Just wrote this great entry, and lost the entire thing when the internet disconnected... Trying to get it done while they are both asleep, so incredibly frustrated that I essentially wasted the last 20 minutes.
Anyway, the great (?) thing about motherhood is that it evens out the playing field... It is chaotic, scary, intense and ultimately wonderful, no matter who you are. It doesn't matter whether you are rich or poor, highly educated or not, attractive or ugly, black or white... From the moment you wee on the stick, to when you are pushing so hard you think your eyeballs will explode, to when you are afraid your arms will fall off from rocking and patting your wakeful 7 week old wonder to sleep... Motherhood hits us all pretty hard. I am sure that Angelina Jolie and Nicole Richie have nannies on hand to help out with the settling, but not even the rich and famous can get out of actually giving birth! No amount of money or information or expertise can ease the burden of responsibility. It comforts me to know that there are millions of other women out there going through what I am going through, and surviving it.
Speaking of survival... I survived my time as a lone parent. I am not sure I did very well, but when Phil met us at the gate we were all clean, fed and in one piece. I had many a meltdown, cried at least every second day, and swore inappropriately at my defenceless newborn girl, but I endured it and got to the other side of my 3 week single parent stint. Never again! Not with such a young bub, anyway.
It has been great to have Phil home. Peggy is, wouldn't you know it, much easier now, more settled, quite calm, only screaming for short, manageable periods in the evening. She is still quite defiant in resisting sleep, I spend much of my day jerking her around rather violently in order to get her to sleep (she likes it, honestly, the jerkier and bouncier the movement the better), and then feeling disappointed when she wakes up too early. I get frustrated by my own frustrations - I know I should expect less and just go with the - very unpredictable - flow, but that's just not me. I battle it out with myself in my own head every day. Peggy will get easier and easier as we continue to get to know one another better, and it is this knowledge, that I acquired the first time around, that keeps me going. She is a beautiful girl, and I love her. I know my love will just keep on growing, and I can't wait for all the adventures we will share as she gets older.
Otis is great, lovely, the apple of my eye, and so funny. Santa is his current obsession. A great bribery tool for me!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
A happier couple of days...
My little girl seems somewhat happier. Why? It could be a few things:
1. I am doing all feeds lying down. I think this stems the flow a little, she gulps less and seems very comfy and calm. It's nice for me too, but probably not an option when I am in the middle of Westfield... I know I have a very healthy supply, and I am lucky in that regard, but maybe it's a bit too much?
2. I dropped into the Baby Health Centre... They were frighteningly busy, so didn't stay, but on my way out I picked up a little leaflet which details the irritable periods you can expect to encounter during your baby's first year of life. The crying face above the 5 week mark indicated that we were smack bang on target. According to this sheet (the source of which remains unknown) she should be happier for the next two weeks... I can always dream!
3. I am going with the flow more than I was, and worrying less about bad habits and bad parenting. Letting Otis watch his "Santa show" repeatedly so that I can attend to her in peace, letting them both sleep in my bed. Just surviving. Maybe she can feel the shift in attitude?
It's impossible to tell. But she is crying less, her irritability now seems much more within the realms of normal. I still wouldnt call her happy or easy, but she's less scary right now, that's for sure. Don't want to speak too soon though!
Positive observation for the day - she is going to have curls! I can already tell. Just picture it, blond curls!!
1. I am doing all feeds lying down. I think this stems the flow a little, she gulps less and seems very comfy and calm. It's nice for me too, but probably not an option when I am in the middle of Westfield... I know I have a very healthy supply, and I am lucky in that regard, but maybe it's a bit too much?
2. I dropped into the Baby Health Centre... They were frighteningly busy, so didn't stay, but on my way out I picked up a little leaflet which details the irritable periods you can expect to encounter during your baby's first year of life. The crying face above the 5 week mark indicated that we were smack bang on target. According to this sheet (the source of which remains unknown) she should be happier for the next two weeks... I can always dream!
3. I am going with the flow more than I was, and worrying less about bad habits and bad parenting. Letting Otis watch his "Santa show" repeatedly so that I can attend to her in peace, letting them both sleep in my bed. Just surviving. Maybe she can feel the shift in attitude?
It's impossible to tell. But she is crying less, her irritability now seems much more within the realms of normal. I still wouldnt call her happy or easy, but she's less scary right now, that's for sure. Don't want to speak too soon though!
Positive observation for the day - she is going to have curls! I can already tell. Just picture it, blond curls!!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
A break... Finally!
Grammy has Peggy for the DAY.
It feels so good. I don't miss her. Otis does though, he keeps saying "Baaayby" and making an inquisitive, slightly sorrowful face.
I've been reading Robin Barker's Baby Love. Great, great book. I referred to it often when Otis was young. She dispenses advice in a calm, no-nonsense fashion, and doesn't have an obvious agenda. She provides a variety of options, explains the pros and cons of each, and gives parents freedom to follow their own instincts. It's much less condescending, much less extreme, much less militant than many of the other books.
She says, of babies who cry excessively, that most of the time there is no medical reason for it, and that the anxiety and tension and irritability usually resolves itself with time. I am sure that this is what will happen with Peggy. I will simply have to survive the next couple of months and try to remain optimistic. I will try, each day, to report one positive thing about my beautiful baby girl, one small moment, one minor fact, that will pull me through and remind me how lucky I am to have her, even though she screams from about midday until bedtime, every single day.
I do just love her, her lovely, thoughtful, pretty little face, her dark eyes, her thick and fluffy hair that is flecked with gold and reaches a few centimetres below her neck.
It feels so good. I don't miss her. Otis does though, he keeps saying "Baaayby" and making an inquisitive, slightly sorrowful face.
I've been reading Robin Barker's Baby Love. Great, great book. I referred to it often when Otis was young. She dispenses advice in a calm, no-nonsense fashion, and doesn't have an obvious agenda. She provides a variety of options, explains the pros and cons of each, and gives parents freedom to follow their own instincts. It's much less condescending, much less extreme, much less militant than many of the other books.
She says, of babies who cry excessively, that most of the time there is no medical reason for it, and that the anxiety and tension and irritability usually resolves itself with time. I am sure that this is what will happen with Peggy. I will simply have to survive the next couple of months and try to remain optimistic. I will try, each day, to report one positive thing about my beautiful baby girl, one small moment, one minor fact, that will pull me through and remind me how lucky I am to have her, even though she screams from about midday until bedtime, every single day.
I do just love her, her lovely, thoughtful, pretty little face, her dark eyes, her thick and fluffy hair that is flecked with gold and reaches a few centimetres below her neck.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Can't write too much...
For fear of what I might say.
My little girl, whom I love so, so much, is not making me very happy right now.
I am not enjoying her one bit.
I love her... Do I like her?
My little girl, whom I love so, so much, is not making me very happy right now.
I am not enjoying her one bit.
I love her... Do I like her?
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Playing at being a single mum...
It's OK, Phil and I are still together! But he is away for work, for three weeks (or just shy of, I am on a countdown and there are 17 days left) and I am here in my little unit with my two babies and a Christmas tree. Advent this year is a countdown on a few levels! Phil will be home a week before Christmas and I have no doubt I will cry tears of relief.
I am not alone. My Mum has taken two weeks off work to help me care for my children, and I am so very grateful for that. She has been so wonderful, and of course Otis is thrilled to be spending so much time with her. But the one complication is that he basically fails to even register my existence when he's around Mum... Usually this doesn't bother me too much. I mean, I get it: all he does when he is with her is have fun, fun and more fun! He eats whatever he wants and has her undivided attention, and is witness to her crazy antics and boundless energy. Compared to his time with me, which, while frequently lots of fun (I hope) also entails chores and discipline and my focus being split between the various elements of my life - including, now, his baby sister.
To be honest, it's getting me down. But I need the help. So I have to try to accept it best I can.
Otis is ill (again) and yesterday it got to a scary point, very, very high fever and strange, listless behaviour. I knew he's sleep fitfully and would need a lot of help to stay asleep, so felt that my only option was to send him to Mum. I haven't expressed enough milk yet to palm Peggy off to anyone else.
I am feeling so torn between my two children. Newborns and sick toddlers are both so needy. It's near impossible for one person to meet all of those needs all of the time. So I will keep leaning on my very supprtive Mum and keep feeling split, I suppose. Working on expressing so that Mum can have Peggy at some point and Otis and I can share some one-on-one time.
Peggy is gradually becoming easier in that I am getting to know her and am able to predict her behaviour a little more easily. She's sleeping for two good 3-4 hour stretches per day (one in the morning, one at night) and otherwise has short naps. She feeds really well and has gained 600g in four weeks. She's starting to make happy little facial expressions (not sure whether they are actual smiles though) and has quite a desperate cry when hungry. Her little face is something I could stare at all day long.
I am not alone. My Mum has taken two weeks off work to help me care for my children, and I am so very grateful for that. She has been so wonderful, and of course Otis is thrilled to be spending so much time with her. But the one complication is that he basically fails to even register my existence when he's around Mum... Usually this doesn't bother me too much. I mean, I get it: all he does when he is with her is have fun, fun and more fun! He eats whatever he wants and has her undivided attention, and is witness to her crazy antics and boundless energy. Compared to his time with me, which, while frequently lots of fun (I hope) also entails chores and discipline and my focus being split between the various elements of my life - including, now, his baby sister.
To be honest, it's getting me down. But I need the help. So I have to try to accept it best I can.
Otis is ill (again) and yesterday it got to a scary point, very, very high fever and strange, listless behaviour. I knew he's sleep fitfully and would need a lot of help to stay asleep, so felt that my only option was to send him to Mum. I haven't expressed enough milk yet to palm Peggy off to anyone else.
I am feeling so torn between my two children. Newborns and sick toddlers are both so needy. It's near impossible for one person to meet all of those needs all of the time. So I will keep leaning on my very supprtive Mum and keep feeling split, I suppose. Working on expressing so that Mum can have Peggy at some point and Otis and I can share some one-on-one time.
Peggy is gradually becoming easier in that I am getting to know her and am able to predict her behaviour a little more easily. She's sleeping for two good 3-4 hour stretches per day (one in the morning, one at night) and otherwise has short naps. She feeds really well and has gained 600g in four weeks. She's starting to make happy little facial expressions (not sure whether they are actual smiles though) and has quite a desperate cry when hungry. Her little face is something I could stare at all day long.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Resolutions...
Have had a bad couple of days. It's been a bit of a journey for me, and I am happy with where I have ended up.
Peggy started out sleeping almost all the time. She could sleep in any situation, any location, and for particularly lengthy periods. A few days ago - the day Phil returned to work, in fact - this began to change. And so did I. As soon as it got hard, I started to panic. I had some scary flashbacks which led me to feel compelled and absolutely determined to get it right this time, to raise a baby who sleeps as often and goes down as easily as she "should".
