When I was a little girl I had a best friend, Kim. Kim's mother and my own had a very different view on children's diets. My lunchbox usually had some healthy home made biscuits or cake or some fruit. Kim's had Wagon Wheels. I love Wagon Wheels. This was reflected at Easter time too when my mother, knowing it was likely to be gone by lunch time, would usually gift me with one large or several small Easter eggs (a wise move, although we will never again speak of that year we got Carob Easter eggs instead of real chocolate). Kim would get significantly more than this most years and chocolate not being a novelty and she having some self control, many of her eggs would sit on top of a cupboard in plain view for days. WEEKS even. I still don't have that kind of self control. Every time I would go and visit my eyes would stray up to the eggs. In particular, The Humpty Dumpty Egg. It was full of SMARTIES. Willy Wonka himself could not have come up with a more fantastical idea. It was a chocolate egg and inside there was more chocolate covered with a crisp, colourful shell. It was, in effect, CHOCOLATE COVERED CHOCOLATE. Be still my beating heart. For years my eyes would stray to that Humpty Dumpty Egg. I am sure it exasperated her that I would sit for long periods of time gazing at The Egg instead of playing. I have vague memories of her asking her Mum to cover it up at one point so I would come and play. We moved away and Kim and I lost touch. I still remembered The Egg. Each year as Easter came around I would sternly tell myself not to be so silly and each year I would look on the supermarket shelves and see it looking back at me. The Humpty Dumpty Egg. But I refused to allow myself to be so, well, CHILDISH - and secretly was afraid Humpty couldn't live up to the hype of my childhood adoration. After I got married I mentioned it to Beloved and pointed it out on the shelf. He snorted and told me Easter Eggs are a little bit Pagan and not really his thing. Hopes of my getting Humpty Dumpty as a romantic gesture were kind of dashed. Fast Forward to this year. I was walking through our local supermarket and there on the shelf was Humpty, still full of smarties, still looking back at me. No longer white with a clown like grin and a box with a brick wall painted on the front. Humpty has had a face lift, he is purple and rides a skate board. But he couldn't fool me, I recognised him. The poetry of chocolate covered chocolate. There was a tag below him this week - PRICE REDUCED.
So this afternoon I snuck out of the house and ran accross. I BOUGHT my Humpty, all the time telling myself that it was silly and childish and after 26 years of wanting it, there was no way it could live up to the expectations built up around it.
I hid in my bedroom and at him, sharing small crumbs with Andrew to keep him quiet so the other children wouldn't find me out (who told him what chocolate is?).
I ate every bit. And. It. Was. GOOD.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Further Parenting Hints from the Slightly Insane
She was like a dark cloud coming to the breakfast table.
I had committed the unpardonable sin on switching off the playschool repeat before it had finished and refusing to tape the end of it. Apparently, the justification that she had already seen that episode several times and we needed to sit down for breakfast was JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
As we sung our hymn she scowled at her weetbix as if they had been the cause of the offense. The other children watched her with interest to see how this would play out. We finished the hymn (or I did while the others gaped at Erin and Erin scowled at her breakfast), prayed and I calmly took up spoons and started feeding myself and Andrew. She scowled, waited and surreptitiously peeked at me from under her eyebrows to see how I'd react. I continued to eat. She continued to scowl.
Choice time.
Do I engage in a tussle of using reason and logic, giving her opportunity to argue back - at least silently in her head? Do I tell her to suck it up sweetheart and eat her breakfast WITH A SMILE, playing the ogre for her internal persecuted princess?
Or do I come at it sideways?
I fixed her with a severe look, pointed at her, wiggled my finger like a worm and said "Hey Erin, this ISN'T FUNNY". The other children burst into laughter. She struggled not to. I wiggled it more. "Hey Erin, see my finger? See my finger here? It really isn't funny. Nope. Not even a little bit. I mean look at it, it is a wriggling finger. What in the tarnation could be funny about that?" She struggles, shakes her head vigorously and rolls her eyes while her siblings are helpless with laughter. I then calmly pick up my spoon and continue eating. She scowls again at her food but her acting is in severe need of some cheese to go with that ham. The bitterness just isn't there anymore. And I continue eating. Billy watches her with interest as he eats. "Hey Mum, Erin's not eating." "Well, she will be hungry come lunch time because her food will disappear once we are all finished." Half-heartedly she sets her jaw and pronounces "I won't eat until you make me" I look at her and smile "Wow, we are sure going to save on food bills then." and I continue eating.
She rolls her eyes in surrender, smiles and starts eating.
Engaging would have bought into the drama of it, coming at it sideways and getting a little creative moved us on without making the morning the casualty of a bad attitude. Like a crazy improv theatre workshop, parenting makes you think on your feet, make decisions and move fast. The core attitude was addressed. She knew the logic, she knew the behaviour, she knew the expectations. She made her choices about how to behave and then so did I. Next time I may invite her to go back to bed and restart the day. Next time I will probably manage our mornings so I don't resort to TV to keep everyone out of my hair for a few moments before breakfast. Next time I may even wait until the end of the program. Next time I may cheerfully instruct her to suck it up sweetheart. But coming at it sideways, sometimes works too.
I had committed the unpardonable sin on switching off the playschool repeat before it had finished and refusing to tape the end of it. Apparently, the justification that she had already seen that episode several times and we needed to sit down for breakfast was JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
As we sung our hymn she scowled at her weetbix as if they had been the cause of the offense. The other children watched her with interest to see how this would play out. We finished the hymn (or I did while the others gaped at Erin and Erin scowled at her breakfast), prayed and I calmly took up spoons and started feeding myself and Andrew. She scowled, waited and surreptitiously peeked at me from under her eyebrows to see how I'd react. I continued to eat. She continued to scowl.
Choice time.
Do I engage in a tussle of using reason and logic, giving her opportunity to argue back - at least silently in her head? Do I tell her to suck it up sweetheart and eat her breakfast WITH A SMILE, playing the ogre for her internal persecuted princess?
Or do I come at it sideways?
I fixed her with a severe look, pointed at her, wiggled my finger like a worm and said "Hey Erin, this ISN'T FUNNY". The other children burst into laughter. She struggled not to. I wiggled it more. "Hey Erin, see my finger? See my finger here? It really isn't funny. Nope. Not even a little bit. I mean look at it, it is a wriggling finger. What in the tarnation could be funny about that?" She struggles, shakes her head vigorously and rolls her eyes while her siblings are helpless with laughter. I then calmly pick up my spoon and continue eating. She scowls again at her food but her acting is in severe need of some cheese to go with that ham. The bitterness just isn't there anymore. And I continue eating. Billy watches her with interest as he eats. "Hey Mum, Erin's not eating." "Well, she will be hungry come lunch time because her food will disappear once we are all finished." Half-heartedly she sets her jaw and pronounces "I won't eat until you make me" I look at her and smile "Wow, we are sure going to save on food bills then." and I continue eating.
