The month of sick...

That's what August 2010 was in this household.

First of all we had the flu, I think it attacked all four of us and left the place overrun with damp, used tissues and the awful, sickly, sticky pink residue of Panadol. Tough, but familiar territory for me - 2009 was Oti's first year at Occy's Place and he was sick for the majority of it, usually with flu-like symptoms. Whenever the kids are sick they sleep with us - Phil jumps in with O, easier now that he is in full-length bunk beds (an awesome IKEA purchase), and Peggy comes in with me very early on in the night. All rules fly out the window, I let them eat as much as they like (usually very little) and whatever takes their fancy (ice cream for lunch? Why not!?), and there's plenty of DVD viewing and snuggling on the couch.

Next was the bad, awful, worst, scariest virus of all... GASTRO. Second time we've been hit this year, and AGAIN, I prove to be Superwoman, avoiding it completely even though it hung around here for over a week. As luck would have it, Peggy suddenly began vomiting - not the harmless little baby possets, the big, chunky, explosive, stinky type - literally as we headed out the door to visit a friend here for only a few days from Sweden. That outing was cancelled. Peggy ate nothing and drank frequently from the breast, and had about 5 vomiting episodes over the course of two days. She was in good spirits though, and it was an interesting lesson in early childhood development to compare her to Otis, who developed the same dreaded sickness afew days later, at the same moment Phil did. Otis was beside himself with anxiety and fear (as was I - I cried - it all happened at midnight, Peggy woke up too, and I froze - what to do? Who to attend to first? How to rid us all of the smell of spew?). He was most freaked out by the sight of his first gigantic throw-up - he woke up lying amongst the remnants of that evening's dinner, his dummy perched on top of the stinky mass, and he screamed when he returned to his room with the lights on and saw the hideous mess his bed was in. He then threw up all over himself and the floor, and howled as he moved him into the shower.

Months previously, he'd had the same thing in almost the same circumstances, and he hadn't been at all bothered. A new awareness, a developing sense of cleanliness and shame... It was interesting to behold.

Phil threw up too, they took turns in fact, and the poor little boy sat naked on the couch wrapped in old towels watching some bizarre Japanese anime movie through the night, until we were convinced the worst was over and allowed him to get dressed again. He and Phil finally fell asleep in the living room and spent the following day eating chips and drinking lemonade and looking as sad as can be.

My iron-clad stomach stood strong through it all, but being the one washing the vomit-stained sheets and comforting the sickly souls is not always preferable... Tired doesn't cover it.

Through the gastro the greeen snotty noses continued, then started to fade to a less-disgusting shade of yellow, and then the next sickness hit - the unspecified virus that has resulted in fevers, lethargy and super-duper-clingy behaviour. First Peggy, then Oti. I hate wasting an hour of my life in the GP's waiting room with a child who has nothing worse than a virus and thus cannot be treated in any way for it. It's not that I wanted them to be seriously ill, trust me. I just wish I'd factored a medical degree into my repertoire of study so that I could avoid such pointless and painful visits to the Dr. I hate being made to feel like a hypochondriac, but how I am to know that it's an untreatable, commonplace bug?

There are some nice parts to the whole sick child scenario... The cuddles are a little longer, you can sleep with them all night guilt-free, they need you and love you that little bit more, they sleep longer during the day (Tuesday - Otis did 4 hours, Peggy did 1 and then 2 1/2) and the joy you feel when they are back to their happy, energised little selves is really special, a real moment of gratitude.

My little lovelies...

Peggy is 9 months now... Not my tiny little screecher any longer. She's lean with a plump bottom, olive-skinned, with eyes that are almost black, rosy cheeks, a toothless smile and wispy, golden hair. She's quite clingy to me now, with bursts of great independance and determination in between. I think sometimes we all ascribe certain traits to babies early on, forgetting that many of their characteristics relate to development and can change with the wind. Not overly fussed on the boob, she'll have it if there's nothing more interesting going on anywhere nearby, but she prefers to be fed during the night. Half-asleep and twitchy, 5-10 minutes on the boob settles her down for more sleep and warms her cheeks which are made cold by the frigid midnight air. We've been having some desperately cold weather in Sydney of late.

I'll wean her when she turns one, and I doubt she'll even notice... She'll no doubt be walking by then. Her development has stalled a little lately - the physical stuff, I mean. She's been standing in very short spurts for about 6 weeks now, but hasn't progressed past that. She's loud - loves to hear herself scream. She's not big on eating, although she's got a sweet tooth and wouldn't dream of knocking back a little mouthful of Dairy Milk or a fresh-baked peanut butter cookie. I came up with one meal they both adore. I cooked it the same day Phil took O to see Shrek 4 at the movies, and since it's bright green, it's become known as The Shrek Meal. It's risoni with a rich, luminous spinach and cheese sauce mixed through it. Delicious.

