Woah. Where to start? As always, the first few days at home with a new baby have been a composite of moments of utter peace and larger chunks of chaos. Overall, things have been much simpler this time. I have faith in myself, and I possess the knowledge that things will shift and develop, that there will be plenty of good days and plenty of not-so-good nights, and that although I may not be a perfect parent, my kids could do a lot worse!
The feeding. It started so well, it was effortless, completely effortless. The first week my boobs felt the way your face does when you have a severe sinus infection - heavy and throbbing. It must have been around Day 4 or 5 that I had my one and only teary moment, and that was due to the pain. My right nipple had been chewed up but my little guzzler, it was beeding and frayed, and there was some red streakiness on the underside of my boob that made me think mastitis was around the corner. But I iced it and fed from it, teeth gritted and back arched in a spasm, and lo and behold, all better now. Judd now weighs 4.55kg at 2 weeks of age, he's lovely and pink, doing plenty of yucky things in his nappy and is what I would hesitantly describe as "placid"... For now. But all signs suggest that he and I have quickly become a functional feeding team, and that is just the best thing. I feel very lucky.
The sleeping. It's not been too bad. I am just going with the flow for now, will try to exert a bit more influence over him when he gets to about 6-8 weeks, but for now just following his lead. It seems to be working. I am determined not to stress out about it. He refuses a dummy, makes the most disgusted faces when I try to push one into his little mouth... And then there was the time I made him gag and spew. Oops. Maybe we'll avoid dummies altogether this time? Ha. Unlikely.
The screaming... None. No screaming. He grizzles for up to two hours each evening, just the usual wind/reflux type symptoms, but most of the time he seems... Happy. Maybe it's the red hair? Hard not to be of a sunny disposition when you have a head of such vibrantly coloured hair!
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
The birth of our baby boy Judd...
So, I am finally a mother of three... Three little individuals, each such a wonder in their own right.
The last few weeks of my pregnancy were very rough. I was dealing with some gross tummy troubles which I won't detail here, symphis pubis dysfunction and increasingly frequent and intense Braxton Hicks contractions. I also felt like a bowling ball was twisting and bouncing inside my pelvis, about to explode out of me at a moment's notice.
The day before I went into labour, I was alone for much of the day, with O and P in daycare. I felt very ready to welcome this baby, really quite desperate to expel it from my long-suffering body. That evening, as soon as I lay down in bed, the Braxton Hicks started up again. At around 12 they started waking me up. At 1:30, the first real conraction hit... I literally leapt from the bed at this point, and felt that sick trickle of dread as I realised I was about to do it all again. As much as I had been longing for it, now that it was happening, all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hide.
Even though I *knew* this was it, I asked for Phil's validation. When he saw me start my Juju stomping, and get cranky when he (in his haste to please me) chose a non-maternity dress for me to wear to the hospital, it all came back to him. I had a number of people to call - Mum, Lani, my midwife, my mother-in-law - and was a little scared of jumping the gun. But really, much more afraid of delivering a baby alone in my house and scarring my kids for life with my murderous screams. So I called my sister, and she agreed it sounded like things were starting. I called my midwife Jane, and agreed to meet her at the Birth Centre in about 30 minutes.
For some reason I aways feel compelled to take a walk outside when I am in labour. So I did this. Despite the rain. And then Noelene showed up and we were off. I had a few contractions in the car, one when another car was stopped next to us at the lights - judging by the expression on his face, the driver could obviously tell something was very wrong (or right,as the case may be). We were lucky to get a park quickly and speedily made our way up to the first floor. This was at around 2:30am.
Jane was there, running the bath for me,and I was all set to hop straight in when my waters broke and - uh oh - they had a nasty greenish tinge. Meconium. The bath was no longer an option. So I settled for the shower. My support team took in turns to offer me water and rub my back, and meet my every need, basically, which I was pretty good at communicating via short, sharp, barks! The problem with the shower is that there is no back support, so sitting there on a chair and then a fit ball, I quickly grew tired and uncomfortable. I moved to a mattress next to the bed and leaned against the bed, kneeling. All the while, remember, I am banging either my feet or my hands during the contractions, trying to match the intensity and speed of this banging to the severity of the pain. This technique served me well when I gave birth to Peggy, and it was helping me again this time around. I have the scars to show for it - my toes ended up all scabby as a result.
