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Category Archives: on da road – to parenthood

We stop and glance into the restaurant.
Gone are the days of glancing the menu to make the decision…
Yep, there are other kids… We are good.
We go in.
But wait.
Those kids are SITTING.
WTF? Are they like plastic decoys or something.
It’s too late though, we have shuffled in…
I continue scanning.
Nope, definitely all sitting.
What kind of trick is this??!!
How is it possible that these children are sitting, are they glued to their seats? Is this witchcraft?
For I have Learnt, if sitting even successfully happens in the first place…
That somewhere between “can I take your order” and “Bon appetite” restaurant chairs clearly evolve to grow red hot spikes, like electrified cactuses, the force my band of ferals to raise, possessed, from their seats and start running around, screaming, wailing, lashing manically like a cat in heat…
Never have I had one of these mythical glue chairs I can clearly see scattered throughout this restaurant that enables a child to remain stuck, seated, in one position for the duration of the meal… Foolishly, I look around at the delightfully seated children, and wonder if maybe, just maybe, this time we will get a glue chair.

And thus it was, as my little family shuffled into the cute little alfresco dining, with the perfectly postcard street umbrellas shading the well laid out little tables, and the hanging baskets dripping, raining, with a rainbow of healthy blossoms, on the sunny streets of Brussels after a day of ” enjoying each other’s company on a pleasant family holiday” ( read, trying not to kill each other whilst sending “death eyes” across the room whilst muttering evil curses towards the other under our breath and eventually cracking the utter sh*ts and simply taking off walking a foreign city alone with two wayward ferals and an expanding baby bump whilst his “lordshit” had a nap…)

Now…
Gone are the days of pouring over a menu tantalisingly…
Laughing, joking… Smiling…
Heck… Long gone are the days where conversation is so freely flowing and warm that the menu isn’t even opened before the first eager waiter appears at your table… Causing you to let out that obnoxious laugh of young people in love… With no kids.

No, menu reading today is now an exercise in speed reading. It is a contest to scan the entire volumes of food quicker than humanly possible to admit defeat that no, Vegemite sandwiches are not in offer darling, is there ANYTHING, F’ing anything, that you might eat…
It is now a talented skill to be able to scan the kids section, plus the adults section, plus the drinks, all whilst watching to make sure a little hand has not shot out at the speed of light to grab the flower vase, or salt, or knives, or anything not utterly nailed down and used it in an assault launch on their sibling… Or other diners.
It is trickier than a game of twister, the skill of juggling turning pages of a menu at lightning speed, intercepting any table missiles launched through slow detection of before mentioned hand all whilst hurling your whole body in a “go go gadget” manoeuvre to capture any escaping child via their collars before they disappear entirely.
And then somehow, when the waiter appears, not smiling as he glares at the dishevelled terrors before him and the inevitable “salt art” being created on the nice clean table, you order something that you may or may not have seen on the menu, cosy in the knowledge that neither of the kids will eat any bloody thing you choose for them, your meal will be cold before you get to touch it, if you get to touch it, and despite looking pleadingly, the waiter will still insist on bringing the kids fancy glassware for their juices and steak knives for their meal. Knives god dammit!!?? Does this guy have a death wish! No, for the love of good, don’t give my child the knife! Too late… Which will then become a further assault launch option available to them on the table.

By now… The cactus spikes in the kids seats must be searing hot and radioactive, for both of them are jumping out as if their little arses are on fire from the bites of a million bull ants. Screaming, whinging, carrying on. Extending the table items warfare past each other and now inflicting mass destruction on the tables of surrounding diners.

Our most stern hisses and reprimands falling on deaf ears, drowned out by the raucous giggles as one causes the other to run full tilt into an umbrella stand…
Our yelling gets louder. More insistent… More desperate begging, pleading.
We have past the stage where bribery works…
We are past the point of return.
The food arrives.
It looks delicious.
We salivate in anticipation, like pavlov’s dogs, only to accept that this will be another meal untouched… As one has taken off their shoes and is performing a “punch and Judy style puppet foot play” on the table ( causing some almighty looks of disproval from surrounding diners who clearly did not wish to be entertained by the sight of ten filthy toes whilst eating their dinner) while the other has started crying. That long, low, I am not planning to stop anytime soon, nothing you can do to placate me cry…

I attempt to eat dinner with the screaming banshee thrashing on my lap. A further skill is the ability to pick menu items that can be eaten one handed. Cutlery is an opulent luxury these days, one I have not enjoyed in some time…
While hubby’s dinner turns cold as he has drags the puppeteer up the street for a stern talking to, and likely a deserved butt slapping, out of ear and eye sight of our fellow diners.
They return.
We try to bribe them again. It is to no avail.
We make the theatrical song and dance of how amazing their food looks, and truly it does… We have even managed to select a variety of foods which both have eaten within the last week…
But are met with the defiant cries of “no it’s disgusting” ( where the F did they learn that word?!)
We attempt the oldest parenting tricks in the book – quick eat it before I do or I give it to your brother / sister.
Nope, their resolve is dead fast. Damn it. Stubborn little bastards truly are my children.

And thus, another 60 euros well spent, as we admit defeat, pay for our cold, untouched meals and drag the little terrors out of there, under the disproving eyes of our fellow diners and their picture perfect, glued on children ( seriously, how the F are they doing that?!)

Two steps up the street and cue the tantrum…
Waaaaaaaaaah, ( it sounds like a bomb alarm, diners nearly drop to the floor) passers by jump out of the way higher and farther than Olympic champions…
Waaaaaaaah.
I want to go back.
I want my dinner…
Oh, and my favourite,..
I want ice cream.

No way are you having ice cream.
Ice cream is a special treat, only if you’re good.
Were you good at dinner? “Yes”
WHAT THE ACTUAL F+*^
What do you mean yes? Did you stay sitting “yes” were you quiet? “Yes” did you listen to mummy and daddy? “Yes” did you eat your dinner “yes”
Whaaaaaat? What crazy parallel universe did this kid just spend the last thirty mins in??

The tantrum grows.
We are now full scale meltdown on the grubby dirt, possessed by the devil, arms and legs flailing, demanding ice cream.
Each no is met with a volume increase I wouldn’t have deemed possible.
Walking away results in a rugby tackle at my feet and further display of just how epic a tantrum can be.
I scoop the writhing beast up and fling him over my shoulder like a sack of spuds in a display of my super human strength, inherited as a mother.
Good god this kid weighs a ton. I don’t know how. He doesn’t eat.
He lashes out like a many limbed mythological beast.
I feel my face getting scratched. I wince as a filthy, grubby hand, covered in street dirt and litter is thrust into my mouth, my hair is pulled.
I am now as equally dishevelled as him… But slowly, calmly, I continue walking back to the hotel.
Repeating the same clear directions.
Ice cream is a special treat.
We only get ice cream when we are good.
We were not good at dinner.
I no longer even notice the stares of onlookers as I carry my heavy sack of disobedience home and enjoy a further 15 minutes of the ice cream tantrum.
I admire my core body strength that I am still able to lug him up the four flights of stairs… Although I do ponder what happens as he gets bigger as he is nearing three quarters of my height already… And I do give a moments thought to the growing human inside who just received ( not their first) sibling pummelling…

We fill the bath and toss them in.
Wash off the street dirt,
Drown out their continued moaning.
Discuss calmly the expectations of what being good at dinner looks like.
We ask if they want ice cream tomorrow.
Of course they do.
We tell them we can try again tomorrow and all they need to do is be good.
I swear they laughed.

It is bed time.
I don’t know who is more exhausted. Them or us?
Another fun family day finished with a delightful meal in a most adorable little street side restaurant.. Overlooking the grand beguiling buildings of Brussels.
Roll on tomorrow…

May your food be warm and tasty, wherever this finds you!
Love and hugs world.