She rolls her eyes in surrender, smiles and starts eating.
Engaging would have bought into the drama of it, coming at it sideways and getting a little creative moved us on without making the morning the casualty of a bad attitude. Like a crazy improv theatre workshop, parenting makes you think on your feet, make decisions and move fast. The core attitude was addressed. She knew the logic, she knew the behaviour, she knew the expectations. She made her choices about how to behave and then so did I. Next time I may invite her to go back to bed and restart the day. Next time I will probably manage our mornings so I don't resort to TV to keep everyone out of my hair for a few moments before breakfast. Next time I may even wait until the end of the program. Next time I may cheerfully instruct her to suck it up sweetheart. But coming at it sideways, sometimes works too.
Friday, April 08, 2011
Parenting hints from the slightly insane
He was driving me crazy.
In a seemingly DELIBERATE effort to push my buttons, he was doing everything he could do to drive me nuts. He was making the most amazingly, brain numbingly, irritating noises and I am sure he was doing it just to DRIVE ME NUTS. Whenever I tried to soothe, redirect, distract or engage he would resist and I am sure he was doing it JUST TO DRIVE ME NUTS!
He is very advanced for nine months.
The answer - I went nuts. I started to sing "Why Do Birds Suddenly Appear" by The Carpenters very loudly in a kind of Irish pub band/Thrash Metal style. Why? Because engaging with a nine month old, taking his behaviour personally and following down the path where we were going was going to take us to places that were not fun. So I chose to DO SOMETHING ELSE. Do something that amused ME and made ME feel better. Something that made the excess adrenaline that was building up in my body and making me clench every cell in anger go away. Something that regulated my anger and frustration so that I could deal with HIS needs effectively.
Because somewhere along the line his annoying squeal and insistence that he wanted to throw himself over the side of the nappy change station and/or spread POO from one end of the space to the other became about me. About my anger and frustration. About my feelings of inadequacy as a parent. About the stressors that I have been facing recently and frustrations with things that have nothing to do with this little red-faced, strong-willed, overtired little boy who was simply pushing his own agenda in the only way a nine month old can.
I needed to put my big girl panties on, suck it up and be the parent rather than place my own garbage on his little shoulders.
So I sang.
"Why do BIRDS, suddenly APPEEEEAAAAR, EVERY TIME, YOU ARE NEEEEEAAAR? Cause like me, they long to be CLOSE TO YOU!"
It was enough to break it, the cycle of mental frustration I had got myself on.
Inwardly I laughed at the absurdity of it. I am the grown up and I was letting this little person, my FIFTH baby (you think I'd know better by now), to push my buttons.
I looked down at him and he looked momentarily confused, then he squealed again but this time with laughter. I finished what we needed to do singing the whole time and he loved it, which was nice, but it really was to calm me down more than him.
Because like they say on the airplane, you need to put your own oxygen mask on first before you assist children.
As I put him to bed I found that the song was actually true. I did want to be close to him again.
It would be nice to tell you that singing hymns or praying is my first reaction to that frustration but it isn't always. But I truly believe an angel said to me this morning "Jess, do something stupid before you hurt yourself or someone else".
And I am glad I took his advice. I am glad I was grown up enough to be a little silly.
In a seemingly DELIBERATE effort to push my buttons, he was doing everything he could do to drive me nuts. He was making the most amazingly, brain numbingly, irritating noises and I am sure he was doing it just to DRIVE ME NUTS. Whenever I tried to soothe, redirect, distract or engage he would resist and I am sure he was doing it JUST TO DRIVE ME NUTS!
He is very advanced for nine months.
The answer - I went nuts. I started to sing "Why Do Birds Suddenly Appear" by The Carpenters very loudly in a kind of Irish pub band/Thrash Metal style. Why? Because engaging with a nine month old, taking his behaviour personally and following down the path where we were going was going to take us to places that were not fun. So I chose to DO SOMETHING ELSE. Do something that amused ME and made ME feel better. Something that made the excess adrenaline that was building up in my body and making me clench every cell in anger go away. Something that regulated my anger and frustration so that I could deal with HIS needs effectively.
Because somewhere along the line his annoying squeal and insistence that he wanted to throw himself over the side of the nappy change station and/or spread POO from one end of the space to the other became about me. About my anger and frustration. About my feelings of inadequacy as a parent. About the stressors that I have been facing recently and frustrations with things that have nothing to do with this little red-faced, strong-willed, overtired little boy who was simply pushing his own agenda in the only way a nine month old can.
I needed to put my big girl panties on, suck it up and be the parent rather than place my own garbage on his little shoulders.
So I sang.
"Why do BIRDS, suddenly APPEEEEAAAAR, EVERY TIME, YOU ARE NEEEEEAAAR? Cause like me, they long to be CLOSE TO YOU!"
It was enough to break it, the cycle of mental frustration I had got myself on.
Inwardly I laughed at the absurdity of it. I am the grown up and I was letting this little person, my FIFTH baby (you think I'd know better by now), to push my buttons.
I looked down at him and he looked momentarily confused, then he squealed again but this time with laughter. I finished what we needed to do singing the whole time and he loved it, which was nice, but it really was to calm me down more than him.
Because like they say on the airplane, you need to put your own oxygen mask on first before you assist children.
As I put him to bed I found that the song was actually true. I did want to be close to him again.
It would be nice to tell you that singing hymns or praying is my first reaction to that frustration but it isn't always. But I truly believe an angel said to me this morning "Jess, do something stupid before you hurt yourself or someone else".
And I am glad I took his advice. I am glad I was grown up enough to be a little silly.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Confessions of an emotional cripple
I do emotions like I do spiders. I can talk about them in theory fine. If I see one I can look at it up close - even with a magnifying glass - discuss it with the children, look it up to find the scientific name and appreciate it quite well. If a SMALL spider gets on me I will brush it off with minor skin crawls and a little "yeach" felling in my belly. If a big one gets on me I will be screaming "GET IT OFF" and alternating between trying not to vomit and trying not to cry like a hysterical little girl. If I ever get a big spider on one arm while I have a chainsaw in the other - hello prosthetic arm.
