Three Months Worth of Stuff I Didn’t See Coming.
OK, so I feel more and more pleased with my choice of title for this blog. It just sums up my whole life in the last year or so. Anyhow, the Little Mister is now three calendar months old. Tomorrow he will be 14 weeks old. Except I will only say how many weeks he is in age in front of other new parents because I do recognise how silly it sounds to go around telling everyone your baby is 1654 weeks old just because you want everyone to know how your baby is still so cute and new, even though by my calculations he/she would be approximately four and a half years old by then.
I made a vow with myself that I would stop announcing the Little Mister’s age in weeks (out loud) after he turned 3 months of age. I also now make a vow that after he turns 18 months old, I will stop announcing his age in months. That’s not cute either when you’re telling everyone your kid is 8723 months old, when really he/she’s …726 years old. Um…I never said I was good at mathematics.
So, where was I?
Yep, the Little Mister is three months old and so far his life has been one big surprise made up of tiny little daily surprises along the way. Kind of like one of those Russian doll thingys where there’s one inside the other, inside the other, inside the other…you know the ones.
I used to think that babies this young wouldn’t really be that aware or so attached to the adults in their lives. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism for me to believe that because I was adopted at five months old and all my life I’ve believed that I wouldn’t have really noticed what was going on when I was taken from my biological mother at birth, placed with a foster mother and then flown to Australia to be with my real family five months later. Each day I see the Little Mister recognising me with a huge grin on his face, looking for me when I am out of his line of sight and doing the same with his dad. He also has a special relationship with my mum. He will never remember any of this time of his life on a conscious level when he’s older, but it makes me realise what a special time this is in shaping this little being. When he’s five months old, I will be looking at him as he is at that time and reflecting. For me that will be a very significant time. Each day I am so happy for him that he will never be given away.
On a less serious note (sorry for a sudden change in tone): OMFG. The drool. So much drool. I mean, I knew that little kids dribble and that babies are supposed to be notorious for this, but I must say I was not mentally prepared for that at all! My firstborn child could fill an olympic sized swimming pool every day! I actually have dry spots on the top of my arms from where he has dribbled daily. I now have to moisturise my upper arms. Because of the drool. Who would have seen that coming?
He drools on my clothes, his clothes, his playmat, his toys, the couch, and every part of his own body from the lower facial region down. He immerses himself in a thick, gooey slick of saliva. If I let my guard down for just a minute I find myself having to wipe him down completely. His chin, his shoulders, his legs. Even his poos are more runny now because of the sheer volume of saliva he swallows. His productivity levels are at an all time high! And he’s not even teething yet!
I am a mushy, gushy mess. I always knew that I’d be a sentimental old crackpot one day. Probably because I’ve always had a corny greeting card kind of brain all my life. I thought, oh yeah. I’ll pop out an infant and he’ll be cute and I’ll be all oh my gosh I’ve got to protect this child like a mama bear and celebrate all his tiny developmental milestones and I’ll finally know all that crap other mothers go on about when they say that having a child is when you realise just how much room is in your heart for another little being blah blah. But let’s be honest, I kind of thought I was a bit cool. I thought I wouldn’t get all weepy and annoyingly sensitive about it all. Now I can’t watch a TV show where someone has just given birth and I certainly can’t watch an item on the news about someone’s baby being ill or worse, dying because I become a soppy, sobbing mess. All I have to think about is what it felt like to finally have Little Mister in my arms (after being separated from birth for three long days due to illness) or to imagine what it could have all turned out like if I hadn’t had amazing hospital care and I just well up with tears. Yep. Ever seen the opening scenes of the movie Jersey Girl? The part where J-Lo dies in childbirth of an undetected aneurysm and Ben Affleck is torn between grieving his wife and loving his new baby???? Holy sh*tballs. I watched that the other day (for the first time) and let’s just say my tear production was as prolific as the Little Mister’s saliva production levels.
Right now I am a stay at home mum. I don’t have a paying job to go back to (it’s a long story that started long before I got pregnant), so I’m really living the life of a housewife. I keep myself busy socially and fill my days with Little Mister as much as I can so that we’re both entertained and learning all the time. My hubby works shift work which is great in some ways (he gets a bunch of rostered days off in a row each swing), but not so great in other ways (when he’s working his shifts the baby and I don’t really see him for four days straight). This can get very tiring while my husband is working as I am tending to the Little Mister from the moment he wakes in the morning until the moment he wakes the next morning. I don’t get any assistance during those few days (my own stubborn decision) so I look forward to my husband’s days off when I can spend time with him, enjoy being a little family together and have some time “off”. Firstly, I never thought about it all that way before the birth. I just thought it would be so easy because my husband’s job is so good. Now I realise it’s more challenging than I anticipated, although I am still very fortunate as a lot of new mothers in my area have husbands who have to fly out for a week or two at a time to work.
Another thing is that I can be absolutely freaking exhausted and grumpy. I can be tired of the constant nappy changing, drool wiping, baby soothing, sleep settling, bottle warming, feeding, carrying of baby everywhere, having to do everything while he’s napping, sleeplessness, baby talking, skill building activities, the juggling and the usual daily new parent worries. I can be SO excited about my husband taking over for a night so I don’t have to wake up and deal with it. I can be SO excited about being able to leave the baby with his daddy while I go out for a bit (even to the supermarket). Yet, no matter how much I think I need a break, I can’t help but wake in the middle of the night to secretly peek at my baby’s gorgeous little head of hair while my husband bottle feeds him. I can’t help but feel a little sad when I leave the house. I can’t help but get excited when I’m on my way home. Even when I am on middle of the night feed duty, if that little bugger gives me a cheeky grin because I’ve come to prepare him for a feed at 3am, I can’t help but still feel a ridiculous amount of love and affection for him.
That, most of all, blows my mind. I am the kind of person who has been grumpy when tired since day dot. You (an adult) wreck my sleep and I will hack you into tiny pieces and hide you in the walls of my house (or at least threaten to very very loudly and sincerely until you are scarred for life and promise to never ever do that again). My husband would know. When I was working full time, he was DEAD MEAT if I lost even a minute of my precious eight hours of sleep. To think that a little tiny human can change my perspective so much is just craziness! Just when you think you can’t go on another full day or night, something just pulls you through. I realise I have so much more energy and love to give than I ever gave myself credit for in the past. If I’d known I had this in me all along, man I would have done things so much differently! I think this is my favourite job so far in life and I’ve had some pretty cool ones. Now if only I could figure out how to get paid for it…
While most of this blog post is very deep and meaningful, there is something else that I was Awesomely Unprepared for. I have become vain and baby proud. I can hear you audibly gasping. Kez? Is that you?? NO YOU DI’INT!
When I can’t dress the Little Mister in a super cute outfit for the day I am super not-so-cutely disappointed. The idea that people of the general public may be viewing my baby and he’s not wearing a super cute outfit just disappoints me so much ( disturbingly too much). And when he’s dressed in the best outfit ever, but no-one ends up seeing it I feel a similar disappointment. Like I wasted his outfit for the day. Kind of like when I would dress up so beautifully to go clubbing with my girlfriends on a Saturday night only to find out it was just going to be a crappy night and that I’d wasted an outfit on it when I could have just worn a potato sack for all anyone cared.
Ha! Clubbing. Ancient history…
The reflective glory I seek out via adorable/quirky baby outfits is quite worrysome. I never thought I would become so shallow! I post so many pictures of my son on Facebook that it’s ridiculous. I never thought I would catch that disease, but I have. I am now your annoying friend who thinks everyone should click “like” on her plethora of boring baby photos. I am so sorry. But don’t you know? It’s only OTHER babies that are boring. My baby is so much more interesting even though he’s doing all the same things as the other babies in all of the other baby photos on Facebook.