 

“Butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths” …

i looked at the poster in the waiting room of that special moment, that bond as gorgeous baby snuggles close to mum, feeding with ease.. then i looked at my screaming, blotchy parasite leaving hickeys on my sore cracked and bleeding nipples. WTF went wrong!?

seriously, how is ANY of this natural??

I, like most new mummies, glowed in the sacred anticipation of breastfeeding. that magic moment between you and bub. That ancient, age old, natural time shared between mother and child. the dream of the happy mother as she sits quietly, calmly, passing her milk, her healing powers, her love into the perfect little bundle, who responds with that heart melting cooo, looking up lovingly, holding her gaze…

the serene-ness, the simplicity, the magic…

the BULLSHIT!

the OMG, who forgot to give my baby the manual, because they sure as hell didnt put this moment into the antenatal class pamphlets…

so I survived labour. A story in itself.

Shattered, broken, confused, overwhelmed, tired, afraid, delirious, ecstatic and lying there, frozen as this strange alien being, whom had just erupted from my very self is placed on my chest… wriggling, he instinctively finds his way to my breasts for that first magical feed… and that’s when it stopped being magic..

now, in those early days, it is so hard to know whats going to happen. no way to anticipate… will you flood rivers of milk, perpetually drowning your baby and ruining yet another shirt… will you struggle to even squeeze out a drop and be forced to go onto the treadmill of milk cookies and motillium and stinky natural herbal remedies…

will day three and the pure hell of the hormones that consume you as your “milk comes in” be the final straw to your sanity or the overjoyful relief?

whatever your journey… lets just establish the facts..

holy crap breast feeding hurts!!!!!

so as i sat there, in those early days, struggling to produce enough milk to even feed an ant… it occurred to me, my small alien, while not in possession of teeth, has gums of steel! who knew it!!! that a little gummy shark could cause such excruciating agony… that even without incisors, my poor, delicate, soft nipple flesh could be unceremoniously torn to shreds, like the half chewed remains of stinky bait on a fishing hook. my baby must in fact be part beast, for the animalistic savaging occuring each feed borders on demonic. i have in fact given birth to a zombie piranha.

and as if having the most delicate skin on your body gnawed and ripped and cracked and bleeding and stinging with a pain that tingles through to your spine and back out the other side isnt bad enough… then there is the medical staff…

keep trying

stop crying

the latch is fine (how the F%^$ is this fine if i am in this much pain!!???)

he has tongue tie, oh no, maybe he doesnt, just try this.. (HOLY CRAP THAT HURTS EVEN MORE)

oh you must have really delicate nipples (ummm, yes? i wasnt aware i needed to tan them like bits of old leather for 18 years preceeding the concept of having a baby)

dont give up.

its ok to bottle feed

its not ok to bottle feed

its ok to express.

dont express it will stop your milk from coming in

and on it went!!!

in those first few days of sleep deprivation as i bawled in untold agony over the bald little head of my demonic piranha as he lovingly stripped away the first few layers of my skin leaving me bleeding and vulnerable to infection i was flooded with an overwhelming barrage of advice and information. i was judged, criticised and made to feel a failure, before i had even begun.

and i was so tired, so overwhelmed, so sore that i didnt have the strength left to fight, to ignore and to hold my head up high and instead i just let it consume me and slipped further and further into the dark abyss of misery with every feed.

how can i ever be a mother when i cant even provide feed for my baby. this most basic natural thing and i cant do it. i am broken. i am worthless.i am a failure…

looking back now, from the other side, i want to take new mummy me’s hand and shake it. shake it for even trying to feed! go me! i am freaking amazing…

i want to hug new mummy me and tell her that it is ok.

that i dont have to put up with that pain.

i want to stand up and SCREAM at the people who pushed me, pulled me, judged me and made me feel like it was something i was doing wrong..

i want to scream at the community health nurse who showed up on my door step every day for two weeks tsk tsk tsking at my poor feeding posture, his poor latch, my lack of milk, my use of shields and the fact i clearly wasnt feeding often enough and how little my piranha was as a result.. i want to scream at her and say GIVE ME A BREAK! i am exhausted, tired, afraid and i am doing my best.

i want to march up to her now with mr off the charts with height and weight and say “breastfeed this you judgmental cow!” how dare you make me feel guilty for doing everything i physically could possibly do

i want to let new mummy me have a break, a nap in those wee small hours and take away the pain and the exhaustion.

i want to take a permanent marker and draw a moustache and devil horns on every perfect baby in every breastfeeding poster and pamphlet in every doctor’s waiting room…

how dare they make us feel bad for trying.

the fact is…

breastfeeding CAN hurt some women.

and for some women it can simply be too hard. AND THATS OK.

for me, my journey…

was feeding every three hours (at 45 mins to 1.5 hours per feed) 24 hours a day around the clock.

it was sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion

it was never wearing a shirt and not wanting visitors or to leave the house

it was all sorts of medication to stimulate milk supply,

it was accepting that to nourish my baby i needed to top up with formula and learning to get over the societal mummy guilt associated with that,

it was hating myself for crying onto my new baby’s beautiful soft head with every feed and accepting that i NEEDED the nipple shields before my nipples suffered irreversible damage and it as accepting that despite the judgements and negative glares that that choice was ok

it was the small victories of a feed without crying, a feed without bleeding, a feed without nipple shields, a positive weight gain on the growth charts,

it was my own personal journey and my own right to feed my baby as was best and healthiest for both he and i.

for some women, feeding does come naturally. it comes on on cue. it looks just like the posters. i congratulate those women… but then they too have to walk the fine line of public scrutiny of when, where, how to feed.

and for some women, feeding doesnt happen at all. and i congratulate those women too. for having the strength to navigate the barrage of society’s critics, to stand up, do what is right for them and at the end of the day be able to say. “screw you, my child is getting fed”

so whatever your journey,

be it the easy or the hard road, the painful or the blissful, whether you breast feed,bottle feed, express,use shields, feed while co sleeping, feed covered up, feed au naturale, go through 75 tubes of lanisoh nipple relief cream, buy your local farmer out of cabbage leaves, leak like a dripping tap, experience the untold agony of mastitis or pose for the perfect breastfeeding pamhlet i say congratulations.

you are AMAZING

you are a mum.

and you are doing whatever it takes to feed your baby, so i therefore know you are a GREAT mum.

keep fighting the good fight.

tell the nay sayers to bugger off.

ignore the annoying night nurse and her pressure filled ways and do what your body tells you to!!!

i wanted to write this blog as a comedic look on the plight of our boobs, but instead i am clearly still carrying the battle scars of being judged, down trodden and made to feel worthless for my first foray into the world of feeding… a second baby, and a successful feeding story later and i still stand by it… it is your body, your story and you are amazing! dont believe the posters.

ignore the advice and be kind to yourself!!!

hugs and cabbage leaves wherever you are!

it's milking time the view from my feeding pillow

omg!

yes yes, you already know you will have to change nappies and of course there is no positive spin to that… but what you dont realise is that from the second you go into labour your entire existence. your every day. now revolves solely around poop…

Change me... Change me NOW!!!

Change me… Change me NOW!!!

BC – before children, I never realised how much of life revolved around poop.
Seriously, from the moment you go into labour poo will become the epicentre of your universe…
Is that a contraction or constipation??!! NO YOU CANT GO TO THE TOILET! PUSHHH!!! ( but I don’t want to poop my pants… And seriously… I just have to go.. Let me go.. Please let me go.) and ta da.. Out baby comes… Delivered amidst the confusion of your bowels and into a world of modern vs traditional cloth vs synthetic nappies.

