Pride Angel Journey - Food

With babies, food is simple: it’s just very messy. We did baby-led-weaning which means avoiding spooning mush into them and pretty much letting them feed themselves with whatever we happened to be making for ourselves that meal. They fed themselves, their bibs, their chairs, the table, the floor and anything within a 2-metre radius. Messy.
With toddlers, food is less messy, but it is complicated. As the messiness subsides, the complicatedness increases – mathematically, it is a case of negative correlation. For us, it probably started with a mild unwillingness to try new foods. But other issues arose. Like the problem of foods mixing on the plate or contaminating each other. Porridge must be served flat. VERY flat. Where relevant, food items should be served whole: chopping constituent parts to cool them or prevent them being a choking hazard can be hazardous in itself. Some foods are always edible. Butter, for example, which is best consumed in isolation and in quantity, ideally straight from the packet in large bites. I would consider placing a bet on Willow’s ability, given fifteen minutes to locate (and consume) a raisin in any room. Chips trump anything and the wily toddler having finished his or her own portion in seconds, will develop a range of tactics designed to separate other, more naïve diners from their own share. I’m sure it wasn’t coincidence that a fairly rare occurrence of the word ‘please’ arose in the sentence “Willow, please may I have your chips?’ Willow meanwhile, fearing their imminent loss, rammed all five chips on his plate into his mouth at once. All of this is further complicated by friends and relatives occasionally coming out with ridiculous old classics like “you can’t have any pudding until you’ve eaten your main course”, as if pudding is some sort of reward for making it through the drudgery of savoury food. And amidst the imperious demands of “I want…!” and the horror-stricken cries of “Don’t cut it up…!”, I wonder…messy, then complicated…then calm and straightforward? Somehow I doubt it. Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 10th April 2016

Co-parenting Journey: Boob and chain what they don’t tell you about breastfeeding

After a busy Co-Co-Co-parenting Christmas our then 6 month old is a very busy very opinionated nearly mobile nearly 9 months. As I type there’s a heavy breathing/ panting and clanging noise coming from the dangerous corner of the living room. Yup, where the tv and electricals are. Sigh. She hasn’t napped. Nor has she stilled. She cried at lunch until I made her favourite fruit and yogurt. How did I know that’s what she wanted? Something about a little finger with a frazzled mummy wrapped around it…
Most significantly she WILL NOT take bottle. This is the crisis of the hour. And yet another small but important possibility that no one warns you about. We’d assumed that because she took bottle as a baby we could re-introduce it at any time. Well she’s not having a bar of it and I fear we’ve left it too late now, not least because she likes to have things her way - so be warned prospective Pride Angel parents! Turns out Munchkin was teething. But how do you ever know. A friend pointed out the bulges in her gums, “We had that, her teeth will be through soon.” And sure enough there they were, two widely spaced little top teeth poking through not two days later. She’s recently been referred to as a toddler. Perhaps a little prematurely but that’s how it’s beginning to feel. Her newly conquered milestones seem a lot this month; mobility - a form of crawling but she’s more interested in standing/walking, showing excitement, dancing (a vigorous head shake), first actual tantrum not wanting to go to sleep, pointing to her sippy cup when she wants a drink, longer spells of concentration and engagement at baby classes, more talking, lots of nose-picking, the list goes on. Probably there were long lists at each previous month and perhaps I’ve said it before but we’ve really got a little person on our hands. With this comes the inevitable planning for regaining mummy’s former life. Do I want it back? Or do I want to be with my girl? I keep telling myself it will be good for her to start nursery and learn to look after herself. Best of all there’s no doubt she appears to have the independent self-sufficient spirit that will see her thrive. But… it’s just another transition in the parenting journey. Like every other parent we’re tormenting ourselves with the notion of upsizing. “Let’s move to the country, it’ll be better for the baby!” Really? Isn’t commuting going to be tough enough for the next few years, sprinting, literally, from nursery to work and back. Every minute without her is going to feel like it counts. So for now it’s little steps and a lot of ‘let’s see’. As for co-parenting, we’re wangling a day off work a week per parenting set; our girl will get a daddy day and a mummy day each week. This is a very much hoped for arrangement coming to fruition. Her day with her dad will hopefully provide the benefits of regular one-on-one access - what a treat a whole day just the two of them!

Pride Angel Journey - Digger working mummy!

