It's OK. We all struggle sometimes.

Today's Blog is probably a little more self indulgent than normal; less about Barney and more about me - Mum, Mummy, Sam.

Since Barney had his boots reduced to part time wear (YES, it did really happen for him!!), I guess I've had more time to look back and reflect on what has happened to him, to us all really, since he arrived in the world, and even before. A whirlwind of hospital appointments, adjustments, routines, pain, dressings, upset, joy, wonderment and life. Getting up every morning and facing the day with a smile, a cup of tea and a plan of action (who am I kidding...a half asleep smile, a lukewarm cup of tea half drunk and a vague idea of what playgroup is on that day); each and every day having a new challenge.

For me, it all started at our 20 week scan when we were told that Baby Bump had Talipes. It was a shock, of course it was, but in the grand scheme of things it wasn't the worst thing we could've been told. I don't know if that was what triggered it but, shortly after the scan, I was told I had antenatal depression. Me? No. I'm bubbly, lively, always on the go, smiley. There must be something else wrong with me. I refused to believe it and I couldn't get my head around why I was feeling so low. I've never, ever felt like that before. I woke up every morning, groaning that another day had started. I didn't want to leave the house, preferring the security of the sofa and the constant, groundhog day routine of the Cbeebies programmes. I couldn't understand why I wasn't happier with the beautiful life growing inside of me, each kick being a little reminder that soon I would be responsible for two.

I loved my bump with all my being, honestly I did, but the feeling that I wasn't good enough for him never left me. And that, coupled with the relentless guilt that I wasn't doing enough for Poppy, my 2 year old, meant I was slowly becoming a bit of a wreck. But did I let anyone see? Nope. Did I reach out for help? Nope. Did I accept that I was suffering? Nope. Maybe it was pride, or stubbornness, I couldn't tell you. But I suffered in relevant silence, laughing off the diagnosis, making jokes to friends about it. Jason, my partner, knew but how do you help someone that doesn't accept they need help? He listened to me when I felt ok to talk and held me when I sobbed my heart out at 4am and that was all he really could do. I was in a black hole and desperately craved a way to get out. I just didn't know how.

Now, I'm not saying all this for sympathy. Because even now, I can sometimes feel I'm heading back to that place. But would I say I'm depressed? Not at all. Do I think I was depressed? Probably not. I've seen depression, seen the heartache and the shell of the person it leaves in it's wake. Did I worry the health professionals? Yes. Did I worry those who loved me? Yes. In all honestly, I just think it was simply a case of me not coping. I struggled before and I most definitely struggled after the birth of Barney, if I'm being honest, I still struggle. But isn't that just motherhood??

I have days when I feel I am not enough for my children, when Poppy has watched TV all day just so I can catch up with the mountain of washing up and clothes washing. I have days when I only remember to brush my hair and my teeth at around 3pm. I feel guilt in the pit of my stomach every evening as I think of all the missed moments that day, conversations I didn't have with Poppy, playtimes I failed to engage with. Sometimes we survive off crisps and smoothies (it's fruit right?!) and taking the bins out is classed as getting fresh air. And I feel like a shit mum all over again and I feel like I'm heading towards that black hole once more. But I'm not a depressed mum, I'm just a struggling mum.

I often look at other mums at playgroup and think 'wow, they've really got their shit together'; mum's with make up, brushed hair, kids in immaculate designer clothes, talks of holidays and day out adventures. Whereas, I'm here talking about the time Poppy decided to have a wee behind the sofa at Las Iguanas, whilst breastfeeding a baby who likes to reveal me like I'm in a Playboy mag and stains on my clothes where I honestly couldn't tell you their origins. And you know what? Those other mum's are not like that everyday. They're having a good day, like I will have maybe tomorrow when everything just 'works'. Tomorrow, they might not feel like leaving the house, their washing up pile might render them to a blubbering mess and the make up bag is left untouched. Because we all struggle, we all have days when we just can't do it. We can't play one more pretend game of 'Paw Patrol' or be asked for the 100th time for an ice lolly before 9am and the idea of getting 3 people dressed in appropriate clothes for leaving the house is an absolute no go.