And so it begins… The importance of poop.
Is baby ok?? I don’t know? What is that disgusting black, sticky bowel evacuation? Is that normal?? Oh god that’s gross??!! That can’t be normal??!! NNNUUURRSSEEE!!!!!! Yup, that’s normal. Oh ok..

Oh my god!!! What is that!!!! It’s yellow cottage cheese!!! That’s not that normal black stuff… NNUUURRRSSSEEEE!!!!! Oh, that’s normal too. Ok.

Is baby feeding ok??
I don’t know! I am new to this? How would I know?! Ah – have they pooped??!! Yes, well then they are feeding…
Is my baby sick?? I don’t know, check their poop
Is baby healthy? I don’t know. Check their poop.
Is the sun passing through Gemini and increasing my psychic ability

What mess?

What mess?

? I don’t know! Check bub’s poop!!!

Seriously, at some point, before you even leave the hospital and go off into the scary real world you will not only be asked ( often) but be expected to know and recite, maybe even describe or categorise your baby’s daily poo diary ( oh and of course.. Have you pooped yet too?! That’s a whole other experience… Best not discuss that one now… )
How often, what colour, what smell, what texture!!?? Hey – that one looks like a butterfly! ( did my baby eat a butterfly?!) oooooh, I see, this one is part of the psychological rorshach ink blot tests! That poo just moved!! It is a living organism!! It’s flubber!!! Seriously! It just sat up and talked to me!! Oh, I am sleep deprived.. Ok, maybe it didn’t then..
Who knew poo could reveal so much!!??
And then when you have ticked all the poo boxes on the nurses chart you are free to go home and the fun really begins…

Oh… So you want to go out?
Has bub pooped yet?
No? You best wait…
Ewwww!!! Yup there it is…
Remove nappy… Oh god that’s gross… Stop wriggling bub.. What’s wrong AAARRRGGHHHHHHH!!!! Poonami!! As a tidal wave of poop comes flowing like an unstoppable force…
Right, there can’t possibly be anything left. Bub, you have pooped more in volume than your entire body.. Let’s get dressed and go…
Aw, aren’t you cute! And look, I even brushed my hair and have fresh clothes on,!!
Oh look, a smile!!! You’re the cutest baby in the whole wide HOLY CRAP!!!!! Poosplosion!!! Eeeeek!!! It’s escaping!!! Omg omg omg!!! What do I do what do I do??? Did you swallow a fire extinguisher kid??!! What the hell!!?? You just painted the wall… Three metres away!!!! How is this even possible.

You made it out??
Well done.
What’s that smell??
Oh god.. Not here!
No, don’t touch it! Get your hands out of it! NOOOOO!!!! Don’t eat it, stop!!, put your hand out of it! Bugger.
It’s ok, I have a nappy bag and a change of clothes.
A change of clothes…
What the hell do you mean you have leaked again???
A pee through??!! Are you freaking kidding me?!
Screw this kid, I am out of spare clothes.
You can now wear this designer outfit I have crafted out of mcdonalds serviettes.

New restaurant opening in town??!! Sweeeeeet! Must to check it out. No baby change table??!! Screw that! I am Eating At our local food court.

Been on hold to centrelink for 45 minutes… The call drops in…. Pppfffft! Oh crap. Now??! Really??!! NOW!!!?? Wwwwaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!!!!! Its ok… I’ve got this. Can’t be that hard right?  I can nestle the phone between shoulder and chin while I change you… Stop squirming. Stays still you screaming, wriggling son of a *^%#\… Oh christ that smells! No, don’t put your hands in the nappy rash cream… Oh bugger… As the phone slips out inevitably landing in the biggest pile of fresh steam it can find. Magnetically drawn to it I am sure…  Hello, hello centrelink… I’ll call you back.

 

Awwww… Look at you all relaxed and smiley in the bath!! OH!!! You are THAT relaxed??!! Don’t eat it!! Don’t eat it!! don’t… Oh god that’s gross!!!

And as they get older the fun just grows along with the size of the output until eventually you hit the stage that I firmly do believe is the reason behind the term “shitfight”. Envisage chimps hurling their faeces at each other in the simplest terms possible and you’re getting close to the mark…
You know this stage… That time when bubs is strong enough to wriggle and roll and wrestle in protest to getting their nappy changed… The time when scratches to your face, eye gouges and kicks to the chest are just another part of your day… And that time when no matter how much brute force you use in pinning your unruly pooper down, they will somehow Houdini their way free, inevitably rolling through the crappiest part of the nappy smearing it on their arms, legs, the change mat and any object within a three km radius… I note, this instance is almost always followed by one of those endearing moments where they reach their little hands out and gently caress your face. whilst their hands are smeared in steaming god forsaken poop…
Yes, that nappy smell is not your imagination nor is it merely the burnt olfactory nerve which will repeat that fragrance all day… No, you do actually have poo smeared on your face, and under your nails.
You just ate lunch with those hands didn’t you… You forgot to wash, didn’t you.

Then there is the toilet training.
Mine haven’t reached that age yet.
I live in fear.

Baby wipes and patience to all!

 

 

 

 

ah, you’re pregnant. congratulations! you have the pregnant “glow”…

aka get me the friggin’ mylanta my heartburn is causing me to become a fire breathing dragon and if you dont turn the f%^$ing air conditioner on right now i swear to god i will incubate the devil himself to come and take you into hell, shortly after he removes your fingernails one by one with a pair of blunt rusty pliers…

 

but seriously, lets look at the journey that leads us to acquire that magical “glow”… and dont get me wrong, i know it’s a freaking hard slog and could soooo easily go wrong. i know there are women out there trying every possible variation of heart wrenching crazy just to get a glimpse of the dream whilst young teenagers seem to just sneeze and say oops… i could go down that tangent. but i wont. that is one road of heartache that requires a more sensitive approach than mine…

instead lets look at the broader path.

you are a woman. more particularly, you are a woman of a certain age… society feels the need to ask the question… sooooooo when are you having babies?

god forbid you are a woman of a certain age in any sort of relationship… or more sinfully, married… society therefore dictates you MUST have kids and of course if you dont, for whatever reason… there must be something seriously, very wrong…

so eventually, you cave… clearly i must have a baby… miracles occur and suddenly there is a second little heart beat echoing your own… awwww… how sweet…

then it’s that slowly growing gorgeous bump, that magical “glow” and all the excitement of setting up that postcard perfect nursery, right??

wroooooong (**bleeeeuuurrghhhh she says as she hocks up the dry cracker she has just eaten into the freshly disinfected toilet bowl for the fifteenth time that day, growing dizzy due to her heightened sense of smell accordingly going bananas at said disinfectant and therefore cracking her skull open as she head butts the toilet bowl in a particularly violent dry wretch that ensues..**)

ok, sure sure, so “morning sickness” isnt a secret…

but lets face it… its more than a quaint little folly that comes on like clockwork and leaves at the 12 week mark…

no… it is that constant on again, off again, could strike anywhere, anytime, all day nausea that prevents any sort of normal daily routines… or worse.. it doesn’t come… which of course means there must be something wrong, right!!?? yes, seriously… in a saddistic twist, the lack of feeling like death warmed up is even more evil than the constant throbbing head and unsaid desire to upchuck anything you have eaten because it of course opens the mind to the very scary, very real, very for the rest of your life “what if” merry go round…

what if something is wrong, what if the baby is sick, what if that champagne toast at last month’s wedding has destroyed the baby’s brain cells… oh god… i think i ate a ham sandwich in 1984, i m sure i have damaged the baby. what if what if what if… and yes folks… the little what if voice that starts as a whisper in those early days gains momentum, gains volume and becomes a screaming unstoppable demon by labour!! and in my experience, only gets angrier, louder and all the more insistent since birth…