The pain was getting really strong at this point. My back was aching too, and Jane started to think the baby was posterior, given the location of the heartbeat and the back pain. She didn't tell me this straight out, but I could gauge that this was what she was suspecting, and so I asked her. Big mistake. The minute she confirmed this I felt myself start to give up. I was so afraid of a prolonged second stage after what I had been through with Otis. But I rallied as best I could and kept on going with my leg/arm work. I focused on not screeching, on keeping the sound I was making low pitched and constant. I repeated "healthy pain" in my head, over and over. I moved around like my life depended on it. And when I started to feel like I was dying, all of a sudden that ferocious urge to push arrived, and I pushed Judd's big, red head out in one go! I think I surprised everyone in the room, no one was quite ready for that... Next contraction and he shot out of me, along with a few litres of fluid. Phil caught him with a little assistance from Jane. He passed him between my legs up to my very weakened arms and I wept with relief and love. The first few seconds all I felt was the exquisite joy of the birth being over, of the end of that torturous pain. The baby's presence meant little more than evidence that the whole experience had come to a blessed end. I felt the unparalleled sense of achievement that makes giving birth such a unique, life changing moment in a woman's life. And then I was just overwhelmed by love and admiration for this mucky, squirming, red-headed (!) boy I had just brought into the world. He was born at 3:53am. The birth was wonderfully straightforward and quick. It was a perfect way to bow out of my baby-making days.
Time sort of stood still then, but fairly soon after I popped him onto the breast, and, would you believe it, he latched on perfectly straight up, and fed there, contentedly, for an hour or so. I felt nothing short of elated! We were all so filled with joy at having experienced such a textbook birth together. Mum and Lan just adored him, and Phil was as proud a Dad and partner as ever. The placenta was delivered easily, the blood loss was TOTALLY NORMAL, my uterus began to contract back to size just as it should. I didn't take any of these things for granted - each aspect of the birth that went so swimmingly only served to make me more and more thankful, and to boost my confidence. It was all going to be OK. I could do this. My body could do this.
Judd Micah weighed 4.3kg, measured 54cm and had a head circumference of 38cm.
His eyes are a navy blue for now, but I think they'll turn brown.
His hair is a stunning shade of copper.
He's spoiling me with his settled demeanour, easy feeds and plenty of sleep, but that could all change with the wind, as I know only too well.
He looks like me, like Oti, like himself. He's robust, has an intense stare, and definitely feels like "mine". Love, love, love him.
The last few weeks of my pregnancy were very rough. I was dealing with some gross tummy troubles which I won't detail here, symphis pubis dysfunction and increasingly frequent and intense Braxton Hicks contractions. I also felt like a bowling ball was twisting and bouncing inside my pelvis, about to explode out of me at a moment's notice.
The day before I went into labour, I was alone for much of the day, with O and P in daycare. I felt very ready to welcome this baby, really quite desperate to expel it from my long-suffering body. That evening, as soon as I lay down in bed, the Braxton Hicks started up again. At around 12 they started waking me up. At 1:30, the first real conraction hit... I literally leapt from the bed at this point, and felt that sick trickle of dread as I realised I was about to do it all again. As much as I had been longing for it, now that it was happening, all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hide.
Even though I *knew* this was it, I asked for Phil's validation. When he saw me start my Juju stomping, and get cranky when he (in his haste to please me) chose a non-maternity dress for me to wear to the hospital, it all came back to him. I had a number of people to call - Mum, Lani, my midwife, my mother-in-law - and was a little scared of jumping the gun. But really, much more afraid of delivering a baby alone in my house and scarring my kids for life with my murderous screams. So I called my sister, and she agreed it sounded like things were starting. I called my midwife Jane, and agreed to meet her at the Birth Centre in about 30 minutes.
