My truth about the first few weeks of parenthood.
So the other night I was watching one of my all-time favourite television shows (Offspring – OMG I love it), when a character came into the hospital not long after giving birth and had a small breakdown because she thought she was failing as a mother. One reason was because her birth did not go to plan (she didn’t want any drugs but succumbed as it got very difficult and painful) and the second was because some people had told her that those first few weeks of motherhood are the “babymoon” and are supposed to be so perfect and blissful, but she didn’t feel her experience was matching up. Even though that was just a small part of the episode, it stuck with me. How many times do “all the people” tell you something is supposed to feel/be a certain way, only it isn’t and you start to think you’re the only one, questioning yourself? Asking if you’ve done something different or wrong?
As my Little Mister starts to close in on 7 months of age, I find myself thinking back to his early days (say the first 6 weeks). I remember him sleeping for 18 hours a day, just feeding and needing cuddles. Even now I look back at that time with rose-coloured glasses. I think, “Wow – all that time he was asleep! I could have gotten so much housework done! I had so much free time to watch TV, shower myself, have a nap, blog, go to the toilet. Why didn’t I appreciate that fully? Blah blah blah.”
Then I wake myself up with a firm (metaphorical) slap to the face (with a big, metaphorical cold fish). Wait a second, I tell myself, it wasn’t that easy at the time! I think back and remember not ever believing that those beautiful moments of sleep would last, rushing through my showers, my meals and anything else I had to do. I remember trying to heal from my C-section, having to move gingerly and be careful what I lifted or how I positioned myself when I sat down. My husband had to help with everything and I found that disempowering. It wasn’t his fault by any means – he was doing a great job. I just felt at odds with the role I was supposed to be relishing as a new full time mummy. I had to learn how to do heaps of things from my husband, when I’d always pictured myself figuring it out first. I remember finding everything so new and daunting. Everything from figuring out how much formula to feed the Little Mister (we had to measure top ups on top of breast milk as my supply was bad – we’d been separated in the first few days and I was stressed and on anti-biotics). Wondering if we were letting him sleep too long at a time or not (he is naturally a great sleeper but all of the damn books and some people acted like he was going to die or waste away if we didn’t wake him up every three hours in the night to feed). Trying to negotiate trips out of the house with him. How did I know if I’d packed too much or not enough? I learnt the hard way a couple of times. Could I make sure that everything revolved around feed times/nap times? Worrying about his sensitive, immature stomach when he was mildly colicky at bedtime. Creeping into bed at night, worried about waking him. Listening out ALL night to hear him breathing. Not knowing whether it was right to do this, or right to do that. Feeling lost when he would cry because it takes a little while to figure out a new language – baby language. It was a while before I figured out what a hungry cry, anxious cry, pained cry were like (sometimes they can be remarkably similar). When his sleep started to decrease a bit, I took a while to figure out how long babies are usually happy to be awake for before they’ll show tired signs and need a nap. Once I mastered that (and a host of other baby quirks), I started to settle into my role as mummy.
Yes, the first few weeks are AMAZING. You want to watch your beautiful baby sleep all the time. You realise in the middle of the night that you still love them (even though you once wondered if it was possible to love ANYONE at 4am – sober). You feel all the love of your family and friends as they gather round, sending gifts, sharing cuddles and giving compliments. If your partner has parental leave or has taken leave for those first few weeks, it can be a godsend as you rest and you’re not expected to get anything done but heal your own body and nurture your baby.
Sleep deprivation can be a nightmare. I’m not gonna lie. And for some babies (who perhaps start off as awesome sleepers), it actually gets worse when they’re older as teething, separation anxiety and the power of movement arrive. Told you I’m not going to lie. However, if you call on your support networks: people who can babysit a couple of hours in the day between feeds so you can sleep, your partner, someone who might even help you cook or clean so there’s less to worry about, you’ll start to adjust. Just don’t feel like you should be a super human. It’s taken me the good part of 6 months to realise that I don’t have to be an all entertaining, all new, all fresh human experience for the Little Mister ALL the time. We can have quiet days in and we can get out and about a bit too – he’s going to be fine if some days I’m not feeling well or need to rest. Babies are working hard all day and all night as they develop, so the occasional “boring” day in probably isn’t as boring for them as we think! Gotta stay human/sane and look after mum so she can look after bub. Overworked zombies are not the best caregivers, apparently 
It’s scary and it’s hard in those early weeks. In the more challenging times I would just pray for the Little Mister to learn how to smile. I would find myself just thinking wistfully, when he can smile perhaps I will feel better about it all. Perhaps the smiles will make each day a little easier. It was difficult when the only way he knew how to communicate was by crying or behaving grumpily. I was just hanging out for that smile. For those new ways to communicate.