so somewhere between omg i can’t eat anything and omg feed me, feed me now!!!! that cute little bump (and it’s accompanying “what if” voice, becomes a screaming, raging, uncontrollable beast… a beast that starts to consume your body like the parasite from the movie “Aliens”… in fact, i am more convinced than ever that that scene where the alien erupts from the chest cavity, oozing goo and in a chorus of gut wrenching screams is in fact just your average labour video…  (why the hell do people video record their labour anyways?? future torture plans perhaps? they want to see what they look like in excruciating pain so as to gauge how they may look at their moment of death?? blackmail material? future contraceptive??  no, i wont go into that debate right now either…)

then there is the waddle, the cankles, the sweating, the profuse sweating, the really gross omg i cant believe i sweated THERE crazy profuse sweating, the need to pee, the effort to go to the toilet only to relieve two drops and need to pee again in another 17 minutes, the no sleeping, the omg i am so tired i may never wake up again need to sleep, the can’t sleep this side, cant sleep that side, oh screw this i just cant get comfy i might go eat something, the oh crap i shouldnt have eaten that its repeating on me, the i have NOTHING to wear, the where are my feet?? seriously, where are they… i havent seen them for weeks… are they still there… the… i better tidy up downstairs – the oh crap, i cant even see downstairs let alone reach it… – ouch! oh crap oh crap oh crap…

yup… of course you’re glowing…

there is no greater journey…

enjoy the ride kids! 😉

 

the glamorous glow just gets better with every passing week...

the glamorous glow just gets better with every passing week…

30 weeks compared

 

so i have had a few mates become first time mums lately. the most exciting of times, highest of highs and all that stuff… and i truly, honestly, genuinely coudnt possibly feel any happier for them… and yet despite this, i find the thing i discuss most with mummies, especially during those “graveyard shift” feeds, isn’t just how rosy and wonderful and complete life is now but how to deal with and accept the new reality that is the end of life as you know it. am i a guru in this stuff? am i an expert? hell no. and my advice, like all others, should be taken with a bloody huge grain of salt… motherhood is a solo journey and you can try all the advice in the world, but at the end of the day, each decision is yours alone, to make based on whats best for you and whats best for your baby… 2 individuals to factor in whose needs and beliefs are different from every other 2 individuals in this world..

what i do have, however, is honesty. and sadly, especially when it comes to the enormously scary world of mummyhood   that is something a lot of us seem to forgo…

so do i have kids? yes

do i love my kids? yes. with every breath that i take i love them even more… and just when i think i couldnt possibly fill with any more pride or love or happiness at their simple achievements they smile at me and somehow that love just swells

but did i always feel like this? hell no.

do i have those crashing moments of utter self doubt? hell yes

do i beat myself up inside on a daily basis over every “wrong” decision i make regarding their welfare? of course i do!

some days do i feel like leaving them on the doorstep of the local church… even for a few hours… just so i can sleep.. or because clearly someone else could look after them better than me or because if someone doesnt take this annoying, crying, insolent delinquent away from me i swear to god i may harm them, which f course means i must clearly be an unfit mum. of course some days i feel like that.

and here is the thing.

EVERY MUM FEELS LIKE THAT

maybe not all the time, hell, maybe not even often… but somewhere, at some point of your mummyhood journey, the beautiful poster of the perfect mummy, smiling at her perfect baby in the ethereal moment of happiness is such utter bullshit it is the biggest slap in the face and makes you feel like you need a one way ticket to the mental home. yes there is love. yes there is happiness… yes there are a zillion photos of baby smiling, sleeping, looking cute, doing all those things that make us swell with pride… but in between those public moments there is he truth. the reality… and sadly, the often unspoken.

do i believe i suffered post natal depression? no, i dont. would i be upset if people think that? no, i wont. i have had friends ride that rollercoaster ride and i do honestly believe them to be among  the most amazing, powerful and honest mothers that i have ever known… but no, i dont think my experience was pnd. i think my experience is normal. is reality. but is the unspoken truth. and that by denying its existence we continue to subject new mums to the self defeating cycle of mumma guilt and fear and anguish and loneliness. by covering up the reality that some days suck. that sometimes you dont feel the glow of love that sometimes you are so freaking tired you swear you cant even remember your own name we subject the next batch of mummies into the void of trying to achieve the unacheivable bliss that the posters portray.

so over the next few blogs… i hope to open your eyes to the other side of mummyhood… the side they dont hang up on the waiting room walls… the side that isnt discussed.

i hope that maybe, somewhere out there, some mummy sitting alone in the dark, crying onto her new born baby’s head in desperation and fear and loneliness and guilt and numbness realises that they are not alone. that what they are feeling is not unusual. that the mummy ride has as many crazy lows as it does dizzying highs…

and why do i think so few women are willing to open up about this thing if, as i suspect, we all experience it??

for a number of reasons…

1- who wants to be judged? really?? and lets face it… from the moment you announce you are pregnant you are public property. everyone has advice and observes your every move. you are judged every day. dont eat this, dont do that… blah blah blah… and if you think it is going to stop when bubs finally arrives?? omg no!! and from the minute they are conceived your baby is your report card. are you a good mum?? well lets base it on that baby of yours… ooooh, she crawled a week later than mine.. you mustnt have been giving her enough tummy time, oooooh, she has milk rash, you must be washing him in the cheap shampoo. babies are the ultimate tool by which we are judged… so of course we dont openly reveal our flaws… we already know we are failing enough without advertising it right?!

2- human survival. seriously. humans are amazing at survival. and how do we do it? we erase the bad memories. we lose a loved one… we grieve and in time we learn to move forward… by erasing the pain of grief and hanging on to the memories of happy times. we end a relationship. we know we did the right thing… but inevitably, at some point, the intensity of our hate and loathing and the pain that led us to make that break subsides and we will at some point ask did i make the right choice. hopefully, we still accept that yes, we made the right choice… but usually the loathing or pain that got us there numbs and decreases in intensity to the point we can no longer remember that moment of the break up… Or tht time you did something embarrassing… Like really really embarrassing. Punch to the guts curl up and die embarrassing… Haven’t you ever noticed a few weeks later you can actually laugh at it… And somehow, a few months later when someone asks you what your most embarrassing moment was you actually have to stop and think. I mean really stop and think… Where did that memory go??. It was soooo painful at the time… How come I can’t recall it now??. we give birth and experience a pain beyond any words in the english language..and yet, in time, the explicit memory of that pain subsides enough that we feel strong enough to go through it again. however you look at it. the human survival mechanism is to erase those negative memories and allow us to hold onto the happy ones.

so do i believe it when my own mum and her peers swear there was no such thing as pnd and that they were so happy to be mothers 100% of the time. no i don’t. i believe they think that’s how they felt. as any of the negative stuff, by now has been washed away, allowing them to bask in the radiant memory of happiness…

an i believe that one day i will be there too…

and that, i believe is the prime reason that mums, especially first timers, are thrown into the deep end of trying to achieve an unreachable reality and experience such uneccesary fear, loathing and mumma guilt. if only we could be more honest and more open about the down times…then maybe fewer of us would feel so alone.

so to my pregnant friends, next time someone tells you to enjoy your sleep before bubs comes, i give you permission to poke them in the eye with a blunt pencil, because no, you are not enjoying your sleep. you feel like a bloated whale and it is freaking uncomfortable and you need to pee every three minutes and it sucks and some alien being, whose very existence scares the crap out of you is pressing on your lungs, ribs, bladder, kidneys…

and my new mummy mates…

you are not alone.

to my old mummy mates, congratulations on coming out the other side

and to my non mummy mates, if by choice or life’s adventure i wish you happiness in coming to know yourself in whatever life throws at you…

we have to stick together girls! 🙂

love and hugs to you all..

and further rants too come (sorry folks) 😉

sleeping like a baby...

sleeping like a baby…

Time has flown again… Whoosh… And here I find myself, Christmas holidays, on a plane to Singapore with a 7 month old asleep in my lap and my 21 month old curled up on daddy…
When did this wayward wanderer, master of misadventure and unbridled free spirit hang up the reins?
Somehow, somewhere, in the last blink of an eye a few years past and I find myself living in this parallel universe… One I never dared dream of, one not even my verbal barrage of words can describe. A life of “normal” of routine of day to day and of utter bliss.
When I look in the mirror at the new “giggle grooves” etched on my face and I warily count the new ” wisdom hig

Cutest when they're asleep!

