Escape to the Aussie Bloggers Conference

Posted on March 18, 2011 13 Comments


I am leaving my beautiful baby in the doting hands of her father for the next few days and heading into Sydney for the Aussie Bloggers Conference. I will miss her terribly. I will miss cuddles and kisses and non-stop chatterboxing and random protestations of undying love. But, I will equally enjoy wandering around the city minus toddler wrangling, uninterrupted meals and coffee breaks and just a bit of time to myself. We’ll see if my brain can handle the pressure of spending that much time with adults. It may cave under the pressure. There’s just no way of knowing.

I will be removing myself from spew town, which is just as well because my pregnant nose smells vomit, everywhere.  And have left strict instructions for husband on dos and do nots as far as toddler diet which I fully expect him to ignore. But hey, the main thing is that I said it, right? Now I can wash my hands of it.

But mostly I am getting very excited about meeting everyone and watching my real life and my online life in a weird and wonderful collision. I’ll be easy to spot. I’ll be the redhead (fake redhead. Sadly my natural colour is awesome gray and my natural colour before that was the uber-boring brown which I have rejected ever since I was old enough to access hair dye) the size of an elephant waddling around very slowly, knowing it’s impossible to be inconspicuous but secretly hoping I could be anyway.

You’ll also be able to spot me by the rather large baby blanket I’m crocheting which I’m now desperately trying to finish before the baby decides it wants to be born. Which is the least of my problems really. Husband and I can’t agree on names for love or money. And while I might say that I can hardly be blamed for the fact that all of his suggestions are crappy, I’m not going to be happy until we actually pick a name together. So I should probably put that on the to do list as well.

Want to catch up? DM me on Twitter and I’ll send you my mobile number. But really, a tweet is just as effective. I have push notifications which means my phone bleeps at me every time I get a twitter mention. Oh, I’m that obsessed.

It occurs to me that this post may seem a little on the manic side. The result of this much excitement and this much sleep deprivation. Plenty more where that came from.

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The Mama Guilt

Posted on March 17, 2011 21 Comments


6:00am

Nothing more likely to make me feel like a royal shithead for going away for three days and two nights like having a poor sick munchkin on my hands this morning. Vomiting at 3am. Which initially I thought was just an upset tummy, but more vomiting at around 5:30am says gastro. So now we’re on the whole sip of water every 10 minutes bandwagon so I can get a good idea of what she can actually hold down. Meanwhile everything smells like vomit. Everything. And it wasn’t even an exorcist spew situation.

11:00am

Thankfully the gastro seems like it will be short lived. She’s held down ice and toast and has now been asleep for over an hour. Every time I hear a cough I’m sure we will be heading back to spew-town. But so far so good. And I’m really putting it to the test by blogging about it. Because everyone knows if you want a munchkin to continue to sleep or keep improving in terms of an illness – you do not blog or tweet about it.

Ever.

So I’m tempting fate here. But really, heading down to Sydney at 39 weeks is tempting fate too, so I might be just going a little tempting-fate crazy.

I don’t like the idea of leaving for a few days while she’s still recovering. But I will. Because she’ll be fine. And she always bounces back unbelievably quickly. She’ll be far too busy having daddy adventures to even notice (much). And I’m not going to the back of beyond. A mere two hours away if need be. Is that enough justification? I’m sure that it’s more than enough. I’m equally sure that I actually don’t need any justification but my mama guilt compels me.

It’s one of the only things I hated about working was having to leave when she was sick. And one of the things that I love now that I’m home. I love how stress-free it is to just look after her when she’s not well without worrying about what I’m going to have to catch up on and when I’m going to have to catch up on it. So I’m supremely grateful that today was the day she woke up sick. Because there will be no difficult decisions for me to make. Not tomorrow, anyway.

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Scar Tissue

Posted on November 16, 2010 24 Comments


It was supposed to be quick, easy. A half hour trip to the emergency room just to make sure that it was gastro we were talking about and not some kind of poisoning. But that’s what I’d thought last time too, that it would be quick.

It went ok for awhile, she was playing at first, then another vomit, then a cry, then a cuddle and eventually she went to sleep. It was about 3 in the morning and she had barely slept at all, so she was well in need of a sleep.

