23 Nov 2016

Balloon

Kids say the darnedest things right?

I've been feeling a bit woeful about my fat arse of late.  Well fat everything of late.  I still look like I'm about to give birth and I actually gave birth 7.5 months ago.

Sure the hernia isn't helping but neither is the extra weight that I put on, AFTER having a baby.

Whoever said breastfeeding helps you lose weight is full of shite.

Anyway, a tight budget and even tighter pants, have made me pull in the reigns.  I've started working out again and banished potato chips from the house.

God I love potato chips.

Today Mushroom and I were swimming in our lagoon like pool and I was doing some water resistant exercises because old, fat and dodgy knees, make water exercises a very good option.

"Mummy what are you doing?"

"I'm just doing some stretching and exercises."

"But why?  Don't you need your conmuter?"

I've been doing workouts from youtube on the back patio.

"No darling.  I'm just doing some exercises under the water today. It's too hot out there now and Molly's asleep"

"But why you doing exercises?"

"Because exercise is good for you.  Remember?  We all need to do exercise.  Besides Mummy needs to make her bum smaller."

"But I like your bum Mummy.  It's like a big air balloon."

Followed by 5 minutes of cackling and continued variations of the following:

"Big air balloon, big air balloon bum, bum balloon, air balloon bum, BALLOON BUM...."

I weighed myself tonight and I've not lost a single gram.  Not one after three weeks of being active and not stuffing food into my face mindlessly.

That coupled with the fact that my arse is a giant balloon was enough to drive me to eat peanut m&ms.  

Tomorrow is another day.

Peanut M&M's wouldn't melt.... 

14 Nov 2016

Crisis

My daughter turned 7 months old yesterday.  7 months!!  And it's been a rough day.  I was up at 11 last night, then from 3 till 5 something with a crying, teething crankster.  I don't know if its due to the lack of sleep but I've been wondering, is it possible, at 35 years of age, to have a mid-life crisis?

I found photo's from school yesterday.  Hidden behind another photo in a frame, there was four or five shots from my teen years.  Being the 90s, we didn't have smart phones, which is great but also shit as I literally only have a handful of pics of me and my friends from this time.

Anyway, one of the photo's was of me sitting at a desk at the local newspaper when I did work experience.  I'm 15.


All I wanted to do, since before I can even remember, was be a journalist.  The next Jana Wendt.  So what happened?  It's 20 years later and I've done nothing in terms of a career.  I literally have no qualifications at all.

I started university but didn't finish.

I started certificates but didn't finish.

I've spent thousands of dollars attempting to get qualifications that I don't have.

Tonight Juffin asked me what I wanted to do, like really wanted to do for a job, and all I could think of was this blog, and editing books and that's never going to happen because it's too late.  I've missed the boat.  I fucked around, procrastinated, made excuses and now, now my chance at a career is over.

I actually cried and told him I couldn't talk about it.

Who in there right mind would hire someone to do a marketing job who's just turned 40 and has never worked in the field?  Why would someone do that when they can hire a 20 year old who has more experience, more know how, and is willing to work for half the price?

So I'm sitting here, feeling sorry for myself, wishing that I'd put at least a little bit of effort into using my brain for study and learning and not wasting it by re-reading the Tomorrow When the War Began series for the 6th time.

Because I'm not a teenager anymore.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who feels like this?  What the fuck am I going to do for the rest of my life?

And just because, here's another photo of me when I was a mere babe, because I'm like a poster child for the 90s minus the black choker and my lipstick is actually on point.

9 Nov 2016

Wednesday

My children are literally driving me insane.

Today I got so angry I envisioned ripping the four year old's leg off as he ran away from me.

That might sound totally over the top and pretty crazy but I tell you, the Mum rage is real.  I know it is because I feel it everyday. And I'm honest.

People don't talk about it because 'my kids are my life, I love them so much...' blah blah blah.  Yes, you love your kids, we all love our kids, but fuck.  Sometimes you just want to kill them.

Molly won't sleep at the moment, she's teething, constantly trying to stand up and face planting and obviously turning 13 soon because she's heaps of fun to be around.  The non-stop crying and screaming for my attention is in no way annoying at all. She also wants my boob in her mouth at all times and actually pulls off to yell at me if I try and do other things like go to the toilet, drink water, prepare food. I know!  How dare I?  I'm such a bitch cow.

The Mushroom will not leave his fucking sister alone.  Pushing her over, carrying her around, snatching things out of her hands and generally being a total shit.  When he's not tormenting her, he's tormenting me by ordering me around, screaming in my face that he's lost a Lego bit, or demanding food and/or attention.  But not that food, that's YUCK MUMMY!

We went to Kmart this morning as Molly decided 20 mins sleep was enough and Mushroom was literally climbing the walls.  We were there 3 minutes before we had a screaming match in front of the Lego, accompanied by a crying baby, and then another screaming match as the four year old used his body weight and lay down whilst holding onto the pram in protest of leaving said toy section.  Lucky shoppers got to view another tantrum mere moments after the first!

Of course we managed to find the photo frames, the real reason for our visit, and Master Mushroom admits, of course, that he desperately needs to go the toilet.  I can't deny that I looked around for a pot plant but we made it to the register and the toilet on time.  If we'd left without the goods, there was no way I was coming back.

It took longer to get ready and drive there than the time we were actually inside.

I don't know why I try to get out of the house.  I clearly need to stop thinking that they'll behave if I go out.

Just when you are contemplating hiding in the wardrobe to scull a bottle of vodka, you walk into the lounge and there is this...





That's a dirty tea towel.

And, yes, he is naked underneath it.

Give me strength.


7 Nov 2016

Snark

Today the Mushroom told his Grandmother to 'shut her water hole'.

When she asked him what that meant he said, STOP TALKING.

Seriously.  That actually happened. I got a text message with the above and nearly spat out my drink.


I felt like I had to defend myself and reiterate that I have never said, shut your water hole, in my entire life.  But she blamed other kids anyway.  She really thought it was me though, I know.

She took some Lego off him as punishment but she was floored.  I think she believes that I make up his bad behaviour.  Like I'm exaggerating because it makes for a funny story.  He's literally never misbehaved for her before in almost 4 years of her looking after him so it's well overdue.

When I called her son to tell him what our delightful child had said to his Mother he cracked up and we both laughed for about 3 minutes.

Shut your water hole.

Honestly, you can't make this shit up.

Gold.

1 Nov 2016

Nice

Remember that saying?  If you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all?  I'm not that great at it.  In fact I'm pretty terrible and can be a total nasty pastie when I want to be.

But that's not my point.  My point is that I've not been feeling very positive lately and hence my lack of posting.

I honestly didn't want this blog to turn into a full on whinge fest, FML tumblr, insert crying face emoji here but fuck you guys! Life with two kids is BLOODY HARD!

I went to visit my fam, it was fab, but also shit because my daughter refused to sleep much while we were there.

I haven't heard from the hospital so still have giant protruding guts and no closer to getting hernia fixed.

Molly keeps waking up at night since returning from family visit so trying to teach her how to get back to sleep without a boob in her mouth.

