Monday, August 29, 2011

Good- Bad - Good - Bad - Good - Bad - Good ... EXHAUSTED!

I think I'm finally recovered (sort of) from the weekend. 
It was one of those weekends where things just lurched from bad to sort-of-silver-lining if squinted at in the right light through rose-shaded glasses. 
It started on Friday with the Good - a guy from Jim's mowing came to take away a couple of jungle worths of tree debris and mow the lawn. The garden looks better than it has any time in.. I would say the last twenty years.  
He goes, I go to get something from the car. And he's broken the front passenger window. Bad.
 But we have insurance and their website says go straight to the 24/7 glass repairs people who will deal with everything. Good. 
We ring the glass peoples. They would sooooo love to help. But the only glass that will fit our car is 2 hours drive away and totally out of their radius and hey. Not happening until Tuesday. Bad. 
We phone the insurance company. Turns out We have an excess premium of 600.  Bad. 
But, it also turns out (much later) that as we live in Victoria we get one free window a year. Winner. Good. 
But the kids and I still need to get to Melbourne on Saturday because I promised my mum I would attend her fundraiser and I promised my husband I would get the kids out of the house. Bad. 
We are actually up and ready in time to get the train on Saturday morning. Good. 
The Poppet pees all over me. Bad. 
My beloved catches his bus for his day at the hospital. Good. 
The kids and I miss the train faffing about trying to find a none existent platform. Bad. 
Missing the train gives us time to walk to the super-market and pick up some healthy snacks. Good. 
Two hours on a train with the Sprocket trying to climb the seats and the Poppet trying to throw herself through the window to all the cool looking trees and cows and fields outside. Bad. 
Happiness of Sprocket seeing lots and lots of Chu-Chu trains. Good. 
A few goods. Lovely to see parents. Nice fundraiser. A fun and very successful event. Music and dancing from East Timor, West Papua, Zimbabwe and Burundi. Viva East Timor! Viva West Papua! 
Bad. Mega-late night. Coming home on the train grumpy as all get out. It is past the kids bedtime. It is past my bedtime. There was no fat-saturated food and cake as I had been promised. Or sweet, hot, caffeinated beverages.  I NEED sugar. I NEED Caffeine if I am to stay up past eight thirty. 
We saw my Granny, brother, sister in law and adorable niece on Sunday. 
Bad - we only see my Bro, sister in law and beautiful niece for 15 minutes before we had to run for the train as they were late as my adorable niece was napping. 
Good - we managed to catch the train home. 
Bad - two hours on the train with the Sprocket trying to climb the seats and the Poppet trying to crawl up and down the aisle to flirt with everybody was... interesting. Oh and the bit where the Sprocket pressed the emergency button?
Good. We make it off  the train in one piece. (Maybe my sanity was slightly twisted) 
Bad, my beloved fails to meet us so we walk home from the station in the dark with the Sprocket squalling as his seat in the pusher is full of luggage, my (ex) beloved fails to have dinner ready and waiting as I had been fondly imagining all trip and my (ex) beloved has only half cleaned the house. (He was supposed to FULLY clean the house for the Poppet's birthday party coming up.)
Good. While I snap and snarl I refrain from strangling (ex) beloved until I have eaten. After food I decide I can think of more imaginative ways to make him pay. (ie. tidying the house with the Poppet clinging to his legs and the Sprocket climbing up the curtains)   
Bad - I have work Monday morning and have to get everything ready. I cannot just tumble into bed but need to run around trying to find vaguely professional clothes that still fit and do not have baby food on them and then pack the kids bags and find them clothes.
Good - To be home. 
Bad - Waking at ungodly hour Monday morning for the whole family to walk up to the bus stop to get the bus to uni and childcare as the buses come once an hour so we have to be mega mega early. 
Good - it's only raining a little bit. 
Bad - the Poppet and Sprocket cry heartbreakingly when we drop them off.
Good - I get four beautiful, restful hours of being a big person. There are no battle of wills, no one destroys my most loved stuff, no one throws anything at me, my heart does not stop as the Poppet of Sprocket puts themselves in death defying situations and I do not have to do anything involving poop. 
Bad - I miss my Poppet and Sprocket.
Good - We pick them up and come home. 
Bad - The house is sooooo cold. All the heaters bar an ancient oil one from mum and dads have bust. I'm so cold I dream of crawling into the dryer.
Good - No one else seems to be shivering.
Bad - Am I coming down with flu?
Good - We put the one heater in the bathroom and the kids and I have a hot bath and my beloved fills it with water from the kettle when the hot water runs out. 
Warmth. All together. Back in routine.
And hey, the weekend is well and truly over. 
Welcome week.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

