Uni Life

It is exam time in our household, which means stress levels are high. Things are due and the end of another year is in sight. 

A little over two years ago my husband, Duncan, came home from work, sick of his customer service job and all that it entailed, and told me he wanted to go back to uni. In his typical laid back fashion he told me casually over dinner one night, he was signing up for four years of study, like it was no big deal. 

We had just bought our first home and were discussing starting a family so I was caught completely off guard. I knew Duncan the uni student, I met Duncan as a uni student. He was completely unfocused and uncommitted to his course, the typical story of a boy who chose a course for his enter score rather than for himself, so as you can imagine I was apprehensive to sign up to that life again. When we first met, he dreamt of joining the MFB (Metropolitan Fire Brigade) and was about to embark on the rigorous recruitment process. We had heard that joining the fireys was slow, but we did not realise just how slow. It took a long three years to get to the final interview.  As a matter of fact, we left for our honeymoon not having heard from the MFB for six months. And in what came to be true fireys form, when we arrived in Rome, Duncan had an email waiting, saying his final interview was in two weeks. Long story short, he is still on the waiting list for his interview and, needless to say, I do not think he will be accepting recruitment any time soon. 

I should not have been surprised when Duncan told me he wanted to go back to study. Duncan is by far one of the smartest people I know, there is no doubt in my mind that he would've been someone I was completely jealous of if I had known him in high school. He's one of those ones who looks at something once and knows it, maybe twice if the subject matter is a bit tricky. So his days working in a sportswear store were always going to be short lived. 

Now, to some people, deciding to go back to uni when you are also thinking of starting of a family seems crazy (one lady even went as far as asking me if the pregnancy was unintentional). Some days, even to me, this decision seems crazy.  Why would anyone willingly sign up for four years of this? Four long years of working in every spare moment and earning minimal wage, four years of no full weekends together, four years of relying on the generosity of others, four years of a stagnant, never increasing savings account. I have a financial meltdown quarterly, some days it feels like we are just keeping our head above water. It is scary and stressful and I am constantly asking myself why we are doing this. When we should be establishing a foundation for our family, why would we sign ourselves up for the life of a uni student all over again?  Then I remember, it is only four years, and more importantly, it makes Duncan happy. When we never used to have a dream for our future careers, now we are working towards something together and it is exciting, which leads me to my next realisation, which is that Duncan studying actually is establishing a foundation for our family. 

Duncan the uni student 3.0 (that's third uni attempt), has proven to me that sometimes you do need to try things a couple of times before you get it right. Duncan has shown that he is willing to work hard for his family. He has managed to balance full time study, two, sometimes more jobs, sport and a family life. And although some days, even some weeks, it seems like the family portion of his life is on the back burner I know Leo is lucky. Leo has a dad who knows how important it is to work hard for his family. He has a dad who appreciates every minute he gets with him because some days he doesn't have time for many minutes. Leo has a dad who will love and fill every childhood weekend because he did not have a weekend for so many years.  

So we tough it out and live by Duncan's relaxed mantra of 'It'll be right' for four more semesters. We will find ways to manage and we will have more children while Duncan continues to study. I know there are many more people out there doing it a whole lot tougher than us, we have a great life and I am by no means crying poor. The truth of the matter is, although daunting, this was the best time for Duncan to return to study. He can come home between classes and manage his timetable so there is the all important 'boys time' while I work. And yes, he may miss out on weekends and some bedtimes now, but Leo doesn't know that and after all, a normal Monday-Friday, 9-5 life is only two short years away.

Curls get the girls

People always comment on how much hair Leo has when they see him up close. You see, from a distance, he still looks very bald, unless you catch him in the sunshine and his white locks glisten.

When Leo was born, the midwife remarked how much she loved big bald babies. How there was something special about them. Looking over at my brand new big bald baby I thought she was simply being polite but, now, my heavily biased opinion tends to agree with her. 

Don't get me wrong, there have been times where I have looked longingly at the other babies full heads of hair, envying their cute little tufts. Wondering how their mums manage to keep their hair clean, especially around meal times. It will take Leo years of growth before he reaches the same lengths as some newborns but that's OK by me.

Every emotion Leo has is written all over his face, his lack of hair meaning that these emotions are also written all over his bald little head. I have watched his whole head turn from pale pink to red to what seems like blue mid tantrum. I have seen small wrinkles form, tiny folds over his skull moving with raised brows of curiosity. His beaming smile and belly laughs extending from his cheeks to his eyes rippling over his temples and his ears. I have been lucky enough to witness every emotion so vividly and if his hair holds off a little bit longer I will be lucky enough to witness a few more.

If family history is anything to go by, chances are, all my babies will be big and bald. I won't have to worry about shampooing or haircuts until I am able to explain their importance, only to be questioned many times over. The hair brush will continue to be a play toy until I am chasing a running toddler with matted knots. And every bump will turn into a visible egg, not able to be hidden with a strategically placed wave of hair or clip. The lack of hair only drawing attention to the beauty of a new baby or small child, their flawless skin and pure eyes.