I’m only a smidgen away from entering the Little Mister into modelling auditions and hiring an agent for him, before ending up on some kind of horrendous, exploitative reality TV show. I disgust myself!
So in summary, I don’t even recognise myself anymore. My life has been turned upside down in the last quarter of a year!
What have you been up to in the last three months?
Is it that obvious?
Pic “What gave me away as a parent?”
Look, I hate to say it but in the last 12 weeks my life has changed just a leeeetle bit. I feel like I’m walking around with a great big neon sign on my head announcing to all of the world that THIS WOMAN IS NOT THE SAME! SHE’S CHANGED! NEW MOTHER! NEW MOTHER! NEW MOTHER!! OK, so maybe it’s more of a scrolling LED sign to fit in such a long announcement, but what’s a few technicalities between friends?
Geek.
Before I became a ridiculously Awesomely Unprepared parent, I was just a ridiculously Awesomely Unprepared parent to be! I thought that things would change massively (bringing a baby into the world can do that), but on the whole I figured I’d still talk about the same stuff, wear the same stuff and that one day (once the C-section recovery time wore off) I would be able to walk around the place fooling everyone…”Look at that young, childless woman. She looks so cool, carefree and sexy, she can’t possibly have a baby. Oh, she does have a baby? Wow, how does she do it?! I would never have guessed!”
Um…BAHAHAHAHA. Is all I have to say to that. So many things give me away (even when the baby is not attached to me with his little monkey hands). Things I swore I would never subscribe to. Just because I was dumb, idealistic and perhaps a little illogical! I like this new phase of my life a lot (lucky haha), but it’s just amazing how all encompassing it can become!
What makes my new mummyhood so obvious (even when my Little Mister is nowhere to be seen), besides the fact that I just used the word “mummyhood” which just sounds so naff?
My car now has window socks on both rear windows. For those who don’t know what I’m talking about, window socks are those shades that cover the whole window (they slide over them for good protection from the sun). Window socks are just one sad step away from having a ‘Baby on Board’ sign or those awful ‘My Family’ stick figures plastered all over the rear window of the family minivan. No, I don’t have a mini van. I have a practical family stationwagon, which I tell myself is a ‘sports’ wagon to make myself feel better. Window socks scream MUMMY!
I will no longer be able to park outside of nightclubs, bars or hip boutique stores without looking like MUMMY GOT A *BABYSITTER AND IS OUT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A LONG TIME!
I used to be that girl who was always asking someone if they had a tissue, some hand sanitiser or a plastic bag to put things in. My own handbag was too busy being full of jumbled up receipts (which are not very nice to blow your nose on), an iPod, a bunch of loose change that I couldn’t be bothered putting in my purse (who has time to do that?) and a few pairs of mismatched earrings from the last big social outing/s. I was always Awesomely Unprepared for any snotty, goopy, sneezy, spillage-y situation. Now my handbag is totally in order. I cannot beeeelieve it! Basically, I can’t afford to mess about when the baby needs something. Suddenly I have a section in there for a dummy, a mini pack of wipes, a couple of disposable nappy bags and tissues. Earrings? Pfft. They’d only be good if I planned on losing an ear to a tiny, bunched up fist. The other day I realised I had turned into my mother. I stepped in something gross in K-Mart. It was wet and suspiciously seemed to have come from a gross child who had just left the area. My automatic response was to ask my mum for a tissue. Then before she could rummage through her perfectly organised handbag, I remembered. I’m a mother now. I have my own tissues. I wiped my sandal and my foot before asking out loud, “Now what the hell do I do with this gross, wet tissue?”
Before my mum could answer, I found a plastic nappy bag to put it in. And then my mum almost convulsed with laughter. I will quote her as saying, “That’s HILARIOUS.”
*sigh*
You’ll recognise me when I’m out and about these days. I’ll be the one with the thinning hair. Yes, they say that some women will experience hair fall a while after giving birth. Something to do with hormones changing or something? Suddenly the beautiful, bouncy voluminous tresses that pregnancy blessed me with are no longer. I’m clogging up shower drains, getting hair all over the baby and I have to double check myself before I go out of the house, in case I am sporting a nice hair rug on the back of my clothing. The worst thing? Don’t you hate when you get hair falling into your cleavage? Ew.
The other day I bought a pair of sensibly lengthed denim shorts. You know. The type that mums wear that covers your whole butt and then some. The kind you can’t find easily, because all the shorts in the stores are for perky little teenagers or lucky adults who wear a size 000 (the same size as the Little Mister)! Yes, my shorts are PRACTICAL and VERSATILE. I remember when I only bought clothes because they were “so hot right now” or “sexy” or “fun”. Sure, I still hope to retain that whole…vibe…but let’s face it. If it can be pulled apart to reveal my underwear (or what’s underneath it) or bunches up when I sit down and reveals numerous stretch marks or becomes uncomfortable…it’s something that goes in the “I had to get a *babysitter so I can wear this” pile at the back of my wardrobe!
* I mention “babysitter” a lot but I am yet to pluck up the courage except to leave Little Mister with the grandparents or my husband for a little while at a time. It’s tragic.
I’ll be the irritating lady who forgets she’s not with her baby, but continues to speak like she’s from the children’s entertaining group Hi-5. Think overly perky and high pitched. BABY TALK (well not so much the content as the tone). OH MY GOD. This disgusts me the MOST. I catch myself doing this around adults occasionally. Luckily I nip it in the bud before anyone notices but the fact that I almost let it slip completely is just horrifying to me! Don’t give up on me just yet. I’m working on it!! In fact, I can’t even believe I just admitted it. EEP! How embarrassment! On the bright side, I will sound like I am very positive and encouraging…”Good on YOU for finishing that bottle! Good on YOU for sleeping at night! YOU ARE AWESOME for not screaming in the bath! Thank YOU for not getting your excrement on me!”
I should hire myself out to encourage normal adults in their every day lives, for doing those exact things. I’d make you feel so good about yourself just for doing the smallest tasks! Just call me Kez: Your (Very Average) Life Coach.
Look, there’s also this instinctive thing that mothers do. It’s to do with the rocking of the hips. We do it in labour (or during pregnancy) to ease the pain and we do it with a baby in our arms to soothe them with the movement. I find myself doing it when OTHER people are holding my baby and I find myself doing it when I am just standing around without a baby in sight, like at the shops or something. I look like I’m exercising my sea legs *arrgh me maties*. I’m probably one sway away from giving everyone around me motion sickness. Maybe I should take up hula hooping or something. You know, so it doesn’t look so stupid and people will at least think I’m a bit hip. Hip rocking. Shut up.
Basically, I am now a responsible, sensible person. Except, I have to stop accidentally swearing all the time.
I give off a “married with a baby” vibe so strong you can almost smell it (it smells like baby sensitive washing liquid and formula). Basically, you could spot me from a mile away. The jig is up.
Anyway, I’ve gotta stop mummy blogging and go play with my baby while planning the next adult conversation I’ll have – which will be all about the baby of course. Wanna see my screensaver of the baby on my iPhone?
It’s the little things.
I used to have big dreams. To travel the world. Accidentally be discovered dancing and singing in my car and then becoming an overnight rock star success. Have my iPhone handy just at the very moment my dog does something hilarious like walking like a human or befriending an elephant, so I could record it and become a YouTube sensation. You know, big stuff.
Now, ten weeks after having one of those tiny humans (I think they’re called bebbehs) my dreams have become somewhat simpler.
