jemjabella

HiPP Baby Club Aggressive Marketing

I signed up to HiPP Baby Club a while back to vote for a friend's picture in a competition they were holding. When signing up, you're asked to specify details of your children such as how you're feeding them (I specified breastfed), their age, etc.

So, there's me checking my e-mail first thing this morning to find an e-mail from the baby club titled "5 months old - Weaning special". Now, Isabel has only just turned 5 months today. You're not supposed to start weaning until at least 6 months (see NHS no rush to mush page). This is based on studies that show early weaning is damaging to the digestive health of babies. I've already made clear my thoughts on early weaning so I won't go on about it, but I just couldn't believe how bloody blatant this push to early wean was.

It wasn't even subtle about it; there were several misleading lines, including:

6 months is the recommended age to begin (for development reasons you shouldn't leave it any later than this), but some babies may be ready sooner.

and:

Signs to look for
Baby still seems hungry, even after more milk has been given
Showing an interest in your food
Putting toys and objects in their mouth
Able to sit up well with support

For starters, milk (either breast or artificial) is the only source of nutrition a baby needs for the first year of life; food is for fun, to explore tastes and textures. Even hungry babies don't need early weaning because solid food contains less calories! Secondly, there is no "developmental" reason to delay solids, it is in fact recommended by many professionals to delay solids (more so if there's a history of allergies). As for the signs to look for... total tosh! Isabel has been doing those things since under 3 months old, are they suggesting I should have weaned at 12 weeks?!

I tried to unsubscribe to the mail and the web page gave me an error, so I sent them a ranty response and smugly deleted their mail thinking it'd be the last I heard from them.

No such luck. The postie interrogated me at lunch time to give me a bright green cellophane-wrapped package. I could barely hide my excitement! ;) Mind you, it was short-lived. Lo and behold, yet more HiPP weaning crap. Free samples of follow-on and night time formula (don't even get me started on this shit) and a sachet of baby rice. Nowhere on the accompanying letter was it mentioned that the recommendation is to wait until 6 months before weaning. In fact, the wording positively encourages you to start asap: "the perfect start", "Babies love organic goodness" etc.

I can't stand this sort of aggressive marketing, and rest assured that the whole lot went in the bin. I'll start weaning Izz after 6 months, not before, and certainly not on to HiPP products!

Your Stupidity Knows No Bounds

So, clearly being one of these crazy rambling mummy types now it's only logical that I browse a few of those crazy rambling mummy type forums. The first baby-oriented site I joined was babycentre. It's shite; loaded down with adverts and full of total muppets who shouldn't be allowed to breed. However, that aside, there are also some very funny and very intelligent mums on there who entertain me regularly.

Now, out of boredom while feeding Izz I decided to browse a few of the groups I wouldn't normally look at. My "birth club" for starters, which I abandoned shortly after the boobmonster was born because I got sick to death of reading about babies being force-fed hungry baby formula to sleep through, and tales of babies being left to cry. From there, I ended up in the "Early Weaning" board. Bearing in mind that the recommendation is to delay the introduction of solid foods until 6 months (26 weeks), because prior to that food can leak from the digestive system as it's not properly matured, imagine my horror to find:

my daughter is 11 weeks on monday but is acting like she wants more then just milk. [..] i have baby rice and rusks in

and...

my lil boy is 9 weeks been feeding for 2 wks x

and...

my boy was 9lb 7 oz when born is now 10 weeks and 14lb on hungry baby milk. [..] Want to give him some baby rice now before bed so he will sleep.

I just... wow. Words cannot describe how stupid and selfish you have to be to force a child to consume more than they're physically ready for. I'm well aware that they used to suggest weaning at 4 months, but I'm pretty sure the Department of Health didn't increase this just for shits and giggles.

Of course, you mustn't disagree with these women because mums know best!

Adventures in Hospital Land

AKA what a bloody ridiculous week and a half.

First off, my Internet dies and nobody seems to know who's at fault. BT says it's not them (phone line/exchange) and Plus.Net say it's not them and everything is fine at their end. We change cables, test alternate router, etc. End up having to make several calls to Plus.Net who elevate the call and eventually find the problem.

Just as that's mid-way, I start getting abdominal pains... and how am I supposed to diagnose myself with Dr Google without the interwebs? Anyway, cue call to Mum and have her advise me to go to A&E. They tell me I have gallbladder colic, fill me full of paracetamol (they wanted to use pethidine but I refused because I'm breastfeeding) and send me home.

Cue two days of gradually increasing pain, doctors appointments, pee and blood tests before I head back to A&E and get admitted - this was last Thursday (Feb 25th). They're telling me they think I have gallstones floating about somewhere inside and that's causing the problems. Not an issue in itself, but because I'm breastfeeding, they suddenly have lots of problems with finding a solution.

Now, bear in mind that we have big campaigns in the UK to encourage mums to breastfeed. Every NHS maternity ward/baby clinic is plastered in posters lecturing on the goodness of boobie juice, telling us we're doing best by our babes etc... and yet a hospital, full of well-educated medical sorts, can't seem to find their arses when it comes to treating a breastfeeding mum. I was told, point blank by some jobsworth bitch who obviously didn't think I should have taken Isabel with me to A&E, that hospitals were dirty places, the medication too strong and that Izz would have to go on to formula.