I am trying to complete return to work paperwork but have no childcare organised for my daughter and no brain capacity to make things sound good when I'm actually exhausted.

I keep yelling at Juffin like our crappy problems are all his fault when they're not and he's actually working really hard and is quite helpful re doing dishes etc but yelling makes me feel better and he's there.

I could go on and on and ON but it's shite, and it's not, because first world problems, you know?

Anyway this morning I was making up my giant plunger of coffee and listening to my daughter scream her little lungs out for the 30th straight minute and silent tears just started tracking down my face.  Exhausted and emotional, I just stood there staring blearily at the plunger whilst the tears fell, wondering how I was going to face the day.  And then I felt a sticky hand on my leg.

"Mummy," wide, hazel eyes look up at me, "Mummy what's wrong?  Why are you sad?  Are you hurt?  Did the coffee burn you?"

"No darling.  Mummy just feels sad because she's tired and doesn't think she's doing a very good job lately."

"Well I think you are Mummy.  I think you're the bestest Mummy in the whole world."

And then he hugged me and squeezed my face and said "I love you Mummy.  Now drink your coffee so you don't have to be cranky anymore."

Maybe I'm not doing such a bad job.







23 Sep 2016

Phonecall

Apologies in advance, this blog is quickly turning into a bit of a downer!  Yesterday I got a call from kindy telling me that the Mushroom had high temps so should probably go and get him. It was 2pm.

Because I'm a bad mother my first thought was fuck, I haven't done the floors yet.

Yep, I'm a bad mother.  My son is sick and I'm worried about the floors.  Let me just explain, I wait to do the floors when  Mushroom is at daycare or the MIL's so they at least stay clean for a couple of hours.  Have you seen what kids do to your house?  Your floors?  It's a trail of destruction.  There's food, toys, objects that cannot be identified... I usually do them first thing in the morning but I was fighting with my daughter to get her to go to sleep and it just didn't happen.

Remember my daughter? The one who used to sleep really well.  Ugh, you know the story, babies like to keep you on your toes.

I call Juffin and tell him I have to pick up the little one due to high temps.  We're both baffled as he seemed fine in the morning.  I'm still thinking about my floors when I get to the kindy 10 minutes later.  And there he is, my first born, curled up on the mat in the foetal position.

My heart.

His little face is tear stained and he's clearly very unhappy.  When I reach down to cuddle him, he's so hot to touch that I gasp.  And he just wants me to pick him up.  But I can't because I'm holding my daughter.

My heart.

I decide to put my daughter on the ground and I cuddle my son.  We get his bag and he wraps himself around my legs and we limp out of there.

At home he cries.  A lot.  I administer paracetamol and a lemonade iceblock.  He curls up on the couch and shudders.  He won't drink, he won't get in the shower.  His temp doesn't move.  I make him drink some hydrolite by telling him it's juice.  He'll always drink juice.  I attempt to pu the baby down for a sleep but she laughs in my face, sleep!  Who needs it?!  I tell Mushroom it's ok if he does want to have a sleep but he says he feels too sick.

The boy wants constant cuddles, the baby wants boob.  I'm dealing with a clingy sick preschooler and an overtired maniac of a baby.

Thankfully Juffin gets home relatively early and right on cue there is spew.  I can't deal with spew.

He puts Mushroom in the shower to rinse off and I clean up.  Please God, I pray, please let there be no more spew.

I put the TV on and we have cuddles on the couch.  Juffin has an optical appointment.  I am mad but try not to show it.  Of all nights, honestly.  I try to feed Molly and cuddle Mushroom but it's not working.  I jump in the shower with Molly and start the process of putting her to bed.  Max is in his pjs and he's ready but wants to wait for Dad. We administer more drugs to try and bring his temp down as he's still burning up.  He says his head hurts inside his noggin.

I am worried.  His temperature doesn't seem to be moving and I don't know what to do.  I'm bracing for an emergency room dash and keep thinking we're in for a big night.  For once, luck is on our side, and we get off relatively scott free.  Mushroom woke around 3.30am with temperatures still soaring but on wake up this morning he is fine!  He's eating, he's laughing, his temperature is fine.... Seriously, WTF?  What's with kids and their mysterious illnesses that just appear and then disappear just as quickly?!

Last night it took 2 hours to get my daughter to sleep.  She had had 20 minutes sleep from 2pm to 8pm.  Seriously.  That's fucked. This morning she's had 20 minutes from 7.30 to 12.30.  Again. Fucked.  At least she's not crying.

She thinks she can crawl already which is probably why she can't sleep.  Too many things going on in her little brain.

Slow down baby girl.

And just because it's been a week since I finished my antibiotics, left boob is sore again.  So you know, time for another Doctor's visit.

I promise the next post will be more positive.  Hopefully I'll find a million dollars in a shoebox buried in the backyard and all my problems will be solved!


/All smiles this morning





8 Sep 2016

Just OK

Today is R U OK day.  I hope you guys are doing OK.

I really struggled with writing this post because I haven't really been doing that well.  I mean I'm ok,  But just.  My stress levels have been increasing for a while now and I've really worked myself up into knots about it and I feel like it's making me ill.

I have been on antibiotics twice in the last six weeks for a blocked duct in my left breast.  I've had a bad cold in between this which I'm still recovering from and Molly caught it as well.  Juffin has had massive migraines, Mushroom has had a bad cough and both the kids have had conjunctivitis.

I can't blame daycare.  Mushroom only goes once a week now.

I just don't know why we can't seem to catch a break, and I feel like it's a bit my fault because I can't seem to stop worrying about our life and where we're heading.

In a nutshell, our financial situation has changed drastically in the last few months and our access to free childcare will cease shortly as well... I know, I know, we were very fucking lucky to have this available in the first place.  It makes such a massive difference.

I hadn't told anyone but we were considering increasing my maternity leave so I could take the next 12 months off and stay home with the kids.  This is our last child, Mushroom will be at school the year after.  I was, I am, enjoying being home with the kids despite the challenges that an almost 4 year old presents on a daily basis.  This is no longer a possibility.  Not only that, but I'm also wondering whether I can continue to work part-time or not as we'll be paying for full days of daycare for two children despite me only working 5 hours a day 4 days a week.  Living on one wage is no longer an option.

Here I am, tying myself in knots, wishing that we'd done so many things differently.  I have even felt guilty for having another child, having children in general, which is fucking awful.  I can't stop thinking that if we're struggling so much at this age, what kind of life are we going to give our kids.

We don't own a home.  We can't afford to go on holidays.  Some weeks it's my turn to shout coffee for the girls and I have a mini panic attack because I may only have $13 in the bank account.  Yes, you read that correctly, $13.  I make it work and shuffle things around and at the present moment, we are not broke but we're on a pretty tight budget.  There's no surplus.  I need surgery and despite having health insurance, we can't afford the bloody excess or out of pockets.