I have accepted the fact that there will be scalp showing in Leo's first birthday photos. Not until recently has his hair been visible in photographs, small wispy curls poking out behind his ears. I have chased him with my camera, pathetically taking photos of these tiny curls, sending them to family and friends, proud that my son has the ability to grow some hair. Leo's locks, or lack there of, has made me appreciate every new strand that appears on his precious head. 

When people comment on Leo's hair I don't mind, simply because, I too am one of those people that comment on the hair growth of babies. I comment like it is a surprise that it has happened; 'Oh wow, look how much their hair has grown.' The slow and steady coverage of their heads yet another sign that, despite our best attempts to slow the process down, our babies are quickly turning into children.

Holiday Dreaming

When every experience is a first, life is exciting and wonderful. Life as a parent is exactly that. Every milestone reached, every new discovery, every proud achievement makes all the sleepless nights and life sacrifices worth it. 

There are the firsts that you document, writing down information in a book that will sit on a shelf for years to come, only to be looked at when your child has a child to compare notes. 

There are the firsts that you would rather forget, the first nappy explosion in a public place or the first time you instinctively catch a projectile vomit in your bare hands to protect the flooring.

There are the firsts that only you and your other mum friends can relate to, the first irrational sleep deprived meltdown, ranting about an unpacked dishwasher or an unmade bed.

Then there are those magical firsts. The ones that warm your heart. The ones that are really special that you will treasure forever.

Last week we had one of those moments, one of my favourite firsts to date. We packed our child up along with way too much luggage and had our first family holiday. Just the three of us. A holiday that I had booked when I was craving sun and hating the winter, when I was sick of my husband being at work most nights and at uni most days, when all I needed was time as a family, no interuptions, it was a holiday that I had booked out of purely selfish notions. 

The logistics of going on holiday with a small child did not hit me until about two days before we left.  We had previously holidayed with my family when Leo was only six weeks old, a six week old on a nine hour car trip is easy, sleep, feed, drive, repeat. A nine hour drive with a ten month old however, not so easy. Sleeps are shorter and the idea of sitting still in one place for a prolonged period of time is not well accepted. 

With the car packed baby and all we hit the road early and with the help of an extremely appropriately themed teddy bear cafe, the trip, bar the slightly sore ears as we drove over the mountains, was relatively painless.

Once again our child had amazed us, we had reached our destination and that, in itself, was an achievement. 

We had been to the beach with Leo when he was tiny, dipped him in the water to reveal a high pitched squeal of surprise. When he was six weeks old he laid in the tent like a doll, one of us sitting next to him, watching the waves crash from a distance. Now, as we carried Leo down the steps to our familiar beach the excitement was palpable, our little boy wriggled with curiousity as he heard the crashing of the waves on the sand. His face was filled with joy when he saw the water and our 'beach babe' was born. 

The beach, this beach in particular, is my happy place. The place I think of when I am having a bad day, or where I imagine I am when I am pushing myself to work hard during exercise. My happy place was made happier by Leo. 

The way he laughed as the waves rolled in and grasped at the sand, examining the small grains as they rolled through his fingers, the salty air brushing his skin. When we decided to go home for the day, Leo fought us, itching to have more time to explore the sand. Leo didn't know it but we were planning on taking him swimming the next day.

The next day was the hottest of our trip, a beautiful day, perfect for swimming. Leo was yet to wear his new bathers, a purchase I had made a few weeks before, so we dressed him up to look the part and took him down to the kiddies beach. 

Another special first. Despite the water being cooler than any bath he had ever taken, Leo loved it. The mysterious water splashing against his legs, the small shells hidden like curious jewels in the sand, Leo played and examined, taking it all in. 

We are so lucky to witness the discovery of new things. Some times we forget how lucky we are and how momentous these occasions are, our children grow up so quickly it seems like every day there is a new first. Whether it's good or bad, adorable or disgusting, I appreciate and cherish every first as I know I won't get these special moments with Leo forever. 

I will always cherish our first family holiday, smile when I think about Leo in the water and laugh with my husband when we reminisce of lunch with the teddy bears and Leo laughing at the waves. We are lucky to be heading back to my happy place in 13 weeks. In 13 weeks we get to witness Leo discover the beach all over again, as a no doubt, fully fledged toddler. We have a lifetime of firsts ahead of us and I am excited.

Nappy Changing 101

Around the time of five and a half months Leo decided that he had had enough of laying still, peacefully watching as we calmly changed his nappy. He decided that this quiet time was the perfect time to make a break for it, catch us unaware, escape. Now, four and a half months later we are still fighting the same fight and most days I only just win the battle.

Due to my apparently very weak muscles and my son's incredibly strong ones the hardest part of my day has become changing his nappy. I have even gone so far as to examine his tiny thighs, holding them in my hands, checking that his anatomy is that of a normal human boy and not some strange, freakishly strong Wolverine like character. Depending how you look at it, fortunately for me, they are just normal human legs, his strength and determination to move has just preceded my ability to hold him down. 