Shall I share these simple dreams with you? Shall I?
I dream of…
Doing number 2s without hearing the baby crying for me
Look, the only real alone time I get when my husband is working is after Little Mister’s bedtime. Now, it would be all swell if I could schedule my urges to do my you-know-whats on the loo, but apparently human biology doesn’t quite work so perfectly…it’s really hard when I’m halfway through … *ahem* completing an important project (ie doing my business) and he starts wailing in his bassinet or his pram where I have thoughfully (and safely) stashed him for a moment.
Having time to read a magazine
Like actually flicking through the pages, absorbing what the words say (not just glancing at the pictures so fast your head might spin off) and making a leisurely time of it. Recently I had blood tests at the local pathology clinic and I had to wait for two hours in the waiting room. Did this make me grumpy? Hell no! My husband had the baby at home and I joyously pulled my 12 week old Marie Claire out of my handbag – this was my moment! I had been holding onto that magazine since just before the Little Mister was born…nine and a half weeks earlier…
I dream of maybe reading another magazine one day in the future. Maybe even *gasp* starting and finishing a book! Like an actual novel. How exciting!
Although, in the meantime I am actually saving a lot of money I would normally have spent on magazines and books…and spending it on nappies and other really expensive baby shit. I mean stuff. Note to self: stop swearing before Little Mister starts trying out that whole talking thing…you’ve got a few months but let’s not get complacent!
I laugh at the fact that when I packed my hospital bag, I included a brand new Jodi Picoult novel. For some reason I thought I’d have so much down time during my leisurely five day stay. Old Kez = idiot. Let’s not make that mistake again!
Hearing that dopey little slow breathing sound before the baby falls asleep
Oh that sound is like music to my ears. It’s that sound you recognise as being the start of a peaceful evening. It means that there will be no more crying or wriggling and that he’s all happy, content and about to sleep well. It’s also the cutest sound ever. I usually hear it at 7 (his supposed bed time), 7:15, 7:30 and 8pm. This is because those are the times he wakes up screaming about the fact that he would rather be awake hanging out with the grown ups, before kind of dozing off each time. On the bright side, he does sleep really well once he’s actually off to Sleep Town. A place I am yet to rediscover!
Having two hands and being able to use them at the same time
I gave birth to the world’s biggest cuddle-bug. He just wants to be carried around all day if I let him. This means that household tasks are a one-handed challenge. On the occasions when I am afforded the use of both my hands, it’s so liberating! Once I caught myself trying to do some washing with one hand even though the baby wasn’t there. I sometimes forget what it’s like to be physically free! I’ve tried a sling and a Baby Bjorn carrier, but no. My little boss doesn’t really like them (he will tolerate them for very short stretches of time). I never thought I would enjoy the freedom to wash some dishes or hang out some washing! It’s truly the little things.
Making a dinner that wasn’t once frozen, isn’t leftovers and didn’t come home in a plastic container or paper bag
I sometimes get to realise this dream. Often not until 8:30pm at night, but it’s a start. There’s nothing more exciting than serving up some steak and three (fresh) vegetables to my husband in the evening. It means I’ve achieved something. I’ve taken on a mammoth challenge and and conquered it. I deserve one of those Michelin stars or whatever is the highest honour a masterchef can acquire.
The old me would shudder in her grave. She’d say, “Boring. Try something new, you muppet!”
Changing a nappy and not getting peed on…or worse.
Each time this happens, I feel like the luckiest lady on Earth. Seriously. I dream of becoming an expert at the Quick Change. The ability to switch the dirty nappy for the clean nappy as fast as a frickin’ ninja. Did you see that? No? That’s because I did it so fast, motherf…mofo.
I am always tripped up by the need to apply nappy rash cream. I reach for that little tube, get a little cream on my fingers, get closer to the…buttal region (yes – I invented that terminology along with boobal region and a few other regions you won’t find on any maps)…and then it happens. More wees. Or worse. Both baby and I are completely exposed and vulnerable. It’s not pretty.
Eating an entire meal in one sitting (with both hands – see above)
I have joked before that I’m on the 50% less everything diet because I spent a good few weeks eating only half of every meal. Especially lunch or breakfast. I’m getting better at eating “one hand” foods or coordinating lunch dates or ways of tricking other people into helping with bub while I eat (yep – clever huh). I like eating in the car. It means the bubba is calm and safe in his little seat. It’s even more awesome when my husband is driving. LOOK! TWO HANDS! EATING FOOD! FINISHING IT! LIKE A BOSS!
Breathing out
Sometimes I forget to do this.
See also:
Painting my nails.
Buying groceries and not forgetting anything on the list.
Ironing.
Remembering to pee.
Being able to think straight while the baby screams in my ear.
Clearing out my googlereader.
Not being paranoid about leaking boobs when I’m out in public.
Getting around to vacuuming under the little coffee table in the family room so my feet don’t feel anything crunchy when I sit on the couch.
Winning the lottery so my husband never has to work again and we can be stay at home mummies together forever (OK so that’s a big dream).
What are your simple dreams? (they don’t have to be baby/mummy related)
2011′s (un)Forgettable, Unbloggable Moments!
Pic: Yes, thankyou 2011 for kicking 2010′s butt.
As New Year’s Eve approaches, everyone is scrambling to write their highlights of 2011 posts and record their New Year’s Resolutions, which will inevitably include things like weight loss, quitting bad habits and “having new adventures”. In all my past bloggings it has been my tradition to record the moments that were less impressive or didn’t really make the blog. The random stuff that I’ve found scribbled in my diary or day planners.
So here goes!
January
This month my husband and I went camping in Yallingup. We booked really last minute and traipsed down there with our tent and our camping “kit” which hadn’t been used in a terribly long time. We couldn’t agree on how to put the tent up (I was right of course) and where to position it (I was right again – well in my version of the story anyhow). Then we realised after two days of showering in the grossest ablutions block ever that there was a shiny new one at the other end of the holiday park…all of that time trying not to touch the taps and become tangled in clumps of other peoples’ hair for nothing! NOTHING!
We also ate disgusting food – which always tastes better when you’re camping.
Other forgettable moments: My parents went on holiday and I had to feed the cats, I returned some library books, attended both a baby shower and a wedding and presumably did housework on the 9th…
February
This month the hubby and I booked the Contiki tour of Europe we never ended up going on (due to my pregnancy). I don’t know whether we were sucked in by the brochures full of happy, clean looking young people wearing brightly coloured T-shirts and the types of shorts that only tourists wear, while posing in front of the Eiffel Tower… or the perky travel agent who like totally became our Travel Expo BFF, but we were excited! My husband was going to be in Monaco on his birthday and I was going to eat my way around Italy. And France. And Germany. Basically, I was going to eat ALL OF THE FOODS IN EUROPE!
Other forgettable moments: I applied for jobs in my field that I never got, I bought potatoes and bread on the 16th, I made a sh*tload of gingerbread men and somehow I still lost weight. What the hell?
March
This month we were attending an engagement party for one of my closest friends (I am a bridesmaid – that’s how much we like each other)! I wanted to know if I could drink at this party or not so I took a pregnancy test that day. I guess the rest is history. Great to know that my motivation to take the test was the possibility of drinking alcohol. At least I was responsible, right? The positive test made for an interesting evening as no-one knew our secret news as we sat across the table from our openly pregnant friends and said things like, “Contraception is awesome, yeah!”
We maaaay have offended a couple of people but our secret was safe! I think we were forgiven once our own awesome news was revealed as it all made sense! Yeah, we’re douche-bags.
