The Child Care Nightmare.

How many families can afford to live on one income these days? Unless you want to live in the outer, outer suburbs, and live like a franciscan, it's nigh on impossible. So, you wanna go back to work. OK. What are you gonna do with the small fry? Child care of course.

Ha, ha, ha, ha. Good luck to you. Do you know community run child care comes with a waiting list of 12 months plus? Private child care centres cost approximately $100 per day (albeit before rebate, but still)? And you need full time care in 3 months time? What were you thinking?

Evidently there is an enormous gap between supply and demand. I can't help but conclude it is due to the appalling low pay child care workers receive, which hardly endears it as a career to people who are trying to make a life for themselves in an expensive world. That, combined with the amount of people who are unable to stay at home and care for their preschool children for financial reasons, have created a shortage which places people in difficult situations. My mum regularly remarks how many of her friends care for their grandchildren on a regular basis - but for me, I couldn't ask my mum to care for a toddler - I can barely keep up and I'm half her age!

It's not all doom and gloom though. Persistence pays. I am confident I will find my son a place in a centre and he will be enriched by the stimulation - oftentimes I feel I am not enough to keep him entertained. I will have the opportunity to pursue a career in which I hope will add depth to my character and set a good example for my son.

So later this week I am missioning to Melbourne to go visit any and every centre I can find close to my parents house (we still don't know where we're going to live, which presents another set of problems!), hopefully kiss enough ass and pander to their politically correct and audit fearing concerns, and keep my fingers firmly crossed for an outcome by the end of the week.

It's amazing to me that less than 12 months ago how uncomplicated my life was. Now, everything revolves around my son's wellbeing. Parenthood!

Keeping positive is the key. It is much easier of course to not take any risks - but the rewards are too enticing to miss out on.

Running. In the Other Direction.

I've blogged before numerous times about competitive mothers. Hell, you've all figured out by now how uncompetitive I am, how I shy away from any comparison at all because I feel like, hey, I'm going to come out of this looking bad, so why bother?

I take this approach with most aspects of my life, and it's not necessarily a good thing. I think it has hindered me from trying many a new thing with the thought that, I'll never be good at it anyway. This is bad! The truth is, there will always be someone better than you at everything. That shouldn't stop you from trying. What's wrong with a silver medal, anyway? Or a bronze? I think we live in this modern culture which dictates to us, that you're either the best, or you're nothing.

This way of thinking toxifies all aspects of life. Motherhood is a good example. I am not sure whether it is celebrities who 'regain their pre-baby body', albeit with swathes of staff around them, chefs, trainers etc... but my mother's group is currently consumed with losing the baby weight, and how much each week. It has become a huge comparison exercise. Oh, get me out of here! These girls are quibbling about 5 kgs. So what? Look at your beautiful baby!

Before you scream "hypocrite", yes I am on Weight Watchers, but remember, I am not about losing baby weight. I am about losing 10 years worth of lazy weight!

I was just looking at photographs from the few weeks after my baby was born. I still looked pregnant. But I was so overwhelmed by the task at hand that all I could think about was throwing on my leggings and getting back to work. I think, for my mother's group, whilst it was immensely reassuring to turn up this week in solidarity when you have gone through some tough days, now everyone is mostly established it is now about weight loss and developmental goals (when? what!), I really feel like it has run its course.

I will sum up by mentioning a conversation I had the other day with a brilliant friend, who reminded me to focus on what you're good at, not what you're not. Why try to be a tennis champion when you have the coordination of a 3 year old? I remember as a child feeling that I wasn't as valuable as my brother because he was good at sports and I was so bad, the coach told my parents that I should try other things. The focus was always on sporting achievement, without realising that, hey, I have other strengths too!

Here is a great tweet from Tom Jamieson (@jamiesont)

Of course we need school sports. Without the humiliation of coming last in every race where will the scriptwriters of tomorrow come from.

'Nuff said.

Ah. City Life.

I have spent the last two weeks in Melbourne which is sadly coming to an end as of tomorrow. I have really enjoyed the time, and so has Junior. We have been on the go everyday doing something interesting - swimming at the Harold Holt pool (one of the best facilities in Melbourne in my view), walking the Tan Track of a weekend, musing over the Edwardian/Spanish Mission/Art Deco homes in the Camberwell area and their owner's stunning renovation efforts. I am someone who thrives on culture and architecture so this has been a real treat for me. The other upshot is that Junior is sleeping better as well, because he is being sufficiently stimulated during his wake times. Bonus!

 Junior ready for a swim!

The looming, brutalist style of the Harold Holt Swim Centre 

A stunning day to walk The Tan Track 

 The Yarra River looking towards Olympic Park... a little wonky

 Preparing for our walk!

 The Old Melbourne Observatory at the Botanic Gardens

The Shrine of Remembrance

Harold Holt, from a different angle... you could photograph it a million different ways.

I have mentioned before that we are looking at moving to a city next year, and Melbourne is up there on the list mostly because it will be easier to juggle study, work and baby having family around to lend a hand. 

I have such an enormous fear of trepidation though, partly because I feel like we are starting from scratch, again, having spent the last 4 years going backwards in city terms (ie, the cost of living in the country, job opportunities, career, etc). Also, because it seems like everyone else is doing something interesting - living overseas, kicking career goals, etc, and here are we moving back to boring old Melbourne. 

Though I've always had a hunger to be different, I realise now, pragmatism is king. How much harder do I need to make raising a child?

A lot to muse over. Lucky there are plenty of fabulous cafes in Melbourne to choose from... 

Oh, The Indignity.

So I've joined Weight Watchers.

This isn't the first time.

I have an 'excuse' of sorts why I'm fat - baby weight - but really, I've been a chubster for as long as I can remember.

I first joined Weight Watchers when I left high school. I have always been a stress eater (such a bummer, why couldn't I be the opposite?) and the move to the North Shore of Sydney with it's perfect looking people had been so overwhelming, coupled with depression leaving my life in Melbourne behind, caused me to stack on a heap of weight.

I promptly joined a Weight Watchers group after returning to Melbourne. This was, of course, before the internet took over the world, and I had to turn up to meetings and get weighed by a dutiful elderly husband of the group leader, be loaded with a heap of reading material and diaries and spruiking of snack bars.

Naturally, I didn't last.

Around the same time, I discovered night life, and my weeks became so busy with clubbing, racing from lecture to tutorial, racing from the campus to the bar, living on two minute noodles and vodka gimlets. I lost close to 30kg over the space of a year and was astonished to fit into a size 10. Of course, I wasn't fit, and I was still flabby. So when I looked in the mirror I didn't see someone thin. I still felt like my fat self. Only I looked better in clothes.

That was 10 years ago. Granted, it took 10 years and a baby to put those 30kg back on, but by gosh I managed and I enjoyed every morsel and every minute slobbing on the couch.

My in-laws bought us a video camera so we could take video of the baby and send them back to France. Looking back at the footage I've taken, I got my much needed wake up call.

I don't have a full length mirror in my house, for better or worse, and the batteries in my scales have been dead for some time.

So it's 2012 and I'm facing up and due to my distance from anything, I've decided Weight Watchers Online is the way to go. I'm 3 days in, and feeling pretty good about it. The best thing is I can eat whatever I want as long as it fits into my points allowance. Pasta? Sure. Chocolate? Only if I don't want to eat for the rest of the day!

As a breastfeeding mother, they only recommend a weightloss of 500g a week, so I'm not exactly starving on the plan.

I'm determined to see it through to at least December 1st, as I have a party coming up. I signed up for three months for $89.95, which is really quite reasonable given I have access to a food/exercise tracker, weekly menu suggestion and forums and communities.