It's not pretty.
Emotions in theory I can deal with. Little emotions I can deal with - only minor skin crawls involved. BIG emotions involve a packet of marshmallows, lots of sleep and stoic insistence that I AM FINE and NO, I do not want to talk about it. And really folks, I mean that. That little word picture I painted earlier about the chainsaw and the arm - that could be you if you insist that I talk to you about my *feelings*. Wanting to cry with me and hug it out - yeah, not this little black duck.
Don't worry, I had a bunch of children so they can set up their own little support group when they get older and get bulk discounts on their therapy.
I am not all cold and nasty though. I tell my husband and kids that I love them often. I am warmly stating my choice to love them. I am describing the state that we live in (love) with accuracy and truth. I do not often examine this feeling, this *emotion*, up close though. Like one who chooses not to look down when climbing a ladder because of the ensuing vertigo, I choose not to look at the mind numbingly fear inducing swirl of vulnerability that accompanies love very often. Just like not looking down does not really make me any less high on the ladder, not examining the emotion of love very often does not actually make me any less in love - so I don't see the point really. So long as I am able to meet their needs with genuinely loving "I love you"s, we will just leave it there shall we.
Right now, my Father-in-law has been diagnosed with cardiac-myopathy. The only cure for this would be a heart transplant. Which may have been an option if he were 20 years younger and if there wasn't so much else wrong with his health. So right now, with the help of drugs, we might - MIGHT - get a few more years.
Please excuse me a moment while I make this, which is plainly not about me, totally and completely about me.
Let's not talk about the father issues, abandonment issues, fear of loss and grief issues and a million other issues that I have. No really, let's not. It is hard enough for me to admit that this man, who I love with the fire of a thousand suns, will not be around forever. Let's look at the ways that I love him. The son that he raised for me to love. The twisted sense of humor we share. The quiet way he let's me be me and seems to just adore me for it. The way he lights up when my children walk in the room and positively glows when they climb on his lap and call him Poppy. More than anyone else in this world this man is my father and I trust him, like I trust very few others in this world, to stick around for me.
So right now, there is a third of a packet of marshmallows in my underwear drawer, I am going to bed and if anyone asks, I'm doing OK and it's best to leave me alone right now.
Does this mean I am not dealing with it?
No, it means that I am dealing with it my way. Right now, as we speak, there is nothing left unsaid between Bill and I, although few words have passed. Neither of us being the cry and hug it out types, I am not sure how we have communicated that we each think the other is pretty special. But we have and I am happy to leave it at that. The thing is, those people who insist that to hug and cry it out is the only way to deal with stuff are emotionally arrogant. On a par with those who think that if I choose to be alone I am a socially defunct depressive with no interpersonal skills. No, it doesn't. It means I value alone time. The marshmallows probably aren't healthy but they are the only part of my coping mechanisms that I believe could do with a little tweaking and from someone who used to binge on sugar and butter and whatever else I could lay my hands on then spend a few moments bowing to the porcelain I am actually not all that stressed by the odd compulsive bag of marshmallows. Hey, I leave them in my stomach! I do talk about my feelings to God. On occasion I also talk about my feelings with my husband, if I feel it is something we can both benefit from. But for the most part they are precious, they are fragile, they are private and they are mine.
So to the outside world I may look like an emotional cripple.
From the inside, I am doing OK.
Really.
It's not pretty.
Emotions in theory I can deal with. Little emotions I can deal with - only minor skin crawls involved. BIG emotions involve a packet of marshmallows, lots of sleep and stoic insistence that I AM FINE and NO, I do not want to talk about it. And really folks, I mean that. That little word picture I painted earlier about the chainsaw and the arm - that could be you if you insist that I talk to you about my *feelings*. Wanting to cry with me and hug it out - yeah, not this little black duck.
Don't worry, I had a bunch of children so they can set up their own little support group when they get older and get bulk discounts on their therapy.
I am not all cold and nasty though. I tell my husband and kids that I love them often. I am warmly stating my choice to love them. I am describing the state that we live in (love) with accuracy and truth. I do not often examine this feeling, this *emotion*, up close though. Like one who chooses not to look down when climbing a ladder because of the ensuing vertigo, I choose not to look at the mind numbingly fear inducing swirl of vulnerability that accompanies love very often. Just like not looking down does not really make me any less high on the ladder, not examining the emotion of love very often does not actually make me any less in love - so I don't see the point really. So long as I am able to meet their needs with genuinely loving "I love you"s, we will just leave it there shall we.
Right now, my Father-in-law has been diagnosed with cardiac-myopathy. The only cure for this would be a heart transplant. Which may have been an option if he were 20 years younger and if there wasn't so much else wrong with his health. So right now, with the help of drugs, we might - MIGHT - get a few more years.
Please excuse me a moment while I make this, which is plainly not about me, totally and completely about me.
Let's not talk about the father issues, abandonment issues, fear of loss and grief issues and a million other issues that I have. No really, let's not. It is hard enough for me to admit that this man, who I love with the fire of a thousand suns, will not be around forever. Let's look at the ways that I love him. The son that he raised for me to love. The twisted sense of humor we share. The quiet way he let's me be me and seems to just adore me for it. The way he lights up when my children walk in the room and positively glows when they climb on his lap and call him Poppy. More than anyone else in this world this man is my father and I trust him, like I trust very few others in this world, to stick around for me.
So right now, there is a third of a packet of marshmallows in my underwear drawer, I am going to bed and if anyone asks, I'm doing OK and it's best to leave me alone right now.
Does this mean I am not dealing with it?
No, it means that I am dealing with it my way. Right now, as we speak, there is nothing left unsaid between Bill and I, although few words have passed. Neither of us being the cry and hug it out types, I am not sure how we have communicated that we each think the other is pretty special. But we have and I am happy to leave it at that. The thing is, those people who insist that to hug and cry it out is the only way to deal with stuff are emotionally arrogant. On a par with those who think that if I choose to be alone I am a socially defunct depressive with no interpersonal skills. No, it doesn't. It means I value alone time. The marshmallows probably aren't healthy but they are the only part of my coping mechanisms that I believe could do with a little tweaking and from someone who used to binge on sugar and butter and whatever else I could lay my hands on then spend a few moments bowing to the porcelain I am actually not all that stressed by the odd compulsive bag of marshmallows. Hey, I leave them in my stomach! I do talk about my feelings to God. On occasion I also talk about my feelings with my husband, if I feel it is something we can both benefit from. But for the most part they are precious, they are fragile, they are private and they are mine.