Other forgettable moments: I won Ke$ha tickets by accident after doing some marketing survey for a radio station (after months of making it very clear to everyone I knew that I cannot stand her music). I sold two of them for $40 each and then on the way home from dropping them off, I had to fill up my car with fuel, which cost $80. Sigh.
April
This month I had my first pregnancy ultrasound. I was told to drink two large glasses of water before we went to the appointment. Combine my small bladder with a bunch of nerves and you can imagine the most uncomfortable Kez ever! I have never felt the relief I felt afterwards when the lady let me pee. Oh yeah, and the relief at hearing our baby had a good heartbeat and looked strong even at such an early stage…but really, peeing afterwards was AWESOME.
Other forgettable moments: We cancelled our Contiki tour the same week that our friends left for a holiday in Europe. Sucked to be us! On the 27th I bought self raising flour and black ink for the printer. I guess I was printing out a lot of recipes that involved flour.
May
The hubby and I took a short holiday in Melbourne. I was excited about it because it would be the last time I would fly while pregnant. On the way home we were offered those seats by the emergency exits (the ones with lots of leg room) and I jumped at the chance. I wasn’t supposed to sit there, but the attendants didn’t notice my baby bump under my big hoodie and I figured if there was an emergency where I had to help people get off the plane, we were pretty effed anyway, so I may as well pitch in.
Other forgettable moments: There must have been many because other than the Melbourne holiday, I didn’t write a single thing in my diary that month!
June
This month my boobs started leaking. I was so not ready for that at 19 weeks pregnant – none of the pregnancy books warned me about that! That sh*t freaked me out so bad that I googled the hell out of that issue and then I was too scared to leave the house so my hubby had to stop at the shops and bring home nursing pads (which was just as scary for him)!
Other forgettable moments: I saw a lot of friends for lunch. It seems everyone came out of the woodwork once they found out I was “with child”. It was a yummy month, I must say!
July
This month was my dad’s birthday. I decided to get my craft on. I should mention that I was nesting in the craziest way at this point. I scrapbooked his and Mum’s whole Bali holiday in one evening – I think I got to bed at 1am. I was cutting up paper, sticking sh*t down and designing everything until it was perfect. I also had to resign myself to the fact that I had just scrapbooked something and enjoyed it. I was now one of THOSE people.
Other forgettable moments: We bought a new fridge – very exciting. Best part was that the light inside it actually turned on when you opened the door and this fridge was actually cold. I also tried about 50 types of creams and treatments for my damn pregnancy rash. I wrote so many things to try in my diary, my mind boggles.
August
In August my husband had to have wisdom teeth surgery. It was quite inconvenient as I was having a rough bout of pregnancy, but we decided he should have the surgery done earlier rather than later! When I picked him up from day surgery I found out that he had talked the nurse’s ear off about football as he came out from under the general anaesthetic. He mentioned that he was having a baby second. I think this revealed a lot about his subconscious! He was told to keep talking to a minimum but he wouldn’t shut up in the car all the way home!
While he was recovering, he would whinge about his back being sore (after surgery on his mouth – go figure) and about having a limited diet. Poor bloke got very little sympathy from his pregnant wife!
Other forgettable moments: I bought heaps of stuff for the baby’s nursery, I said no to a bunch of social events on account of feeling awful due to my rash and I booked into the hospital for whenever I was to give birth. The lady who registered me asked if I spoke English or needed a translator (despite the fact that I spoke in a clear Aussie accent and had talked to her for five minutes before she asked). I didn’t think of any good comebacks to that until afterwards, which is probably a good thing as these people were going to be responsible for my wellbeing in a few months time!
September
The IKEA catalogue arrived. OMFG. I got my biro out and started circling the items I wanted to my heart’s content. Then we went to IKEA. Then we found out that all the items we wanted were out of stock. Then we bought a bunch of crap from the impulse shopping racks by the check out counters and then we went home to plan the next time we’d come to IKEA to get the stuff we wanted.
Other forgettable moments: My husband did a fatigue management course for work on the 22nd. The future me would have just told him, “Have a baby.” I downloaded Nicki Minaj’s song Superbass and then regretted it.
October
I had my baby shower. It was amazing. I was so spoilt and all the ladies in my life who I adore turned up to my house bearing gifts! I had organised a dessert buffet with my amazing friends who run Finn + Evie (a really awesome party styling company), who went to so much effort and did it for free!! All of this before I found out I had gestational diabetes! So on the day I didn’t want to deprive my beautiful diabetes free guests of yummy cakes and biscuits so we went ahead with it! That day I ate two carrot sticks and one mini quiche. Go me!
Of course there were plenty of leftover treats and my husband got them all! He had amazing lunchbox treats and snacks for the next week! Once I almost killed him with a death glare because he casually picked up a giant cookie made to look like a blue baby jumpsuit and started to eat it while sitting Right Next To Me. He didn’t do that again. Actually he did. With a yummy looking cake pop, which is essentially cake on a stick. Which is like totally awesome. That guy really lives on the edge.
Other forgettable moments: I bought sh*tloads of baby stuff. It was mental! This whole “could have a baby any moment” stuff was beginning to get real!! Also, my inlaws got back from a trip to Europe and we saw all of their photos and I got so jealous it’s not even funny.
November
I was 37 weeks pregnant, having blood tests daily due to complications and having the baby’s heartbeat and movements monitored every second day at the hospital, but I was determined to get to an Arj Barker stand up comedy show in my hometown! I figured he was funny and that was good because I hadn’t been laughing much due to stress and discomfort. I wanted to be there and I figured the show venue wasn’t far from the hospital anyhow. I had my bag packed. What harm could it do? In fact, I hoped my waters would break (slowly enough to not wreck any seats or gross anyone out) while I was laughing away at some stupid joke. What a story to tell our child when he grew up!
Unfortunately, it didn’t work. However, the Little Mister was born 3 days later so I can’t complain!!! But that’s an unforgettable moment so you may have already read all about that!
Other forgettable moments: I attended my 10 year high school reunion and spent the time hanging out with the people I hang out with anyway…
December
Let’s just say December was CRAZY! The husband and I practically forgot about our 4 year wedding anniversary!! I did grown up things this month like drinking a babycino. In public. Those mugs are TINY!
I got peed on by our baby in public. I decorated the Christmas tree on time. We took the baby everywhere until I cried from exhaustion (he was fine).
On a serious note, I had a good year. It had its challenging moments but I’ll never forget the good stuff 
Compared to last year, well let’s just say this was wonderful! Lots of joy and new beginnings instead of endings and grief. I wouldn’t take any of it back (although a smoother pregnancy would be lovely next time)! xo
So, how was YOUR year? What are you looking forward to in 2012?
PS. I don’t know why everyone’s so worried about the world ending. We’d all be together in hell anyway 
But he’s never gonna remember it!
Pic: My own Christmas tree. Which I decorated. Whoa.
So December 25th will be a special day. It’s all about the baby. And I’m not just talking about baby jeebus (although clearly He is the reason we all celebrate a day where we can eat until we’re in food comas and bitch about the crappy gifts we receive…”You don’t even know me at ALL!” even though none of that has anything to do with the original meaning of Christmas).
This will be the Little Mister’s first Christmas. Which is all very exciting. A new child in the family means new traditions. I’ve purchased the little guy a very generously sized Santa sack from Target and now I realise that each year this sack will have to be filled to the brim with thoughtful gifts until some evil, precocious kid with too many older siblings tells him that Santa is just your mum and dad sneaking around in the middle of the night (which of course is a lie – Santa’s totally real). Which, if anything like my childhood experience will raise questions about the tooth fairy and the easter bunny. That was one tough day.