Cutest when they’re asleep!

hlights” sprouting in my un-dyed, un styled and usually un brushed hair… Some days I scarce recognise this face looking back at me…

In my dreams I still carry my worldly goods, my dreams and my passions in a small rucksack, throwing caution to the wind and climbing every mountain my feet dare bring me to…. And yet, despite my thoroughly nuclear new existence some days I am blown away at how wrong dreams are and how much more amazing, thrilling and awe inspiring the real deal is… Other days I am simply exhausted at chasing after the small folk. Overwhelmed with the tedium or furious at these shackles that tie me, no matter how deep my love for them is….

What a strange binary existence my life is right now… As I forge forward into the new frontiers of family hood yet grapple to hold onto those long lost elements of free and independent me.

A whirlpool of emotion gets stirred up by this constant tug of war as I search to understand and accept my new identity… Emotion amplified by the hormones of childbirth…. Emotions that are larger than words and often much larger than me…

But as always, while this makes the sad times horrific, the happy highs and blissful love I feel for this little family, our triumphs and our home is the greatest tidal wave of overwhelming pride and contentment that this wanderlusty mummy could ever believe existed.

What these next few years have to offer? Who knows?… But I am sure as I start to accept and understand this new existence and new version of “me” that everything will just keep changing, as it always does and somehow… No matter the package it’s dressed in or the new ways it operates… This Laurie seems to ride it out the other side… And still find room for an adventure… In all it’s forms…

Happy travels through life and hugs to you all…
L

So, it’s been a while… Oops, sorry to those poor souls out there who actually endure my regular ramblings…

somewhere between driving 5000km, a train derailment delaying our move in, an expanding bump, a suicidal dog and the birth of the new one, six months managed to slip by! Nuts huh?

so let’s just jump forward to today… And worry about the in between later…

and by today, I mean two days ago…

because that’s when it all started.

spots.

let’s face it… Toddlers get spots, like ALL. THE. TIME!

So when my ( now very busy, very active – yeah, I need to update all of that too) microman was sporting a delightfully spotty bum a few days ago I thought nothing of it!!

He was still as mental as ever and let’s face it, if I wrapped your bum up with pee absorbing freaky chemical filled materials and made you run about in the 35 degree heat and high humidity the fair chance is you would get a case of spotty bot too…

but alas, the spots began to spread… So of course, this morning, as the usual morning pandemonium started to unfold I uncover that spotty bot now encompasses arms, legs, back, face and well… Child in general…

Still active, still loud, still able to produce more poop than your average gastroenterologist would know what to do with… But mysteriously spotty… And most notably… Off his food. Micro no food? Macro problem!

Of course today is day care day… My little sliver of sunshine in a frantic week… Where miss mango gets some much needed mummy time without micro biting her head, gouging her eyes or generally loving her a little too vigorously… A day where mummy gets a chance to see other mummies and hold conversations where she doesn’t have to refer to herself in the third person… So yes… If there are going to be spots…

there will be spots today…

none one the less, my morning started like any other morning.

wake up at ridiculous o clock, feed baby

try to snatch remaining few hours of sleep before onslaught of baby mayhem takes hold…

awake to hollers from micro

wrestle micro to access nappy for morning change.

get deliberately sprayed by milk from milk bottle bribe

discover nappy full of stench, get arm full of stench as micro flips over and nappy flies through the air, landing messy side down on the floor, of course,

wrestle micro back onto his back,

get bitten,

get kicked by foot that got covered in mess during kicking and flailing spree.

bundle micro into the bath tub.

hose down…

try to call out to calm mango who is now screaming for milk, a fresh nappy, attention or just for the heck of it, who knows?

fish wet wriggly micro out of the bathtub and transfer to the baby cage.

Attempt to dry and nappy. Fail.

Abandon mission and go console now hysterically frantic mango… Who sees me and giggles… Bless her.

resume mission to nappy micro.

Discover pee on the floor. Mental note to clean that later…

Wrangle now nappied micro into high chair… All the while being kicked and eye gouged. Recieve yet another scratch to the face and on my nose.

Offer breakfast and duck as it is thrown with surprising strength and accuracy at my head.

console crying baby.

discover that spots have spread. Debate dressing him in long clothes and taking him to day care anyways…

call medical centre. … Doctors all booked out till late next week ( must remember to schedule intention to be sick or injured at least a week in advance…

call alternate medical centre, closed till next week.. ( they’ve all taken holidays!)

call day care to confirm spot policy and be advised that there are cases of hand foot and mouth going around. Advised to take him to hospital for diagnosis.

Panic a little and stress whilst removing toast from hair… Call hospital to see if I should bring him into emergency as advised by day care… Little other choice…

wrestle to get micro out of high chair and into clothing

console screaming, frantic, hungry baby.

bundle two children into car and drive to town…

discover that boob is sticking out of shirt after a frantic breast feed by mango… Tuck it away grateful that discovery was made before arriving at hospital…

realise that i have not brushed my hair or teeth and have a poopy foot print on my shirt and a scratched nose. Shrug it off…

we have made it to emergency, join the queue. It’s going to be a while… And rightly so… With no doctors at all available in town it’s the only option… So of course this is when mango decides she is now ready for her feed. Survey waiting room full of sick, injured,impaled and dodgy looking characters… Decide it is in their and my best interest to take the travelling circus into adjacent, empty waiting room.

bless micro… Because, one must understand… He is a “free range” child… And as such… DOES NOT like being caged or fenced in by anything!!! This includes frequent temper tantrums at being taken to the park and outright meltdowns at the fact out yard has a gate… So looking at his sad, spotty, snotty face as he was clipped in to the pram as I wrestled to feed the mango I knew we were going to be in for a rough one… I tried a toy, I tried a car, I tried the iPad ( all whilst being munched on) but as inevitable as the fall of the Roman Empire, the hissy fit came…. GET ME OUT OF THIS PRAM!!!!! What choice did I have?? So ( somewhat foolishly) I rescued my little micro from his shackles and let him roam free…

at first it was great.

smiles. Giggles.

hospitals are fun places to explore.

he even came back when called… The first two times…

but slowly… As time ticked on more and more… He stopped coming when called… And started discovering that there was more fun in. The ” staff only” rooms…

Abandoning my pram ( and wallet and phone and keys – safety first Laurie!) and my now crying baby in the capsule, I raced ( whilst tucking my boob away, again) into the staff room to retrieve my now giggling micro.

Alarmingly, even in this condition, the staff actually thought I was a dr for a split second!

