Moving House: Good In Theory

So, whilst I am here blogging my brains out, my little mountain shack remains partially packed. On Sunday we are waving goodbye and heading to the big smoke. While I can hardly wait to inhale exhaust fumes and be lulled to sleep by the whirling and dinging of the trams, there is the unenviable task of packing our lifes into boxes. It is remarkable how much crap one accumulates in such a short amount of time. I have two boxes of magazines dating back to 2003, and I have been brutal and tossed out a lot.

Since getting married I have found that we as a couple argue more. I can't say why, but it is apparently so. Packing provides new and endless depths to plumb for argument material. Aforementioned magazines! 'Why does anyone need an issue of Vogue Australia from 2006?' cries he. 'Sienna Miller's hair on this cover is epic. It is a style inspiration to me! Of course I need it!' is the logical response. Why does he need to hoard every loose screw, nut and bolt he finds? And why does he wash all of his jam jars for 'storage' when all they ever 'store' is air? 

The usual packing regime really starts to commence one week before the move (the months before are filled with endless trips to St Vincent de Paul, so much so that I am afraid to actually visit the store lest I feel I am in my own living room). The woman (usually), who typically keeps the household running, wants to feel like she is organised and starts to put a few things in boxes. The man inspects this task, criticising  both what is being packed and how it is being packed. An argument ensues, resulting in the man retiring to whatever he activity was doing beforehand (ie, nothing) and the woman spends several good minutes cursing the man; and gives up, thinking that that's it, they'll never, ever leave at this rate.

It all comes together of course, eventually, and on time. The truck leaves the old house, arrives at it's destination, is unloaded and the new house is full of boxes to be emptied, more fodder for a whole new set of arguments. 'Why did you pack that?', 'that's broken, I told you not to pack like that', and my favourite 'My back hurts, stop hassling me you asshole!'

I completely understand people who live in the same house their whole life. A whole set of pointless arguments are avoided, resulting in a much more harmonious existence. Except of course, when you die, and your children are cursing you for hoarding 40+ years worth of crap. Imagine how many magazines I would have if I never moved!!

A girlfriend is also currently moving house, and though only suburb to suburb, the arguments are still just as potent. I received a text message from her just yesterday:

"Help me feel better, please tell me your husband has not helped pack up the house either? I have done the whole house, except garage, on my own. He is watching fishing shows."

"Once again", I replied, "more reason why I intend to come back as a man in my next life". I will let her have the last word:

"Hopefully [my husband] becomes a woman and we get married so I can take my revenge on him."

Indeed.

Token Mummyblog Post: "Classy" Breastfeeding

I don't want to be another voice in a crowded room throwing in my two cents regarding this Kochie breastfeeding debacle. I don't think more voices are what's needed. I would just like to talk about my experiences and how it's affected me, and my son.

I actually saw the original segment on Sunrise and I really felt for co-anchor Samantha Armytage; she didn't really know what to say when David Koch suggested women be a bit "classy" about breastfeeding in public. All I remember thinking was 'what a dickhead' and why I prefer to watch Today to enjoy Karl Stefanovic taking the piss out of his job, treating breakfast television what it actually is.

In case you have no idea what I'm referring to, in a nutshell, a news item appeared about a woman in Queensland who was asked by public pool staff to move to a more discreet area whilst breastfeeding her child on the side of the pool. Koch weighed in by agreeing with the staff, thinking while breastfeeding in public is fine, women should just be a bit more "classy" about it and consider others around them.

My two issues with this are personal to me. Firstly, I always avoided breastfeeding in public because I already have serious issues with drawing any attention to myself in public and I wouldn't breastfeed just as I wouldn't wear any outrageous clothing, or talk loudly, et cetera et cetera. The truth is, women certainly don't need anyone drawing judgement on them and suggesting that they lack discretion or class because they are feeding their child. There is enough pressure on women to lose weight, go back to work and the like without fearing that breastfeeding in public is going to draw more scrutiny (indeed, the alternative, staying indoors for a year is quite impossible - I last about a day).

Aside from the many hours spent breastfeeding in my car, I feel like this whole debate is playing into the hands of the formula companies. All they have to do is wait for a vulnerable, pressured, exhausted and sleep deprived woman to give up on breastfeeding because it becomes all too hard. The times I have breastfed in public I've felt like I'm trying to breastfeed an ocelot who is scratching and writhing and pulling at clothes and blankets or any shield I am trying to use. The whole process ended up being a major headache and I gave up and went home. Yeah, breastfeeding really isn't fun. It's not easy and it is rather impossible to think about being classy when you're battling.

That said, I am extremely proud of the fact that my son has never, ever been subjected to formula - an inferior product, let's face it, and I hope he is set up for life with all the immunity a human being can enjoy - that and all the dead bugs he's eaten along the way.

The real point that needs to be made, (formula mums ready to bash me), that breastmilk vs formula sholuld never be treated as a choice. Formula is a last resort. The whole system is a shambles, from the breastfeeding support given in hospital when your baby is born to the education about the fact that breastfeeding is difficult, and inconvenient, but hey Gen-Y, guess what, it's actually not all about you. In effect, we've let formula companies fool us for years that formula is an ideal and convenient way to nourish your baby.

It's not the 1960s any more. We are an open minded, and educated (well, that's debatable) culture that severely needs to address and embrace the most marginalised of our society - new mothers included.

As my husband says, why do I care what other people do to their children? I know in my mind that I have given my son the best start in life, and that's all I can really do. I really just wanted to get that off my chest.

Oh, a cringeworthy pun. Publish, publish and go and do something useful, like drink wine!

Welcome to The Second Act.

ACT II: ADULTHOOD.

I am sitting here on the couch while my husband is watching a tacky old James Bond movie (Yes we got married! Wonders never cease). I have had a couple (OK, maybe a few) glasses of sparkling and we have just finished a discussion on when the next Inspector Montalbano episode is on.

It has dawned on me lately that I have become a grown up. It has taken me to the near age of 30 to  come reach this point, and I must admit, I am pretty damn happy about it.

To be honest, life isn't all red wine and debates on politics. There are the bad parts. The money, always the recurring topic. The raising of children which, while it delights us everyday, is also a struggle. It's not exactly the romantic image of adulthood I had in mind when I was still in my formative years. I am also glad it has arrived because I simply do not have the stamina to keep up with the lifestyle I once lived; when I turned up to work having barely slept, I was too busy having a good time to worry about saving, or building a future, or setting in roots.

Now, my pursuits are planning dinner parties, and trying to re-learn card games to play over a bottle of cognac. Enjoying being "in". Enjoying "quiet times". The things that I once abhorred.

There is no prescription for entering Act II, there is no timeframe, or certain age. I know people older than me who are still in their first act. Act II also doesn't guarantee that I have learnt all of life's lessons and now it is time to reap what I have sown. On the contrary. It is time to take MORE risks, make MORE mistakes and learn MORE lessons. The difference is, they will be calculated.

I don't feel the need to keep up with brand names, or be seen, or please anyone like I used to, as the be all and end all. With the one life I am gifted, I am ready to move ahead knowing that I will not please everyone, nor can I be everything to everyone, but confident in the knowledge that I am being true to myself. And that is more exciting than any adventure I had in my first act.

** I borrowed the theme of living life in three acts from Jane Fonda, which, incidentally, I highly recommend as a biography to read. **

*** I am still working on my posts about my wardrobe, vlog in progress... I am just limited by my internet capabilities up here in the bush at the present time ***

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?