The primary source of the baby’s nourishment depends on what a woman eats. So there are various food and beverages which help the baby for growth and development.
A pregnant woman needs protein, calcium,
folic acid, and iron in more amount than she thinks. These help in proper
growth and development of the baby.
Protein is vital during pregnancy as it helps in building essential organs of the baby, which includes the heart and brain. A woman should eat a protein-rich diet and add food materials like poultry, fish, peas, eggs, meat, dried beans, and nuts. You can also opt for protein powder pregnancy kits to get enough protein for the proper growth. Consult a doctor for protein powder and increase the amount of the other food items in your diet. You can also make your protein powder but consult your doctor and then start adding it in your diet with the proper amount.
Calcium helps in developing the baby’s bones and teeth. Many dairy products contain Vitamin D, which helps in strengthening the teeth and bones of the baby. If the pregnant woman doesn’t get enough calcium or if she won’t consume enough calcium, then calcium from her bones is drawn in the development of the baby. Many calcium-rich food items should be added in the diet, which includes calcium-fortified juices and foods, yogurt, milk, cheese, green leafy vegetables as well as salmon with bones.
This time last year we started using cloth nappies. Bee was 8 months old. We had intended to try them very early on, but in the haze of first time parenthood they fell way down the list of priorities, somewhere beneath sleep and personal hygiene. But I wish we had revisited the idea sooner. When we finally took the step we found it far easier than expected. With borrowed nappies and advice from a new friend, not forgetting the local nappy library, we figured out a system that worked for us and Bee.
In celebration of our 1 year, cloth bum anniversary I’ve rounded-up 7 myths about cloth nappies that may be putting you off.
Cloth Nappies are Expensive
Initially, yes, it can feel like quite an outlay. And certainly if you fall victim to the cloth bum addiction that most do, then you can spend quite a few pennies on new designs and patterns. But in the long-term, cloth nappies are cheaper than disposables, especially if you use them for more than one child. It’s definitely worth using a Nappy Library to find the right system for your baby, before you spend money. And of course, looking out for promotions, like Real Nappy Week can get you big savings. It’s also good to remember, that well cared for cloth nappies have a very good resale value.
Cloth Nappies Involve Lots of Work
Admittedly they do take more effort than something you take out of a packet and throw in the bin afterwards. But is it lots of work? Not at all. We do 3-4 nappy washes a week. We’ve developed a system of hanging, drying and stuffing that is the least amount of effort for us. Personally, we believe that the small increase in laundry is tiny in comparison to the benefits of reusable nappies. I’ve actually come to really enjoy stuffing nappies of an evening, whilst catching up on my favourite television.
Cloth Nappies Need Changing More
Disposable nappies are designed to draw moisture away from baby’s bum. To do this as effectively as they do, they are lined with super-absorbant polymers, made with a combination of chemicals like sodium hydrochloride, acrylic acid and chlorine. Research says that trace amounts of these chemicals reach baby’s skin, although claim that the levels are not harmful. Cloth nappies use more natural methods to absorb urine and wick moisture away from the skin, that pose no fraction of worry to a baby’s bottom. Boosted cloth nappies can go a good few hours, and to be honest that’s really enough. Changing a baby’s nappy more often can only be a good thing, I wouldn’t want to sat in cold wee for very long, especially if there were chemicals in the mix too.
Cloth Nappies Keep Bottoms Wet and Cause Rashes
The non-absorbent properties of fleece make it an excellent wicking layer to line cloth nappies with. Urine passes through into the absorbent core but is prevented from sitting next to the baby’s skin. There is no wetness.
Nappy rash is primarily caused by the reaction between poo and wee. There is no evidence to suggest that nappy choice has any effect. They key to preventing nappy rash is regular changing, something that comes with the territory of cloth nappies.
Cloth Nappies are Unhygienic
As parents we come to realise that we all share the same family bugs (eat of each others plates, share ice creams, towels and baths etc) so washing nappies at 40°C is generally enough, with the occasional 60°C every now and again. Nappies used on newborn and ill children should always be washed at 60°C, which is sufficient to rid them of bacteria. We store our used nappies in a lidded bin and wash every other day, so they never really build up a stink, unlike disposables which can be sitting in your outside bin for weeks. The poo scrape or flick does take a little getting used to, especially if you breastfeed, but a good hand-washing afterwards (which you’d do after changing a disposable anyway) is all that is needed.