Maybe all new mums are depressed, maybe all mums are depressed. Maybe the distant memory of a life we once had before children plays a cruel game with us and taunts us of 'another time'. And then a little hand grabs mine, perfect lips are placed on my cheek, eyes far too big for the little head that contains them lock with mine and I realise that this daily struggle is all for them. We can have days on the sofa, just like we can have days covered in glitter and mud and laughter. No matter what I am dealing with in my own head, be it guilt, boredom or tiredness, I'm the best it's going to get for them.

Bad luck kids!

Sam x

Trick or Treat.....how very timely!

Happy Halloween!

(If that's what you're supposed to say on this day. I never have been too sure what Halloween is all about).

So tonight I'm full of nerves and excitement and it's not because of ghouls and ghosts. Tomorrow we find out if Barney is allowed to reduce his Boots and Bar wear down to just 14 hours a day, instead of his current 23. It's been 3 long months of full time wear and I've had November 1st etched in the back of my brain the entire time. And here we are, just one more sleep.

I promised myself that I wouldn't get excited. There's every chance his foot hasn't made enough progress and will need to extend his 23 hour wear. I know, and have known for some time, that this is a real possibility. After the whole blister fiasco (which is still healing for goodness sake!), he had a total of 3 weeks of having the boots on and off throughout the day to change dressings and to let the air get to the wound. He was on the edge of relapse at the end of the 3 weeks and I beat myself up even more than normal.

So now, on the eve of his next consultant meeting, I'm a bit of a wreck! Could I be walking out of the hospital tomorrow with the boots in my handbag and Barney's feet feeling fresh air?? God, I hope so. I've almost convinced myself that life will be easier once he's got them off in the day but I'm kind of forgetting I still have a 5 month old, a toddler and a house to look after. Bad luck! But I'm interested to see how different Barney is. His hour of free time is so full of laughs and smiles and just being a very chilled baby. That's not to say the other 23 hours aren't but every happy, smiley moment is tinged with a frustrated cry or whine.

The weirdest thing for me though is that his visible disability will be gone. Currently everyone that meets Barney is greeted by the site of his brace and this leads to questions and conversations about Clubfoot and his treatment. Without the boots, Barney will look like every other 5 month old. No-one would ever know. I don't know how I feel about it, in all honesty. His casts and boots have defined him. My baby, the one with clubfoot. It structures my day. I'm constantly making sure he's comfy, supported, checking they're on right. They impact on the position I breastfeed, impacts on what he wears and I can't put him on my hip when I carry him. All these extra thoughts that I have to think throughout the day are suddenly taken away from me. Changing his nappy is a doddle when his feet are braced together and I'm actually getting used to my legs looking like I've done 10 rounds with a midget boxer.

Am I going to miss them? Miss who he is with them on?

Ultimately, tomorrow I will find out. Trick or treat seems pretty damn apt right now.

And remember, it's just a bloody foot.

Sam x

A Letter to My Little Clubfooter

Barney.

My blue eyed, beautiful boy. You came into our lives and changed us forever. Our wonderful gang of 3 became an incredible family of 4 and you exploded my heart beyond anything I could have expected.

I had my worries, like any new mum; Do I have enough love for 2? Will I be enough for you? Will your big sister cope? Will I cope? But you carried on growing regardless and, of course, I expanded as my fears started to slip away whilst excitement and love grew as quick as you were growing. Feeling your first kicks, those little butterfly kicks, made my heart melt as I promised to keep you safe. Just me and you.

I had dreams for you before you were even born, you know. No pressure. I don't really care if you're a brain surgeon or a bin man, not really. I dreamt of you succeeding to be just you; the very best version of yourself. Happy, content, proud and passionate. My boy, my precious little guy in the big wide world making his mark no matter how small, but a mark nonetheless. I'm not saying that your diagnosis changed any of that. If anything it made those dreams stronger. A desire burned in me as your protector to make absolutely sure those dreams were yours.

We were told at the 20 week scan that you had Talipes. I had never heard of it before and quite clearly this was written all over my face as the sonographer said 'Clubfoot, your baby has a clubbed foot'. Ok. Clubfoot. That's ok. I'm a bit of a stubborn soul, you'll come to learn this as you grow up, and I was cool as anything listening to how severe your foot was looking. I can take it, tell me everything, I'm a tough cookie.

Only I'm not.

