Some of the things that have happened this week

1. My baby started childcare. Just half a day so far. He coped fine. We debated whether we should be delighted or upset that he coped fine without us, and concluded that we should be delighted.

2. My baby started childcare without the bag I was making to take all his stuff to childcare. It wasn't finished in time. It still isn't quite finished- just some handsewing to go. Maybe it will be finished in time for his second day. Although I managed to make do on day one with an old shoulder bag that was stuffed in the cupboard, which I'd kind of forgotten about, and which is actually perfect for the job. I don't know whether I should be delighted or upset that I already had a bag that was perfect for the job, but was manically tetrising my time to make a new one. A wise friend suggested that sometimes inspiration leads us down unnecessary but none-the-less enjoyable pathways. I'm sure she's right, so I'm trying to resist the urge to be annoyed, and just look upon it as a little crafting adventure.



3. I bought some of Kristen's beautiful new fabric (you can indulge yourself here). I fell in love with Dandelion Garden when she first showed it on her blog. Floral without being girly. And the coordinating Ladybird print is just too cute for words. I'm itching to make the chocolate print into another kimono top for C, but first I have to finish off some gift sewing and knitting that I've been sneaking in.

4. I shared dinner and a good gossip with Amelia, Jane and Sharon last night. A very small S'n'B meet, but so nice to catch up with fellow knitters, drool over their new needles and sock yarns, and laugh over how long a particular pair of my socks have been on the needles (hmmm.. June 2006... I should get on with sock #2 at some stage should't I?).

Just briefly...

Drawing progress is interrupted by urgent sewing tasks.

A spare sleep toy (just like this one) which will be put on daycare sleep duties. (Fingers crossed for it's powers to induce sleep).

A bag to stash all his stuff for daycare in. Made with beautiful fabrics from Sprout Design, and heavily influenced by Sooz's bag, although I've decided now that I'm part way through the process that a shoulder bag will be more useful for me than a backpack. It's not like he's going to wear it anyway. Although I'm now wondering why I'm making myself an orange and white shoulder bag. It's really not me. But there you go. It's very "by the seat of my pants" kind of crafting around here at the moment. Maybe it will be a backpack after all.

work in progress

Exciting news in my life at the moment: we have the all important Town Planning Approval for the extension (I surprisingly feel confident stating that in public, even though we don't have the paperwork yet).

Which brings a shifting of my time priorities. My time for craft is momentarily diminished, as I get sucked into the vortex of house extension deliberations. Chasing up a structural engineer. Chatting with a potential builder. A pile of new craft books is buried under bathroom fixtures catalogues, and Bloglines and Ravelry cruises are supplanted by excursions into flatpack kitchen planning software.

The kitchen tart up appears to be morphing into kitchen replacement, depending on how far we can stretch the budget. I don't think we'll end up going with an Ikea kitchen , but I do love how easy their planning software tool is to use, whipping up a rendered 3D view in next to no time. Which greatly assists client* negotiations**.



*ie, my husband and I.

** sometimes the client has differences of opinion. But we're gradually finding some consensus on things.

Shirt

Hi there,
Like my new shirt?
Charlotte gave Mum the fabric, and Daddy suggested she make me a shirt with it. She had to tinker with the pattern a bit because I'm growing fast, and getting fatter. But with the ties and the extra pleat in the back I think I'll be able to wear it for a while. Which is good, 'cause I really like it, and when I spit up my lunch it doesn't show. Much.
C
xx



more pics and details here. I have to say the fabric totally makes this shirt- the Liberty print and quality is beautiful. I went to the effort of making some bias binding to finish it off, using some coordinating shot cotton that I had in the stash. Remarkably easy and satisfying to make- there's a good technique for it included in Amy's "Bend the Rules Sewing".

Summer wardrobe: tinkering with a skirt pattern

I think I've managed to finish sewing my Summer wardrobe in time to get some wear out of it. Three new skirts, all based on the same A-line skirt pattern that I've been using for years (Vogue 1258 DKNY Jacket and skirt). I've tinkered with the original pattern to some extent in that time, and these days I cut it from redrafted pieces with personalised waist and hip shaping. And then sometimes I tinker with it some more, as with these three.