We moved to a hospital bed so that she could at least get some sleep while we waited for the doctor. At this stage it had been about three hours of waiting and it would still be about three more before he took a look at her. I cried for a bit as she rested on me. Which was weird. When she was in the ICU for the better part of a week, unconscious, connected to tubes I barely cried. I shed a few tears when they took her off the breathing machine but other than that I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. So crying in hospital over gastro seems entirely ridiculous.

And then she woke up. And I knew, the second that she looked from the bed to the monitor above, even though she wasn’t connected to it that she was going to panic. And she did. Even though at 2 and a half, she’s probably too young to really remember what happened to her when she was just one, she remembered something. And she begged and pleaded with Josh and I for the better part of two hours to go home. Her swollen face just kept saying “Please”. And it was fucking hard to say no, we have to stay. Much harder than forcing a gas mask over her face while she strained against me and screamed into it on our last hospital visit. Maybe because it was such a long time, maybe because she’s so much more able to articulate her feelings, maybe because I felt so helpless.

Eventually I was able to get her to sleep by stroking her head while sitting on the floor with her. I could overhear the nurses saying how overtired she was and for a brief moment I considered yelling at them that she wasn’t overtired she was bloody traumatised, but that seemed slightly over the top even for me. So I just sat there. Not long after the Doctor came and was suitably appalled that I had my daughter on the floor where it was cold and not in the bed. And seemed to be under the impression that I was somehow opposed to hopping in the bed with her. Me. The woman who sometimes sneaks into Riley’s room to take her into our bed at night, just because I like it.

At about 6:30am her check up was done, she had held down a tiny bit of fluid and we were allowed to take her home. I held her in the car on the way home. I didn’t care that it was illegal, I was not about to make her sit in a seat when she wanted to nuzzle into a chest.

A few days later, I’m still not really over it. I guess I still have a fair amount of trauma from being in the ICU too. But I don’t regret taking her. Because I know that if I had held off on taking her to the hospital any longer the first time (and I’d held off for a few days thinking it was teething) well she could quite possibly have died before anyone could do anything about it. So no regrets here, just a whole lot of scar tissue.

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64/365 Flashback

Posted on August 10, 2010 Leave a Comment

Taken a year ago. It’s hard to imagine that the whirling dervish was not always as steady on her feet. Or that her belly used to stick out like that. Or how quick she had bounced back from her trip to the intensive care unit. There she is, looking as healthy as anything, a mere four months later. When she got home she couldn’t crawl, let alone walk and there she is a few months later having put weight back on and getting around.

I don’t think about it much (or choose not to) but every now and then I think of her completely hoarse cry that made her sound like a seal, and I think I’m still recovering, really.

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Point and Shoot

Posted on May 17, 2010 4 Comments

This weekend was a recovery weekend. Luckily , I was mostly the only one in need of recovery. Toddlers don’t seem to notice when they are sick and Josh seemed to be out of sorts for all of 24 hours before he started feeling better again.
To aid my recovery, on Saturday morning my sister picked up Riley to take her to see her great grand father. Frankly, I think she was pretty excited just at the idea of leaving the house.

Somehow, I don’t think that my company has been overly stimulating of late.

The weekend also involved other recovery activities like napping in the afternoon listening to the rain outside, a pancake breakfast and general couch potato-ness.

For other point and shoot entries, or to submit your own, head over to Fat Mum Slim.

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Going Viral (Not the Good Kind)

Posted on May 14, 2010 6 Comments


I like the idea and the reality of a family. You have company without having to get out of pyjamas. You get to be around somebody who has seen you at your absolute worst and still thinks you’re pretty awesome. You have in-jokes and non-secret codes. All in all, it’s a pretty sweet deal.

That is, until somebody gets sick. This week that person was me. I was the evil carrier monkey that brought this flu into our home. And then spread it to all and sundry. But even before I’d started to spread the misery, certain things break down. Like the pile of dishes that doesn’t have the decency to do itself when I’m not feeling well, or the piles of clothes in the bathroom, or the unmade dinner or all manner of other things that I would normally do during the day.