Back at six months I thought it was hard, in hindsight I should've known things would only get tougher. So, like any good modern parent, I googled it. My time as a new parent has had me type some stupid questions into Google but this had to be one of the stupidest, 'What to do when baby won't stay still for nappy change?' Good old google had two answers; a) learn how to change nappy in different positions, and b) move quicker. Yep, brilliant, thanks google, once again helping desperate parents all over the globe with your very in depth and informative advice. So there we were, six months in and still unsure how to change a nappy effectively. I longed for the early days, the easy days when changing a nappy meant moving with extra care out of fear for breaking our precious child, not moving as quickly as possible so he didn't have time to jump off the change table. I thought the safest option would be to move off the change table and on to the floor, surely the floor would be easier, right? Wrong. I quickly learnt that the floor is baby level, not parent level, perfect for games and escaping. So after a back breaking week of floor nappy changing we moved back to the change table and that is where we have stayed. 

Obviously days go by and multiple nappies have been changed, it is, unfortunately, one of the less glamorous parts of parenthood. Usually a successful change means nappy is on and all parties involved come out of it without wearing anything that they aren't supposed to. Now, I am no expert but I do believe, ten months in, I have learnt a thing or two more than what google braved to tell me. So although I still fight Leo at most changes here are my top tips for making life a little easier during the dreaded change time.

1. Kitchen utensils work wonders of distraction.

Most change times, we make sure to bypass via the kitchen drawers, grabbing something for Leo to play with. Something that he preferably hasn't seen before to examine closely while he is stripped and changed. Avoiding all things sharp and scary of course.

2. Sing, off key, at all times.

Sing as loud and as terribly as you can. I am a pro at this, actually I'm surprised that our neighbours have never called the police to report the strange small animal death sounds coming from next door. But I have found the more unusual the better. The element of shock and surprise works wonders.

3. Four hands are better than two.

Like many things in life and parenting, teamwork is always the easiest option if possible. When we are both home, nappy changes are always a two man job, one at the business end doing the dirty work and one at the top end causing major distraction.

4. Change it up. 

OK so I may have been a bit harsh on google before, sorry google. This is a stretch on the 'different positions' answer. Leo gets bored of staring at the same old square of roof while he gets changed, so, on my adventurous days we do changes in every room of the house and when it's nice we brave it and go outside. This is only successful 40% of the time, it is still baby level and it is still, unfortunately, back breaking.

5. Get them when they're tired.

Simple, sleepy baby usually can't be bothered fighting as much as alert baby can be. 

6. Let it all hang out.

Do you really have to go anywhere anyway? Naked time is always fun, and the perfect opportunity for future embarrassing 21st photos, so go pants free. Just be ready with ample supplies to clean any accidents, towels, face washers and baby wipes are all fantastic.

There you have it. As you can see my list is not very long, like I said nappy time for me still is the hardest part of my day. Some days all the utensils and terrible singing in the world couldn't stop Leo from trying to roll and run away, his little growing body continues to prove to me how hard I need to hit the gym.

So until the days of nappies are over and we enter the next phase of toilet training, we will keep trying new tips and tricks to make change time less of a battle..and hope that the neighbours buy some earplugs in the mean time! 

One step closer

My baby took his first real steps today. He took seven, real life, one foot in front of the other, steps. My heart filled with pride as I watched him proudly walk towards me as if he had been doing it for weeks. I cheered and congratulated him as he tottled closer with each wobbly step. Then, almost as hard as his bottom hit the ground, a stark realisation hit me, my baby is no longer, I have a toddler, and I must admit I was a little bit sad. 

Leo has reached each milestone extremely quickly; no, I am not boasting or exaggerating, simply speaking the truth. Tummy time was a cinch, rolling followed soon after that. By five months he was commando crawling and by six there was no stopping him. Seven months and he was pulling himself up, cruising on the furniture. By eight months we had a climber, up the stairs and the furniture. And now nine months in we have our first steps, by ten months I will have a walker and I don't know if I am ready.

I thought the baby phase would last longer. I had hoped it would last longer. 

How many times as a new parent do you hear the phrase, "enjoy it, they grow up too fast"? And as a new parent, like many others, I thought in my sleep deprived, physically exhausted state that this phase would never end. I could never imagine a day where my baby would no longer use me as his resting place or lay calmly while I changed his nappy. I knew he would grow but I imagined I would have a little baby for a little while longer than I did. 

Each milestone has been embraced and celebrated. Documented on our phones and cameras, something I am sure we will not have time to do for subsequent children. With each milestone the reality of time passing is obvious, as much as we love each stage and want to stay in that moment there is no stopping the inevitable. The baby phase has an expiry date and our baby is very quickly approaching it. Clothes are becoming more and more boy-like and less and less baby-like, teeth have replaced a gummy smile and first steps are being taken.

So I'll dress him in jumpsuits for as long as they fit and embrace every nap he decides he wants to take on me. I'll continue to celebrate each milestone, even the ones I am not ready for and I will be ready to record every single one of them.

Every new parent has a lifetime of firsts ahead of them. Although the baby days can be some of the toughest and most testing, just know that one day you will look back and miss your little tiny baby and the moments they gave you. The sad truth is, we are all only a few short years from having kisses wiped off, temper tantrums and being the cause of much eye rolling.