At the very least, the fact that I shelled out for the program should give me *some* motivation to get pram pushing!

Now, where are those batteries?

Sew. A Needle Pulling Thread.

I have been itching to write lately, but the cursor has been flashing endlessly on an empty white screen, mocking me and my lack of... creative flow.

As I've mentioned before, I am fairly reclusive but my partner keeps telling me to get out of the house (which I don't necessarily disagree with, but with a five month old can be quite difficult). So I have been saying yes to everything, trying new things and seeing what this little pocket of Victoria has to offer.

I went skiing for a day with a friend I have known BC and who happens to be in my mother's group. Her parents are managing a lodge on the mountain so they were happy to babysit our kids for a couple of hours whilst we went out on what was an absolutely glorious 'bluebird' day. Unfortunately my legs struggled a bit towards the end of the second hour. The upshot though is that my boy was an absolute angel and didn't miss me one bit! It's great to know this as I will feel a little better about putting him into care, when the time comes (and it's coming a little too rapidly).

A baby free ski. Magic.

Another fantastic discovery has been that I have been introduced to and joined a 'sewing group' with a bunch of excellent and worldly women. I know, I know, a sewing group, it totally conflicts with my badass image right?! Truth be told, I have always wanted to sew and be decent enough at it to make things - cushions, quilts, customise clothing - I am not planning to make my own clothes by any stretch, but just to be able to have things exactly the way I envision them rather than search endlessly to find it, and it also fulfils a certain creative outlet I am desperately needing (though I should be putting more energy into writing!!)

 Yep, I raided the local variety store to create my very first non-hotel-issue sewing kit!

This group happens weekly and I am really happy to have discovered it. I do enjoy my mother's group most of the time, but I love the idea with combining chat with sharing ideas and learning something new.

I'll step back a bit, because before I give the impression that I am working on the next great American (Australian?) Quilt... so far I have managed to hand mend a pair of leggings and half start a broken fly on a pair of jeans. 

I have a tyrannical five month old, remember? I sew when he lets me!

I am definitely embracing this new world though and I already can't wait to get to Melbourne next to check out the fabric stores... 

Forgotten: A Monologue

Hello? Helloooooooooo? Down here. Yes, hello. It’s me! Can’t you see my bowl is empty? Why are you cursing at me? I have to get underfoot just to get your attention these days. Only a few months ago, when you were fat and home all the time, we were best friends. We were always together. We snuggled in bed together, read recipe books, chatted endlessly for hours. Now, I don’t exist. Forgotten. No food and not so much as a pat.

And that thing. His pathetic cries assault my precious ears. He stinks, and he’s always with you. He has taken over my house, and you don’t even let me near you when you’re with him. I wouldn’t touch him to scratch him.

When did it all change? Why did you have to go and destroy the happy, quiet, predictable world we had all created?

I don’t need you, really. I much prefer the man now anyway. He keeps the place warm and shares his ham in the mornings. But I could easily just walk away. There are plenty of other warm places around here, and probably some hapless old lady who would feed me something delicious. I never asked to be picked up from that shelter. I was holding my own. I was getting by. I didn’t need a family, to make attachments, to rely on anyone or anything. I am a natural born killer. I am not a fluffy cuddle toy.

What’s that sound? Oh, wait! I take it all back. The tasty sound of a can being opened, music to my ears! Tuna today? I love you, I love you, you’re wonderful!

I still don’t like that thing though.

Breastfeeding: What They Don't Tell You.

What 'they' don't tell you. It's freaking hard. It doesn't come naturally (for most of us). It takes a few days to come in and you get manhandled until it does.

Let me elaborate.

I wrote an earlier post about my birth experience and having suffered a post partum haemorrhage, which required me to receive 4 units of blood. Not only was my body recovering from the shock of giving birth, it was battling to recover from a serious loss of blood. It was explained to me that it normally takes a couple of days for the milk to come through (until then, babies are getting almost nothing out of all the suckling they're doing, and they lose weight) which is quite a ridiculous human idiosyncrasy, if you ask me. The poor little things. Anyway, by day three my milk still hadn't come in and this was concerning the midwives. So they began hand expressing me, which means being squeezed and massaged (but not in a good way) after each 'feed', and I felt like they were being manhandled twenty-four-seven. By the third day, after 5 days in hospital, I was desperate to go home. Finally in the evening my milk came through and I packed my bags and headed home.

I understand why a lot of women give up on breastfeeding. I struggled for 2 weeks to establish a good feeding relationship with my baby, even though he was extremely responsive and latched from day one. Your nipples have to harden up, and until then, feeding is quite uncomfortable. Goo latched a little incorrectly on one side and I had to deal with that pain. You have to get the latch right, and the midwives can show you a million times but you have to work it out for yourself (after all, it's your body).

Two weeks in, I developed dermatitis on my nipples which was incorrectly diagnosed as mastitis (I know, how could that possibly be? A Doctor on emergency duty who was not wanting to be there), given a course of antibiotics and sent on my way. But the antibiotics did nothing. It was so painful to feed (more painful than childbirth, and that's saying something) that I had to express and then feed him. By chance, I was seeing the maternal and child health nurse that day and she took one look and knew it was dermatitis. Back to the doctors, sent home with a cortisone cream. The next day, I felt like a new woman.

Now, it's easy. I wouldn't go so far as to say it was pleasant, but it certainly feels normal. I don't love being tied down to feeding every couple of hours, and I detest feeding in public (only because I am an incredibly private person). My partner uses it as an excuse to not comfort the baby ("he needs boob") which bottle feeding Dads can't use. But I wouldn't change it. I am so glad that I persevered.

Here is the thing: they tell you childbirth is incredibly painful. They tell you having a newborn is hard beyond belief. But everyone tells you that breastfeeding is natural, and pleasant. It is not. 

It's hard yakka, it doesn't feel natural at all to start with and it's painful even if the baby is latching on, because your body has never felt anything like it. It takes weeks to get on track.

I honestly believe there would be a lot less formula babies out there if the truth were known. We would have the belief in ourselves that we can overcome, and as women, of course we do!

The Brink. A Scary Place.

Children. They have the ability to push you to the brink of a nervous breakdown and promptly snap you right back to reality. Just when you're about to plop them in the cot and then run into the woods never to be seen again, they look at you with a gummy smile and you realise you have to push on, one foot in front of the other.

Right up until Wednesday midday, I had reached the point of a breakdown. I hadn't had a good night's sleep in over a month. I was feeling drab, bland, overweight and worthless. Nothing seemed to be going my way. I had lost complete and utter control and could not see a way through. I looked at myself in the mirror and didn't like the brunette staring back. Lifeless. In a haste I rushed to Priceline and purchased a home dye kit. You can imagine what happened next. 

Two hours later, a bright orange clown stared back. Correction, a half blonde, half orange clown stared back. I lost it, burst into tears whilst my baby slept. I was hosting mother's group the next day and I had to head back to my mountain home. I stopped at a French bakery for some maracons and panier in the morning. $50 later, my heart sinking after parting with so much cash due to lack of foreplanning, I hit the road.

I got home and stared at myself in the mirror. How can I go to a hairdresser in my small town? I will be judged and talked about, the crazy lady that dyed her hair orange when she lost her mind. How can I go to a salon with a baby? Paralyzed, my baby crying in the other room. I. Can't. Do. This. Anymore. HELP.

I went back in and picked up my baby. He smiled at me, he looked adoringly, so relieved that I had come back. OK, I can do this. 