So to the outside world I may look like an emotional cripple.
From the inside, I am doing OK.
Really.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Christmas at our house
I printed out some bookmarks from activityvillage.co.uk for the kids to colour in thinking we would laminate them for gifts.
A sweet gift for grandparents and such.
Billy:
I am colouring this rabbit red....
because it got hit by a car and runned over.
Christopher:
I'm colouring in this penguin red because it got runned over....
by the rabbit!
*sigh*
A sweet gift for grandparents and such.
Billy:
I am colouring this rabbit red....
because it got hit by a car and runned over.
Christopher:
I'm colouring in this penguin red because it got runned over....
by the rabbit!
*sigh*
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The imaginary life of the Guest Family
We have three with nasty colds, one mild cold triggering moderate-severe asthma and one perfectly healthy child here at the moment. So of course as we sat eating our nutritious lunch of PB&J's general bickering and complaining was happening.
Billy complained that people were "touching meeeeee" and making noises. I offered to build him a bubble so it wouldn't bother him. Then built myself an imaginary bubble and placed it over my head, sat there with my eyes closed saying "I can't hear you, I am in a bubble". General hilarity ensued and I offered it around. Erin opted to give it a try, so I put it on her head. As I sat back down I noticed Anna reach over and put her hands around the "bubble", take it off Erin's head then yell "POP" as she clapped her hands together.
This morning as I dolled out Vitamin C tabs Anna grabbed hers and said "Oooohhh, EYES!" then held them in front of her eyes like little orange eye balls.
But it isn't just limited to Anna. Billy just came in and told me he has an imaginary dragon called "Juicy", apparently so called because she juices Panda Bears. Yes, squeezes them to get the juice and drinks it.
Oh Dear.
Billy complained that people were "touching meeeeee" and making noises. I offered to build him a bubble so it wouldn't bother him. Then built myself an imaginary bubble and placed it over my head, sat there with my eyes closed saying "I can't hear you, I am in a bubble". General hilarity ensued and I offered it around. Erin opted to give it a try, so I put it on her head. As I sat back down I noticed Anna reach over and put her hands around the "bubble", take it off Erin's head then yell "POP" as she clapped her hands together.
This morning as I dolled out Vitamin C tabs Anna grabbed hers and said "Oooohhh, EYES!" then held them in front of her eyes like little orange eye balls.
But it isn't just limited to Anna. Billy just came in and told me he has an imaginary dragon called "Juicy", apparently so called because she juices Panda Bears. Yes, squeezes them to get the juice and drinks it.
Oh Dear.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
A Whimsy Wander
Mary at Owlhaven invited her readers to share their own Whimsy Wanders and I felt inspired.
* One day Beloved and I want to take the kids on a tour up the east coast to Cape York and back with a camper trailer. I want to go so we can visit my friend in Sydney, my brother-in-law in Queensland, the place where Beloved and I shared our first kiss and some other memorable/touristy places. Beloved wants to go for all those reasons and to go 4 wheel driving.
* I love hiking but haven't gone on a proper hike for years and years. When the kids are old enough I want to do the overland track with them as well as a bunch of other tracks. Beloved doesn't hike - he can 4wd to the other end and meet us there!
* The other day when I wondered what the next ten years of marriage will bring, I was only half joking when I suggested another 5 children to Beloved. (I think he was only half joking when he rolled his eyes and laughed at me)
* I wish every day that we could move further east to be closer to some good friends we have over there.
* I would love to get a pirate style heart tattoo with MUM across the middle of it on my shoulder. I considered the idea of some fancy ink with each of the kids names on it, but wonder if I will run out of arm.
* I would gladly move into a large shed to live. Beloved wants to build us a big fancy house one day, I told him he could have as large and fancy a house as he'd like if I could have as many children as I liked to help clean it :)
What about you? Do you have any whimsys you would like to share?
* One day Beloved and I want to take the kids on a tour up the east coast to Cape York and back with a camper trailer. I want to go so we can visit my friend in Sydney, my brother-in-law in Queensland, the place where Beloved and I shared our first kiss and some other memorable/touristy places. Beloved wants to go for all those reasons and to go 4 wheel driving.
* I love hiking but haven't gone on a proper hike for years and years. When the kids are old enough I want to do the overland track with them as well as a bunch of other tracks. Beloved doesn't hike - he can 4wd to the other end and meet us there!
* The other day when I wondered what the next ten years of marriage will bring, I was only half joking when I suggested another 5 children to Beloved. (I think he was only half joking when he rolled his eyes and laughed at me)
* I wish every day that we could move further east to be closer to some good friends we have over there.
* I would love to get a pirate style heart tattoo with MUM across the middle of it on my shoulder. I considered the idea of some fancy ink with each of the kids names on it, but wonder if I will run out of arm.
* I would gladly move into a large shed to live. Beloved wants to build us a big fancy house one day, I told him he could have as large and fancy a house as he'd like if I could have as many children as I liked to help clean it :)
What about you? Do you have any whimsys you would like to share?
Monday, August 30, 2010
You Fart In Bed
You fart in bed
Then pull the covers over my head
You leave your socks on the bedroom floor
You NEVER close the bathroom door
You're late for tea and never call
You leave your work boots in the hall
You never get up and settle the baby
When I ask for a date you shrug and say "maybe"
I ALWAYS put the kids to bed
do the dishes and get us all fed
You frustrate me beyond all reason
especially during the football season
And yet...
There's something.
Something I cannot, dare not, name.
Something that makes me not quite the same
Something that makes me lighter and freer
when watching you kick back with a beer
Eve's curse? Perhaps. Downtrodden? Maybe.
but with you I am a better me
There's something about you I cannot define
But whatever it is, I'm glad it is mine.
And when I am in your arms, in our room
When the house is quiet as the Taj Mahal tomb
When you whisper words of intimacy
And every woman wishes she were me
Then you fart and pull the covers over my head.
Even then, I am glad it is you in my bed.
Just so you know, my husband has NEVER done this to me (I threatened before we were married to bite him if he did). Also he never watches football, often settles the baby and is more than willing to take me out! It is FICTION. But I am sure many married women can relate
Then pull the covers over my head
You leave your socks on the bedroom floor
You NEVER close the bathroom door
You're late for tea and never call
You leave your work boots in the hall
You never get up and settle the baby
When I ask for a date you shrug and say "maybe"
I ALWAYS put the kids to bed
do the dishes and get us all fed
You frustrate me beyond all reason
especially during the football season
And yet...