For some reason I aways feel compelled to take a walk outside when I am in labour. So I did this. Despite the rain. And then Noelene showed up and we were off. I had a few contractions in the car, one when another car was stopped next to us at the lights - judging by the expression on his face, the driver could obviously tell something was very wrong (or right,as the case may be). We were lucky to get a park quickly and speedily made our way up to the first floor. This was at around 2:30am.
Jane was there, running the bath for me,and I was all set to hop straight in when my waters broke and - uh oh - they had a nasty greenish tinge. Meconium. The bath was no longer an option. So I settled for the shower. My support team took in turns to offer me water and rub my back, and meet my every need, basically, which I was pretty good at communicating via short, sharp, barks! The problem with the shower is that there is no back support, so sitting there on a chair and then a fit ball, I quickly grew tired and uncomfortable. I moved to a mattress next to the bed and leaned against the bed, kneeling. All the while, remember, I am banging either my feet or my hands during the contractions, trying to match the intensity and speed of this banging to the severity of the pain. This technique served me well when I gave birth to Peggy, and it was helping me again this time around. I have the scars to show for it - my toes ended up all scabby as a result.
The pain was getting really strong at this point. My back was aching too, and Jane started to think the baby was posterior, given the location of the heartbeat and the back pain. She didn't tell me this straight out, but I could gauge that this was what she was suspecting, and so I asked her. Big mistake. The minute she confirmed this I felt myself start to give up. I was so afraid of a prolonged second stage after what I had been through with Otis. But I rallied as best I could and kept on going with my leg/arm work. I focused on not screeching, on keeping the sound I was making low pitched and constant. I repeated "healthy pain" in my head, over and over. I moved around like my life depended on it. And when I started to feel like I was dying, all of a sudden that ferocious urge to push arrived, and I pushed Judd's big, red head out in one go! I think I surprised everyone in the room, no one was quite ready for that... Next contraction and he shot out of me, along with a few litres of fluid. Phil caught him with a little assistance from Jane. He passed him between my legs up to my very weakened arms and I wept with relief and love. The first few seconds all I felt was the exquisite joy of the birth being over, of the end of that torturous pain. The baby's presence meant little more than evidence that the whole experience had come to a blessed end. I felt the unparalleled sense of achievement that makes giving birth such a unique, life changing moment in a woman's life. And then I was just overwhelmed by love and admiration for this mucky, squirming, red-headed (!) boy I had just brought into the world. He was born at 3:53am. The birth was wonderfully straightforward and quick. It was a perfect way to bow out of my baby-making days.
Time sort of stood still then, but fairly soon after I popped him onto the breast, and, would you believe it, he latched on perfectly straight up, and fed there, contentedly, for an hour or so. I felt nothing short of elated! We were all so filled with joy at having experienced such a textbook birth together. Mum and Lan just adored him, and Phil was as proud a Dad and partner as ever. The placenta was delivered easily, the blood loss was TOTALLY NORMAL, my uterus began to contract back to size just as it should. I didn't take any of these things for granted - each aspect of the birth that went so swimmingly only served to make me more and more thankful, and to boost my confidence. It was all going to be OK. I could do this. My body could do this.
Judd Micah weighed 4.3kg, measured 54cm and had a head circumference of 38cm.
His eyes are a navy blue for now, but I think they'll turn brown.
His hair is a stunning shade of copper.
He's spoiling me with his settled demeanour, easy feeds and plenty of sleep, but that could all change with the wind, as I know only too well.
He looks like me, like Oti, like himself. He's robust, has an intense stare, and definitely feels like "mine". Love, love, love him.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Christmas is around the corner...