I called a salon, and they booked me in the next day. Bring the baby, they said. I had to work through it. My partner was reassuringly calm. He told me to get my hair done whenever I wanted, forget about the cost, if it made you feel good. The girls arrived for mother's group. We discussed our feelings, all of us at some point had felt they were sprialling out of control. That they couldn't do it, the depression and feeling like having a baby was a mistake. It was so cathartic. My good friend whom I had known before we had kids gave me the firmest, most reassuring hug. 

The next day, I went to the salon. Oh, it was a nightmare. Whenever I wasn't looking at my baby, he cried. I am sure I upset all the other customers. The apprentice had to go and take him for a walk. 

I am back from the brink. My house is a filthy mess, and I still rummage around my closet for clothes that don't make me look like a leg of ham in strung in a fishnet. There is still a bit of orange in my hair. 

But I made it through.

The Self Improvement Project

If you see me walking down the street looking like a right minger, think not that I have let myself go. No, rather, I am in the midst of what I like to call the "Self Improvement Project".

One of the elements of this project is growing out my dyed blonde hair to its natural colour. Bear in mind that I have not had natural hair since about the age of 12. I've been every colour imaginable, from blonde to red to brown to black. I'm tired of colouring it, and these days I don't have the time nor can justify the cost of being blonde. Ah, my carefree 20s are coming to a close. Anyway, I am taking progress shots to show myself how far I've come and to help motivate myself when I look in the mirror and feel like nothing's happening... I encourage all of you to keep moving forward, and resist the easy trap of standing still. My comfort zones are far too comfortable.

  January. The last time I coloured my hair:

 Also 6 months pregnant. The glow! The good skin! The lustrous hair!

Now: August, 6 months later

It is taking everything I have to walk around like this in public. Naturally, I have become quite the homebody, luckily I have a baby as an excuse...

Goal Posts: Here. No, Here. NO, HERE.

The title says it all right now when it comes to my son. He is being terribly maniacal when it comes to sleep patterns. One night, he'll wake up every three hours, the next, sleep for seven then wake up every hour, the next, he'll wake up after four hours, then two, then six... and on and on.

This is leaving me terribly tired and unrested. My body used to anticipate his waking times - pretty consistent for the first 3 months of his life, and now, it's all over the shop, and I wake up with a start, and I can't go back to sleep.

Having said all of this, it doesn't not seem to bother him one bit. It actually seems to make him a happier baby during the day. So I take the good with the bad. I know one day I will be able to sleep again, because teenagers sleep all the time. Good. Only 12 years and 8 months to go.

Other mothers baulk at me when I tell them I don't have a routine. I let him feed when he wants, sleep when he wants, I let him lead me, which I find works pretty well given I travel a bit and sleep in different places fairly regularly. I could only envision myself struggling with taking him to my parents for a weekend if he was in a strict routine of sleep/eat/play.

Does this make sense to you? Are you strict with routine? Does it hinder you when you do things like travel, or do you lock yourself at home for the first year or so? I'd be so interested to hear your thoughts on this one...

A Shot in the Arm from Oscar Wilde

Has it really been 2 weeks since my last post? Where does the time go? And, how is it I am still on the same book?

A friend who had a baby 3 weeks ago posted on Facebook that she was thrilled to have finally finsished watching the one hour program she'd been watching in increments for the past three days. It's like that. Most people, including those with older children, seem to have no idea or forget how absorbing it is to care for an infant, the indescribable feeling of being adrift from the world, and the dread attached to just going out for coffee. At the moment I am really only seeing other mums with newborns for this reason. Yes I feel guilty for basically ignoring everyone else...

Ah, guilt. It is the biggest factor retarding my personal growth at the moment. I have a lot on the go right now. I am planning a (albeit tiny, backyard) wedding, anticipating a visit from my partner's parents who are visiting for the first time from France (this is a big deal, my partner has been here for 10 years), and organising to go to night school next year with deadline of new year's day to move house. I'm not talking about to the next town. We're going interstate. We're moving from a compact but spacious ski shack to a crammed shoebox in the city - all for my professional progress. I'm not sure I can handle the pressure, but I have to try.

Can I do it? Can I juggle night school, part time work, daycare, parenting, relationship? I have no idea how hard it will be. Right now, here in the countryside my life is so easy. I would have to go to work, but only part time. We have tiny debt. We worry about money but have no trouble paying bills. I am going to turn all that on its head for my own selfish cause. Will I be overcome with guilt for putting my son into daycare, robbing him (at least temporarily) of an idyllic country lifestyle?

I don't want to end up a broken person, settling for less that what I know my potential is. I am going to put this quote into bold print so I don't ignore it:

"To live is the rarest thing in the world.

 Most people exist, that is all" 

Oscar Wilde.

It's true, most people take the easy road. Things may not go to plan. If I don't put myself first, I can't take care of anyone else. And this doesn't mean I don't love my family any less. The struggle we may have in the near future won't be nearly as bad as the struggle of my own disappointment for never having tried. Hold your breath and jump...

(I love this picture of Wilde. People aren't eccentric enough anymore. I reckon one should have a statement piece of clothing that makes them instantly recognisable, a la Matt Preston).

"Enough"

I've been quiet lately, because I've been reading. I find that I only have time to do one pursuit in the midst of mothering an infant and managing a household (and truth be told, sleep is far to high on my priority list given all the things I want to do).

I've also been away in Melbourne for the weekend, arriving back yesterday and I have to catch up. Not only with all the news and happenings but cleaning up after my partner who stayed home and only added to the list of things I had to do today. He doesn't care what the house looks like, but I do yet that doesn't factor into his thinking, the bastard!

But I digress.

I think I've mentioned before to some effect about feeling very much behind the eight-ball in life: I consider myself to be a very intelligent and capable person and yet have never reached what I consider to be my potential, and I'm trying to navigate my way through to accomplish many things that I have wanted to do but have either allowed myself to be talked out of it or put other people ahead of my own desires. I have managed to complicate this further by having a baby.

I am not sure where this sense of inadequacy came from. I have reached the point where my own self doubt has crushed many an inspiration, I have become the ideas person who never follows through. I worry if I try something, ultimately I'm going to fail at it and this fear essentially prohibits any progress.

I am a believer that unless you are constantly self improving, you are dying.

When I was at university I worked at a small cafe with a bunch of great girls and a boss who was both a tyrant and a mentor. She once told us not to consider that we were not "enough", because we are.

Smart enough.
Thin enough.
Healthy enough.
Strong enough.
Vigilant enough.
Capable enough.
Loving enough.

My partner thinks I am enough. My child thinks I am enough (for now!), so do my parents. But here I am, deep down feeling that I am not, and the thought of spending my whole life trying to be "enough" is going to consume me.

But how to you know if your potential is being met? When does striving become achieving?

Everybody judges themselves to different standards. I am yet to meet someone who has low standards to the point where they are happy just being themselves, foibles and all. Some of us learn to live with it and make the most of their life, their opportunities and accept their lot.

What I do know is that the only way that I see to really succeed is to remove the safety net underneath and walk the proverbial tightrope. That includes my parents who always have the helpful intention of giving me money to 'help us out'. To paraphrase Dr Phil (and yes, I can't believe I am paraphrasing Dr. Phil either), money that hasn't been earned has no value. You don't appreciate it. Like my mother fattening up her dogs because they look at her with sad eyes, my parents are killing me with kindness.

But they're not to blame. By accepting help that is not needed I am essentially being lazy. I am a grown up with a family of my own and it is my responsibility to provide for it (and of course my partner's).