An Ode to Dribble Rash

Dribble rash, dribble rash go away,

Dribble rash, dribble rash here to stay?

All this ointment tickles your chin,

I pray that this ointment will eventually win.

While your big white teeth look very sweet,

The rash they cause is not so neat.

Your neck is wet with a constant pool,

How can one baby produce so much drool?

When you're standing tall and proud,

The state of your bib makes me gasp aloud.

Soaking bibs and tops all day,

Staying dry's so yesterday.

The bandana you wear is no fashion statement,

It's merely a method of dribble containment.

So while these teeth are coming though,

Here is something I'll do for you.

Keep your chin dry and try as I might,

Excess saliva I'll put up a fight.

Changing your bibs and wiping you down,

I'll chase this dribble rash right out of town.

Ok so maybe I have read one too many kiddies books lately. On the to do list tomorrow... start a book with more than five words to a page!

So what do you do all day???

If you have ever asked a mother what she does at home all day, chances are, she is still reeling at the audacity of your question. How could anyone ask such a question? Isn't it blatantly obvious at how busy we are? Clearly not.

Sure, you see the mums at the cafés, catching up over lattes, baby's in tow. But what you don't realise is that that is probably their only outing that day, sometimes for that week. They aren't talking about future holidays or all the designer clothes they are buying, they are talking about their kids, their husbands, the mess they left at home and they are rarely talking about themselves. 

So to those of you that think that as mums all we do is catch up with other mums over coffee here it is. A real day in the life, my day in a nutshell. Nine months in, we are busy, we are random, we are chaotic and we can experience every emotion in the space of one hour. There is no set plan, we play each day by ear, our routine is vague and sometimes nonexistent, so here it goes... Welcome to our life.

6.50AM: We are woken by Leo stirring on the monitor, I check the time, what a luxury, he let us sleep in. Leo sounds happy so I snooze.

7.10AM: No longer happy, up I get and straight in to Leo's room, he is standing in his cot, his mobile pulled down, proud of himself he greets me with his big smile.

7.12AM: Nappy change.

7.16AM: Play time while I am still waking up, by this stage, Duncan is now out of bed and having his breakfast.

7.30AM: Coffee time. Oh and breakfast for Leo and myself.

8.05AM: Breakfast is finally finished, time to clean up and get him out of the chair.

8.12AM: Duncan leaves for uni, he has work tonight so won't be home till after 7PM, long day ahead.

8.20AM: Shower. My hair desperately needs a wash but that won't be happening today, I lock Leo in the bathroom with me and have a quick shower.

8.30AM: Makeup, it's a good day so far I have successfully washed and made myself presentable. 

8.45AM: With Leo not letting me move without him being attached to me I realise that I have woken up to a super clingy baby this morning. 

8.50AM: I put Leo with his toys in the lounge room, cranky and grizzly but I need to brush my teeth.

8.52AM: He finds me in the bathroom.

8.58AM: I give in and breastfeed. My intention of holding out until 9.30 clearly isn't going to work today.

9.22AM: Leo is asleep, too scared to move him I let him sleep on me while I check Facebook, Instagram, emails and watch morning TV.

9.40AM: Awake. That was not long enough but he is all smiles.

9.43AM: Nappy change and time to get him out of his pyjamas.

9.54AM: Leo is clean and dressed, making the most of his post sleep good mood I get the first load of washing on and quickly run to make our bed.

10.00AM: Find Leo's missing sock, put it back on and bring him into the lounge in time for my guilty pleasure, reruns of 7th Heaven. I catch up on the lives of the Camden's while playing with Leo on the floor. Leo is a climber so most of this play time consists of me chasing and lifting him off the couch and only seeing about 60% of the episode, luckily it's a pretty slow show so I am able to follow.

10.46AM: In preparation to leave the house I offer another feed. Not interested.

10.57AM: Nappy change. With a strong and rolling baby this is becoming the hardest part of my day. If it were summer we would be doing a lot of nappy free time outside.

11.03AM: Load up the nappy bag, find a jumper for Leo. He throws a slight hissy fit, so I wrestle him into the pram. 

11.08AM: We make it out the door, off to meet my much needed and much appreciated mothers group. 

11.15AM: Coffee and catch up with the girls.

12.58PM: Realise what time it is and start walking home, Leo is overdue for his lunch, hence the slight crankiness.

1.08PM: Leo has fallen asleep. Exhausted from his play date with his little friends.

1.11PM: Arrive home, the sudden stopping on the pram tends to wake him up so I quickly park him in the lounge and put the now well and truly finished load of washing on the rinse and spin cycle.

1.17PM: Still asleep. Looks like his lunch will be late today and I might actually get a chance to eat slowly rather than at my usual fast 'child is trying to steal my sandwich' pace.

1.35PM: By some miracle Leo is still asleep, I prepare his lunch and clean up the mess from mine.

1.42PM: Washing machine is finished but yesterday's washing is still on the line, time to get that off and fold it.

1.50PM: Stirrings in the pram. Leo is a awake, looks like I'll hang the washing later.