They do come. And it is as lovely as they tell you it will be. Although new challenges pop up all the time, you start to know your baby well. You become really in tune with their quirks and their ways of communicating. You learn what time of day doesn’t go well with them. You learn the places/sounds/activities they like and don’t like. You learn the best times to take them out and when it’s time for them to stay in and spend time snuggling or catching up on rest in a comfy, familiar place.You find your own rhythm. Hopefully you get to know other mothers with similarly aged children – my hospital set up a mother’s group and we still meet and we share SO MANY IDEAS/CONCERNS/LEARNINGS/ADVICE on our Facebook page it’s not funny! I thought that stuff wouldn’t suit me (worried I’d be bunched with people I have nothing in common with other than motherhood, or that it could get bitchy or pressured), but it’s been fantastic. I know that if we get out of the house to meet, we all understand the logistics of just leaving the house and negotiating feeds and naps. I also know that we are all learning together and it’s great to know you’re not alone and share resources.
So if an expectant mum asked me what it’s like, I would tell her all of the above. It’s the most special time for sure, but it isn’t all rainbows and unicorns. It’s hard work, sleeplessness and constant confusion/overthinking/worrying (and kind of will be for a long time). However, if you surrender yourself to it all and embrace it, you will know that your HUGE love will conquer all in the end. I always tell myself, I grew up and don’t have to sleep with my arms swaddled. I can go to sleep all by myself at night without a dummy or someone cuddling me. I can walk around properly and talk and feed myself (and boy do I feed myself – oops). My Little Mister will grow up fine if I just relax a bit and do my best. The challenging times aren’t FOREVER
Don’t listen to those weirdos who have forgotten the hard parts when they look back on those early days of parenthood. They’ll either tell you it’s all hell on Earth or that it’s all perfect and easy. There is a fantastic happy medium if you let yourself find it.
Hindsight is always 20/20 and I refuse to let myself glorify those times when the present day gets tough. They were real, they were amazing and they were terrifyingly, terrifically overwhelming. I wouldn’t change a thing.
x
Was your reality different? Please share x
You know it’s a good day when…
I’ve always been a fan of counting your blessings in life and finding the positives. All those little things that make up a big picture and tell you that your life is good. This especially comes in handy when you’re a first time mum of a six month old boy! At times your patience is tested to its limits and with teething, sleep regression (it’s totally a thing), newfound separation anxiety, my husband not being around that much at the moment and who knows what else! The lofty expectations I had BC (Before Child) of what a good day should entail are now just a distant memory and my focus has become more about not taking the little things for granted!
You know it’s a good day/night when:
The Little Mister likes his food so much that none of it goes on his bib or his clothes, meaning I won’t have to change him at all or add to my ginormous laundry pile!
The Little Mister doesn’t spend half an hour rolling around in his cot when he should be napping.
I only have to get up once or twice in the night (or not at all), and each time I do he settles back to sleep as soon as I’ve addressed his problem (he’s normally an angel when it comes to sleep but he’s teething and experimenting with movement at the moment – praying it’s just a phase).
I get time to blog!
I somehow manage to get everything the Little Mister needs washed and in the steriliser for the next day, instead of scrambling around at the last minute because I’ve fallen behind. Seriously nothing more satisfying than knowing you can wake up the next day and not worry about it all until it suits you
I get giggles and smiles every time the Little Mister sees me – especially if it’s in the middle of one of his grumpy/teething days.
The Little Mister shows off a new skill or an improvement in a skill. It’s so great seeing something new each day.
I’m feeling exhausted and crappy and I see another friend on Facebook posting about the same problems. It can be good knowing you’re not the only one and your baby hasn’t turned into some kind of freakish monster – just a very normal monster
The Little Mister isn’t being clingy and he plays happily nearby while I get housework done! In fact, it’s a good day if I get ANY housework (non baby related) done! I think back to how lazy I could feel BC (Before Child), thinking about how housework was the most boring, pointless chore and I laugh. If only I knew then what I know now – my house would have always been spotless. I LOVE HOUSEWORK NOW. I KNOW. It’s a special treat – a luxury! I know I’ll get more organised as time goes on, as well as the Little Mister becoming more independent, but man it’s difficult at this stage!