I was under pressure, not so much from external forces, but largely, if I am honest with myself, from myself. I got all caught up in trying to get this innocent and confused little baby to fall asleep unassisted in her cot. How unreasonable! How ridiculous...
There are two ways of looking at this, which are unhelpfully contradictory. No wonder women end up so stressed in the early days! One school of thought is that babies learn "bad" habits quickly and need to be shown what to do and how to behave from the moment they are born. All you do, apparently, is feed, burp, change, wrap and place in the cot. Walk out of the room and eventually you'll have yourself a sleeping baby. Of course, it doesn't actually work like this for everyone, myself, Otis and Peggy included! I followed these instructions, and she would lie there for a moment, and then get fractious and squirmy and unhappy. And, if you've read any of my past posts, you'll know that I am a firm disbeliever in leaving a baby to cry. So out she would come, and we'd start again... This would go on for up to two hours, by which time she'd be over-tired, cranky and hungry, so I'd feed her and she'd literally pass out with my nipple in her milk-soaked mouth. This happened for each of her three sleeps yesterday. Not a happy pattern, and exhausting for me. I can now see that she is simply too young to be taught anything, including how to sleep away from the person she was living inside of up until a couple of weeks ago. I know, rationally, that this is the case, but for some reason, I was doubting myself and my beliefs.
You see, I am a proponent of the opposing view, which is that young babies have no sense of routine, no real understanding of the fact that they are living outside of the womb, and they need plenty of cuddles and love and whatever you can give them in order to help them fall asleep. Routines work for older babies - some people argue that the three month mark is a good time to start, others believe it is not until twelve, eighteen months that routine works. Phil and I have decided that we will revisit the idea of self-settling and going to sleep in her cot when he returns home from the US, which will be mid-December. Peggy will 7 weeks old then. It still might not work, and if it doesn't, I resolve to be OK with that.
I have raised a little boy who is more than I could ever have hoped for, who is happy, energetic, enthusiastic and loving, and who eats well, sleeps well and behaves beautifully. He slept poorly until he was eighteen months old, but through it all we loved him and held him and responded constistently to him, with the result that he is now so secure in our love for him. I want this for Little P more than I want her to be the ideal sleeper. I have to remind myself of this everytime I get cross with her.
Yes, I've already called her a few nasty names, and I am not proud of having done so. But when she woke up from her morning sleep I explained to her what I had resolved, and told her I'd be kinder and more patient from now on, and I am sure the little grimace she responded with was more than just wind!
Otis adores Peggy, kisses her non-stop, holds her hand and strokes her pretty head. One of the first things he says of a morning is "Baby". She is a very beloved little person, and I am keen to show her a bit more of my love and focus a little less on the discipline.
Peggy started out sleeping almost all the time. She could sleep in any situation, any location, and for particularly lengthy periods. A few days ago - the day Phil returned to work, in fact - this began to change. And so did I. As soon as it got hard, I started to panic. I had some scary flashbacks which led me to feel compelled and absolutely determined to get it right this time, to raise a baby who sleeps as often and goes down as easily as she "should".
I was under pressure, not so much from external forces, but largely, if I am honest with myself, from myself. I got all caught up in trying to get this innocent and confused little baby to fall asleep unassisted in her cot. How unreasonable! How ridiculous...
There are two ways of looking at this, which are unhelpfully contradictory. No wonder women end up so stressed in the early days! One school of thought is that babies learn "bad" habits quickly and need to be shown what to do and how to behave from the moment they are born. All you do, apparently, is feed, burp, change, wrap and place in the cot. Walk out of the room and eventually you'll have yourself a sleeping baby. Of course, it doesn't actually work like this for everyone, myself, Otis and Peggy included! I followed these instructions, and she would lie there for a moment, and then get fractious and squirmy and unhappy. And, if you've read any of my past posts, you'll know that I am a firm disbeliever in leaving a baby to cry. So out she would come, and we'd start again... This would go on for up to two hours, by which time she'd be over-tired, cranky and hungry, so I'd feed her and she'd literally pass out with my nipple in her milk-soaked mouth. This happened for each of her three sleeps yesterday. Not a happy pattern, and exhausting for me. I can now see that she is simply too young to be taught anything, including how to sleep away from the person she was living inside of up until a couple of weeks ago. I know, rationally, that this is the case, but for some reason, I was doubting myself and my beliefs.
You see, I am a proponent of the opposing view, which is that young babies have no sense of routine, no real understanding of the fact that they are living outside of the womb, and they need plenty of cuddles and love and whatever you can give them in order to help them fall asleep. Routines work for older babies - some people argue that the three month mark is a good time to start, others believe it is not until twelve, eighteen months that routine works. Phil and I have decided that we will revisit the idea of self-settling and going to sleep in her cot when he returns home from the US, which will be mid-December. Peggy will 7 weeks old then. It still might not work, and if it doesn't, I resolve to be OK with that.
I have raised a little boy who is more than I could ever have hoped for, who is happy, energetic, enthusiastic and loving, and who eats well, sleeps well and behaves beautifully. He slept poorly until he was eighteen months old, but through it all we loved him and held him and responded constistently to him, with the result that he is now so secure in our love for him. I want this for Little P more than I want her to be the ideal sleeper. I have to remind myself of this everytime I get cross with her.
Yes, I've already called her a few nasty names, and I am not proud of having done so. But when she woke up from her morning sleep I explained to her what I had resolved, and told her I'd be kinder and more patient from now on, and I am sure the little grimace she responded with was more than just wind!
Otis adores Peggy, kisses her non-stop, holds her hand and strokes her pretty head. One of the first things he says of a morning is "Baby". She is a very beloved little person, and I am keen to show her a bit more of my love and focus a little less on the discipline.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The birth of Peggy...
She's here! I am now a mother of two... Peggy was born at 1:16am, 2nd November (my 30th birthday) weighing 3290 grams, 52 cm in length and with a head circumference of 34.5cm. She has a full head of thick brown hair and is very slender. Here is the story of her birth...
Wow! It sure happened quickly... Here is how Peggy's arrival unfolded...
I had a show on the Saturday, 31st October... I was mildly excited by this, but still absolutely sure my baby would be late, even if only by a day or so. Isla's first birthday party was that afternoon, so I was quite distracted from what was going on with my body, and grateful that nothing more happened that day. I certainly didn't intend to steal Isla's thunder!
The following day was spent celebrating my 30th... It was as if somehow we all knew I wouldn't really have a birthday on the day itself. Morning tea at Noelene's was followed by dinner with my family at our local Chinese restaurant. Phil gave me a gorgeous vintage diamond ring, an eternity/maternity offering, which I just love.
That night we were watching the latest televisual incarnation of Wuthering Heights, one of my favourite books. I fell asleep towards the end, and Phil woke me to go to bed at about 10:30. I had trouble standing up due to what I thought was a Braxton Hicks contraction... Phil pulled me up, and I felt a small gush. I was unsure whether this was just another instance of me wetting myself (an embarrassing but common pregnancy side effect) or my waters actually spontaneously breaking... So I called Lani, who told me to get Phil to smell my undies. He did, and felt sick... So from that moment on I knew my baby was on its way!
The contractions started coming immediately, and I started shaking with the fear of what was to come. I frantically drilled Phil on Juju Sundin's Birth Skills, and he flicked through the book in between timing my contractions on the Contraction Master website. Lan arrived and I continued to be able to manage the pain via movement and stamping. At one point I walked around the block. We called the Birth Centre and Noelene and started to think about heading to the hospital...
Lani, Phil and I arrived at the hospital at 11:30. I spent half an hour in the children's ward, as Mum was working and was coming in to check on me in between finishing up all the many tasks she had to do. I was concerned that I would scare the children, and found this quite inhibiting. Just as it was all becoming too much for me, Lan got word that my midwife had arrived. I ran to the Birth Centre as fast as my shaking, sore and pregnant body could carry me, gown open at the back and flapping... I didn't care. I just needed some relief, and jumped straight into the bath upon arrival.
The bath was great. I felt quite in control, banging the side of the bath and breathing loudly during contractions, relaxing and sipping water in between. The heartbeat was strong and I felt quite confident. The midwife talked me out of having an internal to check on my progress, and in hindsight I think this was a great move on her part. Instead of feeling a sense of dread or disappointment due to not having progressed as far along as I would have liked, I only felt hopeful, I clung to the hope that I wouldn't be in pain for much longer...
The bath was no longer suiting me, so I moved to the fitball. Then the beanbag... My back ached in that position though, so I ended up on my side on the bed. The contractions were intense and very hard to bear, but I kept on with my techniques and was reminded constantly by my support people to breathe evenly and loudly. This really helped me. I said a few funny, trademark things, at one point told Phil off for putting more than one ice chip in my mouth at a time... I know I am a source of amusement to others when I am in labour!
Eventually I felt like getting in the shower... Once there, I felt the urge, and was encouraged to push.
One big push and... HER WHOLE HEAD WAS OUT! I was just standing there, with the hot water streaming down my back, and her head was dangling between my legs. It was the oddest sensation.
Two more pushes and she was out... The whole second stage lasted about 4 minutes. Phil caught her! He was so confident and so happy and so capable. I was very proud of him. And of myself!! I just kept thinking, "Wow, I did it!". I couldn't believe how "easy" it was. Easy relative to my first birthing experience, that is... Labour is not really easy in any sense of the word. But I was on such a high. No drugs, not even gas. I remember every single moment, and I am so pleased that I do.
Peggy arrived less than 3 hours after my waters broke!!
Phil announced that we had a girl... But then he wasn't sure. He looked again and confirmed it. There was blood everywhere, I have a vivid memory of my sister's white shoes traipsing through the puddles of blood. The cord was very, very short, so I had trouble holding her while she was still connnected...
This is where the trouble started. I got back on the bed and the midwife tried to pull the placenta out, and the cord snapped. She announced that she hadn't seen that happen in "10 years"... I started to worry.
Then it all becomes a bit of a blur. They tried to get me to push the placenta out but I had absolutely no pushing sensation to guide or assist me, and I was losing more and more blood. Peggy was cold - only 35 or so degrees. She wouldn't feed. I lay there for 2 hours while they waited for the syntocinon to kick in. It never did.
Finally at around 4am I was taken to theatre to have the placenta manually removed. I was terrified, and trembling, and alone. And it was my 30th birthday. I felt cheated of the amazing experience that I felt I had worked so hard to achieve. I had only been able to enjoy the moment for a short time before the drama began unfolding... I tried to remind myself that there were much, much worse things that could have happened to me or to Peggy... But I was still very afraid.
The anaesthetist missed the vein in my hand, and my hand is still blue from bruising. Finally he got the local into me, and then the spinal block. Everyone who cared for me was amazing - supportive, encouraging, warm. It made the whole thing more bearable.