So, pep talk complete, I know what needs to be done. Rather than being "enough" and pleasing everybody, I am going to.... go pick up my son because he's pouting at me. Ah. What was I lamenting about?

The Tyranny of Oppression (aka Having an Infant)

Babies are the worst kind of dictators. They rule with an iron fist, wreak havoc when they don't get their way and reduce their subjects to downtrodden, helpless beings. The killer, though, is that when you get so frustrated you're ready to drop them off at the back step of the local church, they break out in a smile and begin to coo at you that you become completely smitten and you worship your leader, and cannot imagine life without them.

I had a hell of a day yesterday. I was trying to post 7 items I'd sold on ebay, that included purchasing satchels, addressing them, bagging items and making sure they were delivered to the right person (I'm still not sure I got that right). Goo was being horrible, having one of those unsettled days and everything I did was wrong. He was asleep in the car. I did the right thing and picked him up to take him inside as opposed to leave him whilst I whizzed through the Post Office. He went into the Baby Bjorn without a fuss, and as soon as I walked into the Post Office, he began bellowing maniacally in an attempt to embarrass the hell out of me so I would leave this insidious place where he wasn't getting the desired amount of attention.  I went back to the car in an attempt to finish the parcelling, placed him in his car seat and tried to ignore his screams until it became so piercing it was like a worm that wriggled through my ear drum and lodged itself into the part of my brain that releases stress hormones.

My partner can't handle it when he comes home and I'm stressed to the max. He took Goo from me to give me a break but when he wouldn't stop crying he strapped him into bed and closed the door. Geez, I could've done that - he doesn't understand that because I've listened to him scream all day, the last thing I want is to continue hearing it. Between the screaming, the useless partner and my surly mood, our maison was not a pleasant place to be. You wonder how a 3 month old being can cause such chaos and misery.

The good news is, every day is a clean slate with a baby. You just hope the next one will be merciful. And more often than not, it is.

The Boy With Two Identities

As you may have gathered by now, my son is the product of a French father and Anglo-Australian mother.

When you first meet someone from a different country, it is always very exciting and exotic, and when you start dating someone, your mother brags to her Mahjong friends that her daughter's boyfriend is from Provence. It's all very fun. After a few years you get to know the person behind the accent. You stop noticing that your friends only nod when they talk to him because they can't understand him. It's no longer funny when he uses the excuse "I'm French they expect me to be arrogant" and you learn to accept their cultural differences.

Then you decide to have a baby together. Again you get excited: The baby will have dual citizenship, he can go and live and work in Europe when he grow up - what a great gift to give. He will have his own story of his family backgrounds. He will understand - deeply - two very different and distinct cultures and appreciate both. We decided, of course, that our son will be bilingual, and my partner would only speak to him in French. His grandparents don't speak English, so it makes sense to do this. 

We gave him a name that is understood in both languages. Things aren't going as smoothly as we expected, because, obviously, life doesn't work that way! His name is Lucas but in French it's pronounced "Luca". This is confusing a lot of people. Even my parents forget to put the "s" at the end. My partner is speaking French to him only when he remembers to. I had a friend, (funnily enough my partner's ex but that's another story altogether) who grew up in Australia with a Dutch father and French mother, spoke French at home but bombed her French at school. I always though that was strange...

Is it possible to have two identities? To comfortably slip into either nationality, and to be completely fluent in both languages? Or does one outweigh the other? I've no doubt that Lucas will call himself "Australian", but I wonder what this means for his relationship with his French relatives. Perhaps I should just stop worrying about it and let him figure it out for himself. That is the brilliant thing about Australia, we live in a nation of individuals, and perhaps that is what he will be, rather than French/Australian, and I should stop worrying.

The important question: The Wallabies or Les Bleus??

Scaling Back

I've just spent the entire morning cleaning out my closet like a madwoman. I couldn't sleep last night, I was too busy feeling energised by the fact that I am finally getting rid of all the stuff that doesn't fit, doesn't suit, I really don't need, etc etc etc. It's really cathartic. I have had many false starts with this clean out, but now I have a motive.

I am going to apply to do my Grad Cert in Journalism next year, which is terrifying and exciting at the same time. Goo will be 1 by that time and I know I'll be ready to tackle a new career by then - I credit him with giving me the motivation, even though it means I will spend less time with him. It's not a new dilemma. I'm sick of just existing, having to forgo social things because of money constraints. My partner wants to do a trade apprenticeship at the age of 32, because post Chef-dom there is little out there he is able to do 9 to 5 Monday to Friday. and I am happy for him, but gosh, I'd like to enjoy life a bit more.

Studying means moving from our little mountain home to the big city - either back to Sydney or Melbourne or maybe Hobart, and this is taking up a lot of discussions at home at the moment. City life is expensive. How are we going to do it? We haven't quite worked that out yet, but we have 6 months to sort it out.

I've decided to sell my good clothes on Ebay. I love the idea of them having another life, they have been sitting so sad and dormant in my closet for years, untouched and unloved. I think I read somewhere that people only use 20% of their entire wardrobe. I reckon I use less. So everything else that wasn't Ebay worthy, is either going to Vinnies or in the bin. We really need very little. Even less right now because I am majority of the time at home. It ties back to my guilty complex that I wrote about a few weeks ago.

So to Ebay. You can check out my stuff for sale here: http://www.ebay.com.au/sch/damandvan/m.html?_nkw=&_armrs=1&_from=&_ipg=&_trksid=p3686. I know I'm not going to miss any of these things (assuming they sell of course!). There's one dress I can't bear to part with just yet - even though it doesn't fit me anymore, I just can't seem to get rid of it. I love the colour and the glamour it represents, I love opening my closet and seeing it, and that's not really worth losing it to whatever money it makes me.

Short Tale Tuesday

I've decided to get involved with Short Tale Tuesday, as a way to practice my creative writing which is something that scares me completely and which I haven't attempted for so many years. Short Tale Tuesday was created by Penny at A Mum In The Wild (www.amuminthewild.com), so thanks to her for the kick in the bum that I needed! It's a real short one, but you know what they say, you've got to start somewhere...

Here goes:

Coffee. It’s ubiquitous in my life. I rely on it. It’s lubricant to the creative mind (unlike alcohol, which is lubricant to the devious mind).  It’s the beverage of great writers. I mean, whoever burned the midnight oil on a truly great piece of writing whilst sipping an Earl Grey? I don’t think so. Tea is too dignified. Coffee is for flawed people: the thinkers, the brooders. Freud needed a strong Viennese coffee to mull over his theories.  Coffee houses covered for Speakeasys. I doubt Al Capone sipped from tea cup with his pinky in the air. Well, maybe he did. Thugs have a soft side too you know.

I’m in a café, the type where all the furniture is replica, in some place that feels like no place. I’m waiting for the waitress to bring me another latte. I’m staring at my laptop, that blank white screen staring back at me, taunting me. But the words aren’t flowing today. I just need a word, one word, but I can’t find the right one to start with. The first word is always the hardest.

I’ve travelled the world looking for inspiration.  I’ve been through the Mojave desert; staring at the vast landscapes. I’ve visited the most bustling cities in the world; Tokyo, where the skyline stretches to the horizon. I’m blocked. I’ve been blocked for so long, and I am just looking for a word, the key to open the rusty lock to the left side of my brain and let the words flow again.

The waitress returns with my latte. Then it hits me. Coffee.

My Birth Experience

I would like to write about my experience giving birth to my son. I choose to do this because it is an important piece of the fabric of my life, and I would like to document it before the magic of mother nature erases it from my memory. Not to mention, it's a great writing exercise...

...