The Little Mister doesn’t vomit while playing with his favourite toys. Meaning I won’t have to wash them (or figure out how to wash them when the label says not to wash them – it’s a baby toy – they should have thought of that)!
I hear the Little Mister waking up for the morning on the baby monitor, check the time and realise we both slept in!
I don’t wake up at 2am out of habit and then start thinking about all the stuff I’ve got to do the next day, all the stuff I did the previous day and how to solve all of the world’s problems.
I can somehow get us both out of the house (even for a couple of hours). I feel so relieved that I gave the Little Mister new experiences and exposed him to different stimulus (or is that stimuli?). I get guilty otherwise (even though I shouldn’t).
There are so many other little blessings in my every day life, but I’ve listed the main ones!
What little things let you know you’re having a good day?
Am I not SAD anymore?
This past week or two, the wintery weather has suddenly fallen upon my little corner of the planet. The night time feels cooler, the clouds cover the sky more often than not and the rain has begun to fall a bit more regularly. The rain cover for the pram is finally being used, I’m wearing my good old trackie pants and the air conditioner is getting a rest!
I’ve never been a fan of winter. In fact, each year (other than a bit of Autumn wistfulness as new clothing hits the racks at my favourite stores) I dread it. The clouds, the wetness and the addiction to winter comfort eating have always got me down. All the songs on the radio turn into dreary commercial rock (Nickelback anyone? Shoot me) to match the weather and you have to layer up your clothing so anything cute you might have started to wear is eternally hidden under rainproof wear and those coats that strippers wear (I cannot for the life of me remember what they’re called right now – it’s been a long summer – wait they’re called trenchcoats – meh). At times I would feel just downright negatively introspective and just on the border of depression after a long bout of wind and rain. I guess I’m prone to that SAD thing (Seasonally Affected Depression/Disorder or whatever it stands for – I’m no doctor). I suppose winter also reminded me of cramming in depressing winter classes at university and feeling so damn stressed about everything life throws at you in the winter.
Last winter was so different. Last winter I was pregnant and itchy with PUPPP rash. I was also quite…warm all the time because of all the extra ‘insulation’ (I look back and think of the Little Mister’s foetus as my inbuilt hot water bottle). I had the air conditioner on constantly, as the muggy, wet weather would aggravate my rash and I suppose my husband did a good job of not arguing with me when he was probably freezing his you-know-whats off! I had to say goodbye to my leggings because the cheap fabric rubbed on my legs too much, causing me to itch. I had to wear custom altered maxi dresses from sale racks with giant scarves (to hide the rash on my neck and chest) and I had to find jackets that could hang around my giant bump without looking too strange. I felt unattractive, lonely and puffed out! I spent a lot of time on the couch, napping in my bed (when my pelvic pain would let me get in without taking half an hour just to lie down) and wandering aimlessly between the computer and the kitchen. I just couldn’t do much else – especially when soaked in the greasiest ointment you can imagine!
While it was obviously no picnic (bloody oath!), I was grateful the whole time for the fact that I had conveniently fallen pregnant in Autumn and would give birth in Spring – mostly dodging the warmest, sweatiest weather of the year. I came to look forward to seeing weather forecasts full of cold fronts and bad weather (it meant that I could stay in without feeling guilty or left out of things). I liked the days where everyone else would whine about the cold, because it meant that I would be the most comfortable.
For all the bad moments, last winter I experienced some amazing life changing moments. Feeling my Little Mister kicking inside me, playing with his little feet, elbows and knees as he pushed them against the skin of my bump. He kept me company when I felt cumbersome and… stuck. He made the discomfort worth it. The few things I got to do was attend a good number of AFL (Australian Football League – Aussie Rules) games to cheer on my team, the West Coast Eagles. These days cheered me up immensely when I wasn’t well. They were special times – especially as our team was doing so well (proving a lot of naysayers wrong)! There was the game in Melbourne (our last real holiday before the baby came) and there were a couple of games at home – one being right after I found out that I had gestational diabetes on top of the rest of my damn problems! For a few hours I felt cute (wearing my maternity jeans – finally – it was cold enough for my rash to not be as much of an issue), normal and I could forget about my blood sugar (kind of – everyone was eating meat pies and drinking soft drink) while the team won and the Little Mister kicked whenever something exciting happened.