Retrieved child. Carry him back to pram, kicking and screaming…

at this time, the worlds friendliest cleaner, who had swept the same patch of corridor at least five times whilst I had been sitting there decided I was safe to approach and came to tell me all about her puppy… Oblivious to the fact I was chasing one ( now manic) toddler who had discovered the automatic doors and was laughing like a mad man as he made a dash for the car park and trying to fit now screaming, frantic baby out of capsule and into the bjorn so that I could chase said toddler…

worlds friendliest cleaner then showed me photos of her new puppy, which in fairness, was very cute… And advised me that there was a kiddy section around a further corner. Brilliant. Let’s try it!

a colouring table. Sweet. Better than nothing. I assume when they see my pram, wallet, phone, keys and empty capsule they will realise I haven’t gone home and i won’t miss my turn to see the doctor.

but alas, with a colouring table comes crayons… Tasty, tasty crayons… Crayons that fly like projectile missiles if launched by a 17 month old… So as I bend down to pick up projectile crayons, each time causing baby in bjorn to cry frantically, worlds friendliest cleaner continues to chase me around to show me the puppy photos!

And in the midst of all this… A text. A red texta no less. And if I thought crayons tasted good, textas are like dessert. In less time that it took to say texta it was in the gob and being sucked on by one delighted toddler. As as the amount of drool to ink ratio got out of whack I was now faced with one completely red faced, red mouthed, red shirted toddler laughing like a mad man!!! ( meanwhile, I am still bouncing whilst trying to console crying baby in bjorn!)

with much effort, scoop up micro man to remove texta only then to discover… The little bugger has done a sneaky second poo!!! Not now micro! Seriously, not now!!!

overly friendly cleaner advises me there is a baby change table around the corner. Thank god for a win!!! And then she looks on as I wrestle to hold micro under one arm, whilst trying to stop him swatting at his sisters head, bounce to keep the baby calm and try to get the nappies, wipes etc etc out of the pram…

Head into disabled toilet with change table. Attempt to change micro.

recieve several kicks. Realise that baby strapped to chest is recieving most kicks. Watch helplessly as wriggling toddler falls off change table towards floor and catch like a true acrobat with my foot. ( all whilst still bouncing) conclude that attempt one is a fail.

scoop up micro and assorted change stuff and head back to pram.. ( get giggles from men in waiting room)

grab capsule, throw change gear in capsule and return to change table. Lock toilet door.

place micro down whilst extracting mango to put her into capsule. Micro of course discovers the toilet. Helpless sigh.

pick him up, man handle him and endure the shrieks and screams of the boy who does not want his bottom wiped ( oh and of course it was ENORMOUS and extra stinky!)  eventually win out, bum is changed. Nappy and subsequent poop is on floor. Dammit!

Place him down… Away from said poop… Try to clean up damages. Realise that mango needs changing too. Listen to micro playing in toilet water whilst halfway through nappy change. Accept that this is inevitable and pray he doesn’t fall in.

meanwhile, micro discovers awesome bathroom acoustics and screams and squeals at top volume to enjoy the echo… ( god only knows what the folks I the waiting room thought I  was doing to him. )

attempt hand washing and collection of baby, changing goods and toddler before re entry into the toilet all to the sounds of the bathroom symphony squealy orchestra.

Emerge, slightly frazzled.

place toddler down to get better grip on baby… Look up to see toddler racing out auto doors. Again. Retrieve toddler… Wrestle him back into pram. Screaming and crying now at maximum volume and intensity. The doctor will see me now.

take texta, dirt and most likely poop covered, screaming, crying, snotty child through to consultation room. Doctor is at first freaked out by incredible redness of mouth… Until I explain it is from the texta he ate…

use several wipes to get through the dirt layers to show rash spots on feet…

Phage to take nappy off again to show spotty bot… And consequently go through extreme drama of getting nappy and pants back on… Much to doctors complete bemusement! ( seriously, there was nothing else for it but to laugh) try to hold micro in strangler hold to look in mouth and ears… And don’t even start me on how hard it was to get a temperature.

the conclusion.

viral rash.

not necessarily hand foot and mouth because there are no blisters… But still could be.

And there is NOTHING we can take for it… Just needs to run its course and we just need to be quarantined… Yes, I might get it and yes, most likely, miss cranky, off her food, crying baby is probably miserable because she is coming down with it… The fact that she has a slight fever would support this…

none the less just over two hours after we first arrived… Pack the travelling circus back into the car and head home.

no day care for us today!!! But hey… They good news is, now that it was lunchtime, I got myself a frozen coke and the machine was even working! Wooohoooo!!! Mummy for the win!!!

hoping to be spot free and ready to tackle the world again in no time!!

sorry for the break in writing… Will try to backdate our adventures soon!!!

may your spots be innocuous wherever they may be!!!

hugs!

Always.

L

The now mobile micro man... Now with added cheekiness! ;-)