My baby was 5 days late. I had spent the last few days watching the clock, trying to resist the urge to shop online and sleeping in late. There was little else to do. I live about 30km from the nearest town, and wandering any further would be silly, given I could go into labour at any moment. So, I waited. I was told by my doctor that I would be induced the following Tuesday. It was the day before Good Friday. Nothing was going to happen for the next four days, public holidays and all. Thanks, Jesus.

Late Thursday night, I started feeling cramps. Yes, I thought, this is it! I counted the little contractions for a while and they came approximately every 10 minutes. I rang the hospital to let the midwife know where I was at. She advised me to relax at home, and call again when things had progressed. I went back to bed. Then I fell asleep. I woke up in the morning to the phone ringing. It was the midwife. The contractions had gone away. 'You're not in labour. Come in anyway, and we'll see where you're at.' 30 minutes in the car. One hour strapped to an ECG. You're not in labour. Go home.

I spent Friday with the irregular contractions happening. It's painful and uncomfortable, and I wanted to know what was happening. Back to the hospital. 'You're not in labour. You can stay the night if you wish, here have a Panadeine Forte and a sleeping pill.'

Saturday morning. 'You're still not in labour. Best thing is to go home, there's no point being here and you're more comfortable at home anyway.'

My best friend and her husband had come up on the weekend to keep me company while I waited. They were now on back rub patrol every time I had a contraction, just to help take the edge of the pain. This was happening every three, five to 10 minutes. By the evening, I was over it. I was frustrated, anxious, sore, and tired. I lay on the bed, desperate, sobbing. My partner scooped me up, placed me in the car on the backseat with my best friend comforting me. Back to the hospital.

'You're not in labour. You'll know when you're in labour. This is nothing. You can stay the night if you wish, here have a Pethidine shot.'

Sunday morning, Easter Sunday. My partner pulled the midwife aside, and let her know that I am someone who doesn't complain, and is in more pain that I let on. 'Please do something, she is exhausted.' The midwife finally rings my doctor. My doctor comes in, asks me if I would like her to rupture my membranes, but then we would be committed to delivering the baby. This meant, if nothing progressed, I would be staring down the barrel of a caesarian section.

Whatever! I don't care! Just get it out!!

It was about 10:30am. I felt the gush of amniotic fluid and felt relief that something was finally happening. The midwife suggested I stand up if I could to help things move along. As soon as I stood up, I felt an intense pressure and then, a shooting pain that I had never felt or anticipated. I howled. 'OK, how about we head into the labour ward, get your comfortable'. The prospect of the 20 metre walk was overwhelming. I got in, felt another contraction, howled and writhed again. I felt the need to push immediately, but I didn't know what was happening. The doctor said she'd see me later, it could take several hours. Really? Really? I don't know if I could bear it! I felt another contraction, screamed and threw myself around the bed. The doctor and midwife looked at each other, wondered if my pain threshold really was that low. They decided to have a look and see what's going on. Oh! There's a head! 'This baby is coming' said my doctor. She didn't have time to get changed from her civvies, just throw on an apron. It was time to push.

Push I did, I don't know how many times, but it felt like every 30 seconds another contraction came. The head kept coming down, then going back up. It felt like an eternity. The feeling of burning was so intense, I felt on the precipice of conscienceness. I am sure I saw myself out of my body a couple of times. The gas didn't do anything for the pain. Oh please, let it end.

11:14am. My baby was born. A boy. My partner was in tears, having helplessly stood next to me the whole time. Lucas Sydney was weighed, cleaned, and cuddled, meanwhile the doctor and I were trying to deliver my placenta. My uterus was so exhausted it took a while. Shortly after, I spent two hours feeding my newborn.

...

The first sign of trouble was when I fainted in the shower. I came two with about ten nurses standing around me. OK, maybe I'll shower later. I was covered with blood and meconium but I didn't really care. I just wanted to rest and having a shower seemed like an overwhelmingly energetic task.

A few hours after birth, I was sitting back in my room with my parents coo-ing over their grandson, my best friend and her husband in awe of what had just happened on the weekend, and my partner and I just trying to absorb everything that happened. I felt a lot of blood. I felt like I was swimming in it. I mentioned it to my partner and he went to fetch the midwife. She lifted the covers, then hit the green button. Again, 10 or so nurses surrounded me. The doctor returned. There must be a tear they didn't find after the birth. They have to find it.

I was offered the gas again, this time the portable unit. It was strong. I felt out of control and scared, I was experiencing a bad trip with a triple echo. No more gas. After about an hour and a half, the cervical tear was located, stitched up. A catheter was inserted as well as an IV in each arm. two litres of saline was pumped into me, followed by 2 units of blood. 2 more units were being couriered from Melbourne, 3 hours away.

If I thought childbirth was painful and difficult, it had nothing on the emergency that followed. I was in shock for a few days, although felt grateful for the extremely high quality professional staff looking after me and ensuring my recovery. I could have died.

It took a few weeks to feel like myself again. My body was so battered, bruised and exhausted I could barely walk, but here I am 10 weeks later writing this post. I realise that if it weren't for the generous people donating blood, I would not be here. Nor if I had lived in a country without the resources available to me here in Australia.

My son would've grown up without a mother, and he may never realise just how lucky he is. And that is just the way I prefer it.

Awesome Gift Ideas for Mamans

When a baby is on the way, it is usually the case that you cease to be a human being valued for your personality, wit, charm and good looks and turn into the walking incubator for another human being who will soon take all the attention away. (I'm not bitter, honest... even though my mother walks past me to say hello to my baby first).

You get zillions of baby clothes, toys, blankets, etc etc, but I really think the best gifts are the ones for the mother, who goes though hell and back to bring this little human into the world.  As an aside, I must admit I was shocked and horrified to find that giving birth is just not one day, but weeks of physical misery... but that's another post.

Here I have brainstormed with others and in my selfish mind about what some fabulous gifts would be to give to that amazing woman in your life.

• Pool together with others to purchase a year's worth of monthly massages. Endota Spa (www.endotaspa.com.au) is a personal favourite of mine. 
• Alternatively, book her a decadent weekend at the Peninsula Hot Springs (www.peninsulahotsprings.com.au) in Victoria or Golden Door (www.goldendoor.com.au) and arrange with the father to look after the baby for a day/weekend. Ensure you get this in writing before the baby is born and before he realises what he's signed and wants to reneg!
• Contact her hairdresser/beauty therapist and try to arrange them to visit her at home. Similarly you can try to arrange this over the course of a year, because the way she looks will probably be the last thing on her mind.
• Organise with other friends a schedule of babysitting, taking in turns. Give her dates ahead of time so she can make plans and look forward to doing something special during those times. And it costs nothing! 
• Come over and cook a meal for her and her family. This will be so, so appreciated by all.
• Arrange a cleaning service to come over and blitz the house, spit and polish every nook and cranny, so she can look at a sparkling house for a change.
• Give her something cultural. Subscribe her to The Age, Vogue, The Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, something to keep her in touch with her grown up self and take a break from coo-ing and worrying about the last time her baby did a poop.
• DVDs - entire series, to help fill in time when she's at home waiting for the baby to come and bored out of her skull (I would have loved this, waiting an extra 8 days for Goo to decide to come into the world)
• A Labour Survival Kit - I recieved one of these at my baby shower, and at the time I didn't appreciate it at all, rather I was quite horrified by the maternity pads and Ural - I used every item in the kit and was so grateful for it all. For example, in my kit there was also essential oils, a shower gel/moisturiser kit, breast pads, prune juice (!), a pair of thongs. I would add to that chocolate or something high in energy!