She's sleeping most of the night with me, and I am cherishing it now... It's amazing how differently I am perceiving the co-sleeping this time around. I guess that's because I miss having Otis by my side, breathing his breath, feeling a warm, mushy hand fondle my face. I miss it terribly. And I know I'll miss her just as much, her little body tucked in next to mine, her long eyelashes resting on those squeezable cheeks.

Otis is just great. He's got a best friend now, and loves to play with sticks, we look for bears and tigers and snakes in our backyard. He mimics me profusely... If he's unsure about something he says "I can't know" instead of "I don't know". And multiple times a day we have to "talk about our days", which means listing everything we've done since he woke up and listing everything we'll do tomorrow. His current favourite movie is Stuart Little. He's right into reading too, recalls the words I've read and uses the pictures to come up with the rest.

The mouths of babes...

Two Otis gems for you, at opposite ends of the spectrum.

At IGA the other day, upon being asked if Peggy is his little sister:

"She's my Peggy-boo." (Accompanied by couldn't-have-been-cuter-if-choreographed gestures of love and possession.)

Yesterday, in anticipation of a tantrum (mine, although I actually managed to take control of my frazzled-ness and behave for once):

"F*ck. F*ck."

WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?

"F*ck?"

Uh-oh.

We've found our rhythm...

and life is just grand.

I've been absent from this blog for good reason - I've just submitted my PhD thesis after 6 years. It's funny, when I was in the throes of my research with one hand typing and the other feeding my boob into Otis' mouth, I felt really put out by the fact that I had to focus on something other than him. But now that I am done, I am already embarking on new projects, and am realising that that is how I parent - mothering is not my only occupation, it never will be. I think that if it were I would lose all perspective and, perhaps, my sense of self. Being a SAHM is something of a "calling" for some women, and not something I wish to dismiss. I respect those who have the paience to be at the mercy of infants and toddlers non-stop. I have issues with anger and am very quick to fire, and I believe that using my brain in ways that don't relate to toilet training or discipline or breastfeeding allows me to fully switch off from parenting and thus take the odd, genuine "break" from it. It's a relentless experience.

Anyway, yes, things are good. Otis is a real boy now - all feet and hands, singing sweetly (not sure that he will be a choirboy, however, his pitch is all over the place!), recalling minutiae in frightening detail and mimicking many of my not-so-fine parenting moments ("That's enough Peggy! Shut up, please!"). His current favourite things: Fireman Sam, a book called The Farmer by Mark Ludy, anything chocolate and the very sweet Japanese film Ponyo. He doesn't like wearing jeans, and hates waking up after his afternoon nap (yes, the irony is not lost on me). He adores Peggy, and continues to shower those around him with love and affection. He has started asking for "another baby in Mummy's tummy". Not yet matey!

Peggy is wonderful too, cruising furniture, pulling herself up and then letting go, with the occasional well-balanced moment of real standing. She's perfected the art of falling "softly" on her well-padded nappied bottom. Has given me plenty of grief with boob-refusal lately, but the past few days have seen her get reacquainted with the process. She has certainly never been the booby monster that Otis was. It will probably make the weaning experience less emotionally fraught for me. She's eating well, not huge volumes of food though. She is sleeping beautifully during the day, but is co-sleeping and waing reasonably frequently of a night. Mostly she is easily re-settled though, and I am happy to have the cuddles given the freezing weather we've been having. Waking up to her gorgeous "anime" face each morning is inexplicably excellent...

She's developed a very strong attachment to me in the last few weeks, and likes to spend much of every evening in my arms whilst I do my domestic duties. I don't mind, I know these phases come and go.

She's babbling away, saying "dada", "mama", "baba", "yeah, yeah, yeah" and has been waving with an accompanied "hi" or "bye" for a couple of weeks now. She started clapping at the Play School concert and hasn't stopped. She's an energised,spirited, determined and bright little girl. Delicate rather than chubby, with a definite olive tone to her skin, so different to O's "English Rose" complexion.

Loving my family, they really do make my heart feel full.

Toys for girls... Terrible!

What on earth am I going to buy Peggy for her first birthday and Christmas? Yes, yes, it is a while away yet, but Phil and I usually lay-by everything during the EOFY sales so that we can it all off slowly... Having babies born in November and January, either side of Christmas, can get a little costly if you are not prepared.

I already have a few books put away, and I bought them each a set of those wooden Russian dolls that fit one inside the other... Can't recall the technical name. Oti's are soldiers, Peggy's are fairly run-of-the-mill. I also came across these cool wooden fairytale masks. I got one each of those - Goldilocks on one side, Baby (?) Bear on the other, and a Red Riding Hood/Wolf one too. I think we'll have fun with those for years to come.

We are looking at getting a trampoline for the two of them, as well as an IKEA kitchen. We'll get them both some Duplo to add to the growing mountain... It is without a doubt the most used and appreciated item in this house. But then what? Otis has a range of possibilities at his disposal - a remote control car, a gardening set, power tools, a scooter, water pistols... The section of the toy stores aimed at females is pink upon pink upon Barbie upon doll upon Barbie upon doll.