There’s a big problem with getting sick and looking after a toddler. For starters, unlimited energy goes a long way. And I’m running on negative energy. Somehow the ‘let’s fall asleep together on the couch’ game isn’t as exciting to the toddler as it is to me. The other problem is that they are entirely intuitive creatures, so if you’re not feeling well, they’re likely to pick up on it and be miserable themselves. So instead of being sick and having a jolly toddler. You are sick and have an irate, grumpy, demanding, sensitive toddler.

Then of course, the husband gets home after a hard day at work and a long commute and is faced with a tantruming toddler a bleary eyed wife who only vaguely resembles the woman he married thanks to the snotty, coughing, exhausted mess she’s been replaced with, and a pile of dishes that looks about double what it was when he left in the morning. It disrupts the balance. The delicate, delicate, domesticity balance. Because I might be sick, or I might just be a relatively ugly lazy person who refuses to get out of her pyjamas.

And then of course, the nail in the coffin happens when EVERYONE gets sick. I get more sick and start to feel like I should be researching head transplant options, the toddler starts to get sick, and the husband gets very sick (because women can never be as sick as men. It’s like a fact or something). And instead of a well oiled machine, you’re left with a crash site and grumpy people who are unable to get to sleep because someone, somewhere is always sneezing, spluttering or coughing up a lung. And despite the toddler being poorly – it doesn’t stop her from bouncing or running or crash tackling. Because she’s sick, not dead.

The best you can really hope for is that you don’t get better at different times and then re-infect one another. That’s the dream of family life – that we don’t reinfect one another.

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Just Wonderful: Love and Partners and Natural Parenting

Posted on February 9, 2010 53 Comments


Welcome to the February Carnival of Natural Parenting: Love and partners!

This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama. This month we’re writing about how a co-parent has or has not supported us in our dedication to natural parenting. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.

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Love and partners: How has a co-parent supported your dedication to natural parenting — or not?

When Riley was born, my relationship with my husband changed. Because all of a sudden instead of one relationship, we were dealing with three. Our relationship as life partners, our relationship with our daughter, and our relationship with one another as parents.Another interesting thing happened as well. We stopped arguing, sort of. We disagree, alot. But we stopped needing to be right. I would say what I felt, he would say what he felt. And if we still disagreed, we just let it be. This is in stark contrast to previously where we would both continue to beat a dead horse until one of us admitted that the other one was right. I don’t know why, but following the birth of our daughter, both of us stopped needing to be right, we just needed to be heard, even if that meant that nothing really changed.

I did not have natural parenting ideals when I was pregnant. And in all honesty, I probably wouldn’t have even known what natural parenting or attachment parenting was. I read What to Expect When You’re Expecting in tiny little snippets so the weight of responsibility and risk didn’t totally freak me out. In the last month of my pregnancy I watched a million b-grade documentary type series on cable all about birth (most ended in c-section) and babies (mainly focussed on why won’t they sleep/eat/sleep). I found the idea of breastfeeding beyond 6 months a little bit creepy, looked down my nose at people who had babies or toddlers who wouldn’t sleep or would only sleep in their parents’ bed and couldn’t figure out why parents would walk around carrying their baby/toddler when they were pushing a perfectly serviceable stroller.

My husband had different ideas. His number one priority in our baby shopping was to get a baby carrier so he would be able to carry her around. So I bought one of those front-pack type carriers along with a sling. The sling seemed like a good way to be able to get things done with having both hands free. I didn’t really consider all the benefits of the sling in terms of bonding, comfort and closeness. Towards the end of my pregnancy we were doing some last minute baby shopping. My husband saw a co-sleeper (a little bed that sits on the main bed). It had a night light and little sides to stop you from rolling over onto her in the middle of the night. I didn’t really see the point. I mean, she was going to be in her own room from at the latest three months anyway. But, I’d done most of the shopping for the new arrival, and I wanted him to be involved so I placated him with the purchase.

There were two things that we both agreed on while I was pregnant, we would not be smackers and we would not cry it out. I felt very strongly about both of those things.