Finally I was in theatre, with a drape up to hide my eyes from the truth of what was happening... A very large man had his arm up inside me, rummaging around rather violently! It was only supposed to take 10 minutes, but ended up taking about 40. At one point he said he wasn't sure he'd be able to get it out, and I started contemplating the possibility of a hysterectomy... I was shaking, I was so very scared and so anxious. But finally it came away. It turns out that my uterus is tilted and difficult to access... There was no way the placenta would have been expelled naturally. I was stitched up, catheterised and taken to recovery. And then, at 6am, to the ward, to my baby girl.
I will always share my birthday with my little Peggy Jane. What a birthday gift...
Wow! It sure happened quickly... Here is how Peggy's arrival unfolded...
I had a show on the Saturday, 31st October... I was mildly excited by this, but still absolutely sure my baby would be late, even if only by a day or so. Isla's first birthday party was that afternoon, so I was quite distracted from what was going on with my body, and grateful that nothing more happened that day. I certainly didn't intend to steal Isla's thunder!
The following day was spent celebrating my 30th... It was as if somehow we all knew I wouldn't really have a birthday on the day itself. Morning tea at Noelene's was followed by dinner with my family at our local Chinese restaurant. Phil gave me a gorgeous vintage diamond ring, an eternity/maternity offering, which I just love.
That night we were watching the latest televisual incarnation of Wuthering Heights, one of my favourite books. I fell asleep towards the end, and Phil woke me to go to bed at about 10:30. I had trouble standing up due to what I thought was a Braxton Hicks contraction... Phil pulled me up, and I felt a small gush. I was unsure whether this was just another instance of me wetting myself (an embarrassing but common pregnancy side effect) or my waters actually spontaneously breaking... So I called Lani, who told me to get Phil to smell my undies. He did, and felt sick... So from that moment on I knew my baby was on its way!
The contractions started coming immediately, and I started shaking with the fear of what was to come. I frantically drilled Phil on Juju Sundin's Birth Skills, and he flicked through the book in between timing my contractions on the Contraction Master website. Lan arrived and I continued to be able to manage the pain via movement and stamping. At one point I walked around the block. We called the Birth Centre and Noelene and started to think about heading to the hospital...
Lani, Phil and I arrived at the hospital at 11:30. I spent half an hour in the children's ward, as Mum was working and was coming in to check on me in between finishing up all the many tasks she had to do. I was concerned that I would scare the children, and found this quite inhibiting. Just as it was all becoming too much for me, Lan got word that my midwife had arrived. I ran to the Birth Centre as fast as my shaking, sore and pregnant body could carry me, gown open at the back and flapping... I didn't care. I just needed some relief, and jumped straight into the bath upon arrival.
The bath was great. I felt quite in control, banging the side of the bath and breathing loudly during contractions, relaxing and sipping water in between. The heartbeat was strong and I felt quite confident. The midwife talked me out of having an internal to check on my progress, and in hindsight I think this was a great move on her part. Instead of feeling a sense of dread or disappointment due to not having progressed as far along as I would have liked, I only felt hopeful, I clung to the hope that I wouldn't be in pain for much longer...
The bath was no longer suiting me, so I moved to the fitball. Then the beanbag... My back ached in that position though, so I ended up on my side on the bed. The contractions were intense and very hard to bear, but I kept on with my techniques and was reminded constantly by my support people to breathe evenly and loudly. This really helped me. I said a few funny, trademark things, at one point told Phil off for putting more than one ice chip in my mouth at a time... I know I am a source of amusement to others when I am in labour!
Eventually I felt like getting in the shower... Once there, I felt the urge, and was encouraged to push.
One big push and... HER WHOLE HEAD WAS OUT! I was just standing there, with the hot water streaming down my back, and her head was dangling between my legs. It was the oddest sensation.
Two more pushes and she was out... The whole second stage lasted about 4 minutes. Phil caught her! He was so confident and so happy and so capable. I was very proud of him. And of myself!! I just kept thinking, "Wow, I did it!". I couldn't believe how "easy" it was. Easy relative to my first birthing experience, that is... Labour is not really easy in any sense of the word. But I was on such a high. No drugs, not even gas. I remember every single moment, and I am so pleased that I do.
Peggy arrived less than 3 hours after my waters broke!!
Phil announced that we had a girl... But then he wasn't sure. He looked again and confirmed it. There was blood everywhere, I have a vivid memory of my sister's white shoes traipsing through the puddles of blood. The cord was very, very short, so I had trouble holding her while she was still connnected...
This is where the trouble started. I got back on the bed and the midwife tried to pull the placenta out, and the cord snapped. She announced that she hadn't seen that happen in "10 years"... I started to worry.
Then it all becomes a bit of a blur. They tried to get me to push the placenta out but I had absolutely no pushing sensation to guide or assist me, and I was losing more and more blood. Peggy was cold - only 35 or so degrees. She wouldn't feed. I lay there for 2 hours while they waited for the syntocinon to kick in. It never did.
Finally at around 4am I was taken to theatre to have the placenta manually removed. I was terrified, and trembling, and alone. And it was my 30th birthday. I felt cheated of the amazing experience that I felt I had worked so hard to achieve. I had only been able to enjoy the moment for a short time before the drama began unfolding... I tried to remind myself that there were much, much worse things that could have happened to me or to Peggy... But I was still very afraid.
The anaesthetist missed the vein in my hand, and my hand is still blue from bruising. Finally he got the local into me, and then the spinal block. Everyone who cared for me was amazing - supportive, encouraging, warm. It made the whole thing more bearable.
Finally I was in theatre, with a drape up to hide my eyes from the truth of what was happening... A very large man had his arm up inside me, rummaging around rather violently! It was only supposed to take 10 minutes, but ended up taking about 40. At one point he said he wasn't sure he'd be able to get it out, and I started contemplating the possibility of a hysterectomy... I was shaking, I was so very scared and so anxious. But finally it came away. It turns out that my uterus is tilted and difficult to access... There was no way the placenta would have been expelled naturally. I was stitched up, catheterised and taken to recovery. And then, at 6am, to the ward, to my baby girl.
I will always share my birthday with my little Peggy Jane. What a birthday gift...
Thursday, October 29, 2009
The wait...
Waiting to go into labour is an experience that is equal parts exciting and excruciating. It can't be likened to anything else - it is one of the few things in life over which we have absolutely zero control. I am 39 + 1 today, and feel quite certain that this baby will be late... I feel fine, look a little soft around the egdes and puffy (probably as a result of how much I have been eating - all restraint has gone out the window, food has become a bit of a comfort), and am actually at peace with my inability to exert any real influence over the process. Very different to how I was feeling at this point last time - desperate and cranky, I deliberately isolated myself and was focused solely (and rather stupidly) on getting things started.
I undertook all the usual, old wives' tale-type approaches - yes, I reluctantly had sex, ate pineapple and drank pineapple juice (which only exacerbated the heartburn I was experiencing) walked and walked and walked, and stuffed myself silly with chilli. When none of that worked, I resorted to acupuncture, a move that, given my generally very sceptical views on alternative medicine, demonstrates how absolutely desperate I had become.
Did it work? Well, perahaps it was starting to... I was already well overdue when I had my first session (which I found painful at first, but ultimately very relaxing). I had the second a few days later, and the next day finally had a show. But there is no way of knowing whether that would have happened without the acupuncture! I have a little laugh inside when people share their natural induction "success" stories - because, when you think about it, given that all of these things are being undertaken at the pointy end of the pregnancy, when you are supposed to go into labour anyway, there is simply no way of ascertaining the success of such methods.
Anyway, as those of you who have read my blog from the beginning already know, I ended up being induced at 40+9, and Otis was born 10 days past his due date. As far as inductions go, it was relatively straightforward - I was already 2cm dilated when they broke my waters and switched on the Syntocinon, and it was all over within 6 1/2 hours. But I did then suffer a post-partum bleed that was horrific and painful and left me quite traumatised. So induction is not really an option for me this time. I find it hard to believe that my body will ever go into labour of its own accord, but the midwives assure me that it will! At the Birth Centre they don't even discuss induction until 42 weeks anyway, so I've awhile yet before that option comes into play...
Until then, I am OK with waiting. I am enjoying the anticipation and the mystery, to be honest - it's such a different experience this time around. I don't feel desperate. I've let go of trying to bring it on... Well, that's not entirely true. I am inserting Evening Primrose Oil capsules of a night. So far all that has done is deposit an oily residue in the toilet when I wee the following the morning! But I'll keep going with it. My midwife tells me that at Wollongong Hospital they have had some success in avoiding medical inductions using this natural method.
I look forward to having a proper labour story - you know, something along the lines of "I woke up in the middle of the night and found the bed was soaking wet", or "I started having contractions whilst watching the Survivor finale" - a story of surprise and spontaneity.
Watch this space!
I undertook all the usual, old wives' tale-type approaches - yes, I reluctantly had sex, ate pineapple and drank pineapple juice (which only exacerbated the heartburn I was experiencing) walked and walked and walked, and stuffed myself silly with chilli. When none of that worked, I resorted to acupuncture, a move that, given my generally very sceptical views on alternative medicine, demonstrates how absolutely desperate I had become.
Did it work? Well, perahaps it was starting to... I was already well overdue when I had my first session (which I found painful at first, but ultimately very relaxing). I had the second a few days later, and the next day finally had a show. But there is no way of knowing whether that would have happened without the acupuncture! I have a little laugh inside when people share their natural induction "success" stories - because, when you think about it, given that all of these things are being undertaken at the pointy end of the pregnancy, when you are supposed to go into labour anyway, there is simply no way of ascertaining the success of such methods.
Anyway, as those of you who have read my blog from the beginning already know, I ended up being induced at 40+9, and Otis was born 10 days past his due date. As far as inductions go, it was relatively straightforward - I was already 2cm dilated when they broke my waters and switched on the Syntocinon, and it was all over within 6 1/2 hours. But I did then suffer a post-partum bleed that was horrific and painful and left me quite traumatised. So induction is not really an option for me this time. I find it hard to believe that my body will ever go into labour of its own accord, but the midwives assure me that it will! At the Birth Centre they don't even discuss induction until 42 weeks anyway, so I've awhile yet before that option comes into play...
Until then, I am OK with waiting. I am enjoying the anticipation and the mystery, to be honest - it's such a different experience this time around. I don't feel desperate. I've let go of trying to bring it on... Well, that's not entirely true. I am inserting Evening Primrose Oil capsules of a night. So far all that has done is deposit an oily residue in the toilet when I wee the following the morning! But I'll keep going with it. My midwife tells me that at Wollongong Hospital they have had some success in avoiding medical inductions using this natural method.
I look forward to having a proper labour story - you know, something along the lines of "I woke up in the middle of the night and found the bed was soaking wet", or "I started having contractions whilst watching the Survivor finale" - a story of surprise and spontaneity.