There are so many things to be grateful for, our general good health, a job to go back to, a roof over our head, food on the table, but at 2am when I'm breastfeeding and it's quiet and dark, I worry and worry and worry, turning myself inside out and stewing over every detail.  What if this were different, what if we did this, what if we did that, but the reality is, it doesn't matter because we didn't and this is our life now.

I know that in the end we'll be alright.  Juffin's university studies, though it will be years before he finishes, will mean a significant change to our family income.  He's working so hard, so many late nights, and I'm so grateful for his dedication and his ability to keep getting up out of bed in the morning and go to work despite being up studying until all hours.

This is my reality right now.  Stress, anxiety, a dodgy left boob....  I'm sorry this post isn't funnier but sometimes I'm just not funny (Juffin would say that I'm never funny but, meh, men). If you've run into me over the last couple of months, you may have noticed that I've been a little off, not as perky as I am usually.  I'm trying, I really am but I want you guys to know that life isn't perfect.  You can't put a filter on feeling shitty and make it OK.  Despite all our challenges, we're still here.  And, for the most part, I'm still smiling.  At the end of the day, I know that we'll make whatever situation work.  We have to.  That's life.  And we're luckier than most.

See, still smiling 


Disclaimer: I don't suffer from depression, but I have in the past and I know when I need to seek help.  This isn't one of those times.  I am actually OK, just stressed and worried and tired.  And that's not a good combo.  If any of you are really not OK, please let someone know.  I'm here to listen if you need.

23 Aug 2016

Four

This post is a bit of an update post because my daughter is already four months old.  Four whole months!

Huh?!  Four Months!!  

Even worse, the Mushroom is turning four in October. That's four YEARS old!!

It seems ridiculous.  Unfathomable even.  Time is literally evaporating in front of my face and my kids just keep getting bigger.

Molly moved into her own room over the weekend.  Unlike the Mushroom, there was no decision made.  There was no discussion, no umming and ahhing.  I just put her in there for day sleeps to see how she went and when that was successful, decided to pop her down in there one night and that was that.  She's gone from two wake ups to one.

I haven't taken the hammock down yet.  That seems too final.

Unlike Mushroom, I am not keeping track of the time as closely.  I think little Miss is 19 weeks tomorrow.

Molly has started rolling.  When she can be bothered. And loves laying in the middle of the lounge room, nappy less, kicking herself around so she can see what her brother is doing.  You know, pushing up with her legs and wiggling along on her back.  She's pretty fast too.

She likes chewing her fingers, her rubber fish, blankets, Mummy's clothes.... She drools a lot but there's no sign of any teeth just yet.

Sleeping is hit and miss.  We swing from 3 hour day sleeps to 40 minute power naps, and there's no rhyme or reason with how the day will go. We have learnt to just go with it.  You may remember some stress on my part regarding sleep with my son and while I worry that she's not getting enough sleep sometimes, she's  generally a very happy little girl.  Ahh the lessons I have learnt!

We have lots of smiling but still no laughter.  Juffin, Mushroom and I are trying our very hardest but all we can muster is a squeak.  She's very, very close!

Unfortunately for Juffin, I think Molly is going to be just as chatty as Mushroom and myself.  If I leave her line of sight there is major attitudal squawking, and as soon as I return, big cheeky smiles.  She burbles and gurgles to herself non-stop and loves yakking away with Mushroom who likes telling her big bullshit stories.

No idea where he gets that trait from...


We haven't started solids yet and probably won't for another month or so. We did baby led weaning with the Mushroom and I'd like Molly to be able to support herself sitting before we try real food. She seems very interested in dinner time and we make sure she is right next to us so she can see what's going on.

I'm still breastfeeding exclusively and we haven't tried a bottle yet.  Stupid I know but it felt like there was plenty of time to try and now we've entered the 'fuck it's going to be a shit fight' stage so too hard basket.  I know that she'll take one if she's really hungry... We've also been too broke to go anywhere anyway so really no need to attempt bottle feeding, hah!

At her four month check up last week Miss Molly weighed in at 5.25kg, and measured 58cm in length.  Only 100cm more and she'll be as tall as me!  We're still in 000 for clothes but not sure we will be for much longer, especially over her cloth nappy bum.  Can you say teletubby?!

So here we are, two kids, both in bed sound asleep, me in bed, not far from sleep, a kitchen which needs cleaning and a partner who's focused on his maths homework...

Sidenote; Juffin commenced university study a while ago and is fucking killing it.  I'm so proud of him.  He's the bees knees when it comes to maths and science!

This guy!  Heart eyes!
Anyway, I knew that life would change going from one to two kids, but I didn't realise how much.  I thought I would have time to study, to exercise, to play.  But it seems that I don't have much time at all, despite not working.  The endless cycle of cooking, cleaning and washing doesn't seem to stop.  My attempts at exercise have been feeble at best and walking with a 4 year old on a balance bike who likes to stop dead in front of you every 20 seconds is frustrating as fuck!!

Molly's face!
I barely speak to my partner without little ears listening these days and most of the time we end up texting each other during the day so we don't get interrupted, or I try to stay up late so we can have a proper adult conversation.  I know you're supposed to make time for each other for the sake of the relationship but that seems nearly impossible at this point. We're doing okay though, and even though I miss him a little bit, I know that he's working hard for our future.

If I'm not preparing food, I'm cleaning up after the eating of food and then preparing food for the next meal.  I shit you not.

We do cloth nappies, which means there's always washing.  Hanging, taking off the line, folding, putting away... Molly is a bit of a chucker so there's her multiple outfits everyday and my spewy tops.  The other day she spewed on my shirt and because of the angle it wasn't anywhere near my face where I could smell it, so I just didn't bother getting changed.  I wore that spewy shirt for the rest of the afternoon.  That's real life right there.  At least I've trained the Mushroom to put his clothes away now, that's one male in the house who does....

So life is a bit hard of late, and the money thing is stressful.  I worry that I don't play enough with the kids, that I yell at Mushroom too much, that I give in too easily when faced with coffee, chocolate and/or tantrumming three year olds, but I know that we're lucky and that's all that matters.



Where it all started... 




15 Aug 2016

Swimming

Sometimes you have to admit defeat, and today, was one of those times.

Mushroom has been going to swimming lessons since he was 13 weeks old.  That's 3.5 years of swimming lessons, and since having a new sister, he has lost the fucking plot.

I have to force him into his swimming togs, on a Monday morning no-less, whilst he whinges about how he hates swimming and doesn't want to go. I talk it up, how fun swimming is, how Mummy loves it, how the pool is nice and warm (probably full of pee...) And he gets in the car without complaint.  He even jumps out and walks to the lesson without complaint.  It's only when we get poolside, that's when the drama starts.  He hides behind my legs, he cries, he screams, he won't get within a metre of the pool's edge.

Last week I just put him in as I had to go to the toilet and I could hear him screaming from the bathroom.  Cuddle cuddle Mummy, cuddle, CUDDLE!

If I force him to get into the pool he has a complete meltdown.

If I sit on the side of the pool and put him in front of me, meltdown.

If I just walk away and ignore him, bigger meltdown.

My son  has gone from swim school superstar to total shit that no-one wants to deal with.