To Ghee or not To Ghee? - what's in a name?

The Sprocket decided quite awhile ago that his name is actually 'Ghee'. 
I don't know why. 
Obviously, we did not Christen him The Sprocket, but we didn't Christen him 'Ghee' either. 
For a start his surname begins with a G and that would make his initials G-G like the sweetly creepy or creepily sweet old black and white film Gigi. 
And for a second it makes me think of the clarified butter from India. 
Neither of which are the associations I wanted for my beloved first-borns name.
I like the name we chose for the Sprocket. I like its meaning. I like its history. I like the way it sounds with his other names. I like the way it rolls off the tongue. 
Unfortunately, it appears that the Sprocket does not like it. 
Sure he'll answer to his given name, but he always refers to himself as 'Ghee' and if you ask him his name he tells you 'Ghee'. 
I've spent quite a bit of time puzzling over why The Sprocket decided on this name change and I can find no answers. People have suggested that it's his version of 'me', but I don't quite come at that. He says 'my' and 'mine' readily, often and with enthusiasm. 
The big question though, is should we go along with it? 
At the moment we call The Sprocket 'Ghee' about half the time, because hey, that's obviously how he thinks of himself. 
Should toddlers have self-determination over their name? It doesn't really matter. I don't think. Does it? 
Does anyone know any other toddlers who decided to re-name themselves? 
What they chose? Why they did it? If it was permanent? Does it mean anything? 
I am puzzled, perplexed and curious! 

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Undercover with the Big-People

Today was my first day back at work since I was lumbering around with the Sprocket kicking and summersaulting inside me. 
The kind of work that doesn't involve cleaning poop out of the bath, adjudicating mortal combat over cheerfully singing replica phones, picking up teddy bear pasta that's been flung over the floor, preventing escapes out of windows and singing What Shall we Do with the Drunken Sailor seventeen times in a row. 
The paid type. 
Woohoo! I was under-cover with the big-people. 
It felt like covert spy work. 
So this is what the other half are doing. 
I'd forgotten. 
Clean and quiet, spacious rooms with that gentle buzz of activity and productivity.
I didn't talk about my (amazingly clever, beautiful, kind, adventurous and creative) children at all. Unless someone asked, of course. I was so proud. I walked in repeating don't talk about the kids, don't talk about the kids, don't talk about the kids... and I pretty much succeeded. Mostly. 
New search techniques to learn, new databases to explore, new safety drills to memorise, new names to remember. Everything was all shiny and new and exciting. 
Except halfway through I started worrying I was going to start leaking and thought hmmm. Things I really should have remembered: breast-pads. 
Milk-stains are not a professional look. 
And I wondered if my Poppet was hungry and crying for her milk. Don't think about the Poppet crying, Don't think about the Poppet crying... 
It's only casual work, a few hours a week, time for the Poppet to get used to being with other people and time for me to keep my skills up to date. 
And at the end of my morning with the big people I hurried to pick up the Sprocket and Poppet to find the Sprocket with his face pressed up agains the glass of the door, waiting for me. And the Poppet reached out her arms to me. And the Sprocket told me all about everything while he hung to my legs. And the Poppet's little bare arms were as smooth and warm as petals in the sun as she clung to my neck. 
And everything felt complete again. 

Monday, August 22, 2011

'Ghee's had 'nuff Milk, now.' The Sprocket is now weaned...