That is all I can think of for now, but will add to it as I think of things, and I would love suggestions as well. 

When Grandma Doesn't Know Best

My mother just left after a couple of days visit. I must admit, I don't really need a lot of day to day help, I can take Goo along with me to the supermarket, and I get out a couple of times a week for coffee and he is generally good, so I don't feel the need to have a 'break' from him. Of course, I would love more massages...

I am happy to have my mum come and stay with us because she relishes the time with her grandson. As she lives 3 hours away, it's really the only opportunity she gets. She helps out around the house a little bit, brings lots of junk food (it's her way of showing love... yes, no skinny people in her family). However, every single time he cries she proclaims it is because he has a pain in his tummy, wind, etc. I find it amusing that she is telling me what is wrong with him when she doesn't know what his cries mean... I like to think that having spent 24 hours a day with him for the last 10 weeks somewhat qualifies me a little more.

That's the thing. Our parents decide that they are experts on parenting and babies because they have had them. In reality, they are experienced with their children only (and to be honest, I'm a little dubious about that statement given the way I've turned out!). The only one who really knows your baby is you. Not even Midwives, Doctors or the Maternal & Child Health Nurse really know. They can give you suggestions, offer advice, explain physiological or behavioural traits of newborns. The best people to listen to are the ones that tell you to listen to your instinct.

One of my friends is struggling with her mother taking her child away and telling her that she's doing something wrong. She was deeply insulted by the insinuation that she is an inadequate mother. She knows that her mum of course is not implying this, but when you grow up thinking your parents know it all, it totally challenges the traditional family dynamics you've built over the last 30 odd years.

At the end of the day, sometimes there's nothing anyone can do - you may know your baby well, but remember that it's a human being, imperfect, flawed, spontaneous, complex and completely inconsistent. That is what makes us all so wonderful.

Babies Force You To Socialise

I will admit it, I am the reclusive type. I can go days, even weeks without talking to anyone except my partner and my mum. And I'm quite happy to do that, and my good friends know that because they don't hear from me it's not because I don't love them or treasure them, just that I am deep in hermit mode (and they know they must impose themselves!!) I know what you're thinking, why would anyone want to be friends with me?! I am a loyal type though, I have just a handful of close friends and that's all I need and want.

When I had Goo, everyone suddenly came out of the woodwork and people I barely know were giving me presents for the baby. I know people are generous when it comes to babies, but when people say "can I pop around I have a present for the baby" I just want to cringe. I used to semi-consciously invite pop-arounders in without offers of coffee, tea, biscuits and look harried, to give off the message that they couldn't hang around. Those people that come over with no warning, I tend to lie and tell them I'm on my way out. Now, I sort of feel obligated to do all of this because they themselves have gone to so much effort.

Then there are the people that say "let me know when you're ready and I'll pop over" which is fabulous, except now that he's 10 weeks old I am starting to feel that the time has come to address this.

Having a baby has created so many new awkward social situations, where down the street a casual 'hello' sufficed, now I am fielding questions about his sleep patterns, his 'good'ness and how I'm feeling, genuinely. I don't know how to answer these. I am usually honest and say how he's such a great sleeper, I'm feeling great, as long as you get sleep at night you can face anything, blah blah blah... to which people either give 'advice' (see a previous post on unsolicited advice) or give a pregnant pause which I inevitably awkwardly fill with too much information. The conversation ends "good to see you!" followed by uncomfortable nods as you pass that person 3 more times in the supermarket.

I know nobody's perfect, but when you're someone who shuns attention and wants to be relatively incognito in a small town without any privacy, babies are definitely gonna force you to face your fears and discomfort.

That, or you can continue on your merry way and just be a total bitch. But you're gonna stare at those hand knitted booties and I bet you, you'll be haunted by the guilt for the person who made them.

Too Tired to Blog

I've had a challenging few days. My baby, Goo, has been extremely unsettled and the routine we'd sort of loosely established went out the window. Every time I put him to bed when he was sleepy, he only sleeps for 30 minutes then wakes up crying. I only figured out today that he wants to be held to sleep, after resorting to putting him in the Baby Bjorn. Do you know how frustrating it is to not have tried this days earlier and saved the pain? When you're tired, the mind works more slowly.

So Goo has been sleeping now for the last 3 hours. Which is great, but it has been difficult to do things. I had to unstack the dishwasher one dish at a time. Tedious. I had to wait until my soup cooled enough before I ate it so as to not burn him if I spilled anything on him accidentally. Sigh. I am also feeling completely drained that I have no inspiration to write whatsoever, which is the most frustrating of all - it's my one outlet connecting me to me.

My partner said to me last night "I need some love", and full credit to him for being communicative and letting me know. I honestly but harshly replied "I need some time to myself". But I know that I'm going to make the effort to give him some of my time, without talking about or thinking about the baby (which is really hard to do when you have someone that you are waiting on hand and foot 24/7!) I know it's imperative to take time for the relationship.

It got me thinking, my partner feels his needs are being ignored, but really, what sacrifices has he made since Goo was born? His life hasn't really changed that much, he has the delicious ability to walk away, go and see his friends, go to the pub, and live his regular life, albeit with a noisy addition to it. I don't think he can begin to understand how difficult it is to be with a baby all day long, to keep him entertained, cuddled, nourished and have to take them wherever you go, and leave social situations when the babies start crying, and indeed exclude yourself from many social situations, including dining out and going to a movie or a concert. That's not his fault.

So I've just poured down my thoughts in a non-descript fashion. I guess writing something is better than nothing in the scheme of honing my writing skills?

How To... Calm a Crying Baby

DISCLAIMER: I am not an expert or professional. I am just writing about what worked for me. It may not necessarily work for you, and probably won't because all babies are different.

I thought I would write about how to calm a crying baby because it was raised at my mother's group yesterday and I have been in the thick of it all morning. It helps that I know why Goo is crying - he had his vaccinations on Tuesday and has been grumpy for the last couple of days.

When you have a screaming baby in your midst, the stress hormones start coursing through you and the longer it goes on, the less likely you are able to rationally take the steps to calm your baby down.

Here are the things that I do to calm my baby down (some work, some don't at different times) and are in no particular order:

• Cuddles. I hold him with his head on my shoulder. This can take up to 30 minutes until he calms down, but he knows I've got a tight hold on him and won't let him go.
• Quiet time. If he is overstimulated (it's hard to judge this one but it usually I usually realise this once he is in hysterics). I will pop him in his cot with the mobile going and the lights low, and he can settle himself away from the din.
• Walking around. Babies like movement, so I have been known to do laps around the house. Popping him in the Baby Bjorn makes it a bit easier when your arms get tired.
• Get in the car. This is my trump card, it works nearly any time. Getting him into the car is a mission, but once I'm out of the driveway, I barely hear a peep.
• Someone else. Sometimes I get the feeling that Goo gets a bit sick of the sight, sound and smell of me, so sometimes I'll hand him to Papa and just the change can settle him a bit. Grandparents & Friends work equally well.
• Bath/Shower. It took a few weeks for my baby to really embrace the shower. He would only last a couple of minutes before he had had enough, and he prefers the shower to the bath. When he gets grumpy, the sensation of the water on his body gives him relief and joy.
• Infant's Friend. This is a great product which helps get the plumbing working. He did not poo yesterday, and was cranky as hell this morning, so I gave him some of this stuff. Within 15 minutes he was exploding on the change table! It's available from most chemists and is pretty harmless, you can use it from a very young age. I think I was using it before he was 2 weeks old.
• The dummy!! I am a big fan of the dummy, I try not to let him rely on it, and it doesn't work when he's absolutely hysterical, but once he's calmed down a lot it can help him fall asleep or something to focus on other than his misery.