1.52PM: Quick nappy change.

1:55PM: Lunch time, I sit with him, watching his every mouthful as he slowly makes his way through his meal.

2.15PM: No longer interested in food, I clean him up and free him from the high chair.

2.19PM: Post lunch outfit change, for me not for Leo. Somehow I have managed to be covered in more banana than he has.

2.21PM: Washing with my little 'helper'. It's a nice day out so we play out there for a while, exploring the grass and the dirt.

2.45PM: Now extremely dirty, we come inside for another wriggly nappy change and a change of clothes. 

2.50PM: Practise our waving in the bathroom mirror, our latest trick proving to be very entertaining.

2.55PM: Leo has solo play time while I put on yet another load of washing and tidy up the kitchen.

3.20PM: Nappy change.

3.30PM: Afternoon tea time, which, after a later lunch, quickly turns into a game of throwing everything on the floor.

3.43PM: Sticky afternoon tea = Sticky baby. Clean up time.

3.50PM: With a change of pants we catch the last ten minutes of Playschool.

4.00PM: Find the missing sock, put back on and head out the door for walk number two for the day.

4.55PM: Home with a sleeping baby, make the most of the opportunity by hanging second load of washing on clothes horse and getting a start on dinner.

5.00PM: Dinner not started, Leo is awake. Maybe we will read for a while instead.

5.20PM: Momentary distraction allows me to sneak off into the kitchen and leave Leo in the very capable hands of Giggle and Hoot.

5.34PM: Not long and my 'helper' has returned, this time acting as kitchen hand rather than laundry maid.

5.55PM: With the contents of my kitchen cupboards all over the floor Leo's dinner is ready. 

6.00PM: Leo's tea time. Messy but fun.

6.25PM: Bath time. Supposedly used to calm some babies down before bed, bath time in our house tends to do the opposite, Leo gets so excited and amped up during his bath. It is both gorgeous and hilarious.

6.35PM: Out of the bath and into pyjamas, definitely the biggest wrestle of the day, psyched up from his bath Leo is rolling all over the place.

6.45PM: A few more bedtime stories.

7.00PM: Start the last breast feed of the night. Leo is not really interested.

7.07PM: Duncan is home, YAY!!

7.11PM: Leo spends some time with his Daddy while I clean up after Leo's dinner and finish preparing ours.

7.37PM: Duncan and I eat our dinner in shifts, while one eats the other one plays with Leo.

8.00PM: Feed Leo, or at least try to, he is not at all interested so into bed he goes. Dishes for me.

8.08PM: Eight minutes of crying and no sleeping baby, I feed again.

8.24PM: Bedtime, hopefully for the night. Either way that's it for me. I rarely feed over night nowadays so when Leo wakes it's Duncan's job to settle him. 

8.25PM: Cup of tea, couch time with Duncan and something mindless on the TV. 

There it is, that's my day, and that's it every day, or at least a version of that. Some days are easy, some days hard. There are no days off, no sick days, that's just what being a mum is. You get paid in cuddles and belly laughs, it's busy, it's hectic and it's awesome. 

So next time you wonder what mums do all day or you scoff when you hear a woman state her 'job' as a stay at home mum, just think, her day at home is probably a hell of a lot busier and a whole lot more testing than yours was at work. 

Labour pains

Some women will tell you child birth is empowering, a beautiful and magical experience where they felt like they could conquer the world. I am not one of those women.  I appreciate the beauty in the moment that is bringing a child into this world, trust me; I am a mess every time I see a child being born on TV.  I understand what an absolute miracle it is that this perfect tiny human has grown inside you and is now in your arms, but after the birth of my son I was not empowered, I was exhausted. I felt like I had been hit by a truck and then forced to run a marathon.

In hindsight I wasn’t mentally prepared for labour.

My whole pregnancy I had avoided that section of the pregnancy books. My husband and I never really discussed what we wanted to happen in the delivery room. My birth plan consisted of 1. Get the baby out and 2. Keep us both safe. I did not have big ambitions for a peaceful, calm and drug free birth, I just wanted the baby out and if possible no scissors or forceps would be used. I did not want an epidural, not because I wanted to experience the feeling of labour, but because the idea of a catheter really freaked me out.

As a pregnant woman I would swing from being scared of labour to being excited about it. It was never fear of the pain, I knew it would hurt, although I couldn’t have imagined how much, it was always more fear of the unknown. What was about to happen to me? How would my body react? Would I stay myself, or would I transform into someone else, swearing violently at the doctor and my husband? Or the worst thought of all, would I be one of those urban birth myths that you hear about, the horror stories of emergency caesareans and blood transfusions?

Forty one weeks into my pregnancy I was no longer scared of labour, I was praying for it. I spent majority of my last day of pregnancy bouncing on a Swiss ball, watching Revenge and telling my baby it was time to come out. When my legs were too tired to bounce anymore I laid on the couch and there it was, my first contraction. My husband, Duncan, was at work. Panic, I didn’t want to be home alone when this was happening. He raced home and there we were, me in labour and Duncan checking the chart that the hospital had given us, trying to match my contractions and pain levels to see how far along I was. Like I needed a chart, I knew this was it, the baby was coming.