To be honest the instructors at the swim school have been pretty pathetic about it and I'm left standing by the side of the pool wondering why the fuck I wasted a hundred odd dollars on lessons where my son refuses to get in the bloody water.

This morning I did the whole routine and then thought fuck it, grabbed our shit and walked out.  It was only 9.07.  I was sick of the sympathetic shrugs from instructors and all the other parents looking on as I try to wrangle 15kgs of hysterical boy child and a new baby who should be going down for a nap right on the start of his lesson. Being on the verge of tears and feeling pretty fucking angry every Monday morning is not a great start to my week.

After we'd gotten him out of his semi wet togs and into clothes, I had calmed down enough to ask the front desk to see what we could do, maybe I could get my money back.  

Guess what, no-one had even fucking mentioned that Mushroom was having a hard time!  The booking guy was astonished and asked when this had started.  I said it had been going on for months and he was genuinely surprised.  I tried not to get too annoyed and he gave me a few options for a different day or time.

Now I was sick a few weeks ago with a migraine and Juffin had to stay home, and guess who went to swimming and had a fabulous time?!  Unbelievable!  That's right!  Goes with his Father and has a stellar lesson, smiles all round and Juffin thinks I'm full of it.  So we have booked in for Saturday morning and Juffin and Mushroom can have a Daddy Son swimming date.

We came home and I made a plunger of coffee and a batch of cheese scones, of which Mushroom and I ate too many of, and breathed a sigh of relief.  No more rushing around on a Monday morning and dragging a baby who needs to sleep out of the house and a pre-schooler who hates being there with me.

Please let this be the end of the drama and my son go back to loving the water.  We live in a house with a pool for F's sake.  He has to like swimming.  No if's or but's about it!!


Our day started nicely....


12 Aug 2016

Park

Every Friday we visit a local park with my two Mum friends and their boys.  I met these women just after having the Mushroom and I now consider these two ladies to be my closest friends.  We've been through so much together on our Motherhood journey and we are still seeing each weekly almost four years on.

When we visit the park we let our kids roam.  We visit gated playgrounds for a reason.  Once we're in the gate, they're off.  They have their bikes, their scooters, sometimes trucks.  We go to the park so they can expel their neverending stores of energy and we sit and drink coffee, sneak pieces of cake and intervene when required.  These boys, never stop, but they can mostly work out their dramas on their own.  If they can't we step in. 

This morning we were chatting away happily and supervising the three youngest who were all on the mat with us.  I had just put Miss Molly in the pram for a sleep when we were approached by an angry woman holding a small boy. 

"Is this child yours?" she asked the group in general. No hello. Just an angry woman eyeballing all of us.  

Mushroom and his gang were lined up next to her looking sheepish. 

I said smiling, "Yes they are. Why what's happened?

"This boy" she said, gesturing angrily to my son, "just pushed my son off the turning thing and he won't say sorry."

Mushroom at least had the good grace to look at the ground. 

"Max, did you push this little boy off the turning thing?"

Mushroom looked at me with a half grin but he could see from my face that this was no laughing matter.  He looked back at the ground. 

Angry Mum is getting really indignant now.  

"He just pushed him off and didn't say sorry.  I know kids are kids but you know, he should say sorry don't you think?" she continued to look at me accusingly.

At this point I'm thinking wow.

"Max," I say, "please say sorry to this little boy.  We don't push our friends, we don't push anyone.  Pushing is not okay." 

He mumbles something into the ground and is looking really dodge but no sorry escapes his lips. 

Angry Mum continues to eyeball me.  I'm standing there in awkward silence.  Is this really happening?  I can feel my friends horror at the situation unfolding.   

Angry Mum shifts her weight from foot to foot, She's not giving up. 

"I think he really needs to say sorry,  He should say sorry.  I know kids are kids but he should say sorry I think.  Don't you think?!"

I start panicking a little. She keeps repeating herself.  This woman is genuinely angry and Mushroom will never fucking say sorry. Especially when he's forced.  He's a total shit.  He's almost four.  I'm wondering how I'm going to deal with Angry Mum who clearly wants some sort of resolution and obviously thinks my parenting skills are severely lacking.  Are we going to have to throw down?  Am I going to get into a confrontation with a woman wearing active wear and thongs in the park?

I look helplessly at my son who looks defiantly back at me.  

I look at Angry Mum, standing there, waiting for me to do something and I'm at a loss. 

In my head the following monologue has started.  Please my headstrong, aggressive, pushing of small children son, PLEASE SAY SORRY so I don't have to deal with this stupidly angry woman and she can go away and leave me in peace.  Bribery, bribery has to work!

I walk over to Mushroom and pick him up.

"Max.  Please apologise."

"No."

"Please say sorry. We don't do the pushing.  We don't push our friends.  We don't push anyone."

"NO!"

FUCKKKKKKKKK!!!!

Angry Mum is still standing there.  I'm wondering what will happen if he won't.  I pull out the big guns.

"If you don't say sorry right now for pushing, I'm packing everything up and we're going home."

He must sense my desperation because he looks over at Angry Mum and mutters "Sowwry" in her general direction. 

It's not much but I'm taking it.  HALLE-fucking-LUJAH.

I turn towards Angry Mum about to speak but she cuts me off.   

"Thank you" she says looking pointedly at me.  "I mean I know that kids are kids, but they have to say sorry if they hurt someone."  And just like that, she stalks off.  

Let's be clear, her son wasn't crying.  There were no injuries to speak of. First Aid was not required.  Ambulances were not called.  I don't know what happened.  I didn't see it, I can only take Angry Mum's word for it and I know that my son is a bit aggressive sometimes.  I mean, he's almost 4, but yes, it's not an excuse.  I'm not saying that my son didn't push her son off the turning thing, (what the f is the turning thing?!) and yes that was a shitty thing to do, but I also know that I would never approach another Mother in the park and make her feel like piece of shit who can't parent her children.  

My friends and I just sat there flabbergasted. 

I've seen kids push my kid over at the park.  I've seen them hit him, I've seen them try and push him over to take his bike.  I've never ONCE gone over to that child and asked them where their Mother is, followed them to the parent and then forced them to make the child apologise. 

I was so embarrassed.  Other Mum's were looking.  I've not been having a very good time of it lately and when you're already questioning your abilities as a parent, something like that only cements those feelings of uselessness.  I just stood there, like a big lump, pushing my daughter back and forth hoping Angry Mum would go away so I could melt into the grass. 

Thank goodness my friends were there with me, otherwise I probably would have packed up and left.  I know I'm not winning any parenting awards but they assured me that I'm not a crappy Mum, because far out, that's how she made me feel!  

Am I overreacting?  

Was that a totally normal thing for a parent to do? 

Is my son really a horrible monster and I'm a terrible mother who just lets him run riot?  

I don't think so, deep down, not really.  My ladies confirmed that I definitely CAN parent my children, that I'm not a crappy Mum, that my son is not an aggressive child beater.  They were astonished that he did actually apologise as generally all of our boys button up like clams if forced and getting them to say anything remotely resembling an apology is an absolute miracle.  Thank goodness!  Mushroom must have been feeling suitably remorseful otherwise what would she have done if he didn't?!  