So this year, I realise that I don’t think I’ll hate winter anymore. I’m sure I’ll get sick of it over time (I feel like that about every season at least for a little while towards the end of it) and there will be days when the weather feels like it’s stopping me in my tracks, but I think it’s growing on me. I feel grateful that this winter I can wear jeans (first skinny jeans in a loooong time – got a little bit of tummy to hide but I’m cool with that). This winter I can wear leggings in fifty million different combinations of colours and designs with nice, big, comfy tops (when I can actually afford to go clothes shopping – the possibility is still nice though!). This winter I can snuggle up real close with my Little Mister and dress him up in the cutest outfits (he was always near naked in Summer because he’s sensitive to heat – I have a theory it’s to do with my pregnancy)! I can enjoy those winter comfort foods I love (within reason). I will save on my electricity bills – not so much air con running all the time. I can look after my skin, so it’s ready for a nice reveal next Summer.
I never thought this would happen. I actually think that Winter and I might become friends
What’s your favourite season?
Puppies are not babies. Sigh.
OK, so it’s time for a little bit of light heartedness around here…
Throughout my lifetime, I’ve seen several puppies grow into successful adult dogs in my family homes. My husband (then live-in boyfriend) and I even adopted one when she was about five months old when we became an adults who felt capable of keeping something alive (which I imagine is what my parents thought about when they adopted me haha). I still can’t keep plants alive, but that’s another story…
Since then we’ve also raised a very rambunctious Labrador/German Shepherd cross, from puppyhood and let me tell you, that was an eye opener. My husband was working away for the first couple of weeks of her life and I saw myself imagining what it would be like to look after a human baby – alone. This canine infant cried all night, escaped every barrier I created for her and was certainly not toilet trained! She chewed on everything in sight (including my hands) and ate a lot. I remember thinking, it was lucky she was SO cute as I recovered from three hour nights of sleep and got on my hands and knees daily to scrub the tiles she had soiled quite comprehensively.
I used to always laugh that having a puppy was like having a baby and that it was all good practice for parenthood. Similarities? Both are cute, they grow up way too fast and your love for them is unconditional.
However, there are also many differences between human puppies and dog babies.
No way! Get outta town!
It’s true. Apparently, it’s not OK to bathe your human infant outside on the lawn by simply dousing him in shampoo and rinsing with the garden hose…even if he is particularly filthy. Also, you can’t put nappies on your dog. Well, you could, but people might think you were a bit weird. I can’t decide which way I’d rather go. Let the baby poop all over the yard, saving money and time where nappies are concerned (just doing one big clean up every few days), or put nappies on your dog, saving the unsightly view of your garden if you fall behind in your lawn clean ups. Hmm.
You have to buy a sh*tload of stuff to have a baby. When you get a dog, you just get a bed, bowl, squeaky toys (that will be half eaten within days), a collar, council registration tags and a few vet bills. No-one really analyses these decisions with you, asking “What colour collar are you buying? Will it suit the puppy’s gender and match your puppy’s style? What kind of bed should I get for my puppy? I want one that will last for more than one puppy’s puppyhood and can convert into three different types – bassinet level, cot level and toddler puppy bed! It must also match the decor of my house and the theme I’ve chosen for my dog’s space. Are the dog toys I’ve chosen educational?”
OK, so some people do. There are a lot of hardcore dog lovers out there. I’ve probably been a lot more casual about the whole thing. I just ask, “Can she eat it and will it be spread all over my lawn by tomorrow morning? No? Well, I’ll take two.”
Usually when you get a puppy, it can already walk. Even the adorable rescued puppies who have three legs instead of four can do this adorable hop/walk thing. For reals. I’ve seen it on YouTube, Oprah and Ellen. Human babies have to be carried or wheeled everywhere. If you put them down anywhere, they just kind of flop about and they can fall off things. Which is scary. Although, I am nervous about the day my Little Mister can walk around. The thought of having to childproof everything to the nth degree terrifies me.
Another thing: You can’t leave your baby home alone with a bowl of water and some biscuits, while you work/party/do the grocery shopping. Apparently that can get you into a lot of trouble. Also, there might be some ethical issues around the idea of microchipping your child so you can be contacted when they get lost. Sounds like a great idea, but apparently it’s not the done thing…yet. I’m sure someone’s working on it.