The now mobile micro man… Now with added cheekiness! 😉

image image

i can’t even successfully grow a plant for more than 2 weeks without killing it… how on earth is it i am growing a human and have just about reached due date!???
what a strange and frightening journey of the mind pregnancy has been…
forget the physical stuff… which in itself is a beyond words amazing testimony to the human body… the mind journey of pregnancy has been a longer, harder, wider, scarier path than i have ever dared walk before… and saddistically, i love it.
so with the impending arrival of bubs… naturally my mind has kicked it up even another notch…
a) does this thing seriously have to come out of me somehow!!?? holy crap. i dont even want to start thinking about that one
b) while it is in me.. thus far, i havent broken it or stuffed it up… really, this baby would be best kept safe on the inside! how long after it comes before they realise i am clearly not mentally fit to be anyone’s “mother” and come rescue this poor baby from growing up with my warped view of the world!?
c) perhaps i have imagined this whole thing. is it actually real?
d) OMG there are soooooooooo many things that could be wrong, have gone wrong or are going to go wrong with this baby, this pregnancy, this birth, this child… and yes, of course my evil twisted mind is visiting ALL of these possibilities, most frequently through the form of dreams (when i am indeed lucky enough to actually sleep)
the mind boggles…
and yet, here i sit… watching the icky cold rain dribbling down outside… and finding it hilarious… that I can’t even feel the cold!!!
this pregnancy caper has stuffed my whole body temperature thing up! god knows i would normally be the first in fluffy socks and a massive jumper… yet i am in one of the 4 remaining dresses that stretches over the barnyard bump.. legs bare… feet bare… blissfully ignorant that i am quite possibly catching pneumonia as i type… but it is ok… my mind is currently to full of what if’s and scattered “baby brain” nonsensical thoughts to actually register this impending health risks…
indeed, while i stop and allow the mind to cast back over these last few months what a crazy few months it has been!
poor husband copped the nesting… and was forced to spend large portions of his holidays needlessly shifting furniture… oops…
this was of course intermittent with the frequent and irrational desire to vaccuum under couches, clan the oven and in essence “lick the floor” clean…
bless the hubby for handling it..
also the poor dog… whose inside “mat” got washed to the extreme point that i may have temporarily given the poor little guys some freakish case of doggy dermatitis… i wonder if he knows what is coming… the neglect that i know awaits him breaks my heart ENTIRELY and of course just adds more for my overstretched and panicked mind to latch onto…
consequently though, we have a semi set up, mismatched, “nursery” ready to go… which i am sure i will rearrange within 5 minutes of coming home with the pumpkin pi anyways!
i have enjoyed the last month or so of extreme alien belly… which is also actually kind of saddistic when you think about it… as it kind of hurts when a little person punches you so hard from the inside that you fear they may actually escape through your belly button..and yet scarily, i found this action the most reassuring of all! but just the concept… of a living creature. INSIDE YOUR STOMACHE…. moving, wiggling punching… i mean, i get squeamish at having worms… and this is a PERSON inside of me!!! if you have not had the experience of pregnancy i just dare you to try to wrap your brain around the fact that there is a living being. an entirely seperate entity with its own free will actually cohabiting under your skin… seriously… could there be any greater mind bender!!???
but with all this alien belly action it turns out though (to no great surprise) my bub has totally got ADHD and these manic episodes of punching the crap out of “mummy” are far more violent and frequent than any of my fellow bump buddies are currently enduring! does anything about me having an active baby surprise me? heck no. but god help us when he/she (hubby still adamantly says he) does finally escape!
mind you.. it is an awesome party trick to be able to sit across the table from someone during a meal and declare “watch this spot” and have them witness first hand the alien within! again.. i challenge you… really allow your brain to mill that situation over just a little too much and see if you don’t drive yourself nutty in the process!
intermittent with all this excitement however is of course my natural and innate tendency to freak the crap out at EVERYTHING… preganancy is such a mind screw anyways but OMG! and everytime i talk myself down there is some new thing to contend with! if there is a way to think of a dramatic problem my mind has done it and then some!
and the last few ob/gyn appointments sure havent helped…
36 weeks – you’re posterior… now.. i know this is normal and totally fine… but panic mode sets in and of course latches on to the obvious meaning behind posterior… AAAAARRRRGGGHHHHHHHH this is going to HURT!!!! (fear of impending pain then dominates the next week’s thoughts) note to the wise… AVOID thinking about the actual child birth. ESPECIALLY while pregnant and if prone to over dramatising and panic attacks… (just saying)
37 weeks (Monday morning) – hmmm… looks like your placenta is starting to fail… we may have to take bubs out sooner than anticipated… wait till FRIDAY (afternoon) to get a scan and we will decide what to do…
now this one is cruel on 2 fronts…
1 – holy crap! i know i want a baby!! but am i actually ready yet!!!??? AAAARRRGGGHHHHH!!!
holy crap holy crap holy crap (this is suddenly all becoming very very real)
2 – WAIT TILL FRIDAY!????? are you flipping kidding me!
tell a fat, crazy, hormonal preggo to hang tight for 5 days while something directly affecting her baby might be actively “failing” inside of her!!! OMG!!!!!
needless to say… i had entirely cracked by Tuesday and took myself down the hospital just to check that bubs was still alive…
and no matter how nutty the midwives think i am.. the sound of that little heart beat going ballistic has been the most calming wonderful noise i have heard this week! and has been what has got me through until today…. 2 hours till i head in for scans…
of course, hubby “wagging” work as often as he could to be here has been a god send too… he is in the middle of a course in which he is not supposed to leave the base.. day or NIGHT and yet i find at my door 3 nights this week one hubby with dinner in one hand and his dirty washing in the other… couldnt love him any more if i tried! this must be hard for him too.. poor guy.
anyways… there is my crazy lady ramblings…
as i count down the hours till i go and get my scan…
so much panic and stress (which let’s face it… is guaranteed to be what has caused ADHD baby kicks for the last few months)
and in a few short hours, MAYBE the whole game will change??
my mind has extended to every possibility and of course i have talked myself into a state of complete irrational anxiety… when in all honesty… i will probably get there, find it has all been a false alarm and be told to go on baking the pi till it is ready to extract itself…
2 more days?
2 more weeks?
who knows?
either way i am totally geared for a panic attack!!!
and worse still… the ongoing naming debate / saga that will only ramp up a level when the arrival becomes even more imminent!
may all be calm in your corners of the world… watch this space i guess as the next chapter unfolds with or without my sanity! 😉
hugs, always.
L
33 - 36 profile
p.s… baby brain appears to have erased my memory on how to ensure images are not inserted sideways… oops…

32 weeks.

How did that happen???

A few months ago (in what now feels like YEARS ago…) I started valiantly blogging all the perks and pitfalls of this whole pregnancy caper… The highs, the lows, my fears, feelings and doubts… a little journal to capture this precious, magical time… Of course, then, because you are supposed to keep it all hush… I did keep it all hush… thinking i”ll jam the airways once we’re public and even inundate the cyber world with weekly blissed out reports of how it is all going…

 

well…. that was 20 weeks ago… this is now…

and have I uploaded this treasury of experience in its entirety? no. have i lifted pen to paper, or finger to keyboard? no.

somehow… in 20 short (long?) weeks i have gone from my physical, emotional recognisable self to a crazy hormonal banshee, with the turning circle of a yak and the complete inability to string a sentence together…let alone sit down still for longer than 2 minutes to actually write one.

 

All kudos to my husband… who married a slender, in control, free spirited independant woman and who now shares the house with an OCD suffering, manic demon lady with a side profile the size of a barn… whom, at any given moment… may order him to relocate furniture for no apparent good reason other than an overwhelming urge that it just has to happen!

(thank you sweetheart for finally fixing the baby room)

 

so what happened???

what happened to the serene, glowing woman, with flawless skin and tear free eyes on the front of the hospital pamphlets and glossy magazines?? what happened i ask you?? LOOK AT ME! clearly i ATE HER!!!! and her lunch… and her dinner…

 

somewhere between “yay we’re pregnant” and today my entire body has been overcome by some alien lifeform who knows no relent.

it has stretched my boobs (not REALLY complaining tooooo much about that – for now) but it has also stretched my tummy, my thighs and most recently, my now suffering rib cage. who knew rib cages could stretch??!! who knew this painful stretch could occur simultaneously whilst being kicked ferociously by some little alien beast now invading my inner body cavity.

i no longer walk…

i know longer glide with the sheer glow of knowing life grows within… no… i distinctly waddle.

 

and once i sit down. that is it.. hire the fork lift to move me or your sofa will be permanently etched with an imprint of my butt cheeks.

 

then there is the tears.

oh my god.

the tears!

tears for happy, tears for sad, tears for scared, tears for tired, tears for hungry, tears for “where does that couch look best!?” tears for hot, tears for cold, tears for thirsty, tears for “why don’t we have any strawberry jam in the house dammit!” there are even tears for tears.

is this some peverse way of the universe preparing me for the barrage of tears this wee little alien will yet inflict upon us once it does emerge forth into our greater stratosphere??!! i cant even figure out why i am crying!!?? how the heck can i look after a helpless, defenseless, noisy, smelly , squishy little being!?

 

somewhere along the way, my zest and sparkle has been consumed by lethargy and a constant desire to sit. where was this in the family planning brochure i ask you!!???

 

then there is the big one…

the awakening thought (at around 28 weeks – or whenever your belly overwhelms the sight of your feet) OMG… this alien has to come out!!! sometime.. in the next 10-ish weeks… i am going to experience unforetold pain… i am going to undergo one of life’s greatest unknown and uncontrollable medical procedures and we don’t even know and cant guarantee the end result! what if i fail!? what if there really is some mutant alien in there… what if it looks like me!!???

why does our brain carry this “what if” capacity far greater than any other innate thought process… because i can assure you… if your “what if” button is highly functional to start with (and let’s face it… name me a woman that isnt good at the what if’s) add crazy lady hormones and multiply by infinity!!!!

 

and what’s weirder???

i wouldnt change a second of it for the world..

despite the ordeal of living with all types of crazy and a body that i am no longer in control of… i find myself staring constantly at this crazy expanding bump… rubbing it, talking to it, dreaming of it… and loving it.

 

8 more weeks!

will i get the energy to write about this momentus build up… capture this “once in a lifetime” period in my world, who knows… but suffice it to say… i am strapped in for the rollercoaster ride of a lifetime…

 

watch this space.

hugs (as always)

L

the miracle of life

 

 

(post dated… written sometime back in july or august)

 

So, it’s been about 3 weeks I have known now… 3 weeks floating around in my own little bubble of knowing, not being able to share!  but subconsciously rubbing my belly and praying that this miracle is real… that it will hold…that we will make the first hurdle of that magic 12 weeks and find that everything is just perfect!