Watch this space!
Friday, October 23, 2009
Empathetic Otis
Otis is an emotional little boy. He has a wide array of expressive faces and sounds that he uses to communicate how he is feeling. Sometimes it's disgust (usually when he spots a speck of dirt on his clothing), sometimes joy (at the sight of a tool, truck or motorbike), sometimes sadness (when I leave him, or when he hurts himself).
I didn't realise that he had started to grasp the concept of empathy, though. Today we were watching Charlotte's Web (the original animated classic, a favourite of mine) - specifically, the scene where Wilbur, confronted by his own mortality, sobs "I don't wanna die", over and over. It is a very sad moment. Still, I was stunned when Otis began sobbing along with Wilbur, burying his head into my chest, shaking, tears streaming...! Is it really possible he understood how Wilbur was feeling? Or was it something completely unrelated that I somehow missed that was to blame for the sudden onset of raw emotion?
I didn't realise that he had started to grasp the concept of empathy, though. Today we were watching Charlotte's Web (the original animated classic, a favourite of mine) - specifically, the scene where Wilbur, confronted by his own mortality, sobs "I don't wanna die", over and over. It is a very sad moment. Still, I was stunned when Otis began sobbing along with Wilbur, burying his head into my chest, shaking, tears streaming...! Is it really possible he understood how Wilbur was feeling? Or was it something completely unrelated that I somehow missed that was to blame for the sudden onset of raw emotion?
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Behaviour
Otis is what is known as a "good boy". He's not destructive, doesn't throw tantrums (other than every now and then laying on the floor with hands above his head and whimpering), listens, obeys instructions, and spends very little time crying. I am very hesitant to take any responsibility for this, however. I believe he's inherited some of his father's gentle nature, and that biology is to thank for how easy a toddler he has turned out to be. I mean, he's still pretty demanding of me, I hear "Mummy, sit" numerous times day, and he requires a lot of affection and attention, which I am happy to give. But he's not naughty in any sense of the word.
We have always absolutely showered him with love, kissing him, hugging him, tickling him, being very unabashedly physically affectionate towards him. I like to think that this has encouraged him to treat others in the same way. He's a very loving person, and that is what I am most proud of. In terms of discipline, we tend not to stress out about tactics and methods very much - we ignore cheeky, rebellious acts and praise obedience. But that's about it. He leads a reasonably routined existence, and enjoys quite a bit of variety in his days. He eats everything in moderation - fruit and vegies, cheese, cakes and muffins, chocolate, cereal, whatever we're having... I would feel quite the hypocrite denying him the things that I enjoy (other than Coke, which is strictly forbidden... For now, anyway). He ofteh asks for excessive amounts of treat-type foods, but I tell him no and he accepts that without issue. Who'd have thought my irritable insomniac would become so wonderfully compliant?
So, maybe it's partly us, maybe it's just his innate nature... All I know is, I am thankful to have a son who is so sweet. I am enjoying our time together, and feeling both a little sad that the one-on-one period is about to end and very excited about giving him a sibling with whom we can share our days.
We have always absolutely showered him with love, kissing him, hugging him, tickling him, being very unabashedly physically affectionate towards him. I like to think that this has encouraged him to treat others in the same way. He's a very loving person, and that is what I am most proud of. In terms of discipline, we tend not to stress out about tactics and methods very much - we ignore cheeky, rebellious acts and praise obedience. But that's about it. He leads a reasonably routined existence, and enjoys quite a bit of variety in his days. He eats everything in moderation - fruit and vegies, cheese, cakes and muffins, chocolate, cereal, whatever we're having... I would feel quite the hypocrite denying him the things that I enjoy (other than Coke, which is strictly forbidden... For now, anyway). He ofteh asks for excessive amounts of treat-type foods, but I tell him no and he accepts that without issue. Who'd have thought my irritable insomniac would become so wonderfully compliant?
So, maybe it's partly us, maybe it's just his innate nature... All I know is, I am thankful to have a son who is so sweet. I am enjoying our time together, and feeling both a little sad that the one-on-one period is about to end and very excited about giving him a sibling with whom we can share our days.
Monday, August 31, 2009
My shorn little man...
Well, we took the plunge. We've been tossing up whether or not to cut his hair for a little while now. It grows very fast, and is always in his eyes and getting scraggly at the ends. It's such a beautiful, wheat blonde shade though, and so silky. I spray conditioner in it every morning and comb out the tangles. I've always been proud of it, despite (or, maybe because) it doesn't look particularly masculine.
Anyway, Phil attempted a trim at first. Disaster. It was choppy and chunky, and not in a good way. So Phil took out the clippers. He demonstrated on his own head first, which of course made O very keen for Phil to go ahead.
I was excited at first. He's got an exquisite face that I knew wouldn't be spoiled by any haircut. But when it was all off, I cried. And then I cried some more. And then later when he lay on my, sucking his dummy and stroking my face the way he always does, I cried a bit more. And I cried this morning on the phone to Mum. And then on the phone to Lan, while I was on the train.
Why am I so teary over this? He doesn't look bad. He looks lovely, handsome, neat, grown up. Too grown up. I think this was just a catalyst for the release and realisation of all the ambivalence I've been carrying about having this baby at this time. Don't get me wrong, I very much love and want my second child, but I feel as if I've been forced to rush my oldest baby into being a big boy before he is/we are quite ready. All this one-on-one time we've shared, our little adventures, the moments that are just ours. I won't have many more of those. I know I'll make time for us to be together without the baby, but those times will be fleeting. I don't whether I appreciated him enough, I don't know that I soaked it all in. I was too worried about sleeps, and crying, and whether I was doing it all properly. It's not about that, it's a relationship between two people, the most intense relationship you can possibly imagine. And now it will be watered down, it will be shared. It won't be the same and I don't know if I am ready.
I feel like I lost more than just some gorgeous strands of golden hair. My baby isn't a baby anymore. Time won't stand still, no matter how much I want it to.
Uh-oh, tears again...
Anyway, Phil attempted a trim at first. Disaster. It was choppy and chunky, and not in a good way. So Phil took out the clippers. He demonstrated on his own head first, which of course made O very keen for Phil to go ahead.
I was excited at first. He's got an exquisite face that I knew wouldn't be spoiled by any haircut. But when it was all off, I cried. And then I cried some more. And then later when he lay on my, sucking his dummy and stroking my face the way he always does, I cried a bit more. And I cried this morning on the phone to Mum. And then on the phone to Lan, while I was on the train.
Why am I so teary over this? He doesn't look bad. He looks lovely, handsome, neat, grown up. Too grown up. I think this was just a catalyst for the release and realisation of all the ambivalence I've been carrying about having this baby at this time. Don't get me wrong, I very much love and want my second child, but I feel as if I've been forced to rush my oldest baby into being a big boy before he is/we are quite ready. All this one-on-one time we've shared, our little adventures, the moments that are just ours. I won't have many more of those. I know I'll make time for us to be together without the baby, but those times will be fleeting. I don't whether I appreciated him enough, I don't know that I soaked it all in. I was too worried about sleeps, and crying, and whether I was doing it all properly. It's not about that, it's a relationship between two people, the most intense relationship you can possibly imagine. And now it will be watered down, it will be shared. It won't be the same and I don't know if I am ready.
I feel like I lost more than just some gorgeous strands of golden hair. My baby isn't a baby anymore. Time won't stand still, no matter how much I want it to.
Uh-oh, tears again...
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
O's vocabulary
It's increasing daily! Here is a list of words he currently says. It's just what I can recall...
Hi
Bye
Mummeeee (yes, the emphasis is on the "mee", but he also says Mum too)
Dad/Da/Dada
I/I-a (Isla, his absolute favourite person on the planet)
Car
Door
Bath
Park
Baby/Bubbee
Boob
Chocshoosh (Chocolate... Yes, I know...)
Cheesh (Cheese)
Zach (his Cabbage Patch Kid)
Uck (Truck)
Bike
Shoes
Pool (he says this frequently, always wants to go)
Poo
Eyes
Bag
He also does animal noises and says "Shhh" with his finger to his lips when Isla is asleep.
Hi
Bye
Mummeeee (yes, the emphasis is on the "mee", but he also says Mum too)
Dad/Da/Dada
I/I-a (Isla, his absolute favourite person on the planet)
Car
Door
Bath
Park
Baby/Bubbee
Boob
Chocshoosh (Chocolate... Yes, I know...)
Cheesh (Cheese)
Zach (his Cabbage Patch Kid)
Uck (Truck)
Bike
Shoes
Pool (he says this frequently, always wants to go)
Poo
Eyes
Bag
He also does animal noises and says "Shhh" with his finger to his lips when Isla is asleep.
Monday, August 24, 2009
The scariest few moments...
Last night, I thought Otis was going to die.
He was eating some crackers with tomato and cream cheese, really enjoying them, seated at his new Ikea table and chairs. He suddenly started to cough, then gasp, snorting and choking and screaming when he had enough breath in his body to make a noise. We turned him upside down, we bashed him on the back, and every so often there was a moment of relief, and we'd think he was OK. But it wouldn't end. It felt like years. We tried giving water, we tried scooping bits out of his mouth, we tried to stay calm, but our words to one another were edged with absolute terror.
I was dialling 000 when Phil announced that he was OK. He was shaking, and red, and terrified, there was cream cheese pouring from his nose and his face was wet with tears. The three of us just collapsed in one big hug on the couch, and I cried and cried. I was thinking, "I won't ever complain about him again, I'll never raise my voice, I'll be the perfect mother..."
It was so scary.
This morning, I noticed his eyelids were covered in little red/purple pinpricks, broken blood vessels, the temporary remnants of his efforts to breathe. They reminded me of my face after I gave birth to him. The effort!
I love him so much.
He was eating some crackers with tomato and cream cheese, really enjoying them, seated at his new Ikea table and chairs. He suddenly started to cough, then gasp, snorting and choking and screaming when he had enough breath in his body to make a noise. We turned him upside down, we bashed him on the back, and every so often there was a moment of relief, and we'd think he was OK. But it wouldn't end. It felt like years. We tried giving water, we tried scooping bits out of his mouth, we tried to stay calm, but our words to one another were edged with absolute terror.
I was dialling 000 when Phil announced that he was OK. He was shaking, and red, and terrified, there was cream cheese pouring from his nose and his face was wet with tears. The three of us just collapsed in one big hug on the couch, and I cried and cried. I was thinking, "I won't ever complain about him again, I'll never raise my voice, I'll be the perfect mother..."
It was so scary.
This morning, I noticed his eyelids were covered in little red/purple pinpricks, broken blood vessels, the temporary remnants of his efforts to breathe. They reminded me of my face after I gave birth to him. The effort!
I love him so much.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
My affectionate little boy...