I guess there are pros and cons in having either a dog or a baby. I’m lucky enough to have both. We’ll see which ones eat us out of house and home first, shall we?
Do you have a fur baby or a human baby? Both?
It’s not just my voice.
Note: This post is quite emotionally revealing and has been difficult for me to write (it’s taken a few weeks), but I felt it was important to express because I am sure I’m not the only new mum going through it.
All my life I’ve been a very strong minded (some may be reckless enough to accuse me of being stubborn) person. I’ve always known what I’ve wanted and how I feel about certain issues. Which is mostly a good character trait to have, and occasionally I learn the hard way. Luckily I do usually learn pretty well from my mistakes, but I like that I am passionate about my beliefs (while trying to be open minded enough to change those beliefs when necessary).
However, if you asked some of the people who know the ‘outside’ me (those who aren’t in my household or my immediate family) about this trait, they might look at you funny. When something doesn’t sit well with me or I feel confronted, I dither about, overexplain my position or pretend it’s all good when it isn’t. Sometimes I’ll even be silly enough to ignore my gut instincts, because I’m scared of what people will think if I do my own thing. I could get all psychoanalytical about how I think it’s a fear of not belonging, brought about by my ultimate rejection as a baby (leading to my adoption), but to keep things short and simple, I care too much about what people might say if I go against the grain. It doesn’t ultimately stop me in most cases and I might appear strong and sure of my decisions in the end, but it usually comes after a massive inner struggle that can last for days (or more appropriately 3am moments at night)!
Since I fell pregnant with the Little Mister, I’ve had to be mentally strong time and time again. I’ve had to find courage inside myself, in order to speak my truth. You see, it’s no longer just my truth anymore. My voice is no longer just mine. I have this little guy in my life who cannot speak yet. He cannot make wise life decisions that affect his wellbeing. I have the highest honour, the biggest responsibility. His dad and I must be his voice. I will sometimes have to be strong and make unpopular decisions or do something people might not agree with if I know in my heart that it’s for the best.
It is my duty to be strong and assertive. To carve my own way where my little family is concerned. I can’t dither about, ignore my instincts or doubt myself constantly just because some people out there may be ignorant or judgemental. I need to realise that we (my little family) don’t have to answer to anyone. We’re good people, we’re proactively educated, and we will always do our best to raise our baby.
I respect other parents and their choices. I am not perfect and I do judge occasionally (like when a pregnant woman says she’s going to drink Red Bull all night at the club – overheard on the train usually), but I do believe that being a new parent is hard enough as it is. Every parent is different and every baby is different. Most of us grow up relatively OK. Some may have more issues than others, but we all do what I believe is the best with what we know how at the time. If we know better, we do better and I always try to know as much as I can.
I guess what I’m saying here is that we might falter sometimes when we speak up for ourselves as individuals and we might ignore our own needs when we shouldn’t, but since having the Little Mister I have learnt a very valuable lesson in using my voice because right now, it’s his voice too. I have to get over myself. I have to stay strong. I don’t have to get confrontational (that’s not always constructive), but I have to believe in myself, not doubt what I believe in and quietly do my own thing anyway (without tearing myself to pieces with guilt or fear about it).
I don’t want to stand up on my somewhat unsteady soapbox and go on about how I’m a mother and all others should bow down because I’m the first person to ever have a baby. I just have to set limits and draw lines. I have to take calculated risks and believe in the fact that no-one knows my baby (or my family) better than my husband or I do. I have to stop listening to those who love to judge someone else (even worse when it’s other mothers who should know better), because they are probably insecure themselves and don’t know how else to feel OK about their own choices.
It’s not just me anymore. Someone else is depending on me and I take that responsibility very seriously. If I ignore my gut feeling where his needs are concerned because I’m scared someone will tell me I’m doing it wrong (even though it’s actually none of their business), then I’m not doing my job. I’m always open to learning and improving, but I need to trust my ability in seeking out the right answers and not blindly follow someone else.