Molly finally went to sleep so I ate another piece of cake and lay down on the blanket while my friends proceeded to make me feel better about myself and my crappy parenting skills.  

Writing about it now, I don't want to say that Angry Mum was wrong but I think she really went about it the wrong way.  She could have been friendly, instead she was indignant and aggressive. If she'd approached our group, said hello, told me what happened calmly, I would have been able to speak to my son, instil a little discipline and ask him to apologise to the little boy.  

I understand that she may have been angry but her son wasn't crying, he didn't appear hurt in any way, he was just a bit put out as a bigger boy had pushed him out of the way.  

Maybe she was having a bad day. 

Maybe her son gets pushed around a lot at the park and this was the last straw.  

Or maybe she is right and I'm a shitty parent, either way, one things for sure, we won't be visiting THAT park again for a while....

Friday Boys Club








27 Jul 2016

Apology

I just wanted to take this opportunity to apologise to my parents, my siblings, my friends... All the people I lived with, Megan, Sara, Aimee, Ron, Kym.. Have I missed anyone? Oh, and my fiancé, Justin.

Over the last three months I have been subject to non-stop chatter from the Mushroom. I'm talking ENDLESS jibber jabber. Yes, endless. The kid could talk underwater.

As you all know, I can talk. A lot.

So I guess karma really is a thing because dear God. My head hurts.

Here's a video of my son yakking on and on about a crocodile who's about to eat him.



This was after hours of nonsensical rubbish about rockets and 'bloosters'.

Note how I'm laying on the couch totally fricking exhausted.

Ps I know he's super cute but damn, I don't even listen to music anymore, when the baby is asleep sometimes I just lay there on the couch soaking up the silence.

I'm sorry everyone I've shared a home and workspace with. Hopefully your ears have grown back. Mine are currently at 32%.


29 Jun 2016

Grandma

The other day, my friend Ash and I were at the park with our kids, watching other Mum's workout whilst we ate chocolate muffins, and an elderly lady came up to have a chinwag.  She was gushing over Molly, who Ash was holding, and asking lots of different questions, how old, what's her name, what a lovely old fashioned name, isn't she beautiful blah blah blah.

Obviously she was a little confused as she was directing the questions at Ashley but I was answering.  She then dropped this little bomb.

"Are you the Grandma then?"

I'm sorry what?! 

"The grandma, you must be grandma."

I BEG YOUR FUCKING PARDON!

I laughed as I slowly died inside.

"No, I'm Molly's mother."

"Oh," she goes, "well who's she then," indicating to Ash, "the aunty?"

I said "No, she's just my friend."

She was looking back and forth, back and forth, like she didn't really understand.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm the Mum and this is my friend, and we're just hanging out at the park with our kids."

"Oh well," she goes, "She's just beautiful." And then walks away.

WTF old lady!

Do I look like a fucking grandma to you?!

I think I need to invest in some serious skincare my friends because damn, that was COLD yo!!

I got BURNT!

Please tell me I don't look like a grandma?!

22 Jun 2016

Hide and Seek

My son is both adorable and awful equally at the same time.

On Friday last week we were playing hide and seek. He loves hide and seek. Who doesn't love hide and seek? I love the look on his face when he's been searching for me for ages and he's starting to get a bit panicky and I jump out and scare the crap out of him. Mummy moment.

Anyway we were playing for ages but we'd run out of good spots so it was getting a bit boring, when I heard Molly wake up. I told him to go and talk to her while I peed quickly. I go to the main bathroom and when I'm finished I walk into my room to find him pushing his NEWBORN sister UNDER MY BED.

He had taken her from the middle of my bed, CARRIED her BY HER SLEEVES, put her on the floor and then using two hands pushed her by the bum under the bed.

My heart nearly stopped.

Mushroom looked at my face and his face fell.

'Its alright Mummy. I was berry gentle, Molly's juss hiding'

I scooped up my daughter, who was perfectly fine, cooing and smiling, flapping her sleeves around and I took a deep breath.

I smiled/grimaced at my son.

'Please darling, don't pick Molly up, she's only very little and if you drop her you could really hurt her.'

'My know that Mummy! She juss wanted to play hiding and seek as well!!'

Dear Lord. Give me strength.

Butter wouldn't melt

And my phone camera has stopped working so I can only take selfies at the moment.  It's ridiculous. 

14 Jun 2016

Offended

Today I visited one of the large shopping centres and spent half an hour hanging out in the parent room.  As breastfeeding mother's are wont to do.

Anyway, as I was changing Molly's bum, I noticed this delightful sign on the wall.

Rude!!
Pharmaceutical companies have got a lot of freaking nerve man!  Way to prey on a woman's sensitivities arseholes!  Imagine a new mother, feeling frumpy, tired, dealing with a newborn and feeling a bit shit about her baby weight, and she looks up from changing her baby and see's that?!

If you can't read it, here's a close up with my gorgeous, indignant face.

Diet and Exercise not enough?  Take some drugs that'll mess with your heart!
I've blogged about post baby body image before and you can catch up here if you like.  Women, actually, men AND women, it's not limited to sex, they don't need to see this stuff.

Ever!

This may come as a surprise but guess what?!  People who are fat, know that they are fat!!  They know!!  They have to get up and see their fatness every damn day!  So seeing ads like this around, doesn't actually help anyone.  Fat people know what their options are, and if they don't, THEY'LL SPEAK TO THEIR DOCTOR, because that's what people do when they have a health issue, or google, but you get my drift.  They definitely don't need an ad on a bathroom wall to prompt them to do it. Or, if your Doctor is on the ball, they will say, hey, you're too fat, let's do something about it!!

My point is that, in this case, mother's struggling with wriggling baby's at the change station under the unflattering lighting of a large shopping centre do not need to see these ads, AND, as a fatty and a new mother I'm annoyed because this stupid ad is just another reason for me to feel shit about myself.  For all women to feel shit about themselves.

So thanks for that inova.

Thanks for ruining an otherwise lovely day.

You dicks.

13 Jun 2016

Rain

Today dawned as a rainy day.

I had an early victory because as we were drifting off to sleep last night I was sure that I smelt rain and I told the Juffin to bring his work clothes in off the line. Of course he refused, so I got an 'I told you so' in before 7am.  I rule. 

My good feeling vibes quickly disappeared when I realised that a rainy day, whilst most welcome because it's a dry and dusty dirt bowl around here, is actually a stay at home parent's worst nightmare. 

Seriously. 

I'm not even kidding. 

I nearly had a mini panic attack.

Monday's are shitful as it is.  Since having Molly the Mushroom, who has been swimming since he was 3 months old, has turned into a complete nightmare during lessons and clings to the side of the pool crying hysterically for 35 minutes.  After several weeks of this bullshiz, I decided to call in sick today as honestly, I just can't deal with that and rain and a newborn. 