My preparation for labour did consist of hiring a TENS machine and for that I was grateful. We put it on at home and despite the initial shock I received from having it on the incorrect setting, I found it helped. It kept me at home for four more hours. When we finally made it to the hospital it was 1am, I was a private patient in a public hospital and because of that the midwife would not examine me. I was devastated. She couldn’t even tell me how far along I was, couldn’t give me an idea of how well I was doing or how long I had to go. That’s when the vomiting started. Violent and uncontrollable. It was disgusting. I lasted until 2am before they had to call my doctor for permission to give me an anti-nausea injection. It was my saviour. Now all I had to worry about was the contractions. Easy, right?

By this stage the TENS was no longer working, the hot water could not get hot enough to help me and the gas made me feel like I was going to faint. I wanted and needed something stronger, Pethidine. The drug that made me see little French speaking bugs on my bed also gave me a rest for an hour or two. The edge was taken off and both Duncan and I were able to have a break. Somewhere in my drug affected haze the doctor had come in to break my waters and conduct MY FIRST examination of the night. A process that can apparently be quite uncomfortable I hardly felt, thank you to the inventor of Pethidine for that one. I was 9cm. Not much longer now… Or so I thought, it was 5.30am.

I was going into this stage of labour with false hope. About a week before I was due to give birth a very cruel person had told me that once you get to the ‘pushing part’ of labour it doesn’t hurt anymore. I was holding on to this. I was in labour telling myself, just get to 10 cms and it won’t hurt anymore. After experiencing what it is like to push a child out I am now calling bullshit on this person.

Twelve hours after that first contraction on the couch I had finally reached the time where my body was ready to push this baby out. This would have to be one of the most frustrating things I have ever done in my life. I really did not know what I was doing and I think the fact that I was pushing for an hour and a half before we had any progress showed that. Body position at this point in labour is crucial. Nothing was happening until I moved on to my back legs in the stirrups, a position I was trying to avoid because I was told it was not an easy way to deliver, proving there is no one right answer for childbirth. Whatever dignity I had left was now gone.

With every contraction the midwife used the Doppler to check my baby’s heart rate, a process I begin to find extremely annoying as I didn’t want anyone to touch me. I was clueless as to how to push for long enough to move him anywhere. In the end I was asking the midwife who I had previously asked to please stop touching my stomach to tell me when I was having a contraction. I reached the point where I told Duncan I couldn’t do it anymore, I was just so tired. I honestly don’t remember much else from this stage of the labour that is until 10.50am. Someone had come into the room asking my doctor when he would see patients at his clinic in town to which he said ’11.30’ that meant I had 40 minutes to get this baby out. At 11.00 he said to me ‘three more pushes and if it’s not out I’m getting it out’ he pulled back a sheet that was hanging over a surgical trolley and I could see the scissors and forceps. That was it. We had a baby in three more pushes, 11.15am on the 13^th of November my baby made his entrance into the world.

When I think of my labour I can’t remember exactly how it hurt but I remember that it did hurt. Looking back beyond the point of what happened after Leo was born is actually pretty hard because once he was born, the getting there part doesn’t really matter anymore. When I think of the delivery room I don’t think of the pain I felt or how I spent most of the night pacing the room in and out of the bathroom, I think of the moment I had a slippery and perfect baby on my chest. I found my son beautiful but I did not find the labour beautiful, I found it undignified, long, tiring and frustrating.

I am not the one to tell you how horrible labour is, as you can see I do not have a horror story. Duncan and I got through it with minimal psychological scarring, I will do it again and he will come with me. I wear my labour story like a badge of honour. I am proud of the fact that I delivered a 9lb 13oz baby naturally, it is only now, months later that I am able to see how wonderful that makes me feel as a woman and mother.

Building a nest (and a nursery)

As I waddled in to my doctors office 38 weeks pregnant, hot, bothered and uncomfortable I slumped into the chair and sighed "Is it nearly over?"

"Have you cleaned out the cupboards, organised them twice and polished all the doors and handles?" He replied.

"No"

"Then you're not ready' He laughed jovially 'You haven't even nested." 

Unfortunately, he was right, I still had three weeks to go and unbeknown to me, there was nesting to do.

Nesting is a strange thing that happens to women in the later states of pregnancy.  A primitive like urge to prepare your home for this new being that is about to enter it. 

We were getting ready to move house shortly after our baby was going to be born, why would I need to get the house ready if we were going to move anyway? I didn't need to nest. I didn't believe in nesting for the first 38 weeks of my pregnancy. My house was clean, the nursery was ready, the tiny clothes had been washed and I thought I was prepared. 