Cloth Nappies are Not Really Environmental
Cloth nappies pose different environmental challenges to disposable nappies. Disposable nappies end up in landfill, they take hundreds of years to degrade, and their manufacture has a huge impact on the environment. Disposable nappies use three and a half times more energy to make than cloth nappies. Cloth nappies use energy in the cleaning process, but the type of people who chose reusable nappies, tend to also wash laundry in a more environmentally friendly manner – 40°C not 60°C, energy-efficient machines, full loads, and line drying. Users have no control over the environmental impact of disposable nappies, but cloth nappy families can choose more environmental ways to lessen the impact.
Cloth Nappies Make Finding Clothes Harder
As disposable nappies have come more the norm, the design of baby clothes has changed. Less fabric is needed and more slimline designs are created. But there are still plenty of baby clothes that will fit over a cloth bum. Sometimes you have to go up a size, as we do with sleep suits, but generally you simply learn what styles will work, in the same way you know what shapes suit your own body. Roomy trousers and dungarees, tights and wool leggings are always winners. There are also cut for cloth brands, Frugi is my favourite, that are reason enough to use reusable nappies. We’ve also found that vintage baby clothes, from the charity shop or attic, also fit a treat.
We are so glad we switched to cloth nappies. I feel happier knowing that Bee is comfortable, with no chemicals or clammy, non-fabric material next to her skin (I remember those awful maternity pads). I love that we are lessening our impact on the environment, and my bank account loves that we are lessening the impact on our finances. Cloth bums look so cute, and there are so many really lovely nappy designs and patterns. Sometimes, all it takes is the joy of picking out your favourite pattern to brighten up a poo-y day. Sorry
Real Nappy Week runs between 24th – 30th April. Look out for promotions, competitions and discounts across online stores and social media.
Today I had to post a letter. It was a task that should have taken me 15 minutes tops. Head down, quick march, there and back.
It took me an hour.
Just one decision made that difference. I decided to let Bee walk.
I could quite easily have bundled her up in the sling (or buggy), not having to worry about the hassle of shoes, and been there and back in a flash. Maybe I would have chatted to her along the way, maybe I wouldn’t have. But instead I chose to let Bee walk.
Bee held my hand as we walked to the end of our street. She paused at the curb, and carefully navigated stepping off and back up again the other side. We walked past the pelican crossing that usually takes us to the woods. Bee pointed to the red man, button-pressing finger ready. We made sure to walk on all the bumpy pink pavement slabs. But we weren’t going that way today.
A man got into a parked van and started the engine. Bee stopped to look and listen. Along the side of the path Bee found a gully for drainage water. She pulled me towards it and wobbled along, squeezing her feet inside.
An elderly lady and gentleman got off a double decker bus with squeaky brakes and walked arm in arm with their walking sticks towards us. Bee turned to watch as they passed by, smiling at us.
We reached the postbox and I lifted Bee up so she could post the letters. She put them in and out of the hole over and over before letting them go. Then she tried to get them back. Toddler Postbox
Back on the ground, we started our walk home. Bee saw two dogs across the road. She pointed and pointed until they were out of sight.
We happened upon a wonky maintenance slab. I would have walked over it but Bee pulled me back. We played for several minutes. Me on one corner bouncing the slab, Bee on the other, giggling and shrieking.
Eventually a passing ambulance, sirens blaring, distracted Bee and we carried on towards home. Bee found the step next to our corner shop, so we climbed up it and jumped off. Five times.
I pushed open the shop door and Bee stepped inside. She inspected all the magazines and papers on the bottom shelf, before collecting a handful of chocolate bars. She brought them to me. I chose Bee a small Freddo bar and lifted her up to the counter. We paid the shopkeeper and he put the chocolate in a bag and handed it to me. Bee smiled and waved. She took the bag and I opened the door. Bee stepped out and we began the last part of our journey.