Firstly: The Knot Skirt

More on the making of the knot skirt pattern here. This one, in a murky kahki cotton lycra shirting, fits perfectly and hasn't suffered the same problems as the last one. It's been getting regular wear (hence the wrinkled appearance in the photo shoot. Sorry, ironing isn't one of my favorite tasks). I love it, but I feel the urge to try making yet another one, in a stiffer fabric- maybe denim. I think the weight of the knots in this fabric pulls it out of shape a little- although it's probably less apparent in person than in the photos.

Secondly: The Floral Skirt

I spotted this fabric at Amitie when I was hunting for fabric for something else, and in a moment of motherhood induced delerium delcared "I have to have this although I have no idea what for. Give me a metre." When I got it home I added it to the pile of fabrics lurking in the corner of the lounge, and glanced at it from time to time, until a week later I realised it needed to be a skirt. If I'd realised that when I bought it I would have bought more, but I managed to wrangle a slightly shorter than usual skirt out of it by cutting the pieces with the print going in opposite directions (given the nature of the pattern I didn't think it would really show), and using bias binding to make a tiny hem.

Thirdly: The Patterned Skirt

This one makes me feel quite girly. I feel like I need some new lady-like sandals to go with it. Maybe it's the elegant block pattern. Maybe it's the light and bright colours. Maybe even just the pink. The gorgeous fabric was sent from Sydney by a good friend. The fabric was wide enough to add a couple of pleats to the front for a bit of extra volume, squeezing as much of the gorgeous print as possible into the garment, rather than adding it to the scraps bag.

beachside

I've slipped into a fairly relaxed summer holiday mood, with a few days out down at the beach with another crafter and her lovely kids.

The beach was a welcome respite from yet another burst of intense 40 degrees plus heat (over 100 in the old gauge). The table was laden with a myriad of craft projects for all ages.

Now that I'm back home I've spent the weekend refiling photos on our computer, and reshuffling sets and collections on Flickr. So many possible ways to organise them- I've convinced myself that it would be impossible for them to be perfectly systematically organised, and am settling for some meaningful groupings and trying not to get lost in reminiscing. I've also finished some holiday sewing and need to take some more photographs...

Surprise, surprise

While I was on holiday a couple of surprise packages arrived. It's a wonderful feeling to be on the recieving end of such kindness. It's such a lovely way to start the year, and gives me a positive feeling for the year ahead.

From Ingrid, some sock yarn that she dyed for me, as a thankyou for the Baltic sock pattern. The colour is stunning- lovely rich, variegated reds. The yarn is a lightweight wool/nylon sock yarn that reminds me of Lorna's Laces. She's planning on selling it too (undyed)- visit her blog for more details.

From Charlotte, some Chamomile and Topaz floral water (calming and refreshing... lovely), one of her signed prints, and some fabulous fabric- superbly soft Marc Jacobs cotton knit, and a suitably manly Liberty print which is about to be made into a top for C. Aside from the fabrics you can treat yourself to some of the same (or many other wonderful things) at Little Orchard.

From Sooz, a couple of skeins of Cleckheaton "Spun", which we'd been discussing recently (not pictured). Apparently it's now discontinued but I am of the opinion that it's perfect for whipping up a couple more snail hats (Although with the heatwaves we've been experiencing I can't quite imagine it ever being cool enough to need a woolly hat).

holiday activities

Would you believe that on our summer holiday I did no crafting? So strange for me. I thought I'd compensated for the season by taking some summer sewing with me (in lieu of knitting). I hoped to finish off a couple of skirts, but instead, I read.



Which was really lovely. It's been a long time since I did much reading. Reading Jane's wonderful book (a special birthday present) and something mouldy, but very interesting, that I pinched from my dad's bookshelf.