Then our beautiful baby was born, by emergency c-section. Josh kept me calm during the c-section by asking me for my rugby league tips for that week. Excellent distraction tactic. I was ill prepared for actually how violent a procedure a c-section is. Because I had skipped that chapter in the pregnancy book. I was going to have a completely natural birth, with no drugs, and there was no reason why I would need a c-section. The googy had other plans. She had one hand on her head and the other hand was hanging on to the cord. I remember seeing Josh’s face when they pulled her out and pronounced she was a girl (he has only ever wanted girls). He looked at me with more happiness and excitement than I had ever seen, and I knew she was ok. Her birth was a physical manifestation of our marriage. We had said the words, but she brought them to life and no matter what happened in the future, we were inextricably joined forever in this tiny little person.

Very quickly, all of my ‘ideas’ about parenthood and babies went out the window. Fair warning: you should never develop any firm ideas about parenthood before you actually have a baby – you’re likely to end up looking like a bit of an ass. I slept with her in the bed with me in hospital because I couldn’t bear to put her in the bassinet, just arm’s reach away, it was too far. I mainly dozed at first, because I enjoyed the feeling of her on my chest so much. I was comforted by her heart beat and her soft breath.

Breastfeeding was a challenge. I had damaged nipples and we struggled to find a good latch. I felt I was failing her at something that was so important, and was supposed to be so natural. I cried a lot. My desire to breastfeed was strong enough that I persisted through the excruciating pain and the dread of each feeding. Two things got me through it and to the other side where breastfeeding was enjoyable and painless. Josh gave me support and understanding through the hard times, allowed me the freedom to consider other options if I couldn’t get through it, acknowledged my efforts and held my hand as I bawled my eyes out through the pain. A wonderful midwife and lactation consultant also set me on the right path with the latch and spurred me on further, telling me that it was obvious how much I loved Riley, given the extent of the damage. Once in a while though, when I was up for the umpteenth time of the night breastfeeding Riley or trying to get her back to sleep and Josh was next to me snoring, I was tempted to beat him over the head with something.

I became an avid breastfeeder, and fell quickly and easily into on demand feeding, because it was so much easier than anything else. Sometimes it seemed like Riley was breastfeeding for 6 hours straight. I loved the closeness and connection of breastfeeding and often fed her to sleep, through teething pain, or whenever she needed a little bit more comfort. Josh would often stroke her head, hands or feet while I was breastfeeding, and it was a bonding time for him too. Josh used to walk past the formula in the supermarket and say ‘it’s not right, I’m so glad we didn’t have to go there.’And although we were both ready when we stopped, I missed it once it was gone.

Josh had three months paternal leave when Riley was born. And I needed him, every day. I was so grateful that we had that time together as a young family. When I was barely conscious from exhaustion he would take Riley for long walks while I either slept or just stared off into the distance, allowing myself to unplug. He fed me at all times of the day and night, quick meals that I could scoff down before catching some sleep. He proudly set up the co-sleeper in our bed at night, and on the couch during the day. He often used the night light to look at her while she slept (or check that she was breathing). Riley stayed in the co-sleeper until she was too big at around three months. At which point she moved to the bassinet (still in our room) for the first sleep of the night and then she usually slept with us after that. I mastered the art of the night-time breastfeeding and was able to sleep through most of her latching on. When she was too big for the bassinet, we moved her to the cot (in her room) at around 6 months. But it didn’t last long and she slept in our bed off-and-on until she was about 14 months. Although she’s now in a toddler bed and sleeps in her room, whenever she wakes up in the night we still enjoy co-sleeping, even look forward to it. We both wavered at times on the whole parenting to sleep thing, due to exhaustion, frustration and no prospect of change. Luckily, we never wavered at the same time. She was over a year before she started sleeping through with any reliability. And now, with hindsight, we both realise how short that time really is. When we were in it, we were so desperate for her to sleep through. But now, we both realise that the period of babydom is so much shorter than we were really ready for it to be. Parenting to sleep can be frustrating, boring and exhausting. Parenting to sleep can also be a special time for quiet connection. Josh loves it when Riley falls asleep next to him, and he sees her heavy eyes close and her body claimed by slumber.

We both preferred the sling or the carrier to the stroller. Sometimes it was a battle to decide who would do the carrying. It was a joy to have her mushy little face fall asleep against your chest. Even better was when she would wake up, slightly disoriented, and look up to realise that we were still there and she would get a happy little smile on her face. And I am one of those parents who carries her toddler around while pushing the pram. Because contrary to some of my opinions before Riley was born, babies and toddlers are actually people with emotions and needs and preferences. Riley has a preference for being held most of the time and I count myself lucky that we have such a cuddly daughter.