I blamed myself for a very long time. Deep down, I still do.

I'm not special, Barney. Honestly I'm not. I'm not that strong either. I cry. A lot. But I'm yours and you can be damn sure that nothing will ever stop me doing my absolute best for you. I'm not going to lie to you, it's been bloody hard. It's been terrifying, incredible, relentless and tiring. You cry, you scream, you kick to get your boots off, you sometimes sob throughout the night, you tense and you moan but you smile and you grin and you make it all ok. I know you're in pain sometimes, especially with your blisters and sores, and I know you're uncomfortable. But I don't stop until I know you're ok. You sleep next to me each night so I can take the weight of your feet on my belly, comfort you when you wince and cuddle you tight when you need me. I massage your feet every night when you have your hour of freedom and kiss them before they go back into the boots. I revel in watching you splash in the bath with your sister and the pure joy across your face as your legs move independently of each other.

But what you don't see, Barney, is the pride and the admiration I have for you. You have learnt to roll over months before you should even be contemplating such a daring move. You try to crawl and are desperate to sit up unaided. I watch you trying these new skills over and over again and I see your smile when you succeed. You're just you. Despite having a label and despite being restricted both physically and practically, you're just a normal 4 month old baby giving your Mummy the run around. And we're doing ok, me and you. We have our bad days and we have our amazing days. One day you'll protest about your boots and the next you just giggle as I strap you in.

And those dreams are still the same. And you've no reason not to achieve anything your heart desires. You'll walk and you'll run and you'll no doubt stomp as you reach your teenage years. And I'll love every single step, my darling.

After all, it's just a bloody foot.

Mummy xxx

Barney's Casts

The journey that Barney has started is a pretty long one. Lasting around 5 years intensively but with a possible relapse always on the cards. But what I find so fascinating about all of this is that Barney only really had a very dodgy foot for 5 days of his life (I'm allowed to say dodgy, I'm his Mum).

When he was born, despite all my research, it was still a shock to see my perfect baby with a right angled foot. I'm not going to lie, I didn't know if I could touch it or even if I wanted to. I was so scared of hurting him. He looked odd. And it seemed that everyone that checked him over in those first few days were either fixated with it or treated it like the elephant in the room. I felt he became defined by his foot - "oh, this is the baby with Clubfoot".

So, when he was 5 days old, I took him for his first assessment with his physio team and Consultant. The night before, I cried and cried and cried. Although I knew he needed it fixing, I just wasn't ready for it all to start. As long as we were at home, I could pretend everything was ok and life would just carry on as normal. Taking him to the hospital meant no turning back. This was the start of something that would consume the following days, weeks, months and years. I would no longer have a newborn baby but I would have a baby with added needs. I wasn't ready. But I don't think you ever are.

The morning of his first cast, I knew that would be the last time I'd see his foot so bad. It was an odd feeling. I almost felt at a loss. Like I was loosing a part of my baby that made him 'him'. So I made a brash decision to head down to a Paint Your Own place and get his footprints on a ceramic tile so I'd always have a bit of the 'Original Barney'. It was flipping hilarious trying to not only paint a newborn's foot but also one that curls in on itself whilst said newborn is napping!! Thank goodness for my sister and the owner to keep mess to a minimum. Although it took a bit of explaining to the physio team as to why my baby had blue toes!!

And then he was cast. His foot manipulated further round each week and recast until he was 'normal'. The first one was the biggest difference by far. It was incredible what was achieved in just a week. And really, this is thanks to starting so early (despite my reservations). Each Tuesday, we'd wake up at 6am to run a bath and Barney and myself (and more often than not, Poppy) would get in to soak off the cast. This became a bit of an art. It took around 30 minutes to fully soak the plaster for it to be pliable enough to unravel. The first time I tried him in a baby bath with me leaning over and holding him but it was a total disaster and totally chaotic - resulting in me banging his head multiple times on the edge of the bath as I got cramp!! Getting in with him was the best way for me and it meant I could keep him calm and relaxed as I tugged on his leg and freed his little foot. It was a rather messy process and not the easiest thing to do but thankfully Barney loves his baths so took it all in his stride, plus Daddy was never far in case of accidental situations.