When the Little Mister was born, I felt thrust into the unknown (in both the best and the scariest way). I wanted to show that I was eager to learn and I wanted to trust in the fact that billions of people on this earth have given birth before me. If I had my time over (and maybe I will one day) I would stand up to the people I was scared of. I would trust more in my intuition. I would tell the well intentioned midwives that I didn’t want them to grab my nipples when showing me how to breastfeed – that I could tell my baby knew exactly what to do without them grabbing me the third, fourth and fifth times. I would tell them I was too stressed to express every hour if they all kept walking in the hospital room and watching me each time I had a quiet moment and that it wasn’t helping my milk to come in. I would say that the real reason I was crying on day 3 of my hospital stay was because it was unnatural that I hadn’t seen my baby the first three days of his life and that my painkilling drugs had worn off making me realise that I was p*ssed off that they were acting like it was normal that he wasn’t with me – not because of stupid baby blues (they didn’t help but they weren’t the real reason). I would tell my friends that it’s OK that my Little Mister doesn’t spend a lot of time overnight with his grandparents so I can go out more, because I feel like it’s my job (and my pleasure) to be with him when I can. I am still teaching him to manage his separation anxiety and he gets plenty of time without us (let’s go easy on him – he’s 5 months and 3 weeks old), and I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything in my life. I don’t know if they think about any of this, but I worry that they do. I just have to be OK with my decisions and wear them with confidence. The Little Mister’s doing great (all the usual baby maladies aside) and so am I! We’re happy
I need to tell people it’s not OK to just rock up at my house with very little warning and start making noise during the Little Mister’s bathing, feeding and bed time unless they’re planning on staying the night in his room. 
I need to be able to say, “Sorry I can’t afford that. Our income is limited right now and we’re channeling our funds into our family home or the baby’s needs, before we start spending on other things. Some months will be tighter than others.” and not just try to keep up when it’s simply not possible, out of the fear that people will think we’re tightwads or will start analysing our spending. “Oh, I saw her buying a $4 magazine last week. She can’t be THAT poor.”
That’s not everyone else’s voice. That’s the mean voice inside my own head. Stupid voice. The nice voice should remind the mean voice that my husband and I work very hard to budget our cash and we believe in living a balanced life. Our finances are our own business and they don’t stop us from living our life. So to hell with what some hypothetical, imaginary mean person might think!
And now I sound crazy with all this talk about voices in my head and imaginary people…moving right along…
I need people to understand what it’s like to have a baby – the challenges, the need for stability and the energy it requires. Sometimes I just have to ask tell everyone straight out what I want or what the Little Mister needs as an individual (not all babies are the same in a situation). They might not actually be mindreaders (!) and it’s not fair to assume that they will understand a situation they’re not familiar with or that they haven’t lived.
Most importantly, along this journey into parenthood, I’ve noticed a pattern. Every time I ignore my gut instinct because I’m worried about what people will think, I take a bit of a detour down the wrong path. From now on, I am going to try harder to stay true to myself and my family. I need to trust that those in my life are strong too and they can handle my truth.
If I don’t stand up for my Little Mister, who will?
Have you ever found it difficult to stray away from the pack or speak your truth (this is not just a mummy specific question)?
Five months: What it means to me.
April marks five months of my Little Mister’s life. It’s an odd age to consider a special milestone, but to me it really is an important one. I didn’t realise just how important it was to me until it arrived and it brought with it the revelation that I had been waiting for this date for all of my adult life (and perhaps even before that).
I have spent my whole life trotting out my little life story to anyone and everyone who seems particularly interested in my “background”. You see, I look Asian on the outside but on the inside I’ve always been an Aussie. It brings with it a lot of fascination and the need to ask me for an explanation. Especially when I’m out with my parents, who don’t particularly resemble me physically!
I was adopted from South Korea as a baby. How old was I, you ask? Well, I was five months and one week old when I arrived in Australia, ready to start my new life as a very loved and cherished Aussie bub.
Every time someone asks (rudely or politely) where I’m “from”, I start my well rehearsed, finely tuned, short spiel. I can sum the situation up in a very short time: “Well, I was born in South Korea but I was adopted at five months old and being Aussie is all I’ve ever known.”
It explains my looks and it lets someone know that I don’t have an unusual ethnicity or different cultural practices (so they don’t start talking to me really loudly or slowly or make assumptions about what I eat or how my family views education blah blah *enter Asian stereotype here*) . Of course, it doesn’t always sink in, but that’s another story
Anyway, I always dreamed of being biologically related to someone. I have loved my life and have always felt extra loved and extra wanted because my parents had to go to such lengths to bring me to them when my own biological family didn’t choose to keep me. It’s just that I dreamed of having that dream my mum/s couldn’t have. I dreamed of being able to carry my own baby safely to term and be able to keep him or her forever. I dreamed of one day having what I had never had – someone who maybe looked a bit like me and shared my genes – in my life.