There's something.
Something I cannot, dare not, name.
Something that makes me not quite the same
Something that makes me lighter and freer
when watching you kick back with a beer
Eve's curse? Perhaps. Downtrodden? Maybe.
but with you I am a better me
There's something about you I cannot define
But whatever it is, I'm glad it is mine.
And when I am in your arms, in our room
When the house is quiet as the Taj Mahal tomb
When you whisper words of intimacy
And every woman wishes she were me
Then you fart and pull the covers over my head.
Even then, I am glad it is you in my bed.
Just so you know, my husband has NEVER done this to me (I threatened before we were married to bite him if he did). Also he never watches football, often settles the baby and is more than willing to take me out! It is FICTION. But I am sure many married women can relate
Saturday, August 21, 2010
The Long Awaited LONG birth story!
A False Start
I never know WHERE to start a birth story. In many ways birth is a journey that begins at conception. In some ways, it begins even before that! Andrew’s birth definitely started before it actually started though. We had a quiet day’s rest at home together after a particularly trying week of tummy bugs and vomiting among the children. According to dates, I was one week “overdue” but was not stressed about that as my pregnancies tend to go a week or two over quite regularly (this being my fifth pregnancy). After a peaceful morning, we took the kids for a bike ride to the end of the footpath and back. On the way back I had a trickle of fluid. I started walking with one foot in the gutter and the trickle became a gush. Jon and I were very excited! We got everyone home and sorted out, called in our child carers, called our midwife, packed bags, fed everyone tea and headed in to Launceston, fully expecting to have a baby by morning.
I picked up the key to the birth centre from Anna then we drove around to find somewhere that sold castor oil – which was a bit of a challenge at that time of night. I took a dose, had a hot shower then we put a movie on the lap top and snacked on chocolate biscuits as we watched it. I didn’t even have a twinge! We went to bed and slept. At 3am the inevitable late-pregnancy bathroom call came and, feeling a little frustrated, I dosed myself again with castor oil reasoning that as it had NO effect, maybe I just needed more. It had worked with my third labor to kick things off, I couldn’t understand what was going on! I then spent the rest of the night getting up to go to the loo, but still no sign of baby.
By morning I felt completely miserable. My tummy was upset, but there was no sign of baby and to make matters worse it looked like my husband was getting the tummy bug that had struck the children down. I was worried that I would need to be induced seeing as my waters had broken and I would be birthing in the hospital without my Jon there as he had already started throwing up.
We called my in-laws to come and help out with the children as we were unsure how much longer things were going to take. We went for a walk along Charles street to try and get things moving. Nothing happened. Late morning, I got a call from Anna as we browsed a book shop. At my request, we met her at the birth centre and she gave me a “once over”. We talked about our next steps. I was relieved that as my waters haddn’t continued to leak, it was probably just hind waters so I wouldn’t need to be induced. We decided that the best bet would be a long, hot shower followed by a nap then going home. This was a course of action I could be happy with!
So after I had a long hot shower I climbed into bed at the birth centre while Jon (who was feeling better) went shopping for a teddy bear for the baby and ran a few last minute errands. I flipped my Bible open to read and my eyes settled on James chapter 4, specifically verses 13-15:
Now listen, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money." Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that."
Everything I read seemed to be saying that God had a bigger plan than I did and I needed to trust Him and leave it in His hands. I needed to pray for peace rather than for specific “stuff” as His plan was going to be even better than mine. So I prayed then slept for a few hours. I woke feeling like a new woman and went home to my children. Where I had severe diarrhea for the next few days!
The Real Thing
Wednesday morning I awoke feeling AWFUL. I’m not talking a little bit queezy, a touch off or a bit peaky – I am talking “Dear Lord, Kill Me Now….PLEASE” kind of awful. After several days of putting off doing anything about the diarrhea (I had it stuck in my head that if that stopped, the baby would NEVER COME OUT!) everything from the waist down felt swollen and sore. Everything from the waist up just felt sore. And to cap it off, Jon felt pretty awful too. I called Anna to ask if she thought me taking anti-diarrhea tablets would be OK (she was too nice to say “Um, DUH, why didn’t you do that days ago?”, she just made sympathetic noises and told me to go ahead) and I shed a few tears of complete and utter dejected self pity.
Jon and I agreed that we needed help so I decided to call our good friends who were meant to be staying with us that night and warn them off (I cried about that too, I had been so excited about seeing them! I’m not usually a big crier, blame the hormones) and I was also going to call another friend to come and watch the kids while we lay in bed and pretended to be asleep. Somewhere between those two phone calls I realized that among the LOUD pain messages my body was sending, there was a more specific, familiar sensation that was trying to get through.
I took a deep breath and muttered “Ah well Lord, not my plans but yours” and called Anna back, telling her we’d get settled at the birth centre and call her when things picked up and called my child minding friend. I waddled around between contractions getting kids dressed, supervising the making of breakfast and organizing things to go to the birth centre. I have bizarre memories of vocalizing during contractions in the midst of changing nappies!
As I walked around it became evident that things were moving along a bit quicker than I had anticipated!! My concern for the grew as I hunted for places to stand during contractions where it wouldn’t matter if my water broke (not many in my renovator’s delight – between unsealed floors and rugs I was getting a little anxious!). I also worried that the car seats would NOT take kindly to a bath in amniotic fluid and I really didn’t like the idea of birthing somewhere on the side of the road. Jon asked me at the conclusion of one rather strong contraction if I thought baby might come before we could make it. We decided the best course of action was to change birthing venues to home.
Now if you had asked me the day before what my least preferred birthing situation would be (other than going to hospital) I would have said birthing in the middle of the day with a bunch of people in the next room. Here it was looking like I would be birthing in my dirty-laundry filled bathroom with my children and our child caring friend (Nola, an older lady from church who I know, but not THAT well) in the next room! Again I had to just give it over to God.
I called Anna and asked her to come to me then when Nola turned up I let her know what was happening while Jon ran me a bath. I was working my way through a contraction and Nola was chattering non-stop (which she does, it’s endearing usually!) and asking me if I was getting pain in my back etc. Thankfully, she is a beautifully sensitive, thoroughly practical woman who sensed where her groove was very early in the piece and took it all in her stride. She went out with the kids and started managing them eating their breakfast. Throughout my labour I heard her dealing with my children and taking care of them and it was a great source of comfort.
