Birth Archives - Rupert Approves

Introducing Piper Grey. Our Daughter.

March 14, 2018 2 Comments

I’m writing this from a very loved up cocoon. 13 days ago we met our precious daughter, Piper Grey. She was born via planned C section but came wide eyed and screaming into this world, just as I had hoped. She is perfection, All 3.42 kilograms and 50 cm of her. Just like her oder brother she was born with a mop of dark hair which I’m almost certain will, like his as well, fade, fall out, grow back blonde and then settle into a dark blonde. She has large almond eyes that currently, are a deep blue and a little rosebud mouth. Her character is simply delicious – soft and sweet with a ferocious crossness that comes every 3-4 hours when she’s hungry and needs boob. Her features are delicate and dainty but her hands, man those hands, those were made for something great. In fact, her hands were the first thing the gynae saw as he pulled her out, and as he did he said ‘she’s gonna be a 4 kilo’er’. I’m kinda glad she’s not.

Alot of people have been asking me about her name, and no, it didn’t derive from ‘Pip’. We were calling her Pip in the tummy because ‘It’ sounded too weird, and when we chose the name Piper it was simply a coincidence that it was 2 letters longer than her nickname 🙂

The whole C section and hospital experience was amazing – even better than the first. I had her at a different hospital to Carter and cannot tell you just how welcome, special and important all the nursing staff made me feel. The only downfall was the limited visiting hours for Barry and Carter and the broken aircon – she was born in one of the hottest weeks and I was uncomfortable for 4 days. It was like staying in a sauna.

And the boys? Well, they are simply besotted. Barry has been given 10 days paternity – which is great but in my opinion about 2 months too little – so has been with me for 2 weeks helping and bonding and being my rock. He goes back to work tomorrow and Im somewhat devastated. Carter is simply obsessed – I always knew he would be loving and nurturing but to see him with her, it can actually make your ovaries do the Macarena. She is his little light and he gravitates towards her like a beacon – he smothers her with kisses and soft touchers and whispers her name when he’s crying. I am the luckiest mom in the world.

Piper was born with several ‘stork bites’ on her face – a ‘V’ on her forehead, on her eyelids and under her nose. At first I was really upset – her perfect face felt flawed, and I gave myself a full day to mourn a little bit of her perfection. And then I sucked it up and told myself I was being ridiculous – she has 10 fingers and toes and is a perfect human in every other way. The docs said the marks will fade in a few years, and I’ve learnt to embrace them as part of her and who she is. I don’t edit them out in all my pics as I want her to look back at photos and see her for exactly who she was.

I have been loving my time at home with her. Not being able/allowed to drive is a tiny blessing. I’m trying this time do do less and be more. She is my last baby and so I want my waking hours to be spent gazing, touching and smelling this little bundle. Because I know all too well just how fast they grow up.

r-Grey

It hasn’t all been roses and custard, I did too much too soon and suffered a small bout of mastitis, afterbirth pains (we need to talk about that, people!) and threw in a dose of food poisoning for good measure.

She is 2 weeks tomorrow, and I actually don’t remember a time before she was here. Yes, the lack of sleep and 2 am feeds and constant soiled nappies and saggy tummy and exhausted eyes are leaving me more mombie than anything, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. She’s here, she’s ours and she has completed our little family.

Pregnancy and Parenting

5 Things That Really Happen To Your Body After A Baby. (that everyone is too scared to tell you)

October 15, 2015 12 Comments

I feel like I owe you all an apology. I’ve been holding something back. I’m normally so honest with you, but this time I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell you what I’m about to say.

It’s not pretty, it’s not cute, and it might just send you off to the hysterectomy clinic the second you’ve finished reading it.

Ladies, for those who are already pregnant or thinking about getting pregnant, this one’s for you.

We’ve all read the articles about the weight gain, flatulence, stretch marks, leaky boobs and heartburn. None of this should be a surprise anymore. But what these sons of bitches don’t tell you, is what happens after you give birth. After the C section scar has healed, after your milk has dried up and after you’ve pretty much returned to normal. THAT’S when the ~~shit-fest~~ fun starts.

I first noticed it about 8 weeks after having my son. I finally found the energy and enthusiasm to shave my legs. Well, atleast I thought I’d shaved my legs, but when I woke up the next morning the hair had returned, thicker and darker than ever before. Blaming the mum-dumb I returned to the shower, and shaved them again. Only to find that within minutes, more black-pube like hair had sprouted from the very place where the razor had just touched. Turns out that having a 3.7 kilogram human pulled aggressively from your womb isn’t torture enough – your body then decides to manifest hair faster than a drain at a communal camp site.

(Oh, and in case you were wondering, this isn’t limited to legs and armpits.)

Think back to a time when you were the most nervous, and when your body, startled into action, produced the most sweat it has ever produced. For me this was on my wedding day. Granted, it was mid November, hotter than hell and I happened to be dressed in a frock made entirely out of feathers and poef, but I was shvitzing faster than Bill Cosby at a modelling convention. Fast forward to 5 months post partum and my wedding day has nothing on this Sweaty Betty. In pregnancy you glow, in post pregnancy you shall sweat and stink and berate the CPA for falsifying Mitchums 48 hour promise.