So, to describe Otis as affectionate is perhaps the world's greatest understatement. I've honestly never known a person affectionate to the same degree that he is. I love it, I encourage it, I relish it, but I'm also not 100% certain that it is not bordering on inappropriate.
We don't have a lot of physical boundaries in our house. The three of us are very free with the cuddles and the kisses, and we all walk around naked whenever it suits us. Afew days ago, I was sitting on the toilet, and Otis grabbed a handful of toilet paper and attempted to wipe my bottom for me. He tried down the front at first, and when I blocked him, he went for the back. He's trying to do for me what I've been doing for him his whole life...
It's sometimes not until you see other people react to your child's behaviour that you begin to question whether or not it is a little weird. We went to mass with Mum the other night, and he spent most of that hour stroking my face with two hands and gazing at me with the kind of loving looks usually reserved for romance novels. At one point he had one hand up my top, rubbing my now enormous tummy, and another on my boob, although this one was at least on the outside of my clothes.
People stared. Some oohed and aahed. Some looked a little perplexed. Many referred to him as a girl (because, didn't you know, only girls are capable of affection...?) I was enjoying the adoration and the intimacy, but was also feeling ever-so-slightly uncomfortable.
The next day, we were at the park with some friends. One little girl, older than Otis, went down the slippery dip with him between her legs. When they got to the bottom, he lay back on her and just smiled, enjoying the cuddle, whilst other children yelled at them to hurry up and get out of the way. Another of his friends was having a bit of a tantrum at one point, and Otis lay his head on the boy's chest and stroked him, trying to calm him down.
Is my baby going to grow up to be one of those people who invade your personal space and hug and kiss you upon your first meeting? Or will he just be a loving, tender, cuddly man who some very lucky woman will be so grateful for? I'm not sure. But I have a sneaking suspicion that the end of his hyper-affectionate ways is just around the corner, and I should enjoy his slightly freaky antics while they last.
We don't have a lot of physical boundaries in our house. The three of us are very free with the cuddles and the kisses, and we all walk around naked whenever it suits us. Afew days ago, I was sitting on the toilet, and Otis grabbed a handful of toilet paper and attempted to wipe my bottom for me. He tried down the front at first, and when I blocked him, he went for the back. He's trying to do for me what I've been doing for him his whole life...
It's sometimes not until you see other people react to your child's behaviour that you begin to question whether or not it is a little weird. We went to mass with Mum the other night, and he spent most of that hour stroking my face with two hands and gazing at me with the kind of loving looks usually reserved for romance novels. At one point he had one hand up my top, rubbing my now enormous tummy, and another on my boob, although this one was at least on the outside of my clothes.
People stared. Some oohed and aahed. Some looked a little perplexed. Many referred to him as a girl (because, didn't you know, only girls are capable of affection...?) I was enjoying the adoration and the intimacy, but was also feeling ever-so-slightly uncomfortable.
The next day, we were at the park with some friends. One little girl, older than Otis, went down the slippery dip with him between her legs. When they got to the bottom, he lay back on her and just smiled, enjoying the cuddle, whilst other children yelled at them to hurry up and get out of the way. Another of his friends was having a bit of a tantrum at one point, and Otis lay his head on the boy's chest and stroked him, trying to calm him down.
Is my baby going to grow up to be one of those people who invade your personal space and hug and kiss you upon your first meeting? Or will he just be a loving, tender, cuddly man who some very lucky woman will be so grateful for? I'm not sure. But I have a sneaking suspicion that the end of his hyper-affectionate ways is just around the corner, and I should enjoy his slightly freaky antics while they last.
Friday, July 31, 2009
My ambitious little boy...
Recently Otis has taken to pointing to himself to indicate when he wants to participate in or be given something. He'll see the swings at the local park and immediately start gesticulating quite enthusiastically, telling me in his own, only partially-verbal way that he wants a turn.
Apparently he's also keen to:
1. Swim in the World Championships (I thought his little arm was going to fall off when he watched Michael Phelps break another record the other day)
2. Drive the garbage truck
3. Ride a motorbike
4. Go boating
5. Carry a leather handbag
He's so entertaining these days!
Apparently he's also keen to:
1. Swim in the World Championships (I thought his little arm was going to fall off when he watched Michael Phelps break another record the other day)
2. Drive the garbage truck
3. Ride a motorbike
4. Go boating
5. Carry a leather handbag
He's so entertaining these days!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Managing two...
I can do it :)
Otis and I are babysitting Isla Grace today... And things are going swimmingly indeed! Isla had a nap between 10:30 and midday... Otis went down around 11... It's now almost 1, Isla has been fed and changed and is happily playing (she sure is an easy-to-entertain little thing) and I'll deal with Otis whenever he wakes up.
Might go for a walk or pop down to the park before Isla's afternoon nap.
Yes, I CAN do it!!
Otis and I are babysitting Isla Grace today... And things are going swimmingly indeed! Isla had a nap between 10:30 and midday... Otis went down around 11... It's now almost 1, Isla has been fed and changed and is happily playing (she sure is an easy-to-entertain little thing) and I'll deal with Otis whenever he wakes up.
Might go for a walk or pop down to the park before Isla's afternoon nap.
Yes, I CAN do it!!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The gender debate...
I guess there are two separate gender debates I could discuss here. The first is, of course, the notion that bad mornng sickness indicates a female foetus. This is what many people strongly believe, and I am fielding plenty of very confident claims that my baby is without a doubt a girl. Time will tell. I for one doubt that gender can so easily be diagnosed. I am also in no hurry to know! Boy or girl, every passing day provides further evidence of its presence. My bump is big, bigger than the average 20 week bump at least, and I'm feeling lots of gentle swishes from within.
But what I wanted to talk about here is Otis' fascination with all things 'boy' — he shakes with anticipation when the garbage truck drives past (early Monday mornings are most thrilling at our place), opens his eyes wide and points at motorbikes whether they are passing by loudly or parked, and enjoys mimicking a crocodile's snapping jaws and an elephant raising it's trunk. Being the type of mother I am, I can assure you I in no way pushed these interests onto him. They just sprung from somewhere inside his brain. He has very few gender-specific items, one lonely dump truck and a book about trucks, a book about a racing car and a few others bits and pieces. Is this stuff really and truly inherently there from the moment of conception? Or perhaps it a case of us and his other carers encouraging, subconsciously, the interests we and society deem appropriate for him, and simply ignoring those that are feminine.
The truth is, I don't want my son to end up a macho, beer-swilling, emotionally immature, stereotypical male. I'm not saying he should dress in women's clothes or anything like that (although, if he does, I'll love him anyway), but my hope is that he turns out to be more like his father, and unafraid to be a little different. He does adore his Cabbage Patch, Zach, and gets real joy out of dressing him, wrapping him and patting him to sleep, so perhaps not all is lost. In the meantime I will do what I can to encourage an array of interest, including, I suppose, those of the transportation variety!
But what I wanted to talk about here is Otis' fascination with all things 'boy' — he shakes with anticipation when the garbage truck drives past (early Monday mornings are most thrilling at our place), opens his eyes wide and points at motorbikes whether they are passing by loudly or parked, and enjoys mimicking a crocodile's snapping jaws and an elephant raising it's trunk. Being the type of mother I am, I can assure you I in no way pushed these interests onto him. They just sprung from somewhere inside his brain. He has very few gender-specific items, one lonely dump truck and a book about trucks, a book about a racing car and a few others bits and pieces. Is this stuff really and truly inherently there from the moment of conception? Or perhaps it a case of us and his other carers encouraging, subconsciously, the interests we and society deem appropriate for him, and simply ignoring those that are feminine.
The truth is, I don't want my son to end up a macho, beer-swilling, emotionally immature, stereotypical male. I'm not saying he should dress in women's clothes or anything like that (although, if he does, I'll love him anyway), but my hope is that he turns out to be more like his father, and unafraid to be a little different. He does adore his Cabbage Patch, Zach, and gets real joy out of dressing him, wrapping him and patting him to sleep, so perhaps not all is lost. In the meantime I will do what I can to encourage an array of interest, including, I suppose, those of the transportation variety!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Pregnancy the second time around...
I'll be blunt — it hasn't been as nice an experience as the first. Of course, there is the unplanned, a-little-too-soon, scary element to contend with. I only started working in February, three weeks later I was pregnant. My fear of not having a job to return to after having my baby cast a real shadow over the first few weeks. I did what I could to mask my burgeoning belly and all-day nausea, to the point of downing two glasses of wine at a work function! Crazy, but we want (need) to buy a house next year, and my wage is a significant chunk of how much we need to be earning in order to do that. Anyway, my boss was fine, and, my job will be there come February/March next year. Phew!
Then there's the fact that I have a toddler on my hands, 24-7, and no time to indulge in the wonder of being pregnant. Sometimes it takes me a few minutes after I wake up in the morning before I even remember I am having another one! The truth is, the one already functioning in the world is the one I am forced to focus on, so Bubba #2 misses out a little.
I'm much more tired this time around — a combination of a still-wakeful baby (he's getting much, much better though), balancing work and motherhood, and being anti-meat this time around! Yes, I've pregnancy-induced vegetarianism, and I think the lack of iron is leaving me extra-exhausted. I've been sick since about 6 weeks, and I am now 16 1/2 weeks... It's lasted much longer, and has made mothering my boy so very hard. All the energy I've been able to muster I've given to him, in the form of cuddles, songs, walks, park visits and the sort of enthusiasm he's come to expect from me. There's been nothing left over for Phil, or for anyone else. I've barely seen any of my friends, I've been in bed by 9 almost every night. It's an odd sort of life. Luckily my little family is all I really need.
Cravings? Citrus, pineapple, anything with a tang to it. Chocolate milk. Vegetables. At work I've been really into vegie stir-fry. My Hokka Hokka loyalty card is filling up nicely...
Despite all of this, there is no denying the thrill of witnessing my body grow and change, of hearing my newest little one's heart thumping away, of fantasising about the relationship that will form between Otis and his sibling. I know how lucky I am, I do.
Then there's the fact that I have a toddler on my hands, 24-7, and no time to indulge in the wonder of being pregnant. Sometimes it takes me a few minutes after I wake up in the morning before I even remember I am having another one! The truth is, the one already functioning in the world is the one I am forced to focus on, so Bubba #2 misses out a little.
I'm much more tired this time around — a combination of a still-wakeful baby (he's getting much, much better though), balancing work and motherhood, and being anti-meat this time around! Yes, I've pregnancy-induced vegetarianism, and I think the lack of iron is leaving me extra-exhausted. I've been sick since about 6 weeks, and I am now 16 1/2 weeks... It's lasted much longer, and has made mothering my boy so very hard. All the energy I've been able to muster I've given to him, in the form of cuddles, songs, walks, park visits and the sort of enthusiasm he's come to expect from me. There's been nothing left over for Phil, or for anyone else. I've barely seen any of my friends, I've been in bed by 9 almost every night. It's an odd sort of life. Luckily my little family is all I really need.