I sunk into the bath with a great feeling of relief. The warm water was just what my very sore, tired, laboring body needed. Jon turned on the heaters and hung some old towels over the column heater to warm. I got him to pass me a cold wet face washer which I slung over my neck. Usually during my labours I am LOUD. I keep my vocalizations low and relax my jaw to help my body with the job it is doing and in all my previous births this has been an important part of my working through the very active stages of labour. I was worried about this because my children were in the next room and while I had described the noises I made to them when we had discussed birth, I really didn’t know how they’d react and I didn’t feel they were really prepared for it.
I found that sucking the cold face washer really helped during contractions, and the fact that I had something in my mouth meant that my vocalizations didn’t sound quite so dramatic, so I was less worried about the kids. It led me to confess to Jon, after ten years of sharing a home and a life, that there was something he didn’t know about me. I chew on face washers sometimes, have done since I was a child. When I made my confession, he said “That’s OK honey” in a voice that said “you are weird, strange and a little scary, but I love you anyway”. I decided that was good enough and sucked away on my face cloth!
I found out later that Nola told the children that the noises I was making was me “singing the baby out” – one of them commented that it didn’t sound much like singing to them! But it really helped the kids to accept what was going on. Thank the Lord I was provided with such a practical, matter-of-fact woman who was willing to embrace the experience as positive. I could not have asked for anyone better to take care of the kids.
At one point as Jon went in and out of the bathroom I heard Nola ask him if he thought he could deliver the baby himself if the midwives didn’t make it – he answered that he could well not have a choice! As we chatted in between contractions (yes, I chat in between contractions all the way through pretty much) he said that “If Shane can do it, I’m sure I can!” referring to friends of ours who had an unplanned home birth a few years before. I giggled and started singing “Anything They Can Do We Can Do Better” – possible that I have a competitive streak there and the labour hormones were well and truly working.
Much to all our relief though, Anna and Jean turned up. I could feel a part of me wincing with embarrassment, even in mid-labour, about the pile of laundry and general MESS everywhere but nobody took any notice but me. I realize now that all this was part of God helping me to put my self perceived “failings” into perspective and just get on with the job of living!
I asked the midwives to put the birthing pad on the floor next to the bath as I wanted to get out to birth. They set me up a little area and immediately plugged in to what was going on and how things were progressing. Anna asked if I was hot and I thought it was an odd question, of course I was hot, I was in the middle of the ultimate work out! Apparently it was quite hot in the bathroom though so they turned one of the heaters off. Deep labour brings with it its own sense of time and climate, I doubt I would have noticed if it’d been an oven in there. Jean asked Jon for an icecream container or something for the placenta and I called out instructions on where to find a stainless steel bowl. Anna listened to bub’s heart rate a few times between her arriving and the birth, but it was never very obtrusive and it didn’t interrupt the flow of my labour.
Things were getting very serious by this point but I was worried about getting the urge to push too early because my south end was all swollen and sore and constantly felt pressure on it anyway. I asked for some hot towels on my back during contractions which was fantastic. I remember hearing one of the kids ask to go to the toilet and Nola say that they couldn’t because I was in the bathroom (we only have a toilet in the bathroom) so I asked someone to take the potty out so they could use that. Jean remarked that she haddn’t even heard anyone mention needing to go so I guess even at that point, I still had my Mummy hat on a bit.
At one point I moved to a squatting position with my back against one side of the bath and knees against the other (narrow, claw foot baths are horrid to try and clean under AND too narrow to birth in properly if anyone is interested!). As I was in this position I started feeling really pushy and gave a few involuntary pushes. During one of these I felt a pop and noticed some blackish, greenish fluid. I was a little concerned about this as I had never had meconium in my waters before and knew it could signal distress. I asked Jon to tell Anna my waters had broken and that there was meconium. She came in and checked it out. She assured me that it looked old and probably wasn’t a sign of distress, more likely because bub had decided to stick around in utero for a bit longer.
I clambered out of the bath and stood for a while, pushing during contractions only when I HAD to. I was still concerned that I wasn’t ready. My first birth had a premature urge to push for the last couple of hours and it is odd how that still affects the way I birth now, almost 6 years and 4 more births later. I kneeled down with my arms folded on the edge of the bath and gave a few pushes. My shoulder muscles ached for days later where I must have pulled myself up on the bath as I pushed. Anna suggested I put one leg up to open things up a bit which I did, putting myself in the same position which I had birthed 18 months earlier, an excellent position. After the next gentle push Anna said she could see the head, at which point I realized that I did NOT have a premature urge to push!
With the next contraction I gave a long hard push and felt my baby moving down and the head emerge into my hand. Anna checked for a cord and we waited for bub to turn. I had previously asked for Syntocin at this point because I have a past history of post-partum bleeds and this was my fifth baby so in consultation with Anna I felt it was appropriate to actively manage third stage. Jean told me what she was doing as she administered the injection but to be honest, I really didn’t care at that point. We had already discussed it, I had requested it and my mind was elsewhere! It hurt a lot to have the baby pushing everything and I realized that this was not going to be a tiny dot of a baby like the last one. I focused and put my hands down ready to catch my baby. With the next push out he slithered into my hands! I drank in every detail of him with my eyes and called out “Honey, we got an Andrew!”
I found out later that Nola had been reading “Hello Baby” to the children at that moment in the lounge room and they were all listening for the cry!
I asked Jon if he thought it was a good idea to ask Erin, our oldest, if she wanted to cut the cord. She has been obsessed with all things medical since before her third birthday. She came in and followed Anna’s instruction to cut the cord and examined the placenta – something I wanted her to be able to do because I knew it would mean so much to her. It was a very intense experience for her and having a good relationship with Anna was an important part of it being a positive experience. I am so proud of her and the way she conducted herself. We all cleaned up and I snuggled with Andrew on my armchair surrounded by my children, him still fresh and new and naked and them completely enthralled.
I realized that little of this birth had gone to my plan, but I had been given a beautiful gift. Not only my new baby, but the chance to share this birth with my other children in a wonderfully special way. It wasn’t my plan, but it turned out to be a darn good plan anyway! All up, active labour lasted about three hours and Andrew was 8pound 2oz, my second smallest baby.