So here we are, Stuck inside.  All day.  
Torment level - Expert

This morning I have already had to deal with not wanting to take his 'sleeping jockies' off, waking up his sister, squashing his sisters face because she wasn't looking at him, the sneaky consumption of two bananas because he couldn't wait for five minutes for me to finish breastfeeding, and, my favourite activity, watching a 3.5 year old poo because 'you have to watch me Mummy, did you hear the poo Mummy?  Are you ACTUALLY WATCHING ME MUMMY?'

These are just snippets.  There's also the constant jibber jabber of nonsensical rubbish and the clinging to my arms and legs and then there's his face in my butt.  

Look Mummy!  
Yes, you read that correctly, he sticks his face in my butt. Gross.  

I wonder what this will look like at
the end of the day?! 
In hindsight, calling in sick to swimming was probably a stupid idea, but I'm sick of sitting there stiff as a board with a fake smile pasted on my face whilst the Mushroom screams and cries hysterically disrupting the whole class and setting my already frayed nerves on edge.  At least swimming would have tired him out. 

We're now in his room playing trains whilst I 'work' on the computer.  

I know, I'm a bad mother.  

I am attempting to keep the TV off until at least 1pm but let's face it, it's not looking good. I'm still in my nightie.  Is it too early for wine?  






6 Jun 2016

Fork

I've had a shitty few days.  Ok make that weeks.

Just to recap:

Newborn
Recovering from major abdominal surgery
Mushroom turned into a lunatic
Noticed abnormal, tender, swelling in belly
Packed house
Molly had her needles
Doctor's visit
Moved house
Ultrasound
Doctor's visit
Told I have to have surgery again
Mum and Dad left
Bleeding on and off for weeks
Financial woes

Oh

Turned 35.

Seriously.

I have spent the better part of the last week in emotional hell.  I have shed tears every day.  Including my birthday.  But that was because my son smashed me in the head with a stainless steel drink bottle as I wrestled him into his car seat.

I literally have nothing else to give.

Turns out that I have a large hernia following my c-section.  No I wasn't lifting things.  No I wasn't over-doing it. My Doctor seems to think that as I had keyhole surgery just prior to falling pregnant that this may not have healed correctly and this caused the hernia. Regardless of the cause, it needs to be fucking fixed, which means more fucking surgery.

Awesome.

Due to me not working and currently on maternity leave, the irony is that we have health insurance that we can't afford to use as I can't pay the out of pockets that Doctor's will inevitably charge.  We also have an excess. After moving, we're fucking broke, and struggling to get back on top of everything.  So now I'm on a waiting list.

Of all the other shit going on, the thing that upsets me the most is that Mushroom has gone completely nuts (see above birth of sister, moving house, grandparents moving away).  He is acting out.

All.
The.
Time.

His latest thing is trying to pull his sister's head off her shoulders or attempting to detach one of her legs.  He melts down at every little thing and refuses to co-operate or give in.

Ever.

I spend my days alternating between wanting to kill him and yelling my head off, to wanting to cuddle him and tell him I love him as clearly he's finding it all a bit much.  I don't blame him, I feel like crawling into bed for a week.

I know that my son is three and this is all usual three year old behaviour magnified by recent events.  But, FUCK, it's tough.

So the new house is a shambles.  There is literally crap everywhere.  I haven't been grocery shopping in weeks and I just don't care if we eat stale bread and floury apples for all eternity.

Ok, that's not true, I love food and hate floury apples, but honestly folks, I've tried to remain positive and upbeat, but after the few weeks I've had, I'm over it.  Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

Can I just chuck it all out?!




22 May 2016

Nice

This week I heard a few stories that made me a sad.

No, I'm not talking about HONY but dear God, the tears.

This was about other Mum's being total C's to each other.  Like really, really awful and mean.

Heads up ladies, you're not fucking better than anyone else, so pull your head in.

One of these stories involved a Mum going along with her daughter to a birthday party and having NOT ONE OTHER MOTHER TALK TO HER.

NOT ONE.

Are you fucking serious?  Who are you people?

This poor Mum tried to initiate conversation a few times, a very difficult thing to do if you know no-one, only to be rebuffed time and time again.  At one point one of the Mum's even uttered something about the birthday girl inviting the whole class, like it was a bad thing.

Bitch!!

Then my Mum told me about going to a primary school activity when we were still at school and had just moved towns and not one fucking person spoke to her there either!!  She said she went home and cried.

Let's be honest, we women can be total arseholes.  We're nasty to other women.  We bitch, snigger, make snide remarks about clothes, hair, weight etc.  I know, I've done it, I'm not going to lie.  I'm not at all perfect, but as I get older, I have less patience for that bullshit.  And we really should fucking stop it.  My Mum didn't even have a perm then.

Ok that last line was a joke, she may have had a perm.

Just kidding.

Love you Mum.

You get the point though right?!

When I first had Mushroom I would talk to anyone who would listen.  I'd yak it up in the parents room, at the park, waiting in line for coffee.  I joined online forums, started this blog, badgered people on social media, I even dropped into work way too much.  Of course I had friends who already had kids but nothing compares to having those friends who's kids are the same age as yours, going through the same ups and downs.  Especially since you forget so quickly.  And this is true for any age!

Obviously I'm outgoing, and it's not hard for me to talk to strangers. I don't mind looking like a tool if I say hello to someone.  Let's be honest, I look like a tool most of the time, but some people don't feel confident saying hi.  It might have been a major effort for them to even leave the house that day!

I see a million of those inspirational pics on facebook spruiking the joys of lifting each other up, being there and rooting for our fellow ladies and Mum's, but girls, we gotta start doing it.  Clearly it's not happening if Mama's can't even go to a birthday party and be nice to a stranger.

So tomorrow, wherever you are, say hello to the Mum who's by herself at the park, getting coffee, fighting with her toddler at the supermarket.  She might need a friend.  Let's actually, really start being nice to one another. Because no-one needs to be crying at home after some molls were nasty to her at a fucking kids birthday party.

I wear cool shoes, say Hi!








12 May 2016

Body

Let's talk about post baby bodies.

For some reason the media thinks that we care about celebrities who got back to PRE-BABY FABULOUSNESS in less than 2 HOURS post partum.  Clearly a minor exaggeration, but you feel me right?

The thing is that, we really fucking don't.

Seriously.

It's shit.

So stop doing that please media juggernauts, it's making mother's everywhere feel shithouse, cheers.

I have never had, what anyone would call, a fabulous body.  But I will go with the standard, it's pretty fabulous because at some point or another it carried three babies and it's currently keeping one of those baby's alive.  On it's own.  With the milk that my body produces.  In my boobs.

See, that's awesome.

But that still doesn't help me feel better when I go to try on breastfeeding shirts (see previous post) and it's not my boobs that are the problem for once, but my protruding, swollen, hideous, guts.  It's like I'm still pregnant.  I'm only 4kg away from pre-pregnancy weight but I feel like I'm so much wider around the middle.  I don't remember being this swollen after having the Mushroom.