Cravings? Citrus, pineapple, anything with a tang to it. Chocolate milk. Vegetables. At work I've been really into vegie stir-fry. My Hokka Hokka loyalty card is filling up nicely...
Despite all of this, there is no denying the thrill of witnessing my body grow and change, of hearing my newest little one's heart thumping away, of fantasising about the relationship that will form between Otis and his sibling. I know how lucky I am, I do.
Otis has OCD
He's a funny little thing... He freaks out if things aren't in their place. Or if something is torn, or uneven. Last night it was one of my hairs stuck to the rim of the bath. He pointed and grunted and made an "I am so disgusted" face until I removed it. The day before, it was a price sticker on a book I picked up for him at Vinnie's. Another time, the zipper in his sleepsuit came apart, and even after I managed to fix it, he kept pointing to the spot that was broken, a panicky look on his face.
Monday, May 4, 2009
HISTORIC OCCASION!!
Otis slept all night! He did not make a peep between 8pm and 6am.
I, of course, kept waking up and wondering whether he was alive.
I, of course, kept waking up and wondering whether he was alive.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
My growing boy...
Otis is doing so many funny things these days. This entry is mainly for me, it is a record of my bright and bubbly boy's ever-growing brain. It may be boring for you, or come off as bragging. It's just pride though, honestly, and a desire to remember it all...
He can walk! Finally, over the Easter weekend, he started off taking 10, 15 steps, and now walks more often than not. He seems to be being pulled along by an invisible rope, he doesn't appear able to entirely control the direction he is headed in. Priceless.
He's doing animal noises. Woofing when he sees actual, or illusrated, dogs, and growling at tigers. Gorgeous!
He loves to "read" all by himself. It doesn't matter whether the book is the right way up! He gets a thrill out of turning the pages and babbling. My mother-in-law said he mimics my tone of voice when he does this. I am so glad he likes books.
He can identify an elephant, and puts his arm up next to his head, like a trunk.
He hyperventilates over the noise or sight of a motorbike, garbage truck (absolute highlight of his week), semi-trailer, 4WD... I never, ever encouraged such masculine behaviour. It honestly just happened.
He loves Thomas and Friends (he sings along, unclearly but with pretty good pitch, to the theme song), In The Night Garden and Bambaloo. Also becoming interested in The Lion King.
Likes clapping for himself when he knows he's done something impressive.
Points out planes, even when they are only a speck in the sky, his eyes and ears obviously work well!
He loves to bite Phil's big toe, and to smell his own shoes and socks and feet. All part of the novelty of wearing shoes!
Sleeping well, waking 1 or 2 times a night, on average, and easy to re-settle.
I've moved him onto the NUK dummies, which are better for the teeth, and he loves them.
I just love him with more intensity every moment, he amazes me and makes me laugh, and I am so glad he's mine!
He can walk! Finally, over the Easter weekend, he started off taking 10, 15 steps, and now walks more often than not. He seems to be being pulled along by an invisible rope, he doesn't appear able to entirely control the direction he is headed in. Priceless.
He's doing animal noises. Woofing when he sees actual, or illusrated, dogs, and growling at tigers. Gorgeous!
He loves to "read" all by himself. It doesn't matter whether the book is the right way up! He gets a thrill out of turning the pages and babbling. My mother-in-law said he mimics my tone of voice when he does this. I am so glad he likes books.
He can identify an elephant, and puts his arm up next to his head, like a trunk.
He hyperventilates over the noise or sight of a motorbike, garbage truck (absolute highlight of his week), semi-trailer, 4WD... I never, ever encouraged such masculine behaviour. It honestly just happened.
He loves Thomas and Friends (he sings along, unclearly but with pretty good pitch, to the theme song), In The Night Garden and Bambaloo. Also becoming interested in The Lion King.
Likes clapping for himself when he knows he's done something impressive.
Points out planes, even when they are only a speck in the sky, his eyes and ears obviously work well!
He loves to bite Phil's big toe, and to smell his own shoes and socks and feet. All part of the novelty of wearing shoes!
Sleeping well, waking 1 or 2 times a night, on average, and easy to re-settle.
I've moved him onto the NUK dummies, which are better for the teeth, and he loves them.
I just love him with more intensity every moment, he amazes me and makes me laugh, and I am so glad he's mine!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Bringing Up Baby
I have recently been viewing Bringing Up Baby, a UK parenting documentary that screened on the ABC earlier this year. The premise — six familes test out three different approaches to parenting popularised during the 50s, 60s and 70s, respectively.
If I were to classify my own approach — taken not from any book, but derived through a combination of trial and error, instinct, common sense and love — it would probably be a mix of the 60s and 70s approaches. In the 60s, Dr Spock was the most popular of parenting gurus, and believed that you could not spoil a baby. Mothers were told to follow their own instinct and do whatever they felt comfortable with. Breastfeeding was advocated, but not pushed, and babies slept in cribs in their parents' bedrooms.
In the 70s, the Continuum Concept apparently took hold, and baby-wearing and co-sleeping became popular. Bottle feeding is not endorsed by practitioners of this approach. The general idea is that babies and mothers should be in close physical contact at all times, as continues to be practised in many tribal communities today.
I like the idea of the Continuum Concept in many ways, but I do believe that, as babies grow older, they tend to sleep better alone. Otis does, at any rate. I loved having him close as a newborn, and I'm sure I'll enjoy that experience with his little sibling, due to arrive in early November! (More on that in another post...) Baby-wearing is also something I enjoyed, but it is simply not true that you can do absolutely everything with a bubba strapped to your chest. It is very difficult to eat a messy meal, such as a kebab, for instance, without spilling sauce onto your baby's little head. It is also difficult to perform chores that require repetitive bending... Not as easy as it looks, I assure you. But I imagine I'll need my hands free like never before, when wrangling Otis and Sibling without any assistance on hand.
Now, to the point of this post. The 50s approach, as outlined by Truby King. What a vile, cold, monstrous individual he must have been, to have come up with such a method. According to King, babies should not be cuddled. They should be fed by the clock, swaddled and left outside to cry, and should, as a result of this detached approach, sleep twelve hours straight every night by the time they are twelve weeks of age. The appeal of this approach apparently lies in the fact that parents need not alter their lifestyle whatsoever. Adherence to King's strict routine allows parents plenty of time away from their babies to drink wine and watch TV. Because, you know, that is the whole point of becoming a parent.
King, and Claire Verity, the 'maternity nurse' who is employed by tired parents to instill King's methods, fills me with the type of rage I normally reserve for Rugby League-playing rapists. I was on the verge of tears watching these tiny week old bubs screaming, all alone, whilst their selfish, self-serving parents swilled cheap-looking wine and pigged out on pasta, offering one another self-congratulatory pats on the back for being able to tough it out and stick to the routine. What I want to know is:
1. Why have a baby if you do not wish for your life to change in even the smallest of ways?
2. Why is it that 'thriving' is so simplistically equated with 'sleeping through the night'?
3. How can a mother resist being physically affectionate with her own baby?
4. How can these selfish idiots sleep at night?
Honestly, I am all ears.
If I were to classify my own approach — taken not from any book, but derived through a combination of trial and error, instinct, common sense and love — it would probably be a mix of the 60s and 70s approaches. In the 60s, Dr Spock was the most popular of parenting gurus, and believed that you could not spoil a baby. Mothers were told to follow their own instinct and do whatever they felt comfortable with. Breastfeeding was advocated, but not pushed, and babies slept in cribs in their parents' bedrooms.
In the 70s, the Continuum Concept apparently took hold, and baby-wearing and co-sleeping became popular. Bottle feeding is not endorsed by practitioners of this approach. The general idea is that babies and mothers should be in close physical contact at all times, as continues to be practised in many tribal communities today.
I like the idea of the Continuum Concept in many ways, but I do believe that, as babies grow older, they tend to sleep better alone. Otis does, at any rate. I loved having him close as a newborn, and I'm sure I'll enjoy that experience with his little sibling, due to arrive in early November! (More on that in another post...) Baby-wearing is also something I enjoyed, but it is simply not true that you can do absolutely everything with a bubba strapped to your chest. It is very difficult to eat a messy meal, such as a kebab, for instance, without spilling sauce onto your baby's little head. It is also difficult to perform chores that require repetitive bending... Not as easy as it looks, I assure you. But I imagine I'll need my hands free like never before, when wrangling Otis and Sibling without any assistance on hand.
Now, to the point of this post. The 50s approach, as outlined by Truby King. What a vile, cold, monstrous individual he must have been, to have come up with such a method. According to King, babies should not be cuddled. They should be fed by the clock, swaddled and left outside to cry, and should, as a result of this detached approach, sleep twelve hours straight every night by the time they are twelve weeks of age. The appeal of this approach apparently lies in the fact that parents need not alter their lifestyle whatsoever. Adherence to King's strict routine allows parents plenty of time away from their babies to drink wine and watch TV. Because, you know, that is the whole point of becoming a parent.
King, and Claire Verity, the 'maternity nurse' who is employed by tired parents to instill King's methods, fills me with the type of rage I normally reserve for Rugby League-playing rapists. I was on the verge of tears watching these tiny week old bubs screaming, all alone, whilst their selfish, self-serving parents swilled cheap-looking wine and pigged out on pasta, offering one another self-congratulatory pats on the back for being able to tough it out and stick to the routine. What I want to know is:
1. Why have a baby if you do not wish for your life to change in even the smallest of ways?
2. Why is it that 'thriving' is so simplistically equated with 'sleeping through the night'?
3. How can a mother resist being physically affectionate with her own baby?
4. How can these selfish idiots sleep at night?
Honestly, I am all ears.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Otis is walking!
And sleeping in a big boy bed... And growing up far too quickly.
He's been taking a short sequence of steps for the last week or two, but only very sporadically, and with no real determination to keep going. His foot is still quite turned in, but he appears to have mastered how to manage that. I need to be more vigilant with the physio-prescribed exercises. She and I both thought standing would alleviate it a little, but it doesn't seem to have done so.
Anyway, just tonight, Mum was over and we were chatting on the balcony. He walked over to grab something dangerous and age-inappropriate, and we clapped and cheered like the maniacs we are. Then, after falling, he got back up, and gave it another shot. And another. And another. He simply wasn't giving up!
His legs are so skinny. Mum keeps noting how similar they are to mine — not much shape to the poor old calves. Sorry Otskin! You inherited Mama's spindly calves.
We bought him an extendable junior bed from Ikea yesterday. He was in heaven at the store, jumping from bed to bed. hiding under the covers, lying there all sprawled out with his eyes closed and a big grin on his face. Cute by anybody's standards. Anyway, he's still waking a few times a night, but he's quite easily re-settled in his own room, and doesn't come in with us until 4 at the earliest, but usually around 5. I just wish he'd sleep more soundly between 5 and 6, 6:30, as I really don't get much sleep during that period at all. Garbage trucks, snoring, tossing, shifting Phil, and a only lightly sleeping little boy don't make for ideal sleeping circumstances. Oh well. Progress has been made.