I don't have an issue with dolls per se - I think they are great. They promote nurturing behaviour and allow for plenty of imaginative play. Otis has a few and loves them, and I am proud of the fact that we have supported him in taking an interest in them. But Peggy already has so many! She was inundated with them at birth, and they look set to keep coming.

There is very little else marketed at girls,and I find it so disappointing. Luckily Peggy has all of Otis' toys to enjoy. And I will be going out of my way to find something of the non-doll variety to give to her when she turns 1. I would love some tips... If anybody is out there reading this, please advise me!

We will probably purchase a trike for her... I haven't looked at what is available for that age group yet, but I hope that the girly ones are actually functional and don't require the user to ride side-saddle!! I wouldn't be at all surprised. Girly toys don't appear to encourage active play.

On a more positive note, Otis and I have discovered a most excellent book - Jobs People Do, published by Usborne Books. It is brilliant. Lovely to look at, with photos of Fimo figurines going about their daily work. Lots of beautifully detailed explanations of uniforms and equipment. Endearing storylines, and plenty of non-stereotypical casting of women in roles that are traditionally masculine - there is Doctor Daisy, Vet Vicky, and a couple of female firefighters. There is also a plethora of races represented. And a male nurse!! I am just so impressed by this book, and Otis never tires of it. I recommend for toddlers two and up.

A bit of a random gush...

These kids of mine, my goodness, they are beautiful beings. Yes, yes, I know, I am their mother, my sole purpose is to boost them up and make them feel like the most special people on the planet, even if they are really only average. But I really, truly do believe that Phil and I have thus far made exceptionally good-looking babies. Hopefully we will continue to do so, once or twice more in the future (next baby is definitely at least three years away, I guarantee it). We were talking about this just the other day – how awful it would be if our next baby were ugly, and people reacted to it with surprise upon realising that such an unfortunate looking person was related to the rather stunning Otis and Peggy. Yes, it would be bad, but there are obviously much worse things that could happen, and I’d rather not go there…

But it is really more than skin-deep beauty that I am talking about. I mean the shining joy in Otis’ eyes when he sees me walk through the door after a day at work, the higher-than-normal note of his voice, the tightness of our hug. It is in the way he kisses his new cousin Indigo, with a mixture of reverence and excitement. She can’t offer him much yet in the way of fun or companionship, but he loves her anyway. It’s in his very serious “I’m sorry Peggy” after accidentally bowling her over in a fit of enthusiastic adoration.

My boy has such a capacity for love. I have no idea what he will do with his life, whether he will be academically talented or sporty or creative, but I am sure that he will have wonderful relationships with people because he is just so pure of heart. My neighbour once said to me, “Otis has a big heart”. She’s right. I always think of him and feel a little heave in my chest when I listen to Lisa Mitchell sing:

“Livin’ in that chest is a big, big heart, the one I’ve known from the very start…”

And Peggy. Wow, her determined spirit is something to behold. Already crawling efficiently at 6 months, she can do so much with that tiny body of hers. And her giggle – music to my ears. After a hellish night, she wakes up happy, gurgling, that little face – so extreme and singular it looks to have been rendered by a cartoon artist – is all smiles.

Tresillian... I caved in and called.

I am not a fan of parenting hotlines. I can't quite explain why - there is just something off to me about calling a stranger on the phone and finding out from them what it is that your child needs. But then, I understand desperation, I certainly do...

My reservations also relate to my feelings about controlled crying. I wouldn't ignore an adult who was crying, let alone my own precious, defenceless baby girl. Not an option in this household.

Anyway, Peggy has been carrying on for hours during the night. We do the Cot vs Co-sleeping dance - in, out, in, out. She knows when I am placing her back into the cot, even when she is fast asleep. The minute I change the configuration of my arms, she starts to arch and moan and the tears flow.

She is self-settling wonderfully during the day - not even the tiniest of whinges. And sleeping well, at least one 2 hour nap and then another one or two shorter naps. In the evening I feed her down and then she wakes about 4 hours later, and won't calm without me offering the boob. And then... Hours, literally hours, of carry on.

So I laid it all out on Tresillian's Messenger Mums service, after being on hold to them on my bloody mobile for 4o minutes! And you know what the nurse told me? That Peggy wants me all to herself and feels as if night time is the only opportunity for that, because Otis takes up so much of my time. Can I get some help with him and spend more one-on-one time with her? Well... No. Not when I already enlist the help of her grandmothers twice a week so that I can work and thus we can eat.

I feel worse than I did before! I should have followed my instincts!

I am feeling resigned to the fact that we will be co-sleeping for much of the night for now. It's not the worst thing in the world, having a warm baby folded up in your arms on a cold night.