I am determined to make this Christmas a special one. It will be the Christmas that will set down the traditions and family memories for perhaps the rest of my hubby’s and my lives. NO PRESSURE. I say this with tongue planted firmly in cheek, but the basis of it all rings true. Also, I am a little bit of a nutter…
This year I decorated the Christmas tree at the beginning of December. Not halfway through the month with unenthusiasm. I did this all while recovering from a C-section and tending to a 3 week old baby. Now if that doesn’t impress your socks off, then I don’t know what will. I even saved the special ornaments that were given to us for Little Mister, so that my Husband Man could be there with us when I put them on the tree. I am totally parenting that sh*t up! OK, that last sentence should have my parenting license revoked. Apologies.
The Little Mister will be 7 weeks old on Christmas day, so basically he won’t remember a thing. Which won’t stop me from wrapping his presents in festive paper (even though he can’t even unwrap them). I thought about not doing anything of the sort or just buying a big box of nappies for him (that sh*t’s expensive – literally) and chucking a bow on top, but then the crazy new mummy part of me decided that I have to buy him something! Even if there’s hardly anything good for a newborn on the shop shelves – turns out the fun doesn’t truly start until you’re three months old. Might have to get the kid a fake ID so he can play with all the good stuff.
Christmas Shopping and Public Humiliation. But mostly humiliation.
Pic: “Oh damn, the baby peed on my clothes again!”
Last Wednesday was a very important day in a woman’s life. It was a milestone that every young girl dreams of (well this one anyway). It was a momentous occasion shared by four generations of a family.
Yes, that’s right. Yesterday, my gran, my mum and I introduced the Little Mister (5 and a half weeks old) to the wonders of SHOPPING. And not the boring grocery shopping either. We’re talking about hours of wandering about in a big, shiny shopping centre full of cool shops full of clothes, gifts, gadgets and places to eat! You’ve gotta train them early. Sure, he behaved like most adult males and slept through a lot of it and he was very cooperative until he got hungry and tired…
Now that I’ve finished being slightly sexist…
We were going to attempt half a day of Christmas shopping with the baby in tow. He was pretty calm from the car ride (and a feed before leaving home) and slept for half the day. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was just lying in the moving pram looking about and really taking in all the strange sounds of all the music and people.
The only real challenges were when he needed to be changed. That kid does some explosive number 1s and 2s, with the occasional number 3s if you catch my drift! He especially likes to wait until his dirty nappy is off before he lets loose again with a nice, projectile surprise!
So, I didn’t know this was possible before, but it turns out that babies have superpowers. While feeding the Little Mister, he used these impressive powers to pee MY pants. Somehow he broke through the absorbent forcefield offered by his nappy and peed straight through his outfit, penetrating my dress, so that it dribbled onto my legs.
This all happened at peak lunch hour with a crowded cafe with people looking on (everyone loves looking at new babies and their hapless first time mothers it turns out). I may have exclaimed, “This is awkward!!”
At one point, my mum and gran were looking at me (I think they were laughing a little lot while still trying to be helpful and sympathetic – they only just pulled it off) with a completely oblivious baby in my lap determined to finish his feed (must clarify that I was feeding him from a bottle – boobs were not out thank goodness), a freaked out look on my face and a cloth shoved in my neckline, much like a bib, in case (heaven forbid) he decided to spit up on me as well, and bright coloured hand towels hastily bought by my mum for $2 in the neighbouring store shoved in my lap to absorb the urine! Let’s just say that I’m working on a theory that the indignity of pregnancy and childbirth occurs to prepare us for the indignity of baby wrangling in public! You don’t have a chance to be truly embarrassed – you’re too busy!
I finally managed to grab a minute to gulp down half of my lunch (it’s this new diet where you eat 50% less everything – it’s called having a new baby), which was so not what I ordered (chicken and bacon together is not something I’m a fan of – I don’t like mixing my dead animals too much – I ordered chicken and avocado in my sandwich dammit!) and I wheeled the baby out of there at a rate of knots. As I left the cafe, clucky ladies kept telling me how beautiful my baby was – pretty funny moment to pick, really!
There was no parenting room close by, so I changed the Little Mister in the parent and child toilet while he was in his bassinet. I laid down stuff to protect the fitted sheet in the pram and I had the strap of the nappy bag around my neck like a dangling feed bag (yep – hope you’re having a good laugh at my expense). I could reach into it for everything I needed as there was no bench space! You sure learn how to improvise – fast!
I realised how vastly unprepared I was (awesomely unprepared in fact). I had packed a pretty good nappy bag, but it was missing extra quantities of a lot of things (I grossly underestimated the baby’s ability to decimate many items over a short amount of time) and a spare outfit for myself. I sure learnt that the hard way! Luckily I packed my sense of humour!!! There is sometimes nothing you can do but laugh and think of it as a funny story to tell
So, what did we achieve that day? Um…survival? Other than that, not much else. I think we bought NOTHING. Between the three of us adults. This is very out of character. Although, my mum did manage to buy members of our family some goats in third world villages and stuff like that. So I guess that’s something. And it’s for a good cause. So yeah.
While it is tempting to just sit at home and buy everyone’s gifts online next year, I know I will enjoy showing the Little Mister the Christmas decorations, traumatising him with a photo on Santa’s lap and teaching him the joy of giving! I’ll just pack our whole house with me when we head to the shops! Or wear disposable clothes and have everything made out of terry towelling…
How is your Christmas/holiday shopping going? What is your gift giving style?
I know this might shock you, but I’m not a Victoria’s Secret model…
Pic: “Wait, that’s not Kez! But they look so alike!”
Yep. I know that when you see me, you do a double take. But no, I am not the Asian Miranda Kerr. Thankyou anyway. I mean, she pushed out a baby 2 pounds heavier than mine (VAGINALLY!) and stays in shape doing pilates. So I can see how you would mix the two of us up. Especially after reading about my pre-natal pilates experiences and all…
Well, before I got pregnant I was on a health kick, so that kind of counts, right? It wasn’t intended as a specific let’s-get-pregnant overhaul. It was just for me. The rest just kind of fell into place later
I was all about weighing myself daily, recording everything I ate and exercising all the time. I was excited about my lifestyle changes and admittedly, a lot of my focus was all about not wanting to hate my body anymore. I wanted to feel less stressed, stop yelling “DO I LOOK FAT IN THIS?! I LOOK TOTALLY FAT IN THIS!” at my husband, and I wanted to wear nice clothes without trying on half a store first and deciding I looked disgusting in EVERYTHING! Oh, and there was the fact that I wanted to feel less sluggish, more energetic, happy and relaxed…which I did and it felt AMAZING, but let’s not tell a lie here. Vanity played a large part.
How things have changed!
My Little Mister is four weeks and six days old today! I honestly feel like I’ve known him forever! I’m tired as hell, but we are lucky to have a good little sleeper by newborn standards (so far…) so I’m not really complaining! I might even be able to send the nanny home soon. Bahaha. Nanny. As if!
I’m starting to get out and about more as my body recovers from the birth and my confidence slowly builds (it was hard letting my husband do almost everything except breastfeed for the first couple of weeks – I felt a bit inadequate). Just little steps, like a trip to meet a friend for coffee, trips to our parents’ places and the dreaded supermarket run – those sorts of things. I thought I should take a break from the catwalk and my many obligations as an international beauty superstar – you know how it is. I’m probably pushing myself a tiny bit hard for someone who’s had a C-section (I have to lift the pram in and out of the car when I’m by myself and it’s awkward getting the little guy in and out of his car seat or bathing him), but I feel a lot stronger than I felt for months, as my pregnancy was pretty tough on my body!