Goo is nearly 9 weeks old now, and has hit his stride now, normally one of these tactics works and it doesn't take long for him to settle. But up until about 4-5 weeks old, he was miserable constantly, I believe he was frustrated because he couldn't focus his eyes and couldn't control his limb movements at all, and now that he has some control and is aware of his surroundings, he is much happier in himself. 

The thing you have to always remember is that you will get through it, and to take one step at a time, and not rest on your laurels thinking you've got some pattern down, because once it all turns to shit you will be cursing. Babies are volatile and trying to make sense of the world, so you can't expect them to be habit forming. 

Try everything!! Don't forget, if you're exhausted, put the baby somewhere safe like a cot or bassinet where they can't hurt themselves, close the door and walk away. To be a good parent, you have to put yourself first. 

House Proud Maman

Running into another mother yesterday, who asked me how I was coping being at home. Apparently today's mothers aren't happily housebound, and are itching to get back to work as soon as the pop one out.

Maybe I'm an anomaly, but I absolutely love being at home. Granted I'm only 2 months in, but I have become incredibly house proud, and for the first time in my life, I'm not lazy. I used to spend hours in front of the TV, barely cope with doing anything except working, and my house would get out of hand.

Now, I look for things to do, make efficient use of my time (3 blog posts in one hour! Ok that's debatable), and have become one of those 'do it now not later' people. There is a saying in German that goes "Morgen, morgen und nicht heute, sagen alle faulen leute" which basically means lazy people always say they'll do it tomorrow. I used to be one of those people. I never thought becoming a mother would have such a happy side effect. It certainly helps that I have a baby that sleeps all night, and naps during the day, giving me plenty of time to get things done, but it also leaves plenty of room for me to sit around and do nothing.

The same mother said to me that maybe keeping busy at home is the key. I agree. If I wasn't interested in making my home beautiful, I probably would get bored too.

Now I am becoming one of those types that is interested in Home magazines. Who am I?!

Me & My Body

My baby is 8 weeks old, and I am really starting to feel the need to get into shape. Let's face it, it's been a few years since I have been wanting to get into shape, but since I've had my baby things are quite a bit jigglier than they were which makes it all the more unattractive!

My partner says I'm perfect, which is lovely, but I really just want to lose weight, tone up and feel good in my jeans.

My ultimate weightloss would be 20kg. I'm going to shoot for 10kg at first so as not to completely overwhelm myself. I'm kind of psyching myself to do a vlog for this to help motivate me. I know I can't do it by myself, I struggle to motivate myself and I'm excellent at making excuses or justifying that Tim Tam ("oh look! Cup of tea! Must have a Tim Tam with that!").

Most sources recommend weightloss between 500g-1kg per week to not adversely affect breastmilk. I'm going to hedge my bets and go for 10kg in 15 weeks. Let's say: down 10kg by my birthday on the 26th September.

I wish I could take up a hip hop or funk class, but because I live out in the country the options are limited, so I'm planning to combine walks with home aerobics and of course, not eating the Tim Tams.

I appreciate your support!!

How about some Bobby Brown to get the heart rate up.

About Me

I want to start this post by being characteristically modest and humble. I do not pretend that my writing is a) well formed, b) interesting, or c) destined for greatness. I want to explain a little where I come from and why I am writing this blog, in the much maligned "Mommy Blog" style.

As a teen, my best friend Cass and I threw ourselves into writing - for ourselves and for each other. We both had incredibly creative minds, so this was one way of expressing it. In the mid 90s, when the internet was still young and quite basic, we had our own Geocities site and basically created our own world. We also individually created our own fan sites (hers was for The Living End, and my was kind of embarrassingly for a certain 90s football player who is now coaching). Our sites were, objectively, the best of their kind on the internet; I even was interviewed for the Melbourne Weekly by a journalist who was impressed with the website. I created this through self taught HTML from scratch. I was the frames master! (Remember Frames?!)

I published my own zine in Melbourne called Stripzine, which centered around the local punk scene in Melbourne in the late 90s and hand distributed them through the independent record stores in Melbourne.

In 2000 I moved to Sydney with my parents and began a really dark phase in my life. Suffering depression, writing was the most natural way to escape during this time (aside from blaring the Sex Pistols through the streets of Neutral Bay) and started writing a novel.

I put my hand up to take over and resurrect my school's student publication, and when there was little to no interest in it, basically wrote all of the articles and stood at the gates handing them out tirelessly.

I decided the natural course for me was to pursue journalism at university... and then I lost my way. I lost the passion, I lost interest in just about anything, and for some reason listened to my father who told me to study business "to get a job", because journalism was a hard industry to get into (I think I took that as meaning that he didn't think I was good enough). So back I moved to Melbourne, and set about forgetting my whole life prior to then, changed my hair, my clothes, my body, so that I was unrecognisable to everyone. I partied, I turned up for my exams...

I ended up with a Bachelor of Arts/Business with majors in German Language and Human Resource Management. I decided I was going to Munich to work for BMW... and then I started dating my partner, who is now the father of my son. I spent many years floating around, taking and leaving various jobs, none of which I enjoyed. I moved to regional Victoria and continued feeling miserable about what I was doing with my life, where I was and how I wasted any talent I could have honed.

It's been 10 years since I've so much as written down my thoughts (aside from a few half hearted blogs which inevitably got ignored), so I am aware how rusty my brain-to-keyboard skills are. For the first time in a decade, I am feeling inspired, contented and motivated, ironically tapping in to that angry teen I tried so desperately to forget.

'Mommy blogging' is a heinous term, but I find so much enjoyment and pleasure in writing my observations and thoughts, I couldn't give a damn if you don't like it! I'm doing it for myself, which really, is the key to good writing.

When Someone Else Comes First

I admit it, I come from a deeply self-serving, want-it-now generation. I don't want to wait until I have enough money to buy it, I will use my credit card. If I need help with anything, I call on my parents without hesitation. Though I will give myself enough credit that I am pretty independent and don't like to call on help (eg - with a baby bjorn on, I will try to carry 6 supermarket bags to the car rather than ask for assistance!) I would generalise enough to say that most of us act in ways that suit ourselves first.

When you have a baby, this attitude becomes pretty much impossible. Unless you have endless money and or your mother moves in with you, you quickly realise that you can't even pee when you feel like it because Junior is going to dictate the activities of the day (and night). I relish Goo's nap time, not to say I don't love hanging out with him, but it gives me the time to get some chores done, write down my thoughts, eat, and collect myself. All other times, Goo's needs are number one, and I am more than happy to take a back seat.

Then there are the occasions where putting yourself first is imperative (and always reminding yourself that you are a human being, an individual, and not just 'someone's mother'). When your relationship goes south, and you make the decision to walk because your partner is abusive, regardless of how you feel about your child's right and need to have a relationship with both his parents, you cannot spend years sticking around and putting up with this treatment because you think a child should have a family unit together under the one household. 

I am a firm believer that when you look after yourself, the rest looks after itself. It will work out for the best, because you put yourself in a stronger position. 

Not to say it's not friggin' hard. Life is supposed to be, or that's what we've been told, and our generation are starting to get the feel of that, in a way that our parents can't shield us from.

Competitive Mothers

I attend a new mother's group, as is customary for first time mums, and despite living in a small country town there is a wide demographic of women in the group. There's the Melbourne tree changers (of which I am one), the professional careerists, the horsey country types, the teenage mums... each trying to navigate the new landscape.