I happened across a natural parenting website by accident. And there it was, our parenting style, reflected back to me. None of it by design. Josh and I had floundered our way through early parenthood all through intuition and instinct, and landed somewhere that was totally comfortable for us and all three of our relationships.

The greatest difficulty Josh faced as a parent was not anything to do with sleep deprivation, or discipline, or the fact that he occasionally struggled to engage with her when she was a little baby and she didn’t really do anything other than lie there – prepared to be entertained. It was when she was really sick and she had her trip to the ICU. And it wasn’t that it was scary, or traumatic or the fact that we were completely out of control. It was after that, when she was getting better. She would cry if he came near her, and she would push him away if he came too close. She would also cry if she ever saw us hugging or kissing. And she was still hoarse from the tubes, and any cry was devastating to hear. After the trauma of her hospitalisation, all he wanted to do was hold her and cuddle her and kiss her and keep her close. And it broke his heart, over and over again. His pain was naked and raw. It was made worse by the fact that she didn’t even have the strength to crawl or sit up on her own, but she somehow found the energy reserves to make her rejection of his advances known. It took a long time, and an absolute commitment on his part to demonstrate his adoration for her, regardless. Sometimes he was frustrated, sometimes he was deflated and sometimes he was just plain hurt. And eventually, she returned to herself again, and to him. Now, you would never know it had even happened. So when the other day she crawled onto his lap for a cuddle after her nap, or when a few months ago her first clear word was “Josh”, he treasures it all the more.

Co-parenting wasn’t always easy for us. At times we were both frustrated with her clear preference for mama. I often wished that he could put her to sleep, and while this sometimes happened, more often than not, my presence was a requirement.  Because I stay at home most of the time, it is also difficult sometimes to make that transition from me doing everything all day to us both participating equally either at night or on the weekend. That is still something we are working on. Our styles are different. Not in a core way, which definitely makes things easier. But, nonetheless, there are differences. Because I’m at home all day, I tend to pick my battles. That is something that Josh is still working on. I am more permissive than he is, and that is still something we’re working out together.

Since we both want to avoid day care if we can, Josh has started taking a day off once a month where he looks after Riley and I go into work. This has been great for both of us. He gets to see how the other half lives, has one-on-one time with Riley, and all in all tends to have the time of his life. Last time he had a day off, when i got home and asked him how his day was, he replied ‘just wonderful’.

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Carnival of Natural Parenting -- Hobo Mama and Code Name: MamaVisit Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!

Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:

(This list will be updated Feb. 9 with all the carnival links, and all links should be active by noon EST. Go to Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama for the most recently updated list.)

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Bad Habits Die Hard

Posted on February 7, 2010 3 Comments


We took Riley to the park yesterday. I think the photo shows that she was a little bored.

Due to seemingly unending bouts of teething, illness and my exhaustion, I have gotten out of the habit of getting out of the house with the munchkin. There was a time where I would always, or almost always, take her down to the park in the afternoon for a run around.

But I’ve lapsed into other priorities, boring, menial and somewhat necessary. Doing the laundry, cleaning the play area (destruction zone) and painting the house. But nonetheless, it’s still a very bad habit, or group of habits. There’s not enough time in the day for sure. I can’t physically get everything done. But active playtime should be pretty high up on the list and recently it has been sidelined.

The benefits of making it too the park (other than the giggles, which are awesome) is that we both get a bit of exercise, she sleeps later (6:30 this morning instead of before 5), and it takes the edge of that clingy period before dinner. But really all that isn’t really here of there. Nobody likes being stuck in the house all the time, and I’d like to foster her love of the outdoors, not ignore it just because I’ve got stuff to do.

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The Backslide

Posted on February 2, 2010 3 Comments


When Riley was about 14 months old she started reliably sleeping through the night and no needing my presence to get to sleep. Up until that point she was up three or more times a night and at nap time I would need to rock or stroke her to sleep.