But you wouldn’t know it. Otis thinks that perhaps the Snow Miser, a favourite villain from The Year Without A Santa Claus (the movie that saved my sanity when Peggy was a screeching newborn and Phil was on the other side of the world), is sending us some snow for Christmas. Temperatures are lucky to reach the low 20s, we see at least a little bit of rain nearly every day (usually its bucketing down), and winter clothes are still in rotation. Shocking stuff! Where the hell is my summer? As a pregnant woman, so many sensory pleasures are unavailable to me... The warm, sedated buzz that comes from a third glass of wine, the salty goodness of Christmas ham and cold prawns coated in garlicky aioli... But I was relying on feeling the sun on my back, smelling of sunscreen and chlorine and spending many a golden day at the beach. Not happening.
To add insult to injury, I have a Vitamin D deficiency, so I am actually supposed to be exposing my skin to direct sunlight, which is simply not possible! I am taking supplements to prevent #3 being born with rickets! What an odd, first world problem Vitamin D deficiency has become. Cover up to avoid melanoma, but not too much, to avoid rickets. It’s complicated...
This pregnancy hasn’t been kind to me. I am icing my pubic bone nightly, wearing a brace most of the time, and limping along with a bit of a forced smile on my face. Peggy still demands that I carry her and “hold her tight”, and anyone who knows her knows that she’s not an easy person to say no to. I am as tired as can be, but underneath it all I am getting very excited about meeting this little one. I can’t wait to sniff its little (big) head, and gaze into its eyes for the first time.
I had to have a scan at 26 weeks after feeling really ill for a couple of months and not really knowing why... The baby was measuring very much ahead of dates, with an exceptionally large head. The sonographer looked a little perplexed, but I know better... It’s in the genes. I graduated the other day, and the woman who was fitting my hilarious Harry Potter-esque tudor bonnet was stunned by the size of my head... Big head, big brain, right? We can only hope!
All the scan confirmed for me is that this baby is super duper cute...
#3 has been referred to by a few different names by O and P... Bobba Fett (from Star Wars, for those not the parents of a Stars Wars fanatic), Smudge, Sanga... But the names we’ve chosen will remain a secret until we make our big announcement... The pressure is on! How do you match Otis and Peggy? It’s not easy, but I think we’ve done it.
To add insult to injury, I have a Vitamin D deficiency, so I am actually supposed to be exposing my skin to direct sunlight, which is simply not possible! I am taking supplements to prevent #3 being born with rickets! What an odd, first world problem Vitamin D deficiency has become. Cover up to avoid melanoma, but not too much, to avoid rickets. It’s complicated...
This pregnancy hasn’t been kind to me. I am icing my pubic bone nightly, wearing a brace most of the time, and limping along with a bit of a forced smile on my face. Peggy still demands that I carry her and “hold her tight”, and anyone who knows her knows that she’s not an easy person to say no to. I am as tired as can be, but underneath it all I am getting very excited about meeting this little one. I can’t wait to sniff its little (big) head, and gaze into its eyes for the first time.
I had to have a scan at 26 weeks after feeling really ill for a couple of months and not really knowing why... The baby was measuring very much ahead of dates, with an exceptionally large head. The sonographer looked a little perplexed, but I know better... It’s in the genes. I graduated the other day, and the woman who was fitting my hilarious Harry Potter-esque tudor bonnet was stunned by the size of my head... Big head, big brain, right? We can only hope!
All the scan confirmed for me is that this baby is super duper cute...
#3 has been referred to by a few different names by O and P... Bobba Fett (from Star Wars, for those not the parents of a Stars Wars fanatic), Smudge, Sanga... But the names we’ve chosen will remain a secret until we make our big announcement... The pressure is on! How do you match Otis and Peggy? It’s not easy, but I think we’ve done it.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Nearly 2...
My girl turns two in two days (and I turn 32, but I'm less fussed about that).
It's funny, it's not a case of "I can't believe she's turning 2". It's more "What? She not even 2 yet?"