I've only had the courage to look at my scar once and it made me feel sick so I haven't since then.  We don't have full length mirrors, praise Jesus, so it's easy to avoid looking at it.  But there's like a shelf there now.  It's bloody horrendous.

My boobs are saggier than ever and hang down by my waist, despite wearing a bra 24/7.  My feet are all dry and crusty because I'm barefoot at home all the time.  I have permanent black shadows, hairy armpits and my brows look like Ernie's.

Let's be honest, I probably feel bad about this because I see pictures, in the media, of women who weigh 47kg, looking amazeballs mere moments after having children and I just wanted to remind myself that it's total bullshit.

We raise our hairy brows to your post-baby body bullshit!
I have a daughter now. I want to instil some good feelings about her body.  I want her to focus on being strong, and smart and funny and kind.  Because these things matter, not how fast you can get back to your pre-baby body.  Who gives a flying fuck about that!



6 May 2016

Boobing

Breastfeeding ya'll.  Can I get a hell yeah?!

I feel guilty.  Despite my traumatic and totally complicated birthing stories, I have managed to breastfeed both of my children with ease.

I know, I suck, or at least my children do.  Oh come on, that was funny!!  (insert laughing face emoji here, which is my favourite emoji of all).

The facts are that I did not get one cracked nipple.

I had no bleeding.

No dramas with tongue ties or latching.

No issues with supply at all aside from doubting myself at the beginning with Mushroom but then realised being nutcase new mother and got over it.

I am literally a cow.

To prove above statement, Miss Molly has put on 430gms since birth which means that my boobs are officially full of protein powder. Go super boobs!

But fuck me ladies, there are literally no clothes that are attractive, or comfortable for breastfeeding mothers.

I am not a small woman.  My boobs are quite large, the girls are more than a handful, and do you think that I can find anything decent to wear so I can breastfeed in style?  The answer to that question is no.

Firstly, I'm not fucking pregnant anymore.  I don't need a MATERNITY dress, I need a BREASTFEEDING dress.  Which basically just needs to be a wrap dress, or a stretchy v neck that I pull across and whip the ladies out with ease.

But there are LITERALLY NONE!

When I actually did find breastfeeding tops they are ugly and overpriced.  Like I'm going to pay $69 for a tshirt that has holes in the boobs?!  And those holes are too small for my giant chesticles anyway!

Frustrating is a word.

I tell you, if I could sew, the world for breastfeeding mothers who like wearing t-shirts that don't cost one bajillion dollars, would be a better place!

Look at this hideous thing that I picked up from Target.


Just LOOK!

It's the WORST!  I look like a saggy titted, navy striped whale!

AND it's already lost it's shape and stretched out and looks like a sack.

AND it also costs $30 when not on sale.

That is FUCKING bullshit man!

Breastfeeding in public is challenging enough without having to look ugly whilst doing it.

Please help me.  Mum and I went to every store we could on Thursday and there were NO breastfeeding shirts anywhere.  Kmart didn't even have singlets in a colour I would wear (I don't do marle grey) but any other colour is just fine.

I know I'm large Marge, but honestly, I care about how I present myself.  I'm not going outside looking like a hobo just so I can breastfeed my daughter.  I will sweat to death and wear a singlet underneath a normal shirt so I can do the whole lift and swoop if need be.

So help me.

Please.

If you see a nursing top ANYWHERE, online or instore, please let me know!  The God's would be forever in your favour.

And I'm not a total cheapskate, if it's a nice top, I would pay accordingly.  Please and Thank-You.



21 Apr 2016

First

Molly is now a week old.  I don't know why but I can't continue to call her Baby Beet like I did with the Mushroom.  It just feels weird and a bit wrong.  So Molly it is.

Anyway, since coming home from the hospital, my poor first born has been acting out.

He's been naughty at bedtime, won't settle, won't eat dinner, yelling and answering back, poos in pants, hitting and kicking me.. you name it, he's doing it.

Of course this was expected.

But you feel so fucking guilty.

I can't pick him up and cuddle him.

I can't get down on the floor and play with him.

To make matters worse, I keep yelling at him to stop being so rough with me as he barrels into me at full speed and he's the same height as my scar.  He then starts hitting me on purpose because he's angry and frustrated.

Yesterday he tried to get up on the couch for a cuddle whilst I was breastfeeding and it was just too sore.  He was wriggling around, squashing me, squashing Molly.  I sucked it up and held out for as long as I could.

In the mornings, I've been trying to have one on one time with him while he has breakfast but now he doesn't want a bar of me.

All day long I now hear: "No Mummy, Daddy do it."

I feel bloody shitful about it.  So guilty, so torn. Tonight, tonight I felt like crying.

Every night, Juffin reads Mushroom stories and then I go in and sit with him until he goes to sleep. Some may think this is excessive at his age but it works and I'm only in there for 10 or 15 minutes and it's nice to have a little yak with him before he nods off to sleep.

So tonight, he said no Mum, I don't want you to sit with me, I want Daddy to sit with me.

Cue Jessica heartbreak.

I know we're all adjusting, it's hard.  But I just want my happy boy back and then I feel guilty for having another child all over again. Hooray for baby blues!

Bugalugs in his new seat!



18 Apr 2016

Introducing...

So SHE'S here!

SHE!  I have a daughter, and good God, what AN EXPERIENCE!

Just a warning, this post isn't particularly funny, or good.  I just had to get it out.  And I probably don't really want to talk about it much again for a while.


I think I knew that something was up on Tuesday.  In the morning I lost most of my mucus plug.  It wasn't bloody, or nasty, just lots of clear discharge (god I fucking hate that word!) and there was lots of it.  I had a midwife appointment and refused a stretch and sweep as had a feeling baby would be here by the end of the week.

On the way home I stopped in at Coles and bought some chilli tuna.  I just really felt like tuna pasta and we'd had mac and cheese the night before so thought why not add the chilli?  Can't hurt.

I felt puffy, and tired.  And to be honest I was scared.  I didn't really believe that I could do the whole labour thing again, not really.  I took this photo and posted to facebook, because I can't help but share my whole life online, and then lay down to have a sleep.


The boys got home around 5 and we had chilli con carne for dinner, yep, more chilli.  I put Max to bed and attempted to go to bed early.  I'd been up half the night on Monday baking as I couldn't sleep, so I was well over tired and we had Captain Active in the morning.  

At some point over the course of the evening, I started getting mild contractions.  Nothing consistent, just a lot of tightening with no rhyme and reason.  This was probably around 9.30 - 10pm.  I tried to get comfortable and go to sleep but couldn't.  I tossed and turned for a while and then really couldn't ignore the fact that I was probably in pre-labour.  I'd also emptied my bowels about three times, which is surefire sign.  I think I was just in denial. 

Things ramped up after midnight.  I downloaded an app and started timing the contractions.  I told Juffin to get some sleep, but not sure that he was able to as I was huffing and puffing my way through each contraction now.  I was most comfortable bent over the bed rotating my hips but it was feeling at lot scarier and hurting a lot more than I had with Mushroom. 

I decided to hang the washing out.

Yes, you read that right, I hung out washing. 