I thought it would be a lot harder.
I thought there would be tears and tantrums and kicking and screaming, biting and running away from home.
All there has been is distraction 'Would you like a pink milk, a coffee (babicino), a hot chocolate?' and a lots of talking. 
And almost without realising it the days have slipped past and now it's been two and a bit weeks since my baby boy had his last nurse. 
Gulp. Sigh. Sniff.
I think I can say it's official. The Sprocket is now (touch wood) at the age of 2 years and 9 months, weaned.
For awhile now feeding the Poppet and Sprocket has been turning by brain to mush and I have felt my life-milk being drained from me. 
It exhausted me and made me cranky as, and a person I didn't want to be, grumpy with the Sprocket when he pulled and poked and prodded at me and suddenly yanked my top down in public. Cross when he did summersaults with a nipple in his mouth. And  I hate being cross with my little boy. 
So the weaning was a must. 
But how to do it was a massive drama.
For awhile I'd been saying that when the Poppet turned one I would just go cold turkey and wean both the Poppet and the Sprocket, as it would be too hard to wean the Sprocket when he still saw the Poppet getting milk. But I was talking to a mum at playgroup about it and she reminded me about the WHO guidelines (I've quoted them enough myself!) and asked why didn't I keep feeding the Poppet and 'just say no,' to the Sprocket. 
Just say no to the Sprocket? 
A novel concept. 
But the reality of stopping my leetle leetle baby girl nursing when we both enjoy it and it's so beneficial kept nagging at me. 
And finally I decided it couldn't hurt to just try weaning the Sprocket solo.
The first two days were a breeze - they were over a weekend and we were so busy and on the go the Sprocket hardly had time to think about the M-I-L-K (referred to in our house then as the K-L-I-M) 
And after that we just... distracted him. 
Occasionally when I'm feeding the Poppet now he'll come over and have a look. "Bubba milk," he'll say. "Mummy milk for bubba." 
"That's right. Bubba is just a baby so she needs Mummy Milk."
"Mummy milk for Ghee?"
"No darling. Bubba is still little so she still needs mummy milk. When Ghee was a baby he had lots and lots of mummy milk. But now he's a big boy so he has big boy milk." 
And he'll nod and look wise and say in his sweet little boy voice, 
"Ghee's had enuff mummy milk." 
And maybe there have been some tears with weaning the Sprocket. But they seem to have all been mine.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Princess Poppet the Tea-Leaf (and the return of my phone)

My Poppet is entering the phase when high-status objects take on immense importance. The plastic copies (unless they come with enough bling and buzz) do not cut it. I'd thought I had until her teens - twelve years away - until she declared she couldn't live without her desired object. 
I was mistaken.
She informs me on an hourly basis that she cannot live unless I give her my phone, my purse, my car keys, my electric toothbrush or my credit card. So far she has shown no desire for my scrubbing brush. Clever Poppet. 
So, my mobile phone has been missing in action for the last week and a bit. Especially upsetting as I had a job interview and had to admit - 'the number I gave you is no longer current (I think my little boy posted it somewhere)' 
So my Beloved spent most of yesterday afternoon cleaning the car and removing all the apples with one bite out of them and mandarine segments sucked of the juice and discarded. 
And right at the very end as he was putting the baby-seats back in, he tipped the Poppet's seat upside down and gave it a shake... and out fell... my phone 
I had been evilly accusing the wrong small and acquisitive child. 
I had actually checked the Poppet's seat for my mobile, and under and beside the Poppet's seat, I could have sworn I checked everywhere, but obviously, not carefully enough. 
So, if my Poppet comes to visit, guard your valuables. 
And also - I have my phone back! Yay!

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Grateful for knitting and knitters

The sun is finally out so I can dry the Poppet's cardigans out on the washing line rather than draped around the house. I love the tiny cardigans - what's not to love, everything small seems to tug at the heart strings, but little hand made stuff seems to do so doubly - but they're a pain and a half to wash and dry. 

Every so often I give in and throw one in the dryer and we end up with a very dense teddy-bear top. 