As you can see, the casts were full leg casts. They had bobbles on them where each plaster bandage finished so I knew where to start unravelling from. The knee was bent rather severely to stop him slipping out of it and his toes were exposed so I could check his circulation throughout the day.

I decided to write the cast number and dates on his cast just before the bath so I wouldn't forget which one was which! Now, on the 5th cast, it says 'Today is my tetonomy'. This was a procedure Barney had in order to release his tendons at his heel. Although they could bring his foot round to the right position, Barney had no movement in his foot. He couldn't move it up or down. So, he had a tetonomy which is the cutting of his tendons with a scalpel and then setting his foot back in a cast for 3 weeks with his foot bent upwards in order for the tendons to grow back longer. It wasn't as bad as I had imagined. He had his magic cream and a local anesthetic and the whole procedure took around 25 minutes. We had to stay a few hours to ensure his toes were getting enough blood to them and then that was it for 3 weeks (well, we still went back weekly to be checked as he's a fast growing baby!).

Having a baby in a cast wasn't too tricky in terms of care. If anything, he was more robust!! I didn't worry about the kids at playgroups tapping it in wonder or lifting it up shouting "what's this?". There were no issues with feeding positions and a rolled up towel under his knee provided a bit of added comfort at night. The first day of each cast was the trickiest. It changes in temperature as it dries out over the course of the day and this can really upset them. I always made sure Barney was wrapped in a blanket as the cast got colder but it was never too drastic. And, quite honestly, he carried on being a chilled out baby whilst getting the abs of an Adonis with his workout of lifting the cast! But what a job these casts did. Just look at the difference in 9 weeks:

We're so lucky to have the NHS and the medical advances we have nowadays. My baby boy has a life ahead of him that can be filled with sports and running and jumping. And I have to remind myself of this when times get a little hard and I want to stop the pain and frustration, when I want him to just experience the freedom of kicking, when I want him to be able to lie down flat and be comfortable at night. We're doing this for his future. I'm probably asking too much to get a thanks from him when he's older but to see him walk and run will be enough for me.

And anyway, it's just a bloody foot.

Sam x

The Curse of the Blister

First, let me start by saying 'Thank you' to all the kind comments of support we've had since starting this Blog. It's really amazing to know that people are genuinely interested and are even surprised that Clubfoot is even a thing anymore. Just goes to show how incredible the NHS and medical science is.

Well, it's been a tough old week for poor Barney this week. 2 weeks ago I noticed a small patch of redness on his heel which gradually developed into a small blister over the course of a few days. I was desperately trying to stop it getting worse but there's very little you can do other than ensure the boots are perfectly fitted. It seems to go against your better judgement, but in fact the tighter they are the better, as you reduce the amount of movement and friction. But by Wednesday last week it was a proper blister. One that makes you wince just looking at it.

So I took him to his physio who said to ask a pharmacist for a dressing - nothing too bulky but offered some cushioning for comfort. The dressing the pharmacist suggested was Compeed plasters. Great, I thought, soft, cushioned, not too bulky and fairly cheap. But after 24 hours, Barney had managed to dislodge the plaster and, in the process, removed any scab that had formed, leaving a pretty yucky looking heel. As a result, I slightly panicked and put another Compeed plaster on.

Well, what ensued was 48 hours of screaming and tears and pain. I stupidly thought he was protesting against the boots being back on seeing as he'd had 12 hours with them off whilst I was sorting the plaster situation. However, after 2 nights of no sleep and a baby that hadn't eaten or paused for a breath between screams, I decided to take off the plaster to see what was going on.

Oh. My. God.

I cried. Actually balled my eyes out. My poor baby had a hole in his foot down to the bone. You'll be pleased to know I won't be adding a photo, it was just too gruesome!! All I could think of doing was taking him down to A&E to see a nurse pronto. What was incredible was the fact that despite his foot was bleeding and obviously in pain, as soon as the boots and plaster came off, I had the biggest smile and giggle from our little SuperStar. In all honesty, the staff at the hospital were horrified. Clearly babies don't get blisters so it was a bit of an odd one for them to work out the best course of action.