Peggy was never really a baby, you see, and has never been content to act her age. She was throwing her little body down slippery dips before she could walk, ditching purees for regular food well before we expected, walking way too soon, speaking in sentences shortly after her first birthday, doing everything very much ahead of schedule. I used to fear I'd come across as bragging, but these days I accept it as fact - she's a clever little creature, cleverer than I ever was, and shows more awareness and understanding of her world than is demonstrated by some adults. What she did inherit from me is a dogged determination, explosive temeperament, and a capacity for love. She's also very practical and good at solving problems, which I think she gets from her Dad. No idea where she got her comic qualities from though... I do think she has a touch of her aunty Lani about her. She literally has Phil, Otis and I in stitches all day long.
She walks into a room and immediately all eyes are on her. It's not that she's an exceptionally stunning beauty or anything - she's very cute, but I think what it's really about is the whole package. The big almost-black eyes, the untamed Goldilocks hair, the assured walk, the grown up phrasing, the sweetest huskiest little voice you've ever heard, the constantly emotive facial expressions, the boundless energy, the golden skin. She's a bit of a star, I suppose. I guess you could describe it as charisma. She'll often latch on to a random person once she arrives somewhere - she'll make her selection and then almost seduce them with that little voice and a warm snuggle. No one can resist.
I am proud of how well-rounded she's becoming. Her brother's influence means that she loves Star Wars - cuddled her mini R2D2 figurine all night last night - and prefers to wear her Bob the Builder top to daycare over any other. She does love princesses though, and longs to do ballet like her cousin Isla. She's begun to really love reading, and will sit with her Maisy books for quite a while now, 'reading' lovingly to her doll Lulu, randomly pausing to tell Lulu off for not listening, making a mess or just generally being naughty. She really enjoys a good session on the swings, and if we ever discuss the park she'll start showing me her swinging action, throwing her little body forwards and backwards. She loves to build Duplo towers, sing nursery rhymes so as to comfort any sad-looking characters she comes across in books, 'write her name', shop - with her little trolley, a mountain of plastic food, as many dolls as she can cart around and the same number of bags - and to build cubby houses with her brother. Weetbix is her favourite breakfast food, blueberries are her preferred fruit, and she makes random requests for chocolate cake at least once a day.
She already adores her younger sibling. She pats my tummy gently, tickles it, and then asks to look at my boobs, and reminds me that they are for the baby. Once my boobs are out - at her request - she laughs, describes them as cupcakes, and then launches into 'Happy Birthday'.
She loves a cuddle, puts her arms up and shouts "UP TO ME!!", and reverts to baby mode for a few moments. I feel like she missed so much of her babyhood, and I love it when she puts on a baby voice and says "Mama, Mama", over and over.
She wasn't my first baby, won't be my last, but she's my Peggy. She's the only Peggy there is and I am so glad she's mine.
It's funny, it's not a case of "I can't believe she's turning 2". It's more "What? She not even 2 yet?"
Peggy was never really a baby, you see, and has never been content to act her age. She was throwing her little body down slippery dips before she could walk, ditching purees for regular food well before we expected, walking way too soon, speaking in sentences shortly after her first birthday, doing everything very much ahead of schedule. I used to fear I'd come across as bragging, but these days I accept it as fact - she's a clever little creature, cleverer than I ever was, and shows more awareness and understanding of her world than is demonstrated by some adults. What she did inherit from me is a dogged determination, explosive temeperament, and a capacity for love. She's also very practical and good at solving problems, which I think she gets from her Dad. No idea where she got her comic qualities from though... I do think she has a touch of her aunty Lani about her. She literally has Phil, Otis and I in stitches all day long.
She walks into a room and immediately all eyes are on her. It's not that she's an exceptionally stunning beauty or anything - she's very cute, but I think what it's really about is the whole package. The big almost-black eyes, the untamed Goldilocks hair, the assured walk, the grown up phrasing, the sweetest huskiest little voice you've ever heard, the constantly emotive facial expressions, the boundless energy, the golden skin. She's a bit of a star, I suppose. I guess you could describe it as charisma. She'll often latch on to a random person once she arrives somewhere - she'll make her selection and then almost seduce them with that little voice and a warm snuggle. No one can resist.