Now that I'm back from our holiday, I'm finishing off the skirts and starting some more sewing for Baby C (amongst other non-crafty things). I have to take some photos of The Knot Skirt, which I did manage to finish before our holiday, to share with you too. Maybe I'll take them with our new camera. Ooooh, excitement, a new camera! We're still in the getting to know you phase, but I've already fallen in love with it. It's a Pentax K100 D Special, purchased after much researching of digital SLR's.

Birth

I usually find that as one year draws to a close, and another opens before me, I’m prone to a bit of introspective pondering about life. More so this year than other years it feels. My awareness of time’s passing has been heightened by a school reunion, a nostalgic family slide night, and Baby C reaching the 6 month milestone.

Wow. 6 months. He’s nearly crawling, has grown two teeth, and is devouring mashed veggies with gusto. It really is time I shared his birth story. Although this blog is intended to be about my creative endeavours, not my personal life as a whole, his birth story is something I’ve wanted to share for a while. Partly because it is perhaps the ultimate in creative endeavours in my life so far, but also because it is (I think) a really positive birth story, and birth stories like that should be shared.

So, let me tell you the story of birth of my child (it probably goes without saying, but please don’t continue reading if you don’t want to hear gory birth details... or if you like short succinct posts):

I was nearly a week overdue when S started his paternity leave. We knew that if I didn’t go into labor in the next four or five days, that the labor would be induced. So the clock was ticking and I was starting to feel the pressure of everyone waiting for news, as well as feeling more uncomfortable and incapacitated with each day.

We had an appointment at the hospital just after noon for some fetal heart monitoring. As S drove us to the hospital, I remember feeling some tightening to the top of my belly. But it was quite mild, totally painless. I wondered if it was a Braxton Hicks contraction, or perhaps just my imagination. Settled in the hospital with a couple of monitors strapped on, and the regular, rhythmic sounds of the heartbeat playing in the background, I wasn’t even aware of the tightening feeling. The nurse showed me that the printout indicated there was something going on, and asked whether I could feel it. Being as it was so mild, and wasn’t causing any “period like” pains down low in my abdomen, she suggested it was probably just Braxton Hicks practice contractions.

We set off back home, making a detour via the local shops for some bread for lunch and some medication for S, who was suffering from a head cold that didn’t seem to be getting any better. I remember as we walked down the street that my mind was a jumbled mess. I felt a mix of emotions- wondering, (some might say stupidly) if I couldn’t feel the Braxton Hicks contractions, whether I was going to be able to feel the labor start?; Wondering what the labor would be like- how long, how painful, how inconvenient?; Wondering if it was ever going to start- when was I going to escape from the limbo of waiting?; Wondering whether S going to be well enough to give me the support I needed; Feeling pressure from family to have something happen.. Soon… And then something about interacting with a salesperson in a shop, and having to negotiate the crowded footpath, set me over the edge. I felt swamped, and had a bit of an emotional meltdown. I started sobbing for no particular reason, other than an overwhelming frustration of wanting to escape the state I was in.

Scott consoled me, shepherded me back to the car, let me blab whatever it was I blabbed, handed me tissues and took me home. I paced the house, cried some more, and ate some toast before crawling into bed at about 1.30pm to just rest for a while, thinking that we could go for a walk later in the afternoon to get some fresh air. It seemed like the only thing worth doing. I was obviously completely hormonal and tired. I didn’t realise I was also in the process of going into labor.

As I lay in bed, trying to let myself to relax, I became aware of the tightening again, except this time it felt like period cramps low down in my abdomen. They seemed to be pretty regular too, so I started to keep an eye on the time. After half an hour or so it was pretty obvious they were happening regularly, although quite short and mild. Being as they were regular, we decided it was time to put the TENS machine into action- we’d been told to start it as early as possible once labor starts. It was a big step mentally- acknowledging that labor was underway. S decided to pack things into the car, doing a quick whip around to check everything off the lists we’d written, and lining the back seat with a pile of towels.