Back past the red man and the bumpy pavement, down the hill. Bee found a small square water cover. She placed both her feet on it and bounced. It didn’t move like the wobbly one.
Still swinging her bag we carried on to our street. Bee paused at the curb and carefully stepped off and on again. We found the right garden path and walked up to our door. Knock knock. Up the step, through the door and home.
Sometimes I don’t feel like writing. Sometimes the words in my head become too many, and I lose sight of how to get them out. And other times, the words feel small, insignificant, un-noteworthy. I’ve struggled to write since we moved house. I’ve made excuses, both for myself and to other people, but in truth I’ve not been feeling it.
Before Bee, my passions were all-consuming. I would lose myself within them. Hours would pass and I would give my whole self over to whatever I was doing. Now its much more difficult. There is little space for indulgence. Time is precious. Sleep is always in deficit.
I feel the need to write pressing down on me, tickling my fingertips – but that urgency only makes it worse. I have many things to say, but not always the words. I know what I need. I know what will help.
Sometimes the journey back to writing is windy. I need permission to be late. Permission from myself. To not write. To do the things I need to, that put my head in the right space. Sometimes, fixing something lies far away from where you think. Sometimes, I go in the opposite direction. Because, if I stop focussing on writing as my end goal, I start making space for the words.
Step Back From Social Media
Posting on social media tricks me into feeling like I’ve written. Like eating biscuits for dinner every night. It’s false satisfaction, with no real substance. My block is still there, I’ve not really moved past it. I get drawn in, so very easily. The speed, and the simplicity. Not really thinking, not really reading. Social media sucks away my precious time. It fills my head with comparisons and follower numbers, self-doubt and envy. It makes me want things I don’t need. And while it has its place, its place isn’t in my writing head space.
When I look after myself, my head is clearer. Things look a little brighter and I can see so much further. But I’m usually last on my list of things to do. And it takes a problem to make me realise what I’m missing. It’s still hard. Finding the time and putting myself first don’t come naturally. Especially when it comes to Bee. I miss her when we are apart, my anxiety rockets, so it has to be a very good reason to leave her. And ‘me time’ doesn’t usually make the grade. So, I find other ways. Small things for me, that nurture my soul. A relaxing bath. Drawing, crochet, gardening and photography. An early night or a luxury lie-in. When my cup is full and my head is clear, when my mind has room to wander and wonder, I find the words begin to come.
I need to read. Before Bee, you would always find a dogged-eared paperback in my bag. I devoured books. Fiction, biography, poetry, textbooks – I would lose myself between the pages. Now, I struggle. Sleep steals those precious moments at bedtime, and daytime eyes are fixed on Bee. But I need to read. I need the words. Words more than nursery rhymes and toddler conversations. I need to get lost, to be lifted, to feel them. Because, without the words I have nothing to say. So, I’ve started reading again. A snatched poem between play dough and lunch or a quick chapter whilst Bee naps. A mission to read. Something always in my bag.
Feel, Breathe and Be
To write, I need to be. I need to experience. Have that moment. See the inspiration. When Bee and I rush around from one thing to the next, when we have no time, I don’t see. And if I don’t see, and feel, and breathe the world around me, the moment that I’m in, then I have nothing to write about. A recent writing workshop with the poet and authentic living teacher John Siddique introduced me to two concepts;
The Artist’s Date (The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron)- a planned time for experiencing. An expedition to explore something that sparks whimsy and fires the imagination. An assignment to play.
Heartfulness – listening to our heart as the guiding principle in our search for a truthful life Being heartful opens us up, so we’re not just seeing and thinking, we’re seeing with our heart. If we remove our self, and all our barriers, our hearts will find the words.
And so I write. Slowly at first, but I can feel the gathering momentum.
I wanted to be a breastfeeding mother, but when asked, I’d modestly add, “if I can”.
I wanted an unmedicated water birth, but when the doctors suggested induction, I politely agreed.
I wanted delayed cord clamping, but when no one asked me, I didn’t say.