A burst of excitement inside me. A transporter carrying a tractor! And then I remember that I’m driving to work, alone. A wasted sighting and, quite frankly, a wasted transporter and tractor out on these commuter roads at 7.30am. The proper place for such vehicles is of course en route to toddler group or the park at around 9.30am. Along with the dustbin lorries, diggers and fire engines. Woe betides the heavy goods vehicle which has purposes other than the diversion of my small children.
Ideally, we want them to love nature: to watch entranced as the blue tits make their nest in the bird box; to leave no stone unturned in their quest to differentiate a millipede from a centipede; to roam and trudge and stamp and splodge in mud and puddles and miry earth day after rainy day. But whilst they are undeniably happy out there pottering through woodland, climbing on tree stumps and dragging large sticks around, it is only when the thunderous clumsy rumble of a tractor saws through the tranquillity of the countryside that they respond with the delirious excitement of well…a child in a sweet shop? Perhaps it’s time we changed that old idiom to the child in the digger shop… So, we brush away the ideals, because there are many things where there are small children, like joy and chaos and mess and fun – but ideals? No, never. It’s time to embrace the digger love: on hearing the familiar grumble in street, we dash to the bedroom window every Tuesday at 7am to watch the emptying of the wheelie bins. We tell stories of broken cars and transporters driving around mouths in an effort to get teeth brushed. And we take pleasure in the mile after mile of 50mph roadworks on the M62, knowing that there’s a good chance we might catch sight of “digger working, Mummy!” Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 10th March 2016

Pride Angel Journey - Christmas in Toddlerdom

Luna shakes broken crumbs out of the hollow Christmas tree chocolate on to her plate. “I’m shaking the seeds out.” This is a two-and-a-half-year-old who has eaten a lot more fruit than chocolate. I briefly ponder the idea of planting a chocolate seed and waiting for the tree to grow and fruit. Just briefly though: there’s not much time for pondering with two toddlers loose near a Christmas tree.
Usually it’s just the baubles they go for, or the lights, but I did have to peel half a dozen pine needles off Luna’s tongue on Christmas Day evening; apparently hunger returns relatively quickly after a three-course roast dinner, and hunger coupled with tiredness led not for the first time to eating plants rather than asking for food.
Willow meanwhile, at eighteen months old, spent Christmas Day using his new catchphrase every time a wrapped present appeared: “what’s in there?!” If the wrapping happened to be relatively quick and easy to remove, he would stay the course, but more often than not by the time his question could be answered, he was engaged in using a remote control as a phone, pilfering someone’s keys or hunting for long-lost raisins under furniture.
I have to admit that ‘Jingle Bells’ has really brought on their singing – both can make it right through the chorus if you allow for a sort of mumbly skipping over the awkward line ‘one-horse open sleigh’ and it’s easily taken over ‘Ba Ba Black Sheep’ as the favourite. I have a feeling that by April they’ll have it mastered and we’ll never want to hear any Christmas song ever again.
For both us and the children I think the whole festive period has been a muddle of chaos, bewilderment, excitement and exhaustion. And earlier today I bemoaned the fact that it would likely be years before we could reasonably be part of some sort of adult celebration of New Year.
But lying here in bed at 9pm on New Year’s Eve writing this with a sleeping two-year-old snuggled up against me – a two-year-old who when asked what she wanted for Christmas, replied “mushroom” and whose only wish when she stirred the Christmas pudding was to “eat it”, I know that such innocence is a precious thing and that one day, there’ll be nothing I want more than another Christmas in Toddlerdom.
Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 2nd January 2016

Pride Angel Journey - Extremes

I’ve always been one for extremes: things are black and white, no shades of grey for me. But childhood or parenthood or the place where the two meet is something else.
If you’re looking for opposites, polarisation, antithesis, oxymoron, juxtaposition, then get a small child, or ideally two. You will instantly have enough love, joy and hilarity to last a small village fifty years. Meanwhile any supply you previously had of energy, patience and sanity will immediately vanish without trace.
When they sleep there is the peace of a deserted mountain range, still and reliable and changeless. Until, seconds later they wake with all the noise and chaos of a street market, making imaginative demands like a petulant fairytale king. And then they sleep. And then they wake…
There will be a bountiful supply of mess. Time to clear it up will be measurable in milliseconds. Or in minus hours or minus days…weeks...months…
Because really, the problem is time. If only we could spread this love, joy, hilarity, energy, patience, sanity, sleep, noise, chaos, mess over a lifetime. But what we have is a jumbled few years of extremity and then if we’re careful to preserve them, a lifetime of memories.
Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 10th December 2015