One of the mothers proclaimed that mothering was "easier than work" to which I thought, Jesus, your job must've been frickin' hard! But really, she indicated that she had a cruisey baby and in antenatal classes she and her partner said they weren't child friendly so I imagine they were expecting the worst and were pleasantly surprised by the reality.

I ran into another mother in town yesterday who mentioned this comment and that she had spent a day crying wondering if she was the only mother who hated it. Meanwhile, I ran into her with some fried food in my hand lamenting how I got caught eating crap by a mother who I admire for her healthy eating!

Women compare each other, by nature (I realise I am generalising but most women I know suffer this affliction). Combined with the hormones and the adjusting to the new role of motherhood, it just makes things worse.

I make a point of laughing off my fried food busting (it's a good thing, really, that there's no Maccas in my area so I can drive through and secretly scoff in my car) and anything else that could make me feel inadequate. My regrowth. My comfy tshirt with the holes that I wear in public. I could go on. At the end of the day, I wouldn't change one thing about my son, even though he gives me hell sometimes. I'm not gonna compare myself to anyone else because things are never as perfect as they appear on the other side.

I wish I could convince my best friend that. She is desperate to get pregnant, because she is surrounded by  mothers and mothers-to-be, and I am on a mission to convince her to enjoy what she has, not lament what she doesn't have.

It's taken me years to finally appreciate the beauty of where I live and not lament the fact that sometimes I feel like I live in the middle of nowhere... mind you, online shopping has helped!

Hmm... this is all getting a bit too Tolle now... how about a 90's jam to get pumping on a Tuesday arvo.

The Guilty Complex

I like to say that as soon as my son was born, I immediately felt a flood of guilt envelope me and has resided in my every cell ever since.

What I mean by guilt is guilt over throwing out food, clothing, nappies, any other goods, wastage, the poor underpaid and exploited people in China/Pakistan etc that make everything I own, the fact that my child has everything to the point where his grandfather is building him a swimming pool just so he can play at their beach house, when others have nothing; that I eat too much, etc etc etc etc.

It kind of boils down to that 'first world problems' gag, ie, those who are struggling don't have time to feel guilt about anything, they're just trying to survive, and here am I whining!

So I am thinking... as a first time parent you get overloaded with tons of stuff and heaps of it you never use... I would like to start collecting this stuff (creams, baby bath gel, clothing, etc) and making some hampers to give to a charity which can distribute them to new mothers who have little money or support? I like to think that motherhood is kind of a sorority that you join which means we are all in it together, and we should support each other in their times of need. When Goo was born, I recieved a beautiful hamper from the CWA that had samplers and knitted stuff and it was really touching.

What do you think, or is it too patronising?

'Mummy Makeovers'

Rant time. (Again).

This morning on Channel 7's The Morning Show, which runs from 9am - 11:30am and whose primary target audience is stay-at-home parents (particularly women), there was a segment called "The Mummy Makeover". It featured some sort of cosmetic surgeon and a "patient" of said surgeon (I use inverted commas because it seemed so orchestrated to me like a paid advertisement with actors) talking about mothers who are 'getting their pre-pregnancy bodies back'.

I do not know where to begin in describing how heinous this is. If you want liposuction, laser therapy, tummy tuck etc as a means of last resort as the only thing that will make you happy (and my suggestion is, that it has more to do with your own perception of what you should look like rather than the reality) then that's fine, you can come to this decision without any input from morning television. However, to me, putting this segment on this program targeting this demographic is basically preying on mothers who are mostly at home, alone, coping with raising children and the associated hormones and body changes that go with it.

I got quite upset because the last few days I have started to have feelings about how my body looks. I describe it as being "banged up", the same body I had before but a few dents, scratches and chips now. My jeans don't do up the same they used to, I bulge in different places, and sometimes I really don't like what I see in the mirror - which really isn't that different to how I felt before I was even pregnant. Actually, I have a good reason now why I look like I do, I've successfully carried and am nourishing a 7 week old baby. And I have to remind myself this, to not get myself down... and seeing people getting nipped and tucked doesn't exactly help.

The Morning Show should be more responsible and promote how to be happy with who you are, what you are, and if they're going to talk self-improvement, let it be about diet and exercise, not cosmetic surgery. You look at where the US is in terms of obsession with perfection and cosmetic surgery being a social norm, and it's terrifying. We don't want to go there.

FYI, if the Morning Show would like to take me up, I'll happily go on air and show them all my flaws and maybe that'll make people feel better about themselves and how good that look in comparison!!

Unsolicited Advice

The moment someone spots you carrying a baby, they immediately think that you would benefit from their expertise. I wrote that sentence with all the sarcasm I could muster. I make jokes, that's how I cope in life, deflect uncomfortable conversations or relate to people I don't know very well. So when I joked that I was coping with motherhood by "caffinating myself" I was met with a stern frown and a "are you breastfeeding? You need to watch that, that might be why he's so hyperactive."

Excuse me? Are your kids fucking perfect angels because you never drank alcohol or coffee or hurried your kid to sleep so you could write a blog? I bet not!

And if I hear another person say "oh he's hungry" every time he lets out a cry, I will bitch slap them. I can think of about 10 other reasons he's crying other than hunger, and one of them may be because you're all up in his grill with your nasty perfume wafting his way pissing him off.

I just don't get it. You stay locked at home until he's school age so you look like a model parent. I'm gonna go shopping, grab a coffee and live my life. Each to their own.

In the meantime, STFU!




...

I will footnote this post by saying that I am *very* conscious of other people's comfort and won't have my baby out in public if he's feral. That's just not pleasant for anyone. But if he grizzles, big whoop. Some people's speaking voices are more grating.

The Go To Sleep Shuffle

Today I have been attempting to get Goo to sleep. The problem is, one day Goo will sleep in his cot, another he will scream blue murder if I try to place him in there. This is one of those days. So for the past 3 hours, I have been trying to get him down to sleep - the longest I have managed is 30 minutes in his bouncy chair. He will inevitably wake himself up, as he tends to because his arms have minds of their own and slap him in the face... for 3 hours I have been going all over the house trying to find an agreeable location where he will sleep!

A lot of mothers are all about routine. I don't have a daytime routine... I just crisis manage until he passes out at night.

I should probably just be grateful for the 30 minutes of peace I get at a time.

Stay-at-Home Oneupmanship

Today I had a facebook conversation with one of my best friends who has a 10 month old. She subscribed to a facebook page called "The Organised Housewife" which turned into a game of "I'm more of a slob than you" oneupmanship (or is that onedownmanship?)

Gen-Y style stay at home parenting. Nothing to be proud of really.

VanessaLee

about an hour ago · 

• Holy Crap! The Organised Housewife? Just looking at that page makes me feel like The Inadequate Slobbess!!

   ·  ·  · See friendship

  • • 

      Lee Don't feel bad. I'm pretty sure I'm the disorganised housewife. Clean the light switches? Hell, I don't even remember the last time I cleaned the floor.

      about an hour ago via Mobile · 
    • 

      Vanessa I am consciously ignoring the pots in the sink hoping they'll go away. I would be a terrible 50s housewife!

      about an hour ago via Mobile · 
    • 

      Lee  I can beat that. My dishwasher doesn't actually work, so I use it to store dirty dishes until I am forced to do them either because we've run out of cutlery or the dishwasher is jammed full. I don't even worry when the racks are filled. I just pile stuff on top.

      about an hour ago via Mobile · 
    • 

      Vanessa ‎... I got nothing on that!! I do however have 9 months to catch up on you though!!

      about a minute ago ·