I ran this one past my husband who nearly vomited and told me ‘under no circumstances should I EVER put this on my blog’. Which clearly meant I absolutely had to put it on my blog. Girls, your period, when it eventually returns, will terrify the living bejeezus out of you. Aunt Flo comes a visiting and she’s brought company. Do not get rid of your mattress sized pads they give you in the hospital. You will need these, and more, to staunch the wrath of Satan that launches out of your already weak and vulnerable body. I’m not making this up. This here from a friend who shall not be named:

I get that most woman, over the age of puberty, have cellulite. But what I can’t understand is why the punishment for bringing a human life into this world, is the fact that our resulting bodies look like a plaster wall before tiling. Cavernous dimples riddle one’s body like the plague. My arms have cellulite. The cellulite in my cellulite has cellulite. Fuck, I’m not even convinced that it’s a dimple on my cheek anymore – I suspect the cellulite on the rest of my body has run out of space and is now moving up into my face.

And lastly, because why stop at Hell when we may as well fast track into damnation. Boobs. The only time I find a pap-sak appealing is when it’s 2 litres in size and filled with red wine. Nowadays, my not-so-fun bags resemble this cat. Except the only difference is that THIS CAT HAS PERKIER BREASTS.

Now, before you start selling your unborn child in panic, let me tell you it’s not ALL that bad. Yes, you may be softer, smellier and dumber than ever before, but you’ll also be the richest you’ve ever been. No man, not as in money, ‘cos you’ll have fuck all of that. As in your baby. Your baby will make ~~most of it~~ all of it worth it. Promise promise. Cross my hairy chest and hope to die.

Pregnancy and Parenting

A Letter To My Unborn Baby

May 1, 2015 9 Comments

Dear Sprout

I can’t believe the day when we finally get to meet you is so close. At times this pregnancy has felt like it would never end, and at others I wonder where the time has gone. (To be fair, that’s happened once, and was a very fleeting moment. 38 weeks in gestation time is around 4 years in non-gestation time)

Just the other night as I arrived at the hospital for an impromptu checkup, I had a moment of panic when I walked in the doors. 50% of me was kind of hoping the doctor would tell me you were on your way, and the other million % of me was terrified out of my mind. Terrified. A thousand “ohmywordwhatarewedoing” moments flashed through my brain. I’m sure that’s normal though – and I know that the second you are here with me, those fears will all fade (to be replaced with “he’s crying – now what!?”)

I’ve had 38 long weeks to think about you, and imagine this wormy, wriggling yoga thing as an actual human being. There are so many things I’m dying to find out – do you have hair? (the gorgeous heartburn you’ve given me implies yes), will you be as heavy as your read on the ultrasound machine, what colour are your eyes? Will you match the name we’ve chosen for you? Just what kind of a small person will you be?

I have so many dreams and wishes for you, kid. Huge pressure considering you have yet to take your first breath.

I hope that from the moment you come out into this terrifying world you know, above anything, that you are so loved. You were planned and wanted and waited for. Nothing about you being here was accidental.

I hope you go forth into this new life with sincerity, compassion and empathy. I hope that you choose to see the good in everyone, yet aren’t naive when it comes to giving 3^rd chances. The majority of this world is good, and I hope you get to experience that good without being taken advantage of.

I hope you inherit your dads Excel logic, sporting skills, directional abilities and eyelashes. I hope you get my wit and sense of humour. You come from a strong line of Kearney’s who are always talking, always thirsty for knowledge and always learning – I pray that you go about life devouring new experiences with voracity.

Travel. I sit here now, and regret always being the one to abide by the rules, never exceeding my leave allocation and always saving instead of jumping on that plane to an exotic destination. Go to places only limited by your imagination – and for gods sake – eat the damn durian! I hope the more you travel the more you realise that Africa is your home, but I can’t be so naive as to think that you will live here forever. It’s hard in this country at the moment, and it may just get harder. Don’t ever stick around for us, but if you do leave, make sure you have enough money to fly us over to wherever you find yourself, so we can visit and cramp your style like all good parents do.

I hope you learn from us, but don’t feel obliged to follow in our footsteps. Go forth and make your own destiny – don’t let anyone’s previous actions hold you back from your future. Don’t let them tell you that you cant – figure that out for yourself.

Read a ton of books, eat more than what you’re familiar with. Vegetables are delicious, truly. Smile at strangers and let people in traffic. Be bigger than you are. Give yourself to others, but don’t be a pushover. Learn to say no when it’s needed.

Try and do new and scary things as often as you can, but don’t be foolish. Follow the rules, live honestly and with integrity. Be a good person and treat everyone well.

Be generous. I’m not talking about buying flashy things, I’m talking about generosity with your time, your willingness to help those in need and to sometimes not look at the price tag. Don’t be frugal. No one likes that person who double dips the tea bag.

The most important thing my parents taught me was how to respect others, ask questions and remember my pleases and my thank-you’s. I hope I instill this in you too.

At the end of the day, my wish for you is to embrace this life you’ve been given, and know that you being here is for a reason. I hope you find that reason and use it to its fullest advantage.

This life is yours for the taking.

I cannot wait to meet you.

Mom