Which actually got me thinking. Without the physio's or Barney's consultant, I was the expert. Suddenly I was in hospital being asked questions and being asked to make decisions based on his condition as no one else knew anything about Clubfoot and the Ponsetti treatment. You know when you're an adult and you don't really want to be and you kind of wish there was a more 'adulty' adult than you?? Well that's how I felt. My little baby, lying on a hospital bed, blood pouring out of his foot, and doctors and nurses looking at me for guidance. No thank you. I think I'll just be curling up into a ball right now.

But I made the decision that I would rather the boots off and let him heal with the possible risk of his foot relapsing. Urgh, mum guilt to the max! How can I let his foot go without a boot? All this hard work and suddenly I'm letting him have nothing on his feet.

I really thought that was the end of it, just wait for it to heal, pop the boots back on and 'hey presto', it's like nothing happened. Well the dressing they put on is called DuoDerm. It's a great dressing as it's incredibly thin and has properties across the entire surface to aid healing. The idea is that the wound fills with fluid to aid the entire process and you leave the dressing on for a week. However, 24 hours later and there was so much fluid, the dressing came off leaving a right mess!

Back to the hospital and, luckily, it was a week day so could be seen by his team. It is now washed and re-dressed and I am armed with sterile scissors and enough dressings to start my own hospital. And now we wait. If it doesn't heal quick enough, there's a chance he'll have to be re-cast again which actually isn't such a bad idea. At least his foot will be where it needs to be and his heel will have time to get better. I'm currently a paranoid wreck though....his foot really does look as though it's turning. But then again, he's done amazingly well to only be 11 weeks old and have a completely different foot already. Maybe I should just chill out. This 'mum' lark is full on. At the end of the day, it's just a bloody foot and he'll get there, we'll make sure he does.

Barney, we're trying our best. I'm sorry you're in pain and I'm sorry you are constantly frustrated. Trust me when I tell you that my heart is feeling your pain, I'm with you every step of the way. But keep giving me those wonderful smiles of yours and I'll keep going as best I can.

The Magic 7th Day

Wow. All I can say is 'Wow'.

I've got my Barney back. From screaming for 5 days solid, to 2 days of constant sleeping, Barney is back to his happy, smiling self. Phew.

How crazy is that? Nothing has changed, the boots are still as tight and his skin is red raw but it's like a switch that has all of a sudden stopped him caring about the pain and frustration going on at his feet. Just goes to show how quickly you can make something 'normal' and routine in a baby's life, his resilience has astounded me and has generally added to the list of what makes babies fascinating. I can finally breathe a little sigh of relief.

**For all those mums and dads yet to embark on this journey, I hope this makes up for the scaremongering previous post!**

So what have I learnt during the first week of full time boots and bar:

1 - I miss the casts. I never thought I'd say it but at one point last week I considered asking if he could be cast for the next 12 weeks to save my sanity. Those weekly casts now seem like a dream.

2 - You'll obsessively watch a small hole. In each boot there is a small hole either side of the heel so you can check that the foot is completely flat and not causing any rubbing. Well, I couldn't stop checking and convincing myself that I could see a gap.

3 - You'll be crap at putting on the boots. There really is an art to getting these damn things on. Not that it's particularly hard to do but there really is a knack in order to not be so 'fingers and thumbs'. It has taken me about 6 days to really grasp what hand should do what in order to get a perfect fit. And I still check the bloody holes!!

4 - I can now officially call myself a sock expert (a socxpert......no?). I've never looked at so many socks in all my life. Socks have always just been socks. Plain black are my normal go to. Maybe a bit jazzy for Poppy. But my word, I can now judge a sock by it's grip, ribbing, material, thickness, stitching and length in under 10 seconds. And, in conclusion, you need a sock that:

• doesn't necessarily have grips because the bottom of the boot is rubber,
• has no ribbing as this will leave marks,
• is a soft material,
• a thickness that you can replicate with every boot change so that you get the same tightness on the strap,
• has no harsh stitching on the inside by the toes (if they do, you can always turn them inside out)
• is long enough to go to the knee so you can turn them over the top of the boot to avoid slipping

Now, on all the support sites, people rave about Primark and Asda socks but personally I find them very thin, too ribbed and have harsh stitching at the toes. But people have had great success with these so I have bought a few pairs as a back up, plus they're really cheap. At the other end of the scale, you have the socks made by the medical provisions company C-Pro, but at £15 for three pairs of socks plus £5 postage, it's a pretty steep cost. So I settled for socks from The Little White Company, £6 for 3 pairs. They're made from terry toweling, incredibly soft and long and fit very well. They're possibly a bit too thick but I'd rather that than too thin. The only thing I will say for certain is that you need more than 3 pairs unless you've got a tumble drier and do a load of washing every single day. So, yes, socks are my new obsession as you can probably tell.