Watching them flapping on the washing line just makes me smile so today I'm grateful for knitting and crochet and people who can knit and crochet. Especially the wonderful women who knit things for craft fairs and church fetes and op-shops.

I love the idea of my Poppet and Sprocket being dressed in clothes that are hand made with love and affection. I love the idea of them joining the long tradition of children dressed in painstakingly crafted garments filled with love.

Unfortunately, I can’t knit. Well, not anything that requires corners to turn or stitches to change. I can make ragged and uneven scarves and holey blankets, but that’s the very outer edge of my craft skills.

As for grandmothers.  Hmmm. 

One is working on improving the heart-breaking health situation in Papua New Guinea and the other is doing a Phd on Malarial bugs in East Timor, when not rallying for various causes.

So.  Attending rock concerts in aid of impoverished and oppressed nations? 


Wise, informed and passionate women who work hard to make a real difference in the world?


Knitting booties? 


Which is why I give thanks for the women who do knit. Who keep the traditions going. Who stock the church fetes and op-shops with dainty little cardigans and adorable little beanies.  Who crochet tiny shoes.  I give thanks that they sell them for what must surely be less than the price of the material. They truly are labours of love.

I'm grateful for people in the younger generation who have the patience and dexterity and heart to continue these traditions.

I am grateful that because of these kind-hearted and skillful people I have been able to dress my children in warm and cosy, dainty and beautiful clothes, made with love. 

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Breastfeeding to Adventure

I've been thinking about breastfeeding a lot over the last few days, firstly because of an article a British Parenting magazine editor wrote about how breastfeeding her child made her feel 'creepy', and then more positively today because I went to a Breastfeeding Association meeting and it was so lovely talking to other mums.
Reading the article where the writer wrote it felt 'creepy' seeing her breast in her infant daughter's mouth, I considered how it made me feel to nurse my children.
And I came up with - womanly, lucky, bountiful and well, free. 
I've been incredibly lucky in that breastfeeding has been very easy for me. Both my babies were very clued in as to what to do. (Which is lucky, because I basically just showed them the breast and expected them to get on with it.)
I'd seen my Mum nurse my brothers, I'd seen my aunt nurse my cousins. I just assumed I'd nurse my babies and there wouldn't be a problem and, luckily, that's how it happened. 
I also lucked out in that I had seen my aunt feeding while travelling through Indonesia.
When I was fifteen my family joined my aunt's family in Borneo, where they were living at the time, and we travelled into the heart of Kalimantan and then over to Java and Lombok. And my younger cousin, a toddler at the time, was nursed throughout. With her first baby my aunt was living on Bouganille during the troubles and also travelled through Papua New Guinea. Breastfeeding made travel to remote villages possible and opened up so many more options. 
When my own babies came along I knew that as long as I was breastfeeding (and within reach of medical aid) the world was our oyster - we could safely travel anywhere because we would have, on tap, highly nutritious, hygenic all-in-one food and drink for them.
When the Sprocket was 1 month old we moved to Vanuatu. When the Sprocket was 3 months old my husband's work meant he needed to travel to a remote island two small plane trips away. The Sprocket and I went too.
 The island we were staying on didn't have electricity or running water and the toilets were fifty feet away from our huts. If I'd had to worry about sterilising bottles and clean water, we couldn't have gone. Maybe an ultra-organised person could have.
That person isn't me. 
It was an amazing experience and I am so glad we had it. 
Later a friend came over to visit us in Port Vila and wanted to see one of the smaller islands so I arranged a village stay.
Again, not knowing what to expect, it was easy to just throw some nappies and changes of clothes in a bag and head off. Waiting at the bus stop for 5 hours for the ute to turn up? Not a problem, the Sprocket has clean, safe, food at hand. No electricity and no running water? Not a problem. Clean, safe all-in-one drink and food at hand.
Breastfeeding, to me, opened up so many more possibilities. It's meant adventure, travel and amazing experiences.  Freedom. 

                 Nursing, Torres Islands, Vanuatu

                 Airport, Torres Islands


In praise of Padded Cells

You know those days when you know from the first second that opening your eyes is going to be a bad idea and as for getting out of bed? 