Co-parenting journey - Parenting confidence by the short and curlies

As mentioned in ‘Nine weeks and blooming/ballooning’ the decision to take our three month old to America was obviously a tricky one – would the baby be ok travelling long haul? As it happens, our trip was pretty full on. America is a particular place. Air-con, malls, cars, shops, intimidating food portions, fat people and highways running through the city. Why on earth did I think that was just a stereotype? Combine this realisation with a heat wave, being without my partner for four out of seven days, our trip to the Children’s Hospital and hating Boston, Mummy moi was not a happy bunyana. Boston: B****cks to your paltry ‘history’, give me Europe any day of the week. Ahem…
So spurred on by the online community assuring the ease with which I’d travel with a three month old compared with an 18 month old, not having travelled anywhere with any baby, we packed our newly purchased trunk (big enough for the baby to sleep in if needed – weird criterion for a suitcase but that’s where we’d got to, dib dib). In it I put every item of quite considerable baby gubbins we own, a handful of mummy’s undies and off we went. The breast feeding pillow that by day two I’d decided was the embodiment of my ‘parenting confidence’ even had its own rucksack… Little Miss was an absolute ANGEL on the flight. British Airways were great, fast-tracking us and taking care of us on the flight. My partner’s colleague helped entertain Her Nibs on the daytime flight and through some desperate eye-contact / telepathy she suckled for most of the descent. Phew, big lezzo mummy cried with relief as we stepped off the plane that no mishap or sore ears had occurred. Does the good news end there? Kind of… After a positive start to the holiday with a trip to the baseball, the heatwave and realities of mothering in a foreign, oh and did I mention horrible, city unfolded.
The travel sterilizer failed us big time. It left a residue that I’d refuse and Babes wasn’t having it. The mini-bar + heatwave soured the pumped breastmilk. Oh no. So, like it or lump it we switched from combination feeding to breast only. Thank god Left Breast and Right Breast, two creatures quite different in temperament, were up to it. Heroes, frankly, as any mother’s worst fear is not being able to feed baby. Not that she was very interested in feeding – but I wouldn’t want to feed in extremes of heat / air con either.
Then came the afternoon she vomited bloody mucus. Oh did that strike living fear into Big Brave Travelling Mama. Temporarily becalmed by the level head of my (antithetical) partner and a quick google ‘It’s fine if it only happens once’, I persevered. Baby got through the night. Wishing to please my partner: “Why don’t you go to the aquarium?” we crossed town. Quick nappy change before we went in and lo and behold, clear mucus in her nappy. Already on edge from the vomit, BBTM dashed back across town like a bat out of hell running down old women in shopping malls and mentally composing conversations with airlines, insurance companies and emergency services to GET US HOME. Teary tantrum later (again my other half was calmer about the symptoms) we got to Boston Children’s Hospital.
Little One at this point perks up (to be fair, she never actually seemed off kilter in her behaviour). Attendant Doctor declares in his loudest have-a-nice-day-American: “What’s up, this baby looks like a million bucks??” And, actually, she did. She smiled through her examination, she even smiled having her temperature taken rectally. And there was my resplendently gorgeous, and as it turns out, tough, little girl boggling on the examination table without a care in the world and loving the attention. So with her vitals checked and all-clear our holiday continued.
Still very much on edge, I was thrilled to leave Boston behind in our all-American hire car. As a much needed respite we stayed with family friends next. Baby woke from her car journey to five children all clamouring to be in her face. Again, she smiled and took it in her stride. Most of the visit was spent with our ‘supermom’ friend telling me what a ‘first time mom’ I was being. Fine, I can take it. But it doesn’t exactly take the angst away. Without our little break in a real home (replete with baby weighing scales to reassure me that she was actually getting some milk) I wouldn’t have coped with New York. It did at least, have something about it as a place. A very lucky, wonderful Airbnb apartment made for an almost pleasurable stay; but boy is the Empire State building a scary place at dusk with the world and his dog up there and a baby in a sling. Every disaster scenario under the sun coursed through my mind.
Thoroughly exhausted in every respect we returned on the red eye flight. The lady next to us liked the look of Baby so much I concluded she actually wanted to eat her; still, they were supportive of our parenting needs and I ceased resenting them for booking a bulkhead seat and NOT having a baby. Back in Blighty, met by my dad, the sibilant rasp of whispered discussions betwixt two fraught parents abated; my rubbed raw nerves relaxed as we took in the now temperate climate… Ah home. An hour later my partner was asleep face down on the living room floor, and my heart-rate was almost normal. I glanced at my little travelling Babes, two weeks’ older than when we’d left. Calmly propped up on the sofa like a pig in poo she had her TV face on and was watching the Davis Cup. What a laid back girl she’d been in the face of my meltdown.
I’d fundamentally misconceived the question. It wasn’t a case of ‘would the baby handle the trip’, it was whether I would handle the trip. I hung in there, but boy did it test my mettle. I certainly wouldn’t do it again for America.

Are you a lesbian mum? Did you egg share with your partner?

ARE YOU A LESBIAN MOTHER?
DID YOU AND YOUR PARTNER CONCEIVE THROUGH IVF?
DID YOU SHARE YOUR EGG WITH YOUR PARTNER, WHO CARRIED YOUR PREGNANCY?
IF YOU CONCEIVED THROUGH INTRA-PARTNER EGG SHARING (ALSO KNOWN AS RECIPROCAL IVF), YOUR CHILD IS OVER THE AGE OF ONE AND YOU ARE WILLING TO SHARE YOUR EXPERIENCES OF BECOMING A MOTHER, I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU!
My name is Laura Bottomley and I am doing this research project as part of my doctorate in Counselling Psychology at City University. It is supervised by Dr Deborah Rafalin, Registered Psychologist and Senior Lecturer (D.Rafalin@city.ac.uk).
Participating in this research will involve meeting with me for approximately 1½ – 2 hours, to share and discuss your experiences of becoming a mother. I hope that sharing your story in a safe and supportive environment will be a positive experience for you, that allows your voice to be heard and you the space to think about and process this important period in your life. I further hope that your willingness to share your experiences will benefit other women who conceive their families in this way, and that this knowledge that you are helping others will be rewarding for you. I hope that through sharing your story and illuminating some of the challenges and joys these women may face, their friends, families and the services and professionals involved during this period will be better informed and therefore better able to support them and meet their needs.
Please know that your participation in the research will be kept confidential and no information that could lead to the identification of any individual will be disclosed in any reports on the research or to any other party.
If you are interested in sharing your story, or would like to find out more, please give me a call/text on 07951 893 443, or email me at: laura.bottomley.1@city.ac.uk
This study has been reviewed by, and received ethics clearance through the City University London Psychology Department Research Ethics Committee, City University London [Ref: PSYETH (P/L) 15/16 04].
If you would like to complain about any aspect of the study, please contact the Secretary to the University’s Senate Research Ethics Committee on 020 7040 3040 or via email: Anna.Ramberg.1@city.ac.uk
Read more about lesbian parenting options at www.prideangel.com