I look in the mirror and today and I see stretch marks all around my middle. They’re a purply colour – quite dark, but sloooowwly fading. I probably could have minimised or prevented them if I’d not had my rash (which led to very sensitive skin and inability to use most good products for it), but then again maybe not. I was pretty far stretched due to a moderately sized baby, my small body frame and what was apparently a lot of amniotic fluid (which was exclaimed loudly by the obstetrician as he kindly broke my waters – the most painful part of labour I swear)! I see silvery/bluish (but luckily sparse) stretch marks creeping down my inner thighs (I was so swollen late in my pregnancy with fluid that it’s not surprising). I see pock mark like scars down my whole left leg and on the upper thigh of my right leg. They are dark and purplish against my naturally olive skin.
To add to the indignity, my chin is covered in adolescent like pimples (which are starting to scar). Must be the hormones from breastfeeding. They’re starting to spread a little down my neck (oh joy!). My chest has faded scarring all over it from the first pregnancy rash I had at 20 weeks pregnant, with some new zits to complete the look. While my skin feels better in that area (less lumpy and less blocked pores), it still stands out to me when I wear summer clothing and I daren’t wear anything that might show off my otherwise attractive cleavage (one benefit of breastfeeding for a normally smaller busted gal like myself)!
I find myself staring wistfully at all the “normal” people I see out and about, with their clear skin. Those lucky lucky people.
My belly has shrunk a lot but there’s a floppy fold under my belly button (might have to stop posing in bikinis for men’s magazines for a while *snort*). Under clothing it looks a bit pot-bellyish. The muscles in my belly need to be toned up again and I suppose my skin needs to try to shrink back after it was so stretched to accommodate the Little Mister.
My hair has a nice cut to it, but it’s losing that super awesome volume it had while I was pregnant. My fringe needs a trim and is a little hard to control. I suppose I’ll somehow fit in a hair appointment closer to Christmas – silly me, sending my imaginary personal beauty team on holidays!
I look at some of the cute summer dresses online or at the shops that would look amazing on me in my new (old) body, but often the hemline is a bit too short – don’t want those scarred legs with the stretch marks on show! It kind of takes the class out of a cute look that I could otherwise pull off quite well.
BUT…
You know what? Enough of my bad jokes (Miranda Kerr might be getting a little bit annoyed as she reads this whilst breastfeeding baby Flynn, doing a pilates workout, eating a gourmet healthy brunch and making out with Orlando Bloom at the same time). The flaws I’ve just described don’t bother me quite as much as I thought they might. Sure, they can make me scramble about in my wardrobe feeling a bit frustrated (no different to how I behaved before and during my pregnancy – just for different reasons), but when I look in the mirror I see the good things (without even having to try)! Some days I even forget about the marks all over my body! For the first time, my eyes are drawn to my better features instead of honing in on the bad stuff! I know! Miracles do happen!!
I see my small waist. It looks so trim and it’s fantastic in an empire line dress! I see a shrinking (if a little flawed) belly. I feel blessed that I am already at my pre-pregnancy weight and getting a tiny bit smaller each day – without dieting (it will catch up with me soon but I’m just savouring these moments before I am able to exercise the way I want)!
I see slim upper arms that look cute in sleeveless summer tops. I love that I get a built in work out for my arms from lifting the baby all the time.
My thighs and calves (although in need of toning) look slimmer than they have in a long time! I’m almost five weeks out from giving birth and I can’t believe my luck. So many new mothers would be grateful to get so close to their original shape this fast, with no ability to do proper exercise while pregnant (due to illness), as well as having a C-section, and I don’t say that smugly. I say it with the utmost gratitude and disbelief. When I look at my legs, I don’t just see the pock marks from scratching my pregnancy rash in my sleep (OK and sometimes when I was awake and couldn’t control myself). I choose to see the way the rash has disappeared between them. I see how clear those pockets of skin are. And I am grateful. I might have a battered, scarred body but all of that will fade over time. I’ve been through a hell of a lot and just to be able to move my body with ease, to have no pelvic pain and to get in and out of a bed without taking half an hour is just amazing. I love being able to get to my baby when he’s crying, without struggling and feeling bad about it (like I did for the first two weeks). My skin is rarely itchy (and when it is it’s only due to stress or because it’s healing) and I can eat what I like (provided my 6 week check up tells me my diabetes has officially gone – please for the love of Huey let it be gone).
I never dreamed that I would feel so good again and a few sh*tload of marks and battle wounds mean very little when I put things in perspective. They just mean that my body did something amazing. They remind me how strong I had to be.
I guess the point I’m making in this post is for us to just love our bodies for what they do for us. When you put everything in perspective, our cosmetic scars and superficial flaws are not really all that bad. They describe a journey we’ve been through and show us that we’ve survived.
Of course I’m more human than supermodel (hello – have you met me?!) and there are moments I feel a bit disappointed that I can’t wear just any damn thing I like (seems unfair suddenly losing a bunch of weight but not being able to show off your new shape properly), but on the whole I see things really differently now. I’m no Miranda Kerr on the outside, but damn if I don’t feel just as good about myself on the inside!
What do you love about your body?
Disclaimer: I know I use Miranda Kerr as a supermodel stereotype in this post, but I actually do have a girl crush on her. She’s just so hot and down to earth at the same time. I’ve tried to hate her, but I just can’t. Damn MILF!
Parenthood is ridiculous.
Look, let me just put it out there: Having a baby is ridiculous. Sometimes it even borders on ridonkulous. Some of the stuff that happens once you have your bundle of joy will just amaze and terrify you (or is it just me?).
Some examples?
I’ve started talking about myself in the third person.
To a baby. Who doesn’t exactly know what I’m on about, seeing as he’s not even three weeks old yet. I refer to myself as “mummy”. I don’t know when this happened to me but it started so naturally that I didn’t even notice the rot had set in until it was too late.
“Mummy is just going to change your nappy now.”
“Mummy is just going to get you ready for a feed.”
I’ve also started referring to my husband as “Daddy”. Which would be really weird if we didn’t have a kid, but I guess seeing as we got one recently it must be OK. But I won’t lie – it’s still frickin’ strange to me.
Everything is about BOOBS.
I’m attempting to breastfeed (although thankfully I am not quite ridiculous enough to be a breastfeeding nazi) for a while. Every few hours my life revolves around my boobs. The Little Mister is also all about the breast-est-ests. Now all my thoughts are about my boobs.
“Gee, my boobs feel really full. When’s the next feed?”
“My baby makes the most hilarious faces when he’s on the boob.”
“Will my boobs make enough milk for the next feed if I express some milk right now?”
“Where are we going today and will I be required to use my boobs in public?”
It’s all very TMI and yet I feel compelled to tell people (if they ask) about my breast milk coming in and about how many times a day I feed the bub from my lubbly jubblies. It’s such a personal thing and yet it’s so very public. It’s very ridiculous.
There are so many funny moments that just seem so inappropriate for some every day conversations with other humans (the sane ones). I mean, who needs to know that my right boob gushes a lot and sometimes it’s all a little too much for my bub so he just rubs his face in it and makes an enormous mess? No-one needs to know…and somehow I just found a way to tell you all about it (my sincerest apologies to any family members or freaked out friends who are reading this right now).
Also, everyone seems to have an opinion on the matter. It’s enough to drive a sane person batty. At one point this week, I was tempted to write a one line blog post that simply said: “Breastfeeding. Discuss.”
There would most likely have been a sh*t storm and I would have exploded the internet. Fun times.