And other than knowing..and not being able to scream it loud… in fairness… not much had changed…

Until now…

Ok.. first there is the positive… the part that hubby likes anyways…

The boobs.

Cant help but notice them.

And can i say… despite the pain that is preventing me sleeping on my belly… i LIKE them…

Nay, i LOVE THEM!!!

God knows i have been a HUGE wonderbra fan for many, many years so it is great to be able to fill out a top on my own for once! Not a bad side effect at all..

And frankly.. if boobage was all i had to worry about i would be one happy camper…

But as i sit here and continue to trawl the web pages in that new pregnancy language, seeking information for what else to expect it dawns on me what’s missing… what’s due… the sickness…

So what is morning sickness???

Well, today i found out…

When out and about, walking my dog… that growing nauseaus feeling that has been giving me the giddies for the last few weeks suddenly took quite the dramamtic turn…

Walk, walk, talk, talk, take jumper off… feel a bit hot, then, from NOWHERE… BLERRRRGH! On the side of the road.

It came like a steam train… and took both me, the dog, the hubby and the poor man walking behind us quite by surprise!

Oh dear god.

Spew-o-rama has begun!

Seriously…. 6 more weeks of this!?

The only solution… i will now be bringing a bucket both to school and work with me!!!!!

Let the fun begin!

 

post dated… this was written around july 10…

Ok…

So tomorrow has been a week since i found out…

And believe me i have already experienced EVERY emotion known to man… and then some!!!!!!

But the hardest thing to deal with!??

Keeping quiet!!!!

Of course i want to shout it from the roof tops…

And yet i also know i cant..

Both hubby and i have decided to keep it quiet till we’re further along…

And what a strange custom this is… yet still it is one i feel compelled to keep!

I don’t even know where it stems from? Yes, there is far greater risk in these early weeks of losing this much wanted baby… but surely, then especially, i would want my friends and family… my support community to be by my side… though god willing we won’t need that!!!!

Yet here i am…

Enjoying the extra sleep of these school holidays (fatigue definitely being one symptom i am experiencing!) and pondering how on earth i can be going back to normal work with this uttermost excitement just growing inside me…

And to make matters worse…

Also with holidays…

Time with friends.

And lets face it.

Mine are the best in the world.

I love them all to pieces and without them i would be lost, empty and half the woman i am today.

So here i am basking in the glow of the love and support my friends give me unconditionally and i have this most awesome news and i have to pretend like i don’t know!!!!! ITS SOOOOOO HARD! I want to tell them

I want to tell them soooooooo bad.

Yet i cant.

12 weeks.

Time flies in every other aspect of my microcosmos…but this i fear will be an eternity!

I cant keep silent forever! I swear! It is bringing me undone! I am sure i have given it away. Rubbed my belly one time too many, refused “forbidden foods and drinks” a little too vehemenently, just said something too off kilter… my friends forgive me please that i didn’t tell you when i saw you today..

And forgive me also if i hide behind other vices… it is my way of dealing with this “deceit” of omission of truth!

Always and ever.

Laurie the secret keeper!

So….

By the time you read this (or, more specifically, I post this)… I’ll be another few weeks down the track from where I am now (July 2012) (and even more significantly… a heck of a lot bigger!)… so I am sure this will all be rather odd and irrelevant… but in keeping with the mysteries surrounding pregnancy I am valiantly trying to keep “mum” about the growing bulge inside my belly… a feat in itself nearly as tricky as acquiring said bump in the first place!

So rewind a touch..

Rewind to where this craziness began… with that fateful conversation that no words can describe. That awkward electric air crackling conversation that goes a little like this…

“so….. when do you think we should start trying?” “I don’t know, when do you think we should start trying?” “I don’t know! I asked you” “ but how should I know”… this banter of course lasts  a good half an hour till an uneasy status quo means I guess we’re trying…

Skip a few months (I’ll spare you the romantic details… but let’s just say PRACTICING is good fun!) and suddenly… the awkward conversation seems eons ago and the trying starts to become a looming and patronising invader who overcomes your every waking thought and your every waking hour…

Teeneagers do it all the time! I see them in their ugg boots strutting their protruding tummies…

“what’s wrong with me?”

And then it starts…

The self hating. The questioning and the downward spiral of despair…

The mental torture of what am I doing wrong!? What’s wrong with me!?

It is truly a dark and scary place…and one I found out keeps many, many women my age held hostage month after month… yes, we can be objective… yes we know rationally that it does take time… that it is a lottery and that you just have to keep trying… you know this objectively. You know this rationally, but each month as the tidal wave of hormones floods sanity and reason with overwhelming   emotional surges, reason is long since gone. And instead, in its place…after each month of “trying” the slap in the face of failure becomes so overwhelming and desperately depressing that you fall into the slump of “I must be broken” “what’s wrong with me” or “it’ll never happen”. It’s a dark, curly, downward spiral and one that many women ride alone. To those trapped in that scary, dark, lonely, self loathing merry go round I plead… break out! You are NOT alone!

But then at last…

After months of doctors removing bloods, quizzing me and my every habit and warning me to lose weight a miracle occurred…

The slap in the face didn’t come.

Could it be true?

Am I dreaming…

And then next comes the mind maze of is this real??

How soon is too soon to pee on a stick…

I’ve fallen into this trap before… where every sneeze, every hiccup in my mind is a symptom of pregnacy only to have the hormone flag wave a few days late…laughing at my crushed hopes and dreams… I’ve peed on countless sticks to have my flutters and buzz instantly smashed…

But this time I am really late.

Should I?

Could I?

Will I?

The mind spiral quickens to a dizzying speed of insanity

I will.

I pee. I wait.

Nothing.

I slump.

I wait more.

Could it be?

That faintest, slightest of lines?

I think it is?

I can’t be sure?

Am I imagining this though my sheer desperation!?

I need a second opinion.

But where do I go? He is at work. I am alone… could this really really be real!?

I shower. I check again.

I see 2 lines.

I really truly do.

I’ll go see him.

I’ll ask him if I have finally cracked to delusional imaginings…

And inevitably he freaks.

But yes…

I think it is real.

Now we both wait…

Both of us in the cloudy dream-like stupor of OMG! Is this really happening?

Both of us entering the start of that journey of HOLY CRAP life as we know it will NEVER EVER be the same and are we truly ready for this… a personal and scary mind world in itself.. one I am sure I will re visit during upcoming posts…

A strange new world where the “when will we start trying conversation seems to be a delusional memory now firmly overtaken by the OMG What have we done!?” conversation…

A few days later.

A second pee.

And this time.. an instant second line.

This is real! This is happening.

So… NOW WHAT!?

Panic.. panic.. a bit more panic…

A trip to the doctor to confirm…

And the bitter slap by the medical profession…

“You have a 1 in 5 chance of losing it between now and week 12”.

We have already travelled so far just to reach this surreal start in the road and now we have to stay quiet because there is even more that can go wrong!!?? OMG!

I want to shout it from the roof tops.

I want to tell the world.

I want to share with my friends and family and I sure as heck want their support..

And yet here I am at the mythical “3 – 4 weeks” mark looking at the endless desert of weeks laid out before me wondering just where this adventure is heading…

So yes… as I share my news through code names and stealth visits to the world of online forums I am starting to learn this whole new language of pregnancy.

I am sure I might even be fluent in it by next march… god willing and of course assuming these next 8 weeks bring with them more excitement and confirmation of the growing bulge!

So in secret excitement I am happy to say… watch this space…for a new adventure in the world of le undies metale is coming your way in march 2013!

Always and ever.

One very spun out L.