Forget it. 

Today was one of those days. The house looked like it had been torn apart by wild monkeys due to a slight glitch in our going-to-bed routine the night before and my Beloved and I were snarky even before the sun rose. 

By the time the playroom had been deconstructed (courtesy of the Sprocket) and the firewood and half a cup of milk transferred to the kitchen floor, (also courtesy of the Sprocket) and the Sprocket had decided to run and hide behind the back shed just when I had the Poppet in the car and the bags packed, making us late (well, later) for gymboroo, I was thinking fondly of padded cells. 

Either for me or for the Sprocket, I didn't care which. 

And then I remembered. 

There are actually legal padded cells for toddlers. 

And their fraught parents. 

They're called 'Indoor Play Centres'. They cost an arm and a leg by the time you add snacks and drinks and they don't let you bring your own, but they have bouncing castles and pits full of balls and slides and climbing frames and mini cars and dress-ups and kid-proof gates. 

They sell hot, caffeinated beverages. 

Everything is padded. 

They are the best. 

The Sprocket dressed up as a dinosaur and bounced in the big blow up castle. He followed the big kids around slavishly. He wriggled and giggled in the pit of balls. He climbed right to the top of the climbing complex and grinned and waved down at me. I didn't have to use my 'I am very disappointed in your behaviour at the moment',  speech.  I remembered why I completely adore him. 

We stayed there all afternoon and now the Poppet and Sprocket are soundly asleep and all I can say is thank-you padded cells, I love you. 

Monday, August 15, 2011

Ebooks are my Friend

Techno stuff is an odd thing to get nostalgic about.
But I bet I will. 
Like most of the rest of us, I love all the techno gadgets we have today. How did people live without washing machines, mobile phones, the internet... gulp. The thought is inconceivable! 
My latest love has been ebooks. I have been purloining my husbands ipad to access his ebooks and kindle applications. 
This allows me to wallow in nostalgia as I re-visit the best loved books of my childhood. So far I have downloaded all of the 'Anne' books by L.M Montgomery and a book for my mum (Harding's Luck be E. Nesbitt) that she had been unable to find hardcopy.
I  have also spent a very happy evening curled up with the glow of the ipad re-reading Little Lord Fauntleroy.
Because these books are out of copyright - they have all been free - which is a not inconsiderable bonus.
I've also brought several recent books I've been hanging out for. Malcolm Gladwells 'Outliers' was simply brilliant - the autobiography of the Yellow Wiggles guy... dissapointing. 
The ease and convenience of ordering both- unsurpassed. A little click and voila - there in bed with you or in your living room, is the desired item. 
The temptation factor... hmmm. Let's not go there.  
I have my eye on a 700 page biography of L. M. Montgomery (author of Anne of Green Gables among other works) which I know will delight, inspire and probably depress me. 
I know I am late on the scene of ebooks - but I am in love. 
Already I am salivating at diving into all the old classics. About handing over a techno-book of some description to my kids stocked with The Wind in the Willows and Homers Odyssey and ten thousand other classics from the dawn of writing until... hey, 70 odd years ago, give or take! I might finally get around to reading Lord Chestertons Letters to his Son.
These books do not need storage space. (ie. no bookshelves for the Sprocket to use as a ladder and the Poppet to carefully void of books) 
They will not incur library fines when they are 'posted' behind the fridge and lost. They cannot be torn or drawn upon. They will not form tottering, unsteady piles along the walls of my postage-stamp sized home.
I will depart. 
I have washing to battle with and... ahem... books to download...

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Five Years...

Not so many days ago my beloved and I celebrated our five year anniversary. 
Not our wedding anniversary but the time when we were swimming at Ten Dola beach in the Solomon Islands at some pre-dawn hour and I announced that since I'd already told everyone that we were going to start going out, we'd better make it official.
My more subtle attempts to inform my Beloved that I had changed my mind about his earlier declaration of affection (I believe my words then were cut, edit, paste, rewind, or something similar) had failed.
We had glow sticks, an appreciative audience on the beach among the palms (the kustom owners who took the money for letting us use their beach) and balmy water. 
It seems like so long ago, and it seems like yesterday. Sigh.