So, with the car packed ready to go, and the TENS machine in place, and my lower back happily tingling away with the electrode stimulation, I adjourned to the sofa, where I sat on a comfy pile of towels, and picked up my knitting, while S turned the TV on and set the Star Trek marathon in motion. The knitting was really just something to pass the time, to keep me occupied. We’d had a heap of plans for things to keep me distracted/pacified during labor, but most of them didn’t end up getting used. Instead, the knitting and Star Trek, which were never part of the plan, became the things that carried me through the bulk of the labor.

S started timing and noting down the contraction times and durations. By 4pm, a couple of hours after we’d put the TENS on, we realised that the contractions were in a really stable pattern, anywhere between 3 and 5 minutes apart, but pretty mild, and only 15 to 20 seconds long (although a few times I forgot to take my finger off the TENS booster button, alarming S but leaving me quite relaxed). In the birth class we’d been told that you should come into hospital when they’re around 5 minutes apart, so we thought a call to the hospital delivery suite was in order. Given that contractions were quite mild and short, and I was still quite happy (it was the knitting, I tell you..), and that it was a first pregnancy (so expected to move slowly) they told us not to worry, to just relax and wait until the contractions were a minute long or I felt like I was going to need some pain relief. My Obstetrician was actually in the delivery suite at the time, so they told me they’d let him know I was in labor.

So we sat like that, whiling away the hours, me knitting (trying to keep track of decreases as I started the raglan shaping) and Scott dutifully noting the times. At about 8pm, my Obstetrician called to see how we were doing. S spoke to him, and gleefully informed him I was fine- still sitting on the sofa and knitting. I had resorted to the additional relief of a heat pack on my abdomen by then, as the contractions became stronger and longer. They were lasting about 30 seconds by that stage, still at 3 to 5 minute intervals. And so we carried on, me knitting and hitting the TENS booster button with monotonous regularity, S timing, and the crew of Federation Starship Voyager continuing their exploration of the Delta Quadrant.

Things didn’t change much until 10pm. During a contraction (they had definitely gotten quite strong by this stage, but the TENS machine was still doing the trick) I felt a distinct “pop” which I thought was probably my waters breaking. Alerting S, I quickly shuffled to the toilet, somehow managing not to flood the floor on my way. The waters were emerging, but not in a sudden gush or any great quantity. S went off to retrieve some fresh clothes for me, and to get the hospital on the phone once again.

As I sat in the bathroom, clutching the TENS controller through a few more contractions, I had a bizarre phone conversation with the midwife. Because it was my first pregnancy, and because I was (rather stoically) managing to talk my way through the contractions (albeit with the TENS controller depressed to the max, and my body contorted in a strange position, leaning my head against the wall) the midwife reassured me there was no need to rush into hospital- I should wait until I felt I needed additional pain relief or the contractions were 60 seconds long. The fact that I was using a TENS machine seemed irrelevant to her. Finishing up the “chat” she asked about the contraction timing again, and then started to tell me we weren’t timing them correctly. S helpfully (?) passed me the sheet of numbers he’d generated. It was a mind boggling moment. This lady on the phone who I couldn’t manage to communicate clearly with (I knew we were timing them correctly, I just couldn’t explain to her at that moment what it was we were doing) and this sea of meaningless pencil numbers that was swimming in front of my eyes.

Really I should have recognised at that moment that it was time to go to the hospital, but instead I hung up, reassured S that we’d been told we should just put on a maternity pad and carry on at home until the contractions were a minute long or I needed additional pain relief. So, in some fresh, dry clothes, and pad in place, I waddled my way back to the sofa, where the next contraction promptly produced a huge gush of waters that drowned my dry clothes and half the towels I was sitting on. So much for just popping on a maternity pad.

S helped me back to the bathroom, where I decided I would sit for a little while, despite feeling really uncomfortable there. As he scrambled to find me something dry to wear, and brought some nappies for me to shove into my underclothes (I remembered reading somewhere that they were better than maternity pads for this sort of thing), I decided that things had definitely stepped up a notch or two and it was time to head to hospital, regardless of what the midwife thought. Scott was in complete agreement.