I don't particularly enjoy breastfeeding — it's a means to an end — but I cried. How dare this woman, who didn't know me, start making demands of my baby and our feeding. She wasn't the last person though... all of the doctors/surgeons start lecturing me about how Izz would need to go on formula.

I had to fight to be treated with breastfeeding-friendly antibiotics. I had to fight to keep my baby on the ward with me. I had to fight to breastfeed her on demand, whilst nurses and doctors were prodding me every 5 minutes with needles, blood pressure checks, temperature checks, etc.

After x-rays and scans, piss tests, blood tests etc they came to the conclusion that I had a gallstone blocking the bile duct. It was causing the liver to dump bilirubin out into the urine and through my skin, turning me yellow. They wanted to remove the gallbladder and were pushing me to put Izz on formula so that I could have the operation because they insisted that I'd not be able to feed for 48 hours post-op (yet, caesarean mothers can feed straight away?) It was total bollocks.

In they end, they shipped me off to another hospital to have an endoscopy. After fighting with yet another childness staff nurse about how I should be feeding my child ("you must express now") because she assumed the drugs would not be breastfeeding friendly (we had to hand her printed research, which she refused to give back; she ended up calling the pharmacy to confirm we were right) I had 2 gallstones removed. I soon returned to normal colour and, yesterday, I was able to come home.

Throughout this I've had nothing but sarcasm, bullshit and pessimism from a stream of predominantly male doctors/surgeons. I spent 4-5 days worrying about my daughter's digestion, diet etc before we finally got in touch with the hospital maternity department and had our argument and theories backed up by one of the lactation consultants who came to my ward and kicked arse. I am so angry about my experience with a so-called pro-breastfeeding NHS that would have caused any less than stubborn mother to cave and fill her child full of shit.

And on that note... it's time to change her nappy.

Low Iron, Absolutely Gutted

I've had the majority of my antenatal care through the local midwife-led unit. It's a very relaxed atmosphere, a great team of midwives who're all there for you and make you feel like you're the only woman in the world currently having a baby. Clearly that's not the case, but it's nice to be made to feel that comfortable. Because it's a midwife-led unit, they don't have any obstetricians or doctors to oversee labour/birth and consequently, you are only allowed to give birth there if you are considered "low risk".

The nearest obs-led hospital for higher risk pregnancies is much further away, some 40 mins or so by car (if the roads are quiet). It's big, it's very "sterile" and short of branding you, one almost gets the feeling that you couldn't be any more like the member of a herd. In, pop baby, out again. Not only is it very de-personalised, it's also where I went last year so not particularly full of fond memories for me.

Throughout the majority of my pregnancy, despite the early bleeding/etc, I've been classed as low risk and have therefore planned to have sproglet at the midwife-led unit. I've been very relaxed about it all purely because I felt so comfortable with the 'service' provided there. Unfortunately, blood tests at about 20 weeks showed that I was borderline low iron. Because of various guidelines and the risk (albeit low, but risk indeed) of bleeding complications post-birth caused by anaemia, I had to get my iron up to get back into the low risk category and thus "qualify" for the birth I wanted.

I was prescribed iron tablets, but suffered a very bad reaction to them and as such bought myself Spatone, which is apparently naturally iron-rich (it's just water, comes in sachets, you take it with OJ for the vit C benefits). Lots of pregnant women rave about it, and several of the midwives were positive too. I started on the recommended dose and after two further blood tests discovered that it wasn't actually doing anything... that is, my iron level was exactly the same as it had been previously. I upped the dosage (at the recommendation of the midwife) and had another test two weeks ago.

Somehow, despite the higher dosage (and my diet, which mostly seems to consist of cabbage, broccoli and steak at the minute) my iron has actually dropped. As I'm now 39 weeks (so 1 week until my due date) it's too late for me to do any more 'work' on getting my iron up, which means I now have to go to the bigger hospital with the obstetricians on hand.

Although this means very little in the grand scheme of things, it's such a shift mentally I really am struggling now with feeling positive. Absolutely flipping gutted.

The long post that I didn't write last week

I feel I should start this post with a series of finger exercises as I may be here a while. Anyway...

Let's start with the move. We picked up the keys on Friday 9th October. Although there'd been some discussion in the days previous about the place not being ready (it was being used as a holiday let and still contained the original furniture) we expected to see some progress having been made to get it habitable. Uh, no, t'was still full of the owner's stuff.

Arrangements had been made to begin the move with smaller bits on the Friday, with a friend of my mum's helping on the Saturday. This was a fine theory but didn't go to plan and we ended up with 95% of our furniture in the new place (alongside the owner's furniture) by the end of Friday. All that was left at the old place was our bed and the pets... which obviously couldn't be moved until the landlady/whomever had come to collect the old furniture as we didn't want to run the risk of the cats getting out. We spent the weekend living between two places, and I ended up having to take an extra day off work (Monday 12th) to try and get things sorted.