I then got back to the bedroom and decided to get back into the shower.  I lit my vanilla candle and moaned and groaned my way through another half hour of contractions. 

I got out.  Did more hip rotations and bed hugging. I went and packed Mushroom's bag for my Mum's place.

I got back in the shower and woke Juffin up properly in the process, and he started timing for me as I was feeling really bloody awful at this point.  When I got out, there was blood on my towel and I was feeling increasingly scared.  The pain was so intense.  So much worse than I remembered with Mushroom.  I didn't feel like I could go on. 

I called my Mum and Justin had to speak.  She said to come to her place with Mushroom and as she lives around the corner from the hospital, and we thought this was a good idea.  I just didn't want to wait any longer as didn't want my son to see me screaming in pain, which wasn't far away. 

I called my midwife and she said she would see us after they assessed us at Birth Suite but good luck!  

Juffin put our bags in the car, and packed up the rest of Max's thing and put him in the car.  I put some clothes on and stumbled out the door.  This part had been total agony when I had laboured with Mushroom so I wasn't looking forward to the drive.  Especially trying to keep it together for my owl eyed son in the back seat who was looking pretty scared and worried.  I tried to keep it together for the drive and the drop off but he was close to tears when we left Mum's place.  So was I if I'm honest.  

I made Juffin park so we could walk in.  I just wanted to keep mobile. I think it was the longest carpark walk in history and being 3am we got a really good carpark.  When we got to birth suite to be assessed, I heard the worst words in the World.  

You're only 1cm. 

1 fucking centimetre.  The little confidence that I had left crumbled.  I burst into tears.  I couldn't fucking believe it.  Where had I gone so wrong?  

They laid it down for me, we could go home, or continue to labour there but my midwife wouldn't be coming in until I was 5cm.  Baby was posterior, so obviously immeasurably painful, but we could stay if we wanted to.  There was no way I was leaving and doing that drive again.  I looked at Justin and he spoke for me, we're not leaving. 

I took the meds they offered, panadol, then turned the lights off and wandered back and forth and commenced more bed hugging.  Despite having music ready, I didn't want to listen to anything.  I just wanted to focus on my breathing.  And trying not to die.  

Here is where I'll say that my man is fucking amazing.  He supported me.  He held me.  He wiped my sweat away.  He whispered encouraging words into my ear for hours.  He is truly the best and there is no way on earth that I could have done any of this without him.  

The birth suite midwife came back in and encouraged me to use the shower.  I was so hot and uncomfortable so this seemed like a bad idea but Juffin thought I should so he set it all up for me.  

The pain was coming thick and fast now, and not just in my back, but all over.  So much pressure.  I can't even describe it properly.  Words fail.  I felt like my entire insides were inside a vice and I was being squished and squashed at the same time.  It was beyond awful. 

By this stage I was screaming. Like actually screaming.  Like an enraged animal. 

The birth suite midwife came back and said let's have a look so I stumbled out of the shower and put my dress back on. 

Laying on your back during posterior labour and contracting is the worst thing ever.  I mean, aside from being in labour and baby being posterior anyway... fark me. 

Huzzah, grand news, I am over 5cm!  But FARK, still only halfway!  

I start crying all over again and tell Juffin for the millionth time that I cannot do this. 

The midwife then strongly suggested some morphine as clearly not coping at all.  She calls my midwife to make her way in and then comes back with a fetal scalp monitor, advises that she'll also break my waters and administer the injection. I start sucking on gas.  

Only five centimetres.  Only five centimetres. I just can't stop dwelling on how bad it is.  

I can't even talk.  I can't think of anything except that white hot pain.  I start thinking that something is very wrong. I feel like pushing.  Already.  And I shouldn't be feeling like that should I?  I mean who the fuck knows what people are supposed to be feeling during labour?  How can pain be the same for two people?  I've been told that I must have a high pain threshold as I had an ectopic pregnancy and barely broke a sweat, however, I am screaming and dying a thousand deaths with every contraction. 

This is where things get very fucking real, very fucking fast. 

Juffin is gripping my hand as I scream through another contraction and we hear our babies heartbeat falter and dip off.  

I start freaking out.  The two midwives are not happy.  An Obstetrician appears. As does the heartbeat but it's not consistent.  

Obstetrician is like, right, you need a caesarean.  Now.  

I am crying.  Juffin is whitefaced.  

Another contraction and the heartbeat does the same thing, except it doesn't seem to come back.  

Panic stations.  In less than 3 minutes they manage to get a catheter and a cannula in me at the same time.  I sign something.  Juffin is gripping my hand as I scream down the hallway to the operating theatre.  They take Juffin away to put some scrubs on and he whispers in my ear how much he loves me. 

I am screaming in the operating theatre table that I don't want a general.  I just want a spinal, please no general.  The anaesthetist says of course we can do a spinal, but then there's lots of talking in the background and I'm screaming my way through another contraction and there's no time for a spinal.  The anaesthetist apologises to me and says it's not possible, there's just no time, we have to get the baby out.  I am bawling my eyes out and screaming and terrified.  A mask is put on my face and I feel like I'm going to die.  And then nothing. 

I wake up and see people wandering around in the recovery room. A wonderful male nurse looks at me and says welcome back.  I pull the mask off my face and try to speak.  Where's my baby, where's my baby?  What happened to my baby?  

Another nurse says she's doing just fine.  And it takes me a moment to register.  She.  We have a baby girl?  A girl?! I ask if she's ok, is she ok, please tell me she's ok.  Yes, she's ok. She's doing just fine.  

Two beautiful angel nurses give me the details.  Baby girl was born at 7.04am, it's now about 8.45am, she had to be resuscitated and is now being monitored in NICU for low blood sugar.  She was 2891gms (6p 6oz) and 47.5cm long. 

I have a daughter.  

Like a magical unicorn Juffin appears before me.  I am crying.  Again.  He says that Molly is beautiful. 

Molly.  I am still stuck on Violet or Greta but Juffin just says wait until you see her.  

We have a baby girl.  Neither of us can quite believe it. 

My midwife appears and apologises for missing the whole thing but obviously things went a little pear shaped, no shit! 

She explains that she was able to express some colostrum whilst I was in recovery and Juffin approved this and she hopes that this is ok.  

Am I concerned that someone pumped my breasts whilst I was unconscious?  No!  My baby didn't need to have formula as a result and whilst hardly the same as breastfeeding, it did help us along the way to breastfeed. 

And then she's there.  And she is Molly. She latches straight away and we're together and I love her.  




  

I haven't thought about the birth since.  I'm trying not to.  I don't want to think about how close we came to losing her.  What if I had gone home to continue labour? What if they weren't able to revive her?  Why don't babies like coming out of my vjayjay?  

I'm sore, that much is true.  The bruising on my scar is a testament to how quickly they tried to get her out of me.  

But we're breastfeeding.  We're both healthy and well and in one piece.  

And I'm never, ever, EVER, doing that again!!  

So introducing Molly Lynette.  My beautiful daughter. 

My girl likes to make an entrance!