Everyone keeps telling us that our baby is so darn attractive.
Sure, we think he’s the most ridiculously adorable thing we’ve ever seen in our lives. We’re so sickeningly biased it’s not funny. I always thought that if I was to have an ugly baby I would know. I would just look at him, laugh at his unattractiveness and love him anyway. Turns out I have no idea. I mean, I think he’s good looking for a squishy, grubby looking newborn, but quite frankly I wouldn’t know because I’m so in love.
When people tell us our baby is SO CUTE and that we’ve CREATED A BEAUTIFUL BABY, I mostly get a big head. But then I wonder if people just feel like they should say that? And then I wonder if it’s just darn egotistical that two parents can create a child in their likeness and then be all about how very very good looking they are. Isn’t that just saying that you think you and your partner are very very goodlooking, hence risking sounding full of yourselves?
Sleep deprivation makes you crazy.
One of the first nights we were home from the hospital, I asked my sleepy husband to check the baby’s nappy. He picked up his pillow, being sure to support its neck and carefully carried it towards the change table…before realising halfway that it was not a baby, throwing it back onto the bed in shock. The next morning he begged me not to tell anyone, in case they should think he was nuts. I kept my word, but later he saw the funny side and the story was shared. Now you, dear internets, know the story too
The amount of times I have started sentences, drifted off and then forgotten I had entire conversations is, well…ridiculous! I feel like I can get through a day without completely falling into a coma but obviously I’m in some sort of baby brain survival mode! I think it helps that I was sleepless half of my pregnancy – by this point I’m kind of used to it.
Trips to the supermarket are now very ridiculous.
“How old is he?”
“Oh, he’s so precious and tiny! Cherish every moment! Cherish it!”
“He won’t be like that for very long! Soon he’ll be 14 and answering back to you!”
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“What did he weigh when he was born? My babies weighed *this* and *this*.”
“Oh, look at his full head of hair! What a beautiful baby!”
And that’s before you’ve even figured out how to put him in the baby seat on the trolley, so he won’t fall out or catch fifteen diseases.
It’s kind of fun(ny) and admittedly flattering, but it’s a whole new experience. Each aisle contains a new clucky person craning their neck to get a good view of the exhibit baby. The joy a new baby brings to strangers is incredible! It’s just all a little embarrassing when you look down at him and he’s squishing his face up mid-poo, just as someone gets closer for a good look at the CUTE BABEH. It’s tempting to just run away with the trolley yelling, “NOOOOOOOOO! Don’t smell hiiiiiiim!!!!”
My husband reckons he’s going to go back to the shops without me so he can see how many older ladies he can pull. RIDONKULOUS!
Some honest reflection one week out of hospital.
Look, I am going to toot my own horn here (or whatever that expression is). I am going to risk sounding full of myself but I am damn proud of how I’ve handled my crazy pregnancy and labour experiences. I’ve learnt so much about what I am capable of both mentally and physically, which sounds funny because a lot of things didn’t go right. It doesn’t mean that there weren’t moments I felt like my body had let me or the Little Mister down, but there were a lot of things my body did right.
They say you should talk about your birth experience – especially if things went a little haywire – as it can ward off post natal depression and keep you positive and supported. I totally believe this now and it’s why I’ve been so brutally honest about everything I’ve experienced. Sharing my story and talking to my husband and my family about it without being afraid of a few tears has really helped.
I feel a bit bad like maybe I’ll scare some people who hope to have children some day, but look. I’m here and I have a beautiful, healthy baby to prove that despite the challenges everything can turn out well in the end. I think I did teeter dangerously close to depression at some low points of my pregnancy. I was tired of everything that got thrown at me from rashes to diabetes to the mysterious infectious end to the whole ordeal (which luckily resulted in a healthy mum and bub after a bit of TLC). I thought that if there was something that could go wrong, it would happen to me. Oh, that condition only affects 1% of pregnant people? For sure, I’ll get it! I admit to thinking negatively and worrying a lot. I didn’t think of myself as a strong person at all. I felt inadequate and helpless. Sometimes I felt like I was alone (which I know I wasn’t but when you’re down you think you’re the only one).
Everyone said to me that when Little Mister arrived, I would forget all of those troubles and everything I’ve been through would fade away. I didn’t believe them. I was trying to be realistic about it all. I knew that in my position I might not feel amazing right away and I refused to pressure myself to feel that new baby euphoria immediately. If it happened (which I prayed it did) then I would be so relieved and if it didn’t, I would be mentally prepared, know the signs and ask for help.
I can’t believe my luck. Everything really does seem worth it with my little guy around. I love him so much. In fact, maybe I love him and appreciate him even harder after all we’ve been through together. Sometimes I do get sad flashbacks to my labour experience or the trauma that certain events brought me in the lead up to his birth. I acknowledge and honour those feelings. I talk them out and I give them a little time (and a couple of tears) before moving forward. I have so many new things to learn and love.
I am recovering from an emergency C-section and it can be frustrating. I don’t know where I would be without the help of my husband and the support of family. It really is physically limiting and I try not to let it affect the way I bond with our bub, but there are admittedly times I can’t jump up out of bed (on account of being too sore) and lift him up into my arms when he cries. I need a lot of help and sometimes I just cannot do everything I want to. I try to make up for it wherever I can and I am not pressuring myself to do too much or to be a super mummy right away.
Something that affects me a little is the fact that my baby was taken away to another hospital for special care hours after birth. He was gone about three days and I only got to see him when he was placed on my chest right after the C-section. This is hard for any new mum, but I think that being an adoptee, I found it particularly tough when on day 3 the baby blues kicked in (only I had no baby with me yet). I realised that my biological mother had been through a similar (albeit permanent) trauma. I had now felt what it was like to go through a lot to have a baby and then have nothing to show for it. I felt so blessed that it was just a temporary situation (a few days really is going to seem like a flash in the pan as we clock up the quality time with our gorgeous bub), but it made me very sad. I was so jealous of my husband because he was able to visit Little Mister (but also so grateful he wouldn’t be alone). I felt empty and shellshocked and it still brings tears to my eyes sometimes when I talk about it. I had looked forward to seeing my beautiful baby for so long – he was the reward for all my hard work – and now he wasn’t there. I was hooked up to drips and stuck on an uncomfortable hospital bed, feeling as if I was still pregnant because I had nothing to prove otherwise (a swollen post-surgery paunch didn’t help the matter). Each day I feel a little better about how everything’s turned out, but I doubt I’ll ever forget those feelings.
I now respect those who go through harder situations than me so much more than ever before. My small taste of separation from my baby was more than enough for me to go through. My heart goes out to those who aren’t as fortunate as myself and my husband. My husband said that it was humbling visiting the neo-natal ward at the children’s hospital. Our baby looked so big and healthy compared to the tiny, struggling premature babies who were in the humidicribs. The parents of those other babies would look on in shock at how much our baby was thriving compared to their tiny, delicate infants. They must have wondered what he was doing there. Our Little Mister might have had an infection and needed oxygen and intravenous antibiotics but he was big and strong. I love him so much and he already makes me proud.
I see so many positives out of this situation. I have a healthy fighter of a baby. I now know what I’m made of. Even when trying for a natural labour I kept my composure and I did what was best for me and the baby (never letting myself get too distressed). I now know I can handle pain I’ve never experienced previously in my whole life and now I feel like I could get through anything. My rash has disappeared and I can eat what I like again. I am healthier because my diabetes taught me better dietary habits and I can look at the warm, inviting spring sunshine and not be afraid that it will make my skin unbearable to be in. The small pleasures in life are certainly not taken for granted anymore.