Perhaps it was because I was no longer breastfeeding her, so there was less interest in night-time snacking, or perhaps it was that she had always hated the cot and I’d moved her to her toddler bed. Either way, I didn’t care. It was such a relief to have a break. It wasn’t just the sleep deprivation, it was the emotional pressure of being completely responsible for whether or not she slept.

Since her recent bout of teething and illness there’s been a bit of a sleep regression. More often than not I sit in her room so she can get to sleep. I talk to her really softly and slowly or massage her scalp or stroke her cheeks until she drifts off and I sneak out of the room. And more often than not she’ll wake up in the middle of the night and come into our bed.

It would be easy to become frustrated with this. Despite the fact that I think I would have really missed out if I hadn’t parented her to sleep all this time. And despite the fact that I enjoy the co-sleeping – even when I get kicked and punched occasionally.Which is why this article really struck a chord with me. It was a reminder that sometimes I can’t sleep and I stay up and watch TV, or I ask Josh to give me a massage, or I read a book, or I have something to eat. And sometimes I just can’t relax.The only difference is I’m capable of meeting my needs, vocalising them and in general helping myself. I don’t have someone telling me to get into bed when I can’t sleep. Or making sure I stay there.

It’s not always easy when all I want is some undisturbed sleep. But the next time I’m bored, frustrated or exhausted I will hold on to all of the things that make it just lovely. Like pudgy little arms wrapping around my neck in the middle of the night; or heavy eyes closing slowly to my touch, or chubby cheeks resting against my own for comfort.

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The Path More Travelled

Posted on January 25, 2010 2 Comments


When I was pregnant I thought long and hard about immunisation. I wasn’t sure if it was the right choice. So I researched, and then researched some more. My concern was for two things really. Firstly I think that there is a trend towards over-medication which can lead to an erosion of the natural immune system. And secondly, I am paranoid about autism. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It’s just one of those things that totally terrifies me. When I see Riley line things up in a perfect row, it totally freaks me out. Even though I know it is hardly an indicator for autism.

I think the thing that scares me the most about autism is its (relatively) late onset. That you can have an engaged, happy, social, talkative little creature who slowly backslides into a shell of their former self. I saw a program on a couple who had six children and they were all autistic (at varying levels of the spectrum). I am in total awe of them. And you could see how painful it was for them to completely love and adore their children who weren’t capable of outwardly engaging with them or demonstrating any love in return.

Everyone has their inexplicable fears with their children I guess. My other half doesn’t give autism a second thought, but is completely paranoid about congenital birth defects.

But before we wander to far into the quagmire of my neurosis, I should probably get back to immunisation. In the end (based on my research) it seemed that it was more likely that autism was genetic rather than related to immunisations, or at worst immunisations may have been a trigger for a genetic tendency. And after looking at the risk factors for other complications to do with immunisations I decided to get Riley’s shots done. This was mainly because it would be impossible to put Riley in child care if she wasn’t immunised. And although I wasn’t planning on using child care, I wanted to have the option if we needed it. The other part of the decision was mostly emotional. I felt that if the worst happened I would be better able to live with my choice if she had complications associated with an immunisation as opposed to getting sick from one of the diseases that the immmunisations protect her from.

It wasn’t until her episode of epiglottitis that I really thought about it again. Although you might think that given she got something that she was immunised against, it would make me question my original choice. The opposite was true. I could see that if she hadn’t been immunised, she may have died before we’d even gotten to the hospital. Not to mention that it is my belief that while many children who are not immunised will not necessarily get sick, in large part they are protected by the majority of the population who is immunised.

Before Riley was born I had a similar attitude to antibiotics. Erode the natural immune system. Bad. But when she’s got a ludicrously high temperature, developing a bad cough and generally under the weather, I don’t hesitate to give her antibiotics anymore. Other than her hospital visit, she’s probably had two lots of antibiotics in her young life. My preference is to avoid them, but that is quickly over-ridden by wanting her to get better as soon as humanly possible.

So here I am, sucked into the medical mainstream. Because when I’m faced with my sick little munchkin, all the rationales for allowing her immune system to develop on its own go out the window, and I make emotional decisions about helping her to feel better. I don’t know if it’s good or bad. But it’s very easy to stand behind your arguments in an emotionless vacuum and something else entirely when you’re baby is crying her heart out.

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