Then 38.5 weeks came, three more days and I was a completely different person. A woman on a mission. My vision was heightened, dust that I couldn't see days ago was suddenly illuminated around the house, spots on the windows ate away at me, it was like a switch had gone off and out of nowhere I was in the 'nesting phase'. 
I started with the timber venetian blinds, I dusted and polished every one in the house. As I dusted the blinds the windows seemed to become dirtier by the minute so that was my next job. When the windows were finally clean, then came the kitchen. The pantry was emptied and organised, followed by the same treatment to each of the cupboards. In hindsight, climbing onto the kitchen bench 39 weeks into the pregnancy just for the sake of a clean cupboard was probably not a good idea, but clearly, all rational thought had left my head. 

The house was sparkling clean all ready for the due date, the nursery was not what I wanted but I was waiting until we moved into the new house for that. I spent the morning of the due date waiting, I was convinced our baby would be on time, I hate being late so surely he or she would have inherited my punctuality. When 12.00 rolled around, still no baby and no sign of labour, I thought it would be a good time to get started on the garden. There I was, 40 weeks pregnant, on all fours in the front yard pulling weeds. With my balance and centre of gravity completely out of whack, I used my bucket full of weeds to stand up from my bent over gardening pose, getting into an upright position was slow and awkward, there was nothing yoga-esque or glamorous about it. I looked ridiculous, and I continued to look ridiculous until all the weeds were gone. Although as awkward as they were,  I enjoyed my days in the garden, day-dreaming of my baby, feeling him kick as I crawled from plant to plant. The days went quickly and by the time I was finished the garden looked beautiful and I had dreamt up what I wanted the new nursery to look like.

The garden, the house and the ideas for our soon to be new house were finally ready for me to have this baby.

The next day, at 41 weeks, I went into labour and our beautiful boy was born. By the time I came home from hospital the weeds were already growing back and it had rained so all the windows were once again filthy. There was washing that needed to be folded and put away and I realised, life in my house had not stopped just because I had gone off to have a baby. 

Two months after we brought our boy home we moved house, we packed up everything we owned and nesting had to begin again in the new house. Although this time it was less about instinct and more about it just needing to be done. When you are sleep deprived and breastfeeding every three hours your priorities tend to shift from needing everything spotlessly clean to simply needing a rest. The windows weren't cleaned for weeks after we moved in and now seem to be continuously dirty, someone has developed a tendency of licking them, and no, we do not have a dog. The garden is a work in progress and the cupboards are randomly arranged in a way that all baby friendly items, such as tupperware and pots, are low and all non baby friendly items, such as knives and graters, are high. It is fitting that the only nesting that really happened in this house was in my son's room. The rest of the house was just arranged and unpacked but his room was planned and created, a colourful little sanctuary. I can only hope that when he is big enough he will love it as much as I do.

                               

It's funny the things we do, or think is necessary to do, in preparation to bring a baby into our lives. The baby can't see the spots on the windows or the dust on the shelves, the baby can barely see at all. All the baby wants is it's parents and if you are in the house then the house is perfect as is. 

I don't know whether it was to kill the time while I waited for the baby or whether it was instinct, maybe a combination of the two, either way, nesting made me feel ready to become a mother. Next time I don't think I will nest, I know I won't have the time. I already am a mother as long as I have some clean clothes, both for the baby and myself, and some frozen meals prepared I will be as ready as I can be.

Eight common phrases

The presence of a busy eight month old has changed the language we use on a daily basis in our home. With every passing of an object there is a 'ta' and whenever my husband gets home there is an over the top excited 'daddy's home!!' 

Here are the most popular sentences I say on a daily basis, my top eight. By top eight I mean, I say these things constantly, over and over, some days it feels like these are the only sentences that come out of my mouth. 

1. Where are you off to?

The kitchen usually, or the washing machine, just need to check it is all still there and all those buttons are still flashing at me. 
Now that Leo has taken off I spend my day chasing. There is no such thing as staying in one place for ten minutes. He is busy and inquisitive. In many ways the immobile days, although extremely frustrating for Leo, were so much easier. Back then, I could quickly go make the bed or hang out the washing and know where he was at all times. Now, all I can do is hope that we have baby proofed well enough that he won't find too much trouble, oh and of course rush. A more mobile child equates to a more efficient mother, dinners are made either quickly or in segmented parts, cleaning usually happens baby on hip with one hand and hair and makeup takes a total of five minutes, if it happens at all. 

2. Where is your sock?

One sock is always missing, the other dangling on the foot looking like it is close behind. You would think that making the effort to buy 'stay on socks' that is what they would do, stay on, but somehow I am always looking for that missing sock. Asking my son where it is as if he will look at me and say 'I just left it over there Mum'. 
So it is a constant battle, sock goes on, sock goes missing, sock goes on, gets pants tucked into it surely that is more secure, other sock goes missing, sock gets found, goes back on, pants tucked in, wait where is the other sock? And so on...
Needless to say I am constantly finding odd socks amongst the toys, typically after I have done all of  the washing.

3. Do you smell?

A question usually asked simultaneously with lifting my son up and smelling his pants, or on the busy days, chasing him around the room trying to catch a wiff.
A completely ridiculous and disgusting thing to do if done to an adult yet, as a parent, you don't even think about it. You'll do it anywhere, at home, with friends, in public, it's subconscious. You won't even know you are doing it, you won't be able to remember when you started doing it. It just happens. Then for some reason you'll talk about it like it is a completely normal thing to talk about, no one you know wants to talk about nappy changes and the bowel movements of your child but you don't care you'll talk about it anyway. Then it happens, that's when it hits you, that is when you realise you are someone's parent.