So at 11pm, we phoned the hospital to say we were on our way in. Another strange conversation followed- the midwife explained if we were able to arrive after midnight, then we’d get an extra day in hospital. It sounded like a good deal. So we settled down again (me siting on a fresh pile of towels and leaning against S) to wait an extra 25 minutes or so before heading off. And a good thing we did too. As well as my waters continuing to gush like a waterfall with each new contraction, I started to feel rather queasy. I mumbled the immortal words: “Get me a bucket; I’m going to be sick”. S was quick to respond, managing to restrain himself from joining in. At least I managed to miss the living room rug.

With the nausea subsiding (the penny didn’t drop that it’s a classic “transition” sign) we made preparations for the hospital dash. The checklist was checked, and the car was ready for the arrival for a large, leaking passenger. S helped me out to the car, and buckled me in to the back seat. Just doing that was a huge effort. I was feeling weary and spent at this point. I felt like I was just along for the ride with what my body was spontaneously doing to itself, like I was trailing behind as someone else took over the controls.

As S drove, I remember reassuring myself- it’s just a day to get through, this won’t last, our child will be with us soon and this will be over, just keep on breathing in and out. But there was a lingering fear- wondering how far along in the process I was- would I get to hospital and stop dilating? Would I get there and find out I was only 3cm dilated? I had no idea. What I did know was that I was feeling the urge to go to the toilet, and I hoped that we’d get to the hospital before I really needed to go.

Being so late at night we had a great drive- only 30 minutes (at peak hour it can be three times that), and it was midnight as we pulled up outside. S headed off to the security entrance to fetch a wheelchair- he set off in the wrong direction initially and I remember thinking that I didn’t have the energy to call out and point towards the right entrance- I had to just let him figure it out (which didn’t take long).

In a minute he was back with a wheelchair and helped me into it, then wheeling me into the lobby and the lift. I remember feeling sodden, and tired, and thinking I probably looked a mess but I didn’t really care. We emerged on the right floor and made our way into the delivery suite, where they immediately pointed us towards the closest delivery room.

Marie, the hospital midwife, was already in there. She greeted us with a strong Scottish accent. She sounded happy and relaxed, and I wondered how she did it. I could barely mumble “Hi” as I glanced up. Thankfully, she gently took control of the situation, dispatching S to collect our things from the car, and suggesting that I got up in my own time between contractions, and got my wet clothes off and into a hospital gown, and onto the bed. It was hard to mentally focus on more than one thing at a time. I had my eyes mostly shut- I think I needed to, to cut down the things I was having to take in and process- as I slowly maneuvered my way onto the hospital bed and answered her questions about where I was at and how things had progressed so far.

By the time S returned I was settled on the bed, and Marie had things under control. I remember her asking us what sort of birth we were hoping for, whether we had any birth plan (safe and healthy, and ideally naturally, with as little intervention as possible), and checking that I knew what options I had for pain relief. There was another midwife there at some point too- I remember her asking me again about pain relief options- which annoyed me for no reason at all. Given the speed with which things followed, I think it was a bit of a redundant question. Maybe it reflected how pained I looked.

Once things were generally settled, and paperwork taken care of, Marie told me that she would give me an internal exam, so that they could phone my Obstetrician and update him. The pressure in my bottom was so constant by that stage I was convinced I really needed to get off the bed and into the bathroom, but they reassured me it was just the baby moving down. Marie did the exam, and then was quickly out of the room after reassuring me that things were going well. She was good like that- just giving me lots of positive reassurance without being specific about details. I really wasn’t in a detail mood. I was in the mood for some extra relief though, and asked for the gas. After some quick instructions the next two contractions found me clutching the TENS with my right hand, and the gas mouthpiece with my left. I don’t know that it really did anything for me, other than provide me with an additional distraction to get through the contractions.