I am proud of how well-rounded she's becoming. Her brother's influence means that she loves Star Wars - cuddled her mini R2D2 figurine all night last night - and prefers to wear her Bob the Builder top to daycare over any other. She does love princesses though, and longs to do ballet like her cousin Isla. She's begun to really love reading, and will sit with her Maisy books for quite a while now, 'reading' lovingly to her doll Lulu, randomly pausing to tell Lulu off for not listening, making a mess or just generally being naughty. She really enjoys a good session on the swings, and if we ever discuss the park she'll start showing me her swinging action, throwing her little body forwards and backwards. She loves to build Duplo towers, sing nursery rhymes so as to comfort any sad-looking characters she comes across in books, 'write her name', shop - with her little trolley, a mountain of plastic food, as many dolls as she can cart around and the same number of bags - and to build cubby houses with her brother. Weetbix is her favourite breakfast food, blueberries are her preferred fruit, and she makes random requests for chocolate cake at least once a day.
She already adores her younger sibling. She pats my tummy gently, tickles it, and then asks to look at my boobs, and reminds me that they are for the baby. Once my boobs are out - at her request - she laughs, describes them as cupcakes, and then launches into 'Happy Birthday'.
She loves a cuddle, puts her arms up and shouts "UP TO ME!!", and reverts to baby mode for a few moments. I feel like she missed so much of her babyhood, and I love it when she puts on a baby voice and says "Mama, Mama", over and over.
She wasn't my first baby, won't be my last, but she's my Peggy. She's the only Peggy there is and I am so glad she's mine.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Otis and his pirate bag...
I think I’ve blogged about the fact that these days I can sort of/kind of/ in a very novice sense, SEW. With a sewing machine. I’ve always wanted to be able to, and over a year ago now, I bought a machine and enrolled in a class. I couldn’t continue with the classes because, at the time, Peggy was still being breastfed and the timing was bad and it created mountains stress for everyone in our house. But the three or so lessons that I did manage to attend provided me with the ability to turn on the machine and sew a straight line. It’s amazing what you can create once you master these key steps!
I make skirts for Peggy and all the other little girls that I know. I can do shorts, but not as beautifully. So, feeling guilty about producing item after item for my Booroo and nothing much for my boy, I made him a very basic little bag with a long strap that allows him to wear it across his body. It’s made of a grey and black flannelette pirate fabric, and a long piece of red and white striped ribbon. Really easy, a monkey could do it. No skill required. And wouldn’t you know, it’s his very favourite thing. The fabric is going all pill-y and worn, it’s dirty and smelly because he’s only ever let it out of his sight long enough for a spin in the washing machine on one occasion.
He fills it with an assortment of odds and ends. He just keeps on adding to it, and, like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag, it has an amazing and deceptive capacity, given how small it is (about 20 x 20cm, at a guess). At the moment it holds:
A scrap of paper bearing my signature, which he specifically asked for
A tiny, stuffed Han Solo doll
An issue taken from his large collection of K-Zone, D-Mag and Mania magazines
A plastic cob of corn
My old mobile phone
A plastic screwdriver
A Duplo canoe
Pieces of bark
A small rock
A tape measure
Only a select few are allowed to view the contents of the bag. I think it’s only myself, Phil and Mum, really. Peggy’s banned most of the time, but if she’s really cranky whilst we’re driving along he’s quite good about pulling something out of it to entertain her.
Of course now, being the copycat she is, Peggy's got her own bag and is filling it with her own random assortment. But the boy definitely started the trend. And being nearly 4, his collection carries more significance, even if that significance is sometimes a mystery to the rest of us. It definitely means something in his mind.
