate needs to be halved  (The Independent, 2009)

I should be able to be focusing on Emily during these last few weeks, enjoying our time alone - just me and her for the last time. Instead my every waking moment seems to be filled with research to find the information I need - information my gynae has warped, seemingly to support a different agenda.

Why was I told my placenta was low lying when it wasn't? 
Why have I been told I have an average amount of amniotic fluid, only to be told in the same breath that I'm carrying too much fluid?
Why am I being told that the baby not yet being engaged is a problem? Second and subsequent babies very rarely engage before labour begins.
Why am I being told I need to head to hospital at the first sign of labour and not be allowed to labour at home? The more time spent labouring in hospital increases the risk of intervention being necessary.

I've done the research, I'm no fool. I know this is all wrong! Why am I being treated like an idiot and told off for being informed? Why am I paying a gynaecologist to misinform, confuse, and upset me? My instincts scream bloody murder every time I think of all this.

So at this late stage in my pregnancy, we are looking into our options. As quickly as we possibly can. And there aren't very many options here in Malta. But we're trying. We have to. I will not sit back and take it. That's what created this mess in the first place.

And all the while, all I can think of is that brand spanking new midwife-led unit at Medway Maritime.... and the tears return. I shouldn't need to fight this battle, not at this late stage in the pregnancy, not at all, not when I had a perfectly normal delivery last time. I have to win this war. 

___________________________________
UPDATE, 08/03/2013
This morning I met a doctor who hugely supports natural birth. He rescanned me and could see no problem whatsoever with letting labour progress naturally. My placenta is very high and thus completely out of the way, the amount of amniotic fluid is perfectly normal, baby is in the position he needs to be and thriving. He also confirmed that engagement generally happens during labour with second babies onwards. We spoke the same language and were looking at things through the same lens. I will be continuing under his care and am now very excited about it all. 

I'll be clear - I am not saying that my previous gynae is a bad person. She probably has orders from above which she needs to follow. However, I firmly believe that patient and doctor need to be on more or less the same page about the way things are done in order for a patient to feel safe. I certainly believe that a patient should not be ridiculed or belittled for having certain opinions. A relationship like that will never work, in whatever scenario. 

So I'm glad I fought. I'm glad I found people to support me and give me the chance to have a second natural birth. They know who they are and I cannot ever begin to thank them enough. They have kept me sane throughout this. And Emily... well, I realised today just how awful I've been lately. Today I feel like a new person, on a new lease of life, and my relationship with her has already seen the benefits. Here's to the next few weeks until Baby A chooses to arrive, as naturally as possible.

I sit here writing this with a big smile on my face, celebrating with a piece of chocolate, while Baby A bounces with hiccups.

How Lovely Are Your Branches

Our tree (as you may have seen from previous snapshots) isn't exactly a colour theme, or an anything theme for that matter. It's filled with fun, quirky or plain pretty decorations. Many of them have come from David's childhood, and I know he looks for these once I've set up the tree and the little boy in him is always over the moon when he spots four particular red teddy bears hanging off the branches.

Here are a few of my favourites - and his - and why they're there.


I bought two of these from the Christmas shop at Bluewater this year. I fell in love with how delicate they look and the fact that they are full of stars. I love stars. I also wanted to add some white to the tree and these two are it (for now).



There had to be something related to Emily so when Sarah of Hollyberry Boutique said that she was making personalised tree decorations (amongst other things), I pounced. It's lovely to have a handmade touch on the tree.



This is one of a set of snowmen and other Christmas-related figurines that David's mum passed on to us. I love the snowmen in particular. They have that extra bit of detail, like the bells on this one, and another one has a little knitted cardigan. I just think they're so adorable.



This silver heart came all the way from Denmark via @annfenech - three of these hearts and two little figurines dressed in Danish Christmas clothing were sent to me as part of the Ornament Exchange I featured last month.



I love this wooden stocking. It makes me smile every time I look at it :)



These are also new. They are part of a set of clay ornaments that I bought from Lakeland - yes, they are breakable and yes, they will break at some point or other. But until then, their cuteness is irresistible!



Remember those red bears I mentioned earlier? This is one of them. He is by far the most battered of all four but, while David loves them all equally, I have a soft spot for this fragile one. I can only imagine how many hours this bear spent in David's hands as a boy to have reached a point where he is now on the verge of losing an ear. And even then, I suspect he'll still make it onto our tree.



Did You Know?
Legend has it that Martin Luther began the tradition of decorating trees to celebrate Christmas. One crisp Christmas Eve, about the year 1500, he was walking through snow-covered woods and was struck by the beauty of a group of small evergreens. Their branches, dusted with snow, shimmered in the moonlight. When he got home, he set up a little fir tree indoors so he could share this story with his children. He decorated it with candles, which he lit in honour of Christ's birth.
(source)




I'll be taking a little bloggy break over Christmas and the New Year. This will be a special one for us - Emily's first - and I don't want to feel like I need to be keeping up with my blog, as much as I love it any other day of the year. Rest assured though that you'll hear all about our Christmas upon my return in 2012! Until then, the very best to you all. May your Christmas be everything you want it to be, and 2012 start with a smile, and lots of love.

The Gift of Language

Malta is a bilingual country. The national languages are both Maltese and English. And despite it being a very small country, there is somewhat of a divide - the people who primarily speak Maltese and the people who primarily speak English. This is often down to schools attended. Some teach in English, others in Maltese. If I'm honest, it is slightly confusing and messy, but that's the way it is. Most people are perfectly fluent in both. Personally, while I adore languages, I'm not very good at them and having been brought up speaking English, my Maltese has suffered slightly along the way (though ironically it seems to have improved since I left Malta).

David on the other hand is perfectly fluent in both, as well as in Italian. He can also communicate well in French and Spanish to an extent. He is one of those lucky people who is amazing at languages. My mother is similar (imagine her disdain when I turned up!!).

Enter Emily, who was born in the UK. She is still Maltese (although we intend to get her to dual-citizenship status at some point) but has very limited exposure to the language. We know that the best way to raise a child to be bilingual is for each parent to speak a different language to the child. However this works easiest when the parents are actually from different countries. With David and myself it feels unnatural as we speak to each other in English (with the odd Maltese word thrown in... it's a Maltese thing!). So what to do?



I could be wrong, but I have a funny feeling Emily takes after David in this respect rather than me. Her understanding of most of what I tell her is already very clear. She has known what "milk" means since she was about 5 months old. She also knows what "sleep", "nappy" and "bath" mean. We communicate well: I say the word (within a sentence) when I think it's time for whichever and she will smile or snuggle if she wants to sleep, for example. If she is not interested, then there is no reaction. It's a system that works well.

Seeing as how David was raised in Italy and England as well as in Malta, his parents spoke to him in Maltese to ensure that he never loses his Maltese. We thought it would be fitting for them to continue this with Emily. It's not the same of course but there'd be visits and Skype, and later on, phone calls and overall we thought it might give her more of a reason to want to learn the language. Sadly, it would appear that they'd prefer not to. It seems a pity, but it is ultimately their choice. We will teach her some basic vocabulary and she will have special story books in Maltese, and perhaps when she's older she'll make the choice to pursue it further.

Ultimately I feel it is important to give her at least a basic understanding of part of her heritage. And that much, I will strive to do.

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Two Little Clowns

Gabriella and Emily at Pizza Express last week...