The furniture was finally moved out on that Monday, allowing us to start arranging our stuff and getting the bed/pets over. We didn't finish until near midnight Monday, with me due at work the next morning (36 weeks pregnant, very tired).

I finished work a week earlier than originally planned (due to exhaustion and a very engaged baby's head making it difficult to sit for long periods of time) on Thursday 15th October.

On Saturday 17th October, as we were leaving my mum's, the car died. We had basically driven a few yards up the road when suddenly the engine cut out and we coasted to a stop. Karl checked a few things, poked a couple of relays under the bonnet and the car started again so we proceeded home — followed by my mum just in case. The car made it, parked up outside, we saw my mum off home and then Karl went to start it again and it refused to start. Seemed to be an intermittent relay issue, but Karl did some jiggerypokery and diagnosing with his laptop software and, IIRC, we had no more problems that week.

Saturday just gone, the 24th, we were on our way to my mum's when the car died again. Except this time it wasn't on a little town back road that is rarely used, but coming off a busy roundabout connected to the M54 (busy motorway) approaching a supermarket retail park at around 5ish. Nothing like the sound of rushing motorway traffic/Saturday shoppers to inspire feelings of despair and frustration. This time the car refused to start and we spent a couple of hours at the roadside with collective family members trying to a) diagnose and b) fix the issue long enough to get us somewhere safe. I'd just like to offer my "fuck you"s to the guy at the Vauxhall dealership in Trench, Telford who was of no use whatsoever, but a big thank you to Churchill's breakdown cover who had a man out to us within about 30 minutes.

The car was started and recovered to my mum's down the road where it has been sat most of the week. Final diagnosis is a fucked ECU, which is apparently the computer thingymabob which makes things work. Something to do with that and relays and earthing and switches... or something. If you're interested in that sort of thing you'll have to wait for Karl to blog about it because it means sod all to me.

What really fucked me off about that second breakdown was the fact that I was stood at the side of the road, very visibly pregnant at near-38 weeks, and not one person stopped to ask if we were OK or whether we needed a phone to call for help/etc. Hundreds of cars went past in the time we were there. It's only lucky that a) I had my phone and have been keeping it topped up because I'm not far due, and b) my mum lives so local because otherwise I'd have had to walk half a mile or more to get help, and in my state that's all but impossible.

Anyway, breathe.. breathe... because of the proximity to my due date, we decided pretty much straight away that we'd need to get another car to act as a temporary run around while our main car is off the road (ECU has been sent away for repair today to a fantastic company called Blue Streak Europe, should hear back tomorrow). Karl is restricted to automatic gearboxes due to his license, and we didn't want to spend an absolute fortune with sprog so close and this being a temporary measure. After some primitive searching, we settled on an M-reg auto Astra similar to Karl's old car from a local second hand dealership called Dream Car Sales for £500 plus £60 MOT inc. parts/labour if necessary. (Loving that DW template website based on an AutoTrader special.)

Straight away the guy (whom I assume is the owner) from Dream Car Sales rubbed me up the wrong way (metaphorically speaking) but we were desperate and cheap local autos are few and far between. We gave him £200 deposit on the condition he'd get the car MOTed next day — which he did — while we organised temporary insurance. Got a call back the next day (Tuesday 27th) that it was ready for pick up. It had failed the MOT on exhaust and brake pipes but these had been replaced and a pass cert was issued.

I, even in my absolute ignorance of cars and all things mechanical, have no idea how that car managed to pass an MOT test. For starters, it only goes above 20mph if Karl applies very gentle pressure to the throttle (putting your foot down to pull out of a junction is ... well, it's impossible and suicidal). If you try and go up a hill without a significant run up to build speed the speedometer bottoms out at 10mph. Karl was worried about one of the tyres and, although this is only a temporary solution our safety is paramount, so he took it to a local mechanic and they took the tyre off... it fell apart in the guys hands. There's a massive hole in some rubber tube-y thingy that shouldn't be there, no air filter, and one of the battery terminals is VERY badly corroded. Karl came in 30 minutes ago to tell me that the bloody thing won't even start this afternoon, although I think he's fixed that now.

Simply put, Dream Car Sales of Oakengates, Telford are useless cowboys and sold us what they called "an excellent runner", a car one of them said "he wanted for his daughter but we beat them to it". If we hadn't already been expecting a bit of a banger, I'd be seeking professional advice and making life difficult for Dream Car Sales right about now. As it is I'll have to settle for blogging about them.

So... "tl/dr" summary: I'm now 38w2d pregnant, no imminent signs of labour. We are moved, even though there's plenty of junk still in boxes. We are back on the 'net, thank you BT and PlusNet for your prompt service. My mum has been an absolute marvel with the move and providing transport post-breakdown. The main car is currently off the road although this is, touch wood, very temporary.. oh, and I'll be having an Astra bonfire at some point to get rid of the heap of shit banger we're running around in at the minute. Marshmallows anyone?