Otis has also just broken two new teeth, top and bottom right, with another 3 or so on their way. He's managing proper food so much better, sandwiches are swallowed within minutes, and he attacks apples very well.
His new interest is babies... How telling.
He is absolutely scrumtious, and I love him more and more with each passing moment. Sometimes I think I'll just burst.
He's been taking a short sequence of steps for the last week or two, but only very sporadically, and with no real determination to keep going. His foot is still quite turned in, but he appears to have mastered how to manage that. I need to be more vigilant with the physio-prescribed exercises. She and I both thought standing would alleviate it a little, but it doesn't seem to have done so.
Anyway, just tonight, Mum was over and we were chatting on the balcony. He walked over to grab something dangerous and age-inappropriate, and we clapped and cheered like the maniacs we are. Then, after falling, he got back up, and gave it another shot. And another. And another. He simply wasn't giving up!
His legs are so skinny. Mum keeps noting how similar they are to mine — not much shape to the poor old calves. Sorry Otskin! You inherited Mama's spindly calves.
We bought him an extendable junior bed from Ikea yesterday. He was in heaven at the store, jumping from bed to bed. hiding under the covers, lying there all sprawled out with his eyes closed and a big grin on his face. Cute by anybody's standards. Anyway, he's still waking a few times a night, but he's quite easily re-settled in his own room, and doesn't come in with us until 4 at the earliest, but usually around 5. I just wish he'd sleep more soundly between 5 and 6, 6:30, as I really don't get much sleep during that period at all. Garbage trucks, snoring, tossing, shifting Phil, and a only lightly sleeping little boy don't make for ideal sleeping circumstances. Oh well. Progress has been made.
Otis has also just broken two new teeth, top and bottom right, with another 3 or so on their way. He's managing proper food so much better, sandwiches are swallowed within minutes, and he attacks apples very well.
His new interest is babies... How telling.
He is absolutely scrumtious, and I love him more and more with each passing moment. Sometimes I think I'll just burst.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Feed foreplay...
Yes, Otis engages in a very cute and innocent version of foreplay whenever he sees my naked boobs (usually when we share a bath of an evening). He starts with a shy smile. Then he'll often kiss my tummy a few times, and giggle. Then he'll kiss me, and snuggle into me, with his fluffy blond head on my shoulder or chest. He knows he's absolutely irresistable!
Next thing you know, he's on, sucking away, staring up at me.
Yes, my son seduces me in an asexual fashion, and I think it's absolutely adorable! What a little manipulator! He knows what he's doing.
Due to various reasons, one of which I will clarify in the next couple of weeks, I am trying to gradually stop breastfeeding Otis. It's not easy though, when it makes him so happy! He's been waking up and wanting it, these past few nights. I just want him to forget all about it!
Next thing you know, he's on, sucking away, staring up at me.
Yes, my son seduces me in an asexual fashion, and I think it's absolutely adorable! What a little manipulator! He knows what he's doing.
Due to various reasons, one of which I will clarify in the next couple of weeks, I am trying to gradually stop breastfeeding Otis. It's not easy though, when it makes him so happy! He's been waking up and wanting it, these past few nights. I just want him to forget all about it!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Teaching Otis...
I feel compelled to teach Otis new skill after new skill... At the moment, I am working on familiarising him with a few body parts. And I'm having some success! If I ask him "Where's your tummy?", he'll lift his shirt and look down. It's such fun! He gets confused when I ask about his nose though. I guess that's because he can't actually see it. Might have to work on that one in front of the mirror...
Given how interested he is in his penis, I've started naming that for him too. Somehow he is already aware that his genitals are somewhat taboo... He giggles and looks at me with a sly, shy face whenever we discuss that region of his anatomy. Is shame inherent from birth? What an awful thought.
I read somewhere that at 12 months a baby should be able to sort shapes using a shape sorter. Otis is yet to master this, and I guess I feel a little frustrated with him. Which I know, when I think about it objectively, is nasty and pushy and ridiculous, but I do! Suffice to say, every day I spend at least a few minutes sitting with the shape sorter, in serious training with my still-only-a-baby son. I guess he'll figure it out eventually. He has a shape puzzle too, and enjoys attempting to pop the puzzle pieces into the correct spaces. Sometimes he manages, and I appear suitably enamoured and excited, but to be honest, I think those odd occasions are flukes. He's just not there yet.
He's communicating more explicitly with each passing day, although not 'talking' as such just yet. When we get up in the morning, I ask him if he wants breakfast or 'num-nums' (derived from yummy, one of his first 'words'). He dances and smiles. There's no confusion! He similarly physically exhibits joy when I ask him if he'd like some cheese, if he'd like a shower/bath, if he'd like to go for a walk, if he'd like a story, or if he'd like to go to the park. He and I both know what he wants, which in itself is progress! One of the hardest things in the early days is that communication barrier. Crying just doesn't cut it!
There are two other things he's learnt to do quite well. He can roll and throw a ball, in the right direction, with some skill. I don't have anyone to compare him to, but, what can I say, to me my baby seems super-duper co-ordinated! I'm sure he'd be walking already if it weren't for his gammy foot. He climbs so well, and isn't afraid of much (aside from my absence).
Today we had fun drawing with textas! The last few times I handed him a pen and paper, he had no idea what to do with either — both went into his mouth rather quickly, and were then tossed aside. But today he removed the lid, and made proper, efficient contact between the pen and the page. He scribbled wildly, and was so impressed with himself!
Reflecting on all of this, I think, truthfully, that I spend too much time doing, demonstrating, instructing, guiding and persuading, and not enough time just being. I'll have to work on that. Yes, that's right, I'll work on the concept of not working. Babies need down time, and, perhaps, so do mummies.
Given how interested he is in his penis, I've started naming that for him too. Somehow he is already aware that his genitals are somewhat taboo... He giggles and looks at me with a sly, shy face whenever we discuss that region of his anatomy. Is shame inherent from birth? What an awful thought.
I read somewhere that at 12 months a baby should be able to sort shapes using a shape sorter. Otis is yet to master this, and I guess I feel a little frustrated with him. Which I know, when I think about it objectively, is nasty and pushy and ridiculous, but I do! Suffice to say, every day I spend at least a few minutes sitting with the shape sorter, in serious training with my still-only-a-baby son. I guess he'll figure it out eventually. He has a shape puzzle too, and enjoys attempting to pop the puzzle pieces into the correct spaces. Sometimes he manages, and I appear suitably enamoured and excited, but to be honest, I think those odd occasions are flukes. He's just not there yet.
He's communicating more explicitly with each passing day, although not 'talking' as such just yet. When we get up in the morning, I ask him if he wants breakfast or 'num-nums' (derived from yummy, one of his first 'words'). He dances and smiles. There's no confusion! He similarly physically exhibits joy when I ask him if he'd like some cheese, if he'd like a shower/bath, if he'd like to go for a walk, if he'd like a story, or if he'd like to go to the park. He and I both know what he wants, which in itself is progress! One of the hardest things in the early days is that communication barrier. Crying just doesn't cut it!
There are two other things he's learnt to do quite well. He can roll and throw a ball, in the right direction, with some skill. I don't have anyone to compare him to, but, what can I say, to me my baby seems super-duper co-ordinated! I'm sure he'd be walking already if it weren't for his gammy foot. He climbs so well, and isn't afraid of much (aside from my absence).
Today we had fun drawing with textas! The last few times I handed him a pen and paper, he had no idea what to do with either — both went into his mouth rather quickly, and were then tossed aside. But today he removed the lid, and made proper, efficient contact between the pen and the page. He scribbled wildly, and was so impressed with himself!
Reflecting on all of this, I think, truthfully, that I spend too much time doing, demonstrating, instructing, guiding and persuading, and not enough time just being. I'll have to work on that. Yes, that's right, I'll work on the concept of not working. Babies need down time, and, perhaps, so do mummies.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Otis goes to daycare...
I was so sure I'd manage to tough it out. I'm not really much of a crier, you see. But my boy does tend to bring out the teariness in me.
I felt a little off from the minute I woke up this morning. The hugs lasted a few seconds longer. I didn't realise what was underlying all of this — a sadness at having to 'abandon' him. It's not rational, it's ridiculous, but when his little knees dug deeply into my waist, and his sweaty head pressed against my shoulder, I could feel the tears starting to spring. The lovely ladies took such gentle, affectionate care of him, popping him into a highchair next to the other little ones, talking softly but confidently to him, giving me a reassuring smile. He just screamed at first. He wouldn't touch the pear muffin I'd lovingly baked. But after a few moments he did eat, sitting quietly, cautiously, aware that things weren't quite right.
I said bye-bye, kissed him swiftly, and left. He cried and cried.
I cried and cried! Walking down the street, for all the world to see.
I felt a little off from the minute I woke up this morning. The hugs lasted a few seconds longer. I didn't realise what was underlying all of this — a sadness at having to 'abandon' him. It's not rational, it's ridiculous, but when his little knees dug deeply into my waist, and his sweaty head pressed against my shoulder, I could feel the tears starting to spring. The lovely ladies took such gentle, affectionate care of him, popping him into a highchair next to the other little ones, talking softly but confidently to him, giving me a reassuring smile. He just screamed at first. He wouldn't touch the pear muffin I'd lovingly baked. But after a few moments he did eat, sitting quietly, cautiously, aware that things weren't quite right.
I said bye-bye, kissed him swiftly, and left. He cried and cried.
I cried and cried! Walking down the street, for all the world to see.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Trying something new...
So, I definitely spoke too soon. Otis had a few good nights, and then a couple of bad ones again. It has been dreadfully, unbearably hot — even in our lovely, usually-cool, well-insulated unit. We've been sleeping directly beneath the breeze of our pedestal fan, with the screen door wide open, no covers, and as little clothing as is deemed suitable when sharing a bed with an infant. All three of us toss and turn — we wake one another up over and over again. It's simply not an efficient sleeping situation. But what are our alternatives?
Well, we've already established that he hates his cot. So, one night, I had a moment of genius — I folded up our doona, popped on the floor next to my side of the bed, popped a pillow on top, and plonked him down beside me. We haven't looked back! He has the reassurance of knowing I am right there with him, the comforting familiarity of our bedroom, and plenty of space — he can roll around without hitting his limbs on the bars of his cot. There is the small chance he could roll so far as to end up under the bed, but I am such a light sleeper, I react to his smallest movements and subtlest noises.
Last night Otis didn't come in with us until 4:30am! He still sleeps fitfully, and still requires the odd a sip of water or patting session, but we haven't had ant crying episodes, and we are all sleeping more comfortably and for longer periods.