Sunday, August 7, 2011


She's gone. 
She's gone for good. 
I know she's gone. 
Stop telling me lies!
It's all over. 
She's never coming back. 
No, I will not stop screaming. You don't understand. 
The world is ending

Oh. Strawberries. Yummy. Mmmm. That's good. 

Where is she? I need her. She's not here. 
I'll cry if I want to! You would too if your mummy deserted you. Abandoned you.  
In the kitchen? What do you mean in the kitchen? There is no kitchen. We're in the bedroom. 
You're tricking me. I'm doomed. 

Oh. Grapes. Yum. Grapes are good. Some more? Don't mind if I do. Yummm. 

Enough with the grapes. WHERE IS MY MUMMY! 
I don't care if it's only been five minutes since I saw her. I need my mummy. She's all gone. Bring her back. 
Now. You don't understand. She has the milk. I need the milk. 

Oh MUMMY! You came back! I missed you. Daddy was keeping me away from you. It was terrible. 

Friday, August 5, 2011

Poppet's Last Day as a Baby

This time last year...Our Poppet came into the World

Written this time last year...


You’re really coming my little one. My contractions are still random lengths apart and random times, but definite contractions – I need to stand up and breath through them – they are really quite, quite uncomfy! I’m sleepy now – so tired. I stayed up late reading last night and then the Sprocket woke early. 
I dropped the Sprocket off at his childcare this morning – my little warrior started crying as soon as the car was parked. I hate the goodbyes but I know he loves playing with the other children in the big garden.
I was cranky as at your daddy when I discovered that once again he’d used up all the petrol and the petrol light came on! Grrr! I stopped to fill up with one hand on my contracting belly.
I came home and your daddy was tidying up and then hurrying to finish his assignment on taking over computers – so I hung out washing and put stuff away and got the jelly ready and put more washing on. I want everything ready for when you come. I’m nesting. 
I love nesting for your arrival.
I’ve phoned the hospital to warn them we’ll be coming in soon, emailed your Nana and Grandpa down in Melbourne and talked to your Nana in PNG on Skype to tell them all about your imminent arrival. 
Your Grandpa is here, looking worried, poor dear. I told your great Nana that you are on the way as we put out washing together.
I think you’ll come just after midnight tonight.
I’m drinking raspberry tea (not that it did much good with the Sprocket!) and trying to rest now. I have music on, the soundtrack I made for you, and all the candles are lit. The sheets are still in the dryer though.
So soon love, so soon until we meet you – until you’re with us!
It’s getting increasingly hard to get through the contractions. Your daddy is out… somewhere… with the Sprocket, and he doesn’t have his phone on him… He went out an hour ago to pick up the Sprocket and there has been no sign of him since and the contractions are really getting closer together and harder to deal with. Sigh.
You’re on your way, my love, you really are.