Itchy stretch marks on my belly and pock marked legs? Who bloody cares! Look what good things my body did! It knew to get the baby out before it was too late. It responded to the drugs I was given and it is healing fabulously considering what it’s been through. My faith in my body is returning, which is actually a really big deal for me.
I have so many good things to look forward to in life and I’m on the craziest learning curve ever. Love really does conquer all if we let it.
If I have any advice (unsolicited again – sorry) for other new mums, it would be to not expect yourself to feel 100% awesome and competent and crazy with baby love 100% of the time. It’s OK if sometimes you need a little cry or if something isn’t quite working perfectly. Just get some support if you need it and you’ll be able to move forwards onto all the good things in life. The baby blues are real and that’s OK.
In saying that, sometimes it’s more than just baby blues and you shouldn’t have to suffer alone and ashamed – here is a link if you’re struggling xo
The birth story: Better out than in!
Now here’s a story about being Awesomely Unprepared…
So I was going a little crazy in late pregnancy. I was suffering from my various pregnancy ailments and after being strong during ridiculous amounts of blood tests and doctor/hospital appointments, I finally cried in front of my baby GP and this got me a date to be induced for labour (I wasn’t intending to use my feminine wiles to manipulate a good outcome but I was glad the waterworks were effective). I was to enter the maternity ward with my bags packed, feeling calm and prepared on Thursday the 10th of November. I was excited and relieved. I had been anxious that my baby boy was getting bigger and bigger. My rash was unbearable and untreatable. My diabetes was just playing havoc with me. I’d lost my appetite and I felt like I wasn’t getting the energy I needed from my heavily restricted diet. I was psychologically breaking and it was hard explaining my “big picture” story to every health professional I saw, who questioned why I was taking certain precautions etc when I wasn’t even considered full term yet (and there were many from midwives to pathology nurses to doctors and a dermatologist).
I had always planned on being a calm mother to be while in labour. I didn’t want to be in hysterics or do anything to distress the baby.
On Saturday the 5th November, I felt good. I went out for brunch with my family and I didn’t have any appointments lined up until the following Monday! Yes! Weekend off! I was also relieved at having an induction date, which relaxed me immensely.
As soon as I got home I went to have a long awaited nap on my couch while watching trashy TV, but I felt a bit off. Like when you first start to get a cold. I felt flushed in the face and it wasn’t relaxing at all. I figured I was just fighting something simple off. I told myself I would wake up the next day feeling good again.
This wasn’t the case. In fact, when I woke on Sunday the 6th of November, I felt worse. I called my parents and my dad came over and took my temperature and checked my blood pressure (gotta love having a health professional in the family). I had a mild temperature and the maternity nurse said not to worry unless it got a bit worse.
Later that afternoon…it got worse. I woke from a nap with some mild cramps and thought it was Braxton Hicks (fake practice contractions). I instinctively took my temperature and realised it was not good. I didn’t want to be a wuss (it didn’t feel like labour surely…which defies logic as I’d never experienced labour before) so I called my parents and asked them if I should get Husband Pants to leave work. I called the hospital and they said that if I couldn’t talk through my contractions anymore (or the pain got too scary) then I should go in. I was still not convinced I was in labour but eventually I was in agony! This sh*t was real – or it had better be because if it wasn’t, I didn’t want to go through that again on Thursday!!
My parents came over as soon as they could. It felt like they took forever and I was rocking about (standing up) like they teach you in ante-natal classes and was surprised that I wasn’t screaming. I had had a shower and it helped the tiniest bit, but I felt like there wasn’t even any gap between contractions anymore! My husband was notified and he sounded like he was in shock! He arranged to leave work an hour early and meet me at the maternity ward!
I got to hospital at 6:30pm (felt stupid being wheelchaired in by my dad but realised I could not have walked that long corridor by myself) and they monitored me for a bit. A doctor popped in just at the right moment (just happened to be a stupidly well regarded obstetrician who I am so grateful for) and told me I was 5cm already! I had been quietly going into labour and was already halfway! I never knew I was so stoic!!
I was moved quickly from the observation room into a birthing suite and the action continued. The midwife offered me gas at just the right moment (I thought I was tough but there was a point it all got hazy) and my husband was so good holding my hand and showing me he was proud of the way I was breathing well and taking it in my stride. All the ideas I had about my first labour being long and laborious (no pun intended) and perhaps even boring went right out the window. I didn’t have to worry about wanting music played on my ipod or eating light snacks to make it through. No-one had time to abuse any social networking opportunities (ie facebooking or tweeting anything inappropriate) and I didn’t even have a chance to try out various birthing positions or techniques!! I didn’t even have time to break any of my hubby’s fingers or ask him how guilty he felt (damn I had really wanted to use that line)!
The doctor kept telling me my labour could get dangerous for the baby and I on account of my fever. I understood what he was saying but his bedside manner was so good that I stayed calm despite the dangers and just kept doing what I was advised. I ended up having an epidural. The choice was taken out of my hands (which was a relief to be honest – that’s a lot of big decision making). I had to be prepped for surgery in case I would need it. I had no idea the magnitude of the situation. I was told to push really hard but I couldn’t feel much and I suppose that was disappointing because I was going to be wheeled off to theatre where they would attempt to get the baby out superfast with forceps (eek). I got to 9cm dilated but it became obvious very quickly that a birth by forceps (instrumental birth I think he said) wasn’t going to be good enough. Things were getting dangerous. So C-section it was.
Only three measly hours after I arrived at hospital, our Little Mister was delivered at 9:28pm. He weighed roughly 8 lb, 1 oz and was 50cm long. He was lifted above the curtainy-shield thingy and shown to us but he wasn’t moving or crying. I think they told me he was moving to make me feel OK but I was so tired and overwhelmed and drugged that I didn’t really have a chance to worry or feel traumatised. Luckily a couple of minutes later I heard him make some sound and my husband looked at me with a comforting smile and said, “Do you hear that?”
We had about five minutes of snuggle time (he was already cleaned and wrapped) and then he was gone again. I was told that I had an infection in my amniotic fluid and he had breathed it in and could get pneumonia or something equally nasty for a newborn.
I was in a daze and taken to recovery. I had been told he needed some special attention but to be honest I really didn’t understand just what a delicate situation he and I were in. We were both sick.
I was just relieved that I had delivered my baby. I didn’t know that I wouldn’t really see him for another three days, after he was sent to the paediatric hospital an hour’s drive away for special care and monitoring in their neo-natal ward (my amazing husband would have to divide his time between staying with me and visiting Little Mister so he wasn’t alone).
When I was back in my hospital room, I felt good. I was on pethidine and fluids (I had come to the hospital very dehydrated despite sipping on water all day every day for weeks leading up to the birth) and thought I was doing amazingly. My parents came into the room and my mother in law visited me too even though it was now the middle of the night. I feel a little sad for myself when I think back to that time. I was so out of it that I didn’t realise I had no baby by my side. My arm was full of drips and I didn’t know I was so sick and needing a hell of a lot of intravenous anti biotics and an extra day tethered to the hospital bed (most C-section patients are only kept in bed for one day).
I was happy (even if in a drug induced haze). I’d seen my baby briefly and he was alive. It was all I needed to know at that moment. Almost nothing had gone to any kind of original plan but I knew that the baby and I were in good hands (in fact – the best – I cannot even express how grateful I am). I am relieved that I went into all of this open minded, not trying to control everything. Perhaps my challenging pregnancy had made me mentally strong enough for what was to come.
Stay tuned for the next post about the aftermath of my crazy birth experience...