We called back our friends who we had put off spending the night at our house that night and asked them to come anyway. Something seemed very right about our baby Andrew meeting his Uncle Andrew on his Birth Day! It was sheer coincidence that he and his lovely wife were moving back to Tassie that particular night. The rest of the day seemed to be one long celebration. Baby Andrew latched on and drank like a champ. I held him almost all day. Nola took care of all of the practical needs of the children and made us all tea. Jon and I made phone calls. And we cut a Birth Day cake with the words “Andrew Phillip” and a big number 0 candle on it. And that night, I snuggled down in my own comfy bed with my husband beside me, baby in the bassinette on the other side and my other children fast asleep in the next room. Like I said, not to my plan, but to a Perfect Plan!
I never know WHERE to start a birth story. In many ways birth is a journey that begins at conception. In some ways, it begins even before that! Andrew’s birth definitely started before it actually started though. We had a quiet day’s rest at home together after a particularly trying week of tummy bugs and vomiting among the children. According to dates, I was one week “overdue” but was not stressed about that as my pregnancies tend to go a week or two over quite regularly (this being my fifth pregnancy). After a peaceful morning, we took the kids for a bike ride to the end of the footpath and back. On the way back I had a trickle of fluid. I started walking with one foot in the gutter and the trickle became a gush. Jon and I were very excited! We got everyone home and sorted out, called in our child carers, called our midwife, packed bags, fed everyone tea and headed in to Launceston, fully expecting to have a baby by morning.
I picked up the key to the birth centre from Anna then we drove around to find somewhere that sold castor oil – which was a bit of a challenge at that time of night. I took a dose, had a hot shower then we put a movie on the lap top and snacked on chocolate biscuits as we watched it. I didn’t even have a twinge! We went to bed and slept. At 3am the inevitable late-pregnancy bathroom call came and, feeling a little frustrated, I dosed myself again with castor oil reasoning that as it had NO effect, maybe I just needed more. It had worked with my third labor to kick things off, I couldn’t understand what was going on! I then spent the rest of the night getting up to go to the loo, but still no sign of baby.
By morning I felt completely miserable. My tummy was upset, but there was no sign of baby and to make matters worse it looked like my husband was getting the tummy bug that had struck the children down. I was worried that I would need to be induced seeing as my waters had broken and I would be birthing in the hospital without my Jon there as he had already started throwing up.
We called my in-laws to come and help out with the children as we were unsure how much longer things were going to take. We went for a walk along Charles street to try and get things moving. Nothing happened. Late morning, I got a call from Anna as we browsed a book shop. At my request, we met her at the birth centre and she gave me a “once over”. We talked about our next steps. I was relieved that as my waters haddn’t continued to leak, it was probably just hind waters so I wouldn’t need to be induced. We decided that the best bet would be a long, hot shower followed by a nap then going home. This was a course of action I could be happy with!
So after I had a long hot shower I climbed into bed at the birth centre while Jon (who was feeling better) went shopping for a teddy bear for the baby and ran a few last minute errands. I flipped my Bible open to read and my eyes settled on James chapter 4, specifically verses 13-15:
Now listen, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money." Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that."
Everything I read seemed to be saying that God had a bigger plan than I did and I needed to trust Him and leave it in His hands. I needed to pray for peace rather than for specific “stuff” as His plan was going to be even better than mine. So I prayed then slept for a few hours. I woke feeling like a new woman and went home to my children. Where I had severe diarrhea for the next few days!
The Real Thing
Wednesday morning I awoke feeling AWFUL. I’m not talking a little bit queezy, a touch off or a bit peaky – I am talking “Dear Lord, Kill Me Now….PLEASE” kind of awful. After several days of putting off doing anything about the diarrhea (I had it stuck in my head that if that stopped, the baby would NEVER COME OUT!) everything from the waist down felt swollen and sore. Everything from the waist up just felt sore. And to cap it off, Jon felt pretty awful too. I called Anna to ask if she thought me taking anti-diarrhea tablets would be OK (she was too nice to say “Um, DUH, why didn’t you do that days ago?”, she just made sympathetic noises and told me to go ahead) and I shed a few tears of complete and utter dejected self pity.
Jon and I agreed that we needed help so I decided to call our good friends who were meant to be staying with us that night and warn them off (I cried about that too, I had been so excited about seeing them! I’m not usually a big crier, blame the hormones) and I was also going to call another friend to come and watch the kids while we lay in bed and pretended to be asleep. Somewhere between those two phone calls I realized that among the LOUD pain messages my body was sending, there was a more specific, familiar sensation that was trying to get through.
I took a deep breath and muttered “Ah well Lord, not my plans but yours” and called Anna back, telling her we’d get settled at the birth centre and call her when things picked up and called my child minding friend. I waddled around between contractions getting kids dressed, supervising the making of breakfast and organizing things to go to the birth centre. I have bizarre memories of vocalizing during contractions in the midst of changing nappies!
As I walked around it became evident that things were moving along a bit quicker than I had anticipated!! My concern for the grew as I hunted for places to stand during contractions where it wouldn’t matter if my water broke (not many in my renovator’s delight – between unsealed floors and rugs I was getting a little anxious!). I also worried that the car seats would NOT take kindly to a bath in amniotic fluid and I really didn’t like the idea of birthing somewhere on the side of the road. Jon asked me at the conclusion of one rather strong contraction if I thought baby might come before we could make it. We decided the best course of action was to change birthing venues to home.
Now if you had asked me the day before what my least preferred birthing situation would be (other than going to hospital) I would have said birthing in the middle of the day with a bunch of people in the next room. Here it was looking like I would be birthing in my dirty-laundry filled bathroom with my children and our child caring friend (Nola, an older lady from church who I know, but not THAT well) in the next room! Again I had to just give it over to God.
I called Anna and asked her to come to me then when Nola turned up I let her know what was happening while Jon ran me a bath. I was working my way through a contraction and Nola was chattering non-stop (which she does, it’s endearing usually!) and asking me if I was getting pain in my back etc. Thankfully, she is a beautifully sensitive, thoroughly practical woman who sensed where her groove was very early in the piece and took it all in her stride. She went out with the kids and started managing them eating their breakfast. Throughout my labour I heard her dealing with my children and taking care of them and it was a great source of comfort.
I sunk into the bath with a great feeling of relief. The warm water was just what my very sore, tired, laboring body needed. Jon turned on the heaters and hung some old towels over the column heater to warm. I got him to pass me a cold wet face washer which I slung over my neck. Usually during my labours I am LOUD. I keep my vocalizations low and relax my jaw to help my body with the job it is doing and in all my previous births this has been an important part of my working through the very active stages of labour. I was worried about this because my children were in the next room and while I had described the noises I made to them when we had discussed birth, I really didn’t know how they’d react and I didn’t feel they were really prepared for it.