I make skirts for Peggy and all the other little girls that I know. I can do shorts, but not as beautifully. So, feeling guilty about producing item after item for my Booroo and nothing much for my boy, I made him a very basic little bag with a long strap that allows him to wear it across his body. It’s made of a grey and black flannelette pirate fabric, and a long piece of red and white striped ribbon. Really easy, a monkey could do it. No skill required. And wouldn’t you know, it’s his very favourite thing. The fabric is going all pill-y and worn, it’s dirty and smelly because he’s only ever let it out of his sight long enough for a spin in the washing machine on one occasion.
He fills it with an assortment of odds and ends. He just keeps on adding to it, and, like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag, it has an amazing and deceptive capacity, given how small it is (about 20 x 20cm, at a guess). At the moment it holds:
A scrap of paper bearing my signature, which he specifically asked for
A tiny, stuffed Han Solo doll
An issue taken from his large collection of K-Zone, D-Mag and Mania magazines
A plastic cob of corn
My old mobile phone
A plastic screwdriver
A Duplo canoe
Pieces of bark
A small rock
A tape measure
Only a select few are allowed to view the contents of the bag. I think it’s only myself, Phil and Mum, really. Peggy’s banned most of the time, but if she’s really cranky whilst we’re driving along he’s quite good about pulling something out of it to entertain her.
Of course now, being the copycat she is, Peggy's got her own bag and is filling it with her own random assortment. But the boy definitely started the trend. And being nearly 4, his collection carries more significance, even if that significance is sometimes a mystery to the rest of us. It definitely means something in his mind.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
How number three came to be...
Well, I won't go into too much detail, never fear! As you may know, Phil and deliberated long and hard over how many children we felt would work for us. I had, and I guess continue to have, a bit of a fantasy of having four little ones. In my imagination I am able to embrace the chaos and the space on my lap magically multiplies. If I am honest with myself, I know that I am not cut out for mothering that many. I get too angry too easily, I do tend to despair over situations that other mothers are able to laugh about. And Phil, well, he can't quite work out how you hold on to three kids with only two hands, let alone four. So... three it is, for now. A vasectomy is on Phil's horizon.
We decided to start trying in May, which would mean that the earliest the baby could come would be February - right after my maternity leave entitlements kick in. Phil was hoping for quite a few months of actively "trying", me, well, I wanted it to happen quickly of course. And I suppose I had a feeling only a few days in that it had already happened, as I began a very relentless course of daily, sometimes twice daily, pregnancy testing. It was as if I believed that if I just kept testing, eventually that fat, glaringly blank, white space would turn into a pretty, promising, POSITIVE pink line. And it did.
My period was late-ish at that point, and I felt that heavy, leaden, unwavering tiredness that you can only know if you've been pregnant. Something was definitely wrong... Or should I say, right. I hated our old bathroom, found the bleach-resistant mould and cracked tiles repellant, but I'll never forget finally seeing a second pink line and feeling my stomach flip, standing right there amongst the debris of the kids' bathtime fun. I was pregnant, again, and probably for the last time. I was so happy, and yet already so sad that I'd never feel that same, indescribable, precious burst of joy again. I wanted to cup that feeling in my hands and never let it go.
My cycles had been strange, short, erratic, unpredictable. But an early scan predicted an EDD of 22 February 2012. Lovely. I've always liked the month of February. Another summer baby.
I've suffered again this pregnancy. Plenty of nausea, lethargy, hunger. Afew bouts of vomiting. Already my pelvis/pubis feels about to crack. My back's felt weak and worn. I have hairs sprouting in inconvenient places. But the joy in the kids' faces when they kiss my tummy and laugh at my nub-like belly button makes me feel all warm inside. And last week I saw my 19 week old foetus flipping around in my womb. I saw a perfect little profile, an Otis-like snub nose, thick, kissable lips. A little hand curling around the cord that joins us. And I feel so much love for this new baby, and so, so, so grateful to be growing another seemingly healthy little being.
We decided to start trying in May, which would mean that the earliest the baby could come would be February - right after my maternity leave entitlements kick in. Phil was hoping for quite a few months of actively "trying", me, well, I wanted it to happen quickly of course. And I suppose I had a feeling only a few days in that it had already happened, as I began a very relentless course of daily, sometimes twice daily, pregnancy testing. It was as if I believed that if I just kept testing, eventually that fat, glaringly blank, white space would turn into a pretty, promising, POSITIVE pink line. And it did.