OK, I know, I probably seem to have some sort of sleep obsession. There IS more to life. My days are full to the brim with loving my boy, with watching him in amazement. He can do so many different things now — he displays a new talent almost daily. He stands alone every now and then, but is still pretty unsteady on his feet. He climbs constantly — up onto the coffee table, onto the lounge, up the sixteen stairs to our unit! He's increasingly agile. And very, very fast.
His "talking" is also improving. He says Mama meaningfully almost always now. He says "hello" — mostly to passers by when we are on our balcony — "Gor" for Gordon his goldfish, and "bd" for bird. Birds fascinate him, he'll immediately stop whatever he is doing when he hears a loud tweet, or glimpses rustling feathers. He's also quite partial to watching the garbage trucks from the balcony — so stereotypically masculine an interest I nearly cringe.
His favourite thing to do at the moment is to kiss my tummy. He lifts up my top, over and over again, and laughs his head off. Then he kisses it. I am trying to use this to teach him anatomical terms. Not having much success so far!
His favourite foods at the moment are all types of fruit — banana, watermelon, strawberries, grapes. He also loves cake, which he's had quite a bit of recently due to his dual birthday celebrations — one on the day, and another party just last weekend. He's got a sweet tooth which, I have to admit, I haven't even bothered trying to curb. I don't want to be hypocritical, after all.
12 month statistics are impressive, if a little extreme and disproportionate — he's on the 95th percentile for height, off the charts for head circumference, yet only average for weight. But, I assure you, he does NOT have that lollipop look so sought after by Hollywood starlets.
I am bursting with love for my baby, who I think is the yummiest, scrummiest, loveliest creature on the planet.
Well, we've already established that he hates his cot. So, one night, I had a moment of genius — I folded up our doona, popped on the floor next to my side of the bed, popped a pillow on top, and plonked him down beside me. We haven't looked back! He has the reassurance of knowing I am right there with him, the comforting familiarity of our bedroom, and plenty of space — he can roll around without hitting his limbs on the bars of his cot. There is the small chance he could roll so far as to end up under the bed, but I am such a light sleeper, I react to his smallest movements and subtlest noises.
Last night Otis didn't come in with us until 4:30am! He still sleeps fitfully, and still requires the odd a sip of water or patting session, but we haven't had ant crying episodes, and we are all sleeping more comfortably and for longer periods.
OK, I know, I probably seem to have some sort of sleep obsession. There IS more to life. My days are full to the brim with loving my boy, with watching him in amazement. He can do so many different things now — he displays a new talent almost daily. He stands alone every now and then, but is still pretty unsteady on his feet. He climbs constantly — up onto the coffee table, onto the lounge, up the sixteen stairs to our unit! He's increasingly agile. And very, very fast.
His "talking" is also improving. He says Mama meaningfully almost always now. He says "hello" — mostly to passers by when we are on our balcony — "Gor" for Gordon his goldfish, and "bd" for bird. Birds fascinate him, he'll immediately stop whatever he is doing when he hears a loud tweet, or glimpses rustling feathers. He's also quite partial to watching the garbage trucks from the balcony — so stereotypically masculine an interest I nearly cringe.
His favourite thing to do at the moment is to kiss my tummy. He lifts up my top, over and over again, and laughs his head off. Then he kisses it. I am trying to use this to teach him anatomical terms. Not having much success so far!
His favourite foods at the moment are all types of fruit — banana, watermelon, strawberries, grapes. He also loves cake, which he's had quite a bit of recently due to his dual birthday celebrations — one on the day, and another party just last weekend. He's got a sweet tooth which, I have to admit, I haven't even bothered trying to curb. I don't want to be hypocritical, after all.
12 month statistics are impressive, if a little extreme and disproportionate — he's on the 95th percentile for height, off the charts for head circumference, yet only average for weight. But, I assure you, he does NOT have that lollipop look so sought after by Hollywood starlets.
I am bursting with love for my baby, who I think is the yummiest, scrummiest, loveliest creature on the planet.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Sleep: Making Progress!
Oh, what a stubborn, sleepless little thing my son has always been! I remember so vividly that first night, squished into our half of the hospital room, Otis screaming and squirming, all the nurses muttering to one another about the "unsettled" one. Yes, that one's mine! But I think we may have a turned a corner...
As all loyal readers of this blog know, I have tried a few times to wean my boy of his night breastfeeds. This has uniformly been met by incredulity and anger! He would sob so sadly that I'd reluctantly end up pulling my top up, and letting him latch on. I would spend the next day alternately bemoaning my own weakness, cursing the fact that he'd won, yet again, and hating myself for even attempting to deny him.
After a terrible few nights, and with the prospect of starting a new 9-5 job looming, I decided I'd try a modified, more merciful version of controlled crying. I planned to sit in his room and hold his hand or stroke him (no patting — for part of this grand plan was for him to self-settle), rather than leaving him to scream in solitude, but under no circumstances would I retrieve him from his cot, or breastfeed him. The night started poorly — it took an hour of following said methods for him to slump down, asleep, exhausted from wailing. I slept on an air mattress next to his cot from 10:30 until 1:30, which was when he woke up. That in itself was astonishing! But as soon as I heard him shifting, I felt sick with fear. Imagine, scared of my own baby! Silly, but so true. I refused to pick him up, just sang and touched him, but he persisted for over an hour. He just screamed. He poked all of his limbs out, between the cot slats, and bashed his head against the cot. It frightened me. Honestly, the scary girl in The Exorcist has nothing on him.
Eventually I gave in. I gave in, not so much to my baby's demands, but to my own instinct, which was telling me from the get go that this wasn't the appropriate way to do things. And I felt better the minute he was in my arms — my defeated, sweaty, sad little man.
He slept beside me, and didn't wake again until morning! So I managed to refrain from feeding him, and we were both OK. He had a few sips of water during that horror period. I haven't looked back! He has not had a breastfeed during the night for nearly a week! And he's absolutely fine.
My boobs are looking a little flaccid and diminished, I am a little disappointed to report. I guess two feeds per day simply isn't sufficient to maintain the perky fullness they once exhibited. Small price to pay for a better night's sleep though.
Things aren't perfect by any means. I still believe that he may never "sleep through". But 4 out of the 6 nights since have seen him wake only once or twice, which is a dramatic improvement.
As all loyal readers of this blog know, I have tried a few times to wean my boy of his night breastfeeds. This has uniformly been met by incredulity and anger! He would sob so sadly that I'd reluctantly end up pulling my top up, and letting him latch on. I would spend the next day alternately bemoaning my own weakness, cursing the fact that he'd won, yet again, and hating myself for even attempting to deny him.
After a terrible few nights, and with the prospect of starting a new 9-5 job looming, I decided I'd try a modified, more merciful version of controlled crying. I planned to sit in his room and hold his hand or stroke him (no patting — for part of this grand plan was for him to self-settle), rather than leaving him to scream in solitude, but under no circumstances would I retrieve him from his cot, or breastfeed him. The night started poorly — it took an hour of following said methods for him to slump down, asleep, exhausted from wailing. I slept on an air mattress next to his cot from 10:30 until 1:30, which was when he woke up. That in itself was astonishing! But as soon as I heard him shifting, I felt sick with fear. Imagine, scared of my own baby! Silly, but so true. I refused to pick him up, just sang and touched him, but he persisted for over an hour. He just screamed. He poked all of his limbs out, between the cot slats, and bashed his head against the cot. It frightened me. Honestly, the scary girl in The Exorcist has nothing on him.
Eventually I gave in. I gave in, not so much to my baby's demands, but to my own instinct, which was telling me from the get go that this wasn't the appropriate way to do things. And I felt better the minute he was in my arms — my defeated, sweaty, sad little man.
He slept beside me, and didn't wake again until morning! So I managed to refrain from feeding him, and we were both OK. He had a few sips of water during that horror period. I haven't looked back! He has not had a breastfeed during the night for nearly a week! And he's absolutely fine.
My boobs are looking a little flaccid and diminished, I am a little disappointed to report. I guess two feeds per day simply isn't sufficient to maintain the perky fullness they once exhibited. Small price to pay for a better night's sleep though.
Things aren't perfect by any means. I still believe that he may never "sleep through". But 4 out of the 6 nights since have seen him wake only once or twice, which is a dramatic improvement.
Monday, January 19, 2009
A few headlines, just to tease you...
OTIS STANDS, UNASSISTED!
OTIS ATTACKS HIS MOTHER'S BREASTS AT INAPPROPRIATE MOMENTS!
OTIS HOLIDAYS AT THE SEASIDE!
OTIS TURNS 1!
OTIS MEETS HIS NEW PET — GORDON THE GOLDFISH!
ROCHELLE AND OTIS ARE REUNITED IN THE BIG BED AFTER UNSUCCESSFULLY PURSUING A MODIFIED VERSION OF CONTROLLED CRYING!
OTIS IS WEANED OF NIGHT FEEDS AND WAKES ONLY TWICE PER NIGHT!!
OTIS MUMBLES A FEW WORDS OF ENGLISH!
ROCHELLE HAS A JOB INTERVIEW!!
OTIS ATTACKS HIS MOTHER'S BREASTS AT INAPPROPRIATE MOMENTS!
OTIS HOLIDAYS AT THE SEASIDE!
OTIS TURNS 1!
OTIS MEETS HIS NEW PET — GORDON THE GOLDFISH!
ROCHELLE AND OTIS ARE REUNITED IN THE BIG BED AFTER UNSUCCESSFULLY PURSUING A MODIFIED VERSION OF CONTROLLED CRYING!
OTIS IS WEANED OF NIGHT FEEDS AND WAKES ONLY TWICE PER NIGHT!!
OTIS MUMBLES A FEW WORDS OF ENGLISH!
ROCHELLE HAS A JOB INTERVIEW!!
Monday, January 5, 2009
Public VS Private...
I firmly believe that the unexamined notion that the private system offers better outcomes for mothers and babies when compared to the public system is a serious misconception. People really need to be more informed as to the very different attitudes proffered by midwives and obstetricians before they make their selection.
I could not be happier with the care I received in the public system. I was at all times made to feel empowered and respected. I achieved the drug-free — well, do a few puffs on the gas really count? — birth I had hoped for, and experienced a quick recovery.
If you are at all interested in this debate, have a read of this article:
http://www.smh.com.au/news/national/public-hospitals-versus-private-
the-painful-truth-about-childbirth/2009/01/02/1230681748836.html
I could not be happier with the care I received in the public system. I was at all times made to feel empowered and respected. I achieved the drug-free — well, do a few puffs on the gas really count? — birth I had hoped for, and experienced a quick recovery.
If you are at all interested in this debate, have a read of this article:
http://www.smh.com.au/news/national/public-hospitals-versus-private-
the-painful-truth-about-childbirth/2009/01/02/1230681748836.html
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