I found that sucking the cold face washer really helped during contractions, and the fact that I had something in my mouth meant that my vocalizations didn’t sound quite so dramatic, so I was less worried about the kids. It led me to confess to Jon, after ten years of sharing a home and a life, that there was something he didn’t know about me. I chew on face washers sometimes, have done since I was a child. When I made my confession, he said “That’s OK honey” in a voice that said “you are weird, strange and a little scary, but I love you anyway”. I decided that was good enough and sucked away on my face cloth!
I found out later that Nola told the children that the noises I was making was me “singing the baby out” – one of them commented that it didn’t sound much like singing to them! But it really helped the kids to accept what was going on. Thank the Lord I was provided with such a practical, matter-of-fact woman who was willing to embrace the experience as positive. I could not have asked for anyone better to take care of the kids.
At one point as Jon went in and out of the bathroom I heard Nola ask him if he thought he could deliver the baby himself if the midwives didn’t make it – he answered that he could well not have a choice! As we chatted in between contractions (yes, I chat in between contractions all the way through pretty much) he said that “If Shane can do it, I’m sure I can!” referring to friends of ours who had an unplanned home birth a few years before. I giggled and started singing “Anything They Can Do We Can Do Better” – possible that I have a competitive streak there and the labour hormones were well and truly working.
Much to all our relief though, Anna and Jean turned up. I could feel a part of me wincing with embarrassment, even in mid-labour, about the pile of laundry and general MESS everywhere but nobody took any notice but me. I realize now that all this was part of God helping me to put my self perceived “failings” into perspective and just get on with the job of living!
I asked the midwives to put the birthing pad on the floor next to the bath as I wanted to get out to birth. They set me up a little area and immediately plugged in to what was going on and how things were progressing. Anna asked if I was hot and I thought it was an odd question, of course I was hot, I was in the middle of the ultimate work out! Apparently it was quite hot in the bathroom though so they turned one of the heaters off. Deep labour brings with it its own sense of time and climate, I doubt I would have noticed if it’d been an oven in there. Jean asked Jon for an icecream container or something for the placenta and I called out instructions on where to find a stainless steel bowl. Anna listened to bub’s heart rate a few times between her arriving and the birth, but it was never very obtrusive and it didn’t interrupt the flow of my labour.
Things were getting very serious by this point but I was worried about getting the urge to push too early because my south end was all swollen and sore and constantly felt pressure on it anyway. I asked for some hot towels on my back during contractions which was fantastic. I remember hearing one of the kids ask to go to the toilet and Nola say that they couldn’t because I was in the bathroom (we only have a toilet in the bathroom) so I asked someone to take the potty out so they could use that. Jean remarked that she haddn’t even heard anyone mention needing to go so I guess even at that point, I still had my Mummy hat on a bit.
At one point I moved to a squatting position with my back against one side of the bath and knees against the other (narrow, claw foot baths are horrid to try and clean under AND too narrow to birth in properly if anyone is interested!). As I was in this position I started feeling really pushy and gave a few involuntary pushes. During one of these I felt a pop and noticed some blackish, greenish fluid. I was a little concerned about this as I had never had meconium in my waters before and knew it could signal distress. I asked Jon to tell Anna my waters had broken and that there was meconium. She came in and checked it out. She assured me that it looked old and probably wasn’t a sign of distress, more likely because bub had decided to stick around in utero for a bit longer.
I clambered out of the bath and stood for a while, pushing during contractions only when I HAD to. I was still concerned that I wasn’t ready. My first birth had a premature urge to push for the last couple of hours and it is odd how that still affects the way I birth now, almost 6 years and 4 more births later. I kneeled down with my arms folded on the edge of the bath and gave a few pushes. My shoulder muscles ached for days later where I must have pulled myself up on the bath as I pushed. Anna suggested I put one leg up to open things up a bit which I did, putting myself in the same position which I had birthed 18 months earlier, an excellent position. After the next gentle push Anna said she could see the head, at which point I realized that I did NOT have a premature urge to push!
With the next contraction I gave a long hard push and felt my baby moving down and the head emerge into my hand. Anna checked for a cord and we waited for bub to turn. I had previously asked for Syntocin at this point because I have a past history of post-partum bleeds and this was my fifth baby so in consultation with Anna I felt it was appropriate to actively manage third stage. Jean told me what she was doing as she administered the injection but to be honest, I really didn’t care at that point. We had already discussed it, I had requested it and my mind was elsewhere! It hurt a lot to have the baby pushing everything and I realized that this was not going to be a tiny dot of a baby like the last one. I focused and put my hands down ready to catch my baby. With the next push out he slithered into my hands! I drank in every detail of him with my eyes and called out “Honey, we got an Andrew!”
I found out later that Nola had been reading “Hello Baby” to the children at that moment in the lounge room and they were all listening for the cry!
I asked Jon if he thought it was a good idea to ask Erin, our oldest, if she wanted to cut the cord. She has been obsessed with all things medical since before her third birthday. She came in and followed Anna’s instruction to cut the cord and examined the placenta – something I wanted her to be able to do because I knew it would mean so much to her. It was a very intense experience for her and having a good relationship with Anna was an important part of it being a positive experience. I am so proud of her and the way she conducted herself. We all cleaned up and I snuggled with Andrew on my armchair surrounded by my children, him still fresh and new and naked and them completely enthralled.
I realized that little of this birth had gone to my plan, but I had been given a beautiful gift. Not only my new baby, but the chance to share this birth with my other children in a wonderfully special way. It wasn’t my plan, but it turned out to be a darn good plan anyway! All up, active labour lasted about three hours and Andrew was 8pound 2oz, my second smallest baby.
We called back our friends who we had put off spending the night at our house that night and asked them to come anyway. Something seemed very right about our baby Andrew meeting his Uncle Andrew on his Birth Day! It was sheer coincidence that he and his lovely wife were moving back to Tassie that particular night. The rest of the day seemed to be one long celebration. Baby Andrew latched on and drank like a champ. I held him almost all day. Nola took care of all of the practical needs of the children and made us all tea. Jon and I made phone calls. And we cut a Birth Day cake with the words “Andrew Phillip” and a big number 0 candle on it. And that night, I snuggled down in my own comfy bed with my husband beside me, baby in the bassinette on the other side and my other children fast asleep in the next room. Like I said, not to my plan, but to a Perfect Plan!
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