My period was late-ish at that point, and I felt that heavy, leaden, unwavering tiredness that you can only know if you've been pregnant. Something was definitely wrong... Or should I say, right. I hated our old bathroom, found the bleach-resistant mould and cracked tiles repellant, but I'll never forget finally seeing a second pink line and feeling my stomach flip, standing right there amongst the debris of the kids' bathtime fun. I was pregnant, again, and probably for the last time. I was so happy, and yet already so sad that I'd never feel that same, indescribable, precious burst of joy again. I wanted to cup that feeling in my hands and never let it go.
My cycles had been strange, short, erratic, unpredictable. But an early scan predicted an EDD of 22 February 2012. Lovely. I've always liked the month of February. Another summer baby.
I've suffered again this pregnancy. Plenty of nausea, lethargy, hunger. Afew bouts of vomiting. Already my pelvis/pubis feels about to crack. My back's felt weak and worn. I have hairs sprouting in inconvenient places. But the joy in the kids' faces when they kiss my tummy and laugh at my nub-like belly button makes me feel all warm inside. And last week I saw my 19 week old foetus flipping around in my womb. I saw a perfect little profile, an Otis-like snub nose, thick, kissable lips. A little hand curling around the cord that joins us. And I feel so much love for this new baby, and so, so, so grateful to be growing another seemingly healthy little being.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Current O & P playlist...
Would go something like this:
Bob the Builder (Can We Fix It?)
You Are My Sunshine (Known by Peggy as Sunshine)
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star ("Tinkle")
Baa Baa Black Sheep ("Baa Baa")
The Pirate Song ("Pirate")
The Otis Song (goes like this: Mummy loves Otis, Mumy loves Peggy, Mummy loves Otis Hammond, Mummy loves Peggy, Mummy loves Otis, Mummy loves Peggy Jane Hammond. Mummy loves Otis James Hammond. Mummy loves Girly Whirl Booroo/Booroo Girly/Peggaboo Janey. Mummy loves Otskin James/Otis Milotis.)
I Think I Wanna Marry You (Changed to "I think I wanna marry Boo")
The entire Justine Clarke reportoire, especially The Witches Ball
Theme songs to various ABC Kids programs - Fireman Sam, Lazytown, Gaspard and Lisa
Phew.
Yep, I know, I've been absent.
Life has changed in a few huge ways.
We travelled overseas as a family and made it home alive and happy... Big deal sucess.
We moved house. Currently residing in a cute little three-bedroom brick home. Happy.
And I have a 17 week old foetus growing inside me!
Will be back to backtrack when I can find the time...
Bob the Builder (Can We Fix It?)
You Are My Sunshine (Known by Peggy as Sunshine)
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star ("Tinkle")
Baa Baa Black Sheep ("Baa Baa")
The Pirate Song ("Pirate")
The Otis Song (goes like this: Mummy loves Otis, Mumy loves Peggy, Mummy loves Otis Hammond, Mummy loves Peggy, Mummy loves Otis, Mummy loves Peggy Jane Hammond. Mummy loves Otis James Hammond. Mummy loves Girly Whirl Booroo/Booroo Girly/Peggaboo Janey. Mummy loves Otskin James/Otis Milotis.)
I Think I Wanna Marry You (Changed to "I think I wanna marry Boo")
The entire Justine Clarke reportoire, especially The Witches Ball
Theme songs to various ABC Kids programs - Fireman Sam, Lazytown, Gaspard and Lisa
Phew.
Yep, I know, I've been absent.
Life has changed in a few huge ways.
We travelled overseas as a family and made it home alive and happy... Big deal sucess.
We moved house. Currently residing in a cute little three-bedroom brick home. Happy.
And I have a 17 week old foetus growing inside me!
Will be back to backtrack when I can find the time...
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