At that point, Marie came back and let me know that I was fully dilated (it was such a relief that all the energy spent so far had been productive), my Obstetrician was on his way, and it was OK for me to start to push if I felt the urge. The urge was definitely there. I just went with my body in the next contraction. We were into Stage 2.

After a couple more contractions Marie started to give me instruction on my breathing and pushing, asking me to hold my breath as I pushed, rather than breathing out. I knew that we were on the downhill run now- the baby was on it’s way, and I wanted that to be sooner rather than later- so I was all set to follow what I was told to do. I felt that I could trust Marie, and was willing to do whatever she suggested. So as each surge hit, I focussed really hard, I pushed my muscles where the sensations told me to, I snatched in fresh breaths quickly, and I let out little strangled moans.

At 12.30 my Obstetrician, Tom, arrived. I can’t remember looking at him through more than a flicker of my eyes, but I remember his reassuring presence. More encouragement and reassurance from someone I trusted. Then next 45 minutes proceeded with me focusing and pushing as each surge hit, still clutching the TENS in my right hand (I’d somehow remembered to ramp it up to a stronger background level, but hadn’t let it go), and gripping S’s hand with my left.

Marie and Tom continued to direct and encourage me, both verbally and physically, moving my feet and legs to help open my pelvis. I remember at one point that they were trying to get my legs into a position that I find really difficult in Yoga- one of those odd directions that you discover you don’t have much flexibility in- but I couldn’t find the energy to tell them. They figured out for themselves where my limit was. Through all this S stood to my left, letting me clutch one hand, and patting or stroking me with his other, reassuring me that I was doing well.

I very much turned inwards through the process, not saying much (and saying it really calmly), and with my eyes shut throughout it all. This was all much to my surprise- I’d expected I was going to be swearing my head off, angry and agitated, but I discovered I didn’t have the energy to be like that at all. As I started to sense each surge arriving, I’d let the others know it was coming (S told me afterwards they could see it on the monitor). I also remember complaining with frustration at one stage when it felt like the baby had moved back a mile after one contraction finished, and saying at one point “Gee, it really, really stings down there”, as my perineum struggled to stretch far enough for the baby’s head to make it’s way through. That was just before my Obstetrician alerted me to the fact that I was going to tear, so he was going to give me an episiotomy. A quick local anaesthetic and short snip later, we were ready for the next push.

I’m not sure how many more contractions it took- not many. S told me afterwards that the head had been visible for a long time, and was amazing because it was so crumpled and folded as it waited to make its way out. But at last, the burning, stinging of the stretching was over, and the midwife was urging me to sit up and look down- “It’s a boy” S said- excitedly laughing and crying. It was surreal, looking down- seeing this purply looking baby, wriggling, crying with a big wide mouth, eyes puffy and scrunched closed. As they lifted him onto my belly I was amazed (amongst many other feelings) at how beautiful and perfect and cute he looked. I’d been trying to prepare myself for the sight of a strange, ugly, scrawny creature, but he was perfect and beautiful.

The following minutes are now a blur. S calmly and happily cut the cord (instead of being flaked out in a seat on the other side of the room as he’d half expected he’d be). Our baby was wrapped and lifted to rest on my chest. I had an injection of Oxytocin, the placenta was delivered with an easy push or two and stitches were sewn. I saw tears in S’s eyes. Tom asked us if we had a name- I looked at S and he nodded yes, we could use my favorite name (we had a very short list with two boy’s names, and an agreement that we’d see what he looked like and decide then).

Then there was the weighing and measuring, APGAR testing, swaddling, holding and photo opportunities (We have a photo of me looking awful and Tom looking happy and fresh as a daisy) before an attempt to feed (he wasn’t really up to latching on, but had a good shot at it). I felt a mixture of delight, amazement and overwhelming exhaustion. My physical energy was entirely spent. I weakly sipped on a sport drink (I had been sipping water through the process) as I rested on the bed, marveling at what I’d just done, knowing I couldn’t have done it without the support of wonderful people, and feeling a tingle of anticipation for the adventures and experiences lying ahead.