Written Later

My contractions got stronger through the day and by about 3.30 they were roughly 3 minutes apart and I couldn't talk during them so we headed over to the hospital. Oddly, when we got to the ward there was another woman with my name who was already in the hospital so they were confused about who I was, but when the midwife checked me she said I was 6 centimeters dilated. This was a big relief after the Sprocket when I was 3cm dilated the day before when the obstetrician checked me at the appointment... and still 3cm  when I went into hospital after 8 hours labor at home! 
I went straight into the bath. I loved that there were massive baths in the birthing rooms ensuite! With the Sprocket I waddled along dripping blood and water and wearing only a gaping hospital gown as I lumbered from the pool room to the birth room. The lovely midwife kept the bathroom soothingly dark and I chewed on lollies and ice between contractions and lolled in the water and listened to music. 
The contractions soon became a lot more intense and I could just get through them by squatting and pressing down hard on my thighs, breathing in for 5 and then bellowing out for five. 
They didn’t want me to have you in the bath, my Poppet, because of all the blood I lost with the Sprocket so when it looked like you were really coming I had to reluctantly lumber out. I tried leaning over a bean-bag which was far less comfortable than the bath and being dripping wet didn’t help. I felt a bit like a monster from the deep.
They discovered there was still a cervix lip so I got back into the bath for a tiny bit, then out again, then onto the bean bag. 
The midwife said that all that was stopping you coming was my waters - so I was like - well - BREAK THEM! Because I really didn't think I could take much more - the contractions were so intense - ten times stronger than anything I had with the Sprocket. So she broke them.
I moved to a bizarre alien looking lilac plastic  birthing chair, but it definitely helped with the pushing as I began to feel a burning sensation as your head came down. 
I was really beginning to think there was no way I could get you out. I remember looking up at your daddy and saying it’s no good, she just won’t fit.  We talked to you all the time, telling you how much we loved you and how much we wanted to see our little rose. 
Then they told me not to push so I did that horse lipped thing that’s supposed to make your cervix more relaxed and tried hard not to push - then they saw there was a cord around your neck so they told me I could push, so I pushed like crazy - and it hurt soooooo much and your head came out -  they told me not to push while they unwrapped the cord -  then I pushed and your body slid out - and they handed you to me and you were beautiful.
You were a little blue at first and they were worried they'd need to give you oxygen but you quickly picked up. 
You are such a little sweetheart - a brilliant feeder and very alert and aware. You were a little puffy for the first days but you have now de-puffed. 
They had to stitch me up and the whole area was so sore and tender by then that I really didn't want more poking around and I almost begged the registrar not to as it hurt so much when she'd been trying to establish the damage under all the blood. 
I was just clutching you (trying to make sure I didn't clutch you too hard) and concentrating on my breathing, but the Registrar just sort of looked doubtful and then said it was bleeding too much not to be stitched. 
Actually, when she injected the numbing thing everything was immediately all wonderfully un-sore. (Oddly that was the only drug for the birth - this time I didn't even need gas) And now I've seen how long the tear is I sort of agree - it did need stitching.
I had another bleed - that technically just edged into the category of post-partum haemmorage, but luckily they were prepared for it - a doctor had put a cannula in as soon as I arrived, so they just hooked it up and put in a drip - uncomfortable - but better than the alternative! It definitely wasn’t the same as with the Sprocket when I had a massive blood loss at the birth and then I was swimming in milk and blood for the next week. 
Now I know what normal is I know how completely abnormal the Sprocket’s birth was with the whole blood loss. They had to change the sheets almost hourly for the first 24 hours with the Sprocket as the blood was soaking through two pads.  
They let us stay in the birth suite for nearly five hours while we rested and talked. You had your first feed my beloved and you were a brilliant little feeder and knew just what to do. 
And did I mention you were completely perfect? They did all the weighing and you were 9.11 pounds or 4.1 kilos and 52 centimetres long, so a tall little baby. 
We just sat and adored you. 
And we spent the next three blissful days just getting to know each other, my beloved. 

*P.S We think you were born to Solomon Island music. But we got a bit distracted. Possibly 10 Dola Beach... Hmmm. 

Thursday, August 4, 2011

My Mama and My Poppet - Similarities?

These photos aren't quite memory lane - at least not for me - they're from sixty years ago when my mum was a baby (wasn't she adorable!) 
I was wondering who the Poppet looked like as she has much more refined and elfin features than myself as a baby (thus speaks the doting mama) and then thought I'd check out my mum as a little one. 
My granny leant me an album of my mum's first four years and in my (somewhat biased eyes!) the similarities are striking. I hope my Poppet becomes as adventurous and passionate about helping others.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Spring is on the Way

 Spring is on the way. We're in the last month of Winter. Blue skies have been sighted and for the first time in ages we've been able to dry things on the line. Score. Slowly, slowly, more flowers are appearing. The camellias are the most bountiful, but we have a lovely bush of pink blossom as well. Jonquils have appeared and masses of violets. For the first time in my life I have smelt violets. A friend told me that you have to gather up lots of them to really get the scent. So I gathered up scores. And I can finally say that I know the sweet elusive scent of violets.