I’ve spent my life being fascinated by family resemblences. Looking at brothers, sisters, their parents and wondering what it would be like to resemble someone. The advantages, the disadvantages.
When my little man reached the five month milestone a few days ago, I realised what my parents were receiving that September night in 1984. A little very chubby five month old, who was smiling (a coping mechanism I have used to this day), grabbing at things and completely aware of her surroundings. I see what an undertaking it would have been for me to fly all the way from South Korea to start a whole new life and never look back. When my Little Mister starts to show separation anxiety and tests me at night time, crying as I get to his bedroom door after I’ve said goodnight, I realise that I would have had some idea that nothing would ever be the same. That time of my life shaped a lot of who I am today and it is bittersweet when I think about it.
I realise what a gift I have had. I have had a bonus five months with my Little Mister! I’ve seen him from day one (albeit briefly before he was rushed to another hospital for three days - long story). I’ve watched him grow and learn. I was able to breastfeed him (not that it was very easy but I got the opportunity), I was there to give him his first taste of solids: apple puree and broccoli puree (not a fan but we knew we were pushing it haha). I was there to bring him home from hospital and change his first nappies, watch my husband give him his first bath. My parents may have missed out on those moments with me, but I realise one thing. The bond between parent and child is the same no matter how you came together. I now know exactly what my brother and I meant to my parents (and still do). I am so blessed to be a child of loving parents, and a loving parent of a child. Blood isn’t thicker than water: love is.
As my little baby starts to get “boy” legs instead of tiny baby legs, and he starts to push for independence, trying to hold his own bottle and take control of his own spoon, I’m realising just how fast he’s going to grow up! I love who he is (when he grins his face off and puts up with my shenanigans) and I am so glad I get to keep him forever.
Just like it was for my parents, five months is just the beginning of a very special journey. I realise now that what I craved all my life was not simply a little ‘me’ or a genetic relative. I just wanted to realise, to KNOW, that the love I have for my child is exactly the same as the love my parents had/have for me. Perhaps deep down, I needed the confirmation. I needed to know for sure that blood and some genes don’t make an ounce of difference as to how much a person can love (even though with all the blessings and love in my life I already had a pretty strong inkling).
I love you, Little Mister. Thankyou for choosing me as your mummy.
It has to happen sooner or later.
Pic: Those are just cordial, right? I have to wake up in the morning, you know.
Last week I went out for dinner with The Girls. It was a nice, casual mid week meal, with lots of chatterboxes sitting all around the one table at a local fish and chips joint. Of course we’d rearranged the long tables so we could all see each other and therefore maximise the amount of different conversations we could participate in all at the one time (there are a healthy number of us). The guys just wouldn’t understand haha.
I was in such a good mood and the baby was at home sleeping, with my husband on duty that I did something wild and crazy. I went to the pub (where I ordered a non alcoholic drink) and stayed there for a WHOLE 45 minutes extra (after clearing it with my husband because I wanted to be considerate).
I know. I’m out of control. Next step? Rehab. Clearly.
Oh and sadly, just that little jaunt had me feeling tired all the next morning. I have shamed myself. It’s all over.
You know what, though? I was actually happy with that! I had a fantastic time, I had a short but much needed break from looking after the Little Mister (coming off the back of two weeks of him not being so well) and it was fun seeing my friends and talking about things that weren’t all baby, baby, baby (and no I’m not going to break out into a Justin Bieber song). OK, so sometimes we talked about babies. There were three of us mummies and one mummy to be in the group after all
Then this last Saturday evening, I was driving home from a quick trip to the shops to return some DVDs to the rental shop (yes we still rent DVDs from an actual shop). It got me thinking. What would I have been doing at that time on a Saturday night before I fell pregnant (not much more than a year ago)?
Oh, that’s right. I would have been making/buying myself a terrible dinner consisting of either hot chips, something else that was processed and stuck in the oven or maybe breakfast cereal (the pre-nightclubbing breakfast dinner of champions)! I would have most likely been home alone because my husband was working away a lot at that point (FIFO) and my stereo would have been loud as I sang along to every brand new song I’d had time to listen to, download and sync to my iPod. I would have finished dinner and started trying on every outfit in my wardrobe, just wandering aimlessly from room to room of my house for a few hours until magically, I was looking amazingly dolled up and somehow all the clothes I’d ever owned (we’re talking short skirts, sexy tops and little black dresses) were on my bed. I would shrug my shoulders and think “Oh well, I’ll get to that later”. I’d head out at say 9pm and the night’s events would go as follows:
- Hang out in a seedy pub with my friends
- Declare it too seedy for ladies such as ourselves to be seen in (bahaha)
- Move to another bar where we’d decide it was too quiet
- Have a deep and meaningful discussion/argument over when was too early/late to head to a nightclub
- Dance about in one club and decide the music was too crap
- End up at the nightclub which is named after an exotic bird, but is not really an exotic place but at least the music was alright and the dancefloor was always just full enough and usually I’d run into my brother and his friends or a bunch of other people we knew
- Decide we’d had enough of clubbing when the music turned into crazy rave beats and a headache started setting in
I’d then go home, crawl into bed (after shoving all my clothes that I’ve ever owned onto the floor), pass out and wake up at 10am the next day (which is when I’d do the dishes from my awful dinner and put my clothes away).
I would spend all of Sunday morning lying on the couch watching trashy shows on my DVR and loving every moment of it!
Oh how things change!
Nowadays I spend most of my weekend nights in (not including casual dinners at other peoples’ houses), unless there’s something really really important on like an engagement party or wedding. I whiz about getting ready in a matter of minutes (not dawdling for hours) and find myself dressed in clothes that cover all my stretch marks (which I picked out in my mind HOURS OR DAYS AGO in order to save time). If I’m feeling particularly wild and rebellious I will throw on a necklace and earrings (stuff a baby normally loves to grab and pull). I might even have time to blowdry some volumiser through my hair! Sometimes I can even convince myself that I can still rock a smokey eye or a bit of snazzy eye shadow. Yes, I just used the word “snazzy”. The transformation to dorky parent is almost complete. The only need for multiple outfit changes is if the baby spews on me, dribbles on me or proves that I am likely to have a wardrobe malfunction later (by pulling things apart with his little monkey hands).
I’m usually home long before midnight and as I sneak my sleeping babe (who might have stayed a few hours at his grandparents’ place) to bed, I feel relieved that everything’s fine and in the morning I’ll have enough energy to enjoy him.
This month it’s all going to change. Not entirely by my choice. You see, I’m part of a bridal party for a wedding and where there’s a wedding there’s also a hens night to plan and execute. There are also several planning meetings and related commitments. I am so excited for my beautiful friend and bride to be, as well as honoured to be given such an important and special role in her big day, but this forces my hand. I have to face the fact that at some point this month I am going to have to let someone else look after my little man for a WHOLE NIGHT at a time. I’m going to have to let someone else feed him, change him, bathe him, settle him and know when he needs to nap. I know that all of his grandparents are very capable people (hello – my husband and I are alive and kicking so that proves it right?) but you see, I am a worry wart.
Don’t get me wrong. I have left him in his grandparents’ capable care several times for a while at a time. I don’t mind if other people cuddle, feed or bathe him (and they have – I’ve just always been around). I’ve just never attempted a throwback to my old life since he was born. I’ve never left all that responsibility to someone else completely for 24 hours or so. I know that those who care for the Little Mister will do a great job and even if it’s not the same way I’d do it, he will come out of it alive and happy in the end (even if his sleep is a bit off). It’s more that I worry for his loving, generous babysitters. What if they have a bad time with him because they don’t know him the way I do (all those little tricks that seem specific to his quirky personality)?? I don’t want to just be someone who dumps their grumpy baby with someone and forgets about it for the night. I think I’d feel bad! I also don’t want to leave some kind of mum-zilla like 10 page document with them on how to care for him because, well…that would be insane and insulting!
I’m going to have to relax. Or be sedated. Hmm. Carefree and childfree no longer belong in the same sentence! Child free? Not so care free!
I’m sure I’ll let you know how it all went (perhaps I’ll like it so much I’ll hire a nanny and become a professional party animal who wears skimpy leopard print and stripper shoes all the time) – how my life has turned upside down in the last year!!
What are you worrying about this week? Let it all out – free therapy