Co-parenting journey - 9 weeks and blooming/ballooning

My not-so-little little girl (the Jewish mum in me swells with pride at the burgeoning double chin and tummy) is doing just fine. So much so that we’re electing to take her to the ‘states on a family trip. Bolstered by the online blog posts claiming that it’s easier to travel with a 2-3 month old than an 18 month old I’m taking heart and going for it – my next blog may mention the results!
My partner and I have agreed I should ‘modify’ my expectations for how much I’ll get to see and do. In our household this means lower them. After all, if I can’t get out of the house until beyond lunchtime in a sweat of stress at home, why should it be any different abroad? I’ve never been the U.S., am a born explorer and used to the freedom of pounding streets and crannies unencumbered. Much as I have now physically achieved lifting the baby, nappy bag, two parts of the heavy pram up three flights of stairs at a time (just one of many rites of passage for any mother worth her salt), it isn’t quite my idea of a fun time so the trip should be an interesting one. I need to realise the extent of my travel restrictions for the next 5 years. Wouldn’t a routine help? The mere word sends shivers down the spine…..
Much as my little sweetheart is a very good baby by all accounts, let’s be clear: showering, brushing my teeth and getting fully dressed in a day is still a victory. From 6-8 weeks the likes of Gina Ford start carping about routines and structure for the baby. My partner is all for this. But it falls down at the point of being me, 24/7 Mummy, who has to deliver it.
One fateful Monday my partner worked from home to oversee our first attempt at a routine. More implied than overt we both knew it wouldn’t happen left to me alone. One hour to feed and change, one to play and a 1.5 hour nap from waking. Not so hard, huh? Of course Little Beans had other ideas and not only did it fail but it took with it the previous few days’ of almost-routine behaviour, taking us on a completely new trajectory of hourly waking from 4am onwards. Most unforeseen.
By 7am I was comatose and my partner chucked her at my nipple in bed so she could go to work; I blocked out the pain of the resulting shallow bed-latch position with sleep. So, turnips to routines! Though I admit we could have tried it for more than 24 hours and would be happy to hear from people who have got it to work (and how!). Wearing a wristwatch might help but frankly, but it just ain’t me.
Along the rocky road of early parenthood we’ve often disagreed. This is no surprise - we’re behaving exactly to ‘type’ (of which we are opposites) and it can get frustrating. The bottom line is that when she does cry we both get stressed. And with that stress comes blame. And that word again, routine. It just won’t go away.
Talking to the other NCT girls’ their partners defer to them as ‘the birth mummy’, taking full account of every hormone and thought of cataclysm that intractably joins birth mummy and baby. It makes for more harmonious households by the sounds of things – certainly much less DISCUSSION at every juncture. “How much bottle shall we give her?”, “How many layers should she wear?”, “She’s too hot”, “No, she’s hungry!” No such luck in a single sex household. How many lesbians does it take to change a lightbulb? God, please, not two!
Anecdotally and unsurprisingly, our girl wears a lot of baby blue. In fact she bloomin’ well rocks pale grey and pale blue. Lucky she is secure in her gender identity as her main wardrobe is cast-offs from her older future boyfriend (platonic – we’re not casting aspersions on her sexuality as yet – does four gay parents increase the likelihood of her being a lesbian? Let’s hope so! Heheh…) who at 10 weeks old has hit 8kg / 17lb and exceeded 99.6 percentile. Good work my man, they’ll be re-drawing the scales with all the large baby boys coming into this world of late. And well done my cute as a button little 25th percentile sweetheart.
Article: Two excited mums 28th October 2015

Pride Angel Journey - Newspaper cuttings

October 18, 2015 18:41 by PrideAngelAdmin

Every couple of months we pile into the car and land two hours later (or up to four hours depending on the number of potty, nappy, milky, lost toy, food, unstuck sun-blind, sick stops required) at my parents’ house for a few nights. While the children settle in by strewing around the house handfuls of 1970’s/80’s toys, revived from a third-of-a-century hibernation in the loft, I unpack the case and leaf through the dozen or so newspaper cuttings my mum has left for me on the bedside table. An advertisement for chewable toothbrushes for babies, a piece from the local paper about a girl I went to school with…and an article from The Telegraph earlier this year entitled: ‘Is it time to question the ethics of donor conception’. (Of course for some this would be a fairly clear message about their parents’ feelings on donor conception – I, though, simply saw this as a matter of my mum seeing the phrase ‘donor conception’ and automatically reaching for her scissors).
Well, I’ll be honest, it wasn’t an encouraging read, especially since the negative views stressed were those of donor-conceived children of the past forty years or so. And it made me realise that no matter how hard we try to provide opportunities, role models, how hard we try to get it right, there may still come a day when, for example, we need to listen with love and acknowledgement and acceptance to the remonstrances of a furious or miserable adolescent who wants a dad.
But if any part of me starts to question the ethics of our decision to use donor conception, I just need to look at these two beautiful children – beautiful people and remember that outside of donor conception, they couldn’t exist. They are, as we all are, part of that tiny number, those lucky few, that one in a million and something chance of a particular egg and sperm meeting because chance just happened to mean that both were in a certain place at a certain time while some number stretching to infinity tells of the sperm/egg combinations that did never, can never, will never occur. And as the even more unlikely combination of a lesbian woman’s egg and a heterosexual man’s sperm, a lesbian woman and heterosexual man whose lives in no way overlapped until Pride Angel, chance must surely be on their side...
Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 18th October 2015

Pride Angel Journey - Wearing Pink Pyjamas

In the 70’s when I grew up my mum tells me that for purchasing baby and toddler clothes, there was only really Mothercare. I guess they sold dresses and stuff, but when I look back at old family albums, for the most part I seem to be pottering around (with my pageboy hairstyle) wearing brown or blue dungarees. And when you flick ahead, there he is, my brother wearing the very same clothes two years later.
Now, however, Everywhere sells baby and toddler clothes. And Everywhere is well aware that if you polarise them by gender, as long as enough people have both a boy AND a girl, you can sell double the quantity. Same as for toys.
So it’s pastel with a heavy smattering of pink frills – flowers, butterflies and Peppa Pig. Or primary colours with diggers, tractors, and Thomas the Tank Engine.
Now, within weeks of Luna’s birth we quickly realised he speed at which clothes are outgrown. And whilst after the first year or so, the outgrowing panic settles a little as they stop growing ten centimetres every time you turn your head, having ‘one of each’ wasn’t going to stop us getting a bit more wear out of those clothes.
So Willow wears Luna’s pink sleepsuits, pink inflatable swimming costume and the odd floral t-shirt when the digger ones are in the wash.
It’s not just the money and waste though. Luna’s puddle suit and wellies have lorries and concrete mixers on – her current obsession. ‘Boys’’ dungarees can be more practical for exploring the garden. But a dress is handy when you’re potty learning…
Nevertheless, the pink sleepsuits in particular haven’t gone unnoticed by one or two male family members. I’m not immune to ‘what people think’ and I’m sure as our children get older, they won’t be either. And I understand that people have concerns about lesbian mummies raising boys (for some reason raising girls seems to be less of an issue). It’s true that we do need to take responsibility for making sure that in years to come, Willow knows how to be a man, and I’m aware that as he grows older we need to think about how we can put him in the path of suitable male role models: there is much to being a man, and I know little of it. But I’m fairly sure it has very little to do with the colour of your pyjamas, pink or otherwise.
Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 14th September 2015

Pride Angel Journey - Books and Daddies

August 10, 2015 22:36 by PrideAngelAdmin

I walked into the living room to find my parents reading an old book of mine to two-year-old Luna. There was an awkwardness in the atmosphere. It turned out they’d panicked at the appearance of the main character’s ‘daddy’, but explained they’d managed to handle it by saying it was ‘grandad’. Phew! Still, much as Luna is very clear about what being part of an LGBT family means (looking at the page of ‘Dads’ in the Ahlbergs’ the Baby’s Catalogue: “Does Luna have a Daddy?”, “no, two mummies.”) it would be nice to see our own family structure reflected a little more frequently.
Of course there are some excellent LGBT books for toddlers available: in Newman and Thompson’s Mommy, Mama and Me, the mummies are uncannily like Sal and me in the mothering roles they adopt and Luna is clearly convinced that the story was written about her little life. But you don’t just walk into any old high street book shop and find those books. Not in my experience anyway. Not yet.
In the meantime, we might just have to make a few subtle alterations to some of the stories we already read and have Little Red Riding Hood rescued from the wolf’s belly by the woodcutter the sperm donor and Goldilocks tasting the porridge of Mummy Bear, Mama Bear and Baby Bear.
And if a daddy crops up again somewhere? Well, maybe he’ll be with his boyfriend...
Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 10th August 2015

Pride Angel Journey - Milkies

It started when she was eighteen hours old. And ended when she was thirty hours old: a twelve-hour milky marathon. When I say it was just the start of things to come, I don’t mean it was often as extreme as that, but rather, Luna was always very keen for her milk – breastmilk that is – she never took to a bottle, even of expressed. In those early days when she woke or fussed and fretted, it was all about working out what she wanted…and we worked out gradually that all she really wanted was ‘milky’. So, feeling lucky with our smooth start to breastfeeding and a baby who wanted little else, I settled down with a book while she fed for hours and hours and hours…
Luna is two now – almost 26 months. She’s fast asleep next to me as I type; half an hour ago, I fed her to sleep. In place of the breasts I once had, I have ‘milkies’: the left one is (apparently) green and the right one purple. And these are some of the most common phrases I hear: “Milkies, want milkies.” “Two out. Get two out.” “Change sides. Want other side. Best turn around.”
It seems unthinkable that she will ever want to stop breastfeeding, which is a perturbing thought – but also, of course, not true; friends with older children assure me that it will just gradually not be her favourite thing any more, and then just not be her thing at all, by which point of course she might be around three or four years old.
So what is the huge advantage lesbian parents have over heterosexual parents? An extra pair of breasts and thus, potentially, a second lactating parent. Of course lactation isn’t essential for parenthood at all…but it is a very handy tool if you happen to have it.
It didn’t go down well with the nurse at my local GP practice last week when, asked how old the baby I as breastfeeding was, I answered, “well there’s my two-year-old and also my twelve-month-old – the biological child of my partner.” I’m not sure whether she disapproved of the LGBT family, the extended breastfeeding, or the combination. I don’t really care. I’m just glad that when one of our babies is a bit sleepy, or sad…or thirsty…or just wants mummy cuddles, there’s always plenty of milky to go around.
Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 3rd July 2015
Read more Lesbian parenting blogs at www.prideangel.com

Pride Angel Journey - The Car

“Milkies! MILKIES!” “We can’t while we’re in the car, Luna – we’ll be home soon for Milkies.” “MILKIES!” [sob] “Sorry my little one, not yet.” But there was a time not so long ago when I would have performed car-seat breastfeeding acrobatics. Back then refusing ‘milky’ wasn’t an option. Now, at almost two she’s disappointed, but there’s potential for moving the conversation on, for a while at least. “Look, what’s jangly sheep doing?” “Bouncing! Jangy seep bouncing!” “Uh uh uh uh!” “Oh Willow, you’ve lost all your toys – look here’s kitten…” “Luna kitten, Luna kitten, KITTEN!” “Shall we sing again? Oh the grand old duke of…” “Sun bwind off. Too bwight! TOO BWIGHT! … MILKIES!” When Willow was born people kept referring to some advert on telly where a parent is driving round getting a baby to sleep and every time the car stops at traffic lights, the baby wakes up. “You’ll know about this!” They said. But we didn’t. We had two children under fifteen months: we hadn’t watched telly in…well…fifteen months. And as for that myth of children going to sleep in car seats…? One day I’ll have my front passenger seat back. I’ll sit back and relax and our biggest crisis as we head down the M1 will be a splash of tea escaping from my travel mug as we hit a pothole. Or that we’ve lost our place in the latest Sarah Waters novel on audiobook. But for now, here I am in the middle back seat between two huge, rearward facing Isofix contraptions. I’m partially buried under a mound of crinkly, fluorescent Lamaze creatures all with terrifyingly huge eyes and at least two limbs joined together by a teething bar. I will replace the four sun blinds with suction-lacking suckers around 47 times during this 2-hour journey. I will sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star’ repeatedly for twenty minutes while eyelids flicker and it seems they might just drop off. And I WILL enjoy this chaotic, noisy muddle of a journey, because when I’m back in that front passenger seat, I’ll surely miss it. Article: 15th May 2015 by Lindsey, West Yorkshire

Co-parenting Journe: Seven months pregnant and basking in our glow

Both my wife and I have had unanimously positive reactions to our pregnancy. The only confusion for people who don’t know our relationship background is working out what my wife means when she says “We’re seven months pregnant”. It takes a second or two for people of average intelligence to look her up and down, ascertain that she isn’t pregnant herself, and, if they reach the right conclusion unprompted, think of the possibility that she means her wife. People are getting there with it, they really are. Of course our friends and colleagues already know and are being amazing and kind, asking us how it is all going and grinning knowingly. We’ve had baby equipment donations, gifts from distant colleagues in far flung offices, hugs, smiles and the ultimate compliment, “You’re glowing!” Pregnancy is like joining a special club. It breaks down barriers. People see my football-shaped belly from 100 paces and zone in on me with nuggets of advice, questions (‘When’s it due? Do you know what it is?’), and a general urge to stand a little closer, perhaps touch me, as a fount of life. The best opener I’ve had so far has been “If you need to be induced, go and do reflexology instead – it might make you go into labour.” This was in a cinema. And this morning, kindly encouragement from the milk shop cashier: “Try to push, don’t let them cut you.” I find myself doing it too. Zeroing in on other expectant mothers with the same excited (albeit slightly banal) need to engage: “Ooh that’s a big bump.” Yes, I actually said that to someone. In all, I’ve never spoken to so many kind friendly strangers as since my baby bump has been noticeable. Reactions from animals are much the same; cats snuggle up to my belly. Another literally sprang on to it, kneading, pawing and purring (it was a cat-nip kind of moment). On googling it I didn’t find a concrete link other than ‘they just know’ – clearly it’s such a primordial, instinctive, deeply animal thing to humans and animals alike. I offered my wife the chance to pen some words about how she’s feeling as the ‘un-pregnant parent’. Being a stereotypical scientist, this did not go down too well and as is oft the case, I am left to mine, extract and interpret her thoughts and feelings. All the signs are good; she’s talking and singing to my belly, engaging in the purchasing of baby things. She’s got the room painted and most importantly assists in tricky leaning forward tasks – standing up, stairs, anything to do with feet, socks, shoes and laces. With the aid of her earplugs, she sure isn’t losing sleep. Inevitably the perceptions and reactions of others comes into it. How do our families feel? Well no one, partially estranged or otherwise, has even breathed the old humdinger of biological fact that the baby ‘isn’t hers’. This is great as it has been known to crop up in even the most loving family circles to fly in the face of couples’ obvious focus on their baby for all the reasons it is both of theirs (just sayin). In other situations it’s slighted the sturdiest emotional house of cards in response to same-sex parenting and a collective preoccupation with the baby’s ‘origin’. Thank goodness not in our case, perhaps my greatest fear unrealised, we’re lucky, loved and loving it. On the plus side, being a scientist (of questionable emotional depth), my wife can ever be relied upon for taking the simple, instinctive approach to non-scientific questions. We’re seven months pregnant and our daughter is soon to change our lives forever. Article: Two excited mums to be 9th April 2015 www.prideangel.com

Co-parenting journey - Planning for the unplannable

Pinning down our co-parenting arrangement is proving tricky for me conceptually. Not least because we wrote our statements of intent before we’d even conceived. Five months into the pregnancy, after a few pre-Christmas sick days in which to dip into some co-parenting case law, it’s time to review what we thought we thought back then… it’s all about expectations, don’t you know! All of us have been model co-parents so far - agreeable, co-operative and easy-going – and maybe that’s part of the determination we mummies feel to meet aspirations on all sides. But what happens when the baby comes? We had decided against a formal legal document - the cost of a bespoke solution seemed out of our means and we questioned the usefulness of a (cheaper) template. It may have been legally binding, but perhaps just not meaningful to us without a lot of work – and maybe more money - to tailor it. Feeling that our co-parenting circumstances were highly personal and very unique to us, we opted to agree a parenting statement between us instead. P and G wrote theirs, we agreed their points and made our written response which they then agreed (as mentioned in previous blog). Luckily it revealed shared parenting values and a plenty of consideration that the arrangement would need to ‘evolve’ – really the best we could all have expected, on paper at least. So the next question is ‘how is the first nine months going to work?’ Our baby will need its mummies, the dads will want to see and be with him/her as soon as possible after birth, and we’ll all inevitably fall head over heels in love with our little baby. Just maybe, we’ll no longer feel so relaxed about the evolution of our arrangement. Hmmn, so many questions. And so many possible complications on the winding road ahead. But as each scan brings us closer to our baby – a clue as to just how much we’re going to love it when it finally arrives – I realise that is just the first big test for us all. The first of many many more to come. Getting to the next stage is going to require more talking, thinking and planning (over a dinner of course). Sometimes that might involve saying no, compromise will feature strongly but certainly in the meantime, as we prepare for the birth, it will require the purchase of a sofabed. Perhaps it’s just intangible without baby on the scene… or the pregnancy hormones talking, but now we’ve had a chat about it, trust in our arrangement is the order of the day. And in my lucid moments at least the doubts are giving over to a feeling of optimism - that this thing is really going to work.

Pride Angel Journey - Apprehensions

Most pregnant women and their partners await the birth with at least a little apprehension – and with good reason: my friends alone have provided me with enough childbirth horror stories to last a lifetime – failed epidurals, forceps and the nightmare that is otherwise known as ‘induction’. We weren’t worried about these things. After my long but calm and straightforward labour with little Luna, and after a good few months of reading books on ‘natural’ childbirth, we were confident that our home birth would be a smooth, gentle, pleasant affair. I still had apprehensions though. Firstly, Luna. She would be approximately 13 months at Willow’s birth. She always co-slept with me; she was exclusively breastfed and still fed through the night; she was unused to other people looking after her and prone to separation anxiety. How could I both be a supportive birth partner and give Luna what she needed? And secondly, how could I be a supportive birth partner? When I was giving birth, the midwife had praised Sal’s efforts, suggesting she could be a professional doula. Sal had planned every tiny detail of her forthcoming labour. I meanwhile, was working full time and spending every spare moment with Luna who would cling to me from the moment I stepped through the door. How could I possibly find time to learn the reflexology techniques, memorise the birth mantras and work out which homeopathy remedy should be used when? We inflated the birth pool and had a practice run: all three of us bobbing about in a big hot tub in the steamy, humid living room. Then, 9 days before Sal’s due date, when Luna was exactly 13 months old, after weeks of pushing trolleys and holding hands, she finally walked unaided – she was ready to be big sister. We had arranged for my brother and his partner to come and stay the weekends either side of the due date – Monday 16th June. They would look after Luna. Sal, knowing that the time was right because we had people to care for Luna, would go into labour on one of the two weekends. I thought it would be the second of the two weekends: surely most babies are late? It was Sunday 15th June. “Lins,” Sal said. I opened my eyes. She was talking at normal volume at 7.30am in a room with a sleeping toddler – why would she do that?! “Lins, I think it’s starting!” Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 7th December 2014

Pride Angel Journey - A Little Bump

Six weeks, seven weeks, eight weeks...we waited for the nausea to become a crippling misery of sickness...nine weeks, ten weeks, eleven weeks...still just a vague queasiness...twelve weeks, thirteen weeks, fourteen weeks and we finally accepted with relief (and a little envy on my part) that not all pregnancies involve eleven weeks of retching, vomiting and despair. After the initial bleeding scare, Sally's pregnancy was to be a low maintenance one, and with a eight-month-old baby Luna to look after, this was no bad thing. Fifteen weeks, sixteen weeks, seventeen weeks... Luna though of course, being a baby, was on the high maintenance end of the scale, and required every bit of attention that two mummies could provide. She had developed a strong attraction to all objects small and swallow-hazardy, an uncanny ability to smear yoghurt into into everything within a two-metre radius of the dining table, and a deep love of "milky" - such that I spent hours and hours and hours trapped under a sleepy, sucky bundle of now rather big baby. So Sally might have had an easy time of it, but lost amidst the nappies and lullabies and bootees and board books, she missed out a bit - on the tummy rubs and pampering and excitement of a first pregnancy. And perhaps I - not having had chance to get to know the little bump so well - missed out a bit too. Eighteen weeks, nineteen weeks, twenty weeks...and that little bump that was really starting to show... Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 1st October 2014

Pride Angel at the Alternative Parenting Show 2014

The Alternative Parenting Show had another successful exhibition at the weekend. It provided a one-stop shop, which gave valuable information to same-sex and heterosexual couples and single men and women on how to make the dream of having a family a reality. In today's society families are made up of all different combinations, however this brings the need for fresh information. The show included advice from leading experts in their field on how to navigate through the minefield of having a child. Top areas included legal provisions, surrogacy, fertility, co-parenting, fostering and adoption. The one day event provided people with the opportunity to chat in an informal atmosphere to the experts who could give the answers needed. Pride Angel were delighted to have exhibited and enjoyed being able to answer the many questions asked about starting a family with the help of a known sperm or egg donor. The show was run by event and publishing specialist Square Peg Media.

Pride Angel Journey - Swordfish and a Scan

The good news outweighed the bad news, but it didn't stop us feeling awkward. We'd called at Sainsbury's for a pregnancy test on the way to my brother's house. Perched on the edge of the bathroom we whispered in our excitement as we watched that word appear: Pregnant. The bad news was that my brother and his partner had spent a fortune on swordfish for dinner. We googled it. No, as we thought - no swordfish for pregnant Sal, only a very small amount of swordfish for me; I was still breastfeeding Luna. At the table we awkwardly shifted bits of fish around our plates; the next day, feeling a bit guilty and a bit excitable we told them the news: four weeks pregnant. Ten days later Sal woke me to say she'd had some bleeding. "There was a small clot - I'm afraid I think that was it." She wiped away her tears and we consulted the books. And there we found some hope because she wasn't in pain. She took her first sick day in ten years and, settled herself in bed for a day of worried wondering. The following day at the hospital, while Luna entertained herself with the cubicle curtains, we watched as a tiny heartbeat pulsed contentedly. The heartbeat of a little five-and-a-half-week-old, not-yet-baby-shaped blob, bouncing around in its very spacious-looking uterine home. Article: by Lindsey, West Yorkshire 1st Setember 2014

Pride Angel at Manchester Pride Expo

Manchester Pride Expo Saturday 23rd - Monday 25th August. The Expo is one of the community's favourite places to be during the Big Weekend! Find out about joining a sports group, getting advice about health and wellbeing or enter some competitions with our partners. There are over 40 stalls representing LGBT organisations and supporters right in the heart of the site. Visit Pride Angel at the Expo Thinking about becoming a parent? Looking for a donor or co-parent? Or want to help others by donating sperm or eggs? Come along and talk to Pride Angel, at the Manchester Expo, where they will be happy to talk through your options. Pride Angel is a leading connection website and fertility portal, bringing together donors and recipients throughout UK and worldwide. Members can register for free, create their own personal profile and contact users through our internal messaging system. We have over 35,000 members registered , to include lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and heterosexual. Members are able to search donors, co-parents or recipients by criteria such as hair colour, eye colour, sexuality, the amount of contact if any they wish to have with a child, and whether they wish to be a legal parent or not legally responsible. Fortunately the law has improved within recent years to make legal parenthood much clearer, meaning that a donor can donate to a married or lesbian couple without the worry of being legally or financially responsible. So why not give the gift of life and make someone’s dream of a family become a reality. Creating families with Pride.