5 - One hour becomes the most magical part of the day. Barney is allowed one hour off each day from wearing his boots and we have decided to do this between 6 and 7pm each night. This allows for him to have a bath with Poppy and also get used to having the boots put back on before bed (seeing as this is what he'll have to do for the next 5 years). Seeing his face as you undo the first buckle is the most amazing sight - you can just see the tension leave his body. That hour goes so incredibly fast but just enjoy it. Tickle those toes, kiss those wonky feet, massage those misshapen calves.

And finally, 6 - I'm not as tough as I thought. This week really broke me. I'm a pretty tough cookie, have been through a lot in my 28 years and always thought I could take on anything that was thrown at me. But seeing your little baby helplessly screaming and sobbing for a constant 5 days really kicks you where it hurts. I didn't eat properly and I barely slept. I felt like the worst mum in the whole entire world because I couldn't get my baby to stop crying, I couldn't take the pain and frustration away from him, I couldn't play with Poppy or read her a book or put her to bed, I fed her crap in and sat her in front of the TV so I could feel slightly in control. I was really shit. I'm very good at looking like 'I've got this' but I really haven't. And I really didn't have 'it' last week. BUT, I'm out at the other end looking back and so what if Poppy ate crap and we all looked like crap? So what that my house got close to contracting MRSA? So what if I wore the same leggings all week (and, yes, they are still my maternity ones) and survived off chocolate chunk shortbread? I did it. I got through it.

So there you go. One week down in full time boots and bar, 11 to go!

'Boots and Bar' may be the end of me

So Barney turned 9 weeks old yesterday and celebrated by spending his 3rd day in his corrective Ponsetti Boots and Bar. This is the stage after being in a full leg cast since he was 5 days old. Now....I know I've not really explained the process he has to go through but I promise to Blog in more detail about the ins and outs. His Boots and Bar (or B&B) were fitted on Tuesday and he basically has to wear them for 23 hours a day for the next 3 months.

Easy, I said. What's 3 months?? It'll fly by.

WRONG.

We're at Day 4 of full time wearing of B&B and I'm not too sure I'll be around to see out the week let alone the 3 months. Wow, it's hard work. Just look at these things....

The poor little guy has screamed since having them fitted, his sleep has been affected and he is a shadow of the happy, contented little baby I had. My baby boy is really suffering.

I can't begin to describe just how tight these boots are. It's like I'm torturing him every time I put them on, he looks at me as if to say "Come near me with those boots and I'm leaving you. It's over between us woman. You may have boobs full of milk but quite frankly I'll take formula if it means I can get some distance between us". And he cries and I cry. And I force him into these boots and watch him sob.

But, we are ONLY Day 4 and I've had many mums on support networks telling me it gets better from a week onwards. So only 3 more days to go......ARGH. I need sleep, I need a shower, I need to stretch my back out of it's contorted shape from rocking and carrying for 20 hours a day. Added to this the general day to day needs of a 9 week old baby and a 2 year old toddler - I mean, they need feeding and watering and the like. If it wasn't for CBeebies I may have gone grey or insane or both simultaneously with smoke coming out of my ears.

And don't even mention the fact that his 8 week immunisations were this week too. I really know how to piss off a baby. As I sit here thinking about how awful it's been, and I mean truly awful, he's actually asleep. ASLEEP. Proper sleep in a cot and has been for nearly 2 hours. So does that mean we're seeing the light or does it mean he's just so exhausted from 4 days of crying that he's given up??!!

For any mum's who are yet to get to this stage....I'm so sorry for freaking you out. And any mum's who have been through this, please tell me it gets better? I really hate wishing my little man's life away but November couldn't come quick enough for me right now.

Just to prove it is the boots causing him to be a sad little boy, here's a pic of him having his hour free time yesterday....

Onwards and upwards I'm sure.

Sam x