4. Nuh-uh, not for babies.

Warning to all parents to be. As soon as your baby begins to move a small baby whispering fairy goes through your house and highlights all the things they are not supposed to touch.

 

Power points, bookcases, cables, fireplaces, the oven, all bright and sparkly endeavours that they must touch, lick, and climb. Basically anything that you can foresee as dangerous or a bit questionable they will find it, put it in their mouths and see how far it will go down. The saying 'Curiousity killed the cat' will take on a whole new meaning as you learn that babies are curious beings and they will stop at nothing to touch that forbidden item. They are relentless. You may think taking them into another room will be distraction enough, wrong, once they have acquired an untouchable target and they know where that target is, they'll come back to it, most likely when you are not looking.  
Another word of warning, babies have selective hearing, I swear. 'Nuh-uh not for babies' means nothing, you might as well hold your breath, but say 'Do you want a drink?' and they will come crawling as quick as they can...Funny that.

5. No biting.

Now that there are five, almost six, razor like teeth in my little boy's mouth this is said a bit too much for my liking. My husband says it is a term of endearment, as apparently I am the only one worth biting, the small teeth shaped marks on my arms and legs don't see it that way. 
Biting while breastfeeding is a whole other pain that I need not bore nor torture you with.

6. Oh, you're tired.

You must be, I am and you're much smaller than me.

Apparently day time sleeps are overrated and fighting sleep is just so much fun. So we play, we read and we walk, we do all these things expecting fatigue to set in and take over but there are just too many new and exciting things in the world to discover. 
He could be rubbing his eyes every two minutes, his head could be taking little rests on the floor and the tired stares might have set in but there is no way he is sleeping. Being awake is just so much fun.

7. Bbbpppphhhhhwwwwwwww.

Otherwise known as raspberries.
No explanation necessary.

8. You're so beautiful/clever/gorgeous/strong.

At the risk of raising an arrogant child he is told constantly how mind bogglingly beautiful he is, it is repetitive, but what can I say, it's true. He is gorgeous and he should know about it. 

When you are pregnant you wonder what your baby will look like, who will they take after? Who's eyes? Who's colouring? But it is truly impossible to imagine how beautiful they will be. A perfect blend of genes to make this tiny human. It doesn't matter who's eyes they got, or who's colouring. All their little features are now their own and they are glorious. So why not tell them about it?

Our house isn't messy... A baby lives here

Walk into our home and it is obvious that it is no longer a home just for two. A baby themed tornado has ripped through our house, it is no longer neat and orderly, chaos moved in about eight months ago.

I won't completely blame the baby, he can't possibly put away the piles of washing stacked against the steps leading into the dining room, he just creates 80% of it. The clothes horse hasn't been put back to its usual spot in weeks. It stays loaded with a rotating assortment of clothes, slowly making their way to the next stage of their post wash life, the folded piles on the steps. They will get put away within the next day or so, either when I get a spare five minutes or get sick of rummaging through them for a clean bib, whichever comes first, most likely the latter. 

Our dining table, a beautiful long timber slab which we bought as a statement piece, can hardly be seen under all the 'pram ready' objects on it. The nappy bag, fully packed ready to go, blankets, jumpers and toys all waiting to be picked up on our way out the door. 

Make your way past the dining room and you will find yourself in the kitchen, a room which I used to consider as my own, has now been converted into an obstacle course. Tupperware containers filled with pasta and plastic utensils, items of distraction, line the floor randomly as I now have a little helper whenever I decide to cook something.

There is a trail of blocks from the kitchen to the lounge, hidden perfectly for unsuspecting parents to discover their evil and pointy edges with their feet. Then, once you reach the lounge you see it, the toysplosion, soft toys are sprawled all over the carpet looking like a vicious crime scene. Books that I have stacked, restacked and stacked again are spread over my son's play mat. And everything that usually lives on the couch is now on the floor as they needed to be investigated by my son. Somewhere amongst all this will be my son, moving from toy to toy with short breaks of furniture climbing. 

He is a happy, inquisitive little boy and the state of our lounge room shows it. Every night after I put him to bed in his ironically tidy room I pick up the toys and stack the books. I straighten his play mat and the room looks tidy for the first time since 7am, ready for another day of adventurous demolition tomorrow. 

Our house is clean, don't get me wrong, there is a definite difference between dirty and baby themed chaos. If you came to visit us I would probably pick up all the toys or at least have his bookshelf stacked, but as I become a more experienced mother I am becoming less phased by the little messes and more concerned with the big ones.

I used to worry what people would think if they came over and my house was out of order, now I know it's all a normal part of having an extremely busy and active baby. I know the worst is yet to come, I know with boys, mess turns to dirt and toys turn to balls that break things. I know it will be years before I tidy my home at the start of the day and it stays like that all day, that's ok by me, our old clean and tidy home was boring anyway.