I thought I’d read enough books. I thought I’d been to all the classes. I thought I was prepared.
But not for a 4 hour labour. Not for syntocinon contractions, nor the heady blur of gas and air. Not for a retained placenta, spinal block and surgery. Nor for being separated. Properly meeting my baby all swaddled and sleeping in the hospital crib.
Tired, hazy, unable to move and in shock. Wheeled up to the ward and told to sleep.
No one told me to feed my baby.
She slept and slept. I watched and watched. Too hot, too wired. In shock.
No one told me to feed my baby.
Phone calls happened, friends came and visited, and she slept and slept. I smiled and smiled.
I was told off for removing my bed socks, told off for still being dehydrated. Not allowed to have my catheter and cannula removed until my urine was clearer. Not allowed out of bed. Unceremoniously washed by the healthcare assistant.
No one told me to feed my baby.
Until I asked and was met with surprise, had I not tried to feed her yet?
Breastfeeding began with hand expression. The tiniest drops of colostrum to rub on her lips, over and over. When finally she made a latch, no one was there to see. In my curtain-walled cubicle, just me and Bee trying to figure it out until morning.
Once at home I fell apart. In shock and overwhelmed, as milk came in and hormones surged, I spiralled out of control. Dehydrated and unable to sleep, fear dragged me through that first week. Terrified of failing this new little person, so long yearned for, so long wanted. Too scared to leave her side, pushing away from her every need.
I’d verse Dan in how to care for Bee – just in case I couldn’t do it, in case I really did shatter into a million pieces. My wholeness held together by spider threads, a ghost from one feed to the next.
Every time she cried my heart would pound. No time to breathe. No room for love.
The internet said, “Stopping breastfeeding eased my postnatal depression.”
Friends moved to formula, “It’s so much easier.”
The health visitor said, “Why not try a bottle here and there?”
The doctor said, “Formula isn’t evil, it really won’t hurt.”
But I had to breastfeed.
It was all I had that made me feel like a mother.
My hospital notes lay on the kitchen table, ferried to weigh-ins and postnatal checks. On one page the scribbled note of a busy midwife, sending a lifeline.
La Leche League.
Driving over the moors at 12 days old, desperate to not be the only one. Just to see another mother breastfeeding. Someone else choosing to feed this way. Not one, but a room full. Mama’s breastfeeding their babies, their toddlers, and children.
A room full of fighters, of warrior women and mighty mamas. All with their breastfeeding journeys, their stories and love to share. A space held for who ever should need it. A place to admit, and a place to build up.
A place I returned to month after month, refuelling my confidence, confirming my instincts.
I watched and listened, I grew. I had this.
Breastfeeding when I hated it.
Breastfeeding all night when I needed to sleep.
Breastfeeding in lay-bys and car parks, on benches and in train stations.
Breastfeeding through “colic”, blocked ducts and thrush.
Breastfeeding alone in a playgroup full of bottles.
Breastfeeding in front of uncomfortable men.
Breastfeeding tiny tears away.
Breastfeeding smiles and milk drunk bliss.
Slowly I noticed my fear less and less.
Until one day, there was enough space for love.
I found it in Bee, where it had always been waiting.
I suffer from anxiety. Sometimes its crippling, but mostly its manageable.
I’ve always been a worrier. Even as a child, I’d fret about homework and house points and even Santa. I worried about my friends, my brothers friends, and whether my teachers liked me. I was the child at a sleepover who cried because they wanted to go home. The perfection I strived for in my art coursework had my parents despairing, as I tore page after page of my work to pieces, and started again. I wasn’t necessarily shy. I enjoyed performing in assemblies, reading in church and even appeared on stage at my local theatre. But that was all practiced and perfected. I struggled with the unknown and the uncontrollable.
Throughout adulthood my anxiety has waxed and waned. Mostly it is an undercurrent, managed with the tools I’ve gathered along the way. Occasionally, it’s caused me real problems – time off work, unable to go out alone, medicated and in therapy. Thankfully, I can count those episodes on one hand.
After giving birth to Baby Bee my anxiety reared its ugly head. She was 3 days old, it was the middle of the night and I had a panic attack. My mind told me I was having a break down, that I’d be taken away, and little Bee would be all alone. I couldn’t see how she could possibly survive without me and the pressure of that was overwhelming. I could barely sleep or eat for the next four days, as I forced down mouthfuls that my instinct told me I needed, to nourish my post-birth, breastfeeding body. Visitors came and went and I smiled through it all. This was supposed to be the most amazing couple of weeks of my life after all.
I saw the doctor, anxious about my anxiety, but she told me it was just the baby blues. That it would pass in a few weeks. Well, it did ease off eventually, but it didn’t disappear with the hormones.
Slowly, as the weeks morphed into months, I was able to reach into my bag of tools again and manage the anxiety I was feeling. The post-birth shock, dehydration, lack of sleep and baby blues had made it impossible before.
The anxiety I experience since becoming a mother has changed. Its focus has shifted. It’s still about the unknown and the uncontrollable. But now, everything I worry about is compounded with the thought of Bee.
My fear of being separated from her.
My fear of dying and leaving her. No longer being there for her. Not being able to comfort her. Missing out on the rest of her life.
It’s even hard writing about it now, as I usually go to great lengths to avoid my triggers. For many months I couldn’t watch or read anything that had someone dying in it. I even struggled spending time with Bee’s grandparents, and avoiding them wasn’t really an option. Thankfully, I’ve learned to find a way through, and I even (albeit by accident) watched a film this week in which a mother died of cancer – and I coped with it.
I practise mindfulness, to live in the present. It doesn’t always work, but nine times out of ten I head my anxiety off before it can take hold.
Be kind to yourself. Don’t add to your anxiety by throwing in negative thoughts about yourself. You are beautiful, you are enough, and you are worth it. Find time to treat yourself. Create space to just be you. Practice relaxation. Or, if like me, you actually find relaxation/meditation anxiety-inducing, then do whatever helps you calm down and slow down. I like to listen to music, take a candle-lit bath or snuggle up on the sofa with a fluffy blanket and a cup of tea. If you practise at being relaxed, it should be easier to call upon the same tools when anxiety strikes.
Sometimes we all need to be looked after. And when the world gets scary, finding sanctuary in the arms of someone who cares is a brilliant medicine. Touch releases the feel-good hormone oxytocin. It makes us feel safe. Anxious thoughts are so often fuelled by feeling alone. Sometimes, being in the company of people who care is enough to get you through.
Anxiety is a physiological response to an imagined threat. It’s our fight or flight response. Sometimes a particular thought, object (think phobias) or situation mistakenly triggers our fight or flight response, making us feel anxious. The next time we encounter that thought, object or situation, our body remembers, and prepares us for action. In anticipation of fight or flight, the body releases cortisol and adrenaline into our system. In turn, they raise blood pressure, increase the heart rate and breathing, slow digestion, and can induce shaking and tunnel vision. The body is getting ready to fight or to run. Breaking the false connection, and teaching the body that your trigger does not warrant the fight or flight response, is a major step in overcoming anxiety.
If anxiety wins out and you find yourself ruminating on worrying thoughts and scenarios, then I find distraction is often I good strategy. Sometimes I can’t reason my way out of a thought, or I’m too wired to calm myself using relaxation. Find what distraction works for you. It depends how your mind works. Watch TV, read a book, exercise. For middle of the night distraction I keep a puzzle book by the side of the bed. It keeps my mind engaged enough that there’s no room for the thoughts I’m trying to avoid.
One of the best ways to combat anxiety is to reconnect with nature. Research has found that being in nature not only makes you feel better emotionally, but reduces heart rate, muscle tension, blood pressure and the production of stress hormones. Nature soothes us, it absorbs us and distracts us. It connects us to the bigger picture and grounds us to the here and now. Spend time outside on a regular basis. Walk on the beach, take up gardening, hike on the moors. And in times of high anxiety don’t forget it as a useful tool. I spent many an evening during Bee’s early months, deep breathing at the bottom of the garden.
For support with anxiety, talk to your doctor, friends